(Image found via Google and timeanddate.com)
I thought I’d write something for the rare super blue blood moon eclipse thing going on this morning. This happened. I’m intrigued. I never considered a sort of re-write on this particular tale (I mean, you can’t exactly top Sailor Moon). I did get a sort of Mother Gothel vibe from Rapunzel, though.
She stared up at the moon, large and unusually bright. The tips of her fingers trailed over her face, tracing the wrinkles that resided on her forehead, the corners of her mouth, the edges of her eyes. It was finally time for her to see this.
Two large silver containers of water surrounded her, two different colored crystals in each. Silver adorned her wrists, her ears, her head, her ankles, her neck–a silver cord was woven around her waist. She had enclosed the space between the two containers and around her with a ring of lotus, jasmine, passionflower, poppy, and willow limbs. A book lay discarded on the edge of the clearing, open and forgotten.
She raised her arms up to the sky and began to sing in a language long forgotten in a voice strong and soft. As her old bones creaked and clicked, she began tracing steps in the grass and shuffling.
She was parched after the first hour, but couldn’t let herself rest. This was how she proved herself worthy, after all. Her shuffling had eased as her body had warmed up, but it was still a trial to move around. Her voice never wavered and her spirit helped carry her through the motions.
Dancing and singing, her eyes closed, she never saw how she glowed in the night with a silvery, luminescent power. As she reached the hardest part of the hours-long dance, she suddenly found herself able to easily jump and felt her bones and joints cry out with joy for the movement. Her voice was stronger and she sang out with joy that it had worked and that she had been blessed so.
She didn’t allow herself to be distracted, though. She had to finish the ritual first. And she did, just as the moon slipped behind the horizon.
Panting, she stood in the center of the circle and stared at her now smooth feet. She turned her hands over, smooth and not dotted or lined with veins. She raised trembling hands to her face and felt the lack of wrinkles.
Her laugh broke the silence in the forest as the first of the birds began chirping. She had done it.
“Are you a goddess?”
Her head snapped to the voice. A young man stood on the edge of the clearing, a shepherd’s crook in his hand. His blue eyes were wide and his perfectly shaped mouth was hanging open.
She curled a smile at him. “And if I am?”
“I obviously need to pay you proper tribute.”
She stared at him a moment longer before asking, “What’s your name?”
“Very well, Endymion. I’m Selene.”