Night Moth (Coraline, PG)

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Night Moth (Coraline, PG)

Postby Shadow » Sat Apr 18, 2009 4:34 am

Moonlight is not mine and no copyright infringement is intended.







This small "what-if" story was started for the Moonlight gala contest ... and not quite finished in time!











NIGHT MOTH



1932

Two women left the party, moving silently through the backyard trees and over the fence, and though one was dressed in shimmering red and the other in deep blue, no one saw them go.

The night was warm, summer in Los Angeles, and the moon drifted slowly through a low haze of clouds. The sounds of the party were fading and the street ahead was quiet; here the humans were asleep, mostly, beyond the windows of their houses. Coraline took a deep breath, drawing in the faint sparks of their lives, but she still felt empty inside. Another party, glamorous clothes and chiming laughter, good wine and rich food, appreciative stares from the men and envious glances from the women – all things she loved, things she’d fought for, so why did none of it satisfy her any more? She’d felt a glimmer of excitement about this party – she’d looked forward to it eagerly, but now she couldn’t think why. She sighed and smoothed the red silk of her dress, then reached up to adjust the matching scarf she’d tied into her hair. The touch of the silk soothed her, something beautiful and bright against the gray bleakness of the world.

“At least fashion never disappoints,” she said aloud.

“Were you disappointed?” Thea was amused. “You’re the one who wanted to come.”

“I know.” She took another breath, and sensed a flash of dream from a sleeping human, an achingly simple dream of home and family. Who, where? It felt far away, and was gone in a heartbeat.

“It was a nice change,” Thea said. “You seemed happy.”

“I am happy,” Coraline said automatically.

“Are you?” Thea’s voice was soft.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I am happy. Nothing’s wrong.” Coraline walked faster, putting a hand to her dress to touch the silk again. But it wasn’t silk she felt; it was wool, warm and rough. Red wool, she was sure of it, but when she looked down there was only silk beneath her fingers. A memory? Had she ever worn red wool? Suddenly, she wanted to ask Thea what she remembered about being human. Mortal memories were supposed to fade, as a vampire grew older, until they became faint and meaningless. But Coraline had forgotten most of her mortal past while she was still human.

“I see,” Thea said. “You’re not distracted by anything, not bothered.”

Coraline hesitated. “No,” she said at last. She could never ask such a question of any vampire, not even Thea. Never show weakness.

“You merely wish to walk home tonight.”

“What?”

“Well,” Thea said mildly, “you did just walk straight past your car.”

Coraline turned and looked behind her, bewildered. It was true. Vampire senses and all, she had passed by her brand-new LaSalle convertible without even seeing it. She stood still for a moment, unable to fathom what had happened. She never missed seeing things, never. She always paid attention. Every moment. She could not have survived, could not have risen so far, without that.

“Perhaps I should drive,” Thea suggested.

“Oh no.” Coraline loved this little car; no one else had ever driven it and no one ever would. And she hated being a passenger in any vehicle. She settled herself in the driver’s seat, waited for Thea to get in, and pulled out into the street. The power and responsiveness of the car gave her a momentary surge of pleasure, and she sighed with relief.

Thea said, “You know, you told me you wouldn’t feed tonight.”

So much for relief. “I hadn’t planned to,” she said stiffly.

“But you did.”

“Yes. I did.”

“The race-car driver, wasn’t he? I thought you liked him.”

Coraline shrugged. “He seemed exciting. At first. But he wasn’t what I wanted.”

“What did you want?”

Coraline was startled by the question. What had she wanted? Not the man’s blood after all; it had done nothing to fill the emptiness within her. I want to feel life again. The thought fell into her mind and lingered there, though she tried to drive it away. She was alive, she told herself fiercely, and she would be alive forever. Forever. Eternity was what she’d wanted, more than anything. But the days had begun to run together like watercolors in her mind, bright colors fading to gray. How did other vampires manage immortality? Some didn’t, she knew.

She swung the car around a corner, and tried to recover her wits. “Well,” she said. “I suppose I was hungry after all.”

Thea raised a brow, but didn’t challenge this. She glanced behind, and an instant later Coraline heard the roar of an engine approaching, mingled with shrieks and drunken catcalls. A gleaming Packard sedan roared past them, weaving dangerously, the four human males inside all reeling with drink. The driver called out a lewd suggestion as they passed, and Coraline tensed with anticipation – would there be more blood, tonight? - but the Packard didn’t slow. As the car swerved away, a passenger flung a cigarette butt out the window, an arc of fire that sparked and flared as it hit the pavement.

A mindless mob of humans, shouts and screams, flames against the sky, a house burning, burning. . . . Coraline slammed on the brake as the vision flashed in front of her, and the car came to a shuddering halt. What was that? It was gone, now, and the houses along the street were dark and quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Thea asked, looking around in confusion.

“Fire,” Coraline whispered. Never show weakness . . . but Thea already knew how much she feared fire. Coraline dreamed of it sometimes, and woke screaming in her freezer.

“My dear, it was only a cigarette,” Thea said, puzzled but sympathetic. Almost all vampires feared fire, of course, and Coraline had never told Thea all the secrets of her bloodline. It was bad enough that Thea knew of this weakness; she must never discover that there was no reason for it. By all rights, any nightmares of Coraline’s should feature silver, stakes, and blades. But they were always fire.

“I know.” Coraline said, staring at the fragment of cigarette in the street. Its tiny spark had gone out.

“What a pack of drunken idiots those were.” Thea sighed, shaking her head. “Humans. They’re all the same.”

“I suppose.” Coraline wasn’t listening.

Thea eyed her with concern and said, “I do think I should drive now. You’re not yourself.”

“I’m fine.” Coraline shook off the vision, grabbed the LaSalle’s gearshift, and put her foot hard on the accelerator. What’s wrong with me? Why did Thea have to see that? Irritated, she said, “Just what are you worried about – do you think I’ll kill you in the car? You’re immortal.” Thea was even older than Coraline – how did she cope? Did she have secret fears, or was she as content as she seemed? Coraline wished she could ask.

“Point taken,” Thea said lightly. “I’ll stop worrying.”

“Good.” Coraline tried to steady herself, and firmly changed the subject. “So. You seemed to enjoy yourself tonight.”

“Oh yes, the party was fun.”

“But what a surprise when you introduced yourself. Since when are you Cynthia?”

“Since tonight.” Thea smiled. “It’s very Los Angeles, don’t you think? Very American. Perhaps I’ll keep it, for when I’m here.”

How Thea hated Los Angeles! So like her, to come up with a pseudonym for living here, as if to protect her real name from contamination. Predictably, Thea continued, “But don’t you think it’s time to move on? We could go to Paris. Or Vienna. Someplace with culture.”

Coraline gazed out at the houses passing by, a row of Victorians that any human Los Angeles resident would call old. Even the L.A. vampires might say the same. Thea was right; Los Angeles was a gauche and shallow place, yet it held a strange fascination for Coraline. Towers of bright lights mixed seamlessly with violent dingy slums; the glitter of high society lay next to ordinary homes. Like the homes she was driving by, and why was she here? She felt dizzy, realizing that she was lost, that she’d taken a wrong turn. She lifted her chin, determined not to let Thea see her uncertainty. She’d gone this way on purpose, to explore. Right. Just like you meant to walk home. Thea won’t be fooled.

What was happening to her? One of the Victorians, a well-kept house with rosebushes by the door, seemed to shimmer in her vision, fading in and out, and she saw flickers of another house, a little farmhouse set alone on a green-grass hill. The scent of roses flooded through her, the farmhouse disappeared, and she saw the Victorian again. I saw this house in a dream. Her gaze was drawn to one of the second-story windows, where a white curtain hung, concealing the room beyond. The silk scarf in her hair came loose, fluttering in the wind and about to blow away, but she hardly noticed, because at that moment a small silhouette appeared, pulling the curtain aside. A child, a boy. Coraline was astonished by how much she could sense of him, even from this distance.

Ten years old. He’s just woken from another dream, a strange nightmare: vampires on the streets, vampires looking through his window, a shadowed figure in red walking through a dull gray world. He’s telling himself how stupid it is to be afraid of things that don’t exist, but at this moment he can’t help believing they’re real. He doesn’t know why he woke, why he came to the window, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking beyond the curtain. He’s frightened; he wants to run back to bed and hide beneath the covers, but he wants even more to know what’s out there.

He sees me, my red scarf belling like a sail behind me, my eyes as dark as the night, and he knows, somewhere inside, that I’m one of the creatures from his dream.

But he still can’t take his eyes off me.

“I am immortal, it’s true,” Thea remarked, “but I did think you were fond of this car.”

Coraline gasped, her connection with the boy suddenly ripped away. Her car lurched, leaping the curb, and a brick wall loomed; she swung the wheel wildly, avoiding a crash by inches. Grass and dirt flew up behind the car as the tires spun, and then she had control again, and she was back in the street, driving along as if nothing had happened.

But something had happened. Thea was mercifully silent, and Coraline drove blindly through the streets, trying to figure out what it was. Why had she felt such a connection with a child? She had no interest in children. As a vampire she could never have a child, and she didn’t care. It didn’t bother her. It never had.

As her scarf blew free of her hair she reached out to catch it, then tucked it beside her on the seat. Red silk in a scarf, red wool in a shawl, oh such a sweet gift from Alain. A rose in his hand, held out to her; a poppy tucked into Minette’s dark braid, the smell of flowers and a little girl’s hair.

Her breath caught. My family? It felt like family. Like home. Just a fragment from the past she’d long forgotten, but it was real. Whatever it was, it’s long gone. But with the memory she felt color flooding back into her world; she felt alive, eager, full of dreams and plans. A window into the past had blown open a door to the future, all because she’d touched that boy’s dream.

She didn’t need to turn the car around to find him again. She’d been lost before, but now she knew exactly where she was, where he was. She saw the whole city laid out in her mind, saw the precise location of the boy’s street, of his house, of his room. His image would stay in her mind forever, and she would always be able to find him, no matter where he went, or how much time passed by.

Always.











______________________________________________________





1952

A woman stood in the shadows, looking out at the party through the lens of a camera, and though the dress she wore was bright glittering red, no one noticed she was there.

Torches flared around the pool, bringing a soft glow to the warm night, and the band was playing a mellow tune. Coraline aimed her camera at the band and took a picture, then moved closer and took another. The guests mingled and chattered, the band played, but still no one saw her as she drifted nearby. When she was out of film she slipped back through the shadows into the house, through the glass door that led into her office.

Thea was sitting at the desk, gazing at a group of photographs laid out before her. Coraline froze, and swore silently. She’d forgotten to hide the pictures. She never forgot, not ever, but tonight her mind was reeling, just as it had on that night twenty years ago, and she’d left the pictures in a stack on the corner of her desk.

“More photographs?” Thea asked quietly, eyeing the camera in Coraline’s hand. “What is this about? This human is here tonight. Playing in the band you hired.”

Coraline put her camera down on the desk beside the pictures. “Yes,” she said simply. She reached past Thea to rearrange the pictures, putting them back into order. Mick St. John. Ten years old, playing ball with his brother on the front lawn of the Victorian where she’d first seen him. Thirteen, in the back row of the church choir, caught whispering to a friend when he was supposed to be singing. Seventeen, at the school prom, dancing with a pretty girl but with his smoldering gaze on another boy’s date. Twenty-two, in a field hospital in Italy, dazed and shocked with the news that the rest of his patrol had not survived. Twenty-three, home from war at last, locked in a passionate embrace with his best friend’s wife. Twenty-seven, standing on the Santa Monica pier with his sister at his side, watching the sun set beyond the waves.

Coraline glanced at her camera, thinking of the pictures she’d just taken. Mick at thirty, playing guitar with his band, passionate about music but unhappy with his life, ready for something new, something different, something he couldn’t name.

It was time.

Thea said, “You’ve known this man since he was a child?”

“I’ve never met him.”

Thea looked back at the photographs. “These are your work.”

“So they are.” Coraline ran a hand through her hair. “I watched him. From a distance.”

“Why?”

“To keep him safe.” Or as safe as she could make him; it had been nearly impossible during the war. She looked down at the photograph from the field hospital. She’d known instantly when Mick had been wounded, but it had taken her hours to find that ravaged meadow by the pond. In the blood-soaked grass – Mick’s blood - she’d breathed in the recent violent past. Explosions, smoke and flames, men running and dying, Mick in the open, oh why was he trying to save others in the heat of battle? The white blast of an incoming shell, Mick falling into the grass, his body lying so crumpled, so still; her own voice echoing, crying his name. And suddenly she’d been deeper in the past, centuries deeper; she was running up the green hill to the burning farmhouse, fighting the mob that barred her path, screaming Alain, Minette into the roiling smoke, screaming until there was no sound left in her.

She’d come back to herself face down in the meadow, her throat raw and her voice gone, Mick’s blood on her face, his name on her lips.

“To keep him safe,” Thea repeated.

“Yes.”

Another hour had passed before she’d found him, an hour of terror and unvoiced screams. But she’d reached him in time. This time, she hadn’t been too late.

It had been so strange, that week at the hospital, wearing the uniform and doing the duties of a nurse. Staying at Mick’s side, watching him, not knowing if he would survive. Touching him for the first time, her hand so cold against his warm face. Ready to intervene if he should die. She’d had no way to save her husband or daughter from the fire, but she held power over death now, and whatever happened, she would not lose Mick too.

When he finally woke she slipped away, never letting him see her, because it was not yet time.

“So that he could live to be here today,” Thea said. “Because – why?”

“I have my reasons.”

“You want him for a lover,” Thea said.

Coraline hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

“But it’s more than that. A husband?”

“Yes.”

“And more.” Thea looked shocked. “You cannot mean to turn him.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“What kind of vampire would he make? He is ordinary.”

Coraline was outraged. “He is not.”

Thea gestured at the pictures, at the prosaic day-to-day life of a human laid out before her, and raised a brow. “He seems ordinary to me.”

“You can’t feel it?” Coraline was surprised enough to let go of her anger. “That passion, that fire within him?”

“Passion?” Thea looked blank.

Why couldn’t Thea sense it? A moment of confusion, in Coraline’s mind, but in her next breath she knew the answer. Because I have a connection with Mick, something marvelous and rare, and she does not.

“You can’t feel it,” she whispered. “Only I can.”

“You imagine things.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Coraline, any passion he has is only for mortal things. And he’s far more of an innocent than a predator.”

“But he’s both. Even you see that.”

“But, Coraline. . .” Thea floundered, trying to come up with another argument. Finally she said, in a rush, “He dresses badly.”

At that, Coraline had to hide a smile. It was true, tonight’s Hawaiian shirt was dreadful – red, with flowers - and the man’s usual wardrobe was not much better. She rather liked the red shirt, though. Not that she’d ever admit it to Thea. “I’m sure I can teach him to be fashionable,” she said, keeping her expression solemn.

“But he’s American,” Thea said despairingly. This was the worst insult she could muster, and it sounded so pitiful that Coraline couldn’t help herself; she put a hand to her mouth and then broke down and laughed. After a moment Thea rolled her eyes and laughed too, and Coraline felt their old friendship slide back into place as the tension between them dissolved. Thea pushed the photographs aside, got up, and embraced her. Then Thea’s laughter turned to tears, and she took Coraline by the arms, staring at her intently.

“My dear. Take him for a lover. Take him for a husband, if you must, for a decade or two. But don’t turn him. He is not meant for it.”

Coraline stiffened and pulled away. “You don’t know that. You don’t know him at all.”

“Neither do you.”

“I do. You don’t understand.”

Thea sighed and sat back down, glancing at the disarranged pictures. She put up her hand to wipe tears off her face. “You’ve never met, but you think you know him? No. I don’t understand. And I don’t want you to be hurt.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Think, Coraline. Your family.”

“What of them?”

“Your bloodline is not like others. You know that. They will not approve.”

Coraline shrugged. “They don’t come here. Why would they find out?”

“You know them better than that.”

Oh, she did. But why should they care? They disapproved of her presence in America, but did nothing about it; perhaps they wouldn’t like it if she turned this man, but what of it?

“Promise me you’ll keep that in mind,” Thea said.

“I will.” She would, though her family did not really concern her. Thea’s tears were another matter, because Thea never wept. Don’t turn him. He is not meant for it. The words seemed almost prophetic, and Coraline shivered, remembering rumors she’d heard, rumors of turnings that had failed. What if it doesn’t work? What if it kills him?

But Mick was at the peak of his life now; he would never be brighter or more beautiful. How could she possibly stand by, doing nothing, while he grew old?

She felt shaken, suddenly unsure of what she should do. She had planned this so carefully, and now. . . well. She didn’t need to make the decision this moment. First she had to attract him, seduce him, make him fall in love with her. She’d done this dance so many times, with so many men, she could do it in her sleep - but it would still take time.

She left Thea behind and went out by the pool, smoothly joining the party. But suddenly fear washed over her. This was not like all the times before; this was important, it mattered more than anything else in her life. She felt her heart racing, her breath coming fast and shallow. How long had it been since she’d been so frightened? How could she steady herself, and fight the fear back?

Face another fear.

Coraline knew, now, why fire frightened her so deeply. Her bloodline might mean that it couldn’t harm her, but the terror was part of her soul. She tried to pretend otherwise, with torches and fireworks at her parties, but she’d never been able to bring herself to come anywhere near them.

A few sparklers rested on a bench by the pool. Coraline took a deep breath, strode to the bench, and picked one up. She walked with it to the nearest torch, intent, barely hearing Thea’s shocked gasp from the house. She lit the sparkler from the torch and carried it over her shoulder, twirling it casually, letting nothing of her terror show on her face. Only Thea would know what this cost her. But if she could face fire, she knew she could face Mick.

As she walked toward him, her sense of him grew overwhelmingly strong, and she felt herself falter. Behind him she saw, for an instant, the lost house on the green hill. The sparkler at her shoulder blazed like an inferno. She could see the pulse at Mick’s throat, the steady beat of his human blood. Mortality. Her own mortal past shimmered before her. The house on the hill, the red shawl and the child, a sweet innocent life lost forever. The brothel in Versailles, chains, searing pain on her shoulder, shame and anger and revenge. Swearing to never be powerless again. Blackmailing a nobleman for a place at court, ruthlessly rising as far as a woman could dream. Living fine and proud, with jewels and riches, taking any man she chose. Dying from a chance illness, a senseless death that infuriated her, when out of the shadows she heard a voice, so light and amused, so dark and horrifying, asking her if she might wish to live forever. Yes, oh yes, save me please, I want to live!

Of course Mick would want it too. He would want to live forever. How could he not? He was mortal. He was dying now as surely as she had been, if more slowly, and there was only one way to free him from that fate. The decision was easy after all - there was no doubt in her mind. She would turn him; she would save him. It would be her wedding gift.

Thirty years old. He’s been living in a nightmare, war and its aftermath, and he’s only just begun to recover. The long-ago affair with Lilah is still a raw and open wound; she’s the only woman he has ever truly loved, but her memory brings him nothing but guilt and pain. He’s spent years believing that he’ll never know love again. But watching me now, he feels more than just desire, and he wonders if I could be the one to heal him. Some part of him knows that I don’t live in his world, but in spite of that, and because of that, he is drawn to me.

He sees me, my red dress swaying like a banner of seduction, my hair as dark as the night, and he wants me; he wants to know what it’s like to step off the edge of his world, into my world, into my arms. I know he’ll come to love me.

Because he still can’t take his eyes off me.

Walking away, she glanced over her shoulder, not even noticing the sparkler she still carried. It was only a dim fire, compared to the one that was building in her heart. Mick was watching her. She met his gaze, and gave him a dazzling smile.

























for my video featuring more of Coraline's photography (and more of some of this story's themes) just follow this link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xw9Tn-oerIY








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Last edited by Shadow on Sat Jul 21, 2012 12:44 pm, edited 5 times in total.
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby wollstonecraft61 » Sat Apr 18, 2009 7:32 am

Oh, Shadow, you paint a sympathetic and believable picture of Coraline. I am almost anticipating with her the ensnarement of her Mick. I love how you explained something that I didn't notice when watching the series: She carried flame in the form of a sparkler. Clever girl, you! This is such a rich dénouement of Coraline's attraction through the years of Mick, from adolescence to adulthood. :clapping:
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby francis » Sat Apr 18, 2009 8:27 am

This one is a keeper, Shadow. This is so rich, so full of life. Coraline and "Thea" are sympathetic, yet there is an edge to their friendship, a foreboding of bad times. Coraline risks something with Mick because eternity isn't meant to be spent alone, and her memories of being human are driving her. I never realized that it would be highly unusual for a vampire to use a sparkler, and you tied it with her wishes and desires and fears. This is great. And Mick doesn't suspect any of this, doesn't see the deep connection yet, and will be repulsed by her soon. She understood him so well, but there was an error of judgement somewhere along the way, by taking the choice from him she spoilt it for both of them.
But you explain wonderfully what drew them towards each other and why he still couldn't let her go even after so many years. Lovely.
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby coco » Sat Apr 18, 2009 10:26 am

Shadow that was incredible. What a wonderful insight into Coraline. She is so sympathetic here. Her memories of her past human life driving her forward in her decisions as a vampire. She wants to feel "alive" and she wants that with Mick.

This was beautifully done and I know I'll be back for many a re-read on this one :biggrin:
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby wpgrace » Sat Apr 18, 2009 11:28 am

Wow! This is just awesome!

I just LOVE the parallel that she felt connected to Baby Mick and "stalked" him, protected him, the same way he would later connect to and haunt and protect Baby Beth... and for the same reason, to feel humanity, to find connection, to seek love and purpose.

I love how you weave the theme of fire in and out of her life... because we know what will come.

I love how she lost a child... which would make children a difficult issue for her...

I love how Cynthia, Thea, is a part of this already and has her doubts about Mick as a vamp... LA is ordinary and uncultured to her; she thinks Mick is ordinary and uncultured. That was Cora's gift... she alone SAW that he wasn't ordinary. (And after a bad start, he turned out to be quite the vamp, didn't he?)

Love how you have her always wearing red. He's in red. Red is definitely their color.

I love how she photographs him now, as she will again after he kills her... in fact she continues to "stalk" him after her "death" by fire... you have really woven all the strands of her life together in this piece. It is truly awesome, Shadow.
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby jenstc2003 » Sat Apr 18, 2009 12:49 pm

Absolutely wonderful Shadow!! You have a keen eye for the Dark One! She's such an enigma, and for her to have done something like this is totally NOT out of the realm of possibility. You paint her as sympathetically as anyone I've read- bravo!
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby Shadow » Sun Apr 19, 2009 4:42 am

My first try with Coraline so it is sure good to hear that she came across for you - I love that her character is such an enigma, but for me that made her incredibly hard to write. I always wondered about a vamp with a sparkler - though it might just be her way of living on the edge, it was fun to explore other possibilities. Thanks for commenting on that, wollstonecraft & francis - guess it must have worked! coco & Jen, so glad you could sympathize with her here. I was hoping to make her sympathetic but still Coraline. Wow Grace, I think you pointed out every little parallel I was playing with, plus one or two I hadn't even thought of - very cool! Thanks so much everyone.
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby NocturneInCMoll » Sun Apr 19, 2009 5:35 am

Wow--I loved this look into Coraline. Very interesting, the parallels between Beth and Mick. Though I'm not sure how I feel about Cynthia/Thea having the mentor (Josef?) role in this--the impression I got from the TV show, at least, was that Coraline was the alpha in that relationship. Anyway, other than that, I found it intriguing. Coraline was so vulnerable here. What went so wrong (Mick rejecting her "gift," I suppose). Anyway, great one-shot.
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby redwinter101 » Sun Apr 19, 2009 1:01 pm

This is just amazing, Shadow. So original and inventive - and as always with your stories, a fabulous weaving of past and present that creates a sense of timelessness, of meant to be. Mick and Coraline were meant to be. And just as they were meant to be together, they were meant to change each other, forge new personalities and experiences, in fire, in passion, in hope and ultimately, in despair.

This really is a stunning story.

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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby AussieJo » Mon Apr 20, 2009 7:09 am

Absolutely brilliant.
Insightful and something that fits into their history perfectly.
This is definitely a Keeper!
Thank you my dear, it was a pleasure to read.
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby Shadow » Mon Apr 20, 2009 11:14 am

How interesting, Julie, what you thought about the Cynthia/Coraline friendship - I just didn't get enough from the show to have any idea what it might really be. Wish we could have seen them together sometime.
I'm glad you still enjoyed the story! It was quite fun putting in those parallels with Beth.

Red and AussieJo, thank you so, so much for the wonderful comments. I didn't know if I could write Coraline or not, and nearly gave up a few times, so it is incredibly good to know that this worked so well for you.
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby NocturneInCMoll » Mon Apr 20, 2009 3:40 pm

Shadow wrote:How interesting, Julie, what you thought about the Cynthia/Coraline friendship - I just didn't get enough from the show to have any idea what it might really be. Wish we could have seen them together sometime.

Well, for one thing, Coraline tends to have a domineering personality ;), but I'm mostly thinking of the scene that showed Cynthia was a servant serving Coraline and her brothers, and something Mick I think said, or thought in a voiceover, about Cynthia not being able to be away from Coraline long, or hating America, so if she was in America it meant Coraline was also in America, or something like that. I can't remember which it was, or maybe it was both. It's been a while since I watched the Mortal Cure. Anyway, that's what led me to the impression I had of their relationship.

But yes, I still liked the story. :)
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby mitzie » Tue Apr 21, 2009 7:15 am

This is a stunning piece of artistry!! Just like Mick "stalked" Beth for many years, Coraline does stalk Mick with a totally different perspective(warped) and totally different outcome. Love this story and all it implies!!!! :yahoo: :clapping: :clapping: :clapping: :hyper: :hyper: :hyper: :hyper: :gasp: :Mickangel: :juggle: :clapping: :clapping: :thud: :thud: :notworthy: :hearts:

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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby Shadow » Wed Apr 22, 2009 8:43 am

Julie, believe it or not I never recognized Cynthia in the flashback scene. :slaphead:
With that in mind I expect your impression of their friendship is quite right - though I'll have to count on it still being ill-defined enough for this "what-if" to slip through!
I am so glad you mentioned that scene. Wonderful to see something I never noticed before.

Mitzie, I'm glad you liked this story so much - thank you!
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Re: Night Moth (PG)

Postby FarCry » Thu May 14, 2009 6:03 pm

Wow, Shadow -- there's not much more I can add to the wonderful comments here; they said just about all I was thinking and then some! I do love how you provide answers in your stories to the big questions, like "Why did Coraline pick Mick?" Here they have a connection from early on, and she is drawn to him like a...well, like a moth to a light! You're so good at the parallels and the foreshadowing -- stalking, fire, wearing red. I don't think I had ever really thought much about the sparkler either, except how pretty it looked. I suppose that would be quite a risk for a vampire, since it's hard to hold a sparkler without getting hit by a spark or two from it.

Coraline saw something in Mick, and in a way she was right about him -- he had the potential and was ready for something new, but Thea was right too -- he wasn't meant for it. Which is why Mick St. John is such a fascinating character!

I still can't see Cynthia in the flashback scene. I'll keep looking though...

What a beautifully written story this was -- you definitely would have had a chance at winning that contest! :thumbs:
Strange days have found us...And through their strange hours, we linger alone...
Bodies confused, memories misused...As we run from the day to a strange night of stone.

-- The Doors
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