The Moth and the Candle

Ryan Hill

Chemistry Major—2nd Year

“Alright—is there anything else you need before I head to the market?” Luna asked. “So, we’re really not gonna talk about this?” Samuel rolled over onto his side, glaring at her. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Luna said. “We need the money to get you some better medicine. The dowry will more than pay for that.” She reached over Samuel to tie the faded curtains shut. “If you’re going to make that buffoon my brother-in-law, do me a favor and smother me with a pillow first,” Samuel said. “That isn’t even remotely funny.” Luna dipped a rag into a water bucket, wrung it out, and put it on Samuel’s forehead after forcing her brother to lie on his back. “So, you’re telling me you actually love this guy,” Samuel said. “Sam—” “Tell me you find him mildly amusing, at the very least.” Luna didn’t answer, and Samuel sighed. “That’s what I thought.” “It’s just the way things are, Sam,” Luna said. “I have to go. I’ll see you soon.” “Luna, there’s no point for y—” The straw mattress crunched and crackled as Samuel convulsed in a violent coughing fit. Luna rushed back to him, kneeling down and adjusting his pillow. He pulled the handkerchief away from his mouth slowly; it was covered in red flecks. Luna took it from him and put a fresh one in his hand. “I have been fighting this for almost two years,” Samuel said, grabbing Luna’s wrist as she tried to stand up again. His hands were clammy; skin stretched tight across bone with little in between. “Nothing we’ve tried has made it better. Now I know that our parents forgot they had a daughter and decided they had a maidservant the second I got sick, but I’ve still got a sister that deserves a shot at being happy. Especially when I don’t have that shot.” Luna pulled out of his weak grasp, adjusting her bonnet around her head. “I will see you after I get more medicine,” she said, turning around. “I know you’ve been sneaking off to meet someone,” Samuel said. Luna stopped in her tracks, turning back to him. He closed his eyes and pulled the thin sheets a little closer around his shoulders. “I could easily make that trip in one day whenever I went,” he said. “I’m slower than you are.” “That’s a lie, and we both know it.” Samuel took a few breaths, the conversation wearing him out. “You’re staying overnight with someone, and you’re doing it on purpose.” Luna remained silent, glancing between the door and Samuel. No one else was in the house to hear them, at least. “Maybe this time, when you go on your trip… you should just not come back,” Samuel said. “I can’t leave out of the blue, Sam,” Luna said. “No, no, of course not. But you never know, it’s dangerous out there. You could get kidnapped by bandits or eaten by wolves and never come home. Then mom and dad would be forced to actually do something themselves for once. Wouldn’t that be funny?” More silence; nothing but a cold late-autumn breeze leaking through the curtains. “I love you, sister.” “I love you, too. I’ll see you when I get home.” … “My mother’s going to kill me,” Luna said.

“Keep your bonnet on, and I am certain they will not notice,” Emmera said, the metronomic snip of her scissors a quiet contrast to the roaring of the hearth. “Besides, I have heard you complain more than once that your hair always seems to get tangled on everything and that you hate how it feels on your ears. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.” Luna said nothing, silently berating herself for being spooked by an owl and getting her hair so tangled in a bramble that she’d been forced to cut it out. Samuel had been right—Luna had been making a detour on her market trips for some time now. It must have been well over a year since she first stumbled upon the forest trail, overgrown from years without use. The lone manor at the trail’s end was surrounded by wet ash and the blackened bones of buildings; her first thought upon seeing it was plague town. What drew her there in the first place, even Luna didn’t know. The scissors eventually stopped, done with their work, and Luna instead felt Emmera’s fingers in her raven curls, pulling them to one side. “...Can you keep a secret, Luna?” Emmera asked. Her voice was soft, but in a different way than normal—a whisper rather than her usual melodious lullaby. It struck Luna for a moment, reminding her that her host was indeed a person and not some unearthly, phantom angel. That had been Luna’s first impression of Emmera—that she was an angel. The fear she was a ghost or, even worse—a witch—had stuck with her as well, though her worries about such things always lost to the inexorable pull of her curiosity. The feeling of dumbstruck awe and wonder she’d experienced upon seeing her for the first time—porcelain skin draped in layers of white silk and lace, loose silver-blonde waves of hair falling down to the middle of her back, the only color provided by the contemplative blue of her eyes—had never really left her. Even now, Emmera’s fingers sliding through her hair sent a not- unpleasant shiver down Luna’s spine.

“Yes, I can keep a secret,” Luna said, pulling herself from her thoughts. She was met by silence as she often was, the air filled with nothing but the crackling of the hearth. It granted the faded carpet an amber hue as if a patch of the floor had been set alight. Emmera stopped her grooming, and Luna turned to look at her. “...Have you ever heard of the luna moth?” Emmera asked, choosing not to elaborate on the question she asked. “In passing?” Luna answered. “I remember a neighbor saying he saw one last spring.” Emmera held up her hand and in it, inexplicably, sat a moth; wings of soft jade rimmed in mahogany that swept into a swallowtail shape at the base. It fluttered a little, hopping off Emmera’s palm and landing on the back of Luna’s hand, almost fluorescent against the coppery hue of her skin. “Beautiful creature, is it not?” Emmera said. “So many beautiful things are named after the moon.” Luna’s reply lodged itself in her throat as she felt heat rushing up to her face. Perhaps she should have been wondering where the moth had come from—it was late November; everything was already long dead in Goffshire—but it was hard to concentrate over the sound of her own pulse. Suddenly the blaze in the hearth seemed much warmer. Luna could sense rather than see the faint smile on Emmera’s lips as she walked over to the mantle and opened a small box. “I have something for you,” she said, walking behind Luna once again with something tucked away in her palms. “A thank you for keeping me company all these months. It does get ever so lonely out here.” “You don’t have to thank me,” Luna said. “It’s my pleasure, really.” She looked down at her hand, tracing satin flowers with her finger across the arm of the love seat.

“I insist,” Emmera said, wrapping something around Luna’s neck from behind. “It is useless sitting and collecting dust, anyway. It should be worn by someone beautiful. Now come, this way.” The moth fluttered off of Luna’s hand as Emmera reached down to grab it, dragging her down the hall to a room with a candelabra in her other hand. The room was filled with old, cloth-covered furniture; Emmera uncovered a body-sized mirror, pushed Luna in front of it, and stood at an angle behind her to admire her work. Luna’s hair was all brushed to the right side, stopping just above her ear. She wore a green silk vest and trousers upon Emmera’s insistence since Luna had mentioned she found such dress more practical and comfortable. Around her neck was a black silk choker, studded with diamonds resembling stars and a set of large emeralds arranged to look like the wings of a luna moth. “Exquisite,” Emmera said, smiling. A laugh escaped Luna’s lips, and she covered her mouth before turning away from the mirror, shaking her head. “Is something wrong?” “No. No, nothing,” Luna said. She pretended to look back at her reflection, instead studying the intricately sculpted brass framing it. “Just imagining what my family would say.” “And what would they say?” “I’m sure my brother would get a kick out of it,” Luna said, smiling a bit. “My mother would probably scream.” “You don’t speak of them very often. Your family,” Emmera said. “I suppose I’m with them most of the time, so when I’m here, it’s… a sort of break from them,” Luna said. With only the candlelight to illuminate the room, Luna’s reflection was almost stage-lit, the green wallpaper fading into the blackness of the room behind her. The girl in the mirror looked more like ‘Luna’ than Luna herself had ever felt. “In the end, I always go back to them, though.” “How lucky they are then,” Emmera said. Luna froze as Emmera stepped forward and interlaced her fingers with Luna’s. Her skin was cool, smooth; Luna’s pulse quickened. They stood together in the dim light, the brass framing their reflection like some royal portrait steeped in chiaroscuro. Emmera was wearing something different than usual today; Luna noticed—a necklace holding a large fire opal in the shape of a teardrop. It sparkled like its own little candle, or chips of ruby, sapphire, and emerald set in amber. Now that she’d noticed it, Luna could hardly look away. “Your brother—you mentioned he was ill, did you not?” Emmera asked. Luna nodded, closing her eyes. “He has consumption.” “...Come and dance with me,” Emmera said, once again not elaborating on the point of the previous question. Luna turned to look at her. “...What?” “You will see,” Emmera said, leading Luna back to the main room. “You carry too much on your shoulders, Luna—come, be a fool with me for a few minutes! Live as you are, right now, at this moment.” Luna shook her head and laughed to herself, abandoning reason. It was awkward at first, both of them out of rhythm with each other and laughing together at the ridiculousness of it all. Gradually, though, it morphed into something more natural, a waltz with no music other than the crackling of the hearth and the chill wind dancing with the walls of the house. They paraded across the carpet, between cedar chairs and coffee tables, past the glass windows where the moonlight and firelight mingled together into a gold-and-silver haze. Emmera spun out from Luna at arm’s length, holding on only by her fingertips, her dress fanning out gracefully. And as she did so, dozens of pure white moths that Luna had always assumed were bows or other decorations built into the pattern of Emmera’s white dress scattered into the air around her. They flitted around in circles, the dim mist of ambient light granting them a fairy- like glow. Luna let Emmera’s fingers slip from her grasp, wonderstruck, as the moths all fluttered back onto her dress as if they’d never moved at all. “I am a Beloved,” Emmera said, folding her hands in front of herself and looking into Luna’s eyes. “Insects, spiders—they are all drawn to me, and they do as I ask. Though I have always had a soft spot for moths.” “Are… you a witch?” Luna asked. It felt like a silly question the second it left her lips. Emmera wasn’t a witch. Emmera merely giggled, sitting on the windowsill and gazing out at the moon through the tall, narrow window. “I do not recall handing my soul to the Devil, little moth,” she said. “I was born this way—everyone always thought me strange, of course, but nothing really happened until the plague hit the town.” Luna sat on the back of the loveseat, still strangely at ease. The vision of Emmera in that dress, spinning in the firelight with the moths dancing around her as if she were some fey princess—it made her heart beat faster than Luna thought possible. She felt like she could trust Emmera implicitly. “It struck very quickly,” Emmera continued, fiddling with the folds of her dress. “You have seen the ashes of the homes they burned. Once the plague took its toll, those few who remained were desperate for someone to blame—for such evil could only have been brought by a witch, of course. And who better a witch than the quiet nobleman’s daughter that liked to play with bugs?”

Emmera laid her head against the glass, staring out into the remains of the dead town as if there was something there only she could see. “My father grabbed me to drag me out into the square. I was terrified, and then—a swarm of wasps flew in from a window. They stung him to death.” She turned to face Luna, something haunted dulling her eyes. Luna walked to her and took her hand. “I never meant for it to happen,” Emmera said. “I had no control. But whenever the villagers convinced themselves to break into the castle and take me, one would fall ill from a spider bite, or have their crops devoured by locusts, or have their home collapse by the work of termites. Eventually… they all left, be it by road or plague or misfortune. I have been alone here for many years now.” After walking to the hearth and retrieving something from the same box she had taken the necklace from, Emmera returned to stand in front of Luna. “Alone, except for you,” she smiled, “and one acquaintance. He was a traveling apothecary—a Beloved, like me. He taught me about myself and my gifts. I owe him much.” Emmera placed a cold glass vial filled with crimson into Luna’s hand. “He was beloved by blood; he used his gifts to heal the sick. This is a vial of his blood—he can sense where it is at all times. Simply touch your brother’s blood to this—a prick of the thumb will do—and my friend will purge the malaise that seems to have plagued your brother for so long. He may end up with a rather nasty nosebleed, but afterward… he will be well.” A beat of silence passed between them; then, Luna wrapped her arms around Emmera, hugging her tightly, tears pricking at her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “Your secret is safe with me, I promise. And I will keep you company every chance I have.” Emmera hugged her back gingerly. “I know you will,” she said, releasing a warm sigh. “It has been so hard to find someone I could trust with this. I am glad my search is over.”

Eventually, she pulled away. “You should leave now and get home before dawn. That way, you can administer the cure without being disturbed.” “You’re right,” Luna said, grabbing her cloak. “Thank you again. Really. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” “Just come back to me, little moth,” Emmera said, watching as she left. … Luna strode into the hovel draped in layers of heavy cloaks; she doubted anyone would be awake, considering it was the wee hours of the morning, but she didn’t want to take the risk of anyone seeing her before she got the chance to change. The embers of the fireplace sparked up and lit anew as she passed—probably from the gust of air that accompanied her. “Samuel,” she said, voice low. “Samuel, I have wonderful news! I found a way to make you better.” She rummaged around in a drawer for a pin, pulled out the vial, then grabbed her brother’s hand and pricked his thumb. He didn’t react. Samuel's hands had lost their usual feverish warmth. His fingers curled back, stiff, as soon as she let go of his hand. The air stood still for a moment; even the breeze outside paused to leave the room silent. The vial shattered on the ground as Luna’s hands flew forward, shaking Samuel’s shoulders, as she listened for breath that never came. She covered her mouth and staggered backward, hot tears running down her face and over her hand like little waterfalls; then, she slid down to the ground against the wall. The sheer uncanniness of the timing left her numb. If only she’d taken better care of him—if only Emmera had given her the blood sooner. Luna could almost hear Samuel calling her stupid for that line of thinking, though. She knew she’d done all she could, that it must have taken ages for Emmera to come to trust her with her secrets.

Was this why Samuel had chosen today to tell her she should leave? Did he know this was going to happen? There were too many possibilities, too many thoughts all jumbled together for any of them to make sense. In the end, though, one thing became very clear: there was nothing left for her here. Luna stood up, biting a finger to keep herself silent, and wiped her eyes with the tail of her cloak. Then she pulled the sheet across Samuel’s face in place of a funeral shroud, bid him a silent goodbye, and turned to leave. Her mother stood in the doorway with an oil lamp. They stared at each other in confusion, before Luna bolted past her mother and straight into her father. He grabbed her and held her still, bewildered. Her mother entered the room to check on Samuel, shaking him before looking around at the rest of the room—pricked thumb, broken glass, sewing pin. She turned to look at Luna, voice deathly soft. “What did you do?” “This wasn’t me,” Luna said, trying and failing to pull out of her father’s grip. Her mother asked the question again, screaming this time, and all Luna could do was to scream back that it wasn’t her. “It was you, it’s always been you!” her mother said, still shouting at the top of her lungs, the tears on her face more of rage than grief. “Murderer! Witch! Witch!” She threw the lamp with an inhuman scream, and the old clay shattered against Luna’s face. Luna shut her eyes at the impact and waited for the feeling of burning oil on skin as she stomped on her father’s foot, trying to make him release his death grip, and while the heat came, the burn never did. The hovel was filled with a livid roar, and Luna found herself free as her father stumbled away from her. She opened her eyes. An inferno clawed its way out of the remains of the oil lamp and ran up the walls, consuming the ceiling within seconds. Luna’s parents scrambled out of the way as the flames reached down and smashed furniture like an angry fist, as it filled the hearth with blazing white, as it hammered against the walls of the chimney until the stones blasted themselves apart. Luna ran into the woods, her adrenaline clearing every thought from her mind except fleeing. The flames ripped down the house, growling mournfully as they made Samuel a funeral pyre. … Luna, exhausted by her sprint, collapsed by an ancient-looking oak and took a few moments to catch her breath. She still smelled like lamp oil, but she was too spent to even begin to contemplate what had just happened. She pulled her cloak over her eyes to block out the grey dawn light peeking through the dead branches around her. “Luna?” Luna stood up from the mud, Emmera somehow in front of her. She wore her same outfit, albeit with a white fur shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “How—how are you here?” Luna said, rubbing her eyes. "I saw smoke,” Emmera said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Goffshire. “Are you alright? What happened?” Luna covered her mouth with her hand, her brain deciding between crying again and collapsing from exhaustion. Her eyes focused on the only bit of color in her autumn-dead surroundings: the fire opal necklace Emmera had only started wearing that night. It seemed to absorb the daylight and radiate it back as candlelight. “Did you know?” Luna asked. Emmera looked back at her, confused, before touching the necklace with her fingers. “I… had my suspicions, but I never really confirmed them,” she said. Luna nodded, too tired to press.

“Why are you—that is, what—” Emmera sighed, unable to find the words she was looking for. Then she frowned, looking back towards the town. “Do you hear that?” “Hear what?” Luna closed her eyes, listening. “Dogs? Why—” She stopped, thinking, before feeling a chill run across her skin. “Our neighbor got his dogs to track me. We have to go, now!” She grabbed Emmera’s hand, pulling her along. The barks grew louder, accompanied by a handful of voices. Luna tried to pick up the pace, but she was spent, and Emmera’s dress was not made for running. She looked back and saw the light of a handful of torches closing on them. “Do you have your wasps with you? Something that can scare them off?” Luna asked, adrenaline returning to give her one last burst of vigor. “I only kept a few spiders with me. It is too cold out here for most of them, they all stay in the manor during the winter months,” Emmera said. Someone shouted, spotting them, and the villagers ran towards them. “Just run,” Luna said, grabbing a heavy branch from the ground and holding it like a club. “They aren’t looking for you.” “Absolutely not,” Emmera said, trying to drag Luna with her. Luna shoved her away, charging forward with all the reckless might she could muster and clocking her neighbor in the head with the branch. His two dogs leaped at her, tearing into her cloak, and his torch hit the ground. The dead grass blazed to life despite the cloying moisture in the air. The flames leapt onto the neighbor, coiling around him like a snake, slithering under his clothes as he screamed and tried to pat them out. Then the fire ran up a nearby tree and leapt between branches, setting a dozen trees alight within the span of a few seconds. The villagers all looked around in shock—some ran; some tried to rush Luna only for the flames to reach down and swipe at them; the neighbor’s son ran up to his father to help him and was also entangled in the pyre.

The blaze roared, a vengeful beast, and clawed at the base of a tree trunk until it splintered. The tree twisted and fell into the villagers’ midst, making them scatter. The flames spread, claiming more and more of the forest, their howl intermingled with screams of pain and terror. “Stop! Stop it, don’t kill anyone!” Luna shouted, waving at the flames above her head. They ignored her, throwing another tree at the villagers to block their escape. Luna looked around, surrounded by fire in every direction. Emmera grabbed her wrist. “Stay calm,” she said. “I can’t, I don’t know what to—” “Shh. Focus. Deep breaths,” Emmera said. She put her hands on the sides of Luna’s face, holding her still. “Close your eyes and focus on the heat.” Luna did as she asked, the smoke stinging her lungs as she tried to calm herself. “Now—feel the fire out there. It is yours, it will listen to you. Steady breaths. Calm emotions.” Luna grabbed Emmera’s wrists to ground herself, focusing on the feeling of her skin and how her fingers tangled loosely in Luna’s hair on the right side. The panic slowly faded as she let Emmera’s presence engulf her. Somehow, here in the middle of all this death and terror and grief, Emmera still gave her a breath of comfort and safety. The flames around them died down to a smolder. Luna opened her eyes in time to see the villagers fleeing, dragging their injured with them, all thoughts of continuing to pursue the witch-girl abandoned. Her legs gave out, and she crumpled to her knees, hands sinking into mud to catch herself. Emmera knelt down beside her, and Luna turned to look at her. Emmera was smiling at her, but Luna could see her clutching her arm, covering a charred black patch on her dress. “I— I burned you,” she said, every emotion possible leaking from her eyes as her brain fought to stay conscious. This time, she’d truly given everything she had. Emmera chuckled a little, pulling her hand away. The skin on her arm was red and blistered, but it was only a small patch. A handful of spiders circled the hole in the fabric, weaving a new design across it with spider silk. “I will treasure it always, little moth,” Emmera said. “A reminder of the day my knight in shining armor so fiercely defended me.” She tilted Luna’s chin towards herself and placed a chaste kiss on her lips; Luna blinked, dumbstruck. Emmera stood and pulled Luna to her feet before lacing their fingers together once again. “Come, little moth. Let us get you home. You’ve earned a rest.”