Chapter Text
Martyn wasn’t a stupid man. He may be simple, and plain, and the youngest and least favored of his family, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew the streets were lit for reasons. That running around alone late at night was a death wish. He knew the forests beyond his quaint little village, far to the west, hid things even his imagination couldn’t conjure. Secrets lived there, stalking the shadows where the light of Woodherst didn’t reach. Just as stone turned to cobble to dirt, Martyn’s safety would end.
So he stayed in his town, as was expected of him. He wasn’t a noble by any means, but his family was well off. One of the better locals, who didn’t need to worry about where to find their meals. They had means of profit, even if it was unflattering as his. He bowed to people as directed, read off his script, and traded kind, heartless words. Woodhurst wasn’t the kind of place you went; it was the kind you were born into. If anyone were to leave, they’d be hapless. Those stupid enough to go to the capital were the first to return. Those who left the capital to be here were better off in the forest.
Martyn sat on his bed, which was not as clean as it once was. There was only so much he could do when the air itself smelled of burnt smoke and dirt. On better days, it was foggy; on worse, it was unbearable. Everything was dirty, and even fresh materials had stains. He’d stopped caring about cleanliness a long time ago.
It wasn’t too bad in Woodhurst. It housed some interesting people, but Martyn scarcely interacted with them. He was the most noble in blood if not name, and he carried that knowledge with a sense of pride. His hunger for power would lead him to great things, his father lied, so long as he kept on.
So keep on he did. Martyn held his head high even when no one saw. He buried away any insecurity until it was laughable. And he stayed inside Woodhurst’s walls.
He ignored the way the wind whispered, and how the fireflies glittered like stars on the forest floor. The path itself seemed to glow when the sun set, like an offering to those brave enough to take it. He’d heard stories about the people who went into the forest. The strange beasts that attacked things for fun, the beautiful fauna, a siran’s call. He’d spoken to one other person about the desire. The way nature itself seemed to want him. Sausage had only nodded and scribbled something down before coming back the next day for more details.
The morning after, Sausage’s paper detailed everything Martyn had said, but twisted it to make him sound insane. And he wasn’t. Which is why he stayed inside.
Even as avians soar above, blocking out the moon, looking suspiciously similar to avians that disappeared not long ago. Even as the moon turned blood red, a small whisper urged Martyn to follow as it rose, but Martyn sat still.
Unmoving.
Something downstairs shattered. Martyn didn’t stir.
“Mr. Oakhurst?”
The name was so similar, but so off. Woodhurst. Oakhurst. What happened between the two sects that made them separate? Why hadn’t Father ever said anything about it? Surely it would be something to bring up. Father was the type for revenge. He would’ve wanted any Woodhurst survivors to be brought to him and work as his servants.
“Sir?”
Nothing made sense. He’d searched every library available. Imported anything he thought could help him find what he needed, and he still had nothing. No amount of research had given him anything.
Maybe he’d find those answers out there.
“Martyn?”
He doubted any mythical creature knew his family, but they could help with his other questions. That's what the moon wanted. That’s what he-
“Martyn!”
Martyn blinked, pulled away from the moon’s pull, both physically and mentally. His vision blurred with the action, like a string after snapping. It took a moment to adjust before Martyn felt steady on his legs. The air in his lungs felt chalky and sour, unlike the clean breeze from before.
“Damn you, Sausage! I was relaxing!” Martyn hissed, wincing as his weight was pushed onto his bad ankle. “Can’t you do something other than bothering me during the night?”
Sausage tilted his head. “But this is productive! I need to know more about your attachment for the papers!”
Martyn sighed, looking back towards his window. It was open, though he couldn’t remember opening it. In fact, he had vivid memories of locking the window. The moon’s normal grey was covered by a dusty red. The clouds were as black as the sky, and the forest was covered in a blanket of red and black shadows. “Find something else to write about. I don’t need the town creating more rumors about me.”
“They’re not rumors, they’re just…” Sausage paused, “Plausible explanations!”
“Rumors.” Martyn scoffed. “Go write about Scott. He’s been out and about at night. Maybe he’s drawn to the moon.”
Sausage made a noise of agreement, high and excited. “I should interview him next! Do you have a connection with him? Friendship, anger, anything different that started when you got attached to the moon? Anything different during the night?”
“Bug off,” Martyn hissed. “I’m not in the mood.”
Sausage’s papers were either a hit or miss with the people, but it was no secret that the paranormal aspects tended to do better. Ever since talk of vampires started going around town, Sausage took it upon himself to go further the whispers and spread miscommunication. There was no evidence of anything, but the town of Oakhurst didn’t seem to care.
“But you’re never in the mood!” Sausage whined. “Just five minutes? Then I’ll leave you alone for a week.”
Martyn narrowed his eyes. “How ‘bout never?” He countered.
Sausage hummed in consideration. “Two weeks!”
“A month.”
“Done!” Sausage flopped onto Martyn’s bed. It creeked under the weight, but it hadn’t broken yet. The short man opened his notebook and pulled a pen from his pocket. He looked up at Martyn expectantly, like a dog watching his bowl being filled with food. “What first?”
Martyn sighed deeply. “Don’t you have a plan?”
“Yes!” Sausage straightened. “When did everything start?”
“About two weeks ago.” Martyn shrugged. “Well, my whole life, I guess, but Pappa never let any of us outside after the moon rose, so I guess it started after he left. It got bad two weeks ago.”
Sausage wrote something Martyn wasn’t sure would be eligible in the morning, then looked up again. “And does it get worse on the Bloodmoon?”
“Not necessarily,” Martyn sat on the windowsill. “It just intensifies it, I suppose.”
“Good,” Sausage muttered, “Well, not good, but good writing.”
“I’m sure,” Martyn deadpanned.
“Ok, next question,” Sausage pointed a pen at him. “Anything like this during the day?”
“Oh, sure! Ever since I got here, all I’ve wanted to do is go into the woods.” He glanced sideways again, at the forest that whispered to him. “I’m not sure why, though.”
“And do you have any stronger emotions toward people?” Sausage went on. “Anger, protectiveness, hate, love, fear, lust-”
“Stop, stop!” Martyn waved his hands. “No! No, there’s no- nothing like that! What are you on about?”
Sausage shrugged dumbly. “Oh, no reason. I’m just so curious.” He laughed– actually LAUGHED– before flipping a page. “Is there anyone in your-”
“No, we’re done.” Martyn stood from his seat, straightening the way Pappa had taught him. “Get out of my house.”
“Martyn! I have more-”
“No, get out!” Martyn’s voice rose, pushing down the wavering in his voice. “You went too far, now get out.”
“Ok!” Sausage scrambled off Martyn’s bed, bringing his comforter onto the floor with him. “Fine! Just be careful.”
Martyn paused again. “What?”
“Be careful,” Sausage repeated. “The night is full of dangerous things that-”
“I don’t want to hear this monster nonsense again!” Martyn hissed. “Get out!”
He watched the writer bolt out of the front door from his window, his face staying tense until his bed was remade and the moonlight filtered into his room. Sausage’s question littered his mind, stinging at things that were just there and so far away. People without faces flashed behind his eyes, their names on the tip of his tongue. His last question was too close and so far from the truth; Martyn didn’t want to understand. He glanced sideways again, frowning at this silhouette outside his window, half hidden behind a building. He couldn’t make out anything but the blue hair that the hood couldn’t hide.
“Do you have any stronger emotions toward people?”
The moon didn’t change anything about how he felt about his neighbors. Scott always made him slightly uneasy, regardless of the moon’s interference. He didn’t have answers; in fact, he had more questions. But it didn’t matter. Martyn didn’t need anything. It didn’t matter how Scott’s eyes would linger on him in a crowd, a mixture of something Martyn couldn’t make out on his face. It wasn’t purely positive or negative at any given moment, but a mix of both.
He sighed as he settled into bed, deciding to ignore Scott’s appearance for the ninth night in a row. The moon would look after him.
His dreams were filled with a snow-covered forest and a warmth in and beside him that he couldn’t figure out, but there was laughter and kindness between him and someone he couldn’t see. Martyn had a fur coat over his shoulders and a deer skin blanket over his lap. It was clearly homemade, and Martyn treasured it deeply. It was night in their forest, and the moon smiled down at them.
They smiled back.