I gripped the oars tighter as I rowed towards the caves. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the dark water as my oars brushed against the surface. I glanced up at the moon, shining bright like cold fire in the midnight sky, and the thousands of millions of stars twinkling in constellations beside it. I glanced back towards the far-away shore. The lanterns of the village had been extinguished hours before now. Our people were early risers; I was one of the strange ones that liked the night more than the day. I closed my eyes and breathed in the cool, salty air, thinking of the moon children. Grandmother didn’t believe in the moon children-- those born from the stars and who have eternal life. But my childhood friends did, and they had their own stories to tell; tales that their parents passed along, or rumors they’d picked up about the fabled people who lived forever. I never understood why, but when I tried to ask Grandmother about them, I received a sharp “We don’t talk about silly things in this house!” and was told to go to bed. I never hated my grandmother, I thought, letting my hands graze the water. She raised me from the time I was six months old, out of the kindness of her heart, and fed me and put a roof over my head. Still, growing up as a trouble-making only child with not much going for me, I’d always felt a little lost. Grandmother seemed to take that the wrong way. She believed I never appreciated all she’d done for me, the little orphan girl. In her eyes, I was always trying to break free from the safe, sheltered life she gave me and that I’d taken for granted-- and she hated me for it. Still, I got a lot of sympathy growing up as an orphan. It seemed that everyone from the vast ends of the island knew my father had abandoned us long ago, my mother had drowned in a horrible storm, and I was the poor baby left behind. To this day I have no explanation as to why she was out that night. I’ve gathered vague bits and pieces from village gossips (“She needed to get away” or “she was having one of those days”), but I don’t think any of them really knew. Grandmother wouldn’t tell me either. Whenever I asked, I only ever got one answer: “Your mother drowned. Your father left. Now come help me with this...” I opened my eyes and stared up at the moon again, full and white. I’d never really thought about it, but it was then that I realized the moon had phases, passing through one life to the next without ever stopping. As if it were always struggling, always looking for something, never quite sure of itself. Like someone I knew. I picked up my oars and rowed further towards the caves-- toward answers, I told myself, hope; my destiny. Still, I felt like I was missing something. Something that told me this was a terrible idea from the beginning. That I should’ve listened to grandmother, and shouldn’t have broken out of the room she locked me in so I wouldn’t come here tonight. I reached the mouth of the cave and paused. Any farther and I’d be inside. I took a deep breath and rowed on. At first, there was nothing. The cave was cold and dark, and I suddenly wondered if I’d come to the wrong place. I grabbed with the cloth bag I’d stolen from Grandmother and pulled out the carved piece of stone I’d brought with me; On her sixteenth birthday Midnight The caves to the west Tell no one Bring moon child I’d been unsure about the moon children before, but when I found this stone locked away tight in grandmother’s cellar, I knew they were real. I knew in my heart the stone was from Mother-- and Grandmother had no intention of ever giving it to me. And I knew I was a moon child. And I was angry. I rowed further, faster into the darkness. This couldn’t be the end. I was this close to finding myself… this close to finally solving my mother’s death... this close to getting the answers I’d always wanted… I rowed faster, faster, the cave growing darker by the second, my heart beating quicker, my mind setting to panic-- I stopped and slowly looked up. I had rowed myself into a grotto. In my panic I hadn’t realized, but the black water had turned to a deep lapis blue beneath the boat. An arched ceiling stretched miles above me, plastered in glowing stones of pink and turquoise and green, while twisting vines of emerald and gold grew like thousands of hands between the cracks in the rocks. A shore of sparkling sand stretched out in front of me, as the small glowing bodies of fireflies flickered and danced through the air in a parade of light and shadow. I froze, nearly dropping my mother’s stone into the deep. “What is this place?” I whispered aloud. A breathy voice whispered back. “Everything you could ever imagine.” “WHO’S THERE!” I shouted suddenly, nearly toppling the boat over. I hastily rowed to shore and stumbled onto the dim beach. “I- I demand to see...” I was at a loss for words, embarrassed. I spun around, my heart skipping a beat-- “I’m sorry I have to do this to you.” I slowly turned. A woman stood just a few feet away, a ruby red dagger in her shaking hands. Her brown eyes, shining like stars, were wide with fear. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “It’s the only way we’ll know.” “M-Mother?” I asked-- “K-know what…” I screamed, and the last thing I remember were my mother’s terrified eyes, the mother of a girl who she prayed was a moon child, as she plunged the dagger deep into her daughter’s heart.