Prologue
“The night was once empty and cold,
Darkness was all it could have known.
Because when the sun went away,
No one was left to laugh, sing, or play.
The night was left all alone.
It begged for a friend, anyone.
A wish made mourning its dear sun.
First came one, then two and then four.
And from there followed many, many more.
Until the night could not claim it saw none.
Twinkling lights came near and far.
They smiled and called themselves stars.
Then was the brightest, coming soon,
Big, bold, brilliant, called the moon.
They all appeared like it wasn’t that hard.
And so, as the stars sang, come play,
And the bright moon laughed, waxed and waned,
The night no longer cried for its sun.
For it had others whole with fun.
The night was full of friends, joy, and bliss.
All thanks to a wish.”
Six year old Jackson Nocturne rubs a tiny, pale fist against his sleepy eye. “How does the night make a wish? Makes no sense…” He fights a yawn, nuzzling into Brenda’s pajama sleeve.
Brenda, seventeen years old as of last month, shakes her head in a laugh, closing the picture book in her lap. “Since when do story books have to make sense? Does that mean you didn’t like it?”
Jackson grumbles, looking up at her teasing smirk in a pout. “It was fine, I guess. I just have questions. All the grown ups say magic has rules.”
Brenda hums thoughtfully. “So inquisitive at such a young age.” She peeks out of the corner of her eye, grinning when she notices Jackson wide, green eyes focused in on her. She leans in, speaking in a conspiring whisper, “Wishes have a rule that make anything possible.”
Blankets fall off Jackson’s grand bed as he scrambles, wide awake now, to sit up on his knees, dressed in his own cozy pajamas. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”
She laughs, wrapping Jackson in her arms, tickling the tiny elf. “Is that how we ask for something we want, O’ Winter’s tiny lord?” Jackson squeals in delight. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” she teases, continuing her onslaught of tickles on his sides.
“Please tell me! Pretty please!” Jackson shouts. He pants out a breath, cheeks flushes, mouth spread in a wide smile that brings out the dimples in his chubby cheeks. The young elf flops on to his back, staring up at Brenda. “May I please know the secret rule of wishes?”
Brenda flops on to her back besides Jackson. “Well,” she says on a bounce. “Most spells use an incantation to make magic happen.”
“That’s a big word,” whispers Jackson in awe.
Brenda nods, “Indeed it is. But…” she pauses for dramatic effect, reeling her audience in. “A wish can come, not from a grimoire or wand. Or even from ancient, spoken words. It can come from the heart.” She pokes a finger at Jackson’s heart, waiting for his reaction.
It doesn’t come.
“That’s it?” Jackson’s brows furrow, his face a grimace.
Brenda clutches her chest in a dramatic gasp. “Oh how can it be? The heir to the Night has no whimsy! Oh the tragedy!”
Jackson rolls his eyes, pushing her away in a huff. “That’s not a rule, that’s how fairy tales end.”
“Says the elf to the oracle.”
“Oracle apprentice,” mocks Jackson in correction.
“You wound me, tiny lord. I am wounded. This is how the wounded sound.” Brenda rises to her knees, swoons with the back of her hand to her forehead, flopping on to her back, tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth in mock death. “Bleh.”
Jackson groans. “Jean-Pierre! There’s a corpse in my bed!
” He yells at his door, which opens to allow a butler with grey hair and a perfectly sculpted mustache to enter.
“Oh dear, how tragic. She is gone too soon,” he dead pans.
He says to the little lord, “Perhaps you should wish for her to miraculously return to the world of the living, young master.”
“It’s the only way,” murmurs Brenda, before returning to her death.
Jackson bellows a groan, head tossed back in indignation. “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiine.” He pokes a tiny finger to her cheek. “I wish you weren’t dead.”
Brenda sits up abruptly in a dramatic gasp, arms extended in front of her. “I’m allliiiiive!”
She waits for a reaction, this time Jean-Pierre is there to respectfully clap gloved hands. “A riveting performance.”
“I don’t get it,” says Jackson.
“Hm,” Brenda hums, “You might be too young to appreciate Frankenstein references.”
Jean-Pierre clears his throat. “I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves, but it is time for the young master to retire for the night.”
“It’s always night here,” counters Jackson, a yawn punctuating his rebuttal.
“Nonetheless, growing princes need their sleep. Your room is ready for you, miss.” Jean-Pierre bows to Brenda, gesturing to the door.
Jackson grabs onto Brenda’s silk sleeve, pouting as he fights off sleep. “I don’t want you to go.”
Brenda wraps Jackson in a squeeze, kissing his head of black hair. “I’m here for a few more days with my family. I’ll see you for breakfast.”
“If the young Mr. Lee doesn’t see you first.”
“Don’t start,” sighs Brenda.
“He’s boring.”
“He’s nice.”
“You’re just saying that cause you want to kiss his boring face.”
Brenda blushes, not responding to Jackson’s bait regarding the son of another one of the Nocturnes’ family friends. Who just so happens to be staying at the castle during the same week. “Sleep well, little elf.”
Before she gets away, Jackson extends his pinkie. “Promise I get to see tomorrow?”
Brenda smiles softly, hooking her pinkie with his. “I promise.”
Jean-Pierre fixes the sheets on the bed, tucking Jackson into bed with a couple of stuffed animals. “Do you require anything else before I leave you to your dreams, young master.”
Jackson buries himself deeper into the blankets, eyes heavy and drooping. He shakes his head. “No.”
Jean-Pierre bows at the waist, leading Brenda out of the room, leaving Jackson in the dark room, with only a stuffed rabbit and wolf for company. The stars and moon glowing through towering glass windows. He turns his head on the pillow, looking out at the starry night
The young lord drifts away, lulled to sleep by the symphony of crickets hiding in the forest, and the wind rustling leaves. Before his eyes fully close, a single star shoots across the vast sky.