Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Once Started ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters/settings therein belong to Naoko Takeuchi et al.

 

A/N: So I wanted to try something a little different for this. You have been warned.

 

Once Started

 

Once upon a time. Once upon a time, before a girl, before a battle, before a fall, there was a Queen. (Because there is always a Queen, once upon a time, and you would do well to remember it.)

 

Once upon a time, it started. And there was another one. (Because there is always another one, and if you can't remember that, there's no hope for you at all.) And the other one was different from the first.

 

The other one was born in the dark, on a small blue planet. The other one came after, you see. The Queen had been born long before, bathed in luminescence, in a white, cold place far, far away.

 

Seasons turn, and the other one is older, and the Queen looks down on the blue planet from her white-shimmer palace. She is not alone. There is a princess, now, a white-shimmer princess with eyes like the blue ball they watch from above. This girl, this shimmer-girl, glitter-girl, rabbit-girl is perhaps the same age as the other one, but she seems much younger.

 

And the Queen has not met the other one. Yet. A chance meeting changes the course of destiny. Or maybe it was meant to happen this way from the beginning, who knows?

 

They meet on the blue planet, first and foremost, when the King holds a ball. Glasses clink, silk rustles. The white-shimmer princess, resplendent in frothy skirts, twirls across the dance floor. She is as graceful as she is pale, the spitting image of the Queen. And do the earthen noblemen, those coiffed, ruddy gentlemen of the blue planet, stop and stare at this strange princess, who came from a cold place far away? Do they wink at her as she spins around the gilded chairs, laughing as frothy skirts foam and whirl?

 

Perhaps the music swells, and they vie for her attention. Let us say that she is charming and playful; let us say that they are delighted. Maybe, around ten, the clock strikes, long and loud, echoing across the glossy dance floor, as messengers trumpet the arrival of the crown prince.

 

Let us pretend, only for a moment, that he sees the white-shimmer princess, the glitter-girl, the moon child, dancing there in the center of the floor. He is intrigued, yes, and perhaps it is the contrast of her, white and shining, to the matte black of his armor, the ink black of his hair. Perhaps it is fate or destiny or something else entirely, but let us say that he goes to her …

 

All the while, the Queen looks on, from the corner of her eye, as she makes small talk with neighboring nobles. Her mind is not on what they are saying. Is it merely boredom, or does she sense something larger happening here? (Can you sense once upon a time?)

 

Either way, the other one watches from across the room. Either way, the other one does not move, stands rooted to the spot. Scotch-colored eyes glare. Who is she to come in like this, and take the attention of the Earth prince? That she, this foolish rabbit-girl with her hair in childish buns, would so entrance him. The lunacy of the idea! The other one simmers. Scotch colored eyes narrow.

 

Surely he is not fooled by the blue-marble eyes; surely he is only pursuing a passing fancy? Well, no matter. This girl is not a threat, no, he would not, could not choose such a fragile creature over … and yet. And yet.

 

The other one ponders, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Rhythmic. She has waited so long. She has waited for what seems like eons, carefully currying favor with him, making light conversation in the gardens. That this girl could just waltz in and instantly achieve what the other one has been working towards for half her life—the idea! The idea.

 

The problem is, the idea is not so far fetched. The way she touches his shoulder. The way he smiles. The other one seethes. No. It can't end this way. All that wasted time. All that wasted effort. And she—she had really thought— it can't. It won't. A voice inside suddenly growls. It is hot, searing, licks her mind like the forked tongues of a thousand flames. It insinuates itself, there, deep within her head, snuggled against jealousy, coiled under rage, and it begins to speak.

 

This will not be the end. Certain. Not a hint of doubt. This will not. She is surprised by the vehemence of it. You won't let it. This, of course, is the beginning of the end, though not the way the other one would think.

 

Her eyes flicker briefly, and in an instant, meet an unfamiliar pair from across the room.

 

The Queen and the other regard each other.

 

Does the Queen feel a cold hand grasp her heart? Do goose bumps somehow run down ivory arms, a premonition of what is to come? Maybe, maybe not. Supposing she does, though, just for a moment, supposing she feels the cold hand, senses the goose bumps. Supposing.

 

Would it change anything?

 

In the split second their eyes lock, something may or may not pass between them. A declaration of war, perhaps, a threat. Or maybe, just maybe, simply an acknowledgement of the beginning.

 

Once upon a time, it started. Once upon a time, between two Queens, one revered, and one as-yet unborn, one light and one dark, something came to pass.

 

It would impact the little blue planet, and the cold place far away, either bringing them together or irreversibly tearing them apart. And it had started. But the thing about once upon a time, the thing that even small children tucked dreaming into their beds could tell you, is actually quite simple:

 

Once upon a time is not as easily ended as began.