Chapter Text
This time of night, as the sun falls to make way for the moon, is well lit enough for them to stumble their way down the hill, across the deserted beach, and under the creaking, ancient dock that is raised about 5 feet above the ground. The sand is cooling on their toes when they remove their boots, tossing them aside. Locating a shard of driftwood to trace patterns in the sand with, their mind calls upon the creature they encountered in a storybook a few nights ago. It had to be the only book in the house that actually had pictures. Small and twisted, that creature had spent so much time wishing for a friend that they never noticed their own loneliness consuming them until it was too late. They drag the stick across the ground carefully, sketching out a rough estimate of what this creature looked like, before getting frustrated and brushing it away. Instead of attempting more doodles, they only draw a circle around them, plopping down in the middle and lowering their head as night took over.
Maka’s candle flickered violently with the gust of wind. She drew it closer, guarding the flame with her hand, and took cautious steps down the rock path.
As soon as she feels the sand beneath her feet, she glances up, and is met with the last light of the sun. Yellows and purples blend together softly, the light casting itself out over the ocean water as dancing colors within the waves. Maka’s face lights up at the sight, and she sucks a breath in before continuing along the bay, eyes scanning for anything unusual before she reaches the dock. The wind is more forgiving now, fluttering through her hair and no longer threatening to extinguish her light.
The dock is how it always has been, a strong, old monument of her childhood, bringing up memories of when she would play around it with her mother and father nearby. Mom’s gone now. Maka’s still not sure where she went.
She walks between two sturdy poles, imagining it to be the gate to the land of solitude, where she is the princess and absolutely nobody else is allowed in but her-
Except for the lump, apparently. The dark mass, a short distance away, which now appears to be moving, shifting ever so slightly as a strong breeze rushes through. Maka freezes, ready to bolt if it proves itself to be an adult, or even a monster. She is by the ocean, after all, who knows what could crawl out of the deep and hide itself here, under the dock, biding its time until a young, unwitting girl wanders through that it can sink its claws into…
The lump unfolds, falling back and flopping onto the ground, its arms outstretched. Maka flinches, but keeps herself rooted there, picking up on a quiet "Ow" coming from the lump when it hits the ground. In the light of the candle, Maka is able to discern that the lump actually has very pretty pink hair, even if it does appear to be an absolute mess and covered in sand. She takes a cautious step, moving toward what she can assume now is a child about her age, who also seems to be laying within a vaguely drawn circle.
“Who are you?”
The lump child shoots straight up, arms flailing as they screech, only to trip backwards and end up on the ground again. Their eyes meet hers, flashing in the light of the candle, and Maka is reminded of how the sun looked reflected in the bottomless blue water. The child’s breath evens out a bit as they scoot back into the confines of their circle. Receiving no answer, Maka continued.
“I’m Maka, and I want to know just what you’re doing here, if you’re going to stay.” She waves the candle inquiringly in front of their face.
Nothing but a confused blink.
“What are you doing out here after the sun’s gone down?” she pauses, “Like… I know what I’m doing out here after the sun’s gone down, but… you’re just being creepy, curled up under the dock like this.”
“I-I- I’m sorry, I-”
Maka softened when she heard their stuttering, noticing their hands grasping together nervously.
“I was just- just… looking for a place away from everybody else.” They whisper softly, lowering their head.
Setting the candle down, Maka moves forward, hoping to step into the child’s circle. When she was met with a panicked expression, she scoots back again and takes a seat right outside of the line.
“Sorry, I won’t come into the circle if you don’t want me to.”
The silence is filled only with the nearby swish of the tide. Maka looks to the kid several times, hoping with all her heart that they will say something and she won’t be stuck with just digging a hole in the sand with her hands as entertainment. She supposes that if they won’t make conversation, she’ll just have to talk again. She clears her throat.
“D-”
“I’m Crona.”
Crona. Her mind fetches for her several images of her dad sitting at the dining room table and the very top shelf of the refrigerator, where she cannot reach.
“Like… the beer?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Maka tries her luck and scoots closer, just to the edge of the circle.
“What’s this?”
Maka motions toward the lines in the sand from the drawing Crona had failed to completely erase.
“Ohhh, that’s…” Crona lunges to cover it up with their hands.
“…nothing!”
“Were you trying to draw?”
“No, it’s-”
“It looks good! Let me see if I can help.” Maka interrupts, lunging for the driftwood Crona had tossed aside. She studies the drawing for a moment, and then begins to follow the lines of the drawing with the stick, smoothing out the edges and making the little creature clearer.
Maka takes a step back to observe.
“Well, uh…” she notices how mortified the creature looks. Her eyes move over to Crona, comparing the two. There’s definitely a resemblance.
“I think it just needs a little touch of something else.”
Maka hops up, taking off further down towards the water to root around in the wet sand for seashells. Once she found at least a few of the prettiest ones, she heads back toward Crona and lets them spill onto the ground next to the drawing.
“See, like…” she sorts through them, pausing when she notices the colorful one she picked up, which is splashed with yellows and purples.
“Perfect!” She carefully lays the seashell into the creature’s arms.
“Now they have a friend.”
Crona scoffs.
“A seashell can’t be a friend.”
“Well- just try to imagine that it’s something more.” Maka smooths out part of the face and sketches in a contented smile in place of the frown.
“Hey!” Maka drops back into the sand, startling Crona. Her fingers dig at the edge of the circle.
“Do you think I could be your friend?”
“I don’t have friends.”
“Great, then I can be the first one!” Maka scoops up the other seashells and pours them into Crona’s lap.
“For you!”
Crona takes time to absorb this statement, eyes caught on the darkened waves.
“I guess so.”
A particularly strong breeze comes along from the north and rushes past them, sending chills up Maka’s spine. It snuffs out the candle before Maka can move to protect it.
“Darn it!”
“…aka! Maka!”
“Is that Papa?” Maka stands, straining to listen.
Hearing the shouts become nearer, Maka picks the candle back up and turns toward Crona.
“I’m sorry, I need to go now, Papa’s looking for me.”
Crona shifts and sighs, looking back out over the slowly approaching water.
“It’s okay. I should probably return home too.”
“But I’ll see you again, right?” She chimes, reaching out a finger to poke Crona on the nose. Expecting a definite ‘Yes, of course,’ she is rather unsettled when Crona’s face twists into a spine-chilling smile. Their eyes are blown wide with fear as they chuckle,
“Ahaha, maybe.”
Rooted in place for a moment, Maka only moves once she notices water rushing beneath her feet.
“Oh no, the tide!”
Crona hurriedly stands, water dripping from their dress. The water recedes, snatching up Crona’s circle, along with the seashells, and leaving only smooth, damp sand behind. Crona seems disappointed and Maka takes this as her cue to leave, hearing her father’s shouts much closer this time.
She calls after Crona one last time, “Don’t worry! I’ll see you again, I’ll make sure I do!”