Work Text:
The night was crying as another laid pray to the luck of a black cat walking by, but the moon remained silent. the trees swayed and mourned the victim of the the number 13, but the moon stayed silent. As the blood slowly, but surely coloured the water red, and as the the powerful waves went still and the water begged to be free of the crimson of despair, continued the night to cry and the trees to mourn. But the moon was silent. The moon saw every tragedy of spilled salt, and cracked mirrors, but never said a thing, it just hung silently. The moon knew it wouldn't help to cry, to mourn or to beg, but they didn't understand. The night could turn a blind eye when day came and replace night, the trees could die and wither and the water could dry. But the moon will always be there watching spilled blood and useless war, even when the day comes the moon will still be hanging in the sky, and even when the trees die and the water dry, the moon will still hang high in the sky, silent.