The moon has always had a strange effect on me . It's not like sunlight, direct and honest. Moonlight is different-it hides as much as it reveals, transforms the familiar into something mystical, makes the ordinary extraordinary. And on this particular night, as I watch the full moon through my bedroom window, I feel like something is about to change.
The glass is cold beneath my fingers, and I can see my reflection against the darkness outside-a girl of nineteen springs with eyes too big for her face, red hair that seems to absorb the silvery light. But there's something else in the reflection, something that makes my breath catch. A shadow that shouldn't be there, a movement that isn't mine.
"Do you always watch the moon like this?" The voice comes from behind me, soft as velvet, but with a force that makes my knees weak. I don't turn around. Not yet. Because I know that when I do, nothing will ever be the same again.
"For as long as I can remember," I reply, and my voice comes out firmer than I expect. "The moon... it calls to me."
A low sound, almost a purr, echoes through the room. "She calls to us all," he says, and now I can feel his presence closer, like a wave of warmth on a cold night. "But you... you can hear..."
I finally turn around, and there he is. Tall, lanky, with silver hair that seems to catch and reflect the moonlight. His eyes are like liquid mercury, bright and hypnotic. He shouldn't be here, in my room, in the middle of the night. But somehow it feels more wrong that he isn't.
"Who are you?" I ask, even though I know the answer will change everything.
He smiles, and there's something predatory in that smile, something that should make me run. But I can't. I don't want to. "My name doesn't matter," he says, taking a step toward me. "And you, Elia, are the reason I'm here."
"How do you know my name?" The words come out in a whisper, and he chuckles softly.
"I know a lot about you, Elia. I know you dream of places you've never been, that you listen to music no one else can hear. I know you feel like you don't belong in this world..." He stops, his eyes fixed on mine. Then he continues. "Because you... really don't."
It should sound like madness. It should make me scream for help, run away. But each word resonates inside me like a truth I've always known but never dared to admit. Like pieces of a puzzle finally falling into place.
"What are you?" I ask, taking a step towards him, even though I know I'm playing with fire.
"The right question," he says, extending a hand toward me, "is what are we?"
And as I look at your outstretched hand, I know I am faced with a choice. I can continue to live in the safety of the world I have always known, or I can discover the truth about who - or what - I really am.
The moon shines brighter through the window, as if it too is waiting for my decision.
Slowly, I reached out my hand towards his. He held my hand with a gentle firmness, his cold fingers contrasting with the heat radiating from his gaze. My instinct tells me he is dangerous and I am drawn to that feeling!
"Some choices, after all, are already made before we even know they are choices," he murmured, stepping even closer.
My heart was beating wildly, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through my veins. He slowly lifted my hand until it touched his lips, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as he softly kissed my fingers!
"Elia," he said, his voice a hypnotic whisper, "you are more special than you know."
And before I can respond, his eyes hold mine, and as he leans in, an invisible fire consumes me. The kiss that comes is a sigh at first, a breeze in the night, but soon it becomes something more-something inevitable, wild, a fire in the fog.
Pinto, Antonio Carlos: -
Born in 1983 in the grand Rocky Mountains of Maranguape, Ceará, Brazil, Antonio Carlos Pinto is a name that stands out in the literary world of the United Kingdom, with experiences in Ireland, Ukraine, and Germany.
With roots in the traditional Pinto family of Portugal and indigenous descent, Antonio began his literary journey on the banks of the Maranguape River, learning stories about the local fauna from his grandfather at an early age.
Throughout his journey, Antonio faced the loss of family members and his beloved wife. Amid the pain, his writing fell silent, but in 2023, he rose like a phoenix, releasing new works, novels, and poetry.
Trained in painting, Antonio experimented with various colors in his life, but his greatest passion, and the most vibrant color, was writing stories to share with the world.
Self-taught, he studied various literary styles such as Gothic, Romantic, Modernist, and Post-Modernist until he reached Neo-Romanticism, creating his own style, "Shakesperian."
Inspired by names like Emily Brontë, Nora Roberts, W. Somerset Maugham, Stephenie Meyer, and William Shakespeare, he forged a unique voice, blending science fiction, fantasy, romance, and Amish poetry.
In his leisure moments, he enjoys both a good contemporary romance and an engaging medieval tale. Antonio Carlos Pinto is an author whose words transcend borders, touching hearts around the world.
