No one liked the night. No one went out at night, did not arrange holidays, did not sing or dance. Mothers used to scare their children with bedtime stories, and old-timers locked all windows and doors. Even though Kakashi came out every night in the form of a moon, illuminating an empty road and a thorny forest, no one liked the night. And Kakashi didn't like them. She didn't understand why people were fun, how these dark silhouettes could attract the attention of other gods. She had never seen people in normal light, only figures in the windows and ugly drunks lying under the doors of the pub.
But Kakashi tried to love. She looked into the windows of the children, tried to lull them to sleep, tried to help lost travelers find their way. But no one answered her in kind, everyone cursed her and made up terrible stories. Kakashi tried to love, she wanted to be the same as the mothers who sang lullabies, rocking the cradle, she wanted her gaze to give the same warmth and comfort, so that her hands were warm and caressed. But her voice was too resonant, her eyes were prickly gray, like a piece of ice, and her hands were cold and insensitive, and all living things ran away as soon as they saw the white silhouette. Kakashi was very offended, her heart turned out to be in a vice, and tears, hitting the ground, turned into small white flowers that none of the people have never plucked. The goddess got angry at the whole human race and went to heaven, only occasionally appearing in the firmament.
That's why the Moon was so surprised when suddenly a young voice called her on a dark night. It was like a raindrop. The voice was so quiet and pathetic. The goddess carefully, but still with great curiosity, lowered herself to the young girl who was on her knees, begging the moon to appear. Kakashi, in ignorance, ran her hand through her velvet-black curly hair, and the girl raised her head. Then Kakashi was stunned because she had never met anything more beautiful in her life. The gypsy's face was slightly swollen from tears, her beautiful dark skin shimmered in the moonlight, the scar on her face set off her carmine lips, and her eyes were an amazing golden color. There would be no coin more valuable than those eyes framed by dark eyelashes.
Kakashi's hand froze on her black curls, and the gypsy began to cry bitterly again. Suddenly the girl grabbed the hand stroking her hair and began to shower kisses and babble something, choking with sobs. The heart of the Moon, previously icy and motionless, began to beat furiously. Kakashi sat down next to the poor girl and gently hugged her, asking with a look what happened.
The gypsy, still sobbing, wailed about how long and unrequited she had been in love with a brave warrior from their camp, that his skin was darker than the bark of an oak, and his eyes were cleaner than a lake spring, that he did not want to marry a poor orphan and that she prayed and believed the goddess that she would not pass by and it will help. She, Iruka, was ready to sacrifice everything, if only the brave gypsy would pay attention to her, smile at her, offer his hand and heart. Iruka begged and begged, but Kakashi couldn't take her eyes off the beautiful vision that was now in front of her, couldn't let go of the hot brown palm, couldn't stop admiring the golden, like two stars, eyes that were now covered with salty drops. She admired it for a long time, and then suddenly promised to help her. She promised to marry her to an unknown gypsy, to become a planted sister, to snatch from her heart a young maiden who for the first time was not afraid of the Night. Suddenly, a young girl threw herself on the neck of the goddess, wrapped her in a hot embrace and smiled so gently, so fresh that it seemed that it was not Kakashi illuminating a dark alley with her soft light, but a simple gypsy.
The Moon kept her promise – it is not difficult to enchant a man. Every day Kakashi admired her gypsy girl, who now shone brighter than the sun next to her beloved. The wedding was beautiful, Iruka could really be called the most beautiful woman, but the heart of the goddess was restless. How she wanted to be in his place, wanted to hug her, kiss her olive palms, get to full lips, snuggle closer. But Kakashi understood perfectly well that a person belongs with a person, that Iruka's life is fleeting and soon it will fade away like a spark of a candle. She understood, but couldn't do anything about it, day after day returning closer and closer to the ground and looking at the happy, already pregnant Iruka.
Perhaps, in addition to the most devoted love, Kakashi felt a slight envy – occasionally, watching the gypsy, she put her hand on her stomach, imagining what it would be like to bring life into this world. What it's like to feel the beating of a small heart inside yourself, and then take care of such a helpless creature. She would very much like to feel the same, but she just sighed, took her hand away and walked away until the lullaby of the expectant mother ceased to be audible.
And the goddess became so sad one day, so lonely, love filled her heart that she could not stand it. One evening, when Iruka dozed off in an armchair, covered with a sheep blanket, Kakashi quietly entered the room, put her hand on beautiful and soft curls, bent down and kissed the girl on the lips. This kiss became like a sip from a mountain stream – enlivening, unlike anything else, incomparable with anything. And it became so good for Kakashi, so joyful in her soul that she began to shower kisses on the cheeks and hands of the dark-skinned woman, she wanted to cry and laugh, hug the girl to herself and never let go. But suddenly there was a creaking of floorboards in the hallway – the husband returned. It seemed to sober Kakashi up, she quickly got up and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Iruka only a plume of stardust that slowly settled on the girl's neck and stomach, shimmering with a mother-of-pearl glow.
There was screaming and crying in the house. The husband scolded the grief-wife with almost all the words he knew, Iruka was crying bitterly, pressing her beaten hands to her thin body and hid in a corner, terrible cries about the infidelity of the young wife could be heard from the street, and a newborn boy, whose skin was whiter than the belly of an ermine and hair was as if made of snow, was crying in the cradle. The child did not understand why they were already calling him trash, and calling his mother the last words, while inflicting hard blows on her. He did not understand why his grandparents turned away from him at once, and his father did not want to recognize him. Iruka also did not understand why her son was born so terrible, why he brought so much suffering to his poor mother, why her husband, so dearly loved, did not believe her, but only continued to beat her with all his might. The gypsy was lying on the floor, pressing her palms to her chest as well, and her husband already disdained to touch her with his hands, finishing off with the toes of his boots. The proud gypsy could not bear such a shame that his wife cheated on him right after the wedding and brought someone else's child into the house. No, this is a black spot on the reputation of the whole family, too serious a crime. Therefore, when he finished beating his wife, he went out into the yard, took the saber that he inherited and headed back to the house. Better him than his furious father.
All the way the boy did not stop crying, writhing in his father's arms. The gypsy did not pay attention, he kept walking and walking, cutting his way through branching trees and tall shrubs. When he reached the edge of the cliff, he raised his hand with the baby and was about to let go, but an unknown force seemed to hold him. No matter how hard he tried, the man could not take on the sin of infanticide, so he gently took his hand away from the edge, gently put the child on the damp ground and also quietly left. Let the wild animals decide how the boy's fate will turn out.
And the child cried and cried until suddenly a soft, barely visible shawl touched his cheek. It was made as if out of moonlight, it was so soft and weightless. A mysterious stranger, covered with this shawl, sadly approached the child and picked him up in her arms. It was her fault that a beautiful dancer was hacked to death by her own husband, it was her fault that the child was left an orphan with living relatives. And she was ready to redeem herself. Let her have at least some reminder that there was such a beauty who captured the heart of the moon goddess and took it with her to the earth. Gently stroking the child's head, Kakashi sadly noted that the boy was a copy of herself. Bowing her head, the Moon left a kiss on her small forehead, trying to convey the maternal tenderness and care that Iruka gave while carrying her killer in the womb. Looking up, the goddess's heart began to beat furiously. The beautiful golden eyes of the gypsy woman looked at her, which were so similar to the stars that decorated the night sky.