#majormoon week

The fluorescent hum of the classroom lights cast a sickly pallor over everything, but to Pearl, only one thing radiated true light: Scott. His blue hair, the color of a midnight ocean, caught the faint glow and seemed to shimmer, a beacon in the mundane. Scott was sketching in his notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration, completely unaware of the intense, possessive stare fixed upon him from three rows back.

Pearl’s heart thrummed a dangerous rhythm. She traced the outline of his profile with her gaze – the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his stubborn nose, the observant eyes that saw so much, yet somehow remained blind to the devotion she harbored. Scott didn't know much about her; probably didn't even know the quiet girl from a few rows back wasn't even a girl at all. Though she supposed that was an easy mistake to make; she did go by she, after all, and to Pearl, such labels were trivial; only Scott mattered.

Tilly was waiting at home, a silent confidante to Pearl’s growing dossier on Scott. Pictures, schedules, notes about his favorite lunch, his most hated subjects – it was all meticulously cataloged in a shoebox under her bed. Tilly would listen patiently as Pearl recounted every detail of Scott’s day, her tail thumping softly against the rug, oblivious to the dark currents flowing beneath her owner’s words.

Scott’s best friend, Cleo, with her vivid red hair and level-headed demeanor, leaned over, laughing at something he'd drawn. Pearl’s lips thinned. Cleo. A rival, though Scott, in his absolute obliviousness, saw her only as a friend. 

Then there was Martyn, Cleo’s boyfriend. Martyn, with his cheeky smiles and lingering glances at Scott, was a more insidious problem. Pearl had seen the way his eyes followed Scott, the subtle flush on his cheeks. Martyn, she knew, had a crush on Scott. This was a true and present danger.

And, of course, Jimmy. Scott’s ex. Pathetic, clingy, and a constant nuisance, Jimmy still tried to worm his way back into Scott’s life with clumsy apologies and gifts Scott never accepted. Pearl considered Jimmy less of a rival and more of an irritant, a fly buzzing too close to her precious flower.

The bell shrieked, shattering the illusion of normalcy. Scott stretched, gathering his things. Pearl melted into the stream of students, always a few paces behind, close enough to observe, far enough to remain unnoticed by him.

That evening, after Tilly had been fed and walked, Pearl meticulously updated her notebook.

Cleo's laughter too loud today. Constant seeking of attention from Scott. Must be dealt with.

Martyn lingered at Scott's locker. His gaze was impure. Dangerous.

Jimmy left another apology note in Scott's shoe locker. Pathetic. And a direct threat to my happiness.

Pearl lived a double life. By day, she was quiet, unassuming, a decent student who kept to herself. By night, she became an architect of obsession, a meticulous planner of intricate, dark designs.

The first target was Jimmy. He was the weakest link. Pearl knew Jimmy had a part-time job at an electronics store. She also knew he was easily flustered and prone to making mistakes under pressure. Over the next few days, anonymous online reviews flooded the store’s page, all scathing, all seemingly from different, irate customers, specifically mentioning Jimmy by name. Then came the phone calls – complaints about missing orders, faulty devices, all directed to Jimmy. Pearl, using a voice changer, made herself sound like an elderly, confused woman, then a furious businessman, then a weeping student. Jimmy’s sales plummeted. His manager, already strict, began to watch him with a critical eye.

One afternoon, Pearl "accidentally" overheard Jimmy complaining to a friend about his job. "I'm going to get fired," he whined, "and then Scott will never take me back." This was Pearl's cue. That night, a package arrived at Jimmy’s house. Inside was a single, pristine poppy, and a note, typed and anonymous: "Some things are better left unspoken. Some people are better left alone. If you truly care about Scott, you will disappear."

The next week, Jimmy stopped coming to school. Rumors spread that he'd moved away suddenly, overwhelmed by family issues and his job loss. Scott, though not particularly fond of Jimmy, expressed a flicker of concern. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it? He just vanished." Pearl offered a sympathetic shrug. "Maybe he needed a fresh start, Scott. Some people just aren't cut out for pressure." Scott, observant but not suspicious, accepted it. One rival down.

Next was Martyn. He was more cunning, more of a direct threat to Scott's heart. Martyn’s crush was clear, and Scott, though clever, was also friendly and sometimes naive. Pearl had seen Martyn try to make plans with Scott, always with Cleo as a buffer, but his intent was obvious.

Pearl began to subtly sabotage Martyn. She started by making him late for things. Setting his alarm ahead by fifteen minutes, hiding his school bag during morning club activities, "accidentally" spilling a drink on his homework before a deadline. Martyn, a generally organized person, became increasingly flustered, his grades slipping. Cleo, loyal as she was, noticed his growing disarray. "You've been so scatterbrained lately, Martyn," she'd say, concerned. "Are you getting enough sleep?"

Pearl escalated. Martyn was an avid gamer. Pearl found an old, seemingly innocuous USB drive and, using a moment when Martyn stepped away from his computer in the school’s media lab, she plugged it in. A few clicks, and a sophisticated keylogger was installed. She now had access to his passwords, his private messages.

One afternoon, Pearl scrolled through Martyn’s chat logs. There it was: a confession of his feelings for Scott, sent to an anonymous online friend. It was heartfelt, vulnerable. It was also, to Pearl, a declaration of war.

Pearl printed the conversation. She then used a public computer to create an anonymous email account, attaching the printout. The recipient? Cleo.

The fallout was immediate and spectacular. Cleo, as stoic as she was, was also deeply hurt. She confronted Martyn in the school courtyard, her voice trembling, her red hair blazing in the afternoon sun. Scott, by chance, was walking past and witnessed the entire, painful breakup. Martyn, tearful and ashamed, admitted everything. Cleo, heartbroken, stormed off. Martyn then tried to apologize to Scott, who looked stunned and uncomfortable.

"Martyn, I-I appreciate your honesty, but you know I don't feel that way," Scott said, his blue eyes wide with a mixture of pity and awkwardness. "And Cleo's really upset. You should focus on her." Martyn crumbled, humiliated.

Within days, Martyn transferred to a different school, unable to face Cleo or Scott. He disappeared from their lives, leaving behind a void of confusion and sadness. Scott was troubled, seeing two of his acquaintances vanish so abruptly. "It's like people are just… leaving," he mused to Cleo one afternoon. Cleo, still raw from her breakup, could only nod, her gaze distant. Pearl, watching from a short distance, felt a smirk tugging at her lips. Two down.

Now, only Cleo remained. She was Scott's best friend, his confidante. Pearl knew her removal would be the hardest, and the most crucial. Scott needed to be isolated, to understand that Pearl was the only one who truly understood him, the only one worthy of his devotion.

Pearl's tactics for Cleo were far more insidious. She began undermining Cleo's reputation, subtly at first. Leaving anonymous notes on Cleo's desk, hinting at her "true nature." Printing out excerpts from Cleo’s old social media posts, taken out of context to make her appear shallow or gossipy, and taping them to the back of bathroom stalls. Cleo, popular and well-liked, found herself facing increasingly cold shoulders, confused stares. Her level-headedness began to crack under the pressure.

One rainy afternoon, Pearl saw Cleo and Scott under an umbrella, laughing. Cleo was still a presence, a comforting constant in Scott’s life. Pearl felt a cold fury bloom in her chest. This had to end.

Pearl remembered Cleo's route home, a shortcut through a narrow, unlit alleyway behind the old bookstore. It was rarely used, especially after dark. Pearl had been studying it, memorizing the security camera blind spots, the slippery moss-covered steps, the loose grate over the storm drain.

That evening, Tilly whined softly, sensing Pearl's agitated state. "Soon, Tilly," Pearl whispered, stroking her fur, "Soon, Scott will be all mine. No one else will get in the way."

Pearl placed a call to Cleo’s phone, using a burner. "Scott needs help," she said in a disguised voice, mimicking a panicked, young girl. "He collapsed near the old bookstore. Hurry!" Cleo, ever loyal, didn't hesitate. She grabbed her bag and ran out into the pouring rain.

Pearl watched from a concealed spot at the mouth of the alley as Cleo rushed past. Cleo's phone was tucked into her pocket, flashlight on, illuminating the slick, uneven ground. She was calling Scott, getting no answer. "Scott? Scott, where are you?"

As Cleo reached the point Pearl had marked, Pearl stepped out from the shadows. Cleo screamed, startled.

"Pearl? What are you doing here? Where's Scott?" Cleo’s voice was laced with frantic worry.

Pearl’s eyes glinted in the dim light. "Scott is fine, Cleo. He's just… busy." Pearl held up a small, empty bottle. "I'm just making sure he stays fine."

Recognition, then horror, dawned on Cleo’s face. "You… you did this, didn't you? Jimmy, Martyn, all of it!"

Pearl smiled, a slow, chilling curve of her lips. "They were in the way. They didn't understand. Scott needs me. Only me."

Cleo began to back away, her eyes darting frantically for an escape. "You're insane, Pearl! Scott would never—"

"Scott will understand," Pearl interrupted, her voice dangerously soft. "Once all the distractions are gone, he'll see. He'll have to see."

Cleo turned to run, but Pearl was quicker. With a sudden, powerful shove, Pearl sent Cleo sprawling. Cleo’s head hit the concrete with a sickening thud, a sharp crack echoing in the quiet alley. Her phone clattered, its flashlight beam swinging wildly before settling on her still form. A dark stain began to blossom on the wet concrete.

Pearl stood over her, breathing heavily, the rain plastering her hair to her face. Cleo was unconscious, or worse. Pearl felt no regret, only a grim satisfaction. This was for Scott. This was for their future.

Pearl knelt, checking Cleo's pulse. Pearl knew she couldn't leave Cleo here. The body would be found too soon. And Scott… Scott would be devastated. Pearl wasn’t trying to cause him pain; she was trying to protect him.

Then, a thought, cold and brilliant, formed in Pearl’s mind.

She dragged Cleo’s limp body further into the shadows, towards the loose grate over the storm drain. It was just big enough for a small person to squeeze through, leading to the forgotten labyrinth of the city’s old underground waterways. No one would ever look there. And Cleo, a missing person, a runaway, would simply vanish like the others. Scott would grieve, yes, but he wouldn’t suspect. He’d simply feel utterly alone. And then… he’d turn to the only one left.

Later that night, Pearl was home, showering away the rain and the lingering scent of wet concrete. Tilly whined from outside the bathroom door. Pearl emerged, fresh and clean, her usual unassuming self. She went to her shoebox, pulling out a small, framed photo of Scott, taken stealthily during a school festival. His blue hair was illuminated by fairy lights, a gentle smile on his face.

"Soon, Scott," she whispered to the photograph. "Soon, you'll be safe. You'll be mine."

The next morning, Scott arrived at school to hushed whispers and solemn faces. Cleo hadn't come to school. Her parents had reported her missing. A search was underway. Scott's blue eyes were clouded with worry. He remembered the arguments, the stress Cleo had been under recently. He remembered Martyn's sudden departure, and Jimmy before that. It was all so unsettling. He felt a profound sense of loss, a growing unease that he couldn't quite articulate.

Pearl approached him, her face a mask of carefully constructed sympathy. "Scott," she said softly, her voice pitched with just the right amount of concern. "Are you alright? Cleo running away… it's so terrible."

Scott looked at her, his observant eyes searching her face for a moment, then dismissing her as another grieving classmate. He sighed, running a hand through his blue hair. "No. I'm not. It just feels like… everyone's leaving. Like… I'm losing everyone."

Pearl reached out, her hand hovering just shy of his arm before she drew it back, a gesture of thoughtful restraint. "You'll never be alone, Scott," she murmured, her voice a balm. "You have me."

Scott offered her a weak, grateful smile, completely missing the chilling promise in her eyes, the dangerous triumph hidden deep within them.

He was alone now. Truly alone.

"So..." Pearl began, her voice a bright, "interested in the ladies now, are we?"

Scott chuckled, amused at the joke. "Pft- no, Pearl, I'm gay. You know this."

“But you’re a woman now,” Pearl queried with innocent confusion, her tone laced with a saccharine sweetness that sent a shiver down Scott's spine. "So, if you like men… that makes you straight."

The simplicity of Pearl’s statement belied its profound impact. For Scott, "gay" wasn't just a sexual orientation; it was inextricably woven into her identity, a part of her history, her very being. It had been a comforting label, a banner under which she’d marched for years. Now, it felt like a stolen heirloom, something she could no longer claim, a piece of her past that had been inexplicably erased.

Labels felt like shifting sands, unreliable and treacherous. Was she straight now? The very thought felt wrong, a wrenching distortion of her self-perception. She was fundamentally her, regardless of gender. And “her” had always been gay. Or, at least, that's how she had always understood herself. The word "straight" felt alien, a label that didn't quite fit the complex tapestry of her existence. She was a woman, yes, but the core of her being, the part that dictated her attraction, the part of her that was gay, hadn't fundamentally changed.

"I… I don't know," Scott stammered, running a hand through her newly grown-out, long hair. "It doesn't feel right. Straight just... doesn't feel right. I've always been gay. That's just who I am. I'm gay." 

"Well... the definition of gay is people who are attracted to the same gender as them. And you're attracted to men. So, saying you're gay... isn't that just calling yourself a man all over again?" A wave of dsyphoria so nauseating that it almost made Scott dizzy washed over her, and Pearl reassured her quickly, "Or, at least, that's what you'd be implying to other people by calling yourself calling yourself gay. And I'd hate for you to invalidate your own identity like that, because, well, that's not who you are. You are a woman, aren't you, Scott?"

"Y-Yes," Scott breathed quickly, the words flooding out of her mouth before they could be proved wrong, "I-I am. I know I am."

"Then, you're straight!" Pearl's voice was almost congratulatory as she patted Scott on the pat, "You're attracted to men, and you're a woman, as real of a woman as any other, and like any other woman, that makes you straight!" She could tell Pearl was trying to comfort her, trying to validate her, Pearl was just being a good friend, but even if her words culled the tidal wave of dsyphoria it reared a different kind of nausea in her gut. She couldn't be gay without being a man, couldn't be a woman without being straight, but neither felt right.

Pearl noticed. “You seem… troubled,” Her voice was low, concerned. “You alright, there?"

Scott sighed nervously and confessed, “It’s… it's weird. It feels wrong, you know? Like I’ve... lost a part of myself.” The truth was more than just the loss of a label; it was the fear of losing her connection to her past, to the community she'd once belonged to. "Calling myself straight feels... wrong."

Pearl stepped closer, her hand brushing against Scott's arm. The touch was unexpectedly forceful, not the gentle gesture of a friend, but something more insistent. “You know, if it's really bugging you... I think I could help."

Scott stared at her, bewildered. Pearl's words, though seemingly compassionate, held an unsettling undercurrent.

“What... do you mean?” Scott asked slowly, a knot tightening in her stomach.

Pearl moved closer, her body brushing against Scott’s. The heat of her skin was unnervingly close. Pearl's fingers traced the line of Scott's jawline, her touch lingering, sending a confusing wave of emotions through Scott. A flutter of discomfort was quickly overtaken by something else, a strange mix of panic and confusion.

“I could… show you,” Pearl whispered, her breath warm against Scott’s ear. Her hand slid down to Scott's shoulder, gently massaging the muscles there. "I could help you reclaim that part of yourself. Make you… gay again. Make it so you can keep both identites.”

Pearl’s other hand reached out, gently cupping Scott's face. Her fingers were long and elegant, her touch feather-light. There was a strange intensity in her eyes, a mixture of compassion and something cold and calculating, a fire that burned with a chilling intensity.

“H-Hold on,” Scott stuttered, taking a step back. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, a frantic rhythm of fear and confusion. “I don’t… I don’t think I’m comfortable with this.”

Pearl's face fell, a mask of hurt and concern washing over her features. She took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Scott, please. I'm just trying to help. Don't you want to be gay again?"

The word "again" echoed in Scott’s mind, a cruel taunt. "Yes, but- but I don't want this."

"How do you know? You were wrong about being a man, after all... what if you were wrong about liking them, too? You're already experimenting with your gender, why not sexuality? Have you even kissed a woman before, anyway? How do you know for sure you don't like it if you haven't even tried?"  The questions were rapid-fire, each one landing like a punch to Scott's gut.

Scott was speechless, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Pearl’s words, though seemingly caring, felt manipulative, twisted. "But… I'm not… I mean… I… I don’t want to… to do this," Scott managed to choke out.

Pearl’s face hardened, a cold determination settling in her eyes. “But don’t you see, Scott? You don’t know what you want. You thought you were a man for years, and look how wrong you were about that! What if you’re just as wrong about this? Don’t you want to be sure? Don’t you owe it to yourself to at least try?"

The weight of Pearl’s words settled over Scott like a suffocating blanket. Her mind raced, torn between the desire to trust her friend and the gnawing feeling that something was very wrong.

“I… I don’t know,” Scott finally admitted, feeling lost and vulnerable.

Pearl smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s okay, Scott. That’s why I’m here. Let me help you figure it out.” Her hand reached out once more, gently taking Scott’s. The touch sent a shiver through Scott’s body, a confusing mix of fear and unwanted excitement.

Pearl leaned in, her lips brushing against Scott’s in a gentle, almost chaste kiss. It was over in a moment, but the impact lingered, a wave of confusion washing over Scott.

Scott's heart was pounding in her chest as she stumbled backward, her hands pressed against her mouth in shock. "I-I can't," she stammered. "I don't… I can't do this. I don't want to."

Pearl's expression was unreadable, a mask of calm composure. "You can't tell me you didn't feel anything," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I felt you kiss me back."

Scott's eyes widened, her mind reeling. "No, I-I didn't," she protested, but her voice was shaky, uncertain.

"Scott, look at yourself," Pearl insisted, her tone gentle but firm. "Your heart is racing, your face is flushed, you're shaking... You can't deny what your body is telling you."

Scott glanced down at her hands, noticing the slight tremble that she hadn't been aware of before. She was shaking, her heart hammering, stomach feeling nauseated... weren't those signs of being in love? She'd thought it was just fear, but... was it really just anxiety, her fight or flight response, or was Pearl right? Was it arousal? She was a virgin, she'd never even kissed anyone before, how was she supposed to know if she was even able to? She looked up at Pearl, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

"I-I don’t know..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Pearl's eyes softened, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "That's okay," she said gently. "It's okay to be scared. But don't let that fear stop you from exploring what you truly want. You deserve to know, Scott."

Scott nodded slowly, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over her. "I... I want to know," she admitted softly. "I want to be sure."

Pearl nodded, her smile widening. "Good," she said, her voice filled with encouragement. "Then let's figure this out together, okay? No pressure, no expectations. We'll just... explore. See where it takes us."