Word Count: 1014

Everything Perdita had ever learned as a child told her that a satellite orbiting Uranus, so far out in space, should be cold and uninhabitable.

Her moon, when she appeared there, was both of those things.

The air was frigid, though bearable, and her surroundings were unfit for life. The ground beneath her feet was little more than dirt, the flat expanse interrupted here and there by shriveled weeds that had no hope of thriving. Once, it might have been a meadow, full of lush grass and flowers, but time had not been kind to it. In the distance, Perdita saw shapes rising from the ground, crumbling figures that could have been trees. Even from here, Perdita could see that they were weak, ailing things.

It was as if all the magic had drained away, leaving the landscape desolate — a dismal place that did not suit her powers.

Turning on the spot, examining her surroundings with a small, helpless frown, Perdita came upon a solitary structure. A round building sat, quiet and lonely, there in the midst of this bleak terrain. The exterior was of rough hewn stone, drab in the starlight. The building boasted an arched door and matching windows, many of which sported shattered glass, or else stood completely empty, letting the chill breeze pass through.

Seeing as it was the only building within sight, Perdita approached it. Perhaps there would be something inside to explain what it was. Careful not to cause more damage, she pushed the door open with delicate fingers on the handle, giving the old wood a gentle shove with her shoulder when it did not immediately budge.

The inside was a mess of fallen objects, broken furniture and scattered papers, books torn from shelves, light fixtures mangled, as if it had been ransacked at one point, turned inside out and desecrated. There were carvings decorating the archways, many of them damaged beyond repair, but one or two were in good enough condition that Perdita could just make out their battered faces.

Perhaps this place had been a church or temple of some sort — a hypothesis that seemed even more likely when she straightened some of the toppled furniture, only to discover a few wooden benches that seemed like pews.

Just then, she heard a quiet voice call, “Allegria…”

A figure appeared, young and small, a child with auburn hair, dressed in a simple gown of white linen, with a blue cloak around her shoulders. The area around her seemed to change with her appearance, temporarily free of destruction.

This was a ghost, Perdita knew — or a memory, an image from a time long gone.

The girl approached her, drifting closer on quiet feet, but she did not see Perdita standing there. Perdita herself was rooted to the spot, unwilling to move lest she disturb this brief glimpse into the past. The girl reached her, and stepped through, continuing on unobstructed.

When they made contact, Perdita saw the temple as the girl must see it — clear of debris, with tile floors and furniture of polished wood, lit by candles and torches. The girl walked to an altar, where a book sat open, old but well cared for. The pages were covered in all manner of writing, each word different than the one before it. Near the book was a pot of ink and a fresh quill.

The girl took the quill, dipped it into the ink, and scrawled a single word onto the next blank spot on the page.

“Allegria…”

With the last soft scrape of quill against paper, the vision vanished.

Perdita turned, searching for any remnants, but found little else apart from her own surroundings.

But the altar was there, just behind her, in the center of the circular nave. It stood proudly, untouched by time, with the same book upon its surface.

Perdita made her way to it, stepping carefully over the debris. The book was unchanged, preserved somehow, likely by whatever magic remained, which kept this place struggling to maintain some semblance of life. Writing littered the first fifty pages, but the rest were blank, awaiting more names that might never come.

The ink and quill sat next to it, neither one dried out or moldering.

For a moment, Perdita stopped and considered her next move. A part of her thought it unwise to disturb this place more than she already had. In a way, it seemed disrespectful, especially when she’d gone so many years avoiding her own moon, coming up with excuse after excuse for why she had not visited. Either she was too busy, or she didn’t expect anything would be waiting for her.

The truth was, she simply had not been dedicated enough. Her Senshi life stretched out over nearly seven years, yet she remained as weak as she was the day she awoke as a child, not because she didn’t have the opportunities to achieve more, but because she put other priorities ahead of the war.

Perhaps it was time to commit more of herself. Was there truly anything more important than saving the world from darkness?

Perdita picked up the quill. She dipped it into the ink, and found the next empty space in the book. With a determined frown, Perdita entered her name.

Haven.

With the final stroke of the quill, something rose up within her — a deluge of power, like nothing she’d ever experienced, rushing through her on a wave. It was as if something long buried had unlocked within her, warm in her chest, spreading rapidly, tingling through her limbs, out to the tips of her fingers and toes.

The sensation lasted seconds at most, then faded, but in its absence she felt whole and new.

If she were to try her magic, she thought it would be different. Stronger. More potent. Useful.

She was not a child any longer. It was long passed time to put her childish ways to rest.

Perdita came to her moon as a Chibi.

She left it accomplished — a full fledged Senshi at last.