The Eyes of the Sun and Moon

Sun met Moon that evening at dusk. Sun was still beaming, rosy and flaming, but Moon was brooding, half covered in shadows. He begrudgingly dragged himself towards the sky, as Sun relaxed and settled down behind the mountains, a soft smile upon his lips. Moon glared at Sun, unbridled hatred in his eyes.
“She will be mine.” he spat. “I was there upon her birth, she’s mine by rite.”
The smile faded from Sun’s face, replaced by sadness. “That hasn’t been the way in many years. She will decide for herself.”
“She will choose me,” Moon seethed, “I will make sure of that.”
Sun let his eyes slide shut as the heavy blanket of sleep was draped upon him. “On the solstice,” he yawned, “we will present her with the choice, and we will accept whatever she decides.” He slipped into the darkness then, sleep enveloping him completely.
Moon was enraged, boiling with millennia of fury. He climbed higher into the night sky, full of energy now; and as Sun’s warmth faded from the world, he began to cool. At the peak of the night he was cold as ice, the air unseasonably chilled. There would be frost come morning.
The girl would be his. He was sure of it now. The stars gathered around him in admiration, worshiping his cunning. The girl was human after all, and every human had a piece of the night within them. Sun was oblivious. He was blinded by his own light. Moon knew, however. He knew what humans were capable of, and he knew how to sway them. The girl would be his.