12 years later

^^^

Moonlight Primrose's P.O.V

^^^

I wake to my father yelling my name. He punched the door. "WAKE UP! GET UP, YOU WORTHLESS BRAT!" great way to start your Saturday, right?

I lift my head from the pillow. The rays of day shone between the curtains, right onto my face. I tilt my head down and blinked rapidly. Why did day come? I liked night better. I heard father thump to his room. I get up and pulled a white and black striped top, my gloves, and jeans on. The top was four sizes to big, and the jeans were missing a belt loop. The gloves were the same as always. White with black lace. They were my pride and joy of my neatness. This was my wardrobe. I slip on some old socks and pit padded down stairs. At the foot of the stairs, I look into the front hall, and saw the mail. I pick it up. Three bills, one letter from Aunt Maya, and a fancy red envelope. I walk into the kitchen and slipped the mail in front of father place. He thumped down just as I flip the pancakes. He dropped into his chair and picked up the red envelope. "What's this?" he asked. I sit and shrugged. He punched me off my seat.

Okay, I'll give it to you straight. Father blames me for my mother's death. The day that Foxy bit my ear at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, Mom had speed when she followed the ambulance with me in it, and she crashed. Father thinks that If I hadn't let Foxy get close to me, then the crash would have never happened. But i couldn't help it. And i wasn't mad at Foxy. he said nice things to me, things that Father would have never said.

---

"I love your name, lass. Sounds like a queen's, no, a goddess's name. And I love your hair. It looks like snow. And your big eyes, like a doe. Beautiful."

---

He had said it so, truthfully. I pull myself from my daze and climbed back into my chair. Father had placed the envelope next to my cup. Then I see the name.

*Moonlight Primrose Dufort

198 Fetters street

Hurricane

U.S.A*

Father jutted his chin. "For ya, Brat. deal with whatever it is."

He stood, and kicked my chair. Before I could lift myself, he dumped raw pancake batter on my head. Great morning, right?

After he left for his job, I stand and pick the envelope up. The return address read, "Freeters Lot, 494"

"Someone from the shopping lot." I think, opening the red envelope "But who?"

Inside was more paper, but creamy white. In purple letters, it read;

Dear Miss Defort,

I am the owner of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, and writing on the regard of an injury that occurred in 1987. We call it the Bite of '87. It was caused when Foxy, currently out of order, malfunctioned.

On that account, I wish to discuss if you feel as if Foxy should become open to the public, along with how my pizzeria can help you. I feel that you can understand the situation a bit stronger now that you are much older. Please meet us at your earliest convenience.

Yours truly

Owner of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria

I read it a few times. Go back? To the place that I lost my ear? And discuss if i feel that Foxy should be public again?? Was that even up to me? I look at the clock. Should I go now? Then I look at me.

Maybe a shower and change of clothes first.

Ten minutes later, I walk up the street in a red shirt and gray skirt. The shirt was missing the cuffs, and the skirt was too short, showing my thin legs and worn flats. Still had the gloves. My coat was short, and to tight to even shut. The November air blew, yet the sun beat down merciless. A rather cold day altogether. People turned and stared. Little boys pointed out my missing ear, which the wind made visible by blowing my hair up. Little girls and their mothers pointed at my ragged clothes and gloves and shoes and hair. Men eyed my snow white hair and doe eyes. I will never forget what that fox animatronic told me.

I stop at a four way street when a red and black charger pulled up next to me. I look away, but the person inside call, "Hey! Moony! Come 'ere!" I look at Jake Fadderman. A.k.a, the boy in the red jacket. It was him who pushed my up next to Foxy all those years ago. I ignored him through elementary school, but forgave him in middle. But I still try to keep a distance from him outside our high school. I walk over and bent next to his passenger window. "Yeah?" I ask. He leaned over. "Where ya goin Moony?"

"Freeters Lot, The Fazbear place to be exact."

"Why do ya wanna go there? Didn't you lose an ear there?"

"Thanks to you, yes."

He blushed. "Can't bygones be bygones?"

"Not when you end up in the hospital. What do you want?"

"Well, how about I drive ya?"

"Drive me?"

"Sure! Hop in!"

I heaste, but slid in. it would be warmer than walking. Jake turned on his radio, and we were off