The sun had long since dipped behind the western walls of the estate, painting the corridors in hues of dying gold and deepening violet. Within the silence of the east wing, Luna sat cross-legged on her bed, the single candlelight flickering against her face. Books lay scattered around her: tomes on sword theory, histories of noble lineages, and a few worn manuals of household management she had stolen from the library.
To most, it might have looked like the study mess of an overly eager noble daughter preparing for her debut. But Luna's gaze was sharp, her pen steady as she annotated the margins with criticisms that no "child of noble birth" was supposed to know.
It was in this rare stillness that the door opened without a knock.
The woman who entered moved with the grace of someone who had spent her entire life being observed. Her hair, cascaded in waves down her back, and her silken gown whispered against the stone floor. Isabella, the woman Luna was forced to call mother.
Luna did not rise, though her hands instinctively curled into fists within her lap. Isabella's visits were rare. They were never born out of affection. Each time, she came with a reason. A task. A manipulation.
"My, my…" Isabella's voice was a low, amused purr as she swept across the room and sat at the edge of Luna's bed. "Not even a bow? Not even a polite curtsy for your mother?"
Luna's lips twitched. "What is it, mother? You can get to the point."
A sly smile curved Isabella's painted lips. "Ohh, look at this little chick, already familiar enough to call me mother without trembling." She brushed a strand of Luna's hair behind her ear, a motion both tender and suffocating. "Well. That's good. Very good."
Luna's gaze did not soften. She waited.
"You see," Isabella continued, crossing one leg elegantly over the other, "if it weren't for me, how would you have turned out by now? I do wonder. Would you have survived? Would you have been picked apart by those carrion nobles, or would you have been cast into the gutter with the rest of the wasted children?"
Her tone was casual, but the implication sharp enough to draw blood.
Luna felt the familiar sting in her chest, but she did not flinch. And yet, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have become this hollow either, she thought, though she swallowed the words.
Instead, she answered with flat obedience. "What is it you want me to do?"
"Good girl." Isabella's voice dipped lower, like velvet hiding thorns. She leaned close, her breath brushing Luna's ear. "A friend of mine, Theresa Albrecht, lives in a little town called Veloria. Once, she was a woman of unmatched brilliance. The crown princes themselves used to cross borders just to gaze upon her. But," Isabella chuckled, "flowers that bloom too quickly are the first to wilt. Now she is nothing more than a teacher. A commoner."
Her hand tightened briefly on Luna's shoulder. "You will go to her. Six months only. Live under her roof, follow her instructions, and learn what it means to grow firm. Strong. Rooted. She knows who you are, of course. But to everyone else, you are no noble's child. You are simply Luna. If I send a letter calling you back, she will return you here immediately."
The words settled in the room like a shroud.
"…Alright, mother," Luna murmured. "But when do I leave?"
Isabella's smile was cruelly playful. "Oh, tonight."
Luna blinked. "Tonight? Without notice?"
Her mother's laugh tinkled like fine glass, beautiful and grating. "Notice? Why would anyone need to know? You're just an extra piece on the board, darling. Your absence will barely ruffle the air. Slip away quietly. That's best."
Inside, Luna almost laughed herself. Not even mentioned in the original novel. I suppose that makes sense. I'm just an extra, after all. But— she glanced at her reflection in the candlelight, at her sharp eyes and uncommonly delicate face, the features of someone far too striking to blend into the background. Am I really only that? Too beautiful to be an extra. Perhaps the original Luna wasted her life waiting for that useless fiancé of hers. Pathetic. She should have…
Her thoughts halted. No. She remembered: the original Luna was only a child. A child who had been constantly manipulated and bullied, a child who had never been spoon-fed love, who would lick even a knife if it carried the faintest smear of kindness.
"…Yes, mother. I understand."
Isabella's expression softened for the briefest moment, though whether it was genuine or calculated, Luna could not tell. "Good girl," she repeated. Then, without further ceremony, she rose from the bed, skirts swaying like shadows, and left as suddenly as she had entered.
The door shut behind her with a muted click.
And Luna was left staring at the flame of her candle, her fists clenched tightly against her knees.
Later that night…
The halls of the estate were silent as Luna dragged her small suitcase across the polished marble. She had packed swiftly just enough to survive, not enough to draw attention. Every step echoed, and with it came the faint reminder that she was leaving behind not a home, but a gilded prison.
As she approached the courtyard, the cold night air swept in through the open archways. A carriage stood waiting, horses snorting softly in the mist. But before she could reach it, a shadow moved.
"Hey, Luna."
The voice came from the side passage. Out stepped the knight. His armor was plain tonight, no cloak of Isabella's crest, but even so, his presence was heavy.
"Going somewhere?" His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed unease.
Luna stiffened. "…Yes."
She moved past him, hoping for a quick escape. But he followed. "Stop ignoring me."
"I'm not." Her voice was clipped. "I'll be away from here for a while."
"This place…" He hesitated. "You don't even call it home, do you?"
"Home?" Luna let out a humorless breath. "Yeah. Home."
He frowned, stepping closer. "Who's going with you? That bi—… I mean, Isabella?"
"No," she answered flatly. "I'm alone."
"What? Alone? With a suitcase that size?" His voice cracked slightly, caught between worry and disbelief.
Luna's grip on the handle tightened. "Sorry. I can't tell you. And yes, it was a pleasure to see your sword style, Sir Knight. Now, may I?"
She moved toward the carriage, but suddenly he blocked her path, his hand sweeping to his belt.
For a moment, Luna's instincts flared—her body tensed to strike, her assassin's training screaming of danger. But instead of steel flashing in attack, the knight pulled out a small dagger. A curved blade, polished yet worn, gleamed faintly under the red moonlight above.
"This is mine," he said, holding it out. "Take it. No one knows I have it. It's small, easy to hide."
Luna blinked. "…Why are you giving me this?"
His gaze shifted away. "Because you're not like her. You're odd. But not evil. Your mother—" his voice sharpened, "—she's the one I hate." He pressed the dagger into her hands. "Be well, kid."
The leather of the grip felt warm against her palm. Luna hesitated, then slowly closed her fingers around it. She wanted to ask more, but the coachman called out, and the horses stirred.
The carriage door opened, and she climbed inside, still clutching the blade. As the wheels rolled across the cobblestones, she glanced back.
The knight stood in the courtyard, bathed in the eerie glow of the crimson moon. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed far away.
He remembered being five years old, curled up in the freezing alleys, hunger gnawing at his bones. He remembered the Duke in his twenties, who had found him, pitied him, given him bread and a name. He had sworn loyalty that day. Sworn to protect.
And yet he had failed. Failed to protect the Duke, who now wasted away in a wheelchair under Isabella's poisons and schemes. Failed to stop the manipulation, the lies.
His hands tightened into fists. "I've come so far," he whispered to the empty air. "But I still can't bring myself to like this kid."
A faint, bitter smile touched his lips. "Let's see how her life unfolds."
The carriage rolled into the night, carrying Luna away from everything she had known. She sat in silence, her suitcase by her side, the dagger resting across her knees. The crimson moon followed overhead, painting the road in shades of blood.
And so began her journey to Veloria.
.....