Prologue: Hellebore

Her parents didn't know her anymore. There weren't many people who had that bad luck, so the girl expected it to be like that anyway. Her parents, her sisters, her closest cousins, they didn't know her. Not a little bit, nothing about her.

What could the girl do? There was nothing interesting to know.

— On that night, when the Moon is present and when the stars carry their light, we are here to unite this couple who have been united by the Spirits of Love!

She looked forward to the white marble altar decorated with a beautiful wine carpet and beautiful red carnations. A sigh came out silently from her lips as she passed the gloved fingertip over the lace of the dress.

— Since the sun was present and the Moon became mother and guardian, we have all been blessed and embraced by your light and warmth! — the hand wrinkled by the priestess's age raised a crystal cup containing the red liquid of the ceremony.

The butterflies surrounded the altar, doing a beautiful dance of love, surrounding the flowers and all who were present. One of nature's dancers landed on the girl's hand, opening and closing her lilac wings, a move so calm and quiet that it made the girl feel that maybe she and the butterfly were thinking the same thing.

A small smile was made on her painted lips, the girl's eyes no longer wanted to observe the decorated altar or the guests she did not know half. It was just her and the butterfly.

—... Then get up! —the girl raised her face quickly when the priestess's voice spoke again— Stand up to honor the couple who unite today in the maternal light of our great mother.

The girl looked at the couple at the altar, looked like two monarchs, perhaps even models for paintings. Wearing traditional ceremonial robes, surrounded by red carnations and butterflies dancing around them celebrating love. She got up, letting the butterfly fly to her family and lowered her face already feeling the gaze of family members who knew her.

They didn't know her, the girl was trying to mentalize that, no one really knew her.

The musicians began to play the harps, the priestess continued to thank and celebrate for the love that was being made official there. The girl heard the noise of the camera, the murmurs of happiness of the parents of the bride and groom and also managed to hear all the thoughts about her.

But they didn't know her, that's what really should matter.

The hall after the wedding ceremony was a lively venue, some people danced happily, laughed loudly and drank wine. The girl looked at the newlyweds being courted with smiles and gifts, as well as the lengthy hugs of each one that went to their table.

The bride looked beautiful, her face glowed like a full moon and the jewels and embroidery on the robe looked like the stars. The groom behaved like the Sun, the consort of the Moon, kept his face in a proud glow that you only saw at noon. The two formed a beautiful couple, this the girl could not deny.

Even though she had no blood connection with the bride, she could see the illuminated smile and pure eyes as precious stones that her mother had. It wasn't something restricted to the girl, everyone in the salon knew that. If they didn't know, they'd understand at that moment.

The girl took the glass of wine and took a sip while looking at another part of the hall. She saw the bride's sister dancing romantically in the middle of the dance floor, who had married almost two years before the bride. The girl decided she preferred to drink more wine while looking at the bride's sister and brother-in-law.

People said their love was so strong that even after almost two years of marriage, the candle on the altar of the Twilight Spirit still burn strongly and you couldn't see a drop of wax fall. It made the mother of the two women very happy, a flame that does not go out always said more about the matriarch of the family than about love.

It was always the moon's obligation to teach the stars how love worked.

— It's a horror, the youngest of the family has lost another suitor. This marriage was supposed to be hers—the girl turned her face a little, just enough to hear the newest gossip.

She noticed two ladies, one wearing the most beautiful pink and the other a radiant yellow.

— Ms. Carmesim must be as ashamed, a family as devoted as hers— the lady in yellow shoved an almost whole cookie into her mouth, putting the fan in front soon after.

— Obviously it is! But it wasn't something that wasn't being expected, where the labor water bloomed a poisonous flower — the lady in pink took a sip of the drink and looked around before approaching the lady in yellow.

The girl couldn't hear much, just the other woman pulling the air violently and speaking one louder than a whisper:

— Bouquet of beladona? Heavens!...

The girl laughed blandly before turning the glass of wine. Gossip wasn't very changeable, she knew it. Years ago were the same rumors, never had a confirmation to satisfy the ears of the curious.

The girl was getting ready to return to attend the party, as if it were nothing more than a servant or a part of the decoration. But her attention was drawn to the ladies' conversation with only two words: Carmesim Mansion.

The wine she had just had suddenly tasted like vinegar, and the snacks and sweets on the small dish no longer seemed so appealing.

— When I saw the Messenger of the Carmesims searching for the documents in the registry office, I did not know that he would be a man with so few popes on his tongue — the lady in pink laughed in a way that only the matriarchs of that city could, form cruel and sharp as a razor — The mansion needs to be occupied by someone, the priestess of the family had a terrible dream and spent three nights and three days kneeling on the praying moonstone.

The girl could see the lady's pupils in yellow growing up after hearing that, but hers also grew.

— Tell me he told you what the priestess dreamed of! — the lady in yellow tried not to scream in an animation.

— Only Mrs. Carmesim and her husband know what she dreamed of, but staying on the moonstone hasn't changed anything. The messenger said that the same night the priestess had the same dream. So Mrs. Carmesim sent him after the documents as soon as possible.

— But as far as we knew the Carmesim Mansion was being occupied by a distant aunt of Mrs. Carmesim, you know the rumors of that woman being crazy — the lady in yellow paused and the girl turned her face again to see what the women were doing, but right at the time the lady in yellow took her hand out of her mouth and drank a sip of the drink — Since when Mrs. Carmesim was just a debutante there were already those disturbing stories of the woman dancing on the blood of her children.

The girl's spine froze a little. That story was almost like a horror story in town, a gossip that was whispered low enough not to reach the mad ears of Mrs. Carmesim's aunt.

Because it is a delicate gossip, the girl heard the noise of the slap that the lady in pink gave on the shoulder of the friend.

— Speak lower! The musicians entertain people, but they're not deaf! — the woman drank the rest of what she had in the bowl and put her hand on the pendant with the Waning Moon — We don't know much about this gossip, but what the messenger said was that the news that scared Mrs. Carmesim the most was not even the priestess's dream — the lady paused a little dramatic, ripping off some grumbling from her friend —what scared Mrs. Carmesim was to know that her aunt had passed away months ago, the mansion is empty!

The party seemed to stop for the girl, the blood flowed like a river in winter. She automatically turned her face to her mother and sisters who chatted happily with other ladies, smiling totally carefree.

— The house can only be passed on to a true Carmesim, as the older sisters are adopted... — she heard one of the ladies speak and the silence was the end of the phrase she did not want to hear.

The girl got up quickly and soon her feet began to guide her out of the hall, passing strangely gracefully through the tables and people, then was taken to the mansion garden, crumpling some flowers without any remorse, and finally reaching the garden that had been named after her at her birth.

The girl knelt down and tore off her gloves, throwing the delicate pieces into some bucket and began digging among the poisonous flowers that never died. She cried in anger, cried and pulled the earth out, until there was nothing left but broken roots, petals, and stems where the garden was.

Below that chaos, the girl took the box she knew would be there. By turning her finger on the lid, she can feel the carved letters and it was soon possible to read what was written.

"It's finally here, dear Artemisia."