ON AND ON

MAYA

The silence in the sitting room stretched tight, pulled so thin it felt as if a single breath would snap it. Maria stared at me across the mahogany tea table, her dark eyes wide and fixed, her chest heaving beneath her velvet gown. The question I had thrown at her—Was that why you killed her?—hung in the air like a heavy cloud of smoke.

Then, the dam broke.

Maria went on and on explaining that she did not kill Philomena.

"I didn't kill her!" she burst out, her voice rising into a sharp, erratic screech that echoed off the high stone walls. She threw her hands in the air, pacing frantically back and forth across the rug, her silk skirt rustling loudly. "You don't know anything, Maya! You weren't here! You listen to rumors and old maid gossip and think you understand the history of this palace! She fell and hit her head and died! It was an accident! A tragic, foolish accident!"

I didn't move an inch. I kept my palms flat on the dark wood of the table, my body completely still, watching her unravel piece by piece.

"She was weak!" Maria continued, her face twisting into an ugly, bitter sneer as she began insulting me and challenging me. "She was fragile, useless, and pathetic! And you think you can stand there and judge me? You are nothing compared to the nobility in this pack! You are a nobody who crawled out of the dirt, just like she was! Philomena was just from a small, lonely family! Her bloodline had no standing, no power, no army!"

She stepped closer to the table, leaning in with a furious, breathless intensity, her finger pointed trembling at my chest.

"In fact, the Alpha was just engaged to her and not married to her!" Maria yelled, her voice cracking with long-buried rage. "They never made it to the altar! She was never a true Luna! And after her dad's death, she became suicidal! She lost her mind! She wandered around the tombs like a ghost long before she ever ended up in the dirt! She took her own peace away!"

She went on and on, talking and explaining what was not asked.

She offered details no one had requested, defending herself against accusations I hadn't even voiced yet. The frantic rush of her words, the excessive explanations, the desperate need to rewrite history—it was the reaction of a woman drowning in her own guilt.

All I did was just stare.

I didn't shout back. I didn't get angry. I kept my face blank, my eyes cold and dark, letting her voice bounce off my silence. I watched the sweat break out on her forehead and the trembling in her manicured fingers.

And after she stopped, panting for air, waiting for me to scream or argue, I took a slow, calm breath and asked another question.

"Why does everyone think you do?"

The moment I asked that, she began all over again.

"Yeah! Everyone thinks I killed her!" Maria shrieked, throwing her head back with a loud, bitter laugh that sounded border-line hysterical. "Everyone in this cursed palace looks at me like I'm a murderer! Because Edward chose and married me! So they assumed it was out of jealousy I killed her! They thought I wanted her crown! They thought I wanted her bed! But I did not kill her! I didn't put my hands on her!"

She paused abruptly.

The room fell into a sudden, eerie quiet. Maria stood frozen in the middle of the rug, her chest rising and falling heavily, her mouth slightly open. Her eyes darted around the dim room, looking at the stone arches, the curtained windows, and the heavy doors, as if realizing for the first time how much she had just admitted to a woman she considered a maid.

Panic, raw and unadulterated, flooded into her features.

"Who and who thinks I killed her?" she asked, her voice dropping into a rapid, breathless whisper as she took two fast steps toward me. "Does Edward think I killed her?"

I didn't answer. I just tilted my head slightly, watching her spiral.

"Does the elders think so?" Maria demanded, her hands clutching at her dark velvet cloak. "Is that what they say behind closed doors?! Or the pack people?! Or the maids?! Who is spreading these lies about me, Maya?! Tell me!"

Clearly, she was restless.

The untouchable, arrogant Luna who had spent nineteen years walking these halls like a queen was now shivering in front of me, utterly consumed by paranoia. The mere mention of Philomena’s name was enough to strip away her royal mask and expose the terrified, guilty coward hiding underneath.

A cold, deep satisfaction bloomed inside my chest.

Now I will not stop mentioning about Philomena.

I had found her weakness. For months, I had been defensive, quiet, and passive, trying to survive her cruel games and holding my tongue while she called me names and pushed me into corners. Gosh, I have been so quiet and kind to her, and I guess that was why Philomena's soul now fights for me.

My past self hadn't been angry at Edward, and she hadn't been fighting me for control. She had been waiting for me to wake up. She had been waiting for me to stop acting like a victimized servant and start using the truth as a weapon. Philomena's spirit was empowering me, giving me the cold, unshakeable strength to stand my ground and drive Maria into the dark corners of her own mind.

I slowly stood up from the tea table, pulling my shoulders back, letting the full weight of my presence fill the space between us.

"No one had to spread lies, Maria," I said, my voice low, smooth, and chillingly quiet in the tense room. "Guilt speaks louder than any rumor. And the dead have a very long memory."

Maria took an instinctive step back, her eyes wide as she stared at me, her lower lip trembling. "What... what are you talking about?"

"Go get some rest, Luna Maria," I said with a cold, mocking smile, stepping past her toward the hallway. "You have a lot of streets left to sweep tomorrow."

I walked out of the sitting room, leaving her standing alone in the dim candlelight, trembling in the cold shadow of the past she thought she had buried nineteen years ago.