Her Moon, His Haven

KATHARINA

“You’re an abomination!”

“You should never have been born into this world!”

“Let’s burn her at the stake!”

“A curse like her would only bring calamity upon us!”

Different voices—distorted and warped—filled my mind as I slept, their tones dripping with disgust, contempt, fear, and morbid jealousy.

I saw myself as a child standing before the crowd in confusion, unable to understand the hatred in their eyes, or why they wanted me dead when I’d done nothing wrong.

—

Present.

In my deathly still, dark bedroom, my golden eyes snapped open. They were clear, alert and untouched by sleep.

I sat up slowly, a momentary daze clouding my gaze before clearing up.

Perhaps it was because today marked my nine hundred and ninety-ninth birthday—coupled with the fact that I hadn’t fed in ages, leaving my physical vessel frail—that I dreamed of such an ancient, dusty memory.

Speaking of which… how old had I been back then?

Less than ten.

Abandoned. Parentless.

With no one to protect or explain the uniqueness I carried.

That fateful day, I had inadvertently activated my witch powers to save a werewolf pup from a rogue’s attack.

I never imagined that one moment of kindness would turn everyone against me—even the parents of the very child I’d saved.

They all looked at me with fear and disgust, whispering that I was a monster.

An abomination.

As a child, I couldn’t understand why I was treated that way despite showing them nothing but kindness.

But now, I did.

It was because I was a hybrid. The cursed fruit of a vampire and a witch.

It might have been tolerable if I had inherited only one lineage’s power, like most mixed-bloods.

But I was different. I inherited both.

And that made me a threat.

A freak. An oddity.

Most wanted me dead. Some wanted to save me, but only to use me.

To experiment on me.

To drain my blood and strengthen their own powers.

None of them succeeded.

Not out of mercy. Not because they suddenly grew a conscience.

But because they couldn’t defeat me.

Even as a child, with my hybrid powers raw and unrefined, I had already become the strongest supernatural alive.

Blinking and snapping back from the unpleasant memory, I summoned a hand mirror from the vanity with a flick of magic.

My reflection stared back at me.

A young, exquisitely beautiful woman with high, sculpted cheekbones, full crimson lips, and long, raven-black hair cascading down her back.

Her fair skin gleamed faintly even in the dim light.

But it was her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of light gold, that stood out the most.

The sight of such beauty would have brightened anyone's day.

Yet all I felt was boredom.

Boredom that seeped deep into my bones.

After all, I’d been looking at this same face—frozen in time—for almost a millennium now.

Long enough for dynasties to rise and fall ten times over.

And I was not the least bit happy about it.

Many longed for immortality and would do anything to attain it.

Yet for me, who possessed it, immortality was nothing but a curse.

Each passing year left me feeling hollower than the last.

So by my five-hundredth year, I had begun searching for a way to end it.

Yet even after all these centuries...

My gaze hardened as I tightened my grip on the mirror until it shattered to dust in my palm.

I still hadn’t found a way to turn mortal, or die.

The air around me twisted, my magic teetering on the edge of a rampage.

Before it could tear through the room, I exhaled softly, letting the agitation within me ebb away. Then I slid off the bed, slipped on my slippers, and stepped out.

—

At the back of my mansion lay the herb garden, the place where I grew ingredients for my potions.

Potions, or rather poisons, meant to 'cure' my immortality.

Here, thrived the most poisonous plants known to this world, each one of which I had personally ingested.

I stepped inside, brushing my fingers lightly across their leaves as I walked past.

Belladonna. Hemlock. Mandrake root. Wolfsbane.

The air smelled earthy and bitter, rich and heady with a faint, deceptive sweetness.

Normally, I despised strong fragrances. But here was the exception.

I stopped at the heart of the garden and drew in a deep breath. The scent filled my lungs, and with it came a subtle sting from the poisonous fumes.

For anyone else, this place would have been a death zone.

But for me, it represented hope.

The distant, desperate hope that one day I might finally cure my curse…

Then I heard it.

A faint whimper, coming from the farthest depths of the garden.

For a second, I thought I’d imagined it.

How could there be a living creature here?

My mansion stood deep within Mystic Forest—a place even the bravest dared not enter lightly. And I had also cast layers of enchantments around the estate, making it impossible for any soul to trespass unnoticed.

At that, I dismissed the sound as a trick of the wind.

Then it came again.

Soft. Pained.

My expression froze.

I hadn’t imagined it.

Which meant…

Something had managed to slip through my barriers without alerting me.

A slow, intrigued smile curved my lips.

Now, I was curious.

Just what kind of creature could bypass my enchantments?

I turned toward the sound and walked over, my steps measured, unhurried.

And then I saw it, illuminated by the soft glow of the full moon overhead.

A tiny, black-furred pup—bloodied and trembling—lying amidst my roses, almost blending into the darkness.

I arched a brow.

Fortunate little thing.

It had collapsed in the only corner of the garden protected from poison.

Anywhere else, and even the miasma alone would have killed it…

Then I caught a scent, faint but unmistakable.

Dominant. Enticing. Sweet.

Instinctively, I inhaled… and froze.

My weakened body stirred, as though something inside me had just awakened.

Power.

Hunger.

I could feel it, a fraction of strength returning to my limbs, as well as my fangs itching to make an appearance.

Impossible.

I frowned, testing it again by drawing in another breath.

The effect was the same, but stronger this time.

My gaze snapped back to the wolf pup.

The scent… was coming from it.

I blinked, and for the first time in centuries, I felt something other than perpetual weariness.

Interest.

And the faintest spark of fate.