The small, cramped living room was warm with laughter, a rare thing in a house that usually echoed with silence or shouting. Emilia sat cross-legged on the worn-out rug, peeling the sticker off an old soda bottle, while Alina lounged on the sagging couch with her legs draped over the side.
“I swear,” Alina said between giggles, “Mr. Carlton bent over in class and his pants actually ripped. You could see the Spongebob boxers!”
Emilia burst out laughing, covering her mouth to muffle the sound. “You’re lying!”
“I’m not!” Alina wheezed. “And he just stood there like nothing happened. Full-on Spongebob staring at the class.”
Emilia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “That man already looks like he hates his life. This might have pushed him over the edge.”
Alina tossed a pillow at her. “Don’t be evil.”
“I’m not evil,” Emilia teased. “Just… honest.”
They both dissolved into laughter again, forgetting for a few minutes the peeling paint on the walls, the way the heater only worked in half the rooms, and the fact that dinner had been plain rice for the third night in a row.
For Emilia, these were the moments she lived for. Alina could be snarky, dramatic, and occasionally cruel—but sometimes, when her stepmother wasn’t looking, she was just a girl like her. A friend. A sister.
But the moment was too good to last.
A sharp voice sliced through the air like a blade. “Alina!”
The laughter died instantly. Alina jumped off the couch, straightening her hoodie like a soldier called to attention.
Emilia didn’t move. She already knew what was coming
Her stepmother, Vanessa, stomped into the room wearing her usual scowl and a faded robe. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her eyes went straight to Alina.
“What did I say about hanging around her?” Vanessa snapped, pointing at Emilia like she was some disease
Alina shrank a little. “We were just talking.”
“She’s not your friend,” Vanessa said through gritted teeth. “She’s not even your blood. She’s a burden. And the only reason she’s still in this house is because your father’s too soft.”
“Mom, please—”
“Go to your room.”
“But—”
“Now, Alina.”
Alina gave Emilia a helpless look, full of apology and regret, before ducking her head and walking out of the room.
Vanessa turned to Emilia, her eyes narrowing. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing,” Emilia said quietly. “We were just laughing.”
“Well, maybe you should laugh less and work more,” she snapped. “Since you’re so full of energy, I’ve got something for you.”
Emilia sat up straighter, bracing herself.
“I need you to go to the laundromat. Take the big basket. All of it. I don’t care how long the line is. And don’t come back until it’s all clean and folded.”
Emilia’s mouth opened slightly. The laundromat was a twenty-minute walk, and the basket was so heavy she usually had to drag it with both hands.
“It’s already getting dark…”
Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “And? Afraid of a little fresh air? Or do you think living here means you don’t have to earn your keep?”
Emilia stood slowly, swallowing her frustration. “No, ma’am.”
“That’s what I thought.”
She turned and walked off, the matter settled.
Emilia sighed and went to the hallway, grabbing the overstuffed laundry basket. It was already overflowing, the weight awkward and painful to carry. She shifted it against her hip and opened the front door, the cold air smacking her in the face like reality reminding her who she was.
The laundromat buzzed with the hum of dryers and the low murmur of voices. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and the air smelled like detergent and tiredness. Emilia shoved the last of the clothes into a machine and sank into a cracked plastic chair.
Her arms ached. Her fingers were raw. She didn’t even have headphones—just the rhythmic thump of the machines and the occasional cry of a child running past.
She stared at the spinning clothes and thought about her father—how he used to sing while doing the laundry, off-key and cheerful. He used to make these things feel lighter, like the weight of life wasn’t crushing.
But since her mom died and Vanessa moved in, everything changed. He worked longer hours. Came home quieter. More tired. He didn’t even notice when Vanessa started pushing Emilia further and further into the margins of their lives.
She folded the clothes mechanically, one by one, trying not to think about the blister forming on her thumb or the fact that her shoes were soaked from stepping in a puddle.
It was nearly 9:30 p.m. by the time she got back, dragging the clean laundry behind her. Her fingers were stiff from the cold, her back sore. She stumbled into the apartment and headed for the hall without a word.
“Hey,” a voice whispered.
Alina peeked out from behind her bedroom door. Her face was shadowed, her hair messy from lying on the bed.
“I waited for you,” she said.
Emilia dropped the basket in the hallway. “Why?”
“Because I felt bad. You shouldn’t have to do all that alone.”
Emilia shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Alina said softly. “She blames you for everything. Like it was your fault your mom died. Like it was your fault your dad brought us here.”
Emilia looked at her stepsister, surprised. Alina rarely spoke against her mother.
“I wish things were different,” Alina whispered. “I wish she wasn’t like this.”
“Yeah,” Emilia murmured. “Me too.”
There was a long pause, then Alina smiled a little. “You’re stronger than her, you know.”
Emilia blinked. “What?”
“You carry more weight than anyone in this house. She tries to break you, but you’re still standing. Still laughing.”
A tightness rose in Emilia’s throat, but she forced a smile.
“Well,” she said quietly, “I had to get strong somehow.”
Alina gave a soft laugh and disappeared back into her room. Emilia stood in the hallway a moment longer, then bent to pick up the laundry basket and started putting everything away.
It wasn’t much. But it was survival.
And sometimes, survival was enough—for now.
The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the soft flicker of firelight against stone. Emilia lay still on the hard bed, her body aching, her head pounding. The last memory she could grasp was pain—sharp and searing—her body tearing itself apart during the ritual. The air had smelled of blood and incense. Screams. Fire. The Moon Festival.And then—her mother’s voice.Her breath caught as her eyes opened. She was alone in a dimly lit stone chamber. The walls were old, ancient even, etched with strange runes that pulsed faintly. She sat up quickly, regretting it instantly as a sharp pain stabbed through her ribs.None of this was familiar.She wasn’t in the Bloodmoon Clan.She wasn’t with Dante.Panic rose in her throat like bile.The door creaked open.Emilia’s spine stiffened.Lenora stepped in without a word, her robes sweeping behind her like a living shadow. She looked the same as before—ageless, severe, composed. Like someone who had long since discarded softness in ex
The flames licked higher, blue-white tendrils dancing toward the full moon, casting eerie shadows across the ceremonial clearing. Emilia knelt at the center of the circle, trembling, her hands clenched into the dirt. Her chest burned as if her very bones were being reshaped. She could feel something shifting under her skin—something primal, something old.The chants had long stopped. All eyes were on her.Dante crouched beside her, hand hovering just above her back. “Emilia, breathe. You’re okay.”But she wasn’t.Pain surged again—hot and wild. Her vision blurred. Her heartbeat roared like a drum in her ears. Around her, the world rippled like a mirage.Then the wind changed.A scent. Wrong. Rotten and sharp like sulfur.Dante’s head snapped up, nose flaring.Luka was already on his feet, eyes scanning the treeline. “Something’s coming—”Before the words had even finished, the wind split with a high-pitched shriek.From the darkness beyond the circle, they came—figures draped in shado
The sky was still a pale, sleepy gray when Emilia stood at her window, watching the Bloodmoon clan's territory slowly awaken. From afar, smoke curled from kitchens, laughter echoed faintly in the crisp morning air, and the scent of sweet herbs drifted up toward her room. It was the day of the Moon Festival.Emilia hadn't slept well.For the past several days, she had spent every spare moment trying to talk sense into Alissa. Her younger sister had taken up residence in the guest quarters near the southern wing, away from Emilia and Dante. At first, Emilia had hoped she was simply confused—dazzled by Marcello’s promises or maybe overwhelmed by the strangeness of their new world.But she had been wrong.Alissa was resolute. Cold even.“Marcello believes in me,” she had said just yesterday, sitting beneath the hanging lanterns strung across the inner courtyard. “He’s not perfect, but he sees what I can become. You don’t.”“What you can become?” Emilia had whispered, hurt blooming in her
The moon hovered like a silver eye above the trees, spilling soft light over the wooden pathways of the Bloodmoon Clan. The air carried the scent of pine and damp earth, clean and still unfamiliar. Emilia had been restless all evening. No matter how many turns she took through the forest trails or how long she sat beside the quiet stream behind the main house, her thoughts wouldn't settle.Mochi had fallen asleep curled on the window seat, her soft breathing the only sound in the room. Emilia slipped on a thin jacket, ignoring the chill that bit through the fabric, and stepped into the night.She wandered toward the main clearing, where the scent of firewood drifted in the air, and torches flickered along the outer wall. The clan had begun preparing for the Moon Festival, and though the preparations were small now—banners being dyed, lanterns being strung—it gave the place a sense of motion, of purpose. Everyone was waiting for something.Emilia wasn't sure if she was excited or terri
The sun was a pale gold halo behind the trees when Dante stepped into the stone hall nestled at the center of the Bloodmoon territory. It was an ancient structure, carved directly into the hillside, where the leaders of the clan had met for generations. The circular table at its heart was rough-hewn, its surface scarred from years of strategy and memory.Already seated were the clan elders—five of them, each cloaked in dark wool and lined with silver insignia etched into the folds. Luka stood just behind Dante’s shoulder, silent but ever alert, while Mara leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed as she surveyed the room.Dante exhaled quietly and took his place at the table.“Alpha,” one of the elders, a narrow-faced woman named Solene, greeted. “You have returned.”“And not alone, from what we hear,” another added—a man called Corvin, whose hair had long since gone white but whose eyes were sharp as any young wolf’s.“She’s here,” Dante confirmed, voice low but unwavering.“Emili
The room was quiet—too quiet. Emilia had tried to rest, but her thoughts refused to be tamed. She’d changed out of her travel clothes, pulled her hair up loosely, and curled beneath the warm blanket on the bed. The mattress was softer than expected, and the room smelled of pine and old wood, the scent oddly comforting.Still, sleep never came.Her mind wandered in a restless loop, returning again and again to Dante’s expression during the drive, to the whispering villagers, and to the truth she had nearly overheard before they left the estate. Each thought nudged her heart, stirring the dust of uncertainty.A soft meow broke the silence.Mochi was sprawled across the windowsill, sunbathing. Her eyes cracked open and narrowed on Emilia with catlike disdain.“You’re restless,” Mochi muttered. “Go walk it off before you drive me mad.”Emilia sighed. “You’re a terrible emotional support animal.”“I’m not an animal. I’m a person stuck in a very cute, very inconvenient body,” Mochi huffed a