The History OF The Blood Moon

I stumbled back to the bed. My head was still pounding and my heart was still racing.I didn't have time to panic. I had to scrub.the rag felt strange in my hand yet familiar. I grabbed the rough brush the woman had left beside the pail. The bathroom was not a bathroom like I knew. No tiles. No shower. A big stone basin, a hole in the floor, and moss growing in the corners. The water in the pail was icy and smelled like lemon and ash.

I knelt. My knees still that sand feeling, like they would crumble screamed.The door was half open. Footsteps. Two other girls in black and white servant uniforms passed. They saw me on the floor and giggled, their expression full of mockery.

"Look, the fourth is scrubbing again. Lady Irish must be angry," one whispered, loud enough for me to hear.

"She always scrubs. That's all she's good for," the other laughed. They didn't stop. They didn't help. They just walked away laughing.

My stomach made a loud, rumbling growl. I Felt like I hadn’t eaten in years, I was starving. My tummy kept rumbling, folding in on itself. The hunger was sharp, painful.

Where am I? Who am I? If I'm here, where is my real body?. The questions wouldn't stop while my hands kept scrubbing. I finished, my fingers red and raw from the cold water. I dragged myself out of that stone bathroom and tried to find where I was supposed to go.

The house was huge. Almost medieval, but not dirty. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the curtains were so thick they seemed to absorb all light and sound. The air was cool even under heavy blankets. This wasn't a normal house. This wasn't the U.S.

This was something like a palace.

What kind of society was this? Was this a new world or did I somehow go back in time?

I found a small room at the end of the drafty hallway. The door was crooked, the wood chipped. It didn't look like the other doors. This must be mine. Hers. Sylvia's.

I had just entered when a knock.  no, a shove  hit the door from the other side and it swung open, nearly hitting my face.A girl stood there. Another servant, but her uniform was cleaner, her hair done up. Arrogant face. She looked me up and down with disgust and shoved a bundle into my hands.

"Here. Lady Irish said to give you this. Don't think it's because we like you. Better not die in our hands t?"

It was a stale piece of bread with rumble egg and water. "Good. Take it. And stay in your room. You're embarrassing the household.". She slammed the door after she left, leaving me standing in the cold with bread in my hands.

My tummy rumbled again, louder this time. I tore into the bread even though it tasted like sawdust. Hunger made it taste like something.

I stumbled back to the bed. The room itself is what pulled me out of my almost panic attack. It wasn't a modern house like mine had been. The walls were paneled in dark wood, and the curtains were so thick they seemed to absorb all light and sound. The air was cool even under the heavy blankets.

The clothes I was wearing felt like silk made from moonlight even though it was just a simple high-necked nightdress. Could such clothes even still exist in the U.S?. This wasn't a hospital or a normal home. This was something like a palace.

What kind of society was this? Was this a new world or did I somehow go back in time?. I needed information. I needed to understand why I was here and why my soul was inhabiting this new body.

I forced myself up again. I needed to find a door. The room was large, and it took a long minute to find a subtle handle hidden in the dark wood paneling. I took a deep breath and pushed it, expecting a hallway but instead, I found a small, richly furnished adjoining sitting room. Wow, this must be part of Sylvia "chambers". At least that's what I think they are called.

And that's where I found the first clue.

. It was Sylvia's secret.

I walk towards the jewels decorated on the table. My leg kick something hard, I crunch down in pains holding my toe. hidden under a loose floorboard I kicked by accident, was a small wooden box. I brought it out and set on the desk opening it. 

To my mate, wherever you are...

My hands shook.

And under that letter, books. Old, leather-bound books that looked forbidden. Hidden for a reason. The titles made my breath stop.

THE HISTORY OF THE BLOOD MOON WOLVES

WITCHES AND THE NORTHERN FOREST

THE OLD PACT: HUMAN LAW UNDER THE ALPHAS.

Wolves and witches?. This girl... this  fourth daughter... was obsessed with wolves. I snatched up the heaviest one. Deep forest-green leather, title written in faded silver: A Brief History of the Northern and Southern Territories and the Blackwood Dynasty Subtitle Werewolves and Humans.

My heart hammered.

I skimmed the introduction. Dry, formal writing, but the content was breathtaking.

The world was divided into human provinces and Wolf Territories, ruled for centuries by Alpha bloodlines. The Blackwood family were the current rulers  Lords of the largest territory. Alpha Bryan Blackwood, the ruthless werewolf of Northern and Southern territory. Humans lived under their protection, yes, but protection had a price. Providing labor, paying loyalty, and... I swallowed hard... submitting to various laws established for the wolves' benefit.

It got weirder when I got to the part about the Choosing Ball.

Every year, unmated daughters of high human families were presented at the Ball. Not for marriage. For scenting. A werewolf could smell his fated mate. If he found her, she belonged to him. No human law could stop a claiming.

And humans were citizens, yes, but their fundamental value tied to their blood quality. Certain families, those with "cleaner, purer" lineages especially those with dormant witch blood gave off a scent that droves wolves crazy. Other humans were merely tolerated. They had no scent at all.

I slapped the book shut.

Werewolves were real. Witches were real. I was in a wolf society.

"What the fuck?" I whispered to the empty room. My voice, Sylvia's soft, weak voice cracked. "Nah, it's probably a fictional story. Yes, that's what it is. She just likes fantasy...". I looked back at the mirror. This body, this Sylvia Irish, belonged to this world. The fourth daughter, treated like a servant in her own home.

Before I could process the true horror of my situation, the loose floorboard creaked again.

There was something else in the box. Under the books.

a letter, that look faded and almost cleaned out. “I miss you child, I know you might be confused but with time you will understand.”