When the Luna Died

After taking the painkillers the healer had prescribed, I headed to Fiona White's hospital room.

The room was warm and cozy. Birthday balloons hung from the ceiling.

My father George was holding a freshly baked cream cake while my mother Samantha sang "Happy Birthday" to Fiona.

The happy scene came to an abrupt halt when I walked in.

The smile vanished from Samantha's face, replaced by cold indifference.

"What are you doing here? Faking an illness didn't work, so now you're here to ruin your sister's birthday?"

George looked at me with undisguised disgust.

"Daisy, how did I end up raising such a disappointing daughter? Just to steal the Sacred Spring Water, you even made up a disease like Soul Decay Syndrome."

I opened my mouth to explain that I hadn't.

Before I could speak, Samantha looked at me coldly and let out a mocking laugh.

"You've been a liar since you were a child. I should've known better."

Behind them, Fiona looked at me, the smug satisfaction on her face growing more obvious by the second.

In the past, I would've charged forward without thinking and argued with them.

I would've demanded answers.

Why were they so cruel to their own daughter?

Why did they always believe an outsider's lies over me?

But now, I simply tightened my grip on the terminal diagnosis the healer had given me and stayed silent.

I was tired.

Ever since Fiona came into this family, there had never been a place for me here.

If that was what they wanted, then so be it.

My face was pale as I forced a faint smile.

"Mom, Dad, I'm here to give Fiona a birthday present."

Samantha frowned.

"Stop pretending you're weak. What kind of gift could you possibly have for her?"

Without waiting for another accusation, I pulled a notebook from my pocket. Inside were all my perfume formulas and ingredient records.

"Hasn't Fiona always wanted my perfume recipes? I've decided to give them to her."

Surprise flashed across Samantha's face, quickly followed by suspicion. She looked me up and down with cold, searching eyes.

"You've really changed your mind? Or are you planning something again? Are you trying to set Fiona up?"

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

The Silvermoon Pack was famous for its perfumery, and I'd inherited my parents' talent.

But Fiona couldn't stand the thought of me being better than her, so my talent had been buried long ago.

My parents had done everything they could to force me to hand over my perfume formulas to Fiona. But no matter what they tried, I refused to give up the work I'd poured my heart into.

After that, my relationship with my family only got worse.

But now, none of it mattered anymore.

I was dying.

Why should I care about things like this now?

When Samantha realized I wasn't joking, she visibly relaxed.

She stepped forward and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"Daisy, you've finally become sensible. Fiona isn't any less talented than you. She's only limited by her human identity. Those formulas will be far more useful in her hands than they ever were in yours."

Even George, who had always treated me with cold indifference, looked at me with rare approval.

They only ever showed me warmth when I was giving something to Fiona.

Fighting back tears, I placed the notebook containing all my formulas into Fiona's hands.

Then I asked softly, "Mom, Dad... if I died, would you be sad?"

Samantha's expression immediately changed.

"What nonsense are you talking about? Werewolves live for a very long time."

Maybe because I'd finally handed over the formulas, she let out a sigh and softened her tone.

"Humans have much shorter lifespans. Fiona is only holding onto these things for you temporarily. Later, we'll love you properly. We'll make it up to you."

A bitter, mocking smile tugged at my lips.

I didn't have a future anymore.

I wondered if they would regret it when I was gone.

Before I could leave the room, I ran into Vincent Smith and Cecilia Smith rushing in.

Vincent was my mate, and Cecilia was my six-year-old daughter.

They both ignored me and went straight to Fiona's bedside.

My daughter held a polished moonstone bracelet in her small hands. She leaned against Fiona's bed and said, "Aunt Fiona, I made this for you myself. Happy birthday."

Vincent looked at her with a gentle expression, and he placed a crown on Fiona's head.

"This Silvermoon Crown is my birthday gift to you."

My chest tightened.

That crown was supposed to represent the Luna's legacy, and now it was on my sister's head.