All Chapters of Will Bear the Moon: Chapter 341 - Chapter 350

*Hidi* I should break down the door and drag him out, kicking and screaming.The thought was tempting enough, sending a tremor through her clenched fists. If it were anyone else, Hidi would've done it already. One good stomp and the wood would explode into splinters, the hinges shrieking in metallic protest as she burst through like a summer storm—all thunder and lightning wrapped in velvet. She'd grab the stubborn fool by the collar, her fingers sinking into fabric and flesh alike, and haul them out into the hallway as easily as plucking eggs at Ostara. The satisfying crack of bone, the wheeze of expelled air—she could almost taste it.But this wasn't anyone else. This was Nicoli.And that changed everything.She couldn't just barrel in, couldn't treat him with the same reckless energy and bone-snapping strength she used on Lucy or the occasional defiant maid. Her nostrils flared with each measured breath, the cold air sharp against the tender flesh inside her nose. Nicoli wasn't a

*Ana*My body flinches from the sound of her voice, every muscle contracting like I've been struck by lightning. The word 'friend' seems to sour the very air, turning the golden warmth of the room acrid and bitter on my tongue. It lingers there, sweetly foul, like fruit left too long in the sun. A sharp, overclean scent of lemon and something more astringent—like boiled herbs and too much perfume—invades the room along with her. The fragrance is overwhelming, blunt in its brightness, cutting through the comfortable mingling of pine smoke and coffee like scissors through fur. Her presence arrives before her voice fully lands, a fast-moving storm cloaked in velvet and unwavering confidence that makes the very walls seem to shrink back.The hard click of her heels strikes the marble like a war drum, each step deliberate and sharp enough to make my teeth ache. The sound echoes once—twice—reverberating through the domed ceiling before muting as her footfalls cross onto one of the cream br

*ANA*The door behind us clicks shut.“Hidi—” Too late.She wastes no time. The door has barely settled into its frame when it starts all over again—this relentless, consuming urgency of hers. Her fingers clamp around my wrist like a manacle of flesh and bone, nails pressing crescent moons into my skin as she barrels forward, dragging me down the corridor with enough violent momentum that I nearly lose my footing entirely."What are you doing?" I gasp out sharply, but I'm mindful to keep my voice pitched low enough not to echo off these gossiping walls. "Slow down! Slow down—I can barely keep up with your stride."My voice carries further than intended down the long white hall, but she doesn't respond, doesn't even acknowledge my protest. My slippers—delicate things meant for gliding across drawing room carpets, not this frantic chase—squeak and slide uselessly across the cold marble despite my desperate attempts at resistance. I reach for the wall with my free hand, fingertips seekin

*Nicoli*The roses were long dead. Winter took her debts. But death still had another victim to claim—one which staggered to breathe against the frigid air now. The sight before him, the words circling in his ears like ravens.‘…it’s time you two talk.’ Such simple words, yet the weight behind them, the speaker—Nicoli choked back another vapor puff that blinded his sapphire eyes, now dimming grey between the smoke and the heavy sky, before he could blink and see anything but scarlet-colored eyes full of pain as another's peridot glowed in satisfaction like a broken moon.Brittle petals were scattered between the brown leaves of the bushes, curled in on themselves like secrets never spoken, their frostbitten edges clinging to thorn-laced stems with desperate, dying grace. The cold was everywhere—climbing into his lungs like icy fingers, lodging behind his ribs, numbing the tips of his fingers despite the gloves—Hidi's gift—all but gritty sandpaper against his skin now. And still, it

*Bruno*Through the frost-laced glass, Anastasia looked like a figure in a painting—small, red, and alone. Her shawl was pinched tight around her neck, a splash of crimson against the garden's pale marble and ice-bitten hedges as she retreated one slow step at a time .Her breath hung in the cold like smoke, her movements stiff, like every part of her was holding something in—pain, secrets, the weight of a crown too heavy for her shoulders.Bruno watched, unmoving, until the window clouded over with his own breath. Sticky and hot enough to form pebble-beaded drops, obscuring all into blobs of frozen green and a blurry red. The glass felt cold against his forehead where he'd unconsciously leaned forward, drawn to her retreating form like a moth to dying flame.He blinked after a moment, not realizing he was that close, and leaned back. The sudden distance from the window left him feeling hollow, untethered. He rubbed the fog away with the rough sleeve of his woolen tunic, the coarse fab