UNDER THE BLOODY MOONLIGHT のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

“Prometheus.” The figure stepped into the dim light, revealing the ever-imposing aura of my father. Broad-shouldered and tall, he exuded an air of power and control that was both suffocating and intimidating. His scarlet eyes, which have always been devoid of warmth, slowly went to me. It has become a more lifeless ember that sends a chill deep into my body. "Father..." I breathed out, the word catching in my throat like ice. This was Prometheus Valentin, the man who held the title of my father… and a man who embodied everything I am, and who I’ll ever be. How he found me here is a mystery, however it is a deep accepted truth in me that is slowly sinking in that he will always catch me no matter what I do, or where I go. A familiar cruel smirk played on his lips, a twisted mockery of warmth. "My dear..." he continued, his voice laced with a condescending lilt, "we're going home." My father’s playful facade could not mask the glint of ruthlessness in his red eyes. It was the

Bump after another bump. I whimpered in silent protest, the ninth such incident in as many minutes. Well, so much for reliving the old days, Luna… The bustling streets of Aerith thrummed with its usual chaotic scene. Merchants hawked their wares, children running left and right, and the rhythmic clatter of iron from a nearby blacksmith added a percussive touch. It was the kind of scene that would normally get on my nerves, yet today, it provided a comforting veil of anonymity. I carefully fixed the hood of the black cloak falling into my face. Under this dark cloak, I am a ghost flitting through the world of mortals. Amusement boomed through my chest as I observed them. Freedom. It is something mortals have that no one can take away from them.And I am no mortal.It is my destiny to be caged by the fate given to me by the goddess of the moon themselves. This would be the last time, I reminded myself. This is my last act of owning myself… of relishing this sense of being free… befo

This is the day. The air crackled with unspoken nervousness and excitement. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of fabric seemed amplified in the tense silence. Though I couldn't see them, I knew the hallways were buzzing with activity. Busy maids scurried like silent ants, their movements a flurry of whispers and avoided eye contact. The union of Valentin and Octavian Sanguines wasn't just a wedding; it was a custom laid upon a foundation built over a century ago. For generations, the firstborn male and female of each family had been bound by an ancient tradition – to marry. It was a pact made through history, a promise etched in blood and moonlight. The Valentins and the Octavians, rumored to be descended from the fabled "First Fangs," the very first vampires to walk the earth, held a lineage as old as time itself. There is no celebration in our families more important than today. The bright light coming from the moon easily peeked through the window of the room. My w

The memory of sunlight warming my skin was a faded echo. Perhaps its roots back to my early days, but my memories of it were say at least, a blur now. I remember living my life under the pillars of the Valentin castles and the comforting embrace of the moonlight every night. Even though I have not witnessed one vampire wither or burn under the sun in person, I was taught that it was forbidden. I have never eaten a human, though I heard stories from the others. Unlike them, the thought of human blood repulsed me. Animal meat and blood were more than enough sustenance for me. A fact that often drew curious stares and furrowed brows from certain family members who had heard of it. I remember Prometheus warning me not to tell everyone about it even to my friends. Now, walking alongside Nero under the scorching sun, I never thought I would see the day. The first time I ventured out in daylight and felt the sun gracing my skin, I could not explain the feeling. It was a sensation both famil

After all, my gut feeling of being trapped in a gilded cage was all true—everything about my past life—a lie. I waited for this moment. Truth indeed has its way of finding fertile ground. And it had taken root, flourished, and now the fruit it bore threatened to choke me. The bitter taste of the truth was lodged in my throat, a fist squeezing the air from my lungs. "Are you saying..." My voice emerged as a broken croak, "that my parents... sacrificed themselves for me?" My tears welled up like waterfalls, but my voice stayed stone-hard. Every word felt like a twist of a knife clenching my insides. To my astonishment, silence answered my question. Their faces, etched with a suffocating pity, were of unspoken confirmation. Like everything wasn’t painful enough, the picture of my mother’s face flashed in my mind. She was smiling, more like laughing. Her innocent face. And I was taken back to the day I found out she was gone. It was raining. I huddled deeper into the thin shawl drap