All Chapters of Rebirth of the mad luna: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

TASHAHe slapped me across the face so hard that my ears rang."You'll pay for this," he hissed. "I swear to God, I'll kill you for hurting her."I touched my burning cheek, shocked. "Kirk... she's faking-" "Shut up! Guards, seize her!" I'd slapped her because she'd made fun of my miscarriage, but she fell to the ground like I had knocked her unconscious. She screamed and cried and rolled around like she was dying. When my husband ran in and saw her on the floor, he'd come straight for me without questioning anything, eyes full of rage. And that's how my life fell apart. He had me arrested and locked up right after. A week later, I was in court, facing one year in a mental asylum because apparently, the report file said Violet had suffered "blunt head trauma" causing seizures and loss of consciousness. And not just that, he'd made someone plant drugs in my room to prove that I was really mentally unstable.A year later, I squinted as the blinding lights of the morning sun hit my

TASHA"It would've been better if she died," Kirk said.My eyes stayed shut, but when I heard those words, everything inside me squirmed with fear.My throat felt tight, like someone had wrapped a hand around it.For a second, I hoped my eyes were playing tricks on me. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe I was still unconscious.But then I heard Violet's voice."You're right." She whispered. "She ruined everything last night. If she had just died last night, we wouldn't be here. We need to finish what we started. We can't let her get out of here alive."My heart jumped so hard I feared it would jump right out of my throat. I tried to force myself up, but my body felt so heavy and wouldn't cooperate. I opened my eyes slowly, my chest hurting with each breath as I saw the dim hospital room whose walls were lit up by the blue light from the beeping monitor above my head. I felt a needle in my hand, an IV line taped to my skin.Kirk's back was turned to me while he was talking to Violet near th

TASHAThey were treating me like a porcelain doll.Two maids stood behind me, fingers working carefully on my hair like I might shatter if they pulled too hard. The last gold clasp clicked into place at the side of my braid. My reflection stared back at me. I looked calm, polished and pretty.A lie.Behind me, the room stayed busy. Fabric being folded. Jewelry cases opening and snapping shut. Quiet footsteps moving around like I wasn’t even there, just another thing to prepare for display.I hated this part.The last time I stood in front of a mirror like this, I still believed parties were harmless. I still believed smiles meant something. That people actually cared.I adjusted the sleeve of my dress and forced myself to really look at it.It had gold thread, clean lines and old pack insignias. My mother’s taste.She always said tradition mattered. That power looked better wrapped in beauty.I dragged my fingers over the stitching, running against it slowly and careful. It used to cal

TASHAHer arms around me dragged me straight into the past.I didn’t even get a choice.I smelled her perfume first. My body reacted before my mind could. It was Muscle memory. A Habit or perhaps, weakness.She held me like a child with a fever. And for a second, I was one again.I remembered cold towels. Her hand on my forehead. Her voice telling me to stop crying because stress made recovery slower.It hurt worse than the hug itself.Her breathing trembled against my neck.“You look beautiful,” she whispered.Her fingers pressed into my back like she needed to feel something solid. Something alive.Something she almost lost.My chest tightened. The part of me that still wanted a mother twitched awake. I hated that part. I hated that it still existed after everything she’d signed off on. After the doctors. After the silence. After the months she never came.I pulled back and looked at her.Her mascara was slightly smeared. Her eyes were glossy. She looked fragile.She rarely allowed t

TASHAThe maid found me while I was still trying to smooth out the last crease in my dress, and the knock on the door jolted me back into the present. “Miss Tasha, the elders are ready for you,” she said, her hands clasped behind her back like she was preparing for a military inspection. Her posture made the whole space feel tighter, and I let out a breath I’d been holding. The dress was a formal house piece—silver-threaded, tailored across the shoulders, fitted at the waist in a way that made me feel like I’d stepped into a role instead of clothing. I followed her into the hallway, my steps echoing over the polished tiles. The silverwood walls reflected faint patterns from the overhead lights, and the faint scent of fabric softener drifted from the vents, mixing with the herbal incense that signaled an elder gathering. The mix created a strange comfort, something familiar layered beneath something ceremonial.The maid kept a respectful distance ahead of me, moving with that practiced