The Last Moonbane
Seraphina's POV
Birthdays used to mean something. A wish whispered into a candle. A mother’s hand brushing your hair. A hope that maybe, this year, things would be different.
When I was small, I thought birthdays were magic.
I’d wake up early and sneak into the library, pretend not to be waiting as the castle stirred. I thought maybe, just once, she would come. That my mother would remember. That she would smile.
She rarely did.
And later, after I learned what it meant to be born a Moonbane, birthdays turned sour. They were markers, countdowns. One more year closer. To what, exactly? Death? The curse? I wasn’t even sure.
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