The Rise of a Forsaken Luna
I rested a hand over Celeste, her warmth grounding me, steadying the wild happiness blooming in my chest.
And then I stepped into the corridor—And I saw Dahlia.
She was wearing gold.
Not just any gold—but the same fabric.
The same shade. The same ceremonial color reserved for the Luna, only hers was cut far more boldly, revealing her cleavage and swollen belly.
She noticed my stare and paused, her lips parting as if only then realizing something was wrong.
“Oh—Seraphina,” she said softly, one hand drifting to her belly, the picture of innocence. “I’m so sorry. I truly didn’t mean to offend you.”