Mother Gothel Novels & Stories

My mother shouted, and everyone paused for a second to understand what she meant. My mother rose, bruised and staggering, with a sharp, glistening knife in her hand. "Under the power of the moon goddess, I, Mara, the mother of Selene, sacrifice my life to prevent anyone from killing her daughter. Anyone who takes her life will bring an eternal curse to this pack!" She decreed, her sharp voice cutting through the entire hall, and everyone froze as they watched her in surprise as she stabbed herself continuously while looking straight at me with compassion in her eyes.

They all looked up when they heard the door open. For a moment, I was dazed into thinking that I was the outsider who had intruded. Dad looked surprised when he saw me. "Minnie, why are you soaking wet? Go take a shower. Then ask your mother to come downstairs and help Winnie cut her cake." Mom died earlier that day. Yet he had wasted no time bringing the mother and daughter from Southport over to celebrate Winnie’s birthday. I stood in the foyer and stared coldly at them. "Mom isn’t coming downstairs."

I look to Caleb. “Caleb,” I snap. Caleb sighs. “Mother, stop this,” he tells her half-heartedly. “She is a victim of Father. If you kill her, you have to kill Father, and then submit to death yourself.” Mother doesn’t look away from the crying woman in the middle of the arena. “For the rest of your life, know this, my daughter died because you failed and betrayed your Queen. Release her,” Mother orders. Gwen runs from the field into the arms of her family.

But so am I, more so in fact. We walk through the portal. Standing back in Dark Moon feels strange. We walk up to the doors of the packhouse and my heart pounds against my ribcage as the door opens and there stands the woman I called mommy, Gaia, the wolf Goddess of Hell.

Brady followed behind me, calling my name, "Eloise..." I looked straight at him. My voice was steady and emotionless as I spat out, "Your mother killed our babies."

A nurse at the hospital happily took me from the obstetrician and announced to my mother, "It's a girl! Her skin is fair and glowing—she'll definitely grow up beautiful!" When Mom heard her words, her tired expression immediately changed. She suddenly grabbed the young nurse's hair before slapping her a few times. The entire hallway echoed with Mom's scolding. "You witch! Did you secretly swap out my son? I ate so much salty food! How could it not be a boy?"

… Half an hour later, I was standing in the crowded admissions office. As I pushed past the crowd, I found Joanna Wimbleton, the teacher in charge of the enrollment process. "Hello, I'm Natalie Steward's mother, Whitney Steward." Joanna looked up and adjusted her glasses, looking confused. "Natalie Steward's mother? Didn't you just leave?" My heart sank. She continued, "Her mother, Ms. Marshall, was just here. She confirmed the uniform size before leaving earlier." Ms. Marshall? I tightened the grip on the strap of my crossbody bag. "I'm Natalie's mother, Ms. Wimbleton. I'm a Steward, not Marshall."

Celeste yelled giddily as she ran into Matthias’ arms. “Papa, I mith you~” She then went on to hug the other man standing next to Matthias, Jonathan Siong. “Uncle Jonathan!” The couple, Matthias and Jonathan visited Cecilia and Celeste in their new home. Cecilia followed her daughter with her grandpa. “Hey Celeste, stop being shameless. You’re always asking for gifts!” “And you, Jonathan! Stop spoiling Celeste!” Cecilia scolded them both. “Hahaha, I can’t help it! She’s so cute!”

“She is my daughter. She belongs in the palace, not in the dirt with a traitor.” “She belongs to herself,” Silas countered. He stepped back as the shadows at the edge of the garden began to thicken and boil. From the dark, the mercury-shadow creature—the manifestation of The Mother’s Wrath—dragged itself into the moonlight. It had the face of a young Eleonora Moretti, beautiful and predatory, but its body was a shifting, multi-limbed nightmare of liquid metal and resentment. It let out a sound that wasn't a scream, but the screech of tearing metal.

A sharp ringing in the middle child’s ears that dropped him to his knees just beyond the threshold. By the third attempt, they stopped trying. At night, the hut breathed. The eldest lay awake, listening to the slow expansion and contraction of the walls. His anger had sharpened into focus. He no longer cried for his mother. He blamed her. Whatever had followed her into death now lived with them — and he would not kneel to it. The middle child listened differently. He heard words between the breaths of the house — fragments, instructions, names spoken without sound. When he closed his eyes, he saw paths branching endlessly, some ending in blood, some in silence, none in safety.