She Got Crown I Got Cremated Novels & Stories

The efficiency of the death-dealing machine was sickening. "Crown Prince, the bodies are charred, but not yet completely consumed," she announced disturbingly calm, as if discussing a mundane chore, perhaps a difficult recipe rather than the destruction of lives. "I promise I will collect the urn containing Zela’s remains for you and send it to the Palace. After all, it is merely the spirits that seek each other in the afterlife, and the ashes are of lesser importance." The casual cruelty of her words sent a fresh wave of nausea through me.

Frustratedly I let her go, striding to the other end of the bathroom as if in search of something then back to her. "Carl Haden is gone now. The sooner you get yourself all sorted out, the sooner you can leave. You wanted to go back home didn't you?" She finally reacted, slowly letting her eyes focus on my face. "Cremation." She suddenly said, her voice hoarse like sandpaper scraped against wood. "What?" "When I'm gone, I'd like to be cremated. And my ashes..." She smiled bitterly, "Give them to my mother." A knot, a painful fucking knot twisted my chest and I swallowed down with difficulty.

“As I was saying, we don't hold such harsh customs for our omegas here. They are either buried or cremated but from what I heard, I don't think she was buried, I think that she was cremated and her ashes were scattered into the thin air,” I tilted my head to the side. “Sorry, we thought that she was buried. Turns out that she was cremated so there is no grave” Crystals of tears cascaded down her cheeks, a shade of red burning in her eyes as her lips pressed together in a thin line as if she was trying to restrain herself from speaking. She finally blurted out the words. “If she were cremated, why would you tell me that she had a grave?” “We didn't know. We thought that she was buried but the

“And her ashes make me feel… safer, somehow.” Her mother's ashes make her feel safer? If only I could understand where her head is right now. “I'm glad you have them,” I venture, crossing the room so I can sit on the edge of the bed. It occurs to me that maybe I should've changed before I came in here rather than walking around in a dress that cost more than I used to pay in a month's rent when I was living with Luciano. “It's sad. She didn't even get a funeral or a service or anything. They just took her body to the funeral home, and she was cremated by some shady guy who was paid under the table.”

And to think she said she doesn’t recognize me… damn, that was humiliating. And then the stage lights hit her. Her name was called, and the hall burst into applause—cheers that rolled like thunder. I sat there, frozen, my chest twisting, my hands clapping even as shame clawed at my throat. She stood on that stage, radiant, crowned as the top brand designer of the year. Every inch of her glowed with power and grace, like she was born for this moment. It should have been a triumph for me too. My palms stung, and so did my pride. I was clapping for the same girl I once called ugly—only that now, she was breathtaking.

“She has borne the weight of this Pack with grace and fire. Tonight, we crown her what she was always meant to be, Luna.” The elders moved forward, carrying the ceremonial circlet of silver and moonstone. My knees bent as I knelt before them, my father’s hand trembling only slightly as he placed the crown upon my head. The hall erupted in cheers, voices rising, feet stomping in celebration. My throat closed, tears pricking hot at the corners of my eyes. But even through the thunder of joy, I felt unease. To them it was just my coronation, but to me, it was a pathway to my death. I gave my speech, promising them my support at all times and to stand by them.

Each one carried something. A piece of bone. A vial of blood. A scrap of black lace. And one of them—taller than the rest, her veil as long as a train of smoke—stepped forward. In her hands, she held it. The crown. Made of dead rose petals and twisted metal. The thorns still wet with something darker than blood. It pulsed faintly, as though alive. I took a step back. Ethan—or what was left of him—stood behind me. He didn’t say a word.

she mutters in a furious voice before getting up and heading towards the bathroom. Cara gladly smiles, setting down her tools of work to finally become the powerful, feared woman that her old mother promised she would become. She tiptoes her way from the dresser whose clean surface she was wiping and halts at the small table by the bed. She picks up the crown with a proud smile and sets it on top of her head with a huge sigh. Her eyes close as she tries to feel her connection to the crown. But she senses something different, it's rejection and rage. A deafening wail leave her mouth as she collapses to the floor, the crown's ruthless curse causing her searing pain.

“But the crown is not just mine. It is the kingdom’s. I cannot let personal ties blind me.” Her sigil pulsed one final time, bright and steady. The shadows bowed and dissipated. ⸻ The Crown Awaits The pedestal rose slowly, carrying the crown into the air before her. Light cascaded over her, warm and electric. The palace itself hummed approval. The trials were passed. Aera approached the crown, hand steady. This was the moment the seal had waited for. As her fingers closed over the metal, a voice echoed—deep, resonant, unmistakable:

“I know.” “You can tell me to stop.” Jamie looked at him. Really looked. The scar. The control. The restraint that felt like it was holding something dangerous in check. “I don’t want you to stop,” Jamie said, then winced. “I mean….” Adrian didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat. He just nodded, like that answer fit into something he’d already decided. “Good,” he said. Behind them, unseen but aware, La Corona Nera watched. And after midnight, Bar Della Luna closed its doors, keeping its secrets, for now.