Soul Of Moonlight Butterfly นิยาย & เรื่องราว

She held my hand tight, ensuring I didn’t break away. I could feel it—something unusual and powerful was happening. I couldn't scream or shout, but I believed that whatever it was would bring me the peace of mind I truly deserved. The incantations lasted for an hour. My mother’s face was covered in sweat, as was mine. Blood dripped from her forehead down to her nose, but she didn't care. Finally, she opened her eyes, and they were a vivid green. Mine were green as well. “Today, Yvonne, I hand over the powers of the moon to you. As long as you wish, the moon will remain hidden. The day you bring forth your child into this world, only then will the moon surface again,” she said with determinat

I wait til I hear feel the cold air drifting into the kitchen and the soft sound of a door closing before glancing into the hallway again. Through the doors glass I could see Embers back to me. The left side of her body was eliminated white from the moon and her hair looked like silver threads as they hung down her back. Creeping towards the door she shifts and a second later a see a silvery gold wolf dashing across the snow, her body low as she ran.

I know not of the extent of fatality to the shifters and I would not dare to explore it. The plant is a rare harvest. Only by the full moon, does it blooms. Once the sunlight touches the petals, it wilts away. The procedure of keeping the plant intact should be performed with utter care or it will quickly wilt before they could make good use of it. He nodded, "So rare that only the mountain of has it Anquioar. Truly, accumulating a single stem from this plant could cost a fortune."

They pushed the soil back over the grave, packing it down firmly. Aria reached into the deep pocket of her cloak. From the medical wing, she had brought a small, damp canvas pouch. She opened it, revealing a cluster of delicate, dormant roots. It was the bulb of a Moon-lace flower—a rare, resilient plant that only bloomed in the deepest cold of winter, its petals glowing with a faint, bioluminescent silver light in the dark. Aria handed the bulb to Sienna. "Plant it," Aria murmured softly. "So he is never in the dark."

I saw myself holding his hand but I just could not hear what I was saying to him no matter how hard I tried. Then I heard another voice again. This time it was coming from in front of me. The voice was that of a woman's and each word echoed as she spoke. I looked at her and she had on a translucent blue dress, she had nothing underneath and everything was visible to the eyes. Her hair was black and wavy, and her skin was pale and milky. What caught my attention the most was the colour of her eyes, they were grey like mine but they shined like a full moon.

“It’s a Luna Moth. I’ve never seen one before.” Camille reached out to touch the insect. It rose, frantically circled her fingers, and then flew away. Diana widened her eyes. “The Luna Moth is considered one of the most spiritual and mystical guides.” “Why?” Camille asked the witch. Diana watched the creature fly away. “To meet one is a special gift, for when she is in her adult moth stage, she only lives for approximately one week.” Camille frowned. “Why only a week?”

His hands (not hands, never hands) drag across the surface of my soul like claws through silk. Soft. Cruel. Possessive. “Little star,” he murmurs. “I remember you.” A second voice tears through the dark. “You do not remember her. You remember me.” Silver fire erupts. The darkness recoils. The First Luna steps forward, her wings made of moonlight, her skin glowing with raw power. Her face is the beauty that hurts to look at — familiar in the shape of her jaw, the arch of her brow, the fury beneath her eyes.

When he placed it on the table, Lyra felt a vibration run through the air — faint, like a whisper she could almost hear. “Few remember it,” Eldritch said. “Fewer still believe. But every few centuries, the Moon marks one of her own. Not a wolf, not a human — something in between. A bridge, or a blade.” Lyra unwrapped the silk with trembling hands. Inside was a fragment of parchment, the ink faded but legible, the edges burned. It wasn’t written like a report. It was a poem. “When blood and moon entwine in flame, a child of dusk shall bear the name.

It was mine. Tonight, nothing felt predictable. The moon had risen huge and white, not soft but stark—like a coin hammered flat and nailed to the sky. Its light made edges cruelly clear. The moss didn’t blur into shadow; it glittered with frost. My breath came out in ghosts. The air was so sharp with pine and damp soil that I tasted it, resin and metal at the back of my tongue. Somewhere far away, water moved. Somewhere closer, something else did.