The Luna's Sweet Revenge

Chapter 1 Sin I Did Not Commit

"Hmm," I groaned in my sleep, rolling over on the cold, hard floor of the basement .The unforgiving surface pressed painfully against my cheek, its gritty texture stark against my skin, while an overwhelming metallic scent of blood hung in the stagnant air, saturating my senses. I shivered involuntarily, the dampness of the space seeping uncomfortably through the thin, tattered fabric of my nightgown that clung to my body like a second skin. Startled awake by a sharp stab of pain radiating through my shoulder, I opened my eyes but lay still, straining to catch any sign of life beyond the boundaries of my meager existence. The echoing sounds of dripping water reverberated ominously around me, harmonizing with the distant scurry of something small darting furtively in the shadows. I imagined myself as a cornered insect, hidden amid the festering darkness, desperately clawing at fleeting moments of safety in a world spiraling out of control.

Quietly surveying the expansive, dimly lit space, I tried to ease my breath, the rhythm of my heart thundering in my ears as it danced between fear and relief. He wasn’t lurking in the periphery, at least not yet, ready to deliver more punishment. Here, surrounded by silence that felt palpable, save for the faint creaking of ancient wood and the mournful whispers of the wind sneaking through broken windows like the ghosts of forgotten memories, I shifted onto my back. My trembling fingers traced the jagged edges of the wounds that marred my skin, remembering each painful throb as it echoed the horrors I was desperate to forget. My heart raced like a wild animal caught in a trap as I fought back a whimper, knowing that even the smallest sound could summon him back, a reminder of my delicate survival. But the uncertainty wrapped around me like a shroud, and I wondered if that trembling whisper of movement I heard nearby was, perhaps, my brother.

Taking stock of my injuries, I bit down hard on my lip, suppressing any groans that threatened to escape. I knew that any noise would only bring further suffering—an unbearable twist in this already cruel fate. Pain radiated through me, sharp and unrelenting, with its cruel intensity honing in on my ravaged shoulder and aching arm. Tears welled against the corners of my eyes as I caught sight of the fading afternoon light, a meager beam of hope pushing through the cracked glass overhead, tracing a delicate path down my dirt-streaked cheek. I fought to blink away the tears, forcing myself not to cry, to deny him the hollow pleasure of witnessing my pain and despair—a silent rebellion in a world gone dark.

Immersed in the oppressive stillness of that forsaken place, I found myself slipping into the familiar dream that haunted the recesses of my mind. A man with dark hair loosely tied back captivated my thoughts, his features both mesmerizing and terrifying, drawing me into an intoxicating yet precarious web of emotion. As the dream twisted and morphed, I swung dangerously between desire and fear, my body trembling from the conflicting currents within me, unable to break free from this intricate dance of longing embedded within dread. Who was this enigmatic figure? The man who ignited an internal storm, stirring a longing that made my heart race while wrapping it tightly in shadow? The weight of the dreams consumed me—a potent elixir of confusion and yearning that I couldn't resist, even as they held me captive.

“Surely, he must mean something,” I mused, clinging desperately to the hope that there was a significance behind his haunting appearances—a message buried deep within my mind, nestled amidst my fears and wishes. Still, no matter how earnestly I endeavored, deciphering the hidden meaning eluded me like wisps of smoke, leaving me trapped in a labyrinth of my own nightmares.

With resolute determination, I pushed myself onto my knees, reaching for support against the cold, unyielding concrete floor, but suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over me, disorienting and suffocating. My stomach churned violently, rising up as a reminder of my fragile state. Grimacing, I shut my eyes tight, willing the spinning to halt, holding my breath until the world stilled around me. With careful, unsteady steps, I made my way toward the narrow hall that led to a dingy restroom tucked away in the dim recesses of the warehouse. The cramped space boasted a grimy sink, a small flickering bulb above casting erratic shadows that danced across peeling, faded walls. A toilet sat opposite, its close proximity barely allowing any semblance of movement. The air was thick with mildew, a sickening scent that turned my stomach as my gaze landed on the creeping insects skittering in the corners. Yet, I forced myself to focus, tuning them out as if their very presence was a distraction from my pain.

I turned on the tap, splashing cool water over my trembling hands, the sensation a brief reprieve as I rinsed the dried blood from my body as best I could. I wrapped a tight bandage around my shoulder, a mere makeshift tourniquet that did little more than stanch the flow as I struggled against the despair threatening to pull me under.

Leaning heavily against the sink, another surge of dizziness crashed through me, and I couldn’t hold back the rising bile that burned my throat. I bent over the toilet, expelling foamy liquid tinged with traces of blood, the stark reality of my situation clawing at my insides. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I glanced into the cracked mirror hanging above the sink, cupping my hands under the cool water to sip, unfazed by the grime coating my nails. I caught my reflection and paused, surveying my features, a sound of disgust slipping past my lips. I spat the water back at my mirrored self, the act a futile gesture of defiance.

"You are weak," I chastised myself, the words tasting bitter. "Weak and feeble. Pathetic."

As I gathered my fractured thoughts, memories surged forth from the day my seemingly perfect world shattered into chaos—a tidal wave of anguish crashing against the fragile wall I had erected to shield my heart. A flood of fragmented recollections of my twelve-year-old self gripped me, my hands soaked in blood, consumed by despair. My mother lay before me, her once vibrant face now cold and lifeless, framed by golden locks that cascaded like a halo amidst darkness.

Images flickered rapidly through my mind: one moment, my mother was in the kitchen, cooking our favorite dinner, laughter spilling from her lips as she danced with joy, the warm, inviting aroma wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. The next, I was lost in my book, your ordinary world, under the soft glow of fairy lights strung along my bedroom walls. The comforting hues enveloped me, creating a bubble that shielded me from the chaotic world outside.

But that peaceful atmosphere shattered dramatically as a loud crash followed by my mother's terrified screams sliced through the air, piercing my consciousness like a dagger. I initially dismissed it, attributing it to my brother's chaotic antics, my heart unwilling to believe that something sinister had intruded upon our sanctuary. However, as seconds dripped away like the fading sunlight, panic seeped through the momentary quiet, desperate cries creeping under my bedroom door, wrapping around me like a noose, squeezing the breath from my chest.

Tossing my book aside, I bolted to my feet, propelled by instinct and fear; I raced toward the source of the chaos, a primal call to seek out my mother. That was the last clear memory I possessed until the world collapsed around me in a whirlwind of confusion and horror.

The next vision that gripped me was one I wished I could erase—a mind-numbing image of standing paralyzed in that heart-wrenching tableau of my mother’s murder. Clothed in her blood, my hands trembling on the weapon—my body betrayed me, as chaos swirled around, voices clamoring for answers—answers I did not have. The look in my father’s eyes, a haunting blend of horror, disbelief, and a chilling question that pierced my very soul…

“What have you done?”