From the weakness in her muscles, to the magic that had only ever weighed her down; such helplessness she’d never truly escaped now staring her in the face.
Damien had been right to be wary of her. She was exactly what he feared: a glass doll. Something to protect. Something that couldn’t stand on its own.
So dependent. So disgustingly fragile.
A burden in every possible way.
Finally, Tyrina stopped.
“Pretty sure all he needed from Nina was her horn,” she sighed, her voice tinged with mock regret. “Pity that. I’d love to take yours. So much magic in unicorn horns . . .” She trailed off, as if lost in thought, already planning her next assault.
If Luna had the energy for words, she would’ve screamedenough. That she had a soul. That she was more than this.
But to Tyrina, and probably to all humans, she wasn’t. She was a creature—her existence reduced to what she could provide.
Despair coiled tightly in her chest, weighing her down.
It wasn’t just the loss of dignity, but the realization that, in a human’s eyes, she never had any. Her thoughts, her feelings—they were meaningless, swept aside. The indifference cut deeper than any physical wound, hollowing her.
Humming idly to herself, the healer brought over two glass jars. Luna didn’t resist as the cool glass pressed against her skin, like before she barely felt it.
“I do hope there’s not too much unicornbane dust in your system. If you do, the magic in your blood becomes so diluted it’s almost not worth taking.”
Had Tyrina forgotten she was the one who sprinkled the dust on her?
She then sighed, as if Luna were deliberately inconveniencing her. “Only one way to find out.” She lined the knife against Luna’s arm, faintly scraping it along her skin, just above the waiting jars. Luna’s awareness had already started slipping, retreating gratefully towards numbness once again. “I’m not going to lie,” the wicked woman continued softly, voice driftinglike an echo, “this won’t be pleasant. Just think of all the humans you will be helping. That should get you through.”
The words blurred, barely reaching Luna.
Then the blade bit into her flesh.
Pain slammed into her—too much, too sharp, too real. Violently tearing through the haze, wrenching her back into her body. Luna screamed; the sound raw, animal, foreign. Blind panic and agony surged again, splintering her mind.
Desperate pleas bubbled from her lips, tears spilling down her face as she begged Tyrina to stop. Her words mangled into meaningless sounds, lost beneath the searing pain. The healer ignored her, calmly deepening the cut, allowing the blood of light to freely pour into the jar.
Luna’s breaths became ragged and uneven. Her heart raced, each frantic beat echoing loudly in her ears. But already her mind was pulling back, desperate to escape, to return to that quiet place far above her broken body.
Again, the knife sliced and her vision blurred, pain fading back to a distant, muted ache. Sounds grew softer, muffled; Tyrina’s movements, her indifferent whispers, faded once more into nothingness.
Slowly, Luna left the trembling, bleeding figure on the floor behind—small, helpless, and utterly broken.
She didn’t want to go back. Couldn’t bear to.
She drifted higher, farther, retreating fully into quiet darkness.
Tyrina was merciless—but she wasn’t smiling, wasn’t gloating. This was just work. And so, she sliced into Luna’s arm over and over again until both jars were full.
With emotionless eyes, Tyrina conceded, “I suppose you are looking a little pale, and King Hendrix does need you alive . . . I think we’d better move on to the next item on our list.”
Luna didn’t respond. Didn’t move or even blink.
The tent entrance flapped open, and someone walked through.
Something fluttered in Luna’s chest. Was Damien here to rescue her? Slowly, and with great effort, Luna rolled her head.
Disappointment fell on her chest so hard, so heavy, that she thought her ribs would break from the pressure.
The guard from earlier stood at the entrance, something clenched in his fist. Wide-eyed, he stared at Luna with his jaw hanging open and his face as white as a cloud. “What the fuck did you do to her?” In one motion, he threw the needle and thread he had in his hand on the table and knelt by Luna.
