She pulled back just enough to see him—to really look at him—at the devastation written on his face. There was no shielding herself anymore, no point in pretending she could hold it in.
So she told him.
What it felt like when they tied her down.
How they’d broken her in pieces—not all at once.
How it didn’t stop when the pain stopped. How it still hadn’t.
He stayed quiet as she spoke, giving her the space to say as much—or as little—as she needed. When she was done, he looked like he might march back to that camp and re-murder everyone already dead.
Drawing small figure eights on his chest, she admitted, “I never want to be helpless again.”
“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
She wished she believed him.
Gently, his fingers combed through what was left of her hair. “You are a being made of stars,” he whispered, “and darkness, try as it might, can never dim starlight.”
Chapter 37
Trust or Flee?
She was being stitched back together by someone who would soon tear her apart. She knew it, yet she held still and let him.
All night, he’d comforted her as nightmares plagued her sleep; nightmares so vivid and vicious that even his presence couldn’t keep them at bay. All night, her mind dragged her back—again and again—to the dirty blanket, the sharp instruments, the sound of her own screams. It felt like she was still trapped in that nightmare, like she’d never escape.
By morning, Luna was drenched in sweat and shaking. The sheets twisted around her, clinging like a trap.Never again, she told herself as she shoved the blankets off. Hollow words, but like a mantra, she repeated them anyway.
The truth was, she was weak. She didn’t possess the muscles or skills of a trained warrior. And with no control over her magic, she couldn’t rely on it in a fight. Though she wished she could see Nina, somewhere in the grip of last night’s nightmares, she’d realized it wasn’t worth it. If she wanted to stay free and never fall into someone else’s plans again, she needed to flee.
Her gaze slid to the man lying peacefully beside her. Sleep softened his face, his lashes rested against his cheeks, his lips slightly parted in quiet calm. Somehow, that beauty made his soon-to-come betrayal all the more devastating.
Her fingers ached to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin, but the memory of that night with Gregory soured the moment. A pang of sadness hit her, and she quietly slid out of bed while holding her breath, terrified even the smallest sound might wake him.
Silently, she said her goodbyes and moved to the wardrobe. It was difficult to keep her hooves from clopping against the cold floor. This hybrid form was so different from her human one—stronger, more graceful—and her magic felt clearer now, no longer buried but humming beneath her skin.
As Luna went through the wardrobe, her gaze caught on something unexpected. Her discarded petal dress was no longer crumpled on the floor. Instead, the house had grown a mannequin—part vine, part bloom—rising from the ground like a stem. Its petals fanned open like outstretched arms, gently cradling the gown she’d worn the night before.
It was beautiful, yet it made her shiver.
Continuing with the task at hand, she ignored the softness of the fabrics against her skin as she searched for something simple she could run in. Everything was plant-based: woven leaves, pressed petals, and airy moss threads—as if the wardrobe had tailored its contents and had taken her first outfit as a template, deciding it defined her style.
She pulled on a moss-coloured blouse, fitted and breathable, and a petal-layered skirt—short in front, longer in back. The material was light, flexible, and structured in a way she didn’t think it’d snag.
As she quietly dressed, a thought surfaced. Survival meant more than escape. Delicate rings and beautiful necklaces filled with various shiny gems lay displayed on a nearby table. She’d need food, supplies . . . money.
With sudden urgency, she tore a broad leaf from a fern in the corner, stuffed as much jewelry into it as she could, then twisted it into a makeshift bag and tucked it into the waistband of her skirt.
She reached for the door but froze, fingers outstretched.
A strange pull made her hesitate, made her glance over her shoulder. The bed lay neat, undisturbed andempty. Her heart lurched. She spun around, a gasp catching in her throat.
There, leaning against the mirror she’d covered earlier, was Damien. His dark eyes gleamed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Going somewhere?”
Her limbs locked, muscles stiffening as she stared at him. How much had he seen?
“Just readying for the day,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder—only to remember she didn’t have any. The motion faltered. Her hand dropped, curling into the layers of her petal skirt, too aware now of everything that had been taken from her.
