Chapter 2
Bloodmoon
The sky burns red as I run, my white dress drenched in blood.
My breath comes in ragged bursts, trailing smoke in the freezing dark.
Behind me, the Bloodmoon rises full and high, painting my rusted hair in fire.
Shadows claw at my heels, and I dare not look back.
The air reeks of sulfur, and the ground writhes like something alive.
The corridor bends in impossible ways, its walls folding inward like a serpent devouring its own tail.
Above, the sky fractures, bleeding ribbons of light that drip like molten rain.
The stars spin faster, forming symbols I almost recognize before they vanish.
Each step echoes from another place, another time.
The wind doesn’t howl. It whispers. Names. Names I know. Names I’ve tried to forget.
The pillars bleed liquid light. Vines of smoke slither down from the ceiling, brushing my skin like skeletal fingers.
I turn a corner, and suddenly I’m climbing, the soft ground pulsing beneath my feet as if it resents my escape. Far above, the moon cracks like glass, spilling crimson across the maze.
Every turn leads to more corridors of despair, dimly illuminated by the sickly glow of the cursed sky, its breath on my neck like a whispered promise of death. My heart hammers, each beat a plea for mercy. But the beast is close, always close.
I don’t look back. I can’t. This time, I won’t make it out.
Part of me wants to stop, to face it, to end this endless running. But then I hear it again—the fire licking at my heels.
Liora’s scream.
The night she burned. The night I didn’t run fast enough. And if Kat ever finds herself in this place, I won’t be able to save her, either. I’m not just afraid of the beast. I’m afraid of myself—of what I couldn’t stop, of what I might become.
A roar splits the sky, and fire follows.
The shadows twist into a labyrinth of nightmares. Through the smoke, I glimpse its form: a hulking shape with scales of obsidian and eyes that burn like dying stars. It slithers through the dark, a predator of claw and fang, its low growl harmonizing with the rhythm of my fear.
A claw bursts from the smoke. Time shatters. My scream dies in my throat as the world fractures into a torrent of fire.
Flashes. A white rose bleeding red. A sea of shadows writhing like serpents.
Twelve veiled figures walking into fire.
A silver crown shattering. My sister’s voice screaming for help.
A throne swallowed by thorns and then engulfed by flames.
My hands cupping golden light, only for it to slip through my fingers like blood.
Then I see her.
My mother stands barefoot in the garden, roses blooming at her feet.
I run to her, but the petals blacken, curling like burnt paper.
Behind her, a Pegasus rears, its wings torn and bleeding, a bridle of chains biting its throat.
Kat stands beside it in a bridal gown the color of dried blood, her eyes hollow yet shining.
“Don’t let them take me,” she whispers. “Don’t let me burn.”
A figure steps through the fire. Barefoot, skin blistered, dress in tatters. Liora. My cousin. My best friend. Her lips don’t move, but her voice crawls straight into my head.
Why didn’t you save me?
We were so proud, so stupid, so gullible. At sixteen, I was newly eligible, and at eighteen, it was Liora’s second Bloodmoon. We called it an honor. A calling. The chance to serve the gods as Bloodmoon Brides. They said she was lucky. Chosen.
They dressed her in white, painted her lips crimson, and sent her to the lake.
I watched as she and eleven others paddled into the mist, their faces glowing with faith. Then came the red flash. The silence.
I stole a canoe and followed her. If the gods wanted my cousin, they could take me, too. But I was wrong.
The fire rose. The screams began. I found the island no map dares mark. I found the truth.
Bones. Hundreds of them. Charred and twisted, gowns clinging to ash. Flowers turned to dust in folded hands. A graveyard of daughters promised to the gods.
The roar rises again, deafening and endless.
Then the fire closes in, and the shadows devour the world.
I jolt awake, gasping and drenched in sweat. I try to steady my heart, but the air feels too heavy to breathe. My sheets are tangled and damp around my legs. I reach beneath my pillow for my dagger, and the cool hilt anchors me to the world.
“It was just a dream.” My voice cracks.
The scar throbs like a second heartbeat. I pull back my nightshirt to inspect it. Underneath, my skin shimmers faintly, gold flecks glinting beneath the surface. I gingerly touch it, and for one fleeting moment, a flicker of light pulses under my skin.
My breath catches. “I’m just imagining things,” I whisper to myself.
Groaning, I sit up and reach for my nightstand. I strike a match and relight the candle, taking comfort in its trembling glow. Easing myself to my feet, I go over to the washbasin and splash my face. The cold bites through the haze, but as I lift my head again, the reflection ripples unnaturally.
In it, my eyes gleam too bright, their pupils narrowing. The candle beside me stutters, though no wind moves.
Creeaaak. The door opens a finger’s width.
“Rose?” Kat’s voice drifts in, soft and sleepy. “You okay?”
I nod, though she can’t see it. “Yes,” I lie. “Just a dream.”
The door opens all the way, and she pads across the floor, her bare feet whispering over the wood floors. “You were dreaming about that night again, weren’t you?”
My throat tightens. I say nothing as I slip back into bed.
Kat doesn’t hesitate. She crawls beneath the covers beside me, warm and smelling faintly of wildflowers and smoke. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The candlelight flickers against the ceiling, painting ghosts in gold.
“I believe you, you know. That you saw something,” she says carefully, strategically. The way Father taught her to speak.
“They were killed, Kat.” My voice cracks. “Whatever waits in that mist, it isn’t a gift from the gods, and it isn’t a happy afterlife.”
“It was dark,” she murmurs. “The smoke, the fire, the celebration… Anyone’s mind could’ve played tricks on them that night. And I seem to remember you were drinking with a certain young man?” Her brow lifts, teasing.
I laugh humorlessly, thinking back to the scoundrel I used to call a friend who tried to get me drunk during my first Bloodmoon festival. “Aaron and I shared one drink. Not nearly enough to cloud my mind like that. I know what I saw, Kat.”
She frowns. “You came back from the lake half-burned and half-mad. No one knew what to believe. Except Mom.”
My throat tightens.
Kat squeezes my hand. “I remember. The year you were gone…” She hesitates. “I missed you. And then Mom—”
The words die there, swallowed by silence. I don’t respond. Because she doesn’t know what I endured in that temple. None of them do. They have no idea what it cost to come back. What it cost her.
A heavy stillness settles between us—thick with memory, with things unsaid. The candle flickers once, casting our shadows against the wall like ghosts that refuse to fade.
Then something moves. A dark shape vaults onto the bed with a low thump.
Kat shrieks, flinging the blanket over her head.
I instinctively reach for my dagger before a familiar yowl fills the air.
“Stars above—!” I gasp.
“Stormpaw!” Kat cries, yanking the blanket down. The cat blinks at us, unbothered, his tail curling smugly, as if he planned the scare.
Kat scoops him into her arms, pressing her face into his black and white fur. “You nearly stopped my heart, you wicked creature.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “You’ve always been too soft on him.”
She smirks. “You’re just jealous that he likes me better.”
Stormpaw’s loud purr fills the quiet like a balm. The tension breaks, and even the shadows seem to retreat.
Kat slips back under the covers, still clutching the overfed fluffball to her chest, and rests her head on my shoulder. “After tomorrow, everything will be different. The Bloodmoon will pass, and maybe the gods will finally leave our family alone.”
I want to believe her, I really do.
She yawns and curls closer. “Try to sleep, Rose.”
“I’ll try,” I whisper, brushing her hair from her face.
Her breathing steadies first. I lie awake longer, listening to the purring at my side mixed with Kat’s soft snore, which only grows louder the deeper she descends into sleep.
She’d deny it, of course, but my sister snores like a man.
I shake my head and tuck her close to me, smooshing Stormpaw tightly between us as sleep drags me under.