The garden was the only refuge I had. The only place where I could breathe without the weight of their constant eyes on me.
But peace was a fragile thing in this house, shattered the moment I stepped back inside. The moment I crossed that threshold, the suffocating air closed in around me like a noose tightening by the second.
The familiar sound of bubbling stew greeted me as I entered the kitchen, but so did she.
Stepmother stood by the hearth, her silhouette rigid, her hand gripping the wooden spoon as if it were a weapon.
My heart sank. I had hoped...foolishly.....that I could slip by unnoticed.
"Where have you been?" Her voice was cold, a blade of ice cutting through the air.
She didn't look at me. She never did, not fully. To her, I was little more than a ghost, something to be endured but never acknowledged.
"In the garden, Stepmother," I replied quietly, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor. It was safer there.
"I finished my chores early."
Her scoff was sharp, cutting deeper than any words. "And you think that excuses idleness? There is always more work to be done, Aurora. How many times must I remind you of your place?"
I swallowed hard, forcing the retort that burned on my tongue back down. Arguing was pointless. It only ever made things worse. "What would you like me to do?"
Stepmother turned to face me then, her lips curling into that familiar sneer. "The vegetables need chopping. Be quick about it. We don't have all night."
I moved to the counter, hands trembling as I picked up the knife. The rhythmic sound of chopping carrots and onions became a temporary escape, the only thing anchoring me as the tension in the room thickened.
Maybe if I worked fast enough, I could avoid another tirade.
But then Lily waltzed into the kitchen, her presence as welcome as a cold wind on a winter's night.
I didn't need to look up to know she was smirking. She always smirked when she found me working, reveling in my misery.
"Have you heard?" Lily's voice dripped with glee, a twisted sense of pleasure.
"The mayor's daughter is staying with the McCarthy's during the full moon. How lucky she is, having such powerful protectors."
I kept my focus on the knife, willing myself not to react. What did it matter to me where the mayor's daughter stayed? I was no one important. No one worth protecting.
"Of course she is," Stepmother replied, her tone syrupy sweet.
"The McCarthys are not to be trifled with. Unlike some people, they understand the value of loyalty and tradition."
I flinched as the knife slipped, nicking my finger. The pain was sharp, a brief distraction from the sting of her words. I pressed a cloth to the wound, trying to disappear into the background.
"Maybe Aurora should seek protection too," Lily mused, mock concern lacing her words.
"After all, she's so fragile. It's a wonder she's lasted this long."
"That's enough, Lily," Stepmother chided, though there was no real bite in her words. She enjoyed this as much as Lily did.
"Aurora knows her place. She's been given shelter and food—more than she deserves."
I bit my lip until I tasted blood, forcing back the retort that screamed to be let out. It wouldn't do any good. It never did. Instead, I finished chopping in silence, the tension in the room suffocating.
As the stew simmered, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor.
The air grew thicker with every passing moment, the anticipation of nightfall making my skin crawl.
Everyone knew what the full moon brought—dangers that lurked in the shadows, waiting for those foolish enough to be caught outside.
During the full moon, the werewolves roamed freely, their blood running hotter, their instincts sharper.
For an entire week, anyone who wasn't one of them was advised—no, warned—to stay indoors after dark.
It wasn't just the werewolves themselves that posed a danger. No, there were worse things in the woods, creatures that thrived under the moon's light, drawn to the power it unleashed.
Stories of people who didn't heed the warnings, of those who ventured out during the full moon and were never seen again, haunted the town.
But Stepmother didn't care about those dangers.
"Aurora," she said suddenly, her voice slicing through the silence like a knife, "we're out of spices. Go to town and fetch more."
I froze, the spoon in my hand slipping from my grasp. Surely, she couldn't be serious. Not tonight. Not when the moon was already rising.
"Stepmother," I began cautiously, "wouldn't it be safer to go in the morning? I'm sure we have enough to last—"
Her gaze snapped to mine, sharp and unforgiving. "Are you questioning me, Aurora? I told you to go now. Or are you too afraid to do even this simple task?"
The fear that twisted in my gut was real, but I knew better than to argue. I bowed my head, my voice barely a whisper. "No, Stepmother. I'll go."
"Good," she replied with a curt nod. "And don't dawdle. The sun is nearly set."
I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders, trying to ignore the way Lily's smirk followed me out the door like a shadow.
The chill of the evening air bit through my thin clothes as I hurried down the path toward town, the light fading quickly with each passing moment.
By the time I reached the town square, most of the stalls had closed, the vendors long gone to the safety of their homes.
The only shop still open was the apothecary, a small, dimly lit building at the edge of the square. I pushed open the door, the familiar scent of dried herbs and oils filling the air.
"Evening, Aurora," Mr. Graves greeted me, his grizzled face lined with concern as he looked up from behind the counter. "What brings you out this late?"
"Stepmother sent me," I explained, setting the basket down. "She said we're out of spices."
Mr. Graves frowned, his bushy brows knitting together. "Shouldn't have sent you out at all, not tonight. The full moon's no time for anyone to be wandering about, especially a young girl like you."
"I'll be quick," I promised, offering him a small smile. "Thank you, Mr. Graves."
He handed me the small pouch of spices, his gaze lingering on me with worry. "Mind yourself, Aurora. And get home before the moon rises proper."
I nodded, clutching the basket tightly as I stepped back out into the twilight. The streets were even emptier now, the shadows stretching longer as the last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon.
The wind had picked up, carrying with it a distant howl that sent shivers down my spine.
I quickened my pace, my heart pounding in my chest as I made my way back toward the estate.
Every rustle in the bushes, every creak of a branch, made my pulse race. The stories of those who disappeared on nights like this were all too real in my mind.
I was nearly home when I saw him—a man standing in the middle of the path, half-shrouded in shadow. My breath caught in my throat. He hadn't been there a moment ago.
He was tall, his features obscured by the dark, but something about him made my skin prickle. He stood unnervingly still, watching me with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said, his voice low and smooth, but with an edge that sent a chill down my spine. "Not tonight."
"I know," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm just trying to get home."
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering my words. "There are things in these woods that hunt on nights like this. They won't care that you're just trying to get home."
I took a step back, my heart racing. "Thank you for the warning, but I really should go."
He nodded, stepping aside with a fluid grace that seemed almost unnatural. "Be careful."
I didn't need to be told twice. I hurried past him, not daring to look back until I was at the gates of the estate. Only then did I glance over my shoulder, but he was gone—vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared.
The towering walls of the Ashford estate loomed before me, cold and unwelcoming. But as I pushed open the heavy iron gate, I knew that whatever dangers the night held, they couldn't compare to what awaited me inside.