Moxie lay in the damp, dark basement of her aunt's house, her body wrapped tightly in a quilt that still carried the faint scent of her parents. Their presence lingered in the folds of the fabric, the only remnants of a life brutally stolen from her. But tonight, like so many nights before, the thin barrier of cloth couldn't shield her from the nightmares.
The scene replayed in her mind, vivid and cruel. Her father's gasp as the blade sliced through the air, her mother's desperate scream. Blood, so much blood. It stained her dreams, soaked into every corner of her thoughts.
She jolted awake, breathless, her heart pounding in her chest. Her fingers clenched the quilt as if she could somehow hold on to her parents' memory a little longer. Moxie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the images away, but they were seared into her memory like a brand.
Upstairs, her aunt moved about the house, the floorboards creaking softly. Moxie listened for a moment before slipping out of bed and creeping up the stairs. She found her aunt at the kitchen table, staring at a cup of tea.
"Aunt Mara?" Moxie's voice came out quieter than she intended, but she needed to say something—anything. "Do you... Do you miss them too?"
Her aunt didn't turn, her back stiff, her gaze fixed on the cup. "We all miss them, Moxie," she said, her voice flat, emotionless. "But it doesn't change what needs to be done."
Moxie's throat tightened. "They fought for something. They believed we could be free."
Aunt Mara finally looked up, her eyes weary, as if they had seen too much. "And they died for it. We live in this world, not the one they dreamed of."
The silence that followed was heavier than before. Moxie knew the conversation was over. Tomorrow, she would be sent to the Institute, and the world her parents had believed in would seem even further away.
The next morning came too quickly, the basement still cold, her body stiff from the restless sleep. The sun barely filtered through the narrow windows, casting pale stripes of light across the floor. She dressed in silence, pulling on the gray uniform she'd been given for the Institute. It was plain and shapeless, designed to strip away any sense of identity. Her chest felt heavy, like the air was thicker, harder to breathe.
A soft knock on the door above broke her from her thoughts. Her aunt's shadowy figure appeared at the top of the stairs.
"It's time," her aunt said, her voice devoid of warmth.
Moxie hesitated, staring at the stairs. "Do you even care that I'm leaving?"
Aunt Mara's face hardened, but she didn't answer right away. She paused at the door, the faintest crack in her cold demeanor. "Caring doesn't change what happens next."
The walk to the transport station was silent, their footsteps echoing in the empty streets. Moxie's thoughts were tangled, her aunt's words weighing on her heart. She couldn't understand it—how her aunt could be so detached, so resigned. Didn't anyone still believe in fighting back?
When they reached the platform, a sleek black transport waited, already filled with girls, all dressed in plain gray uniforms with hollow eyes staring at the ground. A few glanced at Moxie as she approached, but there was no spark of recognition in their faces—just resignation.
Her aunt placed a hand on Moxie's shoulder, her grip firm but cold. "Do what they ask. Don't stand out, and you'll survive."
Moxie felt her throat tighten. "Survive for what?"
Her aunt didn't answer. She simply turned and walked away without looking back.
The ride to the Institute was long and silent, the hum of the engine the only sound that broke the suffocating quiet. Moxie stared out the window, watching as the city gave way to endless fields, and then, in the distance, a looming structure appeared—the Institute.
It was a fortress of stone and iron, surrounded by towering walls that seemed to scrape the sky. The girls filed out in silence, their feet shuffling across the gravel as they were led inside the gates.
Once inside, Moxie could feel the weight of eyes on her—rows of older girls stood in neat lines, their expressions devoid of any emotion. They had been here for years, conditioned into the emperor's servants.
A tall woman with sharp features and icy blue eyes stood at the front, her uniform crisp and spotless. She was the Warden, the one who controlled the Institute with an iron fist.
"Welcome to your new life," the Warden began, her voice as cold as her gaze. "You are no longer daughters, sisters, or individuals. From this moment on, you are tools. Tools to serve the emperor. Your past means nothing here. Your future is ours to shape."
Moxie clenched her fists, her mind racing. This was what her parents had fought against, what they had died trying to stop. And now, she was standing in the heart of it.
The Warden's eyes flickered over the new girls, settling on Moxie for a moment longer than the others. "You will learn obedience. You will learn to serve. And if you don't—"
She gestured to a door at the far end of the hall, a steel monstrosity reinforced with locks. "That's where you'll end up."
Moxie followed the Warden's gaze, her stomach turning as the door seemed to swallow the light around it. There were whispers about what happened beyond that door, about the girls who went in and never came out. She felt a chill run down her spine.
A girl beside her whispered under her breath, her voice trembling. "They say no one ever comes back from there."
Moxie turned to her. The girl's eyes were wide with fear, her hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her uniform.
"I'm Moxie," she whispered back, trying to offer some comfort. "We just have to survive this together."
The girl gave a shaky nod, her breath uneven. "I'm Isla. Do you think they'll really... do that to us?"
Moxie's stomach knotted, but she kept her voice steady. "Not if we don't give them a reason."
The girls were herded into small, bare rooms, each with a single cot and a locked door. The walls were painted a dull gray, matching the uniforms they wore. It was a prison, wrapped in the illusion of a school.
As she sat on the cot, staring at the ceiling, the memories of her parents came flooding back again. The way they used to hold her close, the warmth of their laughter. They had believed in something, something bigger than this nightmare.
The door to her room slid open with a hiss, and a girl stepped in, her long black hair tied back in a severe braid. She looked at Moxie with calculating eyes.
"New here?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Name's Kira. If you're smart, you'll keep your head down. They break you here if you don't."
Moxie met Kira's gaze, something flickering in the pit of her stomach—an ember that hadn't quite died. "I'm not planning on being broken."
Kira studied her for a moment, then smirked. "Everyone says that on their first day."
"Maybe. But I'm not like everyone else," Moxie replied, her voice steady.
Kira raised an eyebrow but didn't push further. "We'll see about that. Just be careful who you trust here. Some of the girls... they're more loyal to the emperor than you might think."
As Kira left, Moxie lay back on the cot, her mind racing. She had to survive. She had to find a way out. But more than that—she had to finish what her parents started. She wasn't here to serve the emperor. She was here to bring him down.