The night was not kind.
A silent accomplice to the biggest betrayal. The wind howled through the trees, whispering secrets only the heartbroken could hear.
Elara.
Luna once.
Nothing now.
The world she had known, the mate she had sworn to, had cast her aside with a single, merciless decree.
Wolfless. Useless.
Now she carried a secret no one could know. A child. A life forged in one reckless, desperate night. The mark of her shame.
The moon watched as she fell to her knees in the dirt, one hand pressed to her stomach.
A curse.
A blessing.
The stars did not answer her silent plea, but she rose anyway.
She would not let them find her.
She would not let them take what was hers.
This story is one written long before my first breath, but still etched into my very bones.
My mother ran beneath that cursed sky, the weight of her betrayal pressing into every aching step. Wolves howled in the distance, their voices thick with rage, but she did not stop. She could not.
Because she carried me.
A child never meant to exist. A secret pulsing beneath her ribs, waiting to be unraveled by fate's cruel hands.
I do not remember that night, but I feel it in my blood. In the way my soul thrums with something unnatural. In the way the moon watches me, not with warmth, but with quiet, endless knowing.
She thought she could outrun them. That she could carve a life where their shadows did not reach.
But the fire inside me was never meant to stay hidden.
And the moon never forgets its own.