Page 11 of The Blood Moon Hunt

I don’t respond. I step onto the porch and set my shoes down by the wall, carefully avoiding his gaze.

“Seriously, Selene,” he continues, leaning back and stretching out his long legs. “You look like a drowned rat. Did it ever occur to you to carry an umbrella? Or are you too busy living in fantasy land to notice it’s raining?”

“Not now, Matthew,” I mutter, my voice barely audible.

“Not now?” he echoes, his tone mockingly high-pitched. “Aw, poor Selene. Did someone ruin your day at school? Let me guess—those girls you’re always talking about finally decided to show you some attention?”

I stiffen, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “I don’t talk about them,” I say, my voice shaking.

“Oh, right. You don’t talk about much of anything, do you?” he says, laughing. “You just sit in your room, reading those weird books and pretending you’re some kind of... what? Warrior princess? Is that what you’re going for?”

His words cut deeper than they should. I know he’s just being his usual self—teasing, poking fun. But today, after everything, it feels like too much.

“Just leave me alone,” I snap, my voice breaking slightly. I hate how weak I sound.

Matthew raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Touchy, touchy. Fine, go brood in your room like you always do. Don’t let me stop you from saving your imaginary kingdom or whatever.”

I don’t say anything else. I grab my shoes and storm back into the house, my cheeks burning. Upstairs, I close my bedroom door and lean against it, finally letting the tears spill over.

I collapse onto my bed,my face buried in my arms. The day replays in my mind in cruel detail—the laughter in the cafeteria, my father’s disapproval, Matthew’s mocking grin. I feel like I’m shrinking, folding into myself, becoming smaller and smaller until there’s nothing left.

After a few minutes, I sit up and reach for the old, battered book on my nightstand. It’s the one my aunt Vivienne gave me years ago. The leather cover is soft from wear, and the pages are filled with sketches of plants, constellations, and strange symbols that I used to trace with my fingers as a kid. Vivienne always had a way of making things feel magical.

I run my hand over the cover, remembering the warmth in her voice. “Don’t let them dim your light, Selene,” she’d said once, her hands resting on my shoulders. “The world will try to mold you into something small, but your power is in being different. Let them underestimate you.”

Vivienne saw me. She saw the parts of me no one else cared to notice, and for a while, I believed her. When she’d visit, she’d bring little gifts—pressed flowers she’d laminated into bookmarks, small crystals she claimed had special properties, and stories. Oh, her stories. She’d tell me about faraway places, about the stars, and about strength hidden in unexpected places.

I’d hang on her every word, soaking up her presence like sunlight. She’d tell me I had a gift for understanding things most people overlooked. “You’re special, Selene,” she’d say with a conspiratorial smile. “Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”

But then she stopped coming.

At first, I thought maybe she was just busy. Adults were always busy. I’d ask my mom when Aunt Vivienne was coming back, and she’d wave me off with vague promises about “soon.” Weeks turned into months, and the absence grew heavier. The gifts stopped. The stories stopped. The magic stopped.

When I finally worked up the courage to ask my mom again, her response was... colder. Dismissive.

“I don’t know, Selene,” she’d said, not even looking up from her laptop. “She probably got herself killed.”

The words hit me like a slap. “What? Killed?” I stammered, horrified.

My mom sighed, rubbing her temples as if I were the one giving her a headache. “Vivienne was always getting into weird stuff—digging around where she didn’t belong, poking her nose into dangerous things. It’s no surprise she’s disappeared. Honestly, it’s her own fault.”

Her words felt like poison, seeping into the cracks of my heart. “How can you say that?” I demanded, tears welling in my eyes. “She’s your sister!”

“She was my sister,” my mom corrected sharply, her voice hardening. “But she lived in her own world, Selene. Always chasing things that weren’t real. Sometimes people like that... they don’t come back.”

I couldn’t believe her. The indifference in her tone, the finality of it—it was like she’d already written Vivienne off as dead and gone. I’d stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me, her words ringing in my ears.

I clutchthe book to my chest now, as though holding it close might bring Vivienne back. The world will try to mold you into something small. My father, Matthew, Jessica—they’ve all tried, in their own ways. And maybe Vivienne, with all her strangeness, was right. Maybe being different was my power.

But if she’s gone—if she really is gone—then what does that mean for me?

I can still hear her voice sometimes, feel the warmth of her presence, even though it’s been years. “You’re stronger than you know,” she’d say, her smile soft but sure. “Even when the world doesn’t see it, you are.”

I wipe my tears away and take a deep breath. Maybe she was right. Maybe I am more than they can see. For now, though, I just feel small.

I place the book back on the nightstand and lie down, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow will come, and it’ll be just like today. But for tonight, I let myself hope—just a little—that someday, I’ll be strong enough to prove them all wrong. Strong enough to live up to the light Vivienne saw in me. Strong enough to find my own magic, even if it’s buried deep inside.

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