The Dead Luna

That night, they tortured me in my room with a cloth stuffed inside my mouth.

"Next time you defy my orders, I’ll ensure no hair strand is left on your crown. The burns on your back will be treated if you promise to behave in the future," she said, shoving me to the floor with full force.

A hiccup escaped my lips in between the sobs. My shoulders were still trembling from the shock. The pain was pulsing through every vein of my body. Resting my forehead on the floor, I closed my eyes until she held my hair in her tightly clenched fist,

"You won’t tell this to anyone, slave," she said through her clenched teeth, "You know why?" She raised my head, forcing me to look at her, "Because Luna’s order, slave! It’s Luna’s order!"

I winced in pain, while she beamed, clearly enjoying inflicting it on me.

I wasn’t crying anymore, the tears had dried up. A storm was brewing inside me, but there was a strong emotion, too, that I could feel swirling through my heart.

Hatred.

Hatred for everyone who failed me.

I didn’t want to live here anymore.

I wasn’t a novel heroin who would escape her husband and in-laws after getting pregnant. Nah!