Claiming His Luna

Cercei’s POV

I yearn to extinguish the essence of my being, that I may finally end these incessant thoughts plaguing my mind.

With a sullen look, I retraced my steps back to the cabin. Upon my arrival, I discovered my mother diligently engaged in tidying the disarray that had befallen the premises.

A deep sense of chagrin bathed over me as I realised my obliviousness to the chaos, my mind preoccupied during my hasty departure earlier in the day.

“Mamà,” I uttered awkwardly, my gait measured as I ventured indoors. The shattered flower vase, the cluttered table, and the forlorn sheets strewn across the floor seemed to suggest the aftermath of a violent upheaval that had swept through.

“Cercei, why is everything in such a mess? What happened here?” inquired my mother as she carefully collected the broken shards of glass, gingerly depositing them into a bag. I winced, engulfed by a profound sense of awkwardness. Honestly, this was an uncomfortable predicament.

“Uhm,” I let out a nervous chuckle, desperately searching for a reasonable explanation.NôvelDrama.Org (C) content.

“The chicken did it,” I ventured to say. A chicken, of all things? First, a rabbit was blamed, and now a chicken. I am surely destined for the depths of animal purgatory. Though I have a deep affection for our animal companions, sacrifices must sometimes be made for the greater good.

“A what?” she queried, perplexed. Retrieving a broom, she began sweeping the glass remains with practised preciseness.

“A chicken, it somehow found its way inside and caused havoc. I could not manage the mess as time was hindering me,” I admitted, my lip feeling the sting of my self-reproach. First, I compromised my moral principles, and now I am compelled to weave a web of lies. Lucian Red, you are an evil influence!

“Where did it come from?” she inquired, fixing her gaze upon me. I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat.

“The barn!? Yes, it must have come from the barn,” I exclaimed, attempting to sound convincing.

“But the barn is located on the opposite side of the mansion; it couldn’t have made its way here,” she responded, a perplexed expression adorning her face.

“Perhaps it was feeling adventurous,” I shrugged, eager to divert any further inquiries. Please, dear mother, cease your questioning. I have already woven enough lies today.

I swear to God, if I ever look at Lord Red’s flawlessly chiselled countenance again, I will not hesitate to deliver a resounding blow. He has wrought such upheaval within me in just one night, and now he is on the brink of an engagement. What an insufferable rascal!

Why am I even fixating on his upcoming engagement? I care not for him; I am merely burning with anger. It is not as though he forced me, but still… Whatever!

“You should rest, mamà. Allow me to finish this task,” I urged her, recognizing the toll that two consecutive days of labour had taken on her weary form. She deserved sleep, for her fatigue was noticeable.

“Very well, I already have my meal. Be sure to nourish yourself,” she replied before retiring to her room. I mustered a bittersweet smile. Even when she was drained from toil, she always ensured my well-being like my father.

A sniffle escaped me; no, I must beat this sadness. I grow weary of dwelling upon circumstances beyond my control, of pondering on the irrevocable past.

He would not wish this on me; I am sure he would want me to find joy and release him from my thoughts. That is the essence of my father-selfless, perpetually placing others before himself. Oh, how I miss him.

After fixing the mess that I unwittingly created the previous night, I took a moment to freshen up before surrendering to the embrace of my bed.

This day has been utterly dreadful. My mind and body ache with exhaustion, the weariness seeping into my very bones.

I overslept slightly, yet a faint glimmer of ease enveloped me upon waking up. Mamà had already departed, but she left behind a tender note accompanied by a carefully prepared breakfast.

A smile graced my lips as I beheld the delicate hearts adorning her message. It reminded me so much of papà’s gestures; I know she yearns to fill the void he left behind. She protects me from the world, but I fear her focus is too singular. She, too, requires time and space to heal.

Having savoured the nourishment she lovingly provided, I made my way towards the grand mansion. Today marks the occasion of the long-awaited engagement celebration, ensuring a whirlwind of activities for all involved. Esteemed guests from far-flung corners of the world shall grace their presence, gathering for the union of two of the most influential packs in the western and northern territories.

Countless Lords will attend, seeking to curry favour or establish alliances. It was during a previous gathering of this nature that I lost my father.

Anxiety grips me, and the trauma still lingers. I can only hope that events occur without incident, or at least for the well-being of the engaged couple.

Every white rose and decorative flourish serves as a haunting reminder of that fateful night. The diligent servants tend to their duties, the resplendent chandeliers cast their ethereal glow, and the scarlet carpet unfurled like a path towards destiny.

I find myself frozen in the midst of the extravagant ballroom, trapped in the depths of my anguish. It is as if I have become deaf to the murmurings and conversations swirling around me, a spectral observer amidst the crowd.

My feet remain rooted to the floor, unable to propel me forward. I feel invisible, my hands trembling with an unseen force.

“Hey, are you alright?” A sudden touch on my hand jolts me back to the present, a servant’s concerned voice piercing through the haze. Still dazed, I can only stare at her with eyes brimming with fear.

“Cercei, are you alright?” She snapped her fingers, attempting to bring me back to the present. I forced my eyes shut, desperately seeking a mask of composure.

“I-I’m fine, thank you,” I managed to utter, offering her a feeble smile.

“We’re not even halfway through yet, so there’s no time for zoning out,” she reminded me sternly.

“You’re absolutely right,” I gathered myself. She was right; I couldn’t allow myself to take this personally. This was not about me. I sniffled, using the back of my hand to wipe away the tears that threatened to spill.

Despite my eyes welling up, I persevered, continuing to mop the floor. My hands trembled as I pushed and pulled, and I squeezed my eyes shut. No!

I had to press on, despite feeling like the universe was tormenting me. I kept cleaning, disregarding the pain, the haunting flashbacks, and the unrelenting trauma.

I had thought I was making progress, that I was coping, that I was on the path to healing. But now, at this moment, I realised how far from the truth that notion was. I am still far from okay, fearing that true healing may forever elude me.

No amount of understanding or revelation would bring peace to my shattered soul. Even if I were to uncover the truth of what truly happened that night, no reason in this world could ever compel me to accept my father’s untimely demise. No measure of goodness in my heart could lead me to forgive those responsible.

Mamà has always taught me that holding grudges serves no good purpose. But this goes beyond mere notions of good or bad.

They stole my father’s life, and for that, I will never grant them my forgiveness.