Can You Be My Luna

Chapter 12 THE THINGS THAT REFUSE TO STAY BROKEN

Aunt Locia noticed my hair the moment she saw me. I tried to keep my head down as I scrubbed the kitchen counters, but her eyes were too kind to miss anything. She stopped mid-step, the basket of vegetables slipping slightly in her arms.

“Child…” she said softly.

I froze, and slowly, I turned toward her. She stared at my hair for a long moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. I could see the thoughts forming behind her eyes, the unspoken questions. She didn’t ask who did it. She already knew.

“Oh, Silver…” she whispered.

Something in me cracked. “I woke up, and it was just… gone,” I said, my voice shaking. “I tried to fix it. I only made it worse.”

Aunt Locia set the basket down slowly, then reached out and gently touched the uneven ends of my hair, as if afraid I might disappear if she moved too fast.

“Come,” she said. “We’ll make it right. Or at least… presentable.”

She led me into her small room, closing the door behind us. The space smelled faintly of herbs and soap, warm and familiar. She sat me down on a stool and pulled out a pair of old scissors.

“This won’t be perfect,” she said quietly, “but neither is the world. We work with what we have.”

As she began cutting, I felt the light snip of metal near my ears. Strands of hair fell to the floor, dark against the stone.

“I know who did this,” I whispered.

Aunt Lucia didn’t stop. “Yes,” she said. “So do I.”

“She hates me,” I said. “And I don’t even know why.”

She sighed, long and tired. “Some people don’t need a reason, child. Your existence is enough.”

When she finished, she stepped back and tilted my chin toward the mirror.

My hair was short now. Much shorter than before. But it was neat and simple.

I barely recognized myself.

“You look strong,” she said. I didn’t feel strong but I nodded anyway.

The days that followed were… strange. At first, I thought I was imagining it.

When I woke up the next morning, my hair felt thicker. Heavier. I dismissed it as nerves. But the day after that, I noticed the ends brushing my neck.

By the fourth day, it was unmistakable. My hair was growing. Fast. Too fast.

Every morning, I would wake up and find it longer than the night before. It was smooth, healthy and darker than it had ever been. Aunt Locia noticed it too—her brows knitting together as she examined it one evening.

“That’s… unusual,” she murmured.

“I thought maybe it was just me,” I said quietly.

She studied me for a long moment, then placed her hand against my forehead. “You’ve been feeling well otherwise?”

I hesitated. “Sometimes… I feel warm. And restless. Like something inside me won’t sit still.”

Her hand lingered, thoughtful. “We’ll keep an eye on it,” she said gently. “Don’t worry yourself.”

But I was worried. Vanessa was seeing it too. She was the first to comment on it openly.

One morning, as I poured tea, her gaze snapped to my hair. Her smile stiffened.

“That’s interesting,” she said coldly. “Didn’t you butcher it just days ago?”

I swallowed. “Aunt Locia helped me fix it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Hair doesn’t grow like that.”

Lucas glanced up briefly. His eyes lingered on me longer than usual.

For the first time since I’d met him, his expression wasn’t filled with outright disgust. It was something else.

He said nothing. But after that day… he changed.

Only slightly. So subtly that anyone else might not have noticed.

He stopped shouting as much. He no longer struck me.

His cruelty became quieter and more controlled. Still sharp, still humiliating but tempered, as if he were holding something back.

Once, when I brought him coffee, he corrected my posture instead of mocking me.

Another time, he told Vanessa to “leave it” when she started laughing at my clothes.

The words shocked both of us. Vanessa noticed. I could see it in the way her jaw tightened, the way her laughter became forced, brittle. She began watching me not with amusement but with something darker. Jealousy.

One night, as I passed by the sitting room, I heard her voice rise sharply.

“What’s going on with you?” she snapped. “You’re going soft.”

“I’m doing what’s necessary,” Lucas replied coolly.

“For her?” Vanessa laughed bitterly. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to care.”

There was a pause.

I held my breath.

“Watch yourself,” Lucas said quietly. “You’re getting sloppy.”

Her voice dropped to a hiss. “You’re changing.”

At night, I felt a strange energy pulsed beneath my skin. My senses felt sharper—sounds louder and smells stronger. Sometimes, I caught myself staring out the window at the moon without knowing why.