CHAPTER 4:: WAY OF TRADITION
1106 Words
GLORIA P. O. V
Immediately, I screamed, my voice tearing through the silence, but no help came.
Rough hands forced me onto the bed, pinning my arms above my head. My pleas for mercy were swallowed by their laughter.
I was powerless, my body trembling, my spirit breaking as fear devoured me.
The first man pressed his weight upon me, ignoring my desperate cries. I begged him to stop, begged them both, but my words were useless.
He forced himself on me, ripping away what I had guarded with innocence and hope.
The pain was unbearable, tearing through me, while their grip kept me chained to helplessness. I felt myself shatter inside as I realized there was no escape.
When the first was done, the second took his turn. My strength was gone, my body no longer mine.
Each moment carved deeper scars into my soul. I closed my eyes, trying to drifted away, but the cruelty pulled me back, again and again, until I could no longer cry.
Time lost meaning. Minutes felt like hours. They violated me until I was nothing more than a lifeless shell, discarded on the bed like I was nothing.
My tears had dried, my voice had broken, and my body felt foreign to me.
When they finally left, silence returned—but it was not peace. It was the silence of devastation, of something precious stolen forever.
They had not only broken my body but stolen my innocence, my light, my very sense of self.
I lay there in darkness, hollow and torn, knowing that no matter how much time passed,
I could never return to who I was before. They had taken more than flesh—they had taken my soul.
After the crying had drained from my throat and left my body trembling,
I lay still on the thin mattress, staring at the dark ceiling above me.
My tears had dried, but the heat inside her remained, a fever born not from sickness but from despair.
Every breath felt heavy, and when she tried to rise, her legs betrayed her. The weight pressing her down was more than her body could bear.
Her fingers trembled as she gripped the wooden frame of the bed, but even then, she could not steady herself.
The world outside her chamber called to her, yet she felt as though stepping beyond the door would drown her in more misery. For a moment, she thought—perhaps no one would notice if she disappeared. Perhaps no one would care.
Still, she moved. When she stepped out, the sight that greeted her cut deeper than any wound. In the courtyard, other maids wandered like shadows, their eyes dull, their lips sealed.
Some leaned against the stone walls, their bodies weary, their spirits crushed. They had been through the same horrors, endured the same nights, and now lived as if nothing could be changed. She wanted them to shout, to rise, to say enough.
Yet when she looked into their faces, she found only silence.
“It is tradition,” one whispered when her gaze lingered too long.
“It is what we do when the blood moon rises,” said another, her voice broken, her eyes refusing to meet hers.
Tradition. The word felt like poison in her veins. To them, it was an explanation, an excuse for cruelty. To her, it was a chain around her neck.
Her heart pounded as she stumbled back toward the maid quarters.
The walls seemed to close in on her as she entered. She pulled off the garments that still clung to her skin like a second punishment and reached for clean clothes.
The fabric was coarse and thin, but she dressed anyway, moving as if every motion carved another scar into her soul. When at last she lay down again, her body felt hollow, drained of everything but sorrow.
She thought of freedom but could not picture it. She thought of kindness but could not recall its warmth.
The blood moon had stolen too much, not just from her but from every girl trapped in this cycle.
************End of Flashback*************
That was how it was. Gloria spoke with a heavy voice, her eyes locked on Lucy, who stared back at her as though she had grown two heads.
Lucy’s lips trembled, but she could not bring herself to speak. Gloria leaned closer and said quietly,
“In the next three days, you will be like the rest of us. Forced. Used. Broken. There is no escape from it, Lucy. That is our fate here.”
Goosebumps rose along Lucy’s skin, and her stomach turned as the thought sank in. Three days.
Only three days until her life would change forever, just like the others. She whispered, almost as if praying to herself,
“I pray everything will go well. I pray I can survive this.”
Gloria’s face softened for a brief moment, a tired smile forming. “You will survive. You must,” she said, but before Lucy could answer, a commanding voice echoed behind them:
“Class is over. To your rooms!”
They both jumped in fear and turned to see the woman with the powerful aura and ego glaring at them.
Without hesitation, they hurried to their room, hearts pounding. Once inside, they lay side by side on the small bed, silence pressing between them.
Lucy finally broke it with a whisper. “How I wish I had a wolf. If I had one, I wouldn’t go through all this. If only there was an escape…”
Gloria turned toward her, her eyes gleaming in the dim light.
“There is an escape,” she admitted. “But it is risky. If you are caught, you’ll face something worse than death.”
Lucy’s heart skipped. For the first time, hope stirred inside her chest. “At least there is a chance,” she said, clinging to the thought.
Gloria nodded. “How I wish they would choose me as Luna in three days. They think we are useless, but deep down we are more than what they believe. We are strong. We are the best.”
Lucy managed a small smile, comforted by her friend’s words, and together they lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, silence wrapped them again, fragile and uncertain.
But suddenly the door slammed open with a force that shook the walls.
Both girls shot up, fear tightening their throats. A cold voice filled the room, sharp and merciless:
“Lucy, you are needed in the dark room.”
To be continued
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