Secret of the crown

The sharp c***k of a slap echoed through the Bradshaw house before the sun had even risen. Natasha didn’t flinch this time. She’d learned not to. Her mother’s hand was quick and cruel, and her voice followed like poison. “Next time, wake up when I tell you to! Useless girl!” Mrs. Bradshaw snapped, glaring down at her. “You think lying around all morning is going to feed this family?” “I—I’m sorry,” Natasha whispered, pressing a trembling hand to her cheek. “Sorry doesn’t clean the floor or pay the bills,” her mother spat. “Now move before I make you regret it.” Mr. Bradshaw didn’t even look up from his newspaper. He just sipped his coffee, as if the sound of his wife hitting their daughter was background noise. Natasha swallowed hard, forcing herself to stand. She turned away before the tears could fall. Her cheek burned, but what hurt worse was the silence that followed—the kind of silence that made you feel invisible. She slipped into her tiny room and leaned against the door, closing her eyes. Just one more day, she told herself. One more day, and maybe I’ll finally get out of here. Today was her entrance exam for SCAR Academy—the most elite high school in the country, the kind of place where only the smartest, strongest, or richest kids ever went. For Natasha, it wasn’t just a dream. It was her ticket out. Her hands shook as she buttoned her faded uniform. The Bradshaws had maxed out every credit card pretending to be wealthy—new furniture, fancy clothes, shiny cars that weren’t really theirs. The whole town thought they were upper-class. No one saw the cracks, the screaming, the bruises hidden beneath long sleeves. She tied her hair back, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes—deep violet, almost glowing in the light—stared back at her. No one in her family had eyes like that. Sometimes, she caught her mother looking at her like she was something foreign. Something that didn’t belong. “Natasha!” Mrs. Bradshaw’s voice snapped through the door. “You better pass that test, you hear me? Don’t make me waste my time raising a failure.” “Yes, ma’am,” she whispered, clutching her exam papers to her chest as she hurried out. Outside, the world was calm—the sky soft pink, the air fresh. It almost felt like peace. Almost. As she walked to the exam hall, she kept hearing her mother’s words echoing in her head, mixed with another voice—soft, unfamiliar, but comforting. "You were never meant to live in cages" The test was brutal. Hours of questions, endless pages of logic and memory. But Natasha didn’t give up. Every time she wanted to stop, she imagined the look on her mother’s face if she passed—and the freedom that would come with it. When it was finally over, she walked home under the fading sun, her body tired but her heart burning with hope A week later, Natasha was scrubbing the kitchen floor when a loud knock came at the door. “Natasha!” Mrs. Bradshaw yelled. “Mail for you. Try not to mess this one up.” Her hands froze. Mail? For her? She dried her fingers and took the envelope. The gold seal caught the light—SCAR Academy. Her breath hitched. She opened it with shaking hands. "Dear Miss Natasha Bradshaw, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into SCAR Academy on full scholarship." She stared at the words until they blurred. Her chest felt like it might burst. She’d done it. She was in. Mrs. Bradshaw snatched the letter from her. Her eyes widened for a moment—then a fake smile crept across her face. “Well, I suppose you’re not completely useless after all. Guess you’re finally worth something.” Mr. Bradshaw nodded. “Make sure the neighbors find out,” he said flatly. “It’ll look good for us.” Natasha didn’t reply. She just nodded, forcing a smile, and walked back to her room. Once the door closed, she clutched the letter to her chest and let out a shaky laugh. For the first time in years, she wasn’t crying because she was hurt. She was crying because she could finally see a way out. She looked out the window at the dark sky and whispered, “SCAR Academy… I’m coming.” And far, far away—in a kingdom called Bloodmoon—a woman with the same violet eyes looked up from her throne, her heart aching for reasons she couldn’t explain