The Luna's Revenge

Chapter 4: Ten Years Earlier

I jolted awake, gasping as if my breath had been held wildly. I heaved my chest, my heart pounding as if I’d been running. I sat up, clutching my legs tangled in the blanket. My vision adjusted after a moment, and when it did, my breath caught in my throat.

It wasn’t the damp, suffocating darkness of the basement. This was my old bedroom. I blinked rapidly, my confusion and disbelief mixing with my thoughts. Pale lavender walls surrounded me, adorned with faded posters reflecting my teenage interests. The vintage alarm clock on my bedside table read 6:45 AM, glowing softly in the dim light. There was a faint ray of sunshine through the sheer curtains. But everything was the same as I remembered it, even down to the slight chips in the paint on the windowsill.

I reached out and touched the wooden headboard, the familiar texture of it. “What...?” My voice trembled as I whispered. I rubbed my arms, trying to ground myself. The last thing I remember was the basement, cold, dark, and unyielding. I spoke a plea as desperate as it was broken, starved, and collapsed.

And now... I was here? In my old room? It didn’t make sense.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my hands trembling and my feet dragging on the soft rug I’d once thought of as too ‘childish.’ I stood, hesitating. My body felt strange, stronger, and younger. I padded over to the full-length mirror near the closet and stopped.

I stared back at a version of myself I hadn’t seen in over a decade. The bruises and weariness that had become a permanent part of my reflection were gone from my face. My hair, which once was dull with loss of life, shone as brightly as that of the young. I leaned closer, feeling my smooth, unscarred skin. I looked... twenty. No, younger. Much younger.

I stumbled back from the mirror so fast that I nearly tripped over the edge of my desk, and my heart raced. I squeezed my eyes shut, and my chest tightened. This had to be a dream. A cruel, elaborate dream. But every sensation was too real—the faint morning breeze, the softness of the rug beneath my feet, the distant sound of birds outside my window.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I needed answers.

Quiet as a tomb, I crept downstairs into the house. I flinched at the familiar creak of the third step, but no one stirred. Freshly made coffee seeped in through the kitchen door and mixed with the smell of toast. The warmth of the memory made me briefly try to pretend that it still existed. But I shook it off.

I held onto the doorframe at the entrance to the dining room and paused. Magnus and Seraphina Sterling sat at the table, going through their morning routines as my parents. Hunched over the newspaper, young Magnus cast his imposing shadow gloriously in the morning light, despite his towering frame. Across from him, Seraphina sipped delicately from a porcelain mug. Her hair was immaculate, and her features were sharp, perfect—effortless.

My stomach twisted. I hadn’t seen them like this in years, not since things had gotten out of hand. I didn’t experience warm glances, luring remarks, or kind disinterest. Rather, my memories of them were marked by cold glares, biting remarks, and cruel indifference. And here they were, back to back, safe for once, as though all those years of neglect and pain never played out.

I cleared my throat. “Good morning.”

Both heads snapped toward me. Magnus' steely gray eyes narrowed in confusion, looking startled for a moment. But Seraphina’s face returned to a polite disinterest immediately.

Magnus folded the newspaper and set it aside. “You’re up early,” he muttered. “Unusual for you.”

My pulse quickened, and I swallowed. I was about to respond when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I turned my head sharply, my breath hitching.

Calista.

Her movements were graceful; in the room she glided, exactly and deliberately. Her auburn hair falling over her shoulders like a waterfall, she wore a sweater and pastel, perfectly fitted jeans. No matter how dry their hearts were, her smile would make anyone smile. The smile was the same one that had fooled my parents for years.

Calista chirped sweetly, annoyingly, ‘Good morning.’ She brushed past me without so much as a glance and sat down next to Seraphina.

My jaw tightened. I was angry when I saw Calista, like the idea of a teenager that had yet to become tainted by the darkness she would come to embody. I remembered the betrayal and manipulation, but I held it together.

Magnus was gazing at Calista, his expression softening. “Sweetheart, how’d you sleep?”

Sweetheart. It felt like a dagger to my chest. I’d heard it so many times, always aimed at Calista, never at me.

Calista smiled her perfect smile. “I slept great.” “Thanks for asking, Dad.”

I clenched my hands into fists at my sides. I wanted to scream, to tell everyone that Magnus wasn’t Calista’s real father, that she was the interloper, the outsider who had taken everything from me. But I bit my tongue. Not yet. I needed to be smart.

The day passed by with a sudden, unreal familiarity. As I walked through the house, I observed everything with a mix of nostalgia and bitterness. It was all the same—completely the same—I remembered, to the faint scratch marks on the banister where I had carved my initials as a child. But I knew what was waiting, and everything felt wrong.

I didn’t realize it until the evening. I had been sent back in time. The truth had calmed and settled in my chest, like a weight that was both terrifying and exhilarating. I was given another shot—a way to rewrite my life, a way to stop the betrayals before they happened, and the belongings of what was rightfully mine.

When the sun passed below the horizon, for the first time casting long shadows across the estate, I was at my bedroom window staring at the sprawling gardens. I’d let years go by being powerless and a victim of my family’s cruelty and Calista’s schemes. But not anymore. This time, I wouldn’t be the forgotten daughter.

My eyes reflected a glint of determination in the mirror in the window. ‘This time, Calista, you won’t win.’ I whispered.

The next day was tense in the air. Today was the day of Calista’s adoption anniversary celebration, something I had always dreaded. This time, however, I felt no fear. I felt a simmering resolve instead.

After I took the stairs down, dressed in a simple black dress, as opposed to the bright and festive decorations it contrasted with so much, I saw Calista in a back room talking excitedly to a bunch of guests. Her twittered, the sound of light, carefree laughter; there was nothing to hide.

My gaze hardened. I knew better. But that slimy streak underneath Calista’s polished exterior had wiped out lives, including mine. This time, I wouldn’t let it happen.

I saw Magnus approach me with a blank expression on his face. He was gruff, adding a slight disapproval, “You’re late.”

I met his gaze evenly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He said nothing more, but his eyebrows raised slightly. Smiling, my lips curved out almost imperceptibly. I know; I can still feel the power dynamic shifting, and it made me excited.

As Calista’s speech time came, I stood at the back of the room, arms crossed. She walked onto the stage; she was beaming, her charm dripping off her voice. The guests clapped and cheered as she spoke about “family” and “love.”

My jaw tightened. Each and every word was an insult and a mockery of the truth.