Chapter 3
Selene swallowed two bitter pills, pulled her mask tightly across her face, and stepped out into the biting cold of December. The wind cut sharply against her skin, like blades of ice.
A carriage delivered her swiftly to Moonshadow Atelier, where her weavers and rune–artists had already been waiting anxiously.
“Selene! Thank moon goddess, you’ve arrived,” Wen, her chief weaver, greeted her in obvious relief. “The final ceremonial robe for the winter festival still awaits your approval.”
Without a word, Selene took the bundle of sketches, carefully inspecting each intricate rune and delicate seam. Since childhood, she had been rigorously trained in the sacred arts of weaving ceremonial robes and inscribing spirit–runes. Over the years, she’d founded Moonshadow Atelier, pouring her heart and soul into every creation.
But today’s batch was shockingly inferior–runes distorted, stitches uneven, nothing worthy of their sacred rituals.
Her brows knitted tightly. “Since when has our workshop accepted apprentices of such inferior skill?”
The assistant shifted uncomfortably. “Forgive me, 5
Selene… these were done by your sister, Marina.
Of course.
Three months ago, Marina had returned to the pack and accompanied by her young daughter. Unable to secure suitable work, Marina had been thrust upon Selene by their parents. They demanded Marina be given a senior position at Moonshadow Atelier.
Selene had protested–Marina barely possessed the skills of an apprentice. But faced with relentless pleading, emotional manipulation, and even threats from her family, she’d eventually conceded and offered Marina a simple junior–weaver position.
Yet now, Marina presented work like this.
Selene withdrew the worst sketches and instructed coldly, “From now on, fix Marina’s designs just enough to avoid embarrassment. But never bring them before me again–they offend my eyes.”
Then, reaching into her woven satchel, she produced h Auto–added to the Library rune–patterns. “Use these instead. Gather the senior artisans and see if these are suitable for the central cer
Wen’s eyes lit up immediately. “Selene, you’re far too modest. Your craftsmanship is unparalleled, and everyone knows it.”
Ignoring Wen’s flattery, Selene quietly returned to her tasks. After the upcoming festival, her body would finally succumb to the Moonmark’s debt; her spirit would leave, and this life would end. Modoshadow Atelier, the work of her life, might crumble without her presence. She planned to entrust it to her most trusted friend–but before leaving this world, she intended to weave one final perfect collection for the spring festival.
By two o’clock, her stomach growled loudly, reminding her she’d eaten nothing all day. As she prepared to step out for food, the atelier’s door slammed open.
Her father, Cedric Whitmoor, stood in the doorway, his clothes dusty from travel, his gaze sharp as steel.
“Here you are,” he said bluntly, stepping swiftly toward her. “Come to the infirmary with me now,
Selene stood motionless, staring silently at the man who was her father–and the one who had publicly cast her out of the Whitmoor
family seven years ago.
She and Marina were both Whitmoor daughters, but in her parents eyes, Marina had always been gentle and innocent, while Selene was
cunning and treacherous
When Marina had falsely accused her of theft, no amount of Selene’s pleading or explanations mattered. Even when Marina’s schemes had cost Selene her reputation and nearly ruined the family’s standing, Cedric had publicly renounced her before the entire pack.
“I have only one daughter–Marina Whitmoor,” he’d announced coldly. “Selene is no longer part of this family. Her actions have nothing to do with us.”
Everyone had mocked Selene as a pitiful outcast.
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Yet now, Cedric stood here shamelessly demanding her help.
“Marina’s condition has worsened,” he said coldly. “She needs your blood.”
An oppressive silence fell over the atelier.
Selene’s voice trembled slightly with suppressed fury, “What does her life or death have to do with me?”
Cedric’s face darkened angrily. “She is your sister!”
Selene gave a bitter laugh. “Dad, have y
you forgotten your own words from seven years ago? You cast me out yourself.”
“I have no family left, and certainly no sister.”
Cedric froze, momentarily silenced by his own hypocrisy. Finally, he bowed his proud head slightly, his voice softening to a desperate plea. “The healer says Marina’s heart grows weaker daily. She suffers from severe anemia and can only survive with transfusions. No suitable donor heart has been found. You must come.”
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Observing this proud man begging on behalf of Marina, Selene felt a bitter ache deep within her heart. She’d never before seen him humble himself for anyone like this. Marina truly was his most precious child.
But was it only Cedric? Thorne, Theo–they all revered Marina as though she were sacred.
Selene’s eyes grew damp with emotion, but she maintained her composure.
“Fine, 1’ll agree–but I have one condition,” she stated clearly. “I want my name returned to the family records, and I demand Marina’s shares in all Whitmoor family holdings,”
Cedric’s eyes narrowed coldly. “Don’t push your luck, Selene
“Those are my terms,” she replied simply. “Accept or leave.”
After a long, tense silence, Cedric grudgingly nodded.
He grabbed her roughly, dragging her to his waiting carriage. Weak from hunger, Selene felt her head spin as she fell heavily against the
carriage seat.
Cedric ignored her discomfort, racing to the infirmary and pulling her roughly into the transfusion room
Seeing her pale face, the healer asked kindly, “Is it hypoglycemia? Should she rest and eat something first?”
Cedric snapped impatiently, “Hurry up!”
The Infirmary was privately funded by Cedric, making his words absolute commands here. The healer quickly prepared the needle, visibly shaken by his urgency.
As the needle punctured her vein, dizziness surged through Selene. Weakened by fever and hunger, breathing soon became difficult. Her head fell limply to the side.
The healer panicked, sobbing desperately, “We must stop! More blood will endanger her life!”
Cedric’s face contorted in fury. He didn’t fear losing Selene–only losing Marina’s source of blood.
“Fine, this amount will do for now.”
Selene was laid gently in the recovery room. She drifted in and out of consciousness for what felt like eternity.
Suddenly, a woman stormed in, violently slapping Selene awake, her face swollen from weeping,
“It’s all your fault!” her mother, Moira, screamed hysterically. “Stop pretending to be weak! How can this pitiful amount of blood help Marina?”
Moira seized Selene’s clothing, striking her weakly with her fists. “Why did I ever have twins? If only Marina had been born alone!”
“You were a curse from the start–stealing nutrients from Marina even in the womb, causing her weak heart! Now, when asked for
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blood, you dare put on this pathetic act. Do you truly want your sister dead?”
Each cruel word cut deeply, sharper than blades.
Selene, who never cried, felt cold tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
These accusations she’d heard countless times since childhood. Because Marina had been born fragile, Selene was labeled the thief of her twin’s health.
All her life, she’d borne this original sin–the one born guilty, unloved by family, husband, and child alike.
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