Soft Padders on Creaky Floors
It was the night after Sirius's coronation, and Moon was scheduled to depart in the early hours of the morning to travel the seas to Piffedal, where she would begin her training and courses to become Soltero's proper wife. The thought of such a fate gnawed at her, an unbearable chain threatening to bind her free will. That was just something Moon would not stand for.
This was the beginning of her life the way she wanted it. Her mind was far too gone now to think about anything else. There was a storm brewing inside her—a tempest of rebellion and survival instincts. She knew this was her time to fight and survive, to forge her own path through the dark wilderness of her fate.
In her little black flowy nightgown, with a chamberstick in hand, Moon made her way through the dark, moonlit hallways silently. The silk of her gown whispered against her skin, and the candle's flame cast long, writhing shadows on the stone walls. Those bright green eyes shone brightly through the darkness—a horror awaiting her unsuspecting family. People who thought demons were the scariest would be unprepared for the monster that had awakened from its deep hibernation. An ever-growing shadow in the candlelight loomed over its prey as Moon entered her brother's door frame, standing there silently while her tail swayed softly against the floor, a snake preparing to strike.
Her brother, Sirius, was sitting at his wooden desk at the end of his room, candlelight at the edge, while he seemed to be working on writing some kind of documentation. His quill scratched the parchment methodically, ink pooling in deliberate, pristine curves. He probably wanted to get a head start on any propositions that might benefit the Takona name—maybe a list of things he could "fix." His brow was furrowed in concentration, the golden light painting the sharp lines of his face with an almost holy glow.
It took a solid few moments before he could feel the cold, looming presence in the room. He could've sworn it was like a spotted snow leopard stalking its prey, ready to pounce. But when his eyes quickly shifted to the threatening presence, a sigh exhaled out of him, relieved to just see his baby sister. His posture eased, the tension draining away as if nothing more than a sibling's curious wanderings had disturbed him.
"Moon... what are you doing up at this hour, my dear sister?" His voice was warm, a practiced facade of brotherly affection.
He stood up from his desk, setting down the ink pen before making his way over and leaning against the door frame. After raking his hand through his hair to push it back, he added, "You must be getting your sleep, sis. You have days of travel tomorrow—you will appear better well-rested." His lips quirked into a gentle, almost pitying smile, the kind reserved for delicate things already considered lost.
The disgust gnawed at Moon. Why was he trying to seem remorseful, maybe even pitying her situation? Not even a care that she was going to be sent away, possibly never to be seen again. That probably just made things easier for him—to never have to deal with or look at his pitiful baby sister anymore. It made her feel such harsh indignation in her core. She could almost taste the bile rising in her throat, bitter and sharp.
She let her gaze shift to one of a kitten's—like she yearned for her brother's protection. Her lips quivered, eyes wide and shimmering as if fresh from a nightmare.
"Brother... Can you guide me to the kitchen? I've had a nightmare, and I'd like to share some warm milk with you once more before I leave." Her voice was soft, almost a whimper, a finely honed blade hidden beneath silken words.
Her words were soft and quiet, really rubbing in the pity he must be feeling for her. Sirius let out a sigh and stood up straight, rubbing his temples with one hand on his hip before he placed both hands on his hips. His posture was that of a man burdened by duty, yet still willing to humor his younger sister.
"Alright then, let us go, my dear sister."
On they went through the halls to the kitchen, their footsteps echoing softly. Moon's tail brushed the floor with each step, a steady rhythm like a drumbeat leading a march to execution.
Pouring the milk into the pot and lighting up the stove flames, Sirius looked over to his sister. The orange glow of the fire danced in his eyes, unaware of the venom coiled within the girl across from him.
"You know Mother and Father will be upset if they find we were using the kitchen instead of the servants," he joked, pouring the milk into two glasses and setting both down on the little island table, marked with blade cuts and stains from all kinds of foods. His smile was soft, reminiscent of their childhood—back when innocence still painted their world in pastel hues.
"Do not fret... They won't have to know," she mumbled quietly, watching her brother turn away to grab a rag to wipe the sweat from his face after turning off the stove flames. Her fingers traced the rim of the cup, an idle motion betraying the storm beneath her skin.
Moon grabbed her cup and took small sips, somehow enjoying the warmth of the milk traveling down her throat and into her stomach. Each swallow a countdown, each breath a promise.
Sirius took his glass and took a large gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing in the process. Exhaling, he wiped the milkstache from his upper
lip and set the cup down once more—the cup Moon had been eyeing this whole time.
He took a seat with Moon, allowing himself to slouch softly. His body finally relaxed, as if for the first time since the weight of the crown had settled upon him.
"I promised I would take care of you when I became emperor... It may not seem like a lot, but I will put together the funds to send you a large sum of money..." His voice cracked slightly, the mask slipping just enough to reveal the raw humanity beneath.
"I—" His gaze was sorrowful, looking over to his sister like he was now fully letting it dawn on him that he had done an awful job at being her brother.
"I know I can help you... Moon, you must let me make up for—" His sentence cut off, a sharp inhale as his throat tightened. His hands flew to his neck, fingers clawing at an invisible noose. His pupils blew wide, the whites of his eyes swallowed by the abyss.
He looked over at Moon frantically, hoping she would rush to his aid or at least show some kind of fear for him. But she just looked blank-faced, sitting there ever so calmly when he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. His world spun, the ceiling a whirlpool of fading light.
"Mo...on!" he cried out.
The shadows seemed to dance around him, dark markings like vines swirled around his skin like a vicious, poisoning infection. His horns started to deteriorate, cracking apart, which caused blood to spill from his head through his hair, staining it red.
The life strained from his body, the less he was putting up a fight and struggling. His thrashing and gasping finally stopped when blackness filled every corner of his eyes. And then... he finally lay lifeless.
A small sigh escaped Moon's lips as she looked over at her lifeless brother. That was one down, and she still had two more to go.
Moon had managed to kill her brother with a little bit of blood from an animal called the Demon Killer—the only animal able to kill demons. A Dalmatian feline said to be linked to the spiritual realm. Even
if they were still quite rare to come across, Moon would have to take note to fully exterminate all of them once she would be made empress.
Besides that, Moon stood from the kitchen island and made her way out to head onto her next two victims.
Once again making small, deliberate patterns down the dimly lit halls, Moon knew precisely where her parents were. The marble floors felt cold beneath her bare feet as she moved silently, her nightgown whispering against her legs. After they finished celebrating something—always with too much wine and fake laughter—they invariably returned to their bedroom to have their own mini celebration. This ritual just meant getting drunk on expensive liquor and then fucking loudly enough that the sounds echoed through the palace wings. Maybe that's how Moon herself had come to be, conceived in one of these drunken, lustful nights. But this would be the end to any celebrations starting now and forever.
Moon could hear the giggling from down the hall—her mother's high-pitched, affected laugh that she only used when she wanted something, and her father's deeper rumble that always preceded his most brutal moods. A small creak of golden light dawned into the darkness from their bedroom door, spilling into the hallway where Moon slowly approached. She moved like the looming death that awaits those of the deserving—patient, inevitable, and without mercy. The rich carpet muffled her footsteps as she drew closer, her heart beating with steady determination rather than fear.
She peeked into the door crack, her emerald green eyes narrowing at the sight—nothing that had ever surprised her before, quite literally nothing she hadn't witnessed countless times. The familiar scene of debauchery unfolded before her young eyes, a sight no child should know so well.
Comet and Mortis rushed to undress each other, giggling in their drunken state, fumbling with clasps and ties, their royal garments discarded carelessly on the floor like the responsibilities they so often neglected. Comet's pale skin was revealed inch by inch—sleek, silky, and perfect; unmarred by scars unlike Moon's own. Her mother's famous rose-brown curls of hair were draping and sliding off the large peaks at her chest, cascading like silken ribbons that Mortis happily indulged in. His mouth, the same mouth that barked orders and cruel punishments, now sucked and licked, enjoying the taste of his wife's flesh, causing Comet to let out drunken whimpers and soft, shaky breaths that fogged the cool night air.
His hands—large, calloused from centuries of wielding weapons—traveled Comet's skin with practiced familiarity, finding her narrow waist and curving hips, filling them in his rough hands to properly pull the light weight of his wife onto his lap. The bed creaked beneath their combined weight as he positioned her to straddle him—and that she did, happily resting her sleek heat against his pelvis with small, eager grinds and heavy breaths that carried the scent of expensive wine. The silk sheets beneath them rustled with their movements, the sound mixing with their moans in the otherwise silent room.
He readjusted his wife with impatient hands, breaching her most sensitive places with a single thrust and bucking his hips forward with selfish hunger, causing Comet to place her delicate, ring-adorned hands on either side of his head. She let out a moan as sweet as honey harvested from royal gardens, a sound that contrasted sharply with the screams of rage she typically directed at Moon. Mortis let out a guttural groan in return, the sound of a beast rather than a king, and their movements synchronized in practiced rhythm. Comet moved her hips in an almost hypnotizing sequence, her body glowing with a faint sheen of sweat in the candlelight, enough to drive a man mad with desire—the same man who had locked his daughter away in dark closets without a second thought.
Comet kept her manicured hands on either side of his head while he leaned in, taking a possessive grip of her rose-brown hair, fisting it tightly until her scalp whitened from the pressure. Burying his face into the crook of her neck where her pulse fluttered visibly, he bit down harshly, breaking the perfect porcelain skin, enough to draw crimson blood that trickled down her shoulder in rivulets and into the crevice of her breasts. Another hand firmly gripped onto her rear, fingers digging into the soft flesh like molding clay between his fingers, leaving red marks that would become purple bruises by morning.
The sudden, violent actions from her husband caused more coarse sounds to escape her painted lips. The bedroom air grew heavier with the metallic scent of blood and the musky aroma of their coupling. Before long, her sweet gasps and melodic moans turned into sharp screams of pain that shattered the passionate atmosphere, which caused Mortis to freeze his actions as he felt the unnatural trembling in his wife's body. Their passionate rhythm halted abruptly, confusion replacing lust.
"Comet?! Why are you screaming?" he asked, panic edging his voice, his emerald green eyes—so like Moon's own—wide with confusion rather than concern.
"You imbecile! My hands!" Comet's voice cracked with pain, tears forming at the corners of her magenta eyes. When Mortis turned his head, following her terrified gaze, he noticed her hands seemed to look like they had been nailed to the ornate wooden headboard—not with metal nails or anything so mundane, but with seemingly big shards of frozen-like blood, crimson icicles that pierced through flesh and wood alike.
Blood manipulation was something Moon had practiced in secret for years and was extraordinarily skilled at, even without her parents' knowledge of the matter. She had perfected her craft during those long, lonely hours locked away in dark closets, using her own injuries as practice material. So when they turned their heads and saw Moon standing at the door frame, her small silhouette framed by hallway shadows, slowly closing the door behind her as she walked in like a predator stalking its prey, terror froze them in place. The soft click of the latch echoed with finality.
Moon's pale face, usually kept hidden from court visitors, was eerily calm, her emerald green eyes—inherited from her father—glowing with an unnatural light in the dimness. Her orange-brown hair hung limply around her face, neglected and dull compared to her mother's lustrous locks. Her nightgown, too small and worn thin from years of neglect, hung from her small frame like a shroud.
For their own child to be stalking in so slowly, Comet felt a violent shiver of embarrassment course through her body, followed by waves of anger, fear, and fury. Her nakedness, usually a source of pride and power, now made her feel vulnerable in a way she had never experienced before.
"Moon! This is highly unacceptable! When I get my hands on you...!" Mortis' words fell short, choking in his throat when he was shot through the chest by a spear of crystallized blood, causing Comet to let out another loud gasp followed by a piercing scream that would have alerted guards had Moon not already taken precautions. The warm blood from Mortis' wound sprayed upward, spattering across Comet's bare chest and face in a macabre painting. Not only was Mortis still buried deep inside of Comet, but now they were both injured and stuck in this position with looming danger at the end of the room in the form of their own child.
Tears slowly started to spill down Comet's perfectly sculpted cheeks, smearing her carefully applied kohl as she looked over to Moon and noticed the blood trickling down her small arm—her own blood, deliberately drawn from self-inflicted cuts that crisscrossed her young skin. Unlike most blood users who commonly just used other people's blood in blood manipulation magic, Moon also used her own blood, which was seemingly very useful in pinning down her parents to cause the most amount of pain. The copper scent of fresh blood filled the room, mixing with the smell of wine, sweat, and fear.
"M-...Moon, my dear child... Stop this nonsense; you are hurting us..." Comet pleaded, her voice trembling uncharacteristically, stripped of its usual imperial command. Now that she was actually fearful, she was putting on the sweet mother act that had never once made an appearance in Moon's childhood. Since her husband's corruption was spreading so rapidly at his old age, the dark veins already creeping across his chest from the wound, he couldn't heal as quickly as he used to. He lay beneath his wife, wheezing, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth, his black hair now matted with sweat, though still trapped within her in a grotesque parody of intimacy.
"Acting kind after all this time, Mother?" Moon's voice was cold as winter frost, devoid of any childlike innocence, each word enunciated with careful precision. "Where was this attitude so long ago? When I cried for water in that closet? When I begged for mercy after spilling your precious perfume?" She took another step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet, her orange-brown hair catching the candlelight in dull copper tones.
"Moon, you—!" Comet grunted, fear radiating through her magenta eyes like dying stars. "You know I still love you... I am your... mother." Comet was terrible at lying when she was scared; from the way she said that sentence, the slight hesitation before the word 'mother,' it was obvious she hated claiming Moon as her offspring. Moon was already getting quite bored of all of this performative maternal affection.
"You know, Mother..." Moon began, her small fingers trailing along the edge of an ornate dresser as she approached, leaving a smear of blood on the polished wood, "if you had said those words to me years ago, I might've reconsidered doing this. But unfortunately, you gave me years of torment to know you hate calling me your daughter." Moon's emerald eyes narrowed, her small frame silhouetted against the dim candlelight, shadows dancing across her pale face making her appear older, more dangerous.
Comet stayed quiet, just breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, fury bubbling in her gaze, but Moon's was stronger, deeper, refined by years of silent suffering and careful planning.
"I know you only care about your precious son." Moon's voice took on a sing-song quality, almost playful. "Your perfect heir, your beautiful boy who could do no wrong. Thankfully for me, I've already handled that situation." When Comet heard Moon's words, her expression grew into naked horror, maternal instinct finally showing itself—but never for Moon.
"What did you do to my son, you monster?!" Her reaction was unsurprising, and yet a small smirk quirked up on Moon's little cheeks, as if her fear and anger were bringing Moon joy, a reversal of roles that felt strangely satisfying. The candlelight caught the slight upward curve of her lips. She never thought she'd find herself smiling like this; really, she never even thought herself a sadist until this very moment.
"Worry not," Moon replied, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. "You won't have to birth children ever again. One less royal duty to concern yourself with."
"Wha—?" Comet's question died on her lips.
Comet was cut short when she felt unimaginable pain erupting in her pelvis, like something exploded inside of her very core. Her magenta eyes bulged, mouth open in a silent scream before finding its voice. Then Mortis's agonized screams in agony chimed in, a duet of suffering that echoed off the ornate walls. A chain reaction caused Comet to return the agony when she felt the pain coursing through her like molten metal before she threw up violently on Mortis, the contents of her stomach—expensive wine and delicacies—mixing with the blood.
Moon had made her father's member explode inside of Comet in this trapped position they were in, blood pooling and bubbling within the gaps where their nether regions connected, a perverse connection now sealed in gore. While this grotesque scene played out, Moon couldn't help but cover her mouth with a small pale hand to contain her giggles, but the light in her emerald eyes had somehow sparked up, seeing her parents in so much agony—the same parents who had never once comforted her when she cried. Yet she still felt they weren't getting enough of what she had personally experienced. The dark, hot closet. The thirst. The screaming until her voice gave out. The scratches and bruises that healed only to be replaced with new ones. But then again, Moon would never be able to feel they would have gotten enough punishment they deserved.
She knew she had other things to get on the way; perhaps she'd give them the final blow, a grand finale to their torture, a culmination of her years of silent planning.
"I truly wish this could've lasted longer," she said, her voice eerily calm, almost regretful. "We could have had months of this. Years, even. Like the years you gave me."
Moon didn't need to raise her hand to make any grand movements to warp their blood in the right places for them to die a painful death—her control had become subtle, refined through secret practice. For her father, since their horns were hollow on the insides to allow blood and nerves to travel through to keep them strong, symbols of their demonic heritage, she made his blood in his horns slowly travel to other parts of his body, making his horns dry out and become brittle enough to crack up and fall apart like ancient pottery. The sound of splintering horn material filled the room as cracks appeared, spreading like lightning across the once-proud growths.
His eyes, once blazing emerald green with power and cruelty, drained to a black void, releasing him of any life, sinking into their sockets like burnt-out stars. Comet watched all of this in horror, her screams continued as she watched her dear husband dry out of blood and fall apart into death before her eyes. She couldn't even hold him or comfort him when she was pinned in place and suffering her own fate being forced upon her, forced to witness the destruction of her beloved while anticipating her own.
Now it was Comet's turn. The blood dripping from Moon's arm—flowing freely now from reopened wounds—slowly formed into a whip in mid-air, one with thorns like a rose stem, each barb glistening wetly in the candlelight before it lashed at Comet's smooth back with a crack that echoed through the chamber. The first strike left a deep gash that immediately welled with blood, ruining the perfect skin her mother had been so proud of.
Each successive hit was more painful than the last, and each time Comet let out screams, begging for her life with increasing desperation, offering empty promises and wealth. But where was Comet when Moon was doing the same? Screaming to be let out of that heat-filled dark closet, throat raw, lungs burning? Screaming to be saved from punishment that outweighed any childish mistake? Begging for water, for mercy, for the most basic kindness? Nowhere. She had been applying her makeup, planning parties, doting on her son, all while knowing her daughter suffered.
Finally, the blood whip split in two like a serpent's tongue to grasp Comet's elegant horns—her pride, her mark of noble heritage—before slowly being dragged out of her head with deliberate, excruciating slowness. The sound of flesh tearing like velcro and the nerves, along with other vital organs being ripped out along with the horns, caused blood to bubble up and splatter on the wall in abstract patterns, a grotesque artwork that told the story of vengeance. Comet's screams slowly faded out as her strength left her, as she dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, lifeless, the beautiful horns she had been so proud of laying detached at her sides like discarded crowns.
At least that was finally over. The silence that followed was almost deafening after the cacophony of screams.
Moon looked over to the nightstand, her eyes catching the sight of gold and red glinting in the candlelight—their crowns, symbols of the power they had wielded so cruelly. Moon slowly walked over, her small feet leaving bloody footprints on the expensive carpet, and stepped over the dead naked bodies painted in crimson before picking up both crowns. They felt heavier than they looked, weighted with centuries of history and power.
"I never liked wearing these..." Moon mumbled, staring at the crowns for however long she pleased, turning them in her small hands, her orange-brown hair falling forward as she examined them, watching how the gems caught and reflected the flickering light. "But perhaps that was because they were never meant for me."
A small memory flashed within her brain: when she was five and more naive, hopeful in a way she could barely remember now, she had found her mother's crown and decided to play dress up. The weight of it had been too much for her small head, but she had felt beautiful for once, important. It was a happy moment until her mother found her. That was a particularly crueler punishment because Comet always was a prouder person of her possessions and beauty, valuing them above any living being, especially her unwanted daughter.
Moon remembered how disgusted her mother's face had looked while she screamed and berated Moon, magenta eyes wide with fury, spittle flying from her perfect lips, clawing at Moon's pale face with her sharp, manicured nails before dragging her off to that dark, hot closet by her orange-brown hair. Moon had sat there for days, blood dripping from the facial wounds until they healed on their own, leaving no scars thanks to her demon heritage—no physical ones, at least. At least after that, Moon never tried to play dress up again. She learned her lesson well.
Screams suddenly echoed in the hallways, breaking through her reverie, and Moon's childhood memory came to a halt. She rolled her emerald eyes, slightly annoyed by the interruption, but she knew what she needed to do now to secure her position. A few maids and servants gone wouldn't be so bad; she'd just need to hire new ones who would be loyal to her alone.
Moon held the crowns in both small hands of hers as she made her way down the hall with unhurried steps, the blood still trickling down her pale arm forming into sharp icy bullets that hovered around her like a protective swarm. On her way to the throne room, her destination clear in her mind, every maid or servant that ran in fear at the sight of the blood-soaked child, every person who screamed for help or tried to defend themselves out of misguided loyalty to the old rulers, were shot accurately in the right places that would kill them instantly—through the eye, through the heart, through the throat.
Even if these people never actively helped her during her years of suffering, Moon reasoned they were complicit in their silence, though they didn't deserve the elaborate torture she gave to her parents. But they didn't deserve to live either in Moon's opinion, witnesses to a new regime that needed no reminders of the old. So a quick death would be good enough for her—a mercy, even, compared to what her parents had received.
By the time Moon had made it to the throne room, padding silently across the grand hallways she had rarely been allowed to walk freely, the whole estate was a massacre—a whole slaughter fest with dead bodies on the ground in various poses of terror and surprise, and blood spattering on the walls and floors like a deranged artist had been at work. The rich tapestries depicting family history were now stained with the blood of those who had served the family, the marble floors slick with crimson. Moon herself, her precious cute little outfit—the only nightgown she owned that wasn't completely threadbare—was coated in blood, making the pale fabric stiff and dark against her pale skin.
She'd have to take note to order a new wardrobe; she couldn't possibly fit the appearance of empress if she only wore shabby nightgowns. Her mother never would order her any kind of fancy clothing fit for a royal child unless it was for a fancy event where appearances had to be maintained for outsiders. Her parents liked to hide her away from court, from visitors, from any kind eyes that might have shown her kindness, so there was no point in getting fancy, cute clothes for her—another small cruelty in a lifetime of larger ones.
She made her way over to the large standing throne, its imposing shape looming in the center of the magnificent room, golden and bejeweled, cushioned with red velvet. The throne that had never been intended for her. Moon approached it slowly, feeling its significance, before crawling atop it, her small body almost swallowed by its grand size. The velvet felt strange against her skin after years of rough, simple fabrics.
It had been an exhausting day, and Moon was rather tired, her young body pushed to its limits by the extensive use of her blood magic. But before she could settle in to rest, the heavy doors to the throne room burst open, and guards had rushed in, their polished armor clanking, weapons drawn and ready in their hands. They halted upon seeing Moon sitting at that throne, a tiny figure dwarfed by its grandeur, with a blood-soaked nightgown and socks, both bloody crowns clutched possessively in her small hands, her orange-brown hair matted with blood against her pale face.
They looked between each other, confusion evident in their eyes behind their helmets, but after a few tense moments, understanding dawned on their faces. They all got the idea of what had happened and what the future would be like now for them and this empire. The guards lowered their weapons slowly, then stood down completely and took a knee to their new empress, heads bowed in recognition of the new power dynamic, but Moon could feel the fear emanating from their bodies like heat from a flame.
"Clean up the mess..." she commanded, her voice small but carrying the weight of authority beyond her years, her emerald eyes glinting in the vast throne room.
They stood up instantly at her request, armor clanking. "Yes, my lady," they all chanted in unison before making their way out to attend to the slaughter mess. They'd probably drag all of the bodies out to the southwest kingdom for the cannibal demons to eat as was custom with traitors, or perhaps they might get a proper burial if Moon was feeling merciful tomorrow. That decision could wait.
Moon was too tired to think further; it had been a long, hard day of vengeance and rebirth. Her eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion, the adrenaline finally wearing off. Before she knew it, she was resting her head on her small arms over the armrest of the grand throne and drifting off into a sweet, dreamless slumber, free from nightmares for the first time in years. The weight of her new crowns lay heavy but satisfying on her small lap, symbols of a power she had claimed through blood and pain—not so different from how her parents had ruled, perhaps, but with the promise of something new. Something different. Something hers.
As sleep claimed her, a small smile played on her lips. Tomorrow would be the first day of Empress Moon's reign, and the kingdom would soon learn what it meant to be ruled by a child who had known nothing but cruelty.