From Ashes to Their Luna (Updates Daily)

The sound escapes before I can stop it—just a small "tsk" when I see my sister Victoria smoking in the hallway.

"What was that?" Her voice cuts through the morning air like a blade.

I freeze. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid.'

"Did you just make a sound at me?" Victoria's eyes narrow, and I know I'm in trouble.

Before I can answer, my brother Tristan's fist slams into my stomach. The air rushes out of my lungs in a painful whoosh.

"Looks like little sister has an attitude problem," he sneers.

My brother Ethan's punch catches me in the ribs before I can recover, sending me stumbling sideways into Marcus, my third brother, who shoves me hard against the wall.

"Hold her still," Victoria orders, taking a long drag from her cigarette.

They grab me then—Tristan's hands clamping down on my shoulders from behind, Ethan on my left, Marcus on my right. Their grips tighten until my bones ache, and I'm trapped between them and the wall. I don't struggle—learned that lesson years ago.

"You think you can judge me?" Victoria steps closer, the lit cigarette dangling between her fingers. "You think you're better than me?"

"No, I—"

"Shut the fuck up." The cigarette comes closer to my arm. "You don't get to speak."

The burning starts slow, just a kiss of heat against my skin. Then Victoria presses harder, and the pain explodes through my arm like fire racing through gasoline.

I bite down on my scream, tasting blood.

"That's for thinking you have the right to judge anyone in this family," Victoria whispers, twisting the cigarette deeper. Her eyes light up with genuine pleasure as she watches me struggle not to cry out.

Tristan laughs. "Look at her trying not to cry."

"Pathetic," Marcus adds.

Ethan just holds tighter, his fingers digging into my shoulder blades.

The smell of burning flesh fills my nostrils, and my stomach lurches. But I don't make another sound. I learned long ago that screaming only makes it worse.

'One more day,' I tell myself, the words a lifeline in the darkness. 'Just one more day, then I'm eighteen. Then I can leave.'

I'm Moira Castellano, and tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday. Tomorrow I'll finally be free from this house.

Free from my stepmother Clarissa who makes my life hell. Free from my brothers Tristan, Ethan, and Marcus who love making me suffer. Free from Victoria—my younger half-sister who orchestrates most of my torture with the precision of a master puppeteer. And free from my father Dominic, who used to be the worst of them all but lately has been distracted, pacing and muttering, not making full attendance at my torture sessions.

At least Jaxon doesn't participate anymore. My oldest brother used to join in, but now he just... watches.

Victoria finally pulls the cigarette away, studying the angry red mark she's left behind. "There. Now you'll remember not to disrespect me."

"Alright, boys, we're done here," Victoria announces, flicking ash onto the floor. "I'm bored now."

They release me so suddenly I stumble, my knees hitting the hardwood with a sharp crack. Pain shoots up my legs, but I don't move. I stay there on the floor until their footsteps fade down the hallway.

'Tomorrow,' I whisper to myself. 'Tomorrow I turn eighteen, and I can finally get out of here.'

"MOIRA!" Clarissa's voice screeches from downstairs. "GET DOWN HERE AND MAKE BREAKFAST! NOW!"

My stepmother's voice could shatter glass. I push myself up from the floor, my arm throbbing where Victoria burned me. The hallway spins for a moment, but I force myself to move.

Downstairs, Dad sits on the sofa, his eyes glued to the morning news. The tension radiates off him in waves—something's definitely wrong, but asking questions would only make things worse for me.

He sees me coming down the stairs and his face twists with disgust. "About fucking time, you lazy bitch."

The chair flies before I can react. It crashes into my ribs, sending me sprawling across the bottom steps.

"I said make breakfast! I'm starving, and you're moving like a damn sloth!" He's on his feet now, looming over me. "Useless piece of shit, just like your worthless dead mother."

'Don't react, don't cry, don't give him the satisfaction.'

I scramble to my feet and run to the kitchen, my ribs screaming with each breath.

"Where's the bread?" I ask Clarissa, scanning the counters frantically.

Her hand connects with my cheek so hard my ears ring. "Don't you dare come into my kitchen and start demanding things! You think you run this house?"

"I'm sorry, I just—"

"You worthless fuck!" Another slap, this one splitting my lip. "The bread is in the pantry where it always is, you stupid girl!"

I taste copper and salt, but I don't touch my lip. I find the bread, my hands shaking as I start making breakfast for everyone. Toast, eggs, bacon—the works. The smell makes my stomach clench with hunger, but I know better than to expect any for myself.

When I'm done, I set the plates on the table where Victoria is now sitting, looking fresh and perfect in her school clothes. Dad takes his plate without acknowledgment. Clarissa fusses over Victoria, asking about her classes, her friends, her plans.

"And what would my beautiful daughter like for lunch today?" Clarissa coos.

"I was thinking of eating out with friends," Victoria says sweetly. "Could I have some money?"

"Of course, sweetheart! Anything for you."

I watch this display from the corner, my heart twisting. This is how it used to be with my mother and me. Before she died when I was ten, before Clarissa took her place and decided I was nothing but a burden. Mom used to call me her "little sunshine," used to pack my lunch with little notes that said she loved me. She used to brush my hair and tell me I was beautiful, special, destined for something wonderful.

Now Victoria gets everything that should have been mine—the love, the attention, the gentle touches. My throat closes up as I watch Clarissa stroke Victoria's hair the same way Mom used to stroke mine.

Victoria glances at me over Clarissa's shoulder, and there it isthat familiar gleam in her eyes. The one that means she's thinking of new ways to make me suffer. She leans forward and whispers something in Clarissa's ear, so quietly I can't hear it.

Clarissa's face darkens as she looks at me. "Victoria just told me you've been stealing food from the pantry."

"What? No, I"

"Don't lie to me!" Clarissa's voice rises to a shriek. "My daughter doesn't lie!"

Victoria sits back with the most innocent expression, but I catch the tiny smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. She's enjoying this. She made it up just to watch me get punished.

"I wasn't"

"LIAR!" Clarissa backhands me so hard I taste fresh blood. "No breakfast for you today. Or tomorrow. Maybe hunger will teach you not to steal from us."

Victoria catches my eye again and mouths the word "hungry?" with mock concern, then covers her mouth to hide her silent laugh.

'One more day,' I think as I grab my backpack. 'Tomorrow I turn eighteen, and tomorrow everything changes.'

When they're done, my brothers and Victoria leave for school first, laughing and joking like a normal family. I wait until they're gone before heading to the door.

The morning air hits my face as I step outside, and for just a moment, I can breathe. Freedom is so close I can almost taste it.

'Just hold on a little longer, Moira. Tomorrow, you'll finally be free.'