Autumn
Two years before Moon's biological parents abandoned her, leaving her in the care of a crumbling orphanage and way before she was adopted by some other couple. That was long before she had wandered away and found herself aboard the ship.
The season she adored most had arrived—autumn. The leaves, in shades of amber and rust, fluttered from the branches, creating a crisp, golden carpet beneath the trees. The air was cool and carried the earthy scent of fallen foliage. It was a season of transition, a whisper of winter's approach. Soon, the first snowflakes would drift down, and she would watch them from her bedroom window, just as she had always done.
Yet, not everything was as tranquil as Moon wished it to be. The morning wind howled outside, rattling the brittle branches against the glass of her window. The rhythmic tapping blended with the distant murmur of the town waking up. Half-asleep, her eyes fluttered open only to feel something cold and wet land on her cheek. Startled, she touched her face and looked up. A slow, steady leak had formed in the wooden ceiling above her bed.
She sighed. It had rained during the night, and now the water was seeping through the cracks. If she didn't cover it soon, her mattress and the floor beneath her would be soaked.
Moon shifted in her tiny bed, her legs dangling off the edge, as they always did. It was almost comforting in a way—a small reminder that she was still growing. But there was little else to be thankful for. The old mattress was lumpy, the blanket thin, and the walls of her room were barely insulated against the chill.
As she sat up, an unexpected sting pricked her neck. She reached up, her fingers brushing over an inflamed bump. A mosquito bite, she assumed, but the dull ache that radiated from it was sharper than usual. With a groan, she rubbed at it before pushing the thought aside.
Moon finally rose, slipping into her worn chemise and tucking it beneath the long, faded brown skirt that reached her ankles. She adjusted the corset—a necessity, not for fashion, but to avoid the judging stares of others. Her light brown hair, always neatly braided, draped over her shoulder.
She made her way to the kitchen, where the familiar scent of baked goods greeted her. Her mother, Navara, stood at the wooden table, carefully arranging a tray of metrageys—small, golden pastries stuffed with sweetened cream and fruit preserves.
"Moon, take a look at these. Do they seem fresh and delicious?" Navara asked, her voice gentle but weary.
Moon peered at them and shrugged. "They look the same as they always do when you make them."
Before Navara could reply, a pair of strong hands clamped onto Moon's shoulders. She flinched at the sudden touch.
"Did that scare you, little sis?"
The familiar voice carried a teasing lilt, and when Moon turned, she was met with the smirking face of her older sister, Gracelyn.
Rolling her eyes, Moon exhaled sharply. "Please, your face alone could scare anyone. That was nothing."
Gracelyn pouted playfully. "Oh? And by 'scare,' do you mean 'terrify with my beauty?'" She flipped a lock of her golden-brown hair over her shoulder with dramatic flair.
Moon merely shook her head.
Gracelyn had always been different from her—taller, more confident, undeniably striking. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief, and her sharp features seemed perfectly sculpted to attract attention. Even noblemen had taken notice of her. Had she accepted just one of their offers, they wouldn't be living in a crumbling house, struggling for food.
Moon, by contrast, was unremarkable. She had always felt like a shadow beside her sister—a dull, nameless figure blending into the background. She wasn't tall, nor was she particularly eye-catching. She lacked Gracelyn's presence, the effortless way she drew people in.
But she had her mother's words.
Years ago, when they had been homeless, huddling together on the streets of Sinderfella, Navara had pointed to the sky.
"Look, dear. Do you see that?"
Moon, barely nine at the time, had followed her mother's gaze to a glowing orb above them. "A big star?" she asked, her voice soft with wonder.
Navara had smiled. "Not a star, dear. That's the moon. Do you see how it shines?"
Moon had frowned. To her, it had never seemed as bright as the stars, but she nodded anyway.
"The moon is special," Navara had continued. "It's always there, even when the sky is dark. When you're lost or lonely, just look up. The moon will always shine, even through the shadows."
At the time, Moon hadn't fully understood the words. But as the years passed, they became a small comfort—a reminder that she, too, had the potential to shine, even if it wasn't in the same way as Gracelyn.
Gracelyn took a large bite of a metragey. "You look like you haven't slept in days," she said, leaning in closer.
Moon wrinkled her nose and stepped back. "Would you mind not invading my personal space?"
Gracelyn grinned but relented. "Just wanted to see my little sister's growing face up close."
Moon crossed her arms. "Has your roof been leaking?"
Gracelyn's expression flickered with something unreadable. "Oh... are you mad?"
Moon's eyes narrowed. "Why would I be mad?"
"Well," Gracelyn said, popping another pastry into her mouth, "I may have... encouraged it a little."
Moon's stomach twisted. "What do you mean 'encouraged' it?"
Gracelyn sighed dramatically. "I poured water into the crack on my floor."
Moon stared in disbelief. "You what?!"
Gracelyn lifted her hands in surrender. "Look, I was upset, okay? You stole my gold necklace—the one that man gave me."
Moon's anger flared. "For your information, I sold it! You wouldn't stop complaining that we didn't have enough food."
Gracelyn blinked. "Oh... you should've told me. I would've let you. I was saving it for an emergency, though."
Moon clenched her fists. Right now, she wasn't sure if she could forgive her sister.
Gracelyn suddenly smirked. "By the way... that's quite the hickey you've got."
Moon's face burned. "It's not—!" She clapped a hand over her neck.
Gracelyn snickered.
Navara sighed. "Enough, both of you. Get ready for the bakery."
It wasn't their bakery, of course. It belonged to a noblewoman who paid her workers just enough to survive. Navara worked tirelessly for the few coins she could earn, hoping to keep her daughters fed.
As Moon kneaded dough by the window, she noticed a commotion outside. People hurried down the street, whispering in hushed tones, their faces drawn with worry.
"What's going on?" she asked aloud.
A woman beside her spoke in a hushed voice. "Rumors are spreading about a new illness. Highly contagious."
Moon's stomach tightened. "What are the symptoms? Is it deadly?"
The woman exhaled. "They say it starts with a bite mark… then dizziness, fever, and eventually, vomiting blood. There's no cure."
Moon's breath hitched. Slowly, her fingers reached for her neck, where the bite still throbbed.
Her vision blurred.
She had the disease.
And worse—she was probably going to die.