Two weeks had passed.
Lucille stood silently in her cell, staring out through the tiny window. It had been fourteen long days since the warden dragged her away and locked her up in isolation. The conditions were cruel, she was fed scraps just once a day and forced to scrub huge halls three times daily.
She hadn't seen or heard from her family since. No verdict was ever given in the werewolf kingdom unless it was under the full moon, and tonight, she believed, would be the night.
She kept her eyes on the sky as the first light of dawn gave way to dusk. And then, slowly, the full moon appeared, round and golden, casting its glow across the land. A small wave of relief washed over her, at least something was finally happening.
Moments later, the cell door creaked open. A female warden stepped in, her face cold and unfriendly.
"Stretch your hands," she barked.
Lucille didn't hesitate. She raised her arms and felt the sting of silver cuffs snapping around her wrists.
"Move!" the warden ordered.
Lucille obeyed without a word. She stepped out into the open, the air thick and heavy. At the end of the stone path stood a black maria, tall and menacing in the moonlight. Its dark surface seemed to swallow the silvery glow, making it look like a beast waiting to devour her.
She froze, sorrow swelling in her chest as she stared at it. The night sky was clear, the moon bright—but everything around her felt heavy and dark, like hope was being choked out of the air.
There were no other vehicles in sight. She knew, without doubt, that the black maria would carry her to the courtroom.
"Move!" the warden growled behind her, her voice sharp with irritation.
Lucille didn't flinch. But a sudden shove to her back made her stumble forward. Two guards flanked her, leading her toward the black, beast-like van.
Its door swung open, and with another rough push, she was thrown inside. Her bare feet scraped against the freezing metal floor as she caught herself just before falling. The door slammed shut behind her with a loud, echoing bang, like the final warning of the harsh judgment that awaited her.
The inside was dark, cold, and silent, except for the steady hum of the engine and the occasional soft clinking of her silver cuffs.
She sat stiffly on the metal bench, her spine straight, her face unreadable, her eyes fixed ahead. But inside, her mind was racing. She thought of her family, her mother, her brother. They must already be at the courtgrounds, waiting with the rest of the Downland Pack.
As always, the commoners would be dragged to witness the cruel fate of one of their own. It was never just justice, it was a warning. A reminder to stay silent. To endure whatever came their way without question, without resistance.
The courtgrounds were already filled. Rows of commoners in worn, faded clothes stood quietly behind rusted barriers. No one moved. No one spoke. They stared down the road, as if mourning someone already lost.
When the black maria rolled into view, a low, tense murmur rippled through the crowd.
Among them stood Louis, her elder brother. His fists clenched tight, his jaw locked.
His sister wasn't a criminal. She didn't deserve this. Yet here she was locked in a van like a prisoner.
Pain stabbed through his chest. He wanted to protect her. To pull her from the grip of the powerful, from the cold hands of the elite. But he was helpless.
"No…"
"She's just a girl…"
"She only rejected him, that's not a big crime…"
Whispers filled the air. Grief plastered itself onto every face. Some elders bowed their heads in sadness, while mothers clutched their children closer in fear and heart ache.
The van screeched to a halt. The doors swung open with a chilling metallic clang. Lucille stepped down, slow and bold.
Two weeks in isolation had taken a toll on her. Lucille's cheeks were sunken, her eyes dull, and her once-strong frame had grown thin.
Her hair hung loosely over her shoulders, and though her body swayed slightly from exhaustion, she stood tall, unshaken. Her face showed nothing, but her gaze slowly swept over the crowd until it landed on her brother. Louis.
Their eyes met. She gave him a slight nod, a silent sign of strength. Louis responded with a strained smile, tight and trembling, but it was enough. She knew he was with her, even from afar.
Beside him stood their mother, pale and disheveled, her clothes hanging loosely on her thin frame. Lucille's chest tightened. She longed to run to her, to say, "I'm okay, Mama. This won't last forever. Someday, I'll rise again."
But she couldn't. So she said it all with her eyes, pouring her love and strength into one long look, hoping her mother would understand.
Suddenly, an elder in the crowd dropped to his knees.
Then another.
And another.
Not out of fear, but out of honor.
Lucille had once defied the odds. She passed the university ascension exams with a record-breaking score, higher than even the elites. She earned a full scholarship to one of the finest universities and graduated with top honors.
But the elites hated that. They couldn't bear to see a commoner rise above them. They needed to remind her, and everyone like her, that no matter how bright she shone, she was still beneath them. Still at their mercy.
That was the punishment they gave her, not just for breaking their rules, but for daring to break their limits.
But to the commoners, Lucille was a symbol of hope. A fighter. A flame that refused to die.
So they knelt. Heads bowed. In respect.
Lucille froze the moment she saw them kneel.
"No…" she whispered, her voice trembling as she slowly shook her head. "Please, don't…"
Her eyes widened, filled with disbelief and heartbreak.
They shouldn't kneel. Not for her. Not like this. She wasn't a savior. She hadn't done anything worth this honor.
Those elders, men and women who had suffered far more than she ever had, shouldn't be bowing to her like she was some kind of symbol.
She felt a lump rise in her throat, a painful mix of sorrow and guilt.
"Stand up," she wanted to scream. "I'm not worthy of this. I failed. I'm standing here in chains."
But no words came out. Only the silent plea in her eyes as she looked around, shaking her head.
Still, they remained on their knees. Heads bowed. Backs bent.
And in that moment, Lucille realized, it wasn't about what she had done. It was about what she represented.
Hope, in a world which was theirs but tend to crush them every second.
Their quiet act of reverence lit a fire of rage in the guards and wardens. But Lucille didn't flinch.
"Get up or get punished!" the guards barked, their voices sharp with fury.
How dare they kneel for her? A commoner. A criminal. A nonentity.
Batons cracked through the air, slamming down on backs and shoulders. The elders cried out, stumbling to their feet as the blows rained down. Some helped each other up, others winced in silence, their dignity more wounded than their bodies.
Lucille said nothing. Her heart clenched at the sight, but she didn't flinch. Their pain, their silent loyalty, gave her strength.
They stood for her… so she would stand for them.
Whatever judgment awaited her, she would face it head-on, with pride, with purpose. Not for herself, but for the pack that believed in her.
The grand courtroom hummed with tension, the full moon cast a silvery glow across the interior. Every detail of the court room screamed power.
Towering above the courtroom on a raised crescent shaped platform, carved from stone and ancient letters inscribed on it, which glistened faintly under the moonlight filtering through the stained glass skylight, was the large judgement throne.
The throne was lined with wolf furs adorned with silvery vines. Behind the throne was a massive carved image of the moon crest, half moon, half wolf which seemed to watch over all who stood below.
Framing the large throne were slightly lesser throne, each distinct, but arranged in a semi-circle, like stars around the moon.
Below the judgement throne was an entrance leading to a small platform. An iron railing, twisted into the shapes of fangs and claws, bordered the small platform. This was the accused platform, where Lucille would stand.
The double doors of the court room slammed open, and the wardens marched in, dragging Lucille between them like she was nothing more than a criminal.
Behind her, the commoners were herded in like livestock, towards the ground ring located at the back. They were forced to sit on the cold stone floor and watched closely by line up of armed wardens who barked orders, shoving the commoners with the butts of their weapons.
The Grandville pack, one of the Executive packs, Edward Jones belonged to were already seated. They were dressed in fine clothes and dresses, sat in chairs arranged at the front of the court room. Their demeanor screamed superiority and wealth.
Lucille was shoved forward to the accused platform, where she stood, eyes firm, expression bold as she awaited the proceedings to begin. This proceeding would decide her fate. She would either be condemned, or by some rare miracle, granted mercy.