Chapter 2: Awakening

The October sky fell silently on a bed of cold comfort, the wind blew harshly, piercing through the crepuscular horizon. The stygian marbled walls beaming with incandescent light covering the hard firmament demarcated the forlorn abode. Clouds of fumes seeped through the small cracks on the surface creating a smell of burning wood. The air was chilly and gelid. At the center of the barely lit domicile stood an enormous medieval grey door made of thick iron and limestone, the mullion covered in strange writings of unknown language; it was perfectly lined to the walls so there was no visible hinges or keyhole as it was meant to be opened only by a sturdy push. What lies behind can only be revealed by the chosen queen herself.

The place felt empty, abandoned and forgotten. This was Luna's reality. Her world. Luna; the Queen of the underworld, creator of furore, mistress of turmoil, chosen since the moment she was born, hand-picked among the fallen stars.

Luna didn't have memories of a past life, all she could remember was waking up from a deep sleep, surrounded by dark figures that seemed to be wearing nothing but black robes, rustle of murmurs and whispers which filled the dusty dwelling, hushed arguments, muffed disapproval. She kept her eyes closed, trying to grasp the situation at hand, unaware of what's happening, clueless of what's to come. A sharp stab of pain on her temple snapped her out of reality. It felt like her head was going to split in half. She gritted her teeth and restrained herself from bashing her head against the pavement but the pain was so great she wanted it to stop. Her stomach turned and an urge to vomit flooded her insides, like a rush of muck wanting to be flushed out. Her vision was blurry and her legs refused to move.

"A woman?" An old man with a beard and raspy voice spoke as he walked onward. His aging face were furrowed and wrinkled, his head was balding and he walked slowly too. He gave Luna a puzzled look. The others' attention still fixed on her. "Which part of hell did you come from? What sin did you commit to be banished here?" he continued.

"She seems weak." Another man with a scarred face added. Unlike the bearded man, this one seemed more reticent and was lowering his head. Although his body was covered in a dark robe just like everybody else, Luna could tell that he was thin and flimsy.

Luna tried to remember the events leading up to this moment. She tried to filter every bit of memory, familiarity. But there was nothing. Like what the bearded man had asked her, she didn't know where she came from or how she was brought here. If there was heaven or hell, she couldn't have known.

Luna struggled to open her eyes. There was a pang of malaise towering over her head. She arched forward trying to catch her breath. She noticed that she was completely in the raw. There were marks all over her body, red lesions ringed each of her swollen limbs, her feet felt the cold touch of asphalt below her. Her hands were shaking, her lips numbed, her mouth was dry. She gasped for air that wasn't there. Still, the unknown figures kept whispering words she couldn't fathom. The throbbing discomfort slightly displeased her.

A distant rumble made everyone feel unsettled and quiet. Above the endless ceiling, a bellowing was heard. Dark and ominous, it lingered for a moment, followed by a long silence. The whispering disappeared, the muttering had ceased. The sullen atmosphere felt like a forsaken ground of derelict history. Luna didn't dare open her eyes, the desire to see what lay ahead became no more.

Finally, it spoke.

"Luna, my child. The chosen ruler of my kingdom. You are finally here."

With Luna's eyes still closed, she tried to speak, "Who are you? Who am I?" She shuddered.

The voice felt an inch closer to her ears yet it was barely audible. It sent shivers down her spine.

"Our bloodline has lived on for centuries. We've collected the souls of the heedless and the ignorant, we've ruined lives, torn apart families, ruptured many hearts, bought souls and dignities, shattered hopes and dreams, tethered the weak with illusions, imbued hate and doubts to the willing victims of our deceits. They don't have a name for what we are; they don't have a cure for the disease that we bring upon humanity."

The voice's words fell like poetry to her ears. There was a certain excitement within Luna's consciousness as soon as she heard the words. The feeling of confusion which lay next to her suddenly abandoned her. Amidst the darkness of it all, the pain and suffering she endured, she felt that she was meant to be here. But she needed to know more, she needed to hear more. Lying naked and helpless, she deserved more.

"Why me?" She let out a quivering grunt.

"My child, you are asking the wrong questions. We never question our purpose, we never doubt our existence. You were chosen to continue what we have started. Your questions are meaningless and a waste of time." The voice hardened.

Luna, still struggling to get up, let out a panicked moan. Her head still spinning, disheveled with all the information laid upon her. Everything was blurry. She didn't understand but she felt a familiar ease. She didn't even flinch when a hand touched her bared shoulder. It somehow felt surreal. The cold hands felt strange, yet comforting. Her pain started to wither. Her frail texture slowly adjusted to the cold confinement.

"There, there. You'll feel better the less you fight it, the less you question it. The answers will come to you when you are ready. We don't have much time, I don't have much time." The voice without a face said weakly.

"But…I don't understand. Are you my father?" She demurred slightly.

"You will, soon enough. After tonight, you will never feel weak, ever again." The voice echoed and faded abruptly. And again, silence.

"Wait! You didn't answer my question!" she shouted. Her question only met with the sound of echoing stillness.

Luna tried to lift her body. Her heavy weight made her knees shake uncontrollably but her mind refused to give up. Her eyes focused on the robed figures surrounding her. There were five people—no, six—she couldn't know for sure. Their faces seemed vague; they didn't have distinctive forms, only hollow crevasse of what should've been. The scarred man, the bearded old geezer who both spoke earlier are now just hazy shadows before her.

"I still don't understand," she whispered. Her eyes painted a stroke of disgust and contempt when she turned to face the dark figures.

No one answered. The faceless posse remained quiet, glued to their individual position. She could almost feel trembling and gasps coming from the crowd, not of astonishment or shock but fear. She felt their fear. Their faces filled with uneasiness and trepidation. Why did the nameless figures feel fear? Fear of what? She asked herself.

The thought of "fear thrilled her. The thought of dread building up from the dark figures to where she stood piqued her curiosity. A sudden burning sensation shrouded her senses like a flame reviving her. She was no longer questioning the current state she was in. She no longer cared about her past or her lost memories. They didn't matter to her anymore. The moment she felt their fear, she knew. She was meant to be here.

And just like that, her pain was all gone. A wide smile plastered on her face as she finally stood up. She realised that albeit she awoken to an unimaginable pain, she didn't worry. She didn't beg for her life when the shadows appeared. She didn't crawl to be spared. She didn't cry or shudder when the voice spoke to her. She was not afraid of death because she knew that death was her friend. Everything made sense to her now, what the voice—her father—wanted her to find out, what her purpose was. She smiled, her eyes beaming with malice.

A blinding light suddenly anchored toward Luna's frame. Her once naked body slumped to the ground was now covered in a glimmering red dress lined with fine crystals and delicate gold. White pearls bedizened the endless trail of the exquisite garment while a silver ribbon sewn in the belt closure girdled her waist perfectly. The elegant sheer laced sleeves embedded by purple rose petals smelled like lavender in the morning. A soft black satin covered her back. Her once cold feet touching the floor were now cuddled in a red teal colored high heels shoes, a single black diamond pasted on the counter.

Her hair as dark as the night flowed freely. On top of her head sat a diadem overlaid in rubies and black pearls. A symbol of status, of royal blood, of power. With Luna's transformation, she felt a new-found strength. She turned to face the robed figures again, this time with certainty. A loud shrieking sound loomed from below, the ground crumbled and cracked open; a gold-plated chair emerged from a clod of mire. Sharp pointed blades obtruded on the spindle and two bull horns were placed on each of the finial sides.

Luna proudly sat on her chair. Her throne.