Life is a fucking cunt of a woman.
You don't imagine a lot of things when you're first born—actually, I bet you can't imagine a lot of things —so I bet you don't imagine a pretty room lined with golds and silvers, traced with delicate veins of red marbling that seem to pulse like blood through stone, or anything less extravagant than what our girl, Moon Takona, had woken up to after being born. The chamber was a masterpiece of Northern Empire craftsmanship: carved marble pillars twisted skyward like frozen flames, and tapestries depicting ancient succubi empresses adorned the walls in rich reds and midnight blacks. It wasn't very much of a spectacular birth either, but then again, when is it ever? This, however, was absolute hell.
Moon wasn't born in a fancy hospital with expensive technology—antiseptic white walls and beeping machines—but then again, this wasn't that kind of era either. Moon was born into the era of the new world, as they called it, a time when magic flowed through bloodlines like poison through veins, into a family of high-standing royalty whose very presence commanded the air to grow thick with dark energy. The Takonas were a line of beings said to be descended from the goddess herself, their demonic heritage so pure it made lesser demons tremble in their shadow.
When the young girl had awakened after being dragged off to be cleaned and swaddled by a trembling handmaid—whose wolf ears had flattened against her skull in terror at handling royal blood—instead of being greeted with warm smiles and the tender attention that should welcome new life, she awoke in a fancy crib lined with imported Vobreral laces and fabrics softer than morning mist. These luxurious materials were definitely not a mother's embrace, and their cold perfection only emphasized the absence of warmth. Her gaze, already sharp with an intelligence that shouldn't exist in something so newly born, was locked on the scowl of the woman who had birthed her. Comet Takona looked disgusted and annoyed, her perfect crimson lips twisted into a sneer, as if this bundle of supposed joy was the worst catastrophe to befall her carefully orchestrated life. A newborn couldn't possibly understand the weight of such rejection, especially after reaching out with tiny, soft fingers to be held, making quiet coos that seemed to echo mournfully in the vast chamber, only for the woman who birthed her to turn away with a swish of her elaborate silk gown, walking away coldly without another word or backward glance.
Something must've been said—harsh whispers between the Empress and her attending staff—because instead of meeting her mother's embrace, a maid with perfectly soft wolf ears that twitched nervously and a fluffy brown tail had rushed to cradle the poor child. Moon instinctively cried, her wails piercing the ornate chamber like broken glass, because even though she was just a baby, some primal part of her soul knew this gentle stranger was not her mother—not the mother she needed, not the warmth and acceptance that should have been her birthright. These first few moments of her life would just be a small portion in comparison to the endless misery that would intertwine itself through every breath, every heartbeat, every moment of the events that would follow.
Walking the halls of the cold Takona estate ten years later, her footsteps creating soft echoes against marble floors that seemed to stretch endlessly, Moon would gaze out of the floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows. These masterpieces depicted roses in full bloom and delicate leaves in shades of amber and emerald, casting colored shadows that danced across her pale skin as she watched the snow falling like tears into the vast courtyard below. The flakes caught the light, creating a mesmerizing display that felt more beautiful than anything inside these suffocating walls. Through the frosted glass, she could see her older brother being put through his usual training lessons—or rather, his performance of training lessons—while her personal maid, Lucian, followed closely behind her like a protective shadow.
"My lady, would you like to go outside? I can prepare your outdoor outfit if you wish," Lucian's voice was soft and careful, each word measured to avoid any possibility of giving offense. Her wolf ears were alert, constantly listening for approaching footsteps that might signal danger for her young charge.
"No, thank you, Lucian. I'd like to stay inside today." The words were mumbled through Moon's quiet Nyxovian accent, each syllable carrying the weight of exhaustion that shouldn't exist in someone so young. Though it isn't exactly referred to as Russian in this world, her language—Nyxovian—flows like winter wind through bare branches, and her parents speak it with accents so heavy they seem to drag each word down into darkness. At this young stage in her life, Moon's accent was also pretty heavy, though it would lighten as she grew older and learned to hide more of herself.
Lucian May is Moon's personal maid, and like most of the lower-class races that populate the servant quarters of the estate, Lucian belongs to the Beastfolk—a people whose animal features mark their social status as clearly as brands. In this world Moon was unfortunately born into, the Beastfolk were usually relegated to the lowest rungs of society, their fox ears and wolf tails making them immediately identifiable as servants, slaves, or worse. They possess a natural grace and loyalty that the ruling classes exploit without conscience. In the Takona estates, which sprawl across several hundred acres of Northern Empire territory, usually the wolf and fox hybrids were embedded into the servant and assistant work, their keen senses making them excellent guards and their natural subservience making them ideal for handling the volatile tempers of demonic royalty.
Since it wasn't mentioned before, it shall be mentioned now with all the weight it carries. Moon's direct family and race, which primarily controls and dominates the portion of the world she lives in with iron fists wrapped in silk gloves, are different breeds of demon races that have ruled for centuries. Although it might seem a little clichéd—the sort of thing you'd read in forbidden books—Moon's bloodline runs deep into succubi and incubi blood, rivers of dark power that course through her veins like liquid fire. But her family represents something far more significant: they are the last standing full-blood succubi and incubi in existence related to the goddess of this world, their pure demonic heritage making them living legends and wielding power that lesser demons can only dream of. This ancient purity runs them at the highest possible position on the supernatural hierarchy, meaning her mother and father are not merely nobles but the Emperor and Empress of the Northern Empire, Rabukira—a vast territory that stretches from the Frozen Peaks to the Whispering Forests. Unfortunately, despite the matriarchal traditions that should favor her, Moon was not chosen to be next in line to become Empress, a decision that defied centuries of precedent where women were known to hold more power and control in this world.
But her brother was chosen to be the Emperor next in line instead, a selection that made Moon develop a pit deep in her stomach that felt like it was lined with broken glass. The injustice of it gnawed at her constantly, a persistent ache that colored every interaction with her family.
It was unfair in every possible way.
Her brother, Sirius Takona, looked like an exact replica of their mother, Comet Takona, the Empress—the same sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, the same strawberry-brown hair that caught light like spun copper, the same predatory grace that made lesser beings instinctively step back. Though it was always common for the firstborn to look like an exact copy of the mother, especially in succubi and incubi families where magical genetics followed ancient patterns, that wasn't exactly something that could be controlled unless you possess an insane amount of magic or extraordinary skill in alchemy, arts that take decades to master.
Moon, however, has inherited the looks of both of her parents combined in a way that should have been beautiful but instead made her stand out like a mistake: the elegant red horns that curled around her head in perfect spirals from her mother, catching light like polished garnets, and the long Dalmatian tail with its distinctive spots and a black puff at the end from her father, which had a tendency to betray her emotions by swaying when she was nervous or angry. She also has big, puffy, naturally curly brown hair that defied every attempt to tame it—not the light strawberry brown like her mother's that gleamed like autumn leaves, or the raven black like her father's that absorbed light, but instead a normal shade of semi-orange brunette that seemed to shift between colors depending on the light, sometimes appearing almost copper, sometimes deep chocolate.
Moon also had skin so pale it was practically translucent, like porcelain that had never seen sunlight, and yet her skin usually flushed with a pretty blush that would spread across her cheeks and down her neck whenever she was embarrassed or angry, which happened more often than she'd like to admit. Her eyes shimmered a bright green emerald color that she inherited from her father as well—eyes that seemed to see too much, understand too much, for someone her age. Moon, around this time, was as young as 10 years old, at least in demon years, though her intelligence and the weight in her gaze suggested someone far older. Though when she would grow older, reaching the maturity that her bloodline promised, she'd probably achieve her mother's more... developed looks—the perfect hourglass figure, luscious lips that could kill with a kiss, and other attributes that came with succubi heritage and made mortals weak in the knees.
Moon stood at those towering windows for what felt like hours, her red horns occasionally catching the colored light from the stained glass, her spotted tail swaying slightly with unconscious emotion, which caused her wild hair to move along with it like a living thing. Considering Moon usually kept her hair unbraided and free—a waterfall of curls that reached nearly to the floor—which her mother absolutely hated and frequently criticized, Moon wasn't always going to bend to her mother's rigid expectations of royal propriety. Her hair was one of the few things she could control, one small rebellion in a life where everything else was dictated by others.
Lucian stood exactly three feet behind Moon, the precise distance that servants were groomed to maintain from their charges—close enough to respond instantly to any need, far enough to remain appropriately invisible. She was quiet and patient as a statue, but her sharp wolf hearing caught every small sigh, every shift in posture, and she noticed the particular look in Moon's emerald gaze whenever she watched how their father, Mortis Takona, the Emperor—a man whose presence could freeze blood in veins—would personally descend from his throne room to the training courtyard to lavish praise upon her brother for achieving even the most basic accomplishments in his lessons. Sirius was only 2 years older than Moon, and yet he commanded all the attention from their parents that she would never receive, besides the occasional dismissive "good job" that felt more like an insult than praise. Lucian knew this discrepancy infuriated Moon in ways that the young princess was only beginning to understand herself.
It wasn't just the lack of praise that slowly ate away at Moon's soul like acid. It was everything in between—every small injustice, every moment of favoritism, every time her achievements were ignored while Sirius was celebrated for mediocrity—that showed how fundamentally unworthy her parents considered her.
Sirius seemed like the perfect shining star to everyone around him, a golden boy who could do no wrong in the eyes of their parents and the court. He made it appear to the world that he studied hard, burning candles late into the night and emerging from the library looking appropriately exhausted, despite the fact that he simply flirted shamelessly with the smartest girls in his classes—using his royal charm and future emperor status—to manipulate them into doing his work while he took credit for their brilliance. He regularly berates the servants with casual cruelty, treating them like objects rather than people, along with physical harassment that ranges from "accidental" shoves to deliberate humiliation that Moon can never stand to watch without her stomach churning with disgust. Yet she takes the time afterward to personally seek out these mistreated servants, using her own developing healing magic to mend their bruises and offering quiet apologies for her family's behavior.
Sirius is also awfully terrible at combat, though Moon grudgingly gives him credit when it's actually due. He tries his very hardest during his official training lessons when important people are watching—his form is sloppy, his reflexes slow, his strength barely above average for their demonic heritage. Even Moon, with her secret training sessions, could quite literally knock him flat on his ass if she ever needed to, and she's practiced the scenario in her mind more times than she'd admit.
Moon knew her mother would probably kill her—or worse, devise some creative punishment involving hot, cramped spaces—if she ever discovered that Moon was conducting secret training sessions in her own time, using abandoned rooms in the estate's lower levels to practice combat forms and magic that she taught herself from stolen books. But that was knowledge her parents never needed to acquire.
That being said, with him being so terrible at actual combat, Moon often notices with growing disgust how he only really puts in genuine effort when he's being directly observed by their father or the combat instructors. He could be lounging against a training post, examining his perfectly manicured nails or chatting with other noble children, but the very moment his instructor's gaze falls upon him, he jumps up and begins acting appropriately exhausted, wiping nonexistent sweat from his brow and breathing heavily like he's completed a day's worth of rigorous work. It truly disgusts Moon to witness such theatrical deception, especially knowing how easily their parents are fooled by it.
Even in Moon's harsh opinion of her brother being essentially useless—a spoiled prince who has everything handed to him on silver and gold platters without ever earning any of it—she reluctantly admits that he's an okay brother when measured against the rest of her family. At least there's that small mercy in her life.
He's never once abused her physically or mentally like their mother and father do with calculated precision—never raised a hand to strike her, never whispered cruel words designed to break her spirit—but he's not exactly there for her emotionally either, not in any way that matters. He could've intervened when their parents unleash their fury upon her, could've used his precious golden boy status to shield her from the worst of their wrath, but at most, he just stands silently in doorways and watches with something that might be sympathy flickering in his eyes before he turns away.
It hurts more during particularly brutal times when their mother's temper reaches volcanic levels, when Comet could go as far as leaving actual gashes on Moon's pale skin with her razor-sharp nails, drawing blood that stains expensive carpets, or leaving her half unconscious from magical attacks that feel like lightning in her veins. Sometimes the punishment escalates to locking Moon in an empty, suffocatingly hot, pitch-dark storage room for hours on end, with only her own labored breathing for company. The reason this particular torture is so especially awful is because northern demons naturally thrive in cold temperatures—their bodies are designed for winter's embrace—while becoming dangerously weak when exposed to excessive heat, making such confinement both physically agonizing and potentially lethal.
Even after Moon suffers through such punishments, emerging shaky and scarred, her brother still tries to act kind toward her in his own limited way. He wouldn't protect her from their parents when it mattered most, when his intervention could actually make a difference, but if someone outside the family—a visiting noble or a servant who overstepped—tried anything against her, he'd at least make some effort to stand up for her honor. Even if Moon knew she could handle most threats herself with her secret combat training and growing magical abilities, she could never find the inner strength to be truly defiant against her parents, as if some invisible chain bound her will whenever they were near.
Moon was simply indifferent toward Sirius, existing in a state of emotional numbness where he was concerned. She neither loved nor hated him with any real passion; he was just another ghost in her life that haunted the halls of their estate like everything else around her—present but not truly there, familiar but ultimately meaningless.
Although Moon would've preferred to remain lost in her own increasingly dark thoughts in that cold, echoing hallway, watching the snow fall and imagining what freedom might feel like, she suddenly heard the familiar sound of rushing, clicking heels against marble that made a shiver of pure dread race down her spine and a heavy pit of anxiety form at the very core of her stomach like a stone dropping into still water.
"You moronic girl! How dare you make me search everywhere in this godforsaken estate for you!" The voice cut through the air like a blade.
Comet was crashing through the hall toward Moon with an enraged glare blazing in her eyes like hellfire, her elaborate gown trailing behind her like liquid shadow, her perfect face twisted into an expression of fury that would have sent grown men fleeing. Ah yes, that particular look Moon knows all too well—it usually preceded pain. Moon would have guessed from the way her mother perpetually scowls at her, as if her very existence is a personal insult, that she would've formed wrinkles around her face by now, but succubi magic keeps such imperfections at bay.
"Apologies, Mother. I was not awa—" Moon's quiet, carefully measured protest was quickly cut short when her face was suddenly grasped in her mother's perfectly manicured hand, those razor-sharp nails digging into Moon's silky flesh hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks that would bruise purple within the hour.
"I don't want to hear your damned excuses, you pathetic little brat. You are coming with me immediately. I have an extremely important meeting arranged for you—finally, a chance to rid myself of you once and for all," Comet stated with a snarky, entitled grin spreading across her beautiful face like poison, her grip tightening enough to make Moon wince. Before making off with her daughter like a prized possession being delivered to market, she turned to Lucian with a look so cold it could freeze flames. "I will deal with you later for failing to follow orders to make my daughter look presentable for once in her miserable life." Before Lucian could calmly explain that she had not been made aware of any special preparations or upcoming events, Comet was already roughly dragging Moon by the arm down the hallway toward the estate's elaborate dressing chambers, her heels clicking an angry rhythm against the marble.
Comet had never enjoyed being a mother to Moon—not for a single moment since the girl's birth. In fact, she never even planned on having Moon to begin with, though that painful truth was already glaringly obvious to anyone who witnessed their interactions. But Mortis had always possessed an insatiable hunger for Comet that neither of them could resist or control, a demonic lust that overcame reason and precaution, so Moon was nothing but an unwanted mistake, as Comet would frequently refer to her when she thought no one important was listening.
Comet had made it brutally obvious to Moon from the very moment she drew her first breath that she was going to be handed off to someone else to deal with as quickly as possible, like damaged goods being pawned off to the highest bidder. She had gone through considerable trouble and expense, calling in political favors and making promises she'd rather not keep, somehow managing to convince the Emperor of the neighboring Western Empire, Piffedal—a man known for his shrewd negotiations and cold ambition—to arrange a marriage between his youngest son and her daughter. This union would serve as a way to strengthen the alliance between their empires while ridding Comet of her unwanted burden. How Comet had actually managed to negotiate such an arrangement, Moon would never understand, but the consequences were clear: Moon was still being forced to be dolled up like a living doll in an outfit that Comet believed would appeal to the son of the Western Empire's Emperor, as if she were merchandise being prepared for inspection.
Her wild, beautiful hair was even braided and pinned up in an elaborate style that probably took hours to achieve, with delicate silver pins and tiny pearls woven throughout the curls, yet Moon loathed every moment of the process purely because her mother was the one orchestrating it. Moon genuinely hated anyone touching her hair—it was one of her strongest aversions, not that anyone usually did anyway, since long hair was revered as something of a beauty standard in their culture. The length and health of one's hair was meant to symbolize strength and resilience, or something along those traditional lines that Moon found meaningless. But she especially despised anyone trying to style it, to tame it into submission the way everything else in her life was controlled. Moon has often had explosive outbursts because of that specific violation, her temper flaring in ways that surprised even herself.
"At least now you look somewhat more appealing and less like the filthy little animal you usually resemble," Comet remarked with casual cruelty, examining her handiwork with the critical eye of someone appraising livestock.
Comet always seemed to make absolutely sure to never say a single genuinely kind thing to Moon, as if kindness might contaminate her somehow, but Moon has become accustomed to this reality by now. She has learned to let her mother's words wash over her like poison rain, tending to drown out the worst of them anyway as a survival mechanism.
"Hurry up now, and don't you dare drag your feet. I don't need you being sluggish for such an important event. I'm trying to rid myself of you as quickly as possible, and I won't have you sabotaging this opportunity with your usual pathetic behavior."
Comet didn't linger in the room any longer before she rushed out in a whirlwind of silk and fury, pausing only to bark harsh orders at a trembling maid waiting outside in the corridor, presumably instructing them on where to escort Moon before her meeting with destiny. The clicking of her heels slowly faded into the distance like retreating thunder, leaving behind only the scent of expensive perfume and lingering menace. Moon stared at herself in the ornate mirror, taking in the unfamiliar reflection of someone who looked like a princess from a fairy tale, and released a small sigh that seemed to echo with all the weight of her short, troubled life.