Moon Wish-Doll Chapter 01
It was my birthday, and my older sister Nora had a fever again.
Dad and my brother Derek rushed her to the Pack hospital.
Pack healer George said Nora was seriously ill this
time–her inner wolf had nearly failed to wake up.
Derek pointed at my nose and shouted, “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t insisted on celebrating this
birthday, Nora wouldn’t have gotten sick.”
“Do you want Nora to end up just like you, delirious from a fever that fried your brain?”
I stammered an explanation. “How did she get sick again? I already made a wish with Mom’s Moon–Wish Doll.”
Mom used to say the Moon–Wish Doll was a forbidden relic left by the forest witches. It could trade a wish with the Moon Goddess.
Once the wish came true, the one who made it would slowly lose their body, piece by piece, until they turned into a Moonbound Doll.
Dad and Derek got even angrier.
They grabbed the doll from my arms and hurled it to the floor.
“Your mother was always obsessed with those
tattered cursed dolls, acting delusional over them,
and saying she’d turn into one once her wish came
true. Fine, then. Turn into one now. Right here.”
Derek shoved me hard.
I scraped the back of my hand against the floor–a huge strip of skin torn open.
But what came out wasn’t blood.
It was cotton.
The Moon–Wish Doll’s eyes shifted.
A voice echoed in my head,
“Moonbound countdown: fifteen hours remaining.”
Nora saw the cotton. Her eyes flickered. She called out to Dad and Derek.
“Don’t blame Claire. She just wanted me to get better.”
“I’d like some oatmeal. Claire’s oatmeal. Let her
make it for me, as a way to make things right, okay?”
They agreed.
That night, back at Caldwell estate, housekeeper Mrs. Anderson was ready to take me to the kitchen.
Before I could move, Derek tossed a shirt at me.
“Change into this before you start cooking.”
I hadn’t worn anything new in a long time.
After Mom disappeared, I’d had that bad fever and my mind hadn’t been the same since.
Dad and Derek thought I was an embarrassment. They’d stopped caring about me long ago.
Most of my clothes were hand–me–downs from Mrs. Anderson–her daughter’s old things she couldn’t bear to throw away.
I hugged the new shirt, my chest twisted with a bitter ache.
I ventured carefully, “You got me a new shirt… does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”
A snort was my only answer.
“I’m giving you this so your cotton doesn’t fall into the oatmeal. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Having a dimwit for a sister is humiliating enough.
You think I’d stop hating you? Not in this lifetime.”
I pressed my lips together, bitter heat rising in my throat.
I might not be all there anymore, but I wasn’t totally oblivious either.
I sniffled, but I didn’t dare cry. Derek always said I looked even dumber when I cried, and uglier too.
“That’s okay, Derek. I won’t be around to annoy you much longer, really.”
The estate cook was a distant maternal cousin–uncle of Nora’s.
He glared at me with vicious eyes.
He jabbed his finger against my head, over and over.
“Nora got sick because of you again, didn’t she? You’re nothing but a curse–bringer.”
“I’ve read the signs–any food you prepare for others has to be made on your bended knees as penance. If not, whoever eats it will fall ill too.”
But Mom always told me none of us should ever bow
to anyone, boy or girl–children of an Alpha bloodline are never meant to kneel before another soul..
I shook my head. I didn’t want to do so.
Mrs. Anderson spoke up for me. “Who makes a person kneel just to cook oatmeal? You’re plainly bullying her. It’s just a bowl of porridge–anyone can do it. I’ll make it for Claire.”
I shook my head again, about to say something, but a cough came from behind us.
Nora leaned against the doorframe, pale–faced, but she forced a smile my way.
“If Claire doesn’t want to, that’s fine. It doesn’t mean anything if someone else makes it for her. It’s just oatmeal. I can skip it.”
Dad’s face went cold. He snapped at me, “You’re always looking for an easy way out. Can’t even make one bowl of oatmeal without help!”
“You like being lazy so much? Fine. The cook will supervise you while you make a hundred bowls to apologize to your sister. Not one less.”
“And Mrs. Anderson–if you help her, don’t bother coming back to Caldwell estate.”