NOVEL WEB Chapter 4: Moonlit Confessions
The scarf still hung around her shoulders.
Every time a gust of wind lifted the wool, I felt my heart lift with it—like the tiniest thread connected us now. Lunaria's fingers kept brushing the fabric, as if she couldn't decide whether to clutch it tight or let it fall.
We stood beneath the broken fountain's archway, half-hidden from the streetlights. The snow had calmed to a hush; only the soft crack of distant ice filled the silence between us.
I swallowed. *Say something,* my brain begged.
But what? Hey, thanks for not murdering me? Nice weather for vampires?
Before I found the right words, she spoke first.
> "When I said I was cold…" Her voice was barely louder than the breeze. "I didn't mean only my body."
She turned her face toward the moon, and for the first time I saw the reflection of its crimson halo in her eyes—two tiny blood-red moons orbiting her pupils.
> "I have been cold here." She touched her chest. "For a long, long time."
I remembered the loneliness I'd seen in that brief flash the night she bit me. It clung to her now like frost on black glass.
"Why?" I asked, surprising even myself with how steady my voice sounded.
> "Because the night never ends… for my kind."
> A pause.
> "And because I killed the last person who tried to warm me."
The words struck like ice water down my spine. Killed. The gentle girl in front of me—capable of that? Yet the guilt in her eyes was undeniable.
I should have stepped back.
Instead, I took a half step closer.
---
Her confession
She told me the story in pieces—like shattered glass she was afraid to hand me all at once.
She had once loved someone—a traveler who stumbled into her ruined cathedral decades ago. He offered her music, laughter, candle-lit conversation. For a while, she fed on animals, suppressing the hunger burning in her veins.
But the crimson moon—*this* crimson moon—returned one winter night. Hunger flared uncontrollably. She lost herself.
When she awoke, she was cradling the traveler's lifeless body, his blood on her lips, the melody of his violin forever unfinished.
As she spoke, her shoulders trembled. The scarf slipped; I caught it and draped it back over her.
> "I was a monster," she whispered.
"Monsters don't feel this guilty," I said. "Or care if a lonely boy freezes to death in the snow."
Her gaze darted up, shock flickering—then the beginnings of a fragile smile curved her lips.
---
The hunter's shadow
A subtle crunch sounded in the distance—boot on snow. Lunaria's head snapped toward the sound; every muscle in her body coiled.
> "Someone's here," she hissed. "Move."
Before I could react, she had grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the cover of a skeletal willow. Through tangled branches I saw a tall figure in a heavy coat emerge from the alley, lantern in one hand, something long and metallic strapped across his back.
A silver-edged crossbow.
"Vampire hunter?" I mouthed.
She nodded once. A bitter edge slid into her smile.
> "And he smells fresh blood."
I instinctively touched my neck. The bite marks—still faintly visible.
Lunaria's grip tightened.
> "Stay behind me," she ordered. "No matter what."
---
The confrontation
The hunter stopped directly under the flickering streetlamp. Light pooled on the icy road, painting him half in gold, half in shadow. He tilted his lantern sluggishly, sniffing the air like a wolf.
> "Come out, leech," he called. His voice was hoarse, yet oddly calm—like someone used to speaking with ghosts.
My pulse hammered. Lunaria's cloak brushed my arm as she shifted. Snow crunched beneath her boots—so quiet it could have been imagination. She glanced at me, crimson eyes a warning: *Don't breathe too loud.*
A minute passed. Two.
Finally, the hunter cursed under his breath, turned, and trudged farther down the road, lantern bobbing away like a will-o'-wisp.
Only when his light faded did Lunaria exhale.
> "He'll be back. With daylight."
"Daylight kills him too," I joked weakly.
Her smile was small. Sad.
> "But sunlight doesn't need silver bolts to kill me."
---
A vow in the snow
We resumed breathing together, two silent rhythms merging in the cold. I pushed aside every rational voice screaming *run* and asked the only question that mattered in that moment:
"What happens now?"
Snowflakes drifted between us, tiny pale embers against the night.
> "I should leave." Her voice cracked around the words. "I can't risk… repeating the past."
Silence again.
Then I surprised both of us:
"I won't let you disappear."
The air seemed to crystallize. She stared, as if no one had ever said something so foolish—or so precious—to her.
> "Why?" she whispered.
I touched the ribbon she'd accidentally left in my pocket—the violet one stained faintly with my blood. I placed it gently in her open palm.
"Because you left this behind," I said. "And because… the snow felt colder without you."
Her fingers closed over the ribbon. The moonlight caught the shimmer of unshed tears on her lashes. She did not look away.
> "Then—" She inhaled, as if every word cost centuries. "—walk with me, just for tonight."
"Every night," I said, surprising myself again. "Until you're not cold anymore."
---
Under the crimson moon
We walked. Not hand in hand—that felt too fragile, too soon. But shoulder-to-shoulder beneath the bleeding moon.
She told me her name again. *Lunaria Eclipsa.*
I told her mine. A name she repeated softly, tasting each syllable like a promise.
Somewhere far behind us, the hunter's lantern flickered once more—but the darkness swallowed him whole.
Snow whispered beneath our steps.
And for the first time, two lonely wanderers felt… warm.