Blood moon; the first curse

The morning sun, a gentle artist, brushed the sky with soft strokes of pink and gold. Damien stepped from his room, his footsteps echoing a hollow rhythm in the vast, empty hallway of the Hartman mansion. He paused at the top of the grand staircase, his gaze drawn downwards to the polished marble foyer where the first rays of dawn sifted through the stained-glass windows, painting the floor in fractured, colored light.

As he began his descent, a quiet murmur drifted up from below. Damien spotted the household staff, a hushed circle near the entrance, their anxious glances and whispered voices betraying a ripple of unease. Something was wrong; he could feel it, a subtle tension prickling at the edges of his awareness, like static in the air.

"Damien," Mrs. Jenkins, the head housekeeper, called out, her voice laced with a worry that tightened his gut. She beckoned him closer. "Your parents have asked for you in the drawing room. It's urgent."

His heart sank like a stone. A heavy, dread-filled feeling settled deep in his stomach. He followed Mrs. Jenkins through the labyrinthine corridors and grand halls, each step burdened by the weight of impending doom.

They entered the drawing room. Damien's eyes swept over the lavish furniture, the intricate tapestries adorning the walls – a stark, unsettling contrast to the grim, unyielding faces of his parents seated at the far end of the room.

His mother, as elegant and composed as ever, fixed him with a gaze so sharp it seemed to cut right through him. "Damien, darling," she began, her voice soft but commanding, "We've called this family meeting to discuss an important matter."

His father, a man of few words, sat silently beside her, his expression unreadable as he fidgeted with his cufflinks. Damien's twin brothers, Alex and Lucas, sprawled on the sofa nearby, glued to the glowing screens of their handheld gaming devices. Their mother's disapproving glare bounced right off them as they furiously battled virtual foes, completely oblivious to the heavy atmosphere.

"Boys," their mother snapped, her voice sharp with irritation. "This is a family meeting, not a playground. Show some respect." Her gaze then swung back to Damien, unwavering, as she delivered the news that would shatter his world.

"We've decided to transfer you and your brothers to the human school," she announced. Her words hung in the air, cold and heavy, like a death sentence.

A surge of disbelief, hot and furious, rose within Damien. A torrent of emotions threatened to overwhelm his senses, but he bit back his retort. His quiet demeanor became a practiced mask for the storm raging inside him.

As his mother continued to speak, calmly outlining their reasons for this decision, Damien's mind drifted. His thoughts were consumed by one burning question: How could they do this to him? They knew how much he loathed humans. What was so terrible about Moonridge Academy? The school they'd known their entire lives?

He remained in the drawing room, his parents' devastating news echoing in his mind like a cruel joke. Their words, stifling and suffocating, droned on about the transfer to a human school for him and his brothers. He truly couldn't believe what he was hearing. His gaze found the family portrait above the fireplace, unfocused, his thoughts miles away.

His mind replayed images of Moonridge Academy. The suffocating drawing room felt like a tight cage compared to the boundless freedom of the academy. Moonridge was his sanctuary, a place where he could truly be himself, free from fear or judgment. He remembered the comforting press of the forest floor beneath his paws, the exhilaration of the wind in his fur as he ran wild through the woods. The deep sense of belonging he felt at Moonridge was utterly unmatched.

The drawing room, with its gleaming wooden floors and plush, upholstered furniture, seemed to mock him with its opulence, feeling more like a gilded prison. His parents continued their conversation, completely unaware of the turmoil churning inside him. His mother, poised and serene, and his father, stern and unyielding, spoke of "opportunities" and "fitting in." They talked about the human school as if it were a golden ticket to a brighter future, but all Damien saw was a dark, terrifying abyss.

"Why?" he finally managed to whisper, his voice raw. "Why are you doing this?"

His parents exchanged a glance, their expressions softening ever so slightly. His mother sighed, her eyes filled with a complicated mix of concern and firm resolve. "Damien, we believe this is the best decision for your future. You need to learn to live in the human world, to understand it."

"Understand it?" Damien's anger flared, his voice rising, a tremor in his chest. "I don't want to understand it! I hate them! They'll never accept us. They'll never accept me!"

His father's brow furrowed, his tone firm, cutting off any further argument. "Damien, this isn't up for debate. We've made our decision."

Damien's heart plummeted. A profound sense of betrayal washed over him. They knew how deeply he cherished Moonridge, how much he needed it. Why couldn't they see how fundamentally wrong this was?

As his parents continued to discuss logistics and schedules, his mind drifted back to the academy, picturing it vividly: the central building with its ivy-covered walls, the dormitories that had become his second home, and the sprawling forest that offered both solace and thrilling adventure. The thought of abandoning all of it was unbearable.

His parents' decision felt like a cruel prison sentence. At Moonridge, he was truly free. Among his own kind, he was understood and accepted. But in the human world, werewolves were the most reviled. They were hunted, killed immediately if discovered. This was why they had learned to live among humans, but always in the deepest shadows. For a werewolf, exposure meant certain death.

Moonridge was far more than just a school; it was his sanctuary. It was where he had mastered control over his transformations, where he had immersed himself in the rich history and traditions of his people. And now, all of it was being brutally ripped away from him.

His eyes burned, hot with unshed tears. He clenched his fists, his nails digging painfully into his palms. "You don't understand," he choked out, his voice cracking. "Moonridge is my home. It's where I belong."

His mother reached out to him, but he flinched away, unable to bear her touch. "Damien, we just want what's best for you," she said gently, her voice strained.

"You don't know what's best for me," he retorted, his voice thick with bitterness. "You have no idea."

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the polished floor. Without another word, he stormed out of the drawing room, his heart a heavy, aching stone of anger and sorrow. He needed to escape, to find a place where he could think, where he could finally breathe.

Damien stumbled into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He sank onto his bed, burying his face in his hands. The crushing thought of leaving Moonridge, of being forced into a world that would never truly understand him, was almost too much to bear. His parents' decision felt like a twisted turn of fate, sentencing him to a life of profound loneliness and rejection.