Chapter 3
I miraculously survived the brutal fever, yet Aunt Celia had no intention of letting me off the hook.
She’d sharply noticed the shift in my gaze. It no longer held the timidity expected of a bullied child; instead, there was the cold glint of a young wolf sharpening its fangs in the shadows. Fear took root inside her.
So she meticulously devised a plot to destroy me completely.
Half a month later, Father suddenly announced a family dinner to celebrate my recovery.
His words sounded heartfelt, as if he truly was a loving father who cared for his daughter.
Mother was elated too, convinced this marked a turning point in our fractured relationship.
Only I knew it was all an act.
The household buzzed with activity that day.
Aunt Celia arrived with Luke in tow, hauling armfuls of nourishing tonics. She seized my hand, showering me with concerned questions.
“Poor Luna, you’ve suffered so much. Look how thin your little face has gotten. My heart aches for you.”
Her performance was flawless, the concern in her eyes convincing enough to fool anyone.
I only felt revolted.
Midway through the meal, Aunt Celia abruptly stood up, clutching a familiar notebook.
It was my locked diary. Inside lay all my observations about the emotional threads, along with my unflinching analysis of this family’s hypocrisy.
It had been my only outlet.
The lock had been pried open.
My heart skipped a beat.
“Arthur, Martha, you have to see this.” Celia spoke in an exaggerated tone thick with pity and dread. “I went to tidy Luna’s room today and stumbled across this. This child… she’s gravely unwell.”
She flipped open the diary and began reading aloud for everyone to hear.
“‘The thick red thread between Father and Celia is as disgusting as a python. They carry on their sordid affair in the study behind Mother’s back.’”
“‘A greedy black thread hovers above cousin Luke’s head. He stole Grandmother’s ring.’”
As Aunt Celia read, a deathly silence fell over the grand hall.
“Goodness me, what an overactive imagination this girl has. Claiming there’s some red thread linking me to my brother-in-law, as if it were the honest truth. Luna, what vile things have you been exposed to, to fill your head with such filthy thoughts?”
She shut the diary and stared at me with a look of deep dismay.
Father’s face turned livid, the veins on his forehead bulging. He knew every word written in the diary was true — and that truth only stoked his terror and rage.
“Enough!” Father slammed his palm against the table. “This girl has lost her mind! She’s possessed by a demon! She suffers from terrible delusions!”
Celia immediately chimed in, dabbing fake tears from her eyes. “Exactly, Arthur. She not only slanders us, she rambles about seeing strange threads. These are clear signs of schizophrenia. If we don’t get her proper treatment quickly, sooner or later she’ll hurt someone in this family — Luke included!”
Martha sat there, her face ashen. She glanced at her furious husband, then at me standing silently in the corner, devoid of any emotion.
“Martha, sign it.” Father tossed a document in front of her: an involuntary commitment order for Saint Judy’s Psychiatric Asylum. “For the sake of the family’s reputation, we cannot keep a lunatic under our roof.”
Mother’s hands trembled as she picked up the pen. She did not dare lift her eyes to meet mine as she scrawled her signature across the paper.
They intended to lock me away as a mentally ill patient.
I thrashed and screamed. “Mom! Look at me! I’m not sick! Every word I wrote is real! Don’t believe them!”
Mother twisted her head away, refusing to meet my gaze.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her voice breaking.
“Luna, go get treatment. Once you’re better… Mother will come bring you home.”
Bang!
The hall door was thrown open violently. Two Austin City constables stormed inside, followed by three burly orderlies dressed in white coats.
The orderlies lunged at me like ravenous beasts and forced a thick, rough canvas straitjacket over my body.
Straps were pulled tight, binding my arms behind my chest until I could barely draw breath.
I stopped struggling. I stopped screaming and crying.
I simply stood there, a cold spectator, studying every single person in the room.
I saw the trembling black thread of fear hovering over Father’s head, thrashing wildly as he fought to hide his scandal. I spotted the irrepressible, vicious smirk tugging at the corner of Aunt Celia’s mouth. I looked at Martha’s thread — weak, limp, woven from nothing but cowardice and evasion.
“Take her away!” the constable ordered.
As I was marched toward the front gate, I glanced back at this opulent gilded cage.
I understood now: in this place, the truth meant nothing at all.
Very well. You cast me down into hell. Then I will learn how to become a devil while I’m there.
The day I crawl back out, I will personally send every last one of you to the gallows.
