Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 150

Hades

I blew out a puff of smoke as she entered. For the first time, she did not look nervous as she bowed slightly.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," she greeted. Her hair was held in a severe bun, and in her hand was a stack of papers and oddly---a mirror?

I raised my brow, wondering what that was all about. "Jules, are you ready for the report?" I asked. I normally did not ask such unnecessary questions. But today would be her last day as Ellen’s maid and my spy. Everything I needed would soon fall into my hands anyway. She had been successful in her mission, and it was time to cut her loose.

She nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty," she replied evenly. Her expression was taut but composed as she came forward and opened the first file in front of me.

They appeared to be photocopied diary entries. But the words were not distinguishable, nor did they make much sense. They were an array of jargon written in an intelligent manner.

"Codes," I mused.

Jules inclined her head. "Hidden entries, written by Princess Ellen. I attempted to decode them, but the cipher was beyond me. That is... until I did this."

She lifted the mirror and carefully angled it against the page.

The distorted text wavered, reshaping itself in the glass. Yet only one word emerged, clear and deliberate.

Ellen.

The name stared back at me, stark against the chaos of symbols.

Ellen.

Ellen.

Ellen.

I leaned forward, studying it in silence.

Why would she write like this?

My mind turned over the possibilities. Trauma could fracture the mind, yes—but this? Referring to herself in the third person, hiding her own thoughts behind layers of code?

Was this just the Hollowing eating away at her sanity? Or something more?

I said nothing. Let Jules talk.

She straightened, sensing my quiet command.

"My assumption is that she’s hiding something monumental. Something that required... this level of complexity." Jules hesitated for half a breath. "Something she couldn’t risk anyone finding."

Interesting.

I sat back slowly, fingers tapping against the armrest.

If Ellen had buried something this deeply, it wasn’t mere paranoia. It was fear.

Fear of what?

Or worse—fear of who?

I didn’t let any of that show.

"Continue," I said.

Let’s see how deep this hole goes.

Jules didn’t falter. She carefully turned the next page, revealing another photocopied entry. The same indecipherable scrawl stared back at me—jagged lines of chaotic symbols that meant nothing.

She lifted the mirror again, angling it slowly against the page.

Ellen.

The name bled through the reflection, stark and deliberate.

Another page.

Ellen.

And again.

Ellen.

No other words revealed themselves. No hidden messages. Just that single name. Over and over.

I leaned forward, the weight of it settling in my chest.

Only her name.

"This isn’t just some cryptic journal," Jules murmured, her tone measured. "I’ve examined every page. No matter how I mirror it, shift it, or analyze the structure... only this word appears. Ellen."

I said nothing, letting the silence press down on her.

She tapped lightly on the page, careful but deliberate. "It’s... strange. The way it’s used. It’s scattered, but intentional. Almost like she’s writing about someone else entirely. Not herself."

I didn’t react, but her words stirred something in me.

Jules glanced up briefly, gauging my expression before continuing, her voice cautious. "It could be a coping mechanism. A way to separate from her trauma. Or..." She hesitated, choosing her next words with care. "Or it might suggest that Ellen... isn’t exactly who she appears to be."

I stilled, the cigar burning low between my fingers.

Dangerous ground.

Yet she was smart enough not to overstep.

Jules straightened slightly, smoothing the papers. "Of course, that’s only speculation. It could be nothing more than a fractured mind. Stress. The Hollowing."

Diplomatic. Careful. But the suggestion was planted.

Not who she appears to be.

I leaned back slowly, exhaling smoke into the still air.

If Ellen was hiding something, it wasn’t just fear.

It was identity. At least, that was what Jules was claiming.

"Continue," I said, my voice low.

Jules’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the papers, her composure firm but not unshaken. She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her tone carefully measured.

"There was something else," she began, eyes briefly flicking to mine. "An incident I didn’t think much of at the time, but now... it feels relevant."

I said nothing, watching her carefully.

"Sometime ago," she continued, slower now, "I found Princess Ellen collapsed in her room. Alone. Unconscious." She paused, her gaze distant, her lips thinning—probably recalling what happened to her when I caught her hovering over Ellen. "At first, I thought it was a panic attack. But then... she started murmuring."

I raised a brow, just slightly.

"And?"

Jules’s grip on the papers tightened. "She was crying, barely coherent, and she kept whispering one name."

Her eyes met mine.

"Ellen."

Silence.

I stared at her, waiting for more.

"You’re saying she was calling for herself?" My tone was flat, unimpressed.

"I thought so too." Jules’s voice remained steady. "But it didn’t make sense. Not in that state. Not like that."

I leaned back, exhaling a slow breath of smoke.

"So now you think she was calling for someone else," I mused, letting a hint of skepticism lace my words.

Jules didn’t waver. "It’s possible."

I let the silence stretch, studying her carefully.

Possible.

Or convenient.

I turned my attention back to the mirrored text on the pages.

Ellen.

Over and over.

Interesting, yes. But not conclusive.

"Speculation doesn’t serve me, Jules," I said coolly, tapping ash into the tray. "People whisper nonsense in their sleep. Trauma, fever, exhaustion. The mind is fragile."

Jules didn’t flinch. "Of course, Your Majesty. But combined with the coded entries, it could mean—"

"It could mean nothing," I cut in smoothly, though not unkindly. "Or it could mean she’s losing her grip. You said it yourself—could."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Not defiance. Restraint.

I leaned forward slightly, just enough to let my next words settle.

"You’re paid for facts, Jules. Not theories."

A pause.

But still…