Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 332

Chapter 332: Memories As Bait

Light slowly penerated the darkness, yet the eeriness of it all did not relent even bit. Slowly, the ground beneath my feet made and appearance as I proceeded forward, not sure what to expect but dreading it all the same.

>Rhea?

I called hoping I was not utterly alone in this strange plain.

>Right here, dear.

She assured, her voice an anchor that I needed again the turbulence of fear that was twisting and turning in my mind.

I took a deep breath of relief, my eyes catching more colour and light as the realm revealed itself, almost in pixels.

My leg touched velvet carpets and for a minute I froze. I knew the carpets, I knew them far too well. It should gave Brought forth nostalgia but it did no such thing.

Red with a slight hue of brown that gave hallway a regal aura. This scene, this place should not be in Hades or the flux’s subconscious. It was only in mine. The mounted images of ancestors and nobles. The abstract silver case that never made any sense to me, the beige ceiling. I was in the Lunar Heights, Darius’ tower. My old home.

How? I wondered as my thundering heart seemed to beat in apprehension of what I might find.

How did the flux get to this part of...me.

Then it clicked with horrifying clarify. For the Rite, Hades and I were interlinked. I had access to his body and soul and so did he and now the flux what using exactly what it had seen against me.

The realization landed like ice in my veins.

The Flux wasn’t just using Hades’ memories now.

It was reaching through the tether—into mine.

And it was building something with it.

Twisting it.

A heavy draft whispered down the corridor, stirring the velvet curtains that framed the hallway windows. They fluttered like they used to, caught in the crosswinds of a storm no one could see. But this wasn’t wind.

It was presence.

Shifting.

Watching.

I forced my feet forward, the familiar hall stretching ahead, each step a reluctant echo. The portraits seemed to stare deeper than I remembered—no longer content to be still. The silver-framed glass cases gleamed with more clarity than they ever had in life, catching reflections that didn’t belong to me.

> "It’s not real," I whispered.

But it felt real.

Too real.

Rhea growled low in my mind, a warning more than a protest.

> "You must leave this place, Eve. It is not yours anymore."

"I didn’t come here," I murmured, turning a corner. "He dragged me in."

And just as I said it—

I saw the door.

My old bedroom.

Slightly ajar.

My breath caught.

The carpet dulled underfoot, like age had finally touched it. The lights above flickered. The scent changed too—no longer homey, but sickly sweet. Like dying roses left in a closed room for too long.

I pushed the door open.

The hinges creaked faintly—too faintly. Like the sound was mimicking memory, not reality. Inside, the walls shimmered with a muted golden hue, the drapes a soft lilac that caught the last light of a sunset that didn’t exist.

And there she was.

Ellen.

Seated before the vanity, brushing her hair with lazy, practiced strokes. Her black curls shimmered, pinned back with the silver crescent comb I’d given her. The one she said was too "sentimental" for everyday use.

But she was using it now.

Her face glowed with youth—untouched by betrayal. Eyes bright, lips glossy. She looked exactly as she had five years ago, just before everything shattered.

> "You’re late," she said, without turning. "We’re going to shine tonight, Eve."

Her voice was light. Girlish.

My breath caught.

Because I knew now what "shining" had meant. Not a debut. Not a celebration.

A sacrifice.

A setup.

> "You planned this," I whispered, the ache in my throat raw and fresh.

She turned to me, still smiling. But her eyes... they didn’t match the curve of her mouth.

They were empty.

A puppet running a loop.

Yet something was off.

Her right hand, brushing through her hair, paused midair—and that’s when I saw it.

A mark.

A faint brand inked beneath her wrist, just above her pulse.

Shaped like an M.

Sharp, almost jagged. Familiar.

No, not familiar—known.

It was the same symbol I’d seen scorched into the arm of the feral who’d taken Elliot. The one I’d killed before it could flee. The mark I hadn’t understood until now.

The image pulsed—glitched—and the whole room shimmered, like heat rising from asphalt.

Then it shifted.

The vanity was gone.

So was Ellen.

Now, I stood in the banquet hall.

Lights twinkled from glass chandeliers overhead. Long tables draped in silver and pale blue lined the room. Wolves and nobles danced. Laughed. Toasted.

And I stood among them—frozen.

Because I knew what came next.

It was our 18th birthday.

The day the world celebrated us.

The day the world ended.

I turned toward the dais. Ellen stood there in her gown—white, embroidered with moonlace. She smiled down at the crowd, radiant. Then she turned to look at me.

That same smile.

The same glitter in her eyes.

And then—

She jerked forward.

Doubling over.

The room hushed.

A sharp, wet sound broke the silence as blood sprayed across her bodice.

She vomited red.

Dark.

Unnatural.

I heard someone scream.

The first scream.

I turned, heart racing, vision tunneling—and saw myself.

At the edge of the hall.

Falling to my knees.

Clutching my head.

And then I shifted.

Not into a wolf.

Not into anything that belonged to this world.

My skin split.

My bones cracked.

And the beast that erupted from my frame had red eyes—blown wide, animal and ancient and hungry.

The room erupted into chaos.

People ran. Silver clanged. Some tried to shift. Others cowered. The lights above exploded one by one as I—she—the beast, leapt from the platform.

Blood.

So much blood.

> "Stop this!" I cried, voice echoing through the vision. "It’s not real! It’s already happened!"