"As Seraphina gazed into the distant eyes of her younger brother, tears began to well up behind her eyes like water building behind a fragile dam. And eventually, that dam broke."
"Like a waterfall, her tears streamed down her face as she pulled Alex into her warm, loving embrace. The distant look in his eyes faded, and color and emotion returned to him as he began to cry and hug her back."
More keyboard clacks echoed through the room as Juliette entered what she liked to call "the zone"—words flowing from her mind directly to her fingertips, appearing on the bright computer screen before her.
"Don't worry, Alex. I will always protect you, no matter what. You will always be my younger brother, and I love you."
"I love you too, Seraphina! But I will grow stronger—strong enough to protect and care for you!" Alexander's little cheeks puffed out as he resembled a chipmunk that had eaten too many—
"JULIE!"
Juliette slowly pulled back from her computer, rolling her eyes at her foster mother's grating voice. 'I was just a few sentences away from finishing the third volume, and she just had to interrupt me.' The frustration burned in her chest.
The book she was currently writing, "Tales of the Holy Maiden," followed Seraphina Elizabeth Eryndor, daughter of Duke Silver Eryndor and Duchess Noelle Eryndor. Set in the magical world of Gaea, it was a realm where strength and love mattered, but religion above all else dictated the fate of nations and the world itself.
Seraphina, her noble family, and every citizen of the Holy Solis Empire belonged to the Eternal Blazing Church—also known as the Church of Light. They worshipped Solarius, the God of Sun, light, and all that was pure and holy.
With her exceptional talent and affinity for holy and light magic, Seraphina had been sent to the Eternal Blazing Church as a child candidate for the coveted title of "Holy Child." Throughout her journey toward greatness, she would make loyal friends, defeat dangerous villains, unravel evil schemes, and capture the hearts of handsome love interests.
She was everything Juliette longed to be—beautiful, kind, beloved, and powerful. Writing Seraphina's story had become Juliette's escape from her own tragic reality, a doorway into a fantasy world where she could be the hero instead of the victim.
Fortunately, her novel had struck a chord with online readers, climbing its way into the top ten bestsellers. Writing had become not only Juliette's sole source of income but her only remaining passion in this pathetic life.
As she reflected on her double existence—from nobody to celebrated author—that familiar, grating voice shattered her fantasizing thoughts once again.
"Julie, get your flat ass down here and take out the trash! If I have to say it one more time, your ass will be mine!" The woman's voice grew even louder and more irritating.
"I just took it out for a fuck's sake." She lowly whispered underneath her exasperated breath.
"I'm coming!" Despite her resentful thoughts, Juliette's voice remained reserved and respectful. She never showed signs of disobedience—not out of fear, but because she simply couldn't help herself. No matter how horribly she was treated, she always complied without fail.
She suspected it might be some kind of victim mentality, but she knew better than to seek diagnosis. Besides, it had its advantages. Whenever someone became hostile and the situation turned violent, she would simply lower her head and apologize quickly. This tactic helped her avoid beatings—most of the time, anyway.
Rising from her desk chair, she stretched lazily and walked toward the door. Her room remained in complete darkness except for the computer screen's glow. She preferred this writing atmosphere—it helped her concentrate without distractions or blocks.
After stretching her joints, she stepped to the side of the bed and slipped on the nearest and one of the only pairs of shoes she owned. They were worn out and a hole was tearing at the front of one of them, but they were yellow and orange; her two favorite colors.
Already dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, there was no need to change before heading outside.
At her bedroom door, she hesitantly wrapped her fingers around the doorknob and took a deep breath, steeling herself for the nuisance awaiting her downstairs.
Creaaakkk!
The old door protested as she opened it, stepping into the dimly lit hallway. The floorboards groaned under her feet as she made her way toward the stairs, each step a reluctant march toward another confrontation with the woman who had taken her in—not out of love, but for the monthly government check that came with housing a foster child.
The stairs creaked ominously as Juliette descended, her hand trailing along the worn banister. The smell hit her first—a nauseating mixture of stale cigarette smoke and whatever cheap takeout had been left to rot in the kitchen. As she reached the bottom step, the living room came into view.
There she was, sprawled across the old recliner like some twisted queen on her throne. Margaret—though Juliette was supposed to call her "Mom"—sat wrapped in a faded purple bathrobe that had seen better days, probably sometime in the previous decade. Her stringy blonde hair with grayish roots hung limply around her shoulders as she stared at the flickering television screen, a lit cigarette dangling from her yellowed fingers.
The forty-year old woman didn't even glance up as Juliette entered the room, too absorbed in whatever trashy reality show was playing. Ash from her cigarette drifted onto the stained fabric of her robe, and empty beer bottles littered the small table beside her chair.
"Well?" Margaret's voice cut through the drone of the TV without her eyes ever leaving the screen. "You deaf or just stupid? Trash ain't gonna take itself out."
Juliette stood there for a moment, watching this pathetic display of humanity that was supposed to be her guardian. The woman who collected money for her care while treating her like an unwanted servant. The irony wasn't lost on her—here she was, writing about noble heroes and loving families, while living with someone who embodied everything she tried to escape through her stories.
"Yes, ma'am," Juliette replied quietly, already moving toward the kitchen where the overflowing garbage bin awaited her attention.
However, as soon as she stepped through the doorway, a pungent assault hit her like a physical blow. The smell drove her stumbling backward, dry-heaving as she fought to keep from vomiting.
'What the hell did she put in there?'
The stench was a nightmarish cocktail of rotting meat, sewage, and filthy gym socks that had been left to fester in a locker for months.
As Juliette steadied herself and regained her composure, she caught Margaret's amused gaze from the living room.
"You can't even handle the smell of a dead raccoon? For a girl who carries herself like a man, you'd think you could actually man up a bit." Margaret sneered, exhaling a dark cloud of smoke through her yellowed teeth.
'What the fuck?'
Juliette, accustomed to her foster mother's cruelty, simply rolled her eyes and lowered her head. She took a deep breath of the relatively fresh air and clenched her fists, steeling her resolve to enter that putrid zone again.
'I can hold my breath for about two minutes. Tie the bag, replace it, and get out—all under that time limit.'
Imagining herself in an underwater endurance test, she bolted across the kitchen floor. Working quickly, she pulled out the black trash bag and tied it into a tight knot, setting it beside her before grabbing a spare bag from the counter and shoving it into the bin.
She had long ago given up suggesting they recycle. Every time she mentioned how their waste affected the environment, Margaret would dismiss her as "dramatic" and call reusing materials "unnecessary."
Hoisting the trash bag over her left shoulder, she rushed toward the front door, racing against time before the inevitable leak of trash juice soaked through her jacket.
"Wait!" Margaret's voice stopped her just as her hand reached the doorknob. Thirty seconds of held breath had already escaped her puffed cheeks, and the countdown continued.
Part of Juliette wanted to ignore the woman entirely and walk out, but against her better judgment, she paused and heard her out.
"Gabe's coming over tonight, so pick us up a pepperoni pizza from Antonio's. Tell them it's for 'his almond joy'—it should be free then." Margaret's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "And when you get back, just ignore whatever you see and go straight to your room. Gabe and I will probably be having a bit of... fun by then."
Gabriel—thirty-two years old and Margaret's boyfriend of six months—was a walking disaster of a human being. He'd made multiple passes at Juliette despite her deliberately unglamorous appearance, and when she'd tried telling Margaret, the woman had either refused to believe her or blamed Juliette for being "too flirtatious" or wearing "revealing" clothes.
Margaret closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, clearly fantasizing about her evening plans.
The sight made Juliette's stomach turn even more than the garbage smell.
"Alright," she said softly, opening the door and escaping into the night air. Margaret's disgusting display had at least made her forget about the nauseating fumes from the trash bag.
As she closed the front door behind her, a drop of trash juice slid down her jacket sleeve. She winced but sighed and continued toward the garbage bin at the end of the driveway.
After dumping the bag into the green container, she paused to look back at the house. Eleven years ago, when she was only four, she and her parents had first come home to this place. The house itself was nothing special—mediocre at best—except for the beautiful stained glass windows that caught light like jewels. But this house held the memories of her parents' love, and for that, she would forever consider it the most beautiful home in the world.
Her parents had said the house provided the perfect view of the moon on dark nights. They'd both loved the moon's beauty and significance, believing that when it became full, they could see the faces of their departed loved ones reflected on its surface.
Unfortunately, just months after moving in, her parents died in a car accident. A drunk driver had struck them, sending their car careening off the road into the woods. Juliette hadn't been with them—she was at her singing recital, waiting for them to arrive.
The police delivered the news when they took her into foster care. They'd tried contacting family or friends, but her parents had both grown up in the system themselves, with no relatives to speak of.
They did have one close friend who spent time with them daily and even had a key to the house for emergencies. He'd met Juliette several times, bringing her gifts for holidays and birthdays. But when he learned of his best friends' deaths and the daughter left behind, he mysteriously vanished from the city.
Even with his abandonment, Juliette felt no anger toward him—only empathy. Her parents had been important to him too, and he had his own grief to process. Taking care of their child was simply something he couldn't handle.
After his disappearance, Juliette officially entered the system. She inherited her parents' modest savings—only a few thousand dollars—but more importantly, the deed to the house was transferred to her name.
Years later, Margaret—an old, debt-ridden woman—began seeking orphans with inheritances to foster for the money. Whether by fate or something darker, she found Juliette, and within a day, Juliette became her ward, living under Margaret's tyranny ever since.
Remembering these tragic events, a single tear escaped and slid down her cheek. She was surprised she had any left—she'd thought she'd cried them all away long ago.
Wiping the tear with her clean sleeve, a small smile appeared on her face as determination filled her heart. She would live on in memory of her parents. She would live on for her parents.
'That's what you want, right, Mom and Dad?'
She walked over to her bike, which sat next to Margaret's shabby off-limits car. Margaret wouldn't let her drive until she got her license, which might be a while since she'd already failed the driving test four times.
Mounting her bike, she pedaled off the property of her house and down the neighborhood street. Above her, the majestic full moon hung high in the heavens, casting a silver glow across the earth below.
'I really do miss you both.'