Mira’s body ached, her skin sticky with sweat and grime as she slumped against the cold stone wall of the dimly lit room. The air was heavy with a stench that turned her stomach, a mix of damp earth and stale sweat. Her throat was parched, each shallow breath like sandpaper scraping against her lungs. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, a dull and constant ache, but it was thirst that threatened to drive her mad.
Liana leaned against a nearby table, a smug smirk painted across her face as she tipped a bottle of water in her hand. The sound of the liquid sloshing inside was maddening, a cruel symphony to Mira’s desperate state.
“Want some water, sister?” Liana cooed, tilting her head mockingly. “You must be parched.”
Mira’s cracked lips parted, her voice barely audible. “Please, Liana... just a sip.”
“‘Please, Liana,’” Liana mimicked in a high-pitched tone, rolling her eyes dramatically. “How pathetic. Is this what you’ve become? A sniveling, weak little pup begging for scraps?”
Mira’s head dropped, the weight of her exhaustion pulling her down. She hated showing weakness to Liana, but survival outweighed pride. “I’m begging you,” she rasped, her voice hoarse and dry.
Liana crouched before her, holding the bottle inches from Mira’s face. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll give you a sip... if you admit you were always the lesser sister. Say it. Say I’m better than you.”
Mira’s gaze flickered up, defiance sparking despite her weariness. She clamped her mouth shut, refusing to give Liana the satisfaction.
“Suit yourself,” Liana sneered, pulling the bottle away. “Enjoy your thirst.”
The door creaked open, and Gareth strode in, his boots echoing against the stone floor. His sharp eyes scanned the scene, taking in Liana’s triumphant smirk and Mira’s crumpled form.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded, his tone cool but edged with irritation.
Liana rose to her feet, clutching the bottle as though it were a prize. “Just teaching our dear Mira some humility,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Gareth’s expression darkened. He stepped toward Liana, his gaze cold and unyielding. “Give her the water.”
Liana stiffened, her brows knitting in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“I said, give her the water,” Gareth repeated, his tone brooking no argument.
Liana’s grip tightened on the bottle, her eyes blazing with indignation. “You don’t get to order me around,” she snapped. “I’m still the Luna.”
Gareth stared at her for a long moment before he burst into laughter—a sharp, mocking sound that echoed in the small room. “Luna?” he scoffed, amusement lacing his words. “Ex-Luna, you mean.”
Liana’s face turned crimson, her jaw tightening as rage boiled within her. She raised her fist, but Gareth caught it effortlessly, his grip firm but calculated.
“Careful, Liana,” he said softly, though his voice carried a warning. “You’re not as untouchable as you think.”
She struggled against him, her fury spilling over. “You’re out of line, Gareth,” she hissed. “You forget who I am.”
“No, Liana,” Gareth replied coolly, shoving her hand aside. “You’re the one who’s forgotten. You’re nothing but a tool to me—a means to an end.”