After My Family Destroyed Me, I Returned as the Moon Wolf Queen

The machine whirred to life, sending a violent jolt of electricity straight through my skull.

I screamed, thrashing against the leather straps.

"Hold her steady," the doctor instructed the nurse. "The projection is starting."

A blinding white light erupted from the metal nodes at my temples. The sterile walls of the operating room vanished, replaced by a massive, flickering hologram that hovered above my body.

The memory played out for everyone to see.

"Look closely, little bird," a cloaked stranger whispered.

The projection showed my younger self crouching in the dirt of the estate grounds.

"These mushrooms are too tiny," my younger self complained, poking the ground with a stick. "You promised big ones."

"And I keep my promises," the stranger murmured, his tone soft and coaxing. "There are bigger, prettier mushrooms in the forest far away."

"Mother says I shouldn't cross the line," the tiny version of me argued.

The stranger pointed a gloved finger toward the glowing magical boundary of the castle. "Does your mother know about the glowing caps? The ones that shine like stars?"

"No."

"Then it will be our secret," the stranger said. "But you have to leave the castle's barrier first. Will you come?"

My younger self nodded. She reached out, placing her small fingers into his palm. Together, they stepped through the shimmering ward, leaving the safety of the estate behind.

"That proves nothing," Lucien's voice cut through the haze in the operating room. "Show the rest. Show what she did to Seraphina."

The doctor twisted a dial.

Agony ripped through my brain. The projection warped, fast-forwarding through a year of darkness and torment, finally settling on a rainy afternoon.

The heavy iron gates of the Veyne estate loomed overhead.

"Let me in!" I screamed in the memory, banging my bruised, filthy fists against the thick wood. "I live here! I am Elara Veyne!"

A guard shoved me backward. I hit the cobblestones hard.

"Get lost, beggar," the guard snarled. "The Duke has no rat-faced daughters."

"Look at my eyes!" I pleaded, wiping mud from my cheeks. "They are the Veyne blue!"

"They are mud-brown from the filth on your face. Get out of here."

"Please!" I begged, tears carving clean lines down my dirty face. "I want my mother! I want my father!"

"I said, leave!" The guard raised his heavy boot.

"Halt!" a booming voice commanded.

Duke Alistair strode through the courtyard. He stopped short, staring down at my ragged clothes and hollow cheeks.

"Father," I whimpered.

He dropped to one knee, heedless of the mud staining his trousers. His hands grabbed my frail shoulders.

"Elara?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"It's me," I sobbed.

Alistair pulled me tightly against his chest. "You will once again be the only princess here," he vowed loudly, making sure the stunned guards heard every word. "No one will ever look down on you again. I swear it."

In the present, I turned my head slightly against the cold steel table. My father stood in the corner of the room, his jaw clenched tight. He refused to look at the screen. He refused to watch his own broken promise play out.

The machine buzzed louder. The pain escalated to a blinding throb, forcing the memory to shift again.

The grand parlor materialized above me.

I stood in the center of the room, scrubbed clean, wearing a stiff new gown that felt entirely foreign against my skin.

Duchess Evelyn patted the shoulder of a blonde girl standing beside her.

"Elara, this is Seraphina," my mother said gently. "We adopted her after you went missing."

"Hello," I said, offering a hesitant, hopeful smile.

"Welcome home, sister," Seraphina replied.

But as the projection magnified the scene, the machine caught a truth I had completely missed back then. For a fraction of a second, Seraphina's smile dropped. Her eyes narrowed. Pure, unadulterated jealousy flashed across her delicate features before she buried it behind a sweet facade.

"She has been a great comfort to us," Evelyn continued, turning toward the tall boy standing by the window. "But since you have returned, the betrothal naturally reverts to you."

Lucien stepped forward. He closed the distance between us and took both of my hands in his.

"You are back," Lucien said softly.

"I am," I whispered.

"I will make up for everything you missed," he promised, kissing my knuckles. "I will make you a true princess again. We will have the wedding we always dreamed of."

My past self beamed, her heart full of naive hope.

The projection flickered.

I forced my heavy eyelids open. Lucien stood near the operating table, his eyes locked on the fading image of his younger self.

His rigid posture faltered. A flash of hesitation crossed his sharp features. His lips parted slightly as he stared at the screen, a strange, dazed look washing over his face.

Did he remember that day? Did he feel the weight of the lies he had fed me?

"Lucien," I gasped, the leather straps digging into my bleeding wrists. "You promised me."

He blinked. The vulnerability vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of cold fury.

"Push the machine further," he ordered the doctor. "Find the poison. Find where she hid it."

"I didn't do it," I choked out.

"Turn the dial," Lucien snapped.

"Lord Ashford, the neural pathways are overheating," the doctor warned, his hands hovering over the control panel.

"Do it."

The doctor twisted the knob.

A spike of pure electricity shot straight into my brain.

My spine arched off the steel table. A scream tore from my throat, loud enough to rattle the surgical trays.

The projection shattered into violent static.

Black spots danced across my vision. The hum of the machine grew deafening, drowning out the frantic beeping of the heart monitors.

"Stop!" the doctor shouted. He slammed his hand onto the main switch, killing the power.

The metal nodes sparked against my temples. I collapsed flat onto the table, my limbs going entirely numb.

"What are you doing?" Lucien demanded.

"The neural strain is too high," the doctor argued, ripping the wires from my head. "Her heart rate is crashing."

"Restart the extraction."

"I cannot, Lord Ashford," the doctor stated grimly. "If we probe any deeper right now, she will die. Her brain is hemorrhaging."

The room spun. My breathing turned shallow, each inhale tasting like copper.

I turned my heavy head toward Lucien.

He stared down at my limp body. Silence stretched between us. I waited for a sliver of mercy. I waited for the boy who had kissed my hands in the grand parlor.

"Then lock her up," Lucien finally said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.

A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

"Throw her in the dungeons," he continued, turning his back on me. "We will continue the extraction when she recovers a bit."

The darkness pulled me under, wrapping my mind in a suffocating embrace. But as my eyes closed, one chilling truth remained clear. Next time they turned that machine on, I wouldn't survive it.