Page 47 of Of Shadow and Moon

It strikes me how similar we are, two people trapped by duty, bound by survival, each of us holding onto walls built from necessity, not choice.

I sigh, the weight of suspicion heavy on my chest, before asking, “Are you just using this as an excuse to get close to me and gather intel for your father?” My voice is steady, but the words feel sharp, cutting through the fragile tension between us.

She sighs too, mirroring my weariness. Her expression is calm, as though she’s been expecting this question all along. “I won’t lie to you and tell you that I can’t give him something,” she admits, her tone even and unflinching. “But I can give you a witch’s word that I won’t betray you.”

Then without hesitation, she begins to whisper a spell. The syllables are soft, lilting, and I can feel the power inthem before I even see its effect. The air around us shifts as she speaks, vibrating with her magic.

And then it happens. A dazzling burst of color and light explodes above us, brilliant and mesmerizing, like a private firework display. The sparks drift downward, shimmering like confetti as they settle over us, melting into my skin with a gentle warmth. It feels…safe. Comforting. Like the kind of reassurance words alone could never provide.

I stare at her, dumbfounded. She didn’t just make a promise; she made it binding. The magic she unleashed seals her words, making them unbreakable. If she ever dared to betray me, the spell itself would consume her. I can’t help but feel the enormity of what she’s just done.

She lets out a low, quiet laugh, shaking her head as though amused by my shock. For the first time, there’s a glimpse of something real between us, genuine warmth, not forced or layered with hostility.

It’s strange, almost surreal, to realize that the girl I once thought of as my archnemesis could somehow become… well, not quite a friend yet, but something closer than I expected.

“I want a friend, Selestina,” she says softly. Her voice falters slightly, the softness to her voice, a sound I haven’t heard once since arriving here. “And I think today made me realize we do work well together. And…” She pauses, swallowing hard before continuing, her courage visibly steeling itself. “And it made me realize, for the first time, that we could really be friends. You won’t placate me, you’ll challenge me. I know you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Her honesty feels startling and raw. I nod, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. “I could really use a friend,” I reply.

As she looks at me, there’s a new light in her eyes,cautious but hopeful, as if she’s just as surprised by this connection as I am. I realize, with a hint of surprise, that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of a friendship. Most likely a toxic one if you go by our great andunstubbornpersonalities. I almost giggle at my own joke.

“Should we head to the party?” Nasarea’s voice cuts through the quiet, breaking my focus.

I wince, already bracing for the argument I know is coming. “I wasn’t planning on going,” I reply flatly.

Nasarea’s jaw drops, her expression equal parts shock and exasperation. “Are you kidding me? This istheparty of the year! Youhaveto go!” she insists, as though I’ve committed some kind of social crime by suggesting otherwise.

I level her with a deadpan look. “You hate people. Why would you want to go to a party full of them?”

She rolls her eyes so dramatically I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “Becauseeveryoneis going,” she says, as if that’s the most obvious answer in the world. “We can’t be the only students who don’t go. Then you would really be on people's radar.” Giving me a pointed look that screamsidiot, as she marches over to my closet.

She throws open the doors and rifles through the sparse collection of clothes, only to find what I already know. “Ugh.” She clucks in disapproval, stepping back as though offended. “You don’t have anything to wear.”

“That’s kind of the point,” I mutter.

She ignores me, snapping her fingers like she’s solved the riddle of the universe. “It’s fine. You can just borrow one of my dresses.”

I arch an eyebrow at her. “You are literally three sizes smaller than me. How’s that supposed to work?”

“Stop being so dramatic, Selestina,” she says, wavingoff my objection like it’s irrelevant. “I have theperfectdress for you.” She dives into her own closet with the intensity of a warrior preparing for battle. After a moment, she emerges triumphantly, holding a piece of fabric that looks suspiciously smaller than my thigh. The black material gleams as she scrunches it up and tosses it in my direction.

“Go change,” she orders .

I catch it midair, glaring at her. “I’m going to change because Idecidedto, not because you just told me to,” I grumble, heading toward the bathroom. Behind me, I hear her mutter something about my stubbornness and how I’m a stupid bitch, but I ignore her.

Once inside, I hold up the dress. If you can even call it that. The sleek black fabric looks like it belongs in the wardrobe of someone far more daring than me. With a sigh, I slip it on, bracing myself for disappointment.

To my utter surprise, the dress hugs my curves perfectly, as if it was made for me. It’s short—reallyshort—and exposes far more skin than I’m comfortable with. My scars, usually hidden under layers of fabric, are glaringly visible.

I stand in front of the mirror, torn. Part of me wants to rip it off and throw on leggings and a long sleeve sweater, but another part, the part I hate to admit exists, thinks I might actually look… good.

Just as I decide to take it off, the bathroom door bursts open, and Nasarea barrels in like a tornado.

“Holy shit, girl! It’sperfect!” she shrieks, her eyes lighting up.

“What?” I stammer, flustered. “It barely covers my butt!”

“And that’s exactly why it’s perfect!” she declares,grinning mischievously. Her excitement is so contagious it almost convinces me. Almost.

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