[Trigger Warning: physical assault, strangulation, attempted rape, self-harm, dissociation. All takes place in a flashback.
The description of physical assault starts after: 'The force knocking the breath from her as gravity won out' and ends here 'when Luna's senses returned to her'. The description of attempted rape starts after 'Taking stock of the rest of her senses' and ends here 'Steadying her breath' OR here 'Luna was so tired of everyone thinking that' to be extra safe since there's a stray sentence that might be triggering for some people. If you need to skip over these sections but want to know what takes place just leave me a comment :)
Please be safe.]
'Something scratching its way out
Something you want to forget about
No one expects you to get up
All on your own with no one around. . .'
- Little House by The Fray
When John left, the lightness seemed to flee with him. Luna watched it depart out the door as it shut. After that, the darkness closed in again.
The last day and night had left Luna's feelings in suffocating disarray. Without John to distract her, it was hard to breathe through them.
But she had to.
She had to breathe.
(for the moment, there was no other choice)
Inhaling, Luna began to take stock of her body, her physical senses: her limbs still burned with the ache of sickness but not nearly so fiercely as before; her tongue felt parched and desperate for water - that, she could remedy promptly; there was a twinge in her hand that sharpened with movement - the catheter, still firmly attached, even if the line had been removed; her skin was gritty, caked with dried sweat - some of it not so dry; her singlet clung damp in places - when she shifted the air blew across her skin, cutting a path of goosebumps; the flesh along her neck and back still raged - Luna suspected more of the blisters had opened up in the night, could feel the hiss of their sting. . .
Slowly, with each catalogue, she felt herself begin to calm. Her findings were not comfortable - many were painful - but they grounded her. Welded her to the present. Where she needed to live. Where she had to live.
Luna had never shied away from physical pain. That was a battlefield she'd been trained to walk with ease. And over the years she'd learned not just how to endure physical discomfort but how to use it.
Pain was a tool like any other.
(Raven hadn't learned that lesson. Luna was glad that she hadn't)
Eyes straying to the bedside table in search of a glass, she spied the bowl of water and crinkled facecloth resting beside it.
Well, that explained more than a few of her nightmares.
She couldn't blame Raven, considering she'd never told her about what had happened on the rig. With A.L.I.E.. Had never told anyone, in fact. Especially not any of the specifics.
Reaching for the glass, Luna grimaced at the weight of it. Only half full, it carried the mass of a giant lamprey. Her arms trembled as she took a small sip. Just to quench her thirst. She didn't want to risk encouraging her stomach to throw a tantrum again, and suspected that Abby would be forcing fresh intravenous fluids on her soon enough anyway.
Awkwardly setting the glass back down, she winced at the far too audible tap, shifting her eyes to the room's other occupant. Raven continued to drool peacefully, undisturbed by her uncharacteristic clumsiness.
Exhaling, Luna continued with her prior examination, searching her body for every hint of discomfort and unfamiliarity.
There was still so much to be found.
The first thing she noticed was her stomach. Aching inside her like a gnawing pit, growling for sustenance, though Luna was nowhere near game enough to meet its urging. Best to let it suffer for a while longer unless she wanted to become reacquainted with that bucket.
Grimacing at the thought, Luna moved on.
Her hair was tangled and knotted, torturously pulling on her skin in some areas and she didn't envy the task ahead of her when she was finally able to shower again. Tend to it.
Pursing her lips, Luna tabled the problem for later and continued.
Her neck ached, the pain nauseatingly familiar, making her skin crawl. The sensation had existed on the edge of her awareness since waking up but she'd instinctively blocked it out. Closed the door to it.
Now the door was open.
Luna closed her eyes. Took a moment to breathe again.
It didn't feel like the ache that came with too much coughing, or screaming in the night. No, this felt more like the ache that had clung to her after that day she'd run into a nomad in the woods. Larger, stronger. More well-fed.
He'd still been no match for her.
No-one ever was.
She'd been sleeping when the stranger came upon her. A dirty, foul-smelling hand slamming over her mouth as a gigantic form moved to trap her own. Luna woke with the certainty that she was years younger, that the shadow above her had robes and good intentions. That this was a test.
Instinct took over.
Luna kicked out, heard his grunt of surprise as the blow landed, felt the weakening of his grasp an instant before she rolled away. Sprang to her feet.
Luna turned to run but his reflexes were quicker. Arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her back against an unforgiving frame. Muscular. Hard.
Big.
(but she'd trained against bigger)
Luna bent forward, slamming her elbows back into his face. Once. Twice. Turning into him with the second strike, to force her knee into his groin. The arms went slack as a deep groan sounded. Luna sprang away, shoving him towards the ground where he landed in an agonized heap.
She moved to run-
Only to find her escape thwarted again as a hand seized her ankle, pulled her down. Luna struck out for a handful of dirt, twisting to throw it at his face. A grunt, and a momentary give in the painful grip on her ankle and she kicked free, lurching to her feet. He stumbled after her and Luna had only a moment to catch her breath before he was on her again.
As the trading of blows continued, it became abundantly clear that Luna had the greater skill. Hardly a surprise. No-one but a nightblood received the kind of training she'd endured. If she was willing, she could end this in three moves. Maybe less.
She could beat him.
Luna knew she could. Knew it would not be hard.
(killing never was)
Except. . . an advantage she did not.
And that advantage was the overabundance of choice. He could kill her, knock her out, deliver a wound that might later prove fatal.
Luna was limited to defensive manoeuvres alone. She couldn't kill him. Refused to kill him. Couldn't render him unconscious, either. There was no safe way to achieve that. No way that wouldn't risk lifelong damage or even death.
Her best option was to knock him to the ground. Afford herself a short window of time in which to run. Luna was a fast runner. Had always been a fast runner. And there was a village nearby. If she could get enough of a head start, she could make it.
He wouldn't dare to follow her inside.
Not on his own.
She just needed to-
A knife sliced across her cheek, too shallow to cause real damage. But that hardly mattered. Luna froze as she felt the familiar trickle of wet heat down her skin.
Saw the eyes of her opponent widen. Turn bright.
The stakes had just become a lot higher.
But she'd also received her window. Her chance.
Blinded with shock, the man momentarily ceased in movement-
And Luna struck.
Ramming her hands against his chest, she shoved him to the ground. Was already turning before she heard the thump. The sound of bones and muscle crashing into hard earth.
Luna ran.
Made it six yards before she felt something slam into her back. The force knocking the breath from her as gravity won out.
Luna collapsed under the unforgiving weight, muscles weakened from undernourishment caving easily. Her lungs were barely able to expand under the bulk of him pressing down on her, and then they struggled for a different reason. Hands wrapping around her throat, fingers driving in. Her chest burned, desperate for air as her limbs thrashed, struggling for freedom.
Luna's first thought was that he was going to kill her. Though, she couldn't guess why. What would be the advantage in that?
She had nothing to give him. No food. No supplies.
Her death would be meaningless.
(just like any other nightblood's)
Luna felt the edges of her vision start to darken. Knew she didn't have long.
Desperate, she kicked with all her strength, trying to dislodge him as her hands continued to claw at the ones around her throat. If she could just loosen his hold, just a little-
But the seconds ticked on and the darkness increased, her limbs growing heavy, weakening. Just-
And then she knew nothing.
When Luna's senses returned to her, she had no concept of how much time had passed. Darkness coated her vision, her eyelids anchored by weights, too heavy to lift. Her throat burned, though at least she could breathe now - felt air cut across bruised flesh on its way down, filling her lungs.
She could breathe.
The hands that had fastened so tightly around her throat were no longer there, had left her.
Slowly, Luna became aware of other things. Hot wetness under her, soaking her pants. It brought a flush to her cheeks, though she tried to force back the shame. Knew it was only a natural reaction to having her air cut off. Had witnessed it happen in others.
At least it gave her a frame of reference for what she'd missed. How long she'd been out. Luna thought back to one of the lectures Titus had given them. The pressure on her neck would have been maintained for at least five more seconds after she'd lost consciousness - possibly far longer - and another ten would have passed before she regained awareness. But that was only if she was being optimistic. It could have been more. Much more.
Taking stock of the rest of her senses, though, Luna felt reasonably certain she had been out less than a minute.
That was when she became aware of the hands moving over her, fumbling with her clothes. At first, she thought the man was searching for whatever possessions he assumed her to have - possessions that could have been the reason for this attack - but when those hands traveled lower, pushing aside layers of clothing to find the buckle that sealed her pants, she understood.
Blood turning hard in her veins, Luna forced herself to remain limp, harmless. She didn't know how closely he was paying attention to her body's signals, what would alert him to the threat she had once more become.
She had time. The belt was from her novitiate days, the mechanics overly complex - and there was a knack to opening it.
No holes.
Luna drew in a breath, allowing the knowledge of his intentions to recede to the edges of her mind, the agony circling her throat to dim, fade away. She was good at compartmentalizing. At thinking under pressure. Not falling apart in high-stress situations.
Her training had made sure of it.
Ignoring the frustrated fumbling of his hands, Luna chanced opening her eyes, gratified to find his own directed elsewhere. She had time. Fighting back the nausea and dizziness seeking to overwhelm her, she scanned her surroundings, searching.
His voice wrenched her eyes back, just for a second, alarm filling her chest.
Had he spotted her?
"Never had a nightblood before," the grunt was thoughtful, almost awed, and Luna clenched her jaw, bile searing her throat.
She wasn't sure she'd ever hated what she was more than in that moment.
Steadying her breath, Luna continued her search, relief shattering the lead in her veins when she caught the glint of metal, resting by the man's leg.
On the ground.
The stupidity of his overconfidence astounded her for a moment. Sharpened the contempt in her chest.
'There are some people who are too foolish to survive,' Lexa had said once, mouth curling with disdain. 'To deserve to.'
Deserve.
The word rang in Luna's mind, over and over again, for the moment it took her to reach out and seize the knife.
Titus' voice plundered through her next.
'If someone is foolish enough to underestimate you, don't let them live to regret it.'
Luna's grip tightened on the knife before she thrust out-
Plunging it into the man's arm. The one attached to the hand that had just won the fight with her belt. The hand that dared to think it had a right to her.
(Luna was so tired of everyone thinking that.
Of laying claim to her body and her life as easily as one would an object.
As though she existed solely for that purpose alone.
The needs and wants of others)
Her attacker cried out in agony, letting go.
And that was all she needed.
Within the next minute, Luna had him groaning on the ground, wrists fastened together with the belt he'd struggled so much with.
Over.
It was over.
Luna swayed on her feet, spots dancing before her eyes. It hurt to swallow. To breathe.
But at least she could stand.
It was over.
(was it?)
Luna touched her throat gingerly, feeling the tenderness - and the swelling of dismay in her chest.
She'd never experienced an injury like this before.
Who would ever have dared to touch her in such a way?
It was forbidden to strangle or perform any manoeuvre that could cut off a novitiate's airway during training. The attack was too lethal. Serious damage or even death had fallen on many who'd been victim to it. Two decades before Luna was born, healers had brought their concerns to the Commander and the law was enacted. Illegal for training between nightbloods, and strongly discouraged for others, though clans maintained the freedom to make their own rules when it came to such things.
('Only use this move if you're prepared to have a body at your feet.' Titus' dark eyes roamed the room, landing on them all one by one. Luna was last. And she didn't think it was her imagination that those eyes held hers just a little bit longer than the others. That the warning in them was just that little bit greater. 'In some situations, it is preferable not to kill an opponent. To merely subdue them. Remove them from the equation. This is one method you can use to obtain that but it is risky. You must only ever use it on an opponent whose death is acceptable - even if not preferred.')
As a child, Luna had practiced chokeholds on those without the blood, usually prisoners or volunteers. One boy, fourteen-years-old, had left a sparring session in perfect health. Two days later he was dead without explanation.
She hadn't meant to kill him.
Hadn't meant to-
A sudden rush of dizziness made her falter a moment, stumble. . .
Perhaps she would die.
Luna felt oddly numb to the possibility. Strange, considering what she'd done in the past to prevent it.
She looked down at the man's writhing form, that numbness expanding inside her.
Was this all humanity had to offer?
What it was truly made of?
The bitter disappointment ate at her heart.
The understanding that this man would have violated her without remorse turned that bitterness to contempt.
Revulsion.
Luna had thought she'd seen the worst of what people could do, thought she knew just how low humanity could sink, but. . .
Luna should kill him.
She could have killed him the moment that knife had come into her hand. Stabbed him somewhere far more vital than an arm. Every impulse inside her had begged for it. Screamed for it.
(still did)
She could have killed him in an instant.
But. . .
She'd made a vow.
And this man had already sought to take something else from her.
He would not fail in that only to take this instead.
It was all she had left.
The only thing of any real value in her.
Her promise to Sol. To herself.
It was hers. And she refused to let anyone take it.
Checking the restraints on her assailant's wrists, Luna did her best to block out the acrid stench of his breath, so close to her face. Worked even harder to forget where these hands had just been, the nails that had dug into her throat, the way they'd fumbled over her. She focused instead on the sensation of leather against her fingers, scrutinizing the strength of the seal she'd made. Turning his wrists over, she caught sight of the garish X tattooed on the back of his hand. It told her everything she needed to know.
Not just a nomad but an exile.
Pursing her lips, Luna stood back up, nearly stumbling as her vision coated in darkness a moment, limbs tingling.
(she would need to find somewhere to rest. Soon)
"You're a nightblood," the man grunted.
His voice felt like talons up and down Luna's spine and she resisted the urge to shudder. She didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to exchange a single word with him. But she also didn't want him to know the effect he had on her. To catch on to just how rattled she'd become.
Nightblood.
Was that all she was?
All anyone could see?
(it was certainly all this man could see)
Luna didn't spare him a glance. "Am I?"
The words pierced her throat like needles on their way out. His hands had certainly done their damage. Anger burned in her gut.
The inability to speak properly was just another humiliation.
Another violation.
She wondered how long it would be before she got her voice back. Wished for a matter of seconds, though knew it to be impossible. She didn't want him to hear the results of what he'd done. To feel the victory of that triumph. He didn't deserve to.
Luna pursed her lips, resolving to treat him with silence going forward.
He didn't deserve her voice at all.
Didn't deserve anything but her utter indifference.
(even if that feeling was becoming more and more of a struggle to conjure)
He is nothing. Nothing but a poorly spun together carcass of flesh and bone. A waste of the breath in his lungs.
And the only reason he gets to take that breath is because of you. Because you allow it.
He exists solely on your whim.
Now and forever.
Luna closed her eyes a moment at the conflicting chaos of feelings that turned over inside of her then. Revulsion. Comfort. Satisfaction. Triumph.
Fear.
She didn't want that kind of power. Over anyone.
(and craved it just the same. Craved the control. The thrill.
The relief)
She wanted to have power over him.
And wished that she didn't.
Wished that she was above such dark urgings. Such rotten impulses.
Wished that she was better.
Good.
But Luna knew if she killed him now, she would enjoy it. She would enjoy taking the life away from him. That thing she didn't have a right to. Should never have a right to. The same way he would have enjoyed hurting her.
Nausea rose inside her, expanding to greater heights and it took all of her strength and will to keep it at bay, to swallow the bile that threatened to spill out.
You haven't changed at all.
Taking a breath, Luna opened her eyes, resolving not to think about it. Not now.
Not now.
When Luna was six, she'd taken a knife to someone she loved for the very first time. Had felt the blood drench her hands, sprinkle her face. . . Hot and smooth. Like mare's milk. She'd felt herself recede in that moment, like a tide pulled slowly out to sea. Farther and farther. Into nothing. Her mind had stayed upon the shore, but her heart. . . that had been lost in the waves. The two hadn't joined together again until she was lying in bed that night, when a tsunami of feeling had crashed into her. She'd nearly been pulled under. Drowned.
Might have been, if Costia and Sol weren't there to hold her through the surge. Drag her to the surface.
The same thing had happened again and again as she aged. Always when she needed it most. Eventually, Luna came to look upon the separation of self as some kind of deliverance. A tool of protection, which she otherwise might not have survived without.
It came to defend her now, though she hadn't called on it. Never did.
It came and, despite the searing of in throat and the pounding in her head, Luna grew calm, numbness creeping into her bones. It smothered the humiliation and fear, fury and hurt, shame and self-loathing, burying them in the sands of her heart. There was no way to know how long they would stay buried but for now she accepted the gift. The temporary relief.
Even if it left her feeling not altogether right.
Not altogether human.
(Luna was used to feeling not altogether human)
The man opened his mouth to speak again but Luna had heard enough.
Not sparing him another glance, she turned away. Turned her back to him.
And pretended she didn't hear any of the words that came next.
For the following twenty minutes, she went about increasing the man's restraints - using his own belt to tie his legs together as well - and tending to the knife wound. If he bled out or caught an infection, that would be as good as killing him with her own hand.
But what to do with him?
Leaving him to his own devices would only ensure the pain and death of others.
Luna frowned, scrutinizing her assailant.
Now that she had the time to really look, she could make out the identifiable tattoos on his face. Trishanakru. A long way from home. Luna knew that they tended to exile those guilty of rape. Which likely explained what he'd been doing in Yujleda territory. Free to be somebody else's problem.
Her problem.
Luna sighed, the pounding in her head reaching new heights.
She was trying to think of all the variables, all the ways of reducing harm - to herself, to the man, to anyone he might hurt in the future - but her head was spinning and all she wanted to do was sleep. To lie down and forget this had ever happened.
But her life had never been that easy.
In the end, Luna sought aid from the village she'd intended to be her refuge. Enough years had passed that she was unrecognizable - especially when those years had not been kind to her. Still, she kept to the shadows, avoiding the chief - the most likely to know her face - and locating the healer instead.
(healers had found a place of trust in her heart)
He listened to her story without surprise - attacks were common in these parts, though usually it was mere thieves, primarily interested in material gain not violence for the sake of violence - and promised he would send the necessary warriors out to deal with the problem. Luna did not ask what that would entail.
Rape - or attempted rape - was not punishable by death. That was all she needed to know.
(it would be different, of course, if her true identity was known. Attacking a nightblood - in any capacity - was grounds for execution.
But the life of the girl she was pretending to be wasn't that important)
From memory, Yujleda weren't particularly tough on sexual crimes but the fact that he was an invader in their clan's territory would get him punishment enough. The healer would vouch for the burst blood vessels in her eyes and the marks on her neck - not quite visible yet, but his hands had felt out some minor swelling - and a healer's word was never brought into question.
Luna had watched as he'd instructed the nearest warriors to go out and retrieve her assailant, relaying the details of his location that she'd passed on. Watched later as those same warriors returned, the man struggling in their grip, lip busted and newly bleeding. She'd needed to wait. To see. To ensure that they'd found him. That her conscience wouldn't plague her with doubt.
She'd turned away before the man could catch sight of her. Turned her back to him. Pretending that her hair wasn't nearly as recognizable as it was.
Luna didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her.
(seeing the way he'd gotten under her skin - as hard as she tried to claw him out)
Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. The knowledge of her blood had always earned her a certain amount of respect. Today, it had sparked the very opposite.
Though, in some ways perhaps this was more honest. The man had made no secret of the fact that she existed only to fulfil his wants and needs. In that, he was no different from anyone else. The difference existed only in that he had no care to hide it. To wrap it up in decades-old tradition and present it as noble and right. Necessary.
You exist only to be taken from.
Used.
It was a truth Luna could no longer avoid, only learn how to stomach. And she would. Just as she'd learned to stomach all the others.
Swallowing, she fought to refocus on the healer - and to not shudder under his scrutiny. The way he peered at her closely, searching every inch of this foreigner who had wandered into his home. She'd covered up the cut on her cheek with some herbs, hiding the revelation of her blood from sight.
And she'd been dying her hair - the most recognizable part of her - for years now. Staining it red. Red like the blood she'd never had.
Nyko was the one who'd taught her how. Had pressed a henna plant into her hand one day as he'd moved a lock of hair back from her face, "We must hide you, little moon."
Nothing could be done for the curls, short of chopping them all off. But something in Luna had rebelled at that. Still did.
Sol had loved her hair.
(years in the future, her caution would fade. The sea and home she'd found upon it lulling her into a false sense of security. She would put the henna plant down - and not pick it up again until red of a different kind had stained her hands. Her sanctuary - her hiding place - invaded. Destroyed.
The henna offered a safety and familiarity that she craved. Clung to)
Trying to ignore the intensity of the eyes on her, Luna glanced over the healer's shoulder, unable to stop her gaze from falling on the man. She felt empty, staring into his seething face as he sat, tied to a post. Felt nothing even as her mind turned over the realization that this rotten excuse for flesh had been closer to her physically than anyone else since she was thirteen. That she would now have to live with the memory of his touch, overpowering the fading remnants of those left behind by Lincoln and Nyko.
Sol.
This man's touch flared stronger than theirs now. And Luna hated him for that most of all.
This man who was a stranger.
Would always be a stranger.
(she refused to let him be anything else)
Luna hadn't asked for his name.
Hadn't wanted to know it.
Didn't want to know anything more about him than she already did.
With any luck, his visage would fade from her memory. With any luck, he would become nothing to her. As irrelevant as the dirt she stood on. With any luck.
Luna looked away.
Back to the healer.
(she hadn't asked his name either.
Names were powerful. Names created bindings. Names kept people alive, long after they had gone.
And she didn't need any more ghosts in her life)
Done with his visual examination, the healer frowned at the darkening hand-prints on her neck, and insisted that she stay for a moment so he could tend to her. Never mind that she was not one of his village - was not even one of his clan.
(healers were all the same)
She accepted the offer with a smile but, when his back was turned, fled.
Luna knew, if she lingered too long, she would be tempted to stay.
And staying could never be an option.
People stared at her as she left, the slight stumble to her gait and foreignness of her appearance attracting attention. Luna bit the inside of her cheek, praying none of them would stare too long. Too hard.
She made it two hundred yards from the village before the battle with her stomach was lost. Grasping hold of a tree for support, she buckled, chest breaking with the effort to spew forth what little she'd managed to ingest in the last day or so. Vertigo closed in and Luna dug her fingers into the trunk, fighting against the pull of shadows and darkness.
Not now.
She needed to find somewhere to rest first. Somewhere hidden. Out of the way.
Away from everyone and everything.
Safe.
(though in all her travels she had yet to find such a place)
Gasping, Luna righted herself, pretending she didn't notice the way the trees swam in her field of vision as her stomach surged in protest.
Breathing heavily, she leant into the tree, allowing it to take her weight for a moment.
Too close.
That was too close.
She'd been trained in the most efficient ways to win a fight. To kill. Had only briefly touched on non-lethal methods of disarmament. But she was going to have to learn. One way or another. If she wanted to avoid anything like this happening again.
She couldn't rely on anyone else's help or protection. Nor could she resort to the methods of defense that came most naturally to her.
She was on her own. And if she wanted to preserve the life she'd paid for with her brother's blood, she was going to have to adapt to that.
You're all you've got now.
All you'll ever have again.
Act like it.
Luna drew in a shaky breath, fingers digging into the bark under her skin. It scraped at her flesh, though she barely felt it. Or the resulting sting when that flesh finally tore.
It did anchor her to the moment, though. Cowed the last of the shadows into a retreat. Still, her legs felt no steadier, muscles trembling with the burden of her weight, so she kept hold of the tree.
Just in case.
She could rest for a little while. Just until her stomach stopped churning. She could rest for a little while.
Luna closed her eyes.
A branch snapped in the distance.
Flinching, she swung around - and nearly lost her balance in the process.
A deer shot out of the thicket, startled by her sudden movement, and sprinted away. Out of sight.
Luna swallowed.
Just a deer.
But it might not have been.
Just a deer.
But it could have been another nomad. Could have been a Fleimkepa. Or Azgeda.
They'd been tracking her for moons. Drawing closer with each fading crescent. Whispers of their prince abounded in every territory she passed through.
(Queen Nia didn't like to be kept wanting)
It was just a deer but next time it wouldn't be.
She couldn't rest.
That was alright. Rest was for the dead, anyway.
And that was a peace Luna had yet to earn.
Taking a breath, feeling the cutting force of air across her throat, she let go of the tree.
The sting of flesh under the pads of her fingers drew her back to the present.
Luna frowned. She hadn't thought of that day in so long. But last night, she'd dreamt of it. Had dreamt of a lot of things.
Too many things.
She'd never forgotten the face of the man who attacked her. Never forgotten the feeling of hands around her throat, the incredible pain of trapped air in her lungs. The suffocating powerlessness of that moment.
The moment before her limbs stopped struggling, and the darkness consumed her.
The fact that she'd lost control of her bodily functions had only compounded that feeling of powerlessness. It had taken months to get the stench out of her clothes. The smell a constant reminder of what had happened.
Still, she'd let him live.
Luna had been merciful that day. And she didn't regret it. Could only hope that he'd made use of that mercy. That he'd changed. That he'd never gone on to hurt another.
A fool's hope. After all, even Luna hadn't been able to change. For all her promises, all her good intentions, she'd still gone on to hurt. To kill.
And unlike the man who'd attacked her, she'd actually possessed the desire to change.
But his fate wasn't her responsibility. Shouldn't have to be. Just because she'd been unlucky enough to be chosen for his next victim. The same way she shouldn't have to take the Flame, or sell her soul and her life for her people just because she was unlucky enough to be born with black in her veins.
She was allowed to walk away.
She was allowed to walk away.
And Luna had known, staring down at that pathetic excuse for a man, that to swipe a blade across the thread of his life would destroy her. Would break the tenuous grip she still had on reality. Make her plummet down into the depths of despair.
And his death wasn't worth that.
Wasn't worth breaking her vow.
No killing. Not ever again.
Whatever the reason.
Adria. . .
Luna closed her eyes, driving back the memory of cracking bone, a knife in her hand, that last sigh before death.
She focused on the memory of the man instead. The man she hadn't killed.
Luna knew she'd been lucky. So lucky. Though it hadn't felt that way at the time.
If she'd taken longer to come to, if she'd been just a little more disoriented, a little more injured, if there hadn't been a knife, if he hadn't been distracted, if she hadn't had so much training. . .
Things would have gone very differently.
Very differently.
She'd had far too many nightmares in which they did. Though, most of her nightmares about that day centered on the painful pressure around her throat, the struggle to breathe. In her nightmares, she choked again and again. Sometimes she woke up. Sometimes she didn't.
But the world was always darker when she did. Changed.
They were still better than the nightmares of her Conclave. Still better than the nightmares of her training. Of the blood that she'd spilled. The nightmares that weren't really nightmares at all - but instead thrilling dreams. Intoxicatingly heady.
They were still better.
But not by much.
(she'd rather not have nightmares at all)
That man had only been a passing horror in her life, present for less than a day, but his touch had lingered. The harm he'd done lived on in her dreams; in the way she sometimes flinched when hands got too close to her throat; or the panic that seized her when she opened her eyes and found she wasn't alone.
The inexplicable nausea the first time she'd recognized desire in someone's eyes after that day, even when she'd felt it reflected in herself. Even when she'd returned it.
Luna hated him for that. For poisoning something so pure. So right.
Luna would never know for certain if rape had been his intention from the beginning, or if the realization that she was a nightblood had changed his course. But she'd seen the hunger in his eyes when he'd said that word. Could imagine the novelty of such an experience must have been intoxicating.
What was worse?
To be wanted for her body, or her blood?
(the latter.
always the latter)
Or perhaps that distinction didn't even exist. Not for her. In the end, he'd wanted her for her blood as well.
Wanted to conquer her. Claim her. Possess her.
Wanted the thrill of 'having' a nightblood.
The ego boost.
Luna's stomach turned as she remembered the potent excitement in his eyes, the hunger.
She'd never felt less like a person than in that moment.
But she had felt shadows of it over the years since. Felt shadows of it on this very island. In the touch of a healer that was colder than any other; in the wary gaze of Lexa's lover; and the watchful eyes of a king; in the way Miller's hand had reached for the gun at his waist one morning when he'd seen her journeying away from the lab. He hadn't touched it, hadn't pulled it free, but the impulse had been there. The willingness.
This island was full of shadows.
And now her throat burned with memory. With the past.
(if Luna could go the rest of her life without anyone wanting her, she would)
Sighing, she felt around her neck absentmindedly, expecting to find skin unblemished but for the encroaching path of a rash. Luna stilled at the tenderness, at the spots of raised flesh, stinging beneath her fingers.
Her confusion was shattered when she noticed something else. An emptiness.
Something missing.
No.
Eyes widening, Luna felt along her throat, her chest, reached up into her hair - just in case.
It was gone.
Swallowing, trying to calm the pounding in her chest, she looked around. The necklace could not be far. It had been there last night. She remembered it being there last night. And she had not left this room.
It was here.
It had to be.
(but what if it wasn't?)
Luna's thoughts were interrupted by a groan and she whipped her head around to see Raven stirring.
Drew a breath.
Later. She would look for it later.
At the moment, Luna wasn't sure she even had the strength to rise from this bed. Though, she felt better. Rested. And she no longer had the overwhelming urge to dive for a bucket, even if the nausea was still in full effect.
Maybe-
Luna tried to sit up, just to test. But her limbs trembled at the demand, caving in seconds.
Yes. It would have to be later.
A knock on the door only confirmed it.
A/N: So for a long time I wasn't sure if I was actually going to include this chapter. But now that I've written so far ahead, it feels too important to Luna's character and certain aspects of her story and later scenes to discard it (in that vein, the events of this chapter will be addressed more later on in this fic. I've written the draft for the chapters but it'll be a while before we reach them)
It's one of my pet peeves - whether by strangulation or blunt force to the head - that media will show characters knocking people out like it's some harmless non lethal way of subduing someone. What Roan did to Luna could have killed her. People have died months or even years after being suffocated due to complications, especially if they passed out. They can suffer damage to various parts of the throat or brain. It can also be incredibly traumatizing.
One reason I was hesitant to write this chapter is because Luna fights back and is able to stop the assault. For most people, this doesn't happen. Even for those who have the strength and skill, it's incredibly common to freeze. To not fight. That's a natural reaction. When I was sexually assaulted, I froze. Didn't unfreeze until it was over and he was gone. There is nothing wrong with you if you don't fight back or even say no. And of course most predators aren't strangers that spring upon you out of nowhere. Most of them are our friends and family members. Colleagues and classmates. People we know.
Now, on to Luna's guilt around wanting to hurt/kill her attacker and her decision not to. Wanting revenge/punishment/justice, etc. Is an entirely valid response and it tends to be the one we see most often depicted in media. But I also wanted to make a space for another response which is also common. The one where you just don't want to deal with the assailant in any capacity. You don't want to think about them, you don't want to deal with them. You just want to move on. Luna is sort of a mix of the two. Her first instinct is to kill him but her vow prevents her from doing that. So then she develops into the second.
I just think it's always important to remember that there's no right response to sexual assault, or indeed trauma of any kind. Everyone is going to react differently and need different things. Everyone is an individual. We need to get rid of the idea that people will behave in one way or even a handful of ways because that idea is used to harm survivors and discredit them. If you don't fit people's expectations, then you mustn't be telling the truth. Luna does what's right for her and her very specific circumstances and everyone should be allowed that.
P.S. this chapter is in no way a commentary on whether or not it's wrong to kill rapists (I don't think that's personally something I'm capable of answering, I have far too many conflicting opinions to actually form one that's solid enough to share on this subject, so I just go with what the characters believe). Though I am against the Death Penalty (no matter what crime) because far too many innocent people have ended up executed and the system will never be perfect enough to eliminate this risk.
). Choosing not to kill the man who attacked her is very specific to Luna and her own thoughts and feelings. I've sort of been trying to explore in some of these flashbacks what the limits of Luna's vow are. We know that she'll break it to save the life of a child - but not to save herself from torture - and I was interested in whether she'd break it when faced with murderers, abusers or rapists, or someone who actually hurts her. And I don't think she would. At least, not at this point in her life.
