iii. BORN UNDER THE OLD MOON.
THE WARDEN'S WHISPER: The old moon ascends over Hemlock Grove like a promise, pale and knowing. Beasts begin to stir beneath root and bone. Magic stirs, restless and bruised. Envy slips beneath innocent skin like frost through cracks. And love—wretched and yearning—lunges for what it once lost, chasing the ghost of a happy ending.
A SHADOW'S CAUTION: english is not my first language, so i apologize in advance for any grammatical errors. please feel free to reach out to me via DM if something is misspelled. mentions of murder, quiet intensity. repressed emotions. magical burnout.
HEMLOCK GROVE, PENNSYLVANIA.
Y/N sat quietly on the bleachers, her gaze soft and focused as she watched people on the field. Her bright eyes flicked upward as Peter Rumancek rounded the corner, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, hair unkempt, eyes sharp despite the slouch in his posture.
She was caught in the space between words—like the faint scent of rain on concrete. She knew the moment she saw him… it was a thread of his magic, the one that allowed him to change in full moons. Rough and Wild. Raw and untamed. It clung to him, but not like sweat or fear, more like a heartbeat pressed too close to the veil.
The blue-eyed boy climbed the steps until he reached a spot in front of her, his back to her. A tense silence fell between them. The wind stirred the girl's long hair, brushing it into her face before she tucked it behind her ear with irritation.
Peter's scent filled her senses, something like ash and pine… like full moons and old promises. She blinked hard, struggling to maintain her composure.
“He doesn’t know.” A whisper. Low, composed. Peter snorted, instinct prickling on his neck, something in her magic shifted. “I saw you staring at him after first period… and I know what you are.”
Her amber eyes gazed at the sky —as like it had been whispering a secret to her.
Cloudy. Gray. Conflicted.
“Didn’t know you could speak.” Rumancek muttered, knowing she was waiting for him to turn around.
Peter lifted his chin slightly, something flickering in his expression—surprise? Concern?
“He has an idea, maybe. But he’s not completely certain yet.” The witch retorted, ignoring his words.
“Why do you care? At some point, your brother will rip his head off either way. You don’t even look in his direction.” She should’ve flinched at his words, denied it. Instead, she looked past him, to the treeline beyond the schoolyard. “And yet, it’s like you protect him in silence.”
His voice was gentler now, less guarded.
Y/N's jaw tightened. “Ael is complicated, but he’s not a murderer.” Her voice broke slightly at the edges, but she steadied herself.
Ah, there it was. She didn’t deny it. Peter finally turned around, looking at her, lowering his voice.
“He will know his true nature. You already know yours… I know mine.” His eyes pierced hers. “The real question is: are you ready to protect him from your brother, or worse—himself?”
Y/N looked up at him, bitterly. For a moment, neither spoke. The trees behind her groaned faintly as the wind picked up.
The wind grew stronger… and angry.
Somewhere on the field, Roman Godfrey had been standing for a while, holding a conversation with a girl. His eyes tracked Rumancek speaking with the younger Darkhaven.
His jaw clenched. His eyes darkened. Grasping the back of the brunette’s head, his lips crashing to hers.
Bare feet stepped onto the cold stone floor of the Darkhaven greenhouse, sunlight shining through the windows, painting golden patterns across the twins’ faces. Y/N smiled softly, sitting in front of them on the floor, her black skirt between her legs. Her sleeves were rolled up, fingers smudged with charcoal and ash. Gael was arguing with a jar of moon salt that refused to open, while Gaia tried to coax a patch of forget-me-nots to dance in their pot.
“Focus.” Y/N murmured, not looking up. “You’re feeding the plant too much emotion. I can feel it from a mile away.”
“But I’m happy.” Gaia whined.
Y/N sighed. “Then it’s going to bloom until it burns itself out.”
The flower burst suddenly—color spiraling into silver mist—then vanished. Gaia frowned.
“Told you.” Y/N whispered, looking up. “Let’s try again, shall we?” She stood, taking three clay pots and placing them on the floor.
“Why three?” Gael asked, still wrestling with the jar.
“Well… you two are going to bloom a flower each, and then you’re going to bloom one together.”
Gael looked up, her hazel eyes shyly meeting her sister’s.
“It’ll be alright.” Y/N reassured her, kneeling and kissing her temple.
Gaia sighed, closing her eyes this time. A deep breath escaped her as she placed her little hands on either side of the clay pot. Gael watched in silence, focusing her energy on her sister—innocent and powerful. Something stirred inside her.
Gael was channeling Gaia, lending her control. Gael, the composed, controlled, and quiet one. But exceptional. Gaia was fiercely talented, yet her magic was chaotic, clumsy, and at times devastating.
In the center sat a single dormant lily bulb, nestled in a shallow dish of earth. It looked simple—fragile, even—but Y/N’s magic pulsed beneath it like a heartbeat waiting to wake.
“Gaia…” The older Darkhaven murmured, softer now, smoothing the child’s curls with a stained fingertip. “You don’t force it. You invite it.”
Gaia furrowed her brow, tiny hands hovering above the bulb. “But I want it to grow now.”
She chuckled softly, sitting behind her and brushing a thumb across her wrist to steady her. “Magic is like a breath, sweet girl. If you hold it too tight, it dies. Let it move through you.”
Gael, sitting cross-legged beside her sister, studied her sister intently. “Does it hurt the flower?” she asked quietly.
Y/N paused, then smiled, eyes glinting with love. “Not if your heart is kind.”
She reached between them and pressed her hands lightly to the earth on either side of the bulb. “Watch me.”
The earth shimmered. Slowly, the bulb trembled. A green shoot pushed upward, unfolding into a long, slender stalk. At its peak, the petals bloomed—a lily of impossible violet, its center pulsing faintly with light, like it had a soul of its own.
Gaia gasped. Gael reached out instinctively, then pulled back.
“Now.” Y/N said gently, turning to them. “Try it. Together.”
The twins reached forward, their small hands brushing the soil. Y/N placed her fingers over theirs.
“Close your eyes. Breathe in. Imagine the roots wrapping around your bones. The petals unfolding inside your chest.”
A few seconds passed. The air shimmered again—this time, subtly. A second bulb, nearby, gave a soft twitch. It cracked open. A sprout. Tiny, clumsy—but alive.
The twins were good. Mischievous, but bright. Too bright. The magic ran deeper in them than anyone expected. They opened their eyes at once and let out identical gasps of delight. The sprout leaned toward their sister’s lily like it knew who had called it forth—and who would protect it.
Her smile was proud, but quiet.
“Well done, my blooms.” she whispered, kissing the tops of their heads. “The earth heard you.”
Gaia turned to her, eyes wide. “Will it always listen?”
Y/N’s gaze grew distant, sorrow brushing its edges. “No,” she answered softly. “but if your heart stays gentle, it will remember you.”
The twins nodded, standing and brushing off their hands. Gael rushed to the front of the apothecary at the sound of the bell. Gaia followed, smiling. She stood, washed her hands, and joined them—only to find them in conversation with none other than Roman Godfrey. The lights were dim. Shelves towered around him, crowded with jars labeled in Y/N’s script: Nightshade, Belladonna, Mugwort. The air shimmered faintly, like the room was breathing.
Like he brought it to life.
“Hi, how can I help you today?” The witch murmured, ignoring the twins’ animated chatter with the brunette in front of her.
“He wants bath salts, preferably in shea butter and almond oil.” Gaia said, moving through the shop with clumsy but determined steps.
“I feel like eucalyptus and peppermint suit you better.” Gael whispered, eyeing him. “Clean, sharp, and unsettlingly alluring.”
Roman didn’t answer right away.
The peppermint was biting, cold and precise, like the edge of his smile or the way his green eyes cut through a lie. Gael’s words brought a strange clarity, a tension that made Y/N’s skin tingle. Roman Godfrey hated liars. But it was the eucalyptus that lingered in her mind—cool, mentholic, with something medicinal beneath. It reminded her of something ancient. Dangerous, masked as healing. Intoxicating. Unnerving. She blinked, trying to shake the shiver down her spine. Of course, eucalyptus and peppermint suited him. They didn’t just suit him—they warned you.
“Eucalyptus and peppermint it’ll be, then.” Roman agreed, his green eyes locked on hers.
Y/N swallowed hard. She wanted to crawl out of her body or vanish into the floor.
He looked at her—for the first time, she didn’t seem unapproachable. A blush ghosted across her face. Curls wild. Sleeves rolled. A faint smear of charcoal on her cheek.
She looked beautiful. Human. Too human. Too real.
The door creaked behind them as a gust of wind slipped in—though no one had touched it. The lights flickered, then steadied. Gael grabbed a green-tinted glass, filled with salt like frost and crushed mint leaves. She placed it on the counter—standing on a stool to reach—snapping Roman out of his trance.
Gaia tilted her head at him. “You smell like smoke and doubt.”
“And grief.” added Gael with a faint smile. “That’s new.”
Roman blinked. “You two always like this?”
“They’re honest.” Their sister murmured, gently pulling a half-filled jar away from Gael before it toppled. “And very attuned. Comes with the bloodline.”
Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully as he approached the counter.
“Eucalyptus and peppermint. I heard it helps… calm things down.”
Something flickered in her eyes—recognition, maybe even pity. “It helps with tension.” she corrected softly. “Muscle aches. Headaches. Nightmares.”
She was different when Baelor wasn’t around. Softer. He shivered at the memory of the girl who once laughed at his jokes. Her gentle voice… for a moment, he could’ve sworn it was her again. Roman watched her closely. The way her hands moved—slow, steady.
“You never used to smell like eucalyptus.” The words slipped from her lips, handing him the pouch.
“You never used to look at me like I was a stranger.”
“People change. Six dollars.”
He brushed her fingers on purpose as he took it. Her hand flinched—but she didn’t pull away. “I’m still me.” he murmured.
She looked at him—long and slow. “Then why do you feel so cold?”
Roman left twenty dollars on the counter and walked out. His absence filled the space. The air felt colder where he'd stood, like his presence had taken the warmth with it. And still, the trace of expensive cologne, smoke, and doubt lingered. But even that was
already fading from the apothecary.
Y/N sighed. “Let’s go home.”
She unlocked the car, seeing how the twins rushed to it. She locked up, her fingers stiff from grinding herbs. The Closed Until Tomorrow, Blessed Be. sign rocked faintly in the wind. She didn’t rush. She let the night breathe around her before buckling the twins in. Gael was already halfway asleep in her car seat. Gaia hummed a spell-turned-lullaby. The engine purred. The seat warmers clicked on. Piano music crackled softly on the radio.
Hemlock Grove slipped past like a memory.
Darkhaven Manor appeared around the bend, nestled at the forest’s edge like something out of a half-remembered story. A single candle flickered in the upstairs window—lit before she left—a silent promise: Come back safe. The gray gates creaked open just in time.
Y/N parked gently, killed the engine, and stepped out into the cold night. The air smelled of pine and winter. She opened the back door quietly, first lifting Gael, then Gaia—both warm and boneless with sleep, their breath soft against her shoulder.
Inside, the house creaked around her like it knew them. Boots off. Coats peeled away.
Nana’s voice filled the room. Y/N only nodded.
She carried them upstairs, the floorboards groaning gently beneath her steps. Opening the door to her room, she placed the twins in bed—soft, careful. They stirred but didn’t open their eyes. Y/N headed to the bathroom, taking a long, hot shower. Letting the steam draw the tension out of her spine, let the water rinse away the ache behind her eyes.
When she returned, dressed in fresh pajamas, the room was still quiet. The twins were tucked in neatly now, soft pajama fabric slid over sleepy limbs.
Their mother had been here. She stood still for a moment longer, watching them breathe. Two small chests rising and falling in the amber light. Two hearts she would burn the world to protect.
She moved like a shadow through the house.
And finally, she let herself sink into her bed, the weight of the night settling over her like a familiar cloak. Outside, the trees whispered. And for the first time in what felt like days—she let herself rest.
Later that night, the door creaked open without a knock. Neven Darkhaven stepped into the room like he always did—silent, tall, wrapped in quiet concern. The lights were low. Moonlight spilled across the room in pale bands, brushing over tangled sheets and the soft curve of three bodies sleeping.
Y/N lay in the center of the bed—One arm curled around Gael. The other barely resting against Gaia’s leg, where she’d curled at the foot. A book—one she’d been reading to the twins for months—wasn’t in the bed tonight. It rested inside the nightstand, its spine bent, pages slightly wrinkled.
Loved too hard for too long.
Neven didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He just looked at her.
She looked like Gabrielle had when she was young—fierce even in sleep, protective to the bone, far too tired for her age. There was a line between her brows, like she was bracing for something even in dreams.
He pulled the quilt gently over all three of them. Pressed a kiss to his daughter’s hair. Watched her twitch faintly in her sleep, like a breath caught too sharp.
“Light one above her.” he murmured to the air. A soft golden charm ignited and floated above the bed like a glowing ember.
Protection. Peace. Sleep.
Then he stepped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He made his way to his study, where he knew his firstborn was waiting.
Outside, the wind howled. Something was coming. And the Old Moon would rise again soon.
📜✍🏻: AAAAAAAAAAAAA, finally an interaction from Y/N and Roman. the tension is rising—slowly, but it's definitely there. who do you think Roman's gonna run into next? our dear and sexy Baelor... or Y/N? guess we'll find out in the next chapter. thank you for reading, liking and commenting —it genuinely gives me the thrill to keep posting and writing saudade. see ya around, my lovelies. 😈🪬🔮
💌: under the old moon: @kikibit @melancuntly @ch404 @vadersangel @rottingpink @voidofsunlight @a-differentbrandof-beans 🕯️🤎
