Everything was so complicated and confusing. Moonreaper missed her simple life and her mother. She didn’t know her mother’s name but the other goblins in the village had called her meat. Moonreaper hadn’t gotten a name from them at all. She’d been dubbed nameless.
When she’d slaughtered them all it had been a full moon and she’d taken the name Moonreaper. It was her reminder that she was worse than a goblin. She was darker and more ferocious than a goblin horde. It wasn’t upsetting to her. She knew who and what she was.
It confused her that her tribe and Jace and Jaskier weren’t scared of her but it was probably just another thing that couldn’t be explained. She’d been forged in abuse and hatred so pain was her constant companion.
She knew what it was like to live every day of your life waiting for someone to hurt you. She knew what it was to lie and kill to save yourself. She was no better than an animal but that was fine, animals didn’t hurt each other for fun.
All she could think about most days was scraps of bloodied fabric and tufts of soft pink hair. There had been bits of seafoam green flesh and bits of blood and meat.
The chickens let her think of her mother singing as she crafted the goblin wine. It was where she’d learned to make it. Flower had fed and taken care of the chickens while her mother crafted the wine. Both of them had hummed softly while they worked, never getting high enough for even the wind to carry.
Music had been forbidden among their clan. Laughter about anything other than a kill or pain had been forbidden too. Cooking was one more thing they weren’t allowed to do. Goblins were meant to eat their food raw. Fire was entirely forbidden.
She could make fire at will now though. One more thing that meant she wasn’t a goblin. When she’d ripped and torn through anything standing in her way it had been a full moon so she’d chosen the name Moonreaper as she’d spoken to the man that had come looking for a goblin. It had been a red moon. It felt right.
She’d been the hand of the reaper that night and the soil ran red with blood. She’d entirely killed Flower in that moment. She still wasn’t sure why she’d told the others what her mother had called her. The name was dead along with the person. She liked killing. It was part of who she was. Being an animal was easier.
She stopped sharpening her cleaver and walked the grounds of Essie’s sanctuary. The others could sleep easy and she’d make sure they were safe. Her tribe wouldn’t be hurt again.
