Last Moon: Rebirth, Love, and the Werewolf Rockstar

"Have you ever had any regrets in your life?"

The question pierced through the stillness, catching Mizuki completely off guard. Her heart skipped a beat, a sudden lurch in her chest, and for a moment, she simply blinked in stunned silence, as though the universe had suddenly shifted. The weight of the question pressed down on her, a heavy stone settling in the pit of her stomach, forcing her to confront the very thing she had tried to avoid.

Regrets. The word felt like a stone sinking deep in her chest, pulling her down into the murky depths of her past. Had she ever had regrets? Of course, she had. Regrets she'd buried deep within her, each one sharper than the last, each one a tiny shard of glass lodged in her heart. In fact, her final day on Earth had been spent drowning in them, the bitter taste of what-ifs coating her tongue.

Her childhood had seemed perfect—or so she had believed. Raised in the cocoon of wealth and privilege as the only child of two adoring parents, Mizuki had never known a day without love or comfort. She had been the center of their world, the embodiment of their dreams, their little princess. Her life had felt unshakable, as if the world outside her bubble didn't exist, a carefully curated illusion of happiness. She remembered the lavish birthday parties, the designer clothes, the endless stream of books and toys. Her parents had doted on her, showering her with affection and shielding her from any hint of hardship. They had painted a picture of a perfect life, and she, in her naivete, had believed it.

And when her parents introduced her to Pablo, announcing he would be her future husband, Mizuki had accepted it without question. It felt like an extension of her perfect life—a natural progression, a beautiful story unfolding just as her parents' had. It was as if her life was a pre-written script, and she was simply playing her part. She hadn't even considered the possibility that she could have a say in the matter. It felt inevitable, and she had been so blinded by the notion of destiny—a destiny carefully crafted by her parents—that she never stopped to wonder if she truly wanted it. Did I ever have a choice? she wondered now, a bitter taste rising in her throat.

Looking back now, the naivety was staggering. Her sheltered existence had been a thin veneer, a delicate bubble easily burst, and under it, the harsh realities of the world had been waiting, unseen, until they tore through her fragile peace, shattering the illusion of perfection. Mizuki had written stories that captured the innocence of that sheltered world—stories adored by readers who loved the purity she had once believed in. But now, that innocence seemed laughable, a cruel joke played on her by her own naivete.

Her childhood. Her parents. Her work. Her marriage.

They were all laughable. And she regretted it all. Deeply. The weight of it settled on her shoulders, a crushing burden.

She should have known more. Seen more. Had the courage to question her life, to seek out the truths that had been hidden from her, like carefully concealed secrets. If only she had known the world beyond her bubble, if only she had understood the people around her more, if only she had seen the cracks in the facade.

She might have spared herself, and others, so much pain.

She might have saved Pablo from choosing death over staying with her. The thought hit her like a physical blow, her breath catching in her throat. Pablo…

The memory of that final, heartbreaking choice struck her like a blade, slicing through the thin veneer of calm she had clung to. Regret flooded her chest, a tidal wave of grief and guilt threatening to drown her. She had loved Pablo—truly, deeply—but her love had been as naive as she had been, blind to the complexities of his heart. She hadn't seen the unhappiness that had been growing between them, hadn't noticed the cracks in their relationship until it was too late, until they had become gaping chasms. I was so blind, she thought, tears welling up in her eyes.

Her voice cracked as it broke the silence, small and fragile, like a bird's wing fluttering against a storm. "I have regrets," she whispered, her gaze downcast, ashamed to meet Selene's eyes. "So many that they consumed me before I even took my last breath." Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.

Her words hung heavily in the air, fragile and weighty, like an unspoken truth too painful to bear. Mizuki closed her eyes, as if she could shut out the memories that clung to her, like shadows that refused to be banished. But they were there, unyielding, like ghosts that refused to be exorcised, whispering their accusations in the silence.

Selene's silvery eyes softened with empathy, and the goddess's gaze held her in a gentle, understanding silence. The air around them shimmered with a faint, ethereal light, and Mizuki could feel the warmth radiating from the goddess, a comforting heat that seeped into her bones, easing the chill that had settled there. Mizuki could feel her presence, so vast and eternal, and she shrank under the weight of it, feeling small and insignificant in the face of such power. As a goddess, Selene knew everything—the deepest, darkest corners of Mizuki's life, the mistakes, the missteps. There was no need for Mizuki to explain. No justification or excuse. The weight of that all-knowing gaze laid her bare, exposed her vulnerabilities.

A broken cry escaped her lips—soft and painful, a sound of pure anguish. She hadn't meant to let it slip, but it came regardless, the pressure in her chest too great to hold back. The shame that followed tightened around her throat, choking her, but she couldn't stop it. The tears that followed were unstoppable, spilling down her cheeks like a river overflowing its banks as her emotions erupted, raw and uncontrollable.

Selene floated toward her, every movement graceful and fluid, as if she were made of the very essence of the night sky. Without hesitation, the goddess wrapped her arms around Mizuki, cradling her gently, as though she were a fragile, wounded child. The embrace was warm, and the sensation of comfort seemed to seep into Mizuki's bones, calming the turmoil inside her, like a soothing balm on a raw wound.

"Child, do not anguish," Selene whispered, her voice a soothing balm against the storm that raged within Mizuki's heart. "You are not at fault."

The words were gentle, but they didn't immediately heal the cracks in Mizuki's heart. She shook her head, her sobs muffled against the goddess's shimmering robes. The weight of her guilt still crushed her chest, stubborn and unyielding, a heavy burden she had carried for too long.

She had never intentionally harmed anyone. Her actions had never been malicious, but it didn't matter. The fact that her mere existence had caused pain to those she loved—especially to Pablo—was enough. She had been blind, and the truth was too painful to accept. In her mind, ignorance was no excuse. It had been her ignorance that had hurt those closest to her, and she couldn't forgive herself for it.

"I was at fault," Mizuki protested, her voice trembling but filled with certainty. "I should have known more. Ignorance is no excuse… It's not an excuse… It's not an excuse…" Her voice trailed off, the words losing their conviction.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, the repetition of those words becoming a chant that only deepened her self-recrimination. Her voice was a steady torrent of guilt, as though the more she said it, the more she could make herself believe it, the more she could punish herself for her failings.

Selene's gaze softened, her voice firm but kind. "Mizuki, you carry this burden, but life is rarely so one-sided."

Mizuki lifted her tear-filled eyes, searching for the meaning in Selene's words, her chest tight with confusion.

"Mistakes, misunderstandings, and pain—they are threads in the tapestry of every life," Selene continued, her tone steady. "But they are woven by many hands, not yours alone. Yes, you were naive. But how could you have known the truth when those around you chose silence, when they kept their pain hidden from you?"

Mizuki opened her mouth to protest, to defend her right to self-blame, but Selene raised a hand, stopping her before she could speak. "You loved with the knowledge you had. If others kept their pain hidden from you, that was their choice, not yours."

A bitter ache settled in Mizuki's heart, a dull throbbing pain. But Selene's words began to settle in her mind, like seeds of hope planted in barren ground. Could it really be that simple? Could it truly be that others' silence had not been her fault? Could I have been that blind? she wondered, a flicker of doubt creeping into her self-recrimination.

"If you had known the truth," Selene continued, her voice gentle but insistent "...you would have done everything in your power to ease their pain. You would never have chosen to hurt them."

Mizuki's breath caught in her chest. She wanted to believe it—she needed to believe it. But the guilt was still there, a persistent ache in her heart, lingering like a shadow. "But what if I wasn't enough for them?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of that question, the question that had haunted her for so long.

Selene's smile was tender, her eyes full of warmth and understanding. "You cannot be everything for everyone, Mizuki. That is not your purpose. Your worth is not measured by how perfectly you meet the needs of others. To love is to share the journey, not to carry the entire weight alone."

The words resonated deep within Mizuki's heart, echoing a truth she had never allowed herself to consider. She had always tried to be perfect for those she loved, to anticipate their needs, to be everything they wanted her to be. It was exhausting. But perhaps, as Selene said, that wasn't her purpose. Perhaps it was okay to not be perfect.

"But Pablo—" Mizuki's voice cracked, the guilt still gripping her tightly, a cold fist clenching around her heart. The image of Pablo's face, etched with a sadness she hadn't understood at the time, flashed before her eyes.

Selene's tone was calm but filled with conviction. "Pablo Rossi loved you, Mizuki. That much is undeniable. Even if the love he gave was not the love you needed, it was real. It was his love, offered in the way he knew how. His silence was his choice, not yours. He bore his pain because he believed it was his duty, his burden to carry. But his love for you was not a burden you caused."

Mizuki felt the truth of those words, a glimmer of understanding breaking through the fog of her guilt. But it didn't stop the ache in her chest, the deep sadness of what had been lost. "He loved me," she whispered, the words tasting bittersweet on her tongue, like a faded memory. "And now he's gone."

Selene's voice was soft as moonlight, full of kindness and compassion. "He loved you, child. In his own way, imperfect and quiet, he loved you. His choice to bear the pain quietly, to suffer in silence—it wasn't your fault, Mizuki. It was his own."

Mizuki closed her eyes, a fresh wave of tears flowing freely, cleansing tears that washed away some of the accumulated guilt and pain. The weight of Selene's words finally began to sink in, seeping into her soul. The complexity of love, of pain, of choices—it was all so much more nuanced, so much more intricate than she had ever understood. She had judged herself harshly, holding herself accountable for things beyond her control.

As she sat there, suspended in the ethereal glow of the moon goddess's presence, surrounded by the quiet hum of the void, Mizuki began to see her past in a new light. She realized that she had been too harsh on herself, that she had carried a burden that was not entirely hers to bear. She began to see that her love for Pablo, though imperfect and ultimately unfulfilling, had been genuine, a love offered with the best she had to give. And that his silence, while tragic and heartbreaking, had not been a reflection of her worth, but a reflection of his own internal struggles.

A sense of peace, fragile but real, began to settle over her, a calm that she hadn't felt in years. It wasn't the carefree peace of her childhood, but a deeper, more grounded peace, born from understanding and acceptance. She had finally found someone who understood her, who could see beyond her mistakes and see the true, loving person within. Selene's presence was a balm to her wounded soul.

As Mizuki sat there, bathed in the goddess's comforting light, she began to feel a sense of hope, a fragile bud blooming in the barren landscape of her heart. She knew that the journey ahead would not be easy, that there would still be challenges and pain to face. But she also knew, with a newfound certainty, that she was not alone. She had a friend, a guide, in Selene. And perhaps, just perhaps, she could finally begin to forgive herself.

And so, with a newfound sense of strength and hope flickering within her, Mizuki opened her eyes, ready to face her future, one step at a time.