My first love was the moon

The end of the beginning *WILL PROBABLY CHANGE THE NAME*

*HI BEFORE READING, I HAVE MADE A PLAYLIST FOR THIS STORY CALL "MY FIRST LOVE WAS THE MOON" ITS ON SPOTIFY AND YT MUSIC! IF YOU HAVE ANY SONG SUGGESTIONS JUST COMMENT OR PRIVATE DM ME. THANK YOU AND I HOPE YOU LIKED READING MY FIRST DRAFT OF CHAPTER 1, SECOND ONE WILL COME SOON*

It was late at night, 10 pm to be exact. The pitch-black color of the night soothes the pale complexion of my skin. ‘It always feels good to relax.’ I thought while propping up my wooden seat. It’s been a while since I have even gotten time to stare at the mesmerizing moon. Tonight, it was a half-moon, my favorite type of moon. It's half-light half-dark, which to me shows the balance of both yin and yang, I learned a bit about it while reading a book about different thoughts about the world.

My sister says that I embody the moon, but if that was true, wouldn't someone embody the sun, and what does that even mean? Would they have powers from the planets or space symbols, or do they act like them or even both? While I argue with myself in my thoughts, I also look at the moon with fluttering eyes, and I realize she might be right. I do embody the moon. I mean, my name is Luna. Luna Aswell, the one in the family who barely speaks to guests. This family is as dysfunctional as a sorority.                  

Luna Aswell, daughter of Mitchell Aswell. He has a full-grown beard and a beer belly, as one might say. He really likes alcohol, but it does make him a bit crazy. He's the CEO of the Aswell company, which sells oil and other products that might kill us one day and makes a whole lot of money. More than our whole country would even need. We never really use the money for anything for my sister, Emelie, or I want, since it’s his money, so it’s pretty much all for himself, I guess. He also lobbies with our politicians to give himself and others in his business more power, but I don’t know much more about it. If Emelie and I did, she would probably riot against him even more than she usually does, which is A LOT.                                         
Note to self-read more about lobbying.

Luna Aswell, also the daughter of-wait, I do not even know her name. Who was she? Why did she leave me? Why did she never even care? Did she leave because of me?
I scream like I just died, but it feels like I never was alive to actually experience it.

Okay, I need to stop. I always do this.

I throw the seat on the ground, and it goes down slowly and swiftly, but once it reaches the ground, it breaks in less than a second. I always make everything depressing. I feel bad for Emelie and Dad, since they always have to deal with dumb ole’ me.
I take a deep breath, trying to make myself feel better, and go sneak back into my darkened room. Painting of the olden renaissance, the beauty of it always made me want to be there. I go onto my bed, and the mattress gives my broken back support, but before I can let out a tear, Emilie comes up.
“Luna, you okay?” she says, sounding concerned as she sits next to me on the bed.
“Why did Mom leave us?” I cried while everything flowed out of me.
Emelie puts her tanned arms around me. “I can't tell you that.”
“Why not?”
She left us like everyone else does in the end anyway. Why can't I know why?
“Luna, you don't have to mind mom.” She pauses, ignoring what I said before continuing with, “No, she isn’t our mom, we don’t even know her name.” She wraps her hands around me.
“But why did she-” I tried to ask but she quickly stops me.
“I don't know,” she replied hastily,” That’s just what everyone has done,” and everything goes silent. Time continues, lives end, and we are laying on my white bed, heads down but not asleep.

Nope, never asleep.

Seconds turn to minutes, minutes turn into hours and it's already 7 am.
“Emilie wake up!” I call, pushing her side to side.
She doesn’t get up. “Emelie, I know you didn't die! Get up right now!” I pushed her down onto the rigid ground.
She groans and reluctantly gets up.
“Why are you waking me up at 7?” She asks while checking for any bumps or wounds from her hard fall.
“Dad needs us for the business meeting today, we have to talk with someone, he didn't say who though.” I explain while take a jab at her, “Didn’t he tell you that or did you just forget, I mean you must have the memory of a goldfish, Emme.” I say, using her nickname that she hates. She says it sounds like the name Emma              , which she thinks is too basic.
“Don’t call me Emme. It sounds like the name Emma, and I hate that name.”
“Who cares, Emme,” I say making her angrier, she toughens her jaw. 
“I know you like it.” I smirk.
She gives a slight smile, and oh nom I know where this is going, and before I could run away, she tackles me onto the ground, roughing up my already messy, tangled hair. She always does this.
I sigh, “Must you always have to do that?” I say trying to get her off of my stomach.
“What kind of big sister would I be if I didn’t?”
“A bright one.” I whispered, She heard and pushed me down again.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough from you. We have to go in 5 minutes for breakfast, now get off of me.” I say.
“Fine, but you better be grateful for me.” She says with a sarcastic tone.
“I am, Emme.”
“Stop calling me that.” She takes things way too seriously.
“Emelie get up! We have to go,” our dad yells. "Get your sister up to.”
“Fine!” She yells back at him.
“Put on the purple dress and your sister can wear the black one and do it quickly!” He orders. He’s not particularly good with clothing terminology.
“You got it, Dad,” I say enthusiastically.
“See, Emelie, you should be more like your little sister.” He says that like I am better than Emme in everything.
“Yeah, okay, I will try to be as good as Luna.” She jokingly mocks my accent.

She goes into her room across the hall to find the dresses that we need. She throws my dress at me and goes deeper into her closet to find her’s. Dad really shouldn't have let Emme keep it.
I caught the dress and locked my door to see what it looked like now. It is an obsidian-colored dress, shimmering with shadows and made of a fabric more delicate and softer than anything else I have ever seen. It had a corset and [insert sleeve type], which I loved, and it fell just above my knee. When I put it on, I was amazed by how it looked on me. It really brings out my bright green eyes and contrasts gorgeously with my pale skin. “Wow,” I say to myself. I'm really dressing up for a little business meeting.

“Emme, are you done?” I ask, knocking hard on her door.
“One moment, I have to powder my face,” she says, trying to find the case that holds it.
“Come on Emme, you don't need that powder, we must go now!” I say knocking harder.
“Fine.” She reluctantly comes out, wearing a sophisticated, vibrantly dark violet dress with delicate flower and butterfly detailing on the corset, and the stomach casing beats mine by a million points. Her strawberry blonde hair is brushed to perfection, with ribbons elegantly holding it in a fine bun. Small gold hoop earrings shine as she does a little twirl.
“I should have done more,” I say, looking back at myself. I’m a clown next to my princess of a sister.
“You look great, but I also have something for you,” she replies, fetching a silver necklace shaped like a full moon with a wine-colored crystal embedded in the center.
“I got this for you.” She smiles one of her big smiles that brings out her sparkling eyes and makes everything else pale in comparison to her.
“Where did you get this?” I ask. She doesn't get much money, and I feel like I already know the answer.
“One of my boyfriends- what was his name again?” she asks herself, and I slap my forehead. As I thought, she was using men again.
“You really need to stop doing that. If they catch you, you will probably go to jail,” I explain. “They have strict laws here.”
“I know, and that's why I won’t get caught. Wait, I think I remember him. Right! It was Alex!”
“Didn't you break up with him?” I recall, remembering what she said about him a month ago.
“He gave me it two months before we broke up, but I think it's perfect for you,” she says, smiling as much as a sadistic murderer after their first kill.
“Thank you, Emelie,” I say gratefully. I put it on to find it perfectly matches my looks and almost glows against my skin.
“I guess you're the chosen one,” she jokes. “Now let's get out of here.”
We run down the stairs, holding tradition with our daily running competition. (Emme always wins. I'm pretty bad at running).

When we make it down, Dad puts our breakfast down on our dining table. I could smell it before I saw it, and whatever it was smelled so luscious and amazing that all I wanted to do was to eat all of it. I ran over to the middle seat, where the eggs and his famous sweet sausages were placed.
“This really is a special occasion, hm, Dad?” I ask while thanking him for the delectable meal.
“Eat up, sweetheart. We can’t arrive at the meeting on empty stomachs, can we?” He glanced down to Emelie, still standing next to the stairs.
“Oh, me? I ate a lot of, um, ham last night, and I’m still super full,” she replied, stuttering. I have not seen her eat anything in the past few years. Maybe she just eats by herself, but the way she never eats in front of us makes me feel like she could pass out at any moment.
Hopefully, she won’t, at least right now.
“More for me, then,” I say lightheartedly, casting her disordered eating patterns from my mind.
Dad laughs. “That’s my girl.”
While I finish up both meals, Dad packs up all the papers he needs, and we call out one of our carriages, since the meeting is pretty far from our house. When we finally arrive, we find ourselves in front of a five-story castle-like mansion, bordered by acres of land with no other houses nearby.

“Wait, Emelie,” I say, grabbing her limited attention. “That looks like the president’s home.”
I continue before she can say anything, “And you know who’s also in there.” We both know who lives here, and we brace ourselves to encounter her for the first time since our relationship collapsed three years ago. Brace ourselves to enter this building which we know better than the backs of our hands, having raced down its hallways and played in its ballrooms and hid in its secret passages for years, always at the side of one girl.

I take a slow, deep breath.

“Daphne.”