Luna was sixteen when the compartmentalization she'd so carefully constructed began to fail catastrophically. It started with small glitches—forgetting which aspect of herself she was supposed to be, responding to situations with wildly inappropriate emotional tones, losing hours of time as she shifted between mental compartments without awareness.
"Luna, are you listening?" Dante asked during a council meeting. She'd been staring at nothing for five minutes.
Luna blinked, reorienting. "Sorry. I was maintaining divine connections and forgot to bring my conscious attention back to the mortal realm. What were we discussing?"
"That's the third time this meeting," Victoria noted with concern. "You're losing presence."
"I'm fine. Just tired."
But she wasn't fine. The mental compartments sh
