Lysida•
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I think it was since I gained consciousness. Was it two? three or four years old? I don't know... But I have always been enthralled with werewolves and wolves in general.
It wasn't a casual interest, wasn't something sparked by fantasy books or supernatural movies. It was something deeper, something weird? And unexplainable. Like my bones remember something my brain doesn't.
As far back as I can remember, they have lived in my mind rent free, in the spaces between reality and imagination, lurking in my thoughts like a ghost of a forgotten memory.
As a child, I would sketch their forms in the margins of my notebooks, their howls were like Christmas songs to my ears; beautiful and bright.
I would devour any book, any lore, any myth I could find about them, trying to piece together a puzzle I didn't even know existed.
It wasn't fascination—it was longing. A pull so strong it felt like it came from my very soul. I never understood why. I still don't.
But right now, crouching under the harsh glow of the moon and staring at the whimpering wolf with green eyes that look way too human, that pull is a yank. And that weird? and inexplicable connection tightens around my chest like a vice.
Curled against the base of a tree, its breathing is shallow. But it is the eyes that get me—the glowing green orbs that seem to see through me, into me, as if it knows me.
I don't know how long I crouch there, staring. I should be afraid. But I am not. Instead, I am in pain.
The wolf's pain feels like my pain. The sight of its suffering is unbearable. I don't understand it, but I don't question it either. It is what it is.
Slowly, I move toward it.
"Hey..." I whisper, my voice soft. "What happened to you?"
The wolf exhales, a broken sound. My heart cracks.
Without thinking, I reach out, wanting desperately to check its body for any signs of broken bones. I wish I brought my stethoscope.
The moment my fingers brush its fur, my vision dims into darkness.
• • • • •
I wake up the next morning in my bed, not remembering coming home. I don't remember anything after touching the wolf. It feels like someone hit delete on my brain.
For many long seconds, I stare at the blurry ceiling, my breath and thoughts uneven. I squeeze my eyes shut for the fifth time, trying to force the missing memory back, but it's like grasping at smoke. Nothing comes. Nothing except an overwhelming sense of loss.
Panic sets in my chest. I push the blankets off and sit up too fast, that my head starts spinning.
"What the hell happened?" I mutter to myself.
Still dazed, I get up and quickly refresh myself before going downstairs.
My dad is sitting in the living room, flipping through a big newspaper. "Morning, lil wolf. Are you okay" he asks looking at me with worry.
'Lil wolf' is the nickname my dad gave me...
"Um... Yes, dad. I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
He just sighs and shakes his head, urging me to move to the kitchen.
I make my way to the kitchen, where my mom is pouring tea. "Morning, mama" I say, watching her carefully.
She gives me a long, knowing look before responding. "What happened to you, Lysi? Is it that time of the month?"
I blink. "Huh?"
"When you came home last night. You looked... different. You wouldn't even acknowledge us"
A slight shiver crawls down my spine.
"Did I say anything?" I ask hesitantly.
"No. You were utterly quiet. You just went straight to your room." She studies me. "Are you feeling okay?"
No.
"Yeah, I was just so tired" I lie. "I'm sorry, mum"
"Come here. It's okay" She welcomes me in for a hug.
But I'm not okay.
Because for the next two days, I couldn't stop thinking about that wolf. Its eyes, its pain, the way I felt like I had known it forever. It consumed my thoughts, making it impossible to focus on anything else.
By the third day, I couldn't take it anymore.
I have to go back.
After my classes, during my evening run, I am back in the woods, retracing my steps.
The atmosphere is eerily silent, as if the woods have been waiting for me.
It was difficult at first, but I find the spot. But the wolf is gone.
My stomach sinks. "No," I whisper, stepping forward, scanning the area. I'm about to turn back with a defeated mind when something catches my eye.
Ashes. On the ground.
A pile of dark ashes where the wolf once lay.
They are gray and powdery. I kneel beside it, my fingers hovering as I brush against the remains. The scent hits me immediately—burnt fur and flesh, the unmistakable scent of a wolf.
My throat tightens, and a sharp pain stabs through my chest.
I don't know when and why I start crying, but I do. Silent, unstoppable tears slide down my face as I sit there, mourning something I didn't even know.
"Stupid" I whisper.
After a while, I wipe my eyes and make a decision. I can't just leave it here.
Using my head warmer as a makeshift container, I carefully scoop up the ashes and take them home.
Once in the confort of my room, I transfer them into a proper glass jar and place it in my safe. I don't know why. It just feels... right.
That night, in the shower, as I'm thinking about all that just transpired, something terrifying happens. One second, I'm rinsing shampoo, the next, I am blind.
For a few horrifying seconds, everything goes dark. Panic seizes me, my hands slamming against the shower walls as I try to make sense of what's happening.
Then, as quickly as it happened, my vision returns. I just stand there, shaking.
What the fuck?
No. No. That didn't happen. I refuse to believe it did. I tell myself it's stress. Dehydration. Hell, maybe rapture. But I still make a mental note to see my doctor and force myself to continue my night as usual.
But sleep does not bring peace.
The first dream comes as soon as I lose consciousness. It's a gory battlefield.
I stand in the middle of doom and chaos—massive wolves clashing, fangs sinking into thick flesh, snarls and howls splitting the air. The ground is soaked in blood, the scent of death, very thick.
A monstrous black wolf tears into another, bone snapping. Another wolf rips out a throat, blood spraying. There is no mercy. Only carnage.
I watch, frozen in horror and on the verge of fainting. This isn't like the fantasy battles I've read about—this is real. Brutal. Visceral.
I want to wake up. But I can't. My heart wants to give out, but I'm in a dream.
A massive silver wolf with scars across its face locks eyes with me. My stomach drops.
It knows I'm here.
The moment it takes a step toward me, I jolt awake. Gasping, I sit up, heart pounding against my ribs. My skin is soaked with sweat, despite the air conditioner being on full blast.
What the hell was that?
I grab my phone. Checking the time, it's exactly 1:00 AM. I see a message notification from Danielle: Don't forget to bring the comic book tomorrow xx
I type a quick reply with shaky fingers and try to go back to sleep. But before I close my eyes, the image of the battle flashes in my mind again. And I shiver.
Get a grip, Lysida. It's just a dream.
After giving myself a pep talk while clutching the rosary I never use, I go back to sleep. But the next thing I know, I am back on the battlefield.
And this time, I am not just watching.
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