The existence of a mundane had never been heard of in Atlantic, the largest werewolf community.
It was unheard of for a child born of werewolf parents to be human.
Yet she was.
From the moment she was born, she became a contradiction ...a mistake the kingdom could not explain.
No one knew whether her curse was merely wolfsbane, an unshifted wolf, or something far worse.
Her father doted on her until her seventh birthday always watching her like a hawk, hoping for an improvement in her health.
Her condition became so strange that no shaman passed through the kingdom without being summoned to the pack house.
Their conclusions were always the same.
'She was cursed to bring downfall.'
'She should be killed before it was too late.'
Some even claimed she was the 'Silver Wolf', waiting for the right moment to destroy everything.
Her execution was postponed only because of her grandmother threat to take her own life should any harm come to her.
Instead, she was hidden.
Locked away in the attic, far from curious eyes and cruel whispers. Forbidden from being seen. Forbidden from existing. She was denied contact with people, but even that felt merciful compared to a public beheading.
She learned to read and write by herself. She was never homeschooled since her father feared the pack would discover she had been kept alive. Thankfully, the attic was filled with books, and she was forced to teach herself everything she knew.
Now her hands clung to the window as she stared out at the courtyard below. There were so many people—smiling, laughing, and gently eyeing members of the opposite gender.
It was one of her favorite pack events. From the books she had read, she suspected it was a mating ceremony though there were many festivals listed, and she could never be certain.
On those days, the attic doors were double-locked.
A small note would be slipped beneath the door.
Do not leave this room. No matter the tricks your mind plays on you. Your existence must never be known.
She always inhaled deeply after reading it. Then she spent the rest of the day watching life happen without her, clinging to the fragile hope that one day, she would be free.
But she had waited.
Waited until minutes turned to hours. Hours turned to days. Days into months, and months into years yet no sign of her release ever came.
A few drops of cold water splashed against her skin, forcing her to turn abruptly.
Lady…? Miss…? Mrs…? She didn't know the woman's name or how to address her. The woman never spoke to her and never even dared to step her foot inside the room. She's been warned never to do so.
She smiled as usual, waving repeatedly, but the woman was too focused on pushing three packed meals toward her with a stick.
Her Breakfast. Lunch and Dinner.
Usually, the door would be slammed shut immediately after. But this time, the woman stepped aside, revealing the image of her mother.
She longed for her mother's warm hug, but when her mother stepped back as she approached, she stopped herself. Still, she continued smiling and waving.
"Use your voice," her mother snapped. "Must you act like a brute?"
As if she had a voice to use.
She rolled her eyes, picked up one of the meal packs, and retreated to the corner of the room to eat in silence.
Her mother continued shouting ...about regret and shame, about how giving birth to her was the greatest mistake she had ever made.
A few minutes later, she glanced toward the door, expecting her mother to leave as she always did. Instead, she saw a pair of kind, pitiful eyes staring at her.
The woman wiped her eyes with a clean cloth and turned to her mother.
"How could you do this to your own child?" she asked softly. "Haven't all these years proven that this sweet girl was merely unfortunate?"
"Unfortunate, Mother?" her mother scoffed.
She realized then that it was her grandmother. She had grown old—so old she had almost forgotten her face. She hadn't seen her since the day she swore to take her own life if she was ever killed.
"That child is not unfortunate she's a curse planted by our enemy," her mother continued. "Look at my other children. They are healthy and strong with complete wolves."
"That is your child, Martha," her grandmother pleaded. "Come back to your senses before it's too late."
"I refuse to ignore the truth," her mother snapped. "We were tricked. That child was switched at birth. Has it ever been heard of for a human to be born from pure-bred werewolves? Her father was an Alpha. So was mine. She should carry royal wolf blood not human blood."
Her words burned deeper than any blade ever could, carving straight into her heart.
But she didn't cry. More like she couldn't
Somewhere along the way, she had lost the ability to feel anything at all.
Maybe her life had hollowed her out. Or maybe her curse was finally taking shape. One of the books she read said the absence of emotion could slowly turn a person into a psychopath.
And she found herself looking forward to that day.
"Can you hear yourself right now?" her grandmother whispered. "Saying all this in front of her. Don't you care about her feelings?"
"Why should I care?" her mother sneered. "It's not like she can hear me anyway. Did you forget She's deaf and dumb ."
She watched her mother's mouth move.
Her mother was very wrong.
She could read lips perfectly.
She smiled and waved at her grandmother, pretending she hadn't understood most of the conversation.
Her grandmother pushed her mother aside and stepped into the attic—the very first person who ever had.
She wrapped the girl against her bosom and gently patted her back. The girl could feel her grandmother's mouth moving as she spoke, but she couldn't bring herself to look up and see what she was saying.