Werewolves?
She lived a world where being mundane was rare. In a world where werewolves existed. In a world where werewolves ruled. In a world where they sought for their long lost maiden warrior.
When the lost was found, she was not their warrior...
"It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world." -John Green, Paper Towns
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My eyelids flutter open but, close at the brightly lit surroundings. I was dressed in a white one shoulder tunic with intricate silver weavings on it. As I hear the whispering of voices, I walk in that direction.
An elderly man with snow-white beard, his features strikingly resembling my grandfather's, was standing next to a woman. The woman was in a white tunic styled robe. Her braided dark brown hair was on her right shoulder. Her features were prominent with an hourglass body figure. But her face was not visible.
A white veil with lace appliques was covering her face. Something giving off bridal vibes. But her features and stance were godly. Like a goddess...
"My children are dying. How can I accept this?" the elderly man utters, his voice defeated and grief-stricken. "What can I do, Drake? They're my children too. They pulled this on themselves," she replies, her voice like wind chimes.
"But mother, you promised us happiness, contentment. My children are killing each other. You promised that as protectors we would be able to control this destruction."
"Drake Archer," the woman speaks. Archer?
"Evil will definitely stagnate its hold on the innocent but the good will rise one day. And that day this world will be saved," the quietness in her tone speaking lengths. "But mother, when will it all happen? The good? When will it rise?" he asks empathetically. Mother?
"Ages past the fair one shall rise, Archer. I swear to you. In your family, the next girl born into it, will rescue the wolves from all misery. She will be me. I will be her. She will be your savior," her gentle words of motherliness now reflected a warrior's strength and vigor.
"Do you know who I am?" she asks, her voice back to a melancholy.
The bearded man fades away and then do I realize that she was indeed talking to me.
"Blythe Reyna Archer," she calls. "Do you know who I am?" She repeats. Godly features, stance like a goddess, formal eloquence. The Moon Goddess...
"The Moon Goddess?" my words a question, her hearty laugh an affirmation.
"But why am I here? Am I dead?" I ask looking down at my hands and run them down my arms, hugging myself. "You're not here, dear. This is just a vision. As for your second question, I'm afraid I have no answer," she states amused.
"What?" she turns around at my whisper. Her veil falling undone at her feet. And my breath stops.
Her face. It bore a striking resemblance to mine. The same emerald eyes, same full heart, dusky lips. Her skin though slightly paler than my own tan.
