This Is A Cliche

A Wolfie Tale

I look into the mirror for what seems like an eternity but really is only 3 seconds. But here I am, randomly describing myself even though in my short-painful life I have looked at myself more than a thousand times.

Glowing sapphire blue eyes stare back at me. In their depths I see a whirlpool of emotions of pain and hurt and despair. Or I would, if my eyes had any depth. My eyes are just sooo boring and flat. Hair as black as midnight falls in sleek waves to midback. Flawless skin as white as alabaster, not a blemish in sight. Slender frame.

I sigh and turn away. The sight of how ugly I am makes me cringe. Yet I do so at any opportunity I can because I was born masochistic.

I then look in my wardrobe for decent clothes to wear. I somehow manage to put together an outfit. Well, sort of. I don't really care what I wear as long as its clothes. I wear this outfit and accessorise. Then I put my hair in an extremely unstylish messy pony tail and stare in the mirror again.

A moment passes.

Another.

Several more.

I turn away. I can bear no more.

"Maria! Get your fat ass down here and make breakfast for the pack!"

I quickly race out of the room to the kitchen of the packhouse. All of us weres live in one house. There's the super duper powerful alpha, the only super powerful beta and the okay-types powerful others. And then there's me. The weak one.
All of them beat me up for no reason I can fathom. It's because I'm such a waste of space in this world. I have to live in the basement downstairs *sniffs* and it's dark and cold and they begrudge me what little I have.

Confused reader:
"But... but... you had accessories! And a mirror! And a wardrobe filled with clothes!"

......Irrelevant. Imagine rags.

CR: O..oo...ohkay?
Proceed.

Today I have to cook a lot for the 200 or so pack members who beat me up every day and me, being the nice person I am, don't even consider a little retaliation. A slip of the fingers, an eyedrop in there, a bathroom occupied.... if you get my drift? No no! Such horrid thoughts! Anyhoo... today is the to-be-alpha's birthday... his 18th birthday. The day he becomes super-duper-whooper powerful because super-duper powerful is never enough. And then he will find his mate, the to-be-Luna of the pack who will continue remaining the okay-types powerful because equality is a foreign concept. Oh and.... us females have to wait till the males turn 18 to recognise us as their mate. Because, ya know, the guys need to have their fun before they are tied down to us.
Officially, of course.
Unofficially, they cheat on us.

Anyhoo, male turns 18. Male looks. Male sees. Male stares. Male sniffs. And there's luuuuuuuuuuuurv.
Goes all weak-kneed wondering if Luna will be kind. Then starts randomly flashbacking on how horrid the *sniff* Big Bad To-Be-Alpha is.

He kicks me.

He taunts me.

He punches me.

He glares at me.

He gives me bruises.

He spills my blood.

A tear slips out. I stop it from falling.

Too much salt in the food you see.

Then Alpha enters. By that time I've prepared a spread of French toast, bacon, scrambled eggs, Danish omelette, pancakes, waffles, fresh strawberry syrup, fruit salad. Because, ya know, I've mastered cooking while lost in my dark sad thoughts of my abusive sad past. My life is so sad that I cry every day. When life doesn't remind me how bad it is (pain, blood, bruises... Super Deluxe Package) I make sure to remind myself (pain, blood, bruises filled memories... Super Duper Deluxe Package).