tried a different style of writing, what do you guys think?
When Aurora was six, she fell on the hooked root from a tree. Her knee bled and bled for an hour, before it finally healed due to her wolf. When she was nine, she decided to go into the lake like the smart girl she was, with out even knowing how to swim. When she was 13, she encountered her first sexual harassment. And when she 16, she ran into violent rogue wolf in the middle of the woods.
There had been one common thread in all of these memories, a single emotion the wrapped around her and squeezed her organs out of her. The feeling, of wanting to run, and hide, and wishing the ground would swallow you up whole.
It was fear. The fear of seeing all the blood the first time, the fear of not being able to breath, the fear of someone touching her, and the fear of death.
But the fear that resonated from Aurora and through the other prisoners with blood dripping over them, was not the same kind of fear.
It was primal.
It invited itself into Aurora's head with out a hesitation. It was suddenly there, unwanted and obtuse, but there.
Yet she knew-or at least thought-she was stronger, so there was not a reason to be afraid. But it wasn't she who was afraid.
It was her wolf. Her wolf screaming in agonizing fear, producing the stench of terror to spread across the room and mix with the other's.
Ezra was not the one inciting the fear, it was his wolf. It wasn't an Ezra to Aurora kind of connection.
It was a raw, true, primal relation of two wolves, and alpha to another.
The kind of relation Ezra felt to Aurora, and wanted to pursue-but couldn't, was an alpha to his luna. It was desire, want, and need, for another body. For someone. For her. For Aurora.
But he held back and let his wolf come through, and let it do his job properly.
Yet Aurora had know idea, she had know idea he wanted her like she him. She did not know it was his wolf stopping them and putting Ezra's pack before the idea of having a mate.
Aurora simply did not know, and it killed her-and her heart.
I woke up on the hard floor, the previous paint applied to the floor, coming of in flakes, creating an uneven floor. Because of this my skin was riddle in itchy bursts, as my hand came to my head, scratching it in wonder.
My strawberry hair was a frizzy mess falling in layers over each other in the most unattractive way. My lips were chapped, and whenever my tongue swiped over my bottom lip, it was met with a disconcerting dry patchy feeling. To mention dry, my mouth was full of it. I yearned for, liquid, trying to swallow my salvia, but no avail.
My clothes were tattered, my top was a simply and oversized sweatshirt. Too oversized. I looked down at my pants too, sweat pants. Oversized sweat pants. Too oversized. They were definitely not mine.
My surrounding were mostly black, I was sitting in a cell, with traditional iron and silver coated bars. There was a small flickering yellow light above me that shone down on the floor. The light, of course, only extended so far. The rest was unknown. It smelt like rust, most likely due to the corrosion of the bars.
Footsteps ensued after my quick assessment, loud heavy, but clear foot falls against the cement flooring. They kept getting louder and louder so I only assumed they were coming in my direction.
YOU ARE READING
He knew sorrow. He knew pain. He knew sacrifice. But he never knew anyone like her. She knew hardships. She knew strength. She knew determination. Yet she never knew anyone like him. __________________ Her life was built in the shadows, never being...