The Disavowal

The Change

AN: Only minor revisions to this chapter (grammer, spelling, word changes). For the most part, everything is the same.

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Daughter of the pack's Alpha. Well-mannered. Spitting image of her mother. These all described Anabelle to an almost painful T.

Okay, scratch that. It wasn't almost painful. It was painful.

Being the daughter of the pack's best fighter and first-in-command did almost nothing for Anabelle. The only thing it accomplished was keeping her alive—something the girl didn't know whether or not to be grateful for. As well-mannered as Anabelle strived to be, people still treated her terribly. Her classmates tormented her whenever they got the chance, her brothers and sister did the same, and her father and teachers ignored anything that ever happened.

They always pretended not to see her.

Getting out of her creaking bed with her bones protesting every moment, Anabelle quietly padded over to her bathroom. Most people—if they cared—would have thought it lonely to sleep in the attic of their three level house, but Anabelle loved it. Granted her bedroom was sparsely decorated due to her father not spoiling her like he did his other children, but it was enough for her.

Plus, she had her own bathroom, so she didn't need to share that space with her older, shrilly sister.

With a painful glance at the mirror, Anabelle gazed at her reflection; she did this every morning.

She took in her slightly frizzy and inky black hair, her 5'3" stature, her lanky limbs spotted with scabs and bruises, her pale skin that just refused to tan like everyone else's, and finally her eyes. Although tired looking with deep circles encompassing them, her eyes were exactly like her mother's.

They were a clear blue; slightly almond shaped with dark lashes as frames. Strangers thought her blind at first glance, but then they'd see her look down at the ground, almost begging it to swallow her whole, and then they'd react like anyone else.

A scoff, a growl, a push or a shove. Her pack hated her because she was so different.

Everyone was impossibly tall and built. The male population could be mistaken for a small army with their wide shoulders and speedy reflexes. All the girls were willowy with long, graceful limbs and hair that just flowed like rivers from their scalps.

Anabelle learned at a young age that it was less painful to keep her hair at shoulder length. There was less to grab or pull that way.

"Now you're just a hairless little worm," her older brother Caleb laughed when he saw her sweeping up her newly cut hair.

With furrowed brows, Anabelle pushed that memory away, back with the countless others that were shoved to the recesses of her mind, and hopped in the shower. The warm water was a godsend on her sore body and helped to soothe her aches. Last week was rough on Anabelle. School just started back up again and it seemed that several people wanted to show her just how much they 'missed' her over their summer vacations.

Finishing up quickly, she was mindful of the large sore spot on her abdomen, carefully patting it dry before searching through her small closet. After a few minutes, she fished out a pair of jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. She would have loved to wear shorts and pretty, breezy tops in the summer like all the other girls, but she would rather sweat underneath the denim than be mercilessly clawed at by her female peers.

It was her tenth birthday when she realized that her pale skin was just that unsightly to them, hence why she's never gone swimming since.

She skipped the make-up and settled on combing her hair. It wasn't as if she had any make-up to begin with, but a small smile still made its way onto her face when she sat down at her aged wooden vanity. Her fingers lovingly danced over her pearl, wide-toothed comb before she started running it through the black strands.