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◝.*･ﾟ
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞, 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐧. It had once been so alive and vibrant. Inside had been a place of love and security, a place with memories and warmth.
Now the wind whistled through and the steady rain fell through the cracks of the roof.
Yet the blackened skeleton was so much more than just a burnt down house. It was the final resting place of a family of eight, a tombstone even, a message to any other potential werewolves considering settling down in the small town.
The fire had been no accident, the entire supernatural community knew that, but the Argent's had denied setting alight the house of wolves and un-triggered wolves alike.
Aspen's taste buds involuntary soured at the thought, her lips pressing together as her gaze flickered down to the bundled-up baby in her arms.
Despite the slight chill in the air as the sun began to rise in the distance, Isla was consented resting against her mother's chest, wrapped in a thin knitted blanket.
Soft, even breaths left her parted lips as Aspen continued to support her daughter.
Turning her attention to the house before her, Aspen ignored the trail of goose bumps that spread across her forearm, her throat restricting as the scent of burning bodies tickled her nose.
It was a scent she'd never forget, one that was branded into her memory.
Even the thought made her skin crawl. Back then she hadn't even noticed the strange smell in the distance, being a newly turned, inexperienced werewolf.
In fact, it had been Laura who had pointed out the smell with concern on her features, prompting for Derek to reply with a jibe about his mother's cooking.
It had only been when they'd seen the house in the distance, flames dancing along the wood a white, dying smoke began to rise.
The scent of burning flesh was indescribable. Burning flesh assaults all your senses at once and even the taste takes a while to leave your mouth.
