The room, dimly lit, echoed with the distant sounds of children playing outside. I sat alone, tracing the patterns on the worn-out carpet. It seemed like the universe had forgotten to give me a place in this world.
From my earliest memories, I've been haunted by the sense of not belonging. The other kids had families, memories of laughter around a dinner table, and parents to tuck them in at night. I had the fading scent of institutional soap and the hollow echoes of my own footsteps in empty hallways.
With each passing year, my yearning to unearth the secrets of my past grew ever stronger. Why was I abandoned? Who were the ones who brought me into this world, only to vanish without a trace? These questions etched themselves into the very depths of my soul, leaving behind an insatiable longing, a profound emptiness that not even the most devoted guardians or surrogate family could assuage.
Seated by the window, I found solace in the soft caress of the breeze outside, yet it seemed to carry with it the whispers of my inner turmoil. "Why?" I pondered aloud, the words hanging heavy in the air of my solitary sanctuary. "Why did they leave me? Did they ever think of me? Search for me?" Each question echoed in the stillness, haunting me like specters from a past I could not fully comprehend. Each day became a battle against the unknown, a relentless quest for answers that remained elusive, slipping through my grasp like grains of sand.
Yet, amidst the harsh reality, my dreams offered a sanctuary-a world where the weight of abandonment lifted, and a silver moon bathed an ancient forest. In this ethereal realm, a wolf with eyes filled with centuries of wisdom walked by my side. His fur, a blend of silver and obsidian, matched the night sky.
And then there was him-the mysterious man who loved me. His face remained elusive, a blur in the dream, but his presence wrapped me in warmth and reassurance. A love so genuine that it transcended the dreamlike boundaries. In those nightly visions, I felt wanted, cherished, and a profound sense of connection that surpassed the loneliness of my waking hours.
The yearning to meet the wolf and the mysterious man intensified with every passing day. Their presence in my dreams became a lifeline, a glimmer of hope that one day, I might find the missing chapters of my life.
* * *
The banging on my door yanked me from a dream that clung to my thoughts like morning fog. Still half-drowned in sleep, I squinted at the clock-5:15 am. Whoever was causing the ruckus was about to feel my wrath.
The door rattled under the assault of impatient fists. "Ugh, seriously?" I grumbled, my voice a croak. Pain and a pounding headache weren't the best way to start the day. I ignored it in hopes they'll go away. A moment later, the noise stopped. Message received, or so I hoped. The silence as the person left much to my relief.
Stumbling out of bed, I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. The dream lingered, a familiar dance of shadows and whispers, teasing at the edges of my consciousness. You can almost grasp it, but then it slips through your fingers, leaving you wondering if it was ever really there.
These dreams have been my companions for as long as I can remember, weaving their enchanting tales into the fabric of my subconscious. It's like hitting replay on your favorite song, knowing every beat and melody by heart, yet still finding something new to discover each time.
There's a certain magic to it, I suppose. The way the details blur and shift, leaving behind a sense of mystery and intrigue that keeps me coming back for more. It's like being caught in a never-ending story, where each night brings a new chapter to unravel.
Sometimes I feel like they are the only thing that's keeping me tethered to sanity. A chance for me to slip away from the confines of reality; keeping me sane in this monotony of this boarding school. It's interesting how our mind creates intricate sceneries of dreams offering a glimpse into a place beyond our own. In those fleeting moments between waking and sleeping, I find myself drawn into what my imagination created by my hopes, dreams, and longing, where everything is possible.
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sirena, and I'm an orphan-fitting the classic orphan trope like a glove. Cliché, I know, but that's the hand life dealt me. Placed under the care of Mrs. Troth, who's supposed to be my guardian, although her version of guardianship leaves much to be desired. She's more like a taskmaster than a guardian.
Anyway, I'm practically a captive in the posh confines of River Corrib Academy. Nestled along the mystical banks of the River Corrib, hence the name. This institution boasts lush landscapes and Celtic-inspired architecture, casting a spell of enchantment upon even the most skeptical souls. Yet, behind this facade of beauty lies a harsh reality.
Within the privileged elite of River Corrib Academy, I find myself relegated to the status of an outsider. While my affluent peers revel in their opulent lifestyles, I navigate a world where my presence feels like an anomaly. Assigned menial tasks typically reserved for hired help, I labor under the scrutinizing gaze of my peers, a constant reminder of my inferior status.
And the cuisine? Well, let's just say it's gourmet-level, fit for kings and queens. And guess who doesn't get to enjoy any of it? \yep, yours truly. Unfortunately, I don't get to experience any of it. Instead, I'm left with scraps and leftovers if I'm lucky.
While the other students are busy savoring their five-star meals, I'm stuck with the leftovers and a nagging hunger that never quite goes away. But hey, at least it builds character, right?
Speaking of characters, Mrs. Troth is on her usual power trip, barking orders like she's running a military boot camp instead of a boarding school. And guess who gets the honor of being her favorite target today? Yep, you guessed it-yours truly.
"Sirena!" Mrs. Troth's voice slices through the air like a knife, sharp and unforgiving, bringing me back to the unforgiving reality that is my life.
I hesitated, debating whether to answer or not. When I didn't respond, an aggressive banging echoed through my room, rattling the door on its hinges. "Sirena! Open this door right now!" Mrs. Troth's voice demanded, her impatience palpable.
I rolled my eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "I'm coming," I called out, my tone dripping with sarcasm. As if I had any other choice, I thought bitterly.
The banging ceased abruptly, replaced by the click of the doorknob as Mrs. Troth barged into my room without any regard for privacy or decency. "About time," she snapped, her tone sharp and rude. "You're not the only one with duties to fulfill around here."
I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to snap back at her. It wouldn't do any good, only adding fuel to the fire of her wrath. Instead, I plastered on a fake smile, nodding in false agreement as she continued her tirade.
Once she was satisfied with her scolding, Mrs. Troth spun on her heels, storming out of the room with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. I listened to her retreating steps, the sound fading into the distance like a distant memory. With a heavy sigh, I slumped against the door, the weight of her words and my own frustrations pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. Another day in paradise, I thought bitterly, steeling myself for whatever else the day had in store.
You're probably wondering, why don't I fight back? Well, let me tell you, I've tried.
There's more to all of this than meets the eye. The people of the academy aren't your ordinary folks. They're werewolves. Yup, you heard me right; werewolves. The academy is filled with them, from the faculty to the students-a haven for werewolves.
I vividly recall those times when I was outnumbered and outmatched, my back against the wall as a group of guys pummeled me without mercy. But it wasn't just the physical pain; it was the cruel words, the mocking laughter that cut deeper than any punch.
And it wasn't just the guys. The girls, and even some of the faculty, joined in the harassment, their words like daggers aimed straight at my heart. "You've only got yourself to blame," they'd say, as if I deserved the abuse for daring to speak up, to defend myself.
I remember one particularly brutal scenario, where a group of kids cornered me in the cafeteria, their sneers dripping with malice as they taunted and jeered. I tried to stand my ground, to fight back with words instead of fists, but it only seemed to fuel their cruelty.
I mustered the strength to rise from the floor, bruises blooming like dark flowers across my skin, a surge of frustration and anger welling up inside me. It's tempting to believe their cruel words, to blame myself for the torment I endure day after day. But deep down, I know better. I refuse to accept their twisted narrative, refuse to let them break me with their hate-filled words and fists.
When I tried to run away, I found my opening, naively thinking freedom lay just beyond the academy's gate. But my escape was short-lived, ending with a punishment that left me confined to my room for days on end, staring at the same four walls, counting down the minutes until I could taste a sliver of freedom again.
That's when I found out about the werewolves, and a bit about myself. "A wolf who can't shift, abandoned by her parents," Mrs. Troth's voice rings in my mind, her tone harsh and heartless.
"Someway to find out a bit about yourself, huh." I chuckled softly at my own dry humor, finding solace in the absurdity of my situation. The whole werewolf thing did catch me off guard, but in a strange way, it made sense. After all, I had always felt like I was different, like there was something lurking beneath the surface waiting to be unleashed.
The realization of my own identity was a bitter pill to swallow. Not fully human, yet not entirely a werewolf either-I existed in a liminal space, trapped between two worlds yet belonging to neither. It was a truth I had long tried to ignore, but the reality of my existence could no longer be denied.
Unlike the others in this boarding school, I couldn't shift into a wolf at will. I was an anomaly, a freak of nature, and in a society that prized conformity above all else, that made me an outcast. The disdainful glances, the whispered taunts-they were a constant reminder of my otherness.
I couldn't help but wonder if that was the reason for the treatment I endured-the cold shoulders, the cruel words, the isolation. Perhaps they saw me as a threat to their delicate hierarchy, a reminder of the fragility of their own identities.
Sure, discovering that I was a werewolf explained a lot of things, but it also raised a whole new set of questions. Who was I really? Where did I come from? And perhaps most importantly, what did it mean for my future?
I shook my head, pushing aside the flood of doubts and uncertainties that threatened to overwhelm me. Dwelling on the unknown wouldn't get me anywhere.
I let out a dejected sigh, my shoulders slumping as I dragged myself across the room. The worn-out carpet scratched against the soles of my feet, a stark reminder of the harsh reality that awaited me beyond these walls. With each step, the weight of my exhaustion seemed to deepen, threatening to pull me into an abyss of despair.
With cautious steps, I made my way to the bathroom, pushing the creaky door open, wincing at the grating sound it made. The cool tiles soothing beneath my feet.
The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sickly glow over the sterile tiles. I avoided looking at my reflection in the mirror, knowing all too well the sight that awaited me-dark circles under my eyes, bruises marrying my skin, a silent testament to the battles I fought each day.
Turning on the faucet, I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the weariness that clung to me like a second skin. The shock of the icy water sent a jolt through my system, momentarily waking me from my stupor. I genty scrubbed at my skin, as if trying to scrub away the memories that haunted me. I didn't want to irritate the skin any further.
I reached for a towel to dry my face, when I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. The image that stared at me was a shell of a person, prompting a grimace from me. Dark circles marred the skin beneath my eyes, worn down by the weight of her own existence.
I leaned closer, studying the bruises that marred my skin, vivid reminders of yesterday's altercation. They blossomed like dark flowers against the pale canvas of my flesh, each one a testament to the cruelty that lurked within the walls of the academy.
With a heavy sigh, I reached for the concealer, dabbing it carefully over the bruised patches. It was a futile effort to hide the evidence of my suffering, but it made facing the day a little easier, at least.
Casting away any self pity that threatens to consume me with every bruise I covered, a routine I had become all too familiar with. Concealer became my armor, hiding the evidence of my struggles from prying eyes.
With the last of the bruises hidden from view, I straightened my shoulders, steeling myself for the day ahead.