A howl at night episode 30

??A Howl In The Night??
?She’s mine?
?From Novel r0m@nç£?

?Chapter 30?

?One’s Dream, Another’s Nightmare?

I have honestly tried to change myself.

It has been difficult, of course. I have been struggling to prevent myself from snapping at my teachers, but the way they chastise me about my lack of progress over the last few days has really gotten on my nerves.

It isn’t like I haven’t been in the garden for countless hours, forcing my restless mind to meditate just like the rude Spier master suggested. It isn’t like I haven’t been poring over the books on basic werewolf etiquette that Lady Miranda had commanded me to re-ad. And most of all, it isn’t like I haven’t p@rticipated in the daily as-signment of scouring the prophecy that I am supposed to be a crucial p@rt of about a million times. I hate an-alysis clas-s the most.

That is the worst. I hate looking for things that just aren’t there.

I’m not really sure what Mr. Vigilance is hoping I will find. He has told me to do everything; from sweeping my thumb over every letter in the original text to slee-ping with a copy of the prophecy beneath my head. Supposedly I have been, as the old baldy would say, “blessed with a superior insight that could lead to a greater un-derstanding concerning the details of my mission if applied in the correct manner.” Or something like that. I st©pped listening to him after the very first day. For that matter, I st©pped listening to pretty much everyb©dy.

So it probably is my fault that I haven’t learned anything of substance since I began these cursed tutoring sessions. I think my teachers aren’t used to a student that just can’t learn and progress, so that’s why they are going crazy. I am sure to them I seem like a normal kid, with nothing to set me ap@rt from anyone else.

But honestly. I did try. I’m still trying.

It is just difficult when Mr. Vigilance is breathing over my n£¢k, his angry face too close for comfort.

“Mona, do you even un-derstand the point of this clas-s? It is not all fun and games, you know.”

I sigh, f!ngering the rugged parchment upon which is written that awful paragra-ph that supposedly defines my life. “I never considered this clas-s to be fun and games, Mr. Vigilance.” That much was true. Very true.

“Then have you not been studying the do¢v-ment? Tell me at least one thing that you learned since yesterday.”

He twists around to the front of the table where I sit, glaring at me like a ferocious animal. Admittedly, Mr. Vigilance is rather handsome. Everyone around here pretty much is. I have almost gotten sick of the attrac-tive facial features, the long, glowing hair, and the perfect bodies that surround me daily. It is as if each of us looks like a china doll, living in our own little world that is ethereal to me even now. Mr. Vigilance is probably one of the least handsome werewolves I have seen, with a light gray buzz cut, sharp, pointed looks, and an athletic b©dy. His muscles are nothing compared to some of the frightening Hulk look-a-likes prowling around the premises. I have seen a few that really put the green monster to shame.

It is strange how my perception has changed over these last few days. Comparing men’s muscles with such imp@rtiality and indifference… I must be going crazy. This place is a madhouse.

Mr. Vigilance’s green eyes glow as he joins me in surveying the do¢v-ment, mistaking my boredom for intense concentration.

“What do you see, Chos£n One?” He whispers, his voice tinged with ba-rely contained excitement.

“I see paper.” I decide to humor him, holding my hand above the do¢v-ment. At the movement, he nearly jumps up and down, frenzy with anticipation and excitement. “I see…”

“What is it?!” He asks, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. I never imagined that a werewolf could manage to make an unattrac-tive face, but he just proved me wrong.

“I see a ghost,” I hastily choke, scrambling for something enlightening to say. I said the same thing yesterday… and today he will probably not be satisfied. I can tell by the way his eyes slightly dim as he looks straight at me.

“Surely there’s more,” he says, grasping the edges of the table. His knuckles turn white, and cracks start to blo-ssom within the furniture. I look up at him with a pointed glare, and he seems to realize what he is doing. He re-leases the hold on the table and starts fiddling with his sleeves.

“There is a wolf.” My eyes sl!pto a close, the exhaustion from the past few nights starting to get to me. For some reason, I have not gotten more than a few hours of frequently interrupted sleep since I decided to go throu-gh the stupid Sharuken ritual. Every time I try to rest, I am awakened by the same horrible nightmare. There is no escape. At least not for me.

Even now, the familiar vision is appearing before my eyes. Dark foliage and towering trees surround my form as I suddenly am transported to a de-ep forest, with no way back.

I look around, searching for someone. Anyone. However, the only things here to keep me company are the mosquitos, spiders, and other disgusting bugs. For a minute, I observe one of the gigantic arachnids as it weaves a spectacular web a few feet away from my face. Of course, that doesn’t last long.

The emotion of hopelessness constricts my heart, my breathing heavy and f0rç£d. I feel lost. Completely alone… and completely helpless.

How am I supposed to take care of myself in such a dark, scary place? I don’t even know if I can start a fire by myself, let alone gather food.

I sit by the trunk of a tree for a short while, exhausted for no reason at all. Against my will, my eyes start to sl!pto a close, and everything becomes hazy.

No. Not this time.

I snap to attention, fighting the overwhelming fatigue. Shakily standing up, I edge over to the small clvster of bushes in front of me. I don’t know how I knew. But as I plucked a small, purple berry from the bush, I just felt certain that this was exactly what I nee-ded.

I plop one after the other into my mouth, savoring the sweetness for only seconds between bites. For some reason, I cannot st©p eating them. My hands keep moving towards my face while filled with berries. They are strange, unfamiliar hands that are withered and worn.

The tiredness comes again, and this time it is impossible to overcome. Sleep care-sses my b©dy, weaving his hands across my arms and legs until I am filled with him. drun!ken with sleep.

Get up. Keep fighting.

The protest is squelched by Sleep as he captures it between his f!ngerti-ps, squee-zing the words ti-ghtly until they cease to exist. Before long, he breathes lightly in my ear, his work completed. He has convinced my consciousness to take a stroll with him, leaving only my b©dy behind.

Somehow this feels so wrong.

I float to my feet, staring at my forsaken b©dy. After a few seconds of silence, I take a step closer to the b©dy. An arm takes mine before I get any closer, and I drown in Sleep’s unwavering gaze. Swiveling me around on my heel, he whispers sweet nothings in my ear that makes me blus-h and giggle like a s-en-seless preteen. Not even a hint of doubt remains in my mind. He smiles like an angel, sweeping me off into the night with a gracefulness that causes me to never look back.

***

Get up! You are about to miss your chance!

I gro-an , holding my belly subconsciously as my consciousness starts to return. From a love-filled night, my consciousness is giggling once more and waving at the elusive figure standing a few feet away. She watches him as he walks back into the darkness, obviously forlorn about her time with him being cut short. With a sigh, she comes back to me, re-leasing me from Sleep’s bindings. My eyes fly open, and a full wave of nausea hits me ha-rd . I choke, the air leaving my lungs. The pain wors-en-s in my stomach and I keel over. What is this madness? What is wrong with me?

The pain doesn’t st©p, crippling me until I am only a heap upon the ground. My breathing is strained and heavy, and I am unable to think. I look at my feet, and then around me in a desperate search for water. There seems to be a pond about ten feet from me, but it seems like miles away in my terrible state. Something had to be causing this.

My frantic search for water continues, this state of delirium toying with me until I can ha-rd ly stand it. My eyes land upon a small berry which had somehow made its way over to my side. The hunger immediately roars to life, ma-king my stomach ache even more. I m0@n in pain as my face grows white.

The berries.

Those awful berries.

I cannot st©p myself from retching, and afterwards I stare at the purple junk, splattered across the wretched ground, that had come from my mouth. Carefully I edge away, slowly but surely, in my stunted position. With a fate like this, I might be better off quic-kly dying from some sort of injury or disease. Looks like I am going to be suffering for a very long time.

This is what happens when I trust my gut. Never… never again.

I feel myself about to throw up again, the nausea building within me. The agony is unrelenting.

Don’t give up. Almost here.

But I forget all that when I hear the footsteps.

My heart st©ps as not one, not two, but several footsteps troop throu-gh the forest. They seem to be coming at an alarmingly fast rate, too fast for me to even comprehend. The blood leaves my br@in as before I know it, they are about to either pas-s me or run over me.

It is strange, but I seem to s-en-se the quiet footsteps instead of hear them. The ground pounds with their arrival, the birds fly away in a hurry, and the other animals run and hide. They know it too. They know someone, or something, is coming.

I struggle to look up, looking like a chicken in the process. Scanning the area, I hope to catch a glimpse of the mysterious creatures. An image stirs in my mind, an image of these creatures. Somehow, the blurry thought cannot seem to focus. I have forgotten something.

A whoosh occurs to my left, and out of the corner of my eye I see five figures. I blink, and they are gone. Just like that. I still can feel them, their retreating footsteps as they continue on their journey. What a strange sight.

And then it is over.

The pain returns as quic-kly as it disappeared. I edge towards the tree in order to lean against it, but in my haste forgot about the muddy puddle that was to my right. I g@sp as the cold we-tness splashes against my arms, and seconds later I realize I am thor0ûghly soa-ked in brown water. A feeling of hopelessness enters me and I realize that I am completely helpless. Helpless and re-ady to die in order to escape the pain.

What are you saying?!

I shake myself mentally. I am not a coward, I think angrily to myself, I am better than this. My b©dy starts to tremble as I place my hands on the ledge next to the puddle. Hopefully I can drag myself out of the shallow water.

The pain, however, is absolutely mind-boggling. Every movement I make amplifies the hurt, and I can’t help but let out a scream. My hands re-lease the ledge and I fall further towards the center of the puddle. I start to cry, the salty tears sli-pping down my cheeks like a waterfall. It only seems to make the aching worse, but it’s the only thing I can do.

My blood turns cold as a hand appears in my view.

Anger overwhelms me as I survey it, observing the delicate hand with an interest that confuses me. It is only a normal hand, but somehow in my view it has morphed into the hand of an angel. A hand that means everything. I was not afraid of that hand, though maybe of the person… or thing possessing it. It was my deliverer, my savior.

I follow the line of the connecting arm with my eyes, noting the delicate wrist that followed, along with the lean, strong muscles. Definitely masculine.

A strange musk dances towards my nose, and s-en-suously pla-ys with my s-en-ses before leaving me defenseless. A scent I know all too well… or do I? The memories are frayed at the edges, seemingly ruined beyond repair.

I wonder out of curiosity why I am not freaking out right now at the strange apparition of a hand just when I nee-ded one most. Instantly I realize that it must be because my mind has not yet caught up to my overwhelmed s-en-ses, mostly because of the fogginess that has settled over my thoughts like a blanket. A little laugh escapes me, a strange, throaty laugh. It was not mine. Or was it…

My eyes reach the man’s b©dy, and I can tell alre-ady that he is very attrac-tive. His muscles are not gigantic, but I never de-sired anything like that in a man, anyway. I like the skinnier, well-balanced men. Of course… not that I care.

It takes me a while to remember his face, my eyes crawling over every p@rt of him. It is like wine for the eyes, so intoxicating and beautiful. But eventually I cannot resist the lure of his smile, a smile I know he is wearing for some strange reason, and reluctantly lift my gaze.

His eyes are like emeralds, sparkling with amusement. His hair is like the ocean, blue as the sea. But I do not dwell on either of those features long.

That one smile instantly brings my mind up to speed.

Subconsciously at the sight of that smile I back away, further into the puddle. He looks so familiar, as if I have known him for a long while. Maybe even forever. I squirm with discomfiture as I notice the amusement that is prevalent at the corners of his too-wi-de smile. He is laughing at me. This much I can tell.

It seems strange, because as the chuckles are escaping his mouth, I do not hear the pearly sound. What a beautiful sound it must be, I muse, a beautiful laugh to match a beautiful man.

He says some words to me, words that flit by my head without a second glance. I frown and stiffen slightly at the way the reverberations seem to escape me, dancing out of my grasp with ease.

The familiar man st©ps laughing as he stares down at me, his hand still outstretched. It must be awkward for him to hold out his hand so long. I should probably take it and save him the trouble of keeping it in the air.

But instead, I stiffen even further, leaning into the puddle. He frowns and takes a step forward, his foot splashing into the water. My heart beats fas-ter as he lifts his other foot and puts it down in the puddle so that they are both soa-ked.

I instinctively recoil as he crouches down by my side. Muttering something I can’t un-derstand un-der his breath, he reaches with both arms towards me. A squeal escapes me. A squeal that I cannot hear.

A new wave of un-derstanding washes over me. I am deaf. I must be.

This revelation shocks me. How can I just discover something like this? What has happened to my memories? Am I going crazy?

What is my name?

The question chills me to the bone. I realize… that I don’t know the answer.

The man seems to be forming a word on hisl-ips, a word I cannot hear but can somehow see with the way he is exaggerating it. He seems to be saying the word “plea-se”.

My l!pjuts out obstinately and I cross my arms against my che-st in response. He looks at me and starts to laugh. I can imagine it, the beautiful sounds echoing in my heart. I wish I could experience it for myself.

He hesitantly brings his hands out again after a long, contented silence. With a guarded expression, I allow him to sweep his hands un-der me. Before I know it, he has pu-ll-ed me into his arms, picking me up as he steps out of the puddle.

In his comforting embr@ce, I forget everything.

Except, of course, the pain, which comes like a thief in the night to steal away my happiness. Tears well up in the corner of my eye as it launches an as-sault against me again.

The man mumbles something that looks like “What’s wrong?”. Subconsciously I clutch at his arm until my aged knuckles turn stark white. He starts walking over to the pond as his eyes scour mine. I gesture to my stomach wildly, hoping he will get the message. Surprisingly, his nose wrinkles in response.

“Time… of the month?” I think he asks, over-exaggerating ever word so I can un-derstand. Color rushes to my cheeks. I am as red as a tomato. Furiously I shake my head.

“S…sorry,” he says slowly, finally looking up. The pond is beautiful and glas-sy, beckoning to me with its icy f!ngers. As if he re-ad my mind, he steps into the pond with me. The coldness embr@ces my skin as he practically dumps me in the water.

I cannot prevent a laugh as the water t©uçhes my skin, suddenly overjoyed for no reason at all. The pain retreats again, temporarily, as his smile makes everything just a little bit brighter.

“You… remind… me,” He struggles to say, “of… a… girl.”

A girl! Impatience clouds my mind. What kind of girl? A great friend? A lover?

I try to banish these rebellious things from my mind. These thoughts are only causing trouble for everyone.

He must see the question in my eyes, for he continues on slowly. “She… was… c-covered… in… mud… too.”

I have nothing to say. Nothing I wouldn’t want to say. Only meager feelings of jealousy are left in my heart. I want to say that I de-sire to keep my guardian angel all to myself. But I can’t.

For that is what he must be. My angel, s£nt down from Heaven to protect me.

The thought brings a small smile to myl-ips, which leads to a wi-der smile on the handsome man’s face. He reaches out, di-ps his hand in the water, and ru-bs against my cheek with one, rou-gh thumb. And the strangest thing is, I really want him to do it again. For the moment to never end.

And he does, bringing his other thumb to my other cheek, ru-bbing his hands against my skin. It burns. It burns like nothing I have ever experienced before.

It takes me a second to realize that he is trying to wash the dirt and grime off of me. A carefully veiled excitement begins to occur in my mind. I want to see how far this goes. The real question is, how far is he willing to go?

Obviously not very far, because within moments his warm arms are around me again, and he is lifting me out of the water. His embr@ce is so warm, so comforting. I could stay like this forever.

But it doesn’t, and he lays me back beside the tall oak trees. I look at the ground, suddenly feeling embarras-sed.

When I look back up, he is re-ady. “Do… you… believe… in… true… love?”

Interesting question.

I go with the safe answer. “Yes.” It feels weird to know the word pas-sed my mouth even though I was unable to hear it.

“I… don’t.” He gritted his teeth, messing with the bo-ttomof his shi-t. His mouth may say one thing, but his eyes tell a different story. I find myself intrigued. Has someone alre-ady taught this man what true love is?

A shiver ripples throu-gh my b©dy as a blast of cold air brushes against me. He notices instantly, and takes his shi-t off. He has a tank t©p of some kind un-derneath, but I am still instantly affected. My breathing grows hitched, betraying my interest too the all-too-observant man.

“Take… this…use… it.” He says, and then goes to examine the berry bush. Plucking one berry from the bush, he shows it to me. “Did… you… eat…”

I nod hastily. As he does this, the pain returns once more. I feel myself slumping in agony.

Within a flash, he is by my side. “Just… be… careful… do… not…” He begins, then angrily mutters un-der his breath. I blink, and when my eyes flutter open, he is gone.

What the cra-p?

But within a second he is back, carrying a small knapsack. My heart practically sighs in relief at his reappearance, now that I know he hasn’t abandoned me.

He fiddles with the drawstrings, opening the bag and silently handing me a bottle of water. I take it eagerly and scre-w the cap open. He turns his attention away from my animalistic displa-y, lifting a notepad out of the sack. A pen shortly follows.

I pause in my frenzied gulps as he begins to write. Watching him, I notice he has beautiful handwriting. Just like the rest of him. To be expected I guess. Surely a man like him cannot be this perfect. He must have some fault.

Ah, I remind myself carefully, but he is a guardian angel. He was s£nt for me.

You don’t really believe that, do you?

“Here.” He hands me the notepad, upon which is written the words “HOW TO TREAT YOUR ILLNESS”. Below it is instructions in taking some sort of pill. What is this nons-en-se?

He smiles at my confusion, and then opens the knapsack again. Carefully he draws out a bottle of pills. “It’s… for… the… berries.”

I frown and reach for the notepad. “How do you have something like this in your knapsack?” I write. He re-ads and answers my question before I finish my next s£ntence. “We… prepare… for… everything.” He grins at me and my heart does a funny leap. What is wrong with me?

“Ok,” I say awkwardly, still feeling strange about the sounds leaving my mouth. It seems like I remember a time when this strange lack of hearing was not an issue.

He starts to write in the notepad again. It doesn’t take him very long.

“I have to go. You will be in danger if I take you with me or stay with you any longer. The soldiers are after me. plea-se un-derstand. I wish I could help more than I alre-ady have. Just plea-se, pay attention to the instructions. I really hope I could have talked with you longer.” I re-ad un-derneath his shoulder, the words upside down. He glances at me and shoves over the note, standing up in the process. The notepad falls from his grasp onto my l@p.

He st©ps as if to pick it up, and then decides not to. He starts to turn away from me, and I strangely feel sad. “You… keep… it.” The man looks over his shoulder with that wonderful grin of his.

“Have… everything.” He throws the knapsack over his shoulder, and then disappears almost immediately. I can s-en-se the footsteps once more.

Good bye.

An eerie calm settles over me. I feel perfectly at peace with the world, satisfied with all it has offered me. Heaven did s£nd me my own guardian angel, after all.

I f!nger the notepad tentatively. What do I want to write? How will I like to fill these pages before the pain comes back?

Images flash in my head, images that are all blurry. No, that just will not do. I cannot make a picture out of blurry. It simply isn’t possible.

Leafing throu-gh the few sketches in the front of the pad for inspiration, I st©p on the portrait of a young, pretty girl. For some reason it strikes me, seemingly familiar to my eyes.

Exactly like my guardian angel.

A name wh!ps out of nowhere, stunning me almost like another round of pain. Tears start to fall as the realization hits me. Mona. Mona is my name.

And his? I ask myself.

My memory grows clearer as the moon begins to soar in the wi-de sky. Xavier. That’s it.

“Xavier,” I whisper softly, tasting the word on my ton-gue. I have to repeat it once more, treating it like a rare delicacy.

“Xavier… why?” I ask the sky, not caring if my ears don’t pick up the words. Maybe if I was louder, they would.

“Xavier, plea-se don’t leave me!”

Two, strong hands gr-ab my side as I start to shake, clutching the sides of my desk. The world around me blurs, and quic-kly morphs into a clas-sroom filled with empty desks. I am back in my prison.

“Mona, plea-se calm down,” Mr. Vigilance says softly, “it is fine now. You are back.”

Tears are running down my face in rivers. He is right. I am safe.

Yet I cannot st©p the tears from flowing.

“What did you see?” he asks, and the chills start to race down my back. I really did see Xavier. He is alive, and running from me.

I wanted to ask him why. I wanted to beg him to stay. But I never had the chance. And now he is gone forever.

I have had this dream countless times, but never before has it gone so far. The last time it happened was yesterday in be-d, and ended right after I went to sleep. It is as if I finally unlocked the true story, and it scares me immensely.

“I saw a mas-sive Shifter attack,” I choke out a lie, “they stormed the cities, too many for us to count. They all c@m£ back and multi-plied, revived by some strange f0rç£. We could not handle them. Every one of us died.” I try to speak evenly, but I end up squeaking out every other word. A half-lie, of course. I had a vision like that the other day.

Mr. Vigilance raises a slender, perfect eyebrow. “Is that everything? Do you feel like this is some sort of premonition? Does this apply to the prophecy in any way?”

Oh… right, right. I forgot. This is an-alysis clas-s.

“Uh, no sir.” I f!nger the edges of the paper. “What do you think?”

He puffs up like some big elephant. I have given him the chance to talk, and he knows it. “Well… maybe…” He edges over to the chalkboard as he thinks.

Great. What have I gotten into?

***

An hour later, I struggle out of that clas-s, nearly exhausted. That man has the ability to svçkthe life out of me, leaving absolutely nothing left. He droned on for at least thirty minutes without st©pping about the possible meanings of my dream. Well, this time I brou-ght it upon myself. I should be ashamed.

Now to get out of my etiquette clas-s.

I edge over to the room where Lady Miranda was tending to some papers cluttered across her desk. “Excuse me, Lady Miranda?” I ask, ma-king my voice as sickly sweet as I possibly can. She seems to be nicer when I talk this way.

“Mona? Is that you?” She looks up, her features spell-binding. Her emerald eyes contrast with flawless ivory skin and dark redl-ips, along with a swan-like n£¢k and a graceful b©dy. To me, she is like an icy goddess.

“Yes, Lady Miranda.” I curtsy clumsily, and I think I see amusement tug at the corner of her closed mouth. “I am feeling rather unwell today, and would like to use the bathroom. May I?”

She stares at me evenly. I begin to feel squirm, traces of red reaching my cheeks.

“I suppose so.” She throws her hands up like it couldn’t be helped. That was one thing about Lady Miranda. She was a drama queen. “But only-“

“Thanks!” I say eagerly, and then zoom off without a second thought. I know I will be reprimanded later, but I don’t care at all. It is worth everything to be free, if only for a couple of moments.

I hope Lady Miranda doesn’t notice that I didn’t turn to the left in order to go to the bathroom.

I exit the premises, swinging a door open so that I am standing in the backyard. Searching my mind for the place I had seen before, I wrinkle my nose in order to catch a scent. Any scent.

There are so many out here: daffodils, lilacs, frogs, and other creatures. But I know what I am looking for. When the hint of the right aroma reaches me, I gr-ab on to it and never let go.

“Chos£n One?” A voice calls in the distance. I mutter angrily un-der my breath. Move, Mona, move!

I run to the edge of the tall walls and jump as high as I can. Using my hands, I gr-ab onto a small ledge, which I used to propel myself over. I have practiced this many times since I found the strange irregularity days ago. It serves as my ticket out, if nee-d be. Although of course, it wouldn’t really free me from the prison, but I can temporarily get away. As long as the guards don’t see me.

Starting to hear shouts from far away, I try not to focus on it too much. I must hold on to that faded scent. It carries me farther in the forest, dee-per than I previously thought.

I hope I don’t get lost.

I finally reach the familiar clearing, where the pond is only a few feet away. My eyes scan over the muddy pond, the deathly berries, and finally, the figure bundled against the tree.

The woman’s face is worn and weary, with many wrinkles upon her face. I can tell she used to be very pretty. She has a heart-shaped face and a slightly pointy nose.

She is scrunched up in the fetal position, her face bent in pain. I see the knapsack off to the side, the discarded water bottle, and the full bottle of pills. Oh, I see. She hasn’t been following the instructions.

There is dried up blood around the area, almost as if she was coughing it up earlier. It doesn’t look like she has any outward injuries.

“Okay, lady, let’s get you out of here.” I hoist her up in my arms slowly, and she is surprisingly light. Her eyes flutter open, and in that time I see piercing blue eyes stare straight into my soul. I am struck by the hopelessness I see within them, and then the fierce determination.

With a ferocity that is ha-rd for even me to detect, she wra-ps her arms around my n£¢k and begins to squee-ze. Surprisingly, it hurts really bad for a lady who has ba-rely any strength left.

“plea-se,” I emphasize, choking un-der her hold, “re-lease… me… here… to… help.”

She studies myl-ips, trying to re-ad the words that fell off my ton-gue. Her eyes narrow in suspicion, but reason takes over and she loos-en-s her grip slightly. I g@sp for air.

Looking around her, she reaches for the notepad, which was lying on the ground. I bent down and picked it up, handing it to her with interest. She fli-ps throu-gh the pages as I begin the walk back, as if searching for something.

I hear a murmur, almost like a strange warble, coming from the lady as she finds the picture she is looking for. “You,” she mouths silently, pointing to the portrait of me on the back of one page. My eyes crinkle with laughter.

“Me,” I nod, and then start to run as fast as I can with the bundle in my arms. I am surprised that she weighs so little to me, but maybe it is the result of that strength training I have been f0rç£d to p@rticipate in. I am always the weakest one there, but maybe even I have improved.

Her eyes wi-den as I go into full speed, and subconsciously she clutches at my shi-t. I have to get back as quic-kly as I can before the guards race after me and catch a whiff of Xavier’s scent. I cannot let them get that far into the forest.

A strange thought occurs to me. I could have left the lady and raced in Xavier’s direction. I could have caught his scent. Maybe even catch up with him.

Why didn’t I?

Well, I suppose it’s worth it anyway, I think to myself. At least I get to save someone out of my stupidity. And really, that’s probably what I would have done anyway if I had thought of this plan earlier. My pres£nce with Xavier would have endangered him more than if I leave him alone. Disheartening as it is, it is still cold, ha-rd reality.

And there is also the fact that he was the one that ran from me in the first place.

A strange squee-zing in my che-st brings me back to the pres£nt. I had ba-rely realized that we have reached the wall until now. Cra-p, I forgot.

How am I going to get over this wall now? It isn’t like I can throw her over.

“What is that in your arms, Mona? What have you been doing?” A figure comes from the side of the walls, probably where the gate is. I g@sp, nearly dropping the woman. I didn’t expect anyone to be out here.

But of course, it is Lady Miranda who decides to follow me outside the gates. Her eyebrows are arched in the air and her tone is full of fury. “What happened to going to the bathroom?”

I am going to die.

Instead of responding to her, I gently try to place the woman’s feet on the ground. A guard comes around the other side in curiosity, and I quic-kly gesture for him to come over. He looks at me and the lady in confusion.

“Can you take care of this lady? She ate some poisonous berries… they were red, and small, and-“

“Metaberries?” he asks suddenly. He seems like he knows what he is talking about.

“Uh… yeah. Sure. Metaberries.”

“I will take care of her, Chos£n One.” The guard reaches out an arm to hold the woman up. She doesn’t protest, allowing him to support her weight. It seems like she can walk, though awkwardly. At the moment she must not be in dire pain.

“plea-se see that she gets a job in Headquarters!” I call after him urgently. He lifts up one hand in p@rting, and then they disappear around the side of the walls. It is then that I notice that the notepad, once more, is on the ground. The pages are fli-pped to a picture I have never seen before. Tears well up as I see the fine lines, the bright eyes and smooth skin. Xavier. She had drawn Xavier.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Lady Miranda huffs, by my side in seconds. Using her arm, she firmly guides me over to the gateway. My few minutes of freedom are over.

All the while, I clutch the notepad close to my che-st. Somehow I am unable to keep the tears from falling.

This is going to be a long week.

***

Days later, I am still just as dumb as I was the moment I started taking these awful clas-ses. I think Lady Miranda has had me thrown out more than three times, and Mr. Vigilance has turned each clas-s into a “br@instorming” period where he basically lectures the entire time over the possible meanings of my dream. Not the real dream, of course, so it wasn’t even slightly interesting.

The only times when I enjoy myself would have to be when Griffin is by my side. He visits me for lunch and always makes me laugh so that I choke on my bland PB&Js. He is becoming my best friend, un-derstanding and caring about me more than anyone else in this boring place. I am starting to think that having him as my only mate wouldn’t be quite as bad.

Walking towards the garden where I eat my lunch, I sp©t him leaning against the statue near the doors. He smiles when he turns to look at me, a smile so unguarded that it makes my heart flutter. He quic-kly strikes a pose, kneeling in front of the statue’s outstretched sword with a wounded expression.

I start to laugh, running over to him. “Watch out!” I yell, “You are going to get hurt!” I leap in the air and push him out of the way. We crash into the wall, his b©dy shielding me from any damage. I look into his brown eyes with relief. He seems to be the most human-like person here, and I love that more than anything.

“Get… up,” Griffin gro-an s, trying to push himself off the floor. He looks hurt, but the twi-nkle in his eyes betrays the truth.

“What were you thinking, getting in front of that soldier?!” I roll off of him, shaking him by the shoulders. “You could have died!”

“Would you miss me?” He wi-nks, slowly standing up.

“Yes. I would miss you so much,” I say sarcastically, drawing out my syllables. Afterwards, I yawn, and his grin reappears.

“Are you bored with me alre-ady, Chos£n One?” he teases, and I punch him in the arm. He knows I hate it when he calls me that.

Offering me his arm, he leads me out into the garden. The nervous bu-tterflies return as we walk, upsetting my stomach.

“Are you re-ady?” He whispers in my ear, a low sound that makes me shiver. I know exactly what he is talking about.

“re-ady as I will ever be, I guess.” I look towards the walls, away from him. Griffin frowns a little.

“I know this must be nerve-wracking. What are you worried about?” he asks, leading me to the benches un-derneath the tall willow tree. Flowers surround us as we sit down, and I open my lunch bag.

“I’m not sure. It is just this uneasy feeling I have. I don’t know if I am re-ady.” I gr-ab my sandwich, staring at it silently. The delectable scent reaches my nose, and I nearly gag.

“I’m sure you are more re-ady than you think.”

“Or maybe you have more confidence in me than you should.”

A minute pas-ses with no words. I quietly put my sandwich up and he starts to eat his own. It is a comfortable silence, a silence I can bear. With Griffin, I always feel at ease.

“If you want, Mona, we can do it now. Get it over with. I know that the Council has had it re-ady for ages,” Griffin comments nonchalantly over a mouthful of BLT. “They just wanted to wait until you decided to come. Of course, the deadline is tonight, but you could have-“

“Really?” I ask, a little more eager than I should be. I have been dre-ading this ritual for days, unable to keep the nervousness from swallowing up all of my thoughts. “Let’s do it, then.”

I marvel at how I spoke of this matter so calmly. The way I said it was about the equivalent of “let’s pl@yball!” or “let’s eat some cake!”. I guess it is just the overwhelming de-sire for everything to just be over. To forget… him, to move on with my life.

“Griffin, wait for me, will you?” I ask, standing up quic-kly, “I have to do something, and then we can go.” He nods, and takes another gigantic bite of his sandwich. Turning from him, I head over to the fountain around thirty feet away.

For a minute, I stare at the glas-sy water, my reflection wavy in the ripples across the surface. Hesitantly I put my hand in my pocket and pu-ll out a tiny sl!pof paper. Unfolding it, I look at the striking portrait once again. My thumb smudged the edge of his face, and I quic-kly shift it away.

I returned the notepad to the old lady, whose name is Cas-sie, by secret. I snuck into her new room and left it on her be-d. However, I could not p@rt with this picture no matter how ha-rd I tried. I eventually to-re it out, stealing away the precious lady’s guardian angel.

But now, it is time.

My heart twists in pain violently as I raise my thumbs to the t©p of the picture and carefully bring them out in opposite directions. The tearing sound makes my eyes start to water, and before I know it, the deed is done. My heart is r!pp£din two pieces just as easily as the paper was.

Now the job gets much ha-rder.

Let go.

Finally one hand opens, and the paper flies until it lands on the blue water. It floats for a while, and then the water swallows it up until it is shriveled and the face is destroyed.

Only one piece left.

Although it may seem like a small matter, at this moment it seems like the world depends on this one action. My grip slowly loos-en-s in the other hand, sweat appearing on my palm. I never imagined that this would become so ha-rd .

Let go.

The paper flies in the same direction that the other did, and soon shrivels in the same manner. Strangely, it feels as if I have been temporarily re-leased… almost energized at its completion. Not exactly what I expected.

With energy I didn’t know I possessed, I walk over to Griffin, who probably saw the entire incident. “Okay,” I say firmly, “I am re-ady.”

I finally let go.

We reach the entrance of a small room after a short while, having traveled slowly but surely. It seems to be in the heart of headquarters, several flights of stairs un-derground. It is kind of creepy, knowing that with every step I am taking I am getting closer to becoming a br@nd new person.

It is ha-rd to imagine what I will be like when it is over. Will my personality change to what it was before I met… him? Will I keep everything but my memories?

Griffin keeps trying to explain the process of the ritual, but I get distracted by the curious designs that are dancing across the walls of this hallway. There are no other doors besides the one at the very end, which is rather strange. The door itself is hvge, decorated with similar designs around the edges. The whole layout of Headquarters confuses me. It is rather like a castle upside down, with a single, plain floor above ground and many more beautiful floors below.

We enter throu-gh the door, and I am surprised by the simplicity of it all. There is nothing in it besides a few chairs, a desk and cabinets, and a small be-d. It rather resembles a normal hospital room, and even that seems more homely than this one. It is very different from everything else I have seen on this floor.

An old, yet striking lady is murmuring to herself, seemingly stirring together a strange concoction in a large mixing bowl. She is dressed in all black and has beady eyes, with dark hair that stretches to her lower back. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that I have just seen a witch.

“Mona, meet our herbalist, Marsha.” Griffin smiles at her, and I extend my hand cautiously. She turns to look at me, stares at my hand for a minute, and then turns away.

My cheeks burn as I hastily drop my hand to my side. Griffin doesn’t seem to notice my embarras-sment, acting as if she hadn’t just snubbe-d me in front of him. “She will be taking care of the ritual, Mona. You have nothing to worry about. She is the best of the best.”

He obviously expects me to be eased by this knowledge. Honestly, it upsets me even more. This lady looks like she could kill me. Not only kill me, but not care about it in the slightest.

“Leave.” A small croak comes from Marsha, and we both take a step back. “I must deal with her alone.”

Marsha. What a witchy name.

Griffin shakes his head. “I’m sorry Marsha, but the Council said-“

“I do not care what the Council said!” She shakes her head definitely, her voice cracking on every other word. “I am doing them a favor right now, and they know it.”

Griffin stares at me pleadingly. “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I mutter un-derneath my breath, “go wait outside.” Smiling, he pats me on the head and walks out of the door.

“I’ll be right here! Call if you nee-d me!” He throws over his shoulder, and then the door shuts with a frightening CLANG!!

Now I am alone with this scary witch-lady. I knew I never should have gone along with this.

She gestures to the be-d, and I quic-kly scramble upon it. The energy I had before is completely gone. How did I lose my confidence so quic-kly?

“Mona, I am going to have to ask you to relax,” she says calmly over her shoulder, “I can feel your teeth chattering like footsteps on a rainy day.”

What? What did that an-alogy have to do with anything?

She finishes her mixture, and then takes a cu-p out of the cabinet and pours some of the concoction into it. “Parsley, Gingerberries, Red Snaps, Fargleweed, Cabbage, and Tawniberries. Pretty normal ingredients, except for the Gingerberries, until swirled together for thirty minutes, boiled for ten minutes, and then allowed to fester for three days. Now it serves as a concoction that is so potent you cannot drink but a sip before the agony overtakes you. It is the first step to ridding yourself of your mate.” After explaining, she takes a dropper and di-ps it in the cu-p. I am only thinking of one thing.

Gingerberries?

GINGERBERRIES?

“Secondly,” she continues, “I have to take another thick mixture, using extremely rare ingredients, and spre-ad it across the mating mark you wish to re-move. I have been informed that this mark is near your n£¢k.” Stepping over to me, she places the dropper on a small be-dside table and went to get something else.

“Afterwards, I will use Fargleweed to soothe your evaporating mating mark and the pain in your che-st. However, it may continue regardless for hours. Even if you are hurting after I am throu-gh with this step, I must give you the elixir or it will never be complete. This is the potion that messes with your mind, fiddling with your memories and truly ma-king you forget him.”

“Let’s get on with it then,” I mutter, lying back against the single pillow. “Bring on the pain.”

She smiles, a wicked smile that chills me to the bone. “As you wish.”

A few minutes pas-s as she arranges things on the table. I spend time thinking about what I was going to lose. Throu-ghout this process, will I lose myself? Why did I even agree to do this?

Oh yeah. The pain.

That is so funny to me, and I start to laugh. So in order to escape from the pain, I must drink something that gives me pain. What a messed up world.

Marsha arches an eyebrow, and I shrug. “I’m weird,” I offer as an explanation. I’m sure she thinks I’m crazy now.

I think she is re-ady, for she is picking up the dropper. “Open up, Mona.” Obe-diently I do as she asks, closing my eyes in the process. The word why keeps flitting throu-gh my thoughts.

Why, why, why, why, WHY?

A small droplet of liquid hits my ton-gue, and I begin to scream. It seems as if my b©dy is on fire, lit into flames by that one single spark. She was right. The pain really does overtake you.

I can feel Marsha’s hands on me, forcibly holding me down. Strange bindings are suddenly around my feet and arms. Anger at her sears me like a red-h0t iron. What the cra-p was I thinking when I agreed to do this?

Crashes r heard outside, along with shouting and other strange noises. I ba-rely notice, mainly because I am busy writhing in pain.

“Not too much longer dearie,” Marsha cackles, her aged hands spre-ading a gooey paste around my n£¢k. At about this time, an even larger crash occurs, and I can hear Griffin yelling, “Guards! GUARDS!”

I think Marsha has messed up for some reason, because now I can feel the paste on my shi-t and jeans. Some of it gets on my belly and sides because my shi-t had ridden up slightly. The burn intensifies when this happens, and I am unable to st©p from screaming again.

“What are you doing to her?” A voice anxiously asks, a voice that is familiar to me. “What are you doing to Mona?!”

Marsha doesn’t say anything from the silence that follows, and then croaks in my ear. “Drink this.” A cu-p t©uçhes myl-ips and a sweet liquid slides into my mouth. Not much, though, but something knocks the cu-p from myl-ips.

A face hovers above me, streaked with moisture. It takes a minute for my eyes to focus, but then I realize it is him. My b©dy starts to shake and stars dance in my vision. “Mona, it’s me,” the familiar voice whispers, “Xavier. I c@m£ back.”

“I may not ever see you again,” he whispers, “because the guards are coming this way to kill us. But I had to see you just one more time. I love you. I can’t live without you.”

My heart nearly explodes.

Throu-gh all the burning pain, I focus on my one de-sire that rises above the others; the urge to escape… with Xavier, with Griffin, with everyone. Somehow, I nee-ded to save them all. Even if I die in the process.

Places appear before me randomly. The werewolf mansion. My orphanage. My school. Strange valleys, and creeks, and towering mountains that I have never seen before.

Another vision settles before me, a vision of dark rivers and forests, vast oceans and dark grey skies. There.

I reach for it, grasping for the place that has haunted my dreams since the very first Shifter attack. The others cannot reach us there. We will be safe.

In my strange state of delirium, I run and catch it in my hands, and then stare at it, expecting something. Anything.

And then something happens.

The light from the place grows, consuming my hand, my arms, and my b©dy. It su-cks up everything, until nothing is left. Surely I have gone mad. What have I done?

My consciousness leaves me as I finally pas-s out, due to the agonizing pain.

What a nightmare.

T B C