ISLA
My muscles are rigid, the weight of my own body anchoring me to this mite palace of a mattress. I don’t know how much time has passed since I’ve been in this musty crypt. I’ve been drifting in and out of restless sleep and bouts of consciousness, the days or weeks, whatever it’s been, have bled together. They avoid me, leaving me alone…I’m not sure which is worse, alone with my thoughts and fears or in the presence of my captors and my father.
It’s been seven years since I’ve seen that face in person. His hair is buzzed short now, but there is enough to see how the grey hairs blend into the black. The stubble on his face is the same. His eyes, what used to be pale blue eyes, icy and cold, are dark and murky, showing his wolf was forward- just like the day in the cells when they took
