The Love of a Werewolf King

Chapter-Two

Within the cold, barren walls of a small Catholic church bordering the outskirts of Arvada, Colorado, Lola Maxwell stood with trembling fingers before a wooden casket. She took a step closer, feeling her legs turn into jelly after getting a better look of who was inside.

Inside of the casket lay an elderly woman, in her mid 70s no less, resting peacefully. Lola's grandmother, Joanne Perkins.

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A woman who she admired ever since childhood. She worked in the town's public library for over 18 years, and before that, she was a kindergarten teacher at Briggins Elementary school less than two miles away from the church she attended almost everyday.

Despite the walls that echoed with hushed whimpers and cries, with the voice of the priest voicing scriptures before the altar, all of the noise faded to black in Lola’s ears. For she was far too preoccupied with other means.

Adorned in a silk blouse, lavender blazer, skirt, and a pair of black 1-inch heels was she.

Lavender was her favorite color, Lola thought. Much vibrant than the black clothing she wore.

Grey and lifeless was she. Face, hands, ankles in all.

Her grandmothers skin was never this pale, Lola remembered that well enough.

Not even the blush and blue eyeshadow the Morticians used to make her appeal more lively could mask the utter lifelessness. Death.

However, she looked at peace. Eyes and lips relaxed into a smile. Lola couldn’t remeber the last time she looked at peace, not until not.

Felling eyes on her, it became a diffult task to ignore the feasting eyes of the priest observing her from the podium above, including guests --eleven in all-- seated in the alters from behind. A decision was made in her head, one thatkeeping her eyes glued to the deceased corpse before her.

But as though she was burried beneath the rubble of his scrutiny, Lola felt completely naked. Like all of her secrets were put on display, revealed to those who found them revolting, and that she were being judged for them. It was a look so recognizable that she could see from a mile away.

Based on Lola’s assumptions, it had been approximately 10 minutes since the funeral began. But tithin that frame of time, Lola hasn’t shed a single tear. It figures, she thought. The disgusted looks she’s received so far were strikingly abhorrent and full of utter confusion, her own grandaughter wasn’t flooding in a pool of her tears.

By such observastion, Lola was certain her indefferernce caused the subtle glares and tightly scrunched brows, shared between the priest and the 11 guest in all.. But if so, she knew there was something more than that. Lola could tell that behind the revolted looks, surprise wasn’t on of them.

Afterall, Lola was troubled girl, in their eyes apparently. Unfortunate to be born of troubled parents who's sins eventually came back to haunt them, leading them to fall right into tragedy after tragedy. Leading them to abandon their daughter. To their deaths, they fell right into it. What did they expect from such troubled backgrounds. Nothing,

The age of 15 was the year Lola had stopped attending maas, only dropping her grandma of before leaving soon after. She was just like her parents. Her presence reeked of lack of fate, unconforming ideals. A girl who did not seek redemption against the church's God.

"May God have mercy on her soul," is what Lola assumed the priest was thinking, and perhaps it were indeed.

But frankly speaking, she didn't care much about what he thought of her, or anyone for that matter. No. She thought. That wasn’t entirely true. However, she did not feel sad or angry as a result. But it did make her feel guilty. They cared about her in some way, but she couldn't relate to them. After years of silent glares and hushed whispers, it was loneliness.

She knew in her soul that she didn't belong there, no. But it was a sacred place to her grandmother, whom frequented every Sunday to practice her faith.

Therefore, Lola's thought it best to ignore such fickle matters, for there was a much important matter to be dealt with.

Lola, with empty eyes dried of tears she’s already wept before, takes one final look, and reaches out to touch her grandmothers intertwined hands resting above her abdomen. She leaned down, tucking the loose strands of hair from her ponytailed, and left a long, tender kiss on her forehead. Eyes shut, her lips lingered on cold skin, but she didn’t mind it at all. Because it was her grandmother. And even in death still, she made her feel warmth.

A final stroked of the hair, Lola whispered a saying keen to her grandmother “Goodbye until tomorrow,” straight agains, turns around and walked down the aisle, exiting through the main entry.

In sheer retrospect, walking out of your grandmothers funeral service before it had barely begun wasn’t an act ideally praised in modern society, Lola thought. But it’s what her grandma wanted. Why? She wasn’t sure. But she agreed. Not to the very brim, no. For she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’tr bid her grandmother goodbye goodbye one last time.

Out the church doors and stepping into the daylight, the chill assault of autumn that stretched within the church walls stung her. The afternoon winds had become frivolous, and beside the numb throbbing in her heart, numbness became a sensation biting at her cheeks, acnkle, and finger tips my very finger tips.

Lola takes quick strides to her parked vehicle. Hoping inside, she grabs the car wheel, breathing in deeply as the stinch of cigarettes of the chill air burned her lungs. Just breathe. Lola thought. Just breathe.

Drive Lola. And don’t look back.

And drove she did

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Arvada, Colorado was a city of many things. Known as the city with the charms of a small town, friendly people, good food, less than a couple miles from Denver. But to Lola, it did’t really feel like home. She was born there, grew-up up there, very fast to be precise. The furthest she’d ever travel was to east town of Denver, in a speeding car with her mother, evading the police for thief and of illigal substance when she was 7 years old. And it was the furthest she ever cared about

The town never felt like a home, but she was drawn to it. Never felt the need to go elsewhere. It was ordinary place filled with ordinary folks trying to get by. It was almost all she ever knew, so asking for more felt strange.

Lola’s drove down the main street, a road she driven down many time to get home. Many familiar faces passed by. She passed