Chapter 1 - Alive  

2410 Words
A strange taste sticks on my tongue as I lick the tip of my finger. Ink clinging to my skin. Mixed with salt and dirt. I hardly notice the tiny differences anymore. All those new sensations are normal by now. I don’t even think about them. I don‘t acknowledge them. It doesn’t make them less real, but it lets me pretend I am like everyone else. A soft rustling noise as paper scrapes on paper. I turn the page of the book I am reading and that’s the only sound for a while. The library is empty at night. For a good reason. It’s closed and I am not supposed to be here. Then again, I am not supposed to exist at all. I was supposed to die. Yet, here I am. Living and breathing. Different. But alive. The miracle girl. That’s what they used to call me. Now I‘m just the weird girl, with those ugly scars on her face and the weird boyish haircut. Strange how quickly one can turn from hero to zero. Not that I did anything special. I didn’t fight a wolf. I didn’t save anyone’s life. I just survived. Nobody can explain it. Nobody understood how it was possible. If bitten by a wolf, it’s a certain death sentence. For a female at least. Something about being too fragile to survive the change into an oversized wolf. They tested me. They probed me. Tortured me until they decided I am no threat. I’m just one in a million. A coincidence. I understand why they did it. Why they needed to make sure I am not going to turn into one of those creatures. But back then all I wished for was death. The moments I was conscious at least. Death seems to be no friend of mine though. He let me suffer and now I’m sitting here, trying to find answers to questions I don’t even know yet. I am sure the answers are the only reason I am still here. The Lycanthrope was first discovered in 425 BC. Cursed by the witch Eleonora of Broomswick... “Broomswick, I mean, come on, that’s a made-up name,” I mutter to myself. There are about a million books on folklore. On the Lycans anatomy. On the process of shapeshifting. Witches. Curses. And on how to slay the beast. The enemy. Yet, no matter how many books I read, they all seem like fiction to me. Nothing seems to make sense. Some say Lycans shift on demand. Some say they are cursed by the moon. Bound to it and its powers. There are very few facts to find. Nothing that helps me answer the question of why I am still alive. … The man, whose name was lost in the transcriptions, was bound to the moon. Cursed to shift into the animal he despised the most. Historians assume that he was a simple farmer. Losing his cattle and sheep to a vicious wolfpack... I sigh and rub my eyes before I stare at the candle flame dancing in the dark. It‘s not supposed to move. There are no windows open. No doors. I turn my head to the side, listening closely. I am no longer alone. I can tell, by the sound of someone breathing. Rather loudly. “I know you’re there,” I say, without looking away from my candle. A soft laugh sounds and footsteps approach before he slumps into the empty chair opposite of me. “And you are not supposed to be here at all,” he says with a sheepish grin and turns the book I am reading. “Ah, good old Broomswick,” he says, “I wonder if she knew what she unleashed with that curse.” His woodsy scent fills the air around us. He’s been out again. Out on a hunt. I can tell. I can smell it on him. The cold wintery air, the trees that he ran through, icy drops of water, melting on his reddening cheeks. Cillian Summerstrom. Hunter. The boy who saved my life about a year ago. I know they wanted him to kill me. I could hear them speak over my bleeding body. His Captain ordered him to finish me. To release me from the pain. Spare me the suffering. He didn’t. He never told me why he disobeyed his orders that day. He never spoke of it at all, but he somehow took me home, and here I am. Alive. His dark eyes flick up from the book to catch me staring at him. “Why are you up so late?” he asks, closing the book as if I’m not supposed to see what’s inside. The library is a restricted area. It‘s for students of the Hunters‘ academy only. I am not a student. I tried to apply, but girls are not allowed to become Huntresses. “I can’t sleep,” I shrug and slowly let my fingers dance over the candle. I can feel the heat, but it doesn’t bother me. “And I catch you here? Again?” “You knew you’d find me here!” I say staring at the candle instead of him. It took me a few tries to break into the academy. When I finally did, it was Cillian who caught me. And the second time. And the third. His anger about me breaking the rules turned into amusement and by now, I don’t think he cares anymore. “Maybe,” he chuckles and glances around the dark library, “what is it you hope to find here?” “Something,” I whisper, and this time I look over at him. His brows rise. “I just want to know!” I explain. I understand that I am different. What I don’t understand is why. What is it that makes the difference? My life was normal before I came here. I had a somewhat decent job. It got me through life. I had a roof over my head, food on the table, and clothes to wear. Everything changed on one fateful night. A wolf attacked me. His claws ripped through my flesh. When he was about to finish me off and his teeth sank into my skin, Cillian and his crew appeared. They killed the wolf and while I felt the poison infecting my system, they stood over me, debating what to do. Debating death. “I told you everything I know,” he says but it’s a lie. I always knew he only gave me parts of the truth. Inklings of what he knows. I´m not supposed to know. I am supposed to fear the thing that attacked me, but fear doesn’t seem to be a very satisfying solution, does it? “You told me everything you’re allowed to tell me.” He sighs and leans back in his chair with an exhausted yawn. “Look, Mika-," he says, "-this is a dangerous game you’re playing. I´m trying to-,” “If you say protect me, I’m going to kill you!” I interrupt him. I don’t like how every girl around here loves playing the damsel in distress. I prefer to take matters into my own hands. It might get me into trouble, but at least I am responsible for my actions. “You’re welcome to try,” he chuckles. He’s trained to fight. He’s trained to kill gigantic wolves. He’s a killer himself. Not a beast. Human. Still, is he any better than those creatures? I never really understood the concept of war, to be honest. Do people or wolves even know what they are fighting about anymore? “Do you believe in any of this bullshit?” I ask pointing at the book. The more books I’ve read, the more I ask myself if anyone around here even knows what a Lycan really is. I certainly don’t understand it. A man, shapeshifting into a wolf. Teeth. Powerful. Dangerous. Enemy. Kill. No hesitation. No mercy as they won’t show any. And that’s about everything I’ve learned so far. “For someone so eager to know it all, you’re pretty suspicious of us,” he says teasingly. But there is a hint of truth to his words. Why would I trust them? They don’t trust me! Whenever I wanted to leave this town they came up with some bullshit reason for me to stay. I’m harmless, but I am still a rarity. One of a kind. Sometimes I wonder if they see me as their property. Finders' keepers. “Eleonora Broomswick. I’m almost ninety percent convinced someone made that name up,” I say with a shake of my head. He laughs. A deep sound rumbled through his chest. But it barely ever touches his eyes. A world of pain hidden behind them. Even a moment of laughter can’t erase it. Sometimes, on a quiet night like this, I can even sense his pain. It’s a soft sensation brushing over my skin. Slowly sinking in, like water seeping into the dry soil. Every emotion feels a little different. The stronger, the more likely I can pick up on it. “I thought so too,” he finally says, “but it’s what the books say. Must be true, right?” “Truth,” I say, testing the word, “I don’t know. This seems like hearsay. Things someone once said to someone else, to someone else and the next one finally wrote it down. Maybe her name was Elena Brookssmith, but they’ve misheard it. Maybe she had a very furry boyfriend and he screwed up one day so she chased him away with a broomstick.” “Furry boyfriend? That’s your explanation?” “Could be,” I shrug, “everything in these books doesn’t seem solid. It’s just lore. Stories to explain something that maybe can’t be explained. Are witches even real? Have you ever seen one?” “Nope,” he says, popping the P out loud, while he starts standing, “come on. I’ll take you home.” “I’m not done here,” I say crossing my arms stubbornly. “Want me to report you?” he threatens playfully. I wonder if he would actually report me. Not that I’m concerned with the consequences. I am already a prisoner, am I not? So, what’s the worst that could happen? “You wouldn’t dare!” I challenge. “Well, technically it’s my duty.” “Shut up,” I groan and get up, blowing out the candle in the process. It’s dark now, but the dark doesn’t bother me. I can see quite well. Another freaky thing about me. Something that has changed after the attack. “Was that really necessary?” he sighs into the darkness. His eyes need a moment to adjust. It gives me a minute to admire him. Silently. His tall frame, rosy cheeks from the cold, the curve of his lips. “Why? Are you afraid of the dark?” I tease, tearing my gaze away as his shifts to me. Seeking my silhouette in the dark. “You should be the one afraid,” he says seriously. “Why aren’t you?” I know he wants to add “after everything that happened to you”. He doesn’t. “Of what? There is nothing here to be afraid of.” “I am here.” “And I’m supposed to be afraid of you?” He chuckles, “No,” he says, “I just wonder. You seem... fearless.” “That’s because I have nothing left to lose.” “You’re life!” “And what a life that is,” I sigh dramatically, “I don’t know if you have noticed, but I don’t belong here. I’m the town‘s weirdo. They still can’t get over the fact that I am alive. And if they are not talking about that, they have a lot to say about my appearance,” I say pointing at my jaw and the long scar that stretches from my cheek down to my neck. It’s one of many. The only one visible to curious eyes. I can’t hide it and I don’t try to. This is part of me. It’s who I am now. He stays silent. A strange expression flickers over his face. I know he thinks I can’t see it. But I can. Maybe it’s pity. I know he sees me the same way everybody else does. The strange girl he feels obligated to look after. The girl with the crazy scars all over her body. “I don’t care about the talk. It doesn’t bother me. It’s just that I have no purpose here. I don’t belong. I am neither a friend nor am I an enemy,” I say with a little shrug, “or maybe I’m a little of both and that’s why I am stuck here?!” “That’s not true, Mika,” he says with a shake of his head. “Yes. Yes, it is. That’s fine. I know I can’t leave. I know why I am still here. I’m still a liability, right? Maybe it’ll happen next full moon,” I say, trying to make it sound like a joke. “You’re not going to turn into one of them,” he says, “that’s not even funny!” “Why? Because you’d have to kill me? For real this time?” “It’s not funny,” he says and I can tell by the way his voice shakes that he’s angry now. Maybe I am wrong about him. He’s not a killer. He’s too soft. He is when it comes to me. I know he feels responsible for me and maybe he even likes me a little. But in the end, I’ve entered a world I was never meant to be in. One way or another. Yes, I’ve been curious about the glorious Hunters. The big, shining saviors, protecting the people from the wolves. But I never wanted to be here and be useless. I’d rather fight than sit around waiting for life to pass. In a way, I’m just delaying death. A life that was over a long time ago. I just carry on, on borrowed time. And the clocks are ticking. Louder with every passing day. Tick. Tock.
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