S e l e n e
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I always imagined how nice it’d be to pay someone to listen to you. Not, in terms of command, but genuinely sit down, and try to understand you. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a therapist.
I liked talking to people. I still like listening to people. I always wanted to know how someone’s day went, what their current emotion was, and how they were doing. Malore’s pack psychiatrist told me my fondness was just a product of anxiety.
The therapy room was warm, not too stuffy, but comfortable. There weren't cold abstract or cottage decorations. It was a place that instantly lowered my guard, paired with the therapist’s friendly expression. She smiled upon seeing me, and it remained even after noticing Killian.
“Alpha,” the woman whispered, bowing her head in respe
