Ashes
1144 Words
The forest was too quiet.
The kind of quiet that pressed in on you, that made the air feel thicker, as if even the wind was holding its breath.
I sat curled at the roots of an old, twisted tree, its skeletal limbs clawing at the sky. Damp earth clung to my dress and knees, and cold bit through the thin fabric until it reached bone. But I didn’t move. I didn’t even try.
If I moved, I might feel it all over again, the moment he said the words.
The exact tone.
The way his eyes didn’t flicker, didn’t soften.
The silence that followed, so loud it drowned my heartbeat.
My wolf was buried deep, silent now. Not dead, no, I could still sense her, faint as a distant heartbeat—but unreachable. When he had rejected us, she had howled, clawed, tried to hold the bond together. But when it snapped… she retreated so far I could no longer feel her warmth.
I whispered her name inside my head, reaching for her the way a drowning person might reach for the surface. Please… answer me.
Nothing.
Only the echo of my own desperation.
I curled my arms tighter around my body. The ground beneath me was cold and unyielding, but it was real. Solid. Something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was slipping through my fingers.
The sounds of the pack were far away now, distant laughter, the muffled hum of music that meant nothing to me anymore. I was outside of it. Outside of them.
And maybe that was where I belonged.
A flicker of movement caught my attention, a memory, sharp and uninvited.
I was younger. Ten, maybe. Hiding on the balcony of the pack house, knees drawn to my chest, listening to the older girls giggle about mates. About how the Moon Goddess always knew best. About how finding your mate was like coming home.
I had believed them.
I had believed her.
My mother’s voice joined the memory, soft and certain as she brushed my hair under a blanket of stars.
"One day, he will see you, my little moon, and he will never let you go."
Those words had been my anchor for years.
Now they felt like shards in my chest.
My jaw tightened. I couldn’t sit here forever.
The forest didn’t care what had happened—it just stood there, ancient and indifferent.
But I couldn’t go back to them. Not after this.
I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me stumble through the door, eyes red, face swollen from crying.
If they pitied me, they’d talk.
If they laughed, I might break.
No, let them think I’d vanished.
I pushed myself to my feet, though my legs shook beneath me. The cold air bit harder now, the wind finding every gap in my dress. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders, tucking my chin into it, and started walking.
I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t care.
The trees loomed tall and dark around me, their branches swaying like whispers I couldn’t quite hear. Every step forward was heavier than it should have been, as if the forest floor itself was trying to keep me in place. My body felt wrong—like my bones didn’t fit right anymore.
Shift, I told my wolf silently. Please, just once. Let’s run. Let’s feel something else.
Nothing.
Her silence was worse than the rejection.
It was like losing the other half of myself.
I swallowed hard and kept walking.
A flicker of firelight caught my eye as I neared the edge of the training field. I stopped before I could be seen. Two she-wolves stood near the fence, arms folded, their heads bent together in gossip.
“Poor thing,” one murmured. “Did you hear? He rejected her in front of everyone.”
The other snorted. “Please. I knew she wasn’t fit for an Alpha. Always too quiet. Too soft.”
My hands curled into fists inside my cloak.
“Well, what did she expect? A girl like her? Honestly… he was being kind.”
Kind.
The word sliced deeper than any blade. As if publicly ripping my heart out had been a mercy.
I turned away before they could see me, their words still echoing in my ears.
The healer’s hut came into view. Elder Marra stood at the doorway, a warm cloth in her hands, her eyes catching mine.
“Brielle,” she called gently.
I froze.
Her expression softened. “Your hands are shaking. Come inside. Just for a minute.”
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice low and rough.
She took a step toward me. “You shouldn’t be out here alone..”
“I said I’m fine.”
The words came out sharper than I meant. I didn’t wait for her to answer. I walked past her, my pace quickening until the hut was behind me.
The old storage shed sat half-hidden behind the stables, forgotten and dust-covered. I slipped inside, closing the warped door behind me. The air was cool and dry, smelling faintly of old wood and dust.
Safe.
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, my knees drawn to my chest. My cloak wrapped around me like armour. The silence here wasn’t cruel. It was… empty.
There was a cracked piece of mirror nailed to the wall. I caught my reflection in it—wild hair tangled with leaves, eyes rimmed red, skin pale and hollow. I stared until the image blurred, but I didn’t look away.
Let them whisper.
Let them watch.
I would not break where they could see me.
After what could have been hours, I found a scrap of parchment buried under an old crate and a broken quill beside it. I didn’t think about it, I just started writing.
You don’t get to shatter someone and then call them weak.
I gave you everything I had, and you called it nothing.
You don’t get to choose for me anymore.
When I finished, I didn’t fold the parchment or hide it. I struck a match from the small box on the shelf and held the flame to the corner.
I watched the words curl and blacken, the ashes falling onto the floor like snow.
My hands trembled, but I didn’t flinch.
When the fire was gone, I stood. My legs were unsteady, but they held.
I didn’t know where the path would take me.
I didn’t know if my wolf would ever come back.
I didn’t know if the ache in my chest would ever fade.
But I knew this:
I would not stay here.
I would not stay broken.
And one day, the name Ronan Ashbourne would mean nothing to me but the sound of a mistake.
- Writer
