SAOIRSE
The silk clings to my body like it was made just for me—because it was. Father had it sent in with the finest lace from the Eastern Pack, stitched with moonsilver thread and lined with velvet so soft, it felt like a lullaby against my skin.
I smooth the fabric down with trembling fingers. Not from fear. Not anymore.
I’m not the broken girl they tried to bury. I’m the storm that clawed her way out of the grave they dug for her.
I stare at my reflection. For the first time in years, I don’t flinch.
The girl in the mirror stares back with fire in her eyes. She wears power like perfume, thick and intoxicating. There’s a calm to her. A kind of peace that only comes after surviving hell.
My wolf stirs, her voice soft but sure.
“Hope we’re finally getting what we deserve,” she murm
