Queen Anastasia

"Anastasia…" Meaning resurrection... Such a grand name for someone, well, someone like me. And what do I mean by me? Well, first and foremost, even though I don't consider myself to be ugly, well, no werewolf is in reality ugly, we all have a unique or special charm going for us. The problem with me, according to my peers, is that I'm just too overconfident and stubborn, which, for males my age, means that I'm either ugly in the heart or not fit to be a good mate, that not being able to be lady-like or a more dignified werewolf takes points out of my "attractiveness"; and I don't even know what that means. Sure, I may be a little bit more energetic than most werewolves, but I can't control it, it's just how I am. Sometimes I feel that I need to get whatever is inside of me out, meaning that I tend to get in a lot of fights to get some steam off; I run too much during patrols, liking the feeling of being free and the earth on my paws, the cold sharp wind going through my nose and ears, sometimes passing the limits of the forest we patrol in. I'm not very obedient to the elders, and, despite not liking them, I know I should be obedient to them and some of my superiors, but I'm telling you, it really isn't that I want to be this raging of a young woman, but ever since I started to grow up, I feel that I'm less in control of myself, as if something is telling me that this isn't my place, that there is more for me. Don't get me wrong, I really do love this place, and the few, well, the almost none-existent friends that I have, my pseudo-family, my patrol buddies, some of the villagers and, for sure, my nice and kind Alpha and his beautiful Luna; the strongest and wisest leaders of this pack. I have very dear people to me in this pack, but, even so, my wolf still howls loudly each time I get too comfortable with this place. And that is very, very dangerous. Maybe if these were different times, I would go on a grand adventure, to see and learn about new places, to learn about the world we live in; maybe, visit non-aggressive packs and learn their ways, to be free, to be able to find my true self that has been calling me throughout the years. It may sound weird, maybe even cliche, but that's how I feel. And maybe, someday, find my one and only. I know he is out there, I kind of feel it. It's weird to be able to tell you have a mate, but I know a few werewolves, though not being very common, have been able to feel it too. Lycans, as I have heard from the elders, feel it all the time. Because of their great strength, heightened senses and being so connected to their beasts and being more intimate with nature, they can know when their mate is alive, dead or hasn't been born yet, when their mate is out there, either waiting for them or looking for them. Romance kind of makes me uncomfortable and awkward, but I can admit that this is something really special, and that we all have that special half of us, that will understand us the most and love us the most. And sometimes I want that, for someone to understand me like no one has ever been able to, not even parents, siblings or best friends. Haha, maybe I'm feeling a little under the weather, because my beautiful best friend turned 18 last month and, with the full awakening and maturity of her instincts, she found her mate, thankfully alive and within the village; the only son of our Alpha leader and his beautiful Luna. And I have to admit, I'm a little jealous of what they have; the way they look at each other, like there is no one else around, the way that, with only a small smile or gesture, it seems as if they understand everything about what the other wants to say. How they look so complete. Like there is no room for anyone else, and I respect that, but my best friend has been like a sister to me all of our lives, with us growing up together and even though neither she or I could understand every single bit about each other, it was true that we were the ones that understood the most about each other. And that gave a little bit of comfort with the way I feel, with being different and not being able to express why I'm that way, but being loved by her all the same, and being able to laugh it all out with her. And now, even though I know I shouldn't, I feel alone. Sade, my one and only best friend, with a name that fits her so well, and more so with her being our next Luna, once the elders determine a perfect date for such an important event. "Honor confers a crown". Yes, it has always fitted her, with that poise and grace she has always shown, she always outshines everyone. Of course, I'm not saying she is perfect in everyway, none of us are, but if someone told me to describe perfection, she would be the one I would think of immediately. A tall beauty, of 5'4 feet with lean muscles; an almost a cat-like body and cat-like eyes; a very beautiful face, almost doll-like; with her poofy, curly and shiny black hair. With such a smooth and unblemished chocolate/brown skin, soft to the touch; and such a bright, outgoing personality. Of course, being my bestie, she is kind of hot-headed too, but unlike me, she knows when to stop, how to control herself and find the best solution for almost every fight I get into. Always intelligent to the core and always positive and smiling at everything, she is kind of like my hero too. Always confident in what to say and how to act. And in a few months at most, she will be completely taken from me. Don't get me wrong, I'm truly happy for her, but still lonely. 'Cause now she will have other responsibilities to attend to and I, for her sake and that of her health, will have to step aside and see her whenever she is able to, which I know won't be much. Ugh, now this should be the second point. I have lots of feelings inside me and always in chaos, it's like I'm stuck being a teen, with the hormones raging on and on, little by little, beginning not only your transformation from girl to woman, but that of your werewolf too. Werewolves can transform when they turn 15 years of age, in some cases 14 and others 16. The first time I could transform was at the age of 16. It was terrible, let me tell you. Not only do you suffer from your hormones running wild and the pain coursing through your body because of the transformation, with your bone structure reshaping and muscles tearing up; but also, you have to battle your inner beast to take control of it, to teach it who is in command or, God have mercy on us, you could turn wild and there is no going back from that road. Turning wild is one of the worst things that could happen to you while being alive. Not only does your inner wolf take control over you, you get stuck permanently in your werewolf form, not recognizing anyone you ever loved. There are three cases in which you could turn wild. The first one, failing your first transformation; the second one, getting rejected by your mate and third one, your mate dying and you not being able to withstand the pain. There have been cases of wild werewolves who have attacked their own fated mates, families and friends, because they lost themselves completely to their beasts. Such a terrible, sad and lonely fate. So, if you ever come upon a wild one someday, the best kind of mercy you could show them is to end their lives. And now, imagine being stuck with that feeling when you have already passed that ragging hormone time and that is why I want to travel, so that I don't feel that I'm in a cage anymore than how I feel being trapped with these strong feelings. I need some alone time with nature, I need to find out if there are others just like me, that feel the same way I do. Or even better, in the event a miracle happens, I find my mate too and have that connection I so strongly want. But first and foremost, I truly want to find myself, to understand myself better. I know a mate would not fix everything, but I know I would have the support I need. But alas, being who I am, it could be very difficult and just, maybe, nearly impossible for me to find my mate. Why? Well, even though it is true we all have some other half that completes us, it is difficult and sometimes impossible to find or meet your true mate. Sade and Ralph were ones of the lucky few, along with others of our village to find their other half. Here are some reasons as to why: your mate was born way before you, they could already be old, on their death bed or have lived centuries ago. We do live long lifes, but not by centuries. Or on the contrary, your mate is a baby, or will not be born yet, but in many years to come. Other factors, would be the great distances, maybe miles or continents away; or maybe missing each other all the time; sudden accidents; or simply, your fated one just decided to move on, find a mate and form a family, not being able to bear with their loneliness and the idea of never meeting you. But that's not all. There are, too, the dangers of the world. Not only do we have to be careful about the crazy climate changes that this world has, enemy packs, rough packs, wild werewolves or even wild lycans. No, there are "them" also. Ugh, just thinking of “them” churns my stomach. What are "them"? Nobody knows how they came to be, how it all started, only that one day, about a hundred and fifty years ago, they started emerging. This black-skinned, corpse-like creatures, and I'm not talking about the beautiful, healthy black skin that, for example, my bestie's brother has, so smooth and perfectly even. No, it's like they are made of a very shinny and chunky black leather-like material, as if they were wet all the time, with chunks of flesh falling off of them and poisoning everything that crosses their path. Leaving in their wake a trail of death and destruction. How are they born? I personally have never seen the process of one, but the elders and the older people of the village and some members of the patrol teams, the ones that are allowed a little further off the limits allowed inside the perimeter; say that at first it is like any other corpse, laying motionless on the ground, but as soon as it detects the tiniest movement or sound, it starts convulsing and some type of bubbly black substance starts emerging from the floor and through the corpse, starting to build it up, completing parts in the corpse that were missing, giving it more mass, so it looks bigger and scarier; as if the bubbly substance had a conscience on it's own and knew exactly what to do, while the corpse starts twisting in horrifying and unnatural ways, as if looking for the perfect position to be in or as it's mangled body permits it to be in. Until it's standing up, looking so menacing, with red blood shot, bright eyes, if the corpse had any to begin with and if not, you still know by instinct that it's watching your every movement through those empty eyesockets, following you, taking every ounce of bravery you have in you and then... all hell breaks lose. They don't feel pain or any kind of emotion, they are like perfect killing machines, huge, intimidating and simply demonic. Very difficult to kill, they are fast and each have their own abilities, so not all of them share the same patterns; it all depends on what creature this bubbly sticky thing attached itself to. It can be from a Lycan corpse to a bunny's carcass. And sure a bunny may not sound intimidating at all, but the elders always tell us not to thrust appearances. These things have great strength and different abilities. Sometimes there can be more than one, and on rare occasions they can mutate and be, either gigantic or be as fast as lightning, or grow extra sharp limbs, sharp teeth, etc., and then your life could end in an instant and your corpse would be the next one to become one of these things. It just gives me the creeps thinking about it. The only way to defeat them is to burn down the corpses or carcasses; of course, once you manage to defeat one with pure strength, intelligence or strategy, your call. We keep them away with great and controlled bonfires, since fire is the only thing they hate the most and can destroy them. Another way for us to avoid future dangers is to burn the corpses of those who have died, all down to the bones, even of the few animals we manage to hunt down. It's indeed a tough world and this is the main reason why I don't dare to leave my village, no matter how much my wolf howls for its freedom. I do prefer life over death; thank you very much. Yes, I may be a bit of a coward, but cowards, in my humble opinion, live longer lives. And this could be point number three of why the name Anastasia is too big for me sometimes. And last but not least, point number four. No family to speak of. In other words, an orphan. Someone without a family name or identity, or clan or whatever you may want to call it. And that's not all. No, no, no. An orphan of unknown origins; yes, unknown. The only thing the pack knows about my origins, and has let me listen through stories, is that of the existence of a mother. My mother. The adults of the pack have told me this story too many times upon my request and, of course, because despite being a werewolf pack, with very, but very few fighters, this weakness has given us the opportunity to build strong defenses, craft great equipment for defense and the occasional attacks, and form clever strategies to fight off other packs such as rogues or… “them”. Anyways, thanks to this system, very well made and highly thought of throughout the years by many of the pack’s builders and strategists, not much happens around here. The only things or events, as you wish to call them, that do happen here are the typical fights with the rough packs or even within the village members, or the occasional affair, though not very common, it still happens. And as such, it has become repetitive and, apparently, even boring for the older people in the pack. What happened almost 18 years ago is still the main topic to speak about in the village, with its mysteries and the many unanswered questions that the witnesses of that eventful night have had since then. What I'm talking about is the night a mysterious woman of unknown origins stumbled upon the village. The night, as the adults describe it, was one dark and very foggy night. It would have been difficult to see through such a night even with the torches and small bonfires that were on throughout the village, if it weren’t for their werewolf abilities. Many of the adults that night were on patrol and a few just taking a walk despite the weird ambiance. All was apparently very tranquil and even peaceful when suddenly a very strong metallic odor hit their noses and made them turn to the main gates of the village that were wide open for those few and last patrols that were checking the security of the perimeters for the night. And there, in the middle of the clearing that faced the main gates, was one fragile, cloaked, looking woman. They always describe her to me as a very beautiful woman, with really fair skin, almost ghostly like; with golden, sun-kissed locks and the most beautiful pair of amethyst eyes they have ever seen. She, apparently, looked almost royal; only if it weren't for the poor clothing she was wearing, they would have continued to think so. At first instance, they all thought it was an apparition, an apparition ready to foretell that in that, now, ominous night, there would be death knocking upon some homes. That is, until this apparition collapsed just moments before passing between the gates, after walking the few steps remaining between the middle of the clearing and the big wooden doors that are the gates. And that's when the village adults realized the very grave and very delicate state this beautiful lady was in, with a body so battered and so weak. Lips so dehydrated, as if she hadn't had any drop of water to drink off for days; eyes so tired and sunken, with nearly blackish eye bags, as if she hadn't slept for weeks, maybe even months; cheeks so hollow, that she looked almost like a skeleton; and with bruises, cuts and freshly made scars covering what was visible of her skin under the heavy, very dirty and bloody white cloak. Nobody wanted to go near her at first, in the case that she was already dead or… was one of “them”. (Ugh). The fear petrified their bodies, no one dared to move a muscle, anticipating something to happen, that something being good or, on the other hand, terrible. That is until one of the patrols came back running with the elders of the village in tow, while they shouted about what a bad Omen this was and for no one to move from their places, until the Alpha himself came. They tell me, that it felt like hours had passed by, before they heard the strong and confident strides that only someone pretty strong and very sure about themselves and their judgment, could make. And it wasn't until they smelled the fragrant stormy woods that was their Alpha's scent, that the werewolves that were in the way, started to part and move onto the sidelines to make space for their Alpha to pass through. When the alpha finally made his way to the fair creature with the only one following faithfully behind him, which was his trustful Beta, all the witnesses held their breaths, no one moving one single muscle, still not daring to go nearby, but not able to leave either; not even the frightened elders with their bad omen and self-made superstitions. A bunch of superstitious fanatics, if you ask me, with all I have heard from their old mouths through all my years of living here. The villagers saw the Alpha checking the breathing of this mysterious and yet beautiful creature, and it wasn't until the Alpha removed the cloak, that both the Alpha and Beta stiffened up in shock and that’s when a deadly silence descended upon witnesses of that dark and faithful night. They told me that it felt like another eternity was passing by, only for it to be abruptly cut, when a strong commanding shout, that sent chills upon everyone's spines and covered their skins with tiny bumps, was heard throughout the village and that is when, finally, every single person that was there and a few that emerged from their homes that were nearby, moved at the same time, as if they were one, as if they had been practicing their movements solely for this moment in time and for the sake of this fragile beautiful creature. “SHE IS PREGNANT”.