**Suspiria POV**
Terror is not a word. It is not an emotion. It is a physical state, a complete and total hijacking of the soul. When Darcy’s voice, dripping with poisoned honey, announced my fate to the pack, terror became my blood, my bones, my very breath. *She can't be this cruel.* The thought was a desperate, flickering candle in a hurricane of madness. *To get me naked in front of the whole pack. She herself is a woman. Can't she understand what modesty means to a girl?* But as I looked into her eyes, I saw my answer. There was no empathy there, no shared experience of womanhood. There was only a vast, churning emptiness filled with a hatred so pure it was its own form of life, a black hole that consumed all light.
I watched as the pack pounced on me, a blur of snarling faces and g
