KAT
Born of Storm
The garden unfolds in dream logic that feels more real than waking, October roses blooming beside spring lilacs, their perfume mixing into something impossible that makes perfect sense here. White marble paths wind between fountains whose water sings rather than splashes, each note resonating through my bones like recognition of something I've always known but never understood. I'm pregnant here, belly massive with the boys who shift constantly even in dreams, but movement comes easier than it has in weeks, as if gravity negotiates rather than demands.
She materializes from moonlight and shadow combined, wearing a white veil that obscures her features while revealing her nature—something beyond wolf, beyond human, beyond any classification our world uses. White wolves
