The Alpha's Forgotten Daughter

I've always wondered how long it takes to become invisible. A day? A month? Years? Or does it happen so slowly that you don't notice until one morning you realize no one has looked for you in a very long time? The thought followed me through the dark village as I made my way toward the forest. Snow crunched beneath my boots. The cold bit through my gloves. Above me, the moon hung low between the trees, painting the world in silver and shadow. Most wolves were still asleep. I preferred it that way. The village felt kinder before everyone woke up. Quieter. Less disappointing. The basket hanging from my arm bumped gently against my hip as I walked. Inside were the herbs Mara needed for today's remedies. Lavender. Yarrow. Comfrey. The familiar scents drifted upward every time the basket moved. I breathed them in deeply. Plants were easier than people. Plants didn't compare me to Ashley. A bitter laugh threatened to escape. I swallowed it before it could. Ashley. Four years had passed, yet somehow she still occupied more space in this pack than I ever had. On people's tongues. In conversations. In expectations. Ashley was the daughter everyone missed. Ashley was the daughter everyone admired. Ashley was the daughter everyone waited for. Sometimes I wondered if anyone noticed she'd left. Not because they missed her. Because they never stopped talking about her. The question that haunted me was different. If I left... How long would it take someone to notice? The answer came too quickly. Longer than it should. I pushed the thought away and knelt beside a patch of snow-covered lavender. My fingers brushed the frozen stems. A sharp wind swept through the trees. For a moment, I closed my eyes. And there it was. The memory. A woman's laughter. Soft. Warm. Gone before I could hold on to it. My chest tightened. Mother. Or what little remained of her. Most people lose memories over time. Mine felt stolen. I remembered fragments. A scent. A touch. A voice. Never enough. Never the whole picture. Sometimes I worried that if I forgot those last pieces, she would disappear completely. The fear settled heavily inside me. Because someone had to remember her. Lately, it felt like I was the only one who still did. A twig snapped somewhere behind me. I turned sharply. Nothing. Just snow. Trees. Shadows. My pulse slowly settled. Ridiculous. Nineteen years old, and I still jumped at every sound the forest made. Still, the strange feeling lingered. Like I wasn't alone. Like the forest was watching. The sensation crawled beneath my skin. Not threatening. Not comforting. Just... aware. I stood and brushed the snow from my knees. The basket felt heavier on the walk back. Maybe it wasn't the herbs. Maybe it was everything else. By the time the village came into view, smoke curled from chimneys, and lanterns glowed behind frost-covered windows. Beaumont was waking up. So was the ache I'd spent years trying to ignore. Somewhere in the village, another letter from Ashley had probably arrived. By tonight, everyone would know what she'd written. They would smile. They would laugh. They would count the days until she came home. And no one would notice the daughter who had never left.