Sierra
Morning comes, light pouring into my room to wake me before the bells, before the servants begin to move through the corridors like a tide pulled by routine. It feels as if the storm washed the world clean, leaving streaks down the windows and a glistening on the earth itself.
As I pull myself up, I notice my body feels different—still collapsing under the weight of my apparent fate but also light as a bird with the horizon in its view—as if something inside me changed in the night, a change as evident as the renewing after a storm.
My wolf is quieter now. She’s not in repose, but she’s also not commanding her presence. I feel her inside me in a way that hasn’t been existent or possible since before we moved, before my world crashed in and I was uprooted from everything, from he
