WILLOW
It had been two days. Two days since, my sister had transformed into a blinding white wolf in the middle of the grand ballroom, shattering the fragile peace of our world. Two days of enforced curfew, the packhouse was sealed tighter than a vault with guards stationed at every conceivable entrance, as if to prove a point no one quite understood. Representatives from the council drifted through the corridors, their eyes sharp, their smiles practiced, their questions a thinly veiled attempt to dissect and control the inexplicable.
‘What exactly are we dealing with? How do we control it?’
The unspoken answer hung heavy in the air: ‘You don't.’
But no one had bothered to ask me. I sat by the window, my tea long gone cold, and watched the grounds below. Two guards at the east gate, tw
