A Quiet Morning
1130 Words
OLIVIA’S POV
Morning came earlier than I expected.
I woke to the sound of birds chirping outside my window and golden rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains. The light spilled across the room, reflecting softly against the polished floors and elegant furniture, giving the space a serene and almost dreamlike glow.
For a few seconds, I simply lay there.
Every morning, I was still mesmerized by the beauty of this room—its grandeur, its warmth, its quiet luxury. The carved wooden panels, the tall windows, the silk drapes… everything felt too refined, too beautiful to belong to someone like me.
Sometimes I had to remind myself that this was real.
I wondered what the rest of the pack territory looked like. The forests I had glimpsed from the balcony were vast and ancient, stretching endlessly beneath the sky. The stone structures carried centuries of history in their walls.
I would love to explore it all.
That is… if I’m even allowed to.
It has been five days since I left home.
Or should I say ran away?
In those five days, I had only seen the pack hall and this room. I spent most of my time indoors, not because anyone locked me in—but because old habits are hard to break. Years of being hidden away by my parents had trained me well.
Thinking about home made me shudder.
Were they looking for me?
Did they even miss me?
Did they even notice that I was gone?
The thought left a hollow ache in my chest.
A gentle knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts.
I quickly sat up, smoothing my hair and adjusting the blanket around me.
“Come in,” I called softly.
The door opened, and the same middle-aged woman from yesterday stepped inside. She carried a tray filled with different kinds of food, fruits, and drinks. The aroma alone made my stomach tighten.
She walked toward the glass table positioned near the window and began setting up breakfast carefully, arranging everything with quiet efficiency.
When she was done, she turned toward me with a warm smile.
“Firstly, my name is Linda,” she said gently. “I’ve been assigned to you as your personal maid. I apologize for not introducing myself properly yesterday.”
She gave a small bow.
I blinked at her, slightly confused.
“Personal maid?” I repeated. “Why do I need a personal maid? I can take care of myself.”
She laughed softly—not mockingly, but with genuine amusement.
Walking closer, she sat beside the bed and gently took my hands in hers.
The simple gesture stunned me.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone held my hands like that—without judgment, without mockery.
The only person who ever did was my grandmother.
At the thought of her, tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.
Linda’s expression immediately shifted to concern.
“Oh dear, did I say something wrong?” she asked nervously. “If you don’t like me, I can request to be reassigned—”
“No,” I interrupted quickly, squeezing her hands. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You just reminded me of my grandmother. She was the only one who treated me kindly.”
Relief washed over her face.
“I heard about what happened at the dining hall last night,” she said softly. “I thought you might be hungry this morning, especially if you didn’t feel comfortable returning there.”
As if on cue, my stomach growled loudly.
We both burst into laughter.
The sound felt foreign coming from me—but not unpleasant.
I climbed out of bed and walked toward the table.
“Wow…” was all I could manage.
There were fruits sliced neatly, warm bread, eggs, grilled meat, pastries, and fresh juice.
“I wasn’t sure what you would prefer,” Linda explained. “So I brought a variety. If you don’t like any of this, I can prepare something else.”
“It’s perfect,” I said sincerely. Then I hesitated before adding, “Please… join me. I can’t finish all of this alone.”
Her smile faded slightly.
“I’m sorry, but I’m only a servant. I cannot eat with you, Luna.”
The word still felt heavy.
I gently grabbed her hand and led her toward the chair.
“It’s just the two of us here,” I insisted. “Please. Be yourself.”
She studied me for a moment before finally sitting down.
We began eating, slowly at first, then more comfortably.
The conversation flowed naturally. She told me small stories about pack life—how the children trained early, how festivals were celebrated during full moons, how the forest changed colors with the seasons.
For the first time since arriving here, I found myself laughing freely.
Not nervously.
Not awkwardly.
But genuinely.
Linda was warm, lively, and surprisingly funny. She had a strong build, slight wrinkles from years of hard work, and kind eyes that seemed to understand more than she said.
I didn’t know if she had children, but I knew she would make a wonderful mother.
Around her, I felt… safe.
“I suppose I should let you rest,” Linda finally said, standing up as she began gathering the empty dishes.
I tried to help, but she shook her head firmly.
“No, no. That’s my job.”
Then her expression shifted slightly.
“You should freshen up and prepare yourself. You’ll need to be at the training grounds later today.”
I froze.
“The training grounds?” I repeated.
“Yes,” she replied. “Did the Alpha not inform you? We hold regular training sessions. It’s mandatory for everyone in the pack to attend.”
My stomach tightened.
Everyone?
Including me?
“But… I can’t shift,” I said quietly.
Linda paused for just a second before smiling reassuringly.
“Training isn’t only about shifting. It’s about discipline, strength, and unity. You’ll be fine.”
Her tone was encouraging—but I caught the slight hesitation she tried to hide.
“Don’t worry,” she added gently. “I’ll come get you when it’s time.”
She left shortly after, carrying the dishes with her.
The room felt quieter once she was gone.
I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the warm water cascade over my skin.
“Pack training,” I whispered to myself.
My reflection in the mirror looked uncertain.
Nervous.
Small.
Lucy stirred inside me.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said calmly. “This is only the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?” I murmured.
She didn’t answer.
And somehow, that frightened me more.
- Writer
