The Things The Moon Whispers

Hannah stared at the words she’d written on the page in front of her, and with an aggravated sigh, she crumpled up her paper and tossed it onto the soft green grass next to her. It was no use, not really. No matter how badly she wanted to put her feelings into words, she hit a wall when she tried to write it down— as if something were physically stopping her. She’d never had an issue with her writing before, not until recently— and she knew why. She would be eighteen in three months. That date, exciting for most young she-wolves, was a curse to Hannah.. and a blessing at the same time. It was the day she would leave her pack, her home, and become a rogue. All of the other she-wolves her age would attend mating balls and stay with their families until they met their mates and went off to their new packs, to start a new life— Hannah didn’t have that luxury. The closest thing she’d ever had to parents were Susan and Eugene Blackmon— two Omega servants who had been forced to take in three children when the pack had been raided when she was only three months old. It had left her, Emily, and Ryan without parents, and unsure what to do with the newly orphaned children from lowly families, the Alpha at the time had decided to force them upon the Blackmon’s. Emily and Ryan weren’t her siblings by blood, but Emily was as close to a sister as Hannah would ever have— Ryan, on the other hand, was a different story. They had raised the three children with an iron fist, determined to keep them docile. Hannah had mutiple scars on her back as a result of whippings for her ‘misbehaviors’ as Susan had called them. They were small things, things most children did— not being on time to the kitchen to serve dinner for the pack, not having the ranking member’s laundry done in time. Omegas were servants, and Susan and Eugene never failed to make the three of them remember that they were at the bottom of the food chain in Crescent Moon. Speaking of Susan, Hannah glanced at the position of the moon in the sky above her. It was nearing its apex, which meant she was in for a world of trouble when she got back to the Blackmon household. Whatever punishment she faced was worth it to her, though, for her to sit in her peaceful clearing among the moonlight and the night breeze. With the strict work schedule they were expected to follow, Hannah rarely had time to just be with the moon. We should be with the moon always at night, the high pitched voice of her wolf, Iris, whispered in her head. For a very long time after she first transformed at fifteen, Hannah resented Iris. She was a small, skinny, frail wolf— half the size of anyone in her pack, much like Hannah. She was stunning with her silky, chocolate brown coat and electric blue eyes that mirrored Hannah’s own looks, but still.. she was weak. She would never be a warrior or anyone of rank. In the following years, though, Hannah had accepted Iris and even begun to love her and see her strengths. Iris wasn’t weak. She was kind. She began to see herself that way, too. I wish we could, Iris. One day soon. Hannah stood and brushed the dirt and grass off of her dress before making her way back through the woods to the outskirts of the pack, where the Blackmon’s lived. She stood outside of the small shack situated off behind the packhouse and gripped her notebook tightly in her arms. She hated that tiny, run down house. She hated Susan. She hated, even more, Eugene and the way his leering eyes traveled across her and Emily’s bodies. She hated the shrill way Susan screamed at four in the morning that it was time to head to the kitchen. She hated everything about it, and everything it symbolized for her. For Hannah, the house was a prison. The door to the house flew open, the squeaky boards on the porch screaming as Hannah saw Susan’s silouette through the yellow light streaming from the living room. “Get inside, girl,” the older woman snapped. “Before I skin your hide, you disobedient brat.” Hannah, knowing she didn’t want any lashings, quickly scurried up the front porch and through the front door. Mrs. Blackmon slammed the front door behind them before she turned on Hannah. She wasn’t a pretty woman. With grey hair always slicked back into such a tight bun it made her eyebrows raise and piercing green eyes the color of sage, she looked like a drill seargant. The laugh lines and crows feet on her pasty white skin showed her age. “And where the hell have you been?” Susan snapped, her eyes full of hatred as she stepped forward towards Hannah. “I was outside writing, Mrs. Blackmon.” Hannah murmured quietly. She grabbed Hannah’s wrist, her pointed nails digging painfully into her skin. “You are an omega. You have no use for writing. I told you to get this grout clean, and look at it!” Susan snarled. She snatched Hannah’s chin painfully, leaving scratches across her chin as she directed her to look at the tile floor. The toothbrush she’d been having Hannah scrub the grout with was still lying there. Hannah bit back the bike in her throat. She’d scrubbed it for hours until her fingers were raw and she took a break to go outside. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Blackmon. I’ll get it clean, I promise.” “I want it done tonight, and don’t be late to the kitchen in the morning!” She snapped. Hannah cursed silently to herself as Susan stalked off and slammed the door to her bedroom. It was already almost midnight, which meant that Hannah wouldn’t be sleeping tonight if she was going to get the grout done and be up for breakfast service tomorrow. She laid her notebook on the counter and kneeled down, her bare, thin knees resting painfully on the cold tile floor as she took the toothbrush in her hand. She started scrubbing, and right then, she knew she’d made the right decision. When she turned eighteen in three months, she was leaving. She was lucky tonight that Susan didn’t whip her for her actions. At this point, Hannah’s back was laced with thick scars that resembled ribbons. A bitter taste rose up in her mouth as Iris whimpered in her head. We aren’t strong enough to be a rogue, Hannah, Iris worried. I won’t be able to keep us safe. I’ll keep us safe, Hannah promised her. She imagined what it would be like. She’d be alone, yes— packless, and the absence of her pack would undoubtedly make her feel empty. But she could sit underneath the stars and write whenever she wanted. She may be hungry, sure, but she was always hungry now— so what was the difference? Hannah vowed to herself she’d rather be alone for the rest of her life than live in this pack. Just ninety more days.