~Chapter 1~
“You’re not seriously still sleeping.” A clipped voice flowing out of a crimson-shaded pair of lips jolted me awake. I had just cleaned up the kitchen and the house rooms. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I shouldn’t have...
“Stop.” Rushing upright was the third thing coming to mind this morning. The pain on my jaw from last night’s discipline as well as her well-put face with a disgusted expression paired with folded arms, littered with golden jewelries and manicured nails, did not go unnoticed. Yet, they were two of more that I needed to ignore in order to proceed with my.....suicide mission.
“Yes madam”, I was up. I was up. They won’t do anything today....right?
For the second time in a few months, I couldn’t sleep for fear of getting whipped again. She paraded around me, her eyes travelling up and down going noticed, staring and caressing the chipped bars I called a 'door'.
“So, what you have to do today, is wash the dishes, hang all our clothes, tidy the bedrooms, clean the living rooms, polish all the knights’ swords, sew the holes in your sister’s coronation dress- you know what to do anyways, just do it right.” I nodded, earning a heel stomped on my bony feet and a ringing in my ears, not a mark to be spotted on the inflicted part of my face. She dug and dragged my face closer, a sinister look settling behind her tall stature, similar to a dragon flinging away an eel.
“Let me mention for the last fucking time. She’s going to be your new Luna, so you had better be a reliable sister. I don’t know how many times I have to drill this into your hollow skull! Stop fucking nodding. It’s as pathetic as you were during childbirth.
Oh and,”
she threw a glass champagne flute at me, and, as I practiced, didn’t dodge this time, staring right ahead of her softened, nauseating, sick vocal vent “clean this up, sweetheart.” Her pencil skirt had no time to drag on the floor, it was busy hugging her healthy body as she strutted out, the sounds of her shoes clacking, prodding, and mocking the headache of last night, one that childishly decided to manifest yet again.
The shards sticking on the wall gave me a small glance of what I had avoided recognizing for 8 years;
my face.
I watched as my pasty skin grew backwards, as if it thrived on bruises, sucking in the crimson leak that was my blood.
“Yes Mother.” I could do nothing but agree, or I would get whipped. It would be humorous if I had any classes to worry about, as much as it would be horrifying.
Sending me to that open field of wounds is just an alternate path fulfilling my inevitable end should I resume residing in this wretched fort; becoming Astrid's Lady-in-waiting--a glorified slave--and for all her friends alike, not to mention my duties of getting punishments from random students out of no where.
‘I hope I go unnoticed today during the Alpha’s 18th birthday.’
I went into Astrid...my sister’s room, and started picking up her clothes. I reached my limit 2 minutes in, then rested my back on the perfectly yellow wall. I glanced around...
This room, this....prison, is the bane of my existence. How I wish I had the power to burn it down, to make it look in an even worse state than she always puts it before slapping me into cleaning it.
I hadn’t noticed my expression until I looked over at the bathroom mirror situated towards my left, which was so big to the point where I could see myself even when I wasn’t in the restroom.
I looked ghastly. My hair had been stained with lint, looking as Blanc-ashy as ever. My busted lip was something that looked like I was a boxer, and I couldn’t even glance at my hideous mismatched eyes and brows. Not only was the room disgusting, so was the very thing contrasting its gloomy vibe in color: me. I am the source of my pain, my discipline, and everything that goes wrong in this pack. Yet I hate other people for what I am. I hate my mother for shoving pins in my heels for walking freely around the training grounds. I hate my father for standing idly as she did worse, looking approvingly at my mother. More so....I hate my sister for her very existence. I wish I could shove her into the very toilet she shoved my head in for 15 minutes straight. I wish her clothes all over the place would just burn the room and I would burn with it-
‘You’re making a fool of yourself....in front of no one really but still. You’re wasting time.’
My pep talk made me snap out of it, and I realized I had been sitting in a pile of moldy clothes with my back against the wall.
I wiped the stray tear off and proceeded to use the sturdy broom stick for support. I locked the door and disassociated with my surroundings for the remainder of the room service.
When I was done, I went into every pack member’s room for their clothes too, after somehow not fainting, of course.
After stumbling around for what seemed to be 30 minutes, I glanced up painfully at the last room I was required to take care of, earnestly.
The ‘Alpha’ room. Just glancing at the knobs made me want to crack my skull open in fear.
I managed to enter without noise, but most likely failed from the belt buckle thrown right into my right index knuckle. My flinching and open mouth was another trigger for him as he threw more things my way.
“What the fuck are you doing in here you bitch!” Pushing myself out of a chamber was another chore added to my list of duties. I could only hope that the stinging in my head, heart, and my injured knuckles, weren’t at all visible in my face expressions.
I excused myself from my mate and his next lover for the week, then limped out of the hideous emerald-themed room.
A sudden gripping force applied more pressure to the gash on the knuckle slowly closing, further slowing its healing down and throwing me to a nearby window and its thorny burglary bars.
“Did you just show me attitude while leaving!!?” I laid still on the floor, facing my left. So still, one would think I was a dead bird. From my blurry vision appeared his scarlet-stained complexion. Glaring at me was not enough as the pull of my hair completely obstructed my train of thought.
“I always hated you, darling. You know that, right? Although when I....when you stripped for us last week, you looked somewhat admirable, so I’ll grant you this gift.” He sneered at me with a creepy leer, one resembling that of a play’s mask, as he took advantage of the frozen horror morphed across my limbs, enough to keep me from running anywhere.
“I Carl Johnson reject you...” I opened my eyes, wondering what was taking so long.
He slammed me once more into the window, getting agitated by the minute, until I dared to assume what I did wrong: he doesn’t know my name...
“My-cough my name is Arabella White...sir.” He looked annoyed once more, repeatedly slamming me into the window, asking me “who the fuck are you to mock me you insignificant bitch! nobody knows your fucking name, know your place!”
Once he dropped me, I sighed in relief, before feeling the calluses of a heel swiftly launched towards my mouth.
“Augh!! Sto-” I forgot how to breathe for a second while trying to protect my face from any further discipline that might come my way, until he nearly dislocated them by yanking me up and holding me in a chokehold.
“I, Carl Johnson, reject Arabella White as my mate and Luna” The satisfied grin on his face told me he was done with his, dare I think, ego rampage.
Silence. I felt nothing, yet a million signs of pain.
“I, Arabella....White, accept your rejection.” Then he walked out. Of course not before kicking me to a nearby sharp edge of a wall, the crinkles between my brows and my fetus position enough for him to smirk and leave. Fortunately...no echo of a crack resonated through the hallway, just a little throbbing.
Without giving myself the satisfaction of laying down my head, I wasted a few minutes trying to stabilize myself.
’List.
List.
List.
Bathroom.′
With more than a little struggle, I managed to discover the bathroom...a tiny corner with a dismantled hole, one which I emptied my guts out into, my guts consisting of acid and last week’s leftovers.
After sorting out the laundry and washing it, I went to Astrid’s room to clean it. The reason I was given extra work today was because the Alpha is going to announce his mate, which to him, is Astrid, and the feeding of rogues to someone. I was most likely the chow for the strays, but I tried not to care. I was going to cut ties with this pack anyway...maybe.
When I was done with her room, I went to wash the bathroom...it was in the worst state possible. I almost ruminated on how she'd handle herself once she became luna.
I made my way down to the cellars, which could hardly be called a housing facility--not to mention the cracking walls, no beds, and a suffocating supply of air--and crawled into a hole, meeting 7 pairs of eyes and way too much gasps for my head to process. “Oh sweetheart! your back...” I smiled at gran, well. As smiley as my bloodied lips could get accompanied by glossy eyes and a scrunched up nose due to the pain.
A head full of hair lined with burnt sienna managed to come in between my eyes and the little hole we called a window, blocking the boastful nuclear ball from my sight. How I wish it was at night. Nothing was worse than heat and cheery blue skies lined with cotton gas. Despite the beautiful icy hues in the eyes of the boy before me, I couldn’t help but hate the bright color.
I laid back, gazing at the ceiling with falling flakes, looking at my fingers filled with tiny cuts, hoping the lone tear falling into my ears would go unnoticed, as I slipped into memory cavern, reliving dreadful visions...
~flashback~
“Clean this one- no! I said this one, ugh you're such a busy-idle. Also, clean the bathroom, and clean up the lint on my clothes. The pack wouldn’t want their luna looking like...well, rags like you, so don’t even think about stealing him from me. I’ve seen how you look at him,” she let out a dominating snarl before she slapped me twice.
Standing before her mirror, she began ruminating about how nice it would be to have me be their ring bearer. I stared intently at the ants passing the grouts, wondering why she had a need to intertwine with a mule that could not care less about his mate.
'I so wish that mirror would shatter already.'
“I mean, it's quite cute how you fantasize, I guess that's why we're sisters. You dream, I live! Good luck to your mate though," She bent over fixing her liner as I pressed my nails deeper into my open wounds, "I’m sure he'd want an updated version of an empty shell named Bella of all things. Fret not, if you need more handovers, they'll be in the dump when I get news, kay?" He pretentious giggle was short-lived when she chucked a gummy into her mouth.
She possessed a fine print of perfect curls. Surreal strands of cheery colors framed her perfectly round face. I remember those glazing eyes like i know my fingernails. Those condescending scrunching brows jeweled with a single beauty mark was a cause of spiral. I looked down yet again to avoid a beating, focusing on her custom adorned shoes screaming gold. “Do your job and you had better be finished by the time I get back. Now look what you did! my frown lines will start showing up again.”
~present~
“.......”
‘I’m tired.’
I want a mate, oh so desperately. I want a companion like other people. I want someone I can confide in, someone that would not render me helpless or make me feel abandoned.
There is a hole in time, one where the depths of joy I seek lie in the most fictional man. The intoxication on one obsessing over me, one brushing my lashes with the deadliest gentleness. How I wish a prince charming existed, one that would seldom manifest sadness around me. But then, the image shatters as I set myself in my potential’s perspective; I look as good as rags, which leads to the minimalistic version of my mind. One that begs for the slightest mite of crumbs. There was a short period in which I would accept anyone....even if it meant a ruthless ego-driven maniac...but I don’t think I would survive, even for a week, my mate will ever change. I want a normal mate, a sane one, unlike him. Even if it is too much to ask for, even if he might just renounce me after a little while...I just want an iota of happiness, much to the point where I would admit how desperate I am for it. Never will I be worthy of anyone, but I would give anything for that blurry, glossy delusional despair that disguises itself with bliss.
Although I might not have a life partner anymore, my joy might just subsist somewhere else, for I have found the most fascinating of my enchantment.
A core and unrelenting memory flashes before my mind:
“A Winter is a figure of sovereign authority, second only to the King himself, and independent of the High Council, whose decrees, in turn, hold dominion over all lesser officials.
Endowed with the power to reprimand Alphas and common pack members alike, a Winter may revoke rank at will and, should they so choose, claim members of any pack into their own service. The order of Winters is composed of ten formidable individuals, drawn from the most capable among the realm. Among them, the strongest assumes the mantle of leadership.
Though no woman has yet held the title, there exists no edict forbidding her from aspiring to such a station.”
- Vocations.
My age had never paused me from repeatedly reading that one paragraph, much to the point where it has transformed into a chant for me. I spent my evenings envisioning a superhero with such freedom, unchained abilities and security, wondering when, if, I could reach enough to grasp a sliver of it. I was lucky enough to get some fading bills and coins laying around and an old broken phone of Astrid’s. Although it took more than a few hours to kick-start it, I secretly applied for the position, with the help of my fa...my companions.
And now, with all caution and quiet yearning set before the unknown—“May this undertaking, by some stroke of fortune, exceed the meager expectations my apprehensions currently permit.”
