1

It begins with a creature. 

A girl with velvet eyes set in a face far too delicate to be human, gazed out into the world from the lone window in her room.

It was quiet enough to hear the steady cadence of her breathing– warm as it drifted onto the glass in a plume of white that dissolved once more to reveal the dark tableau of rooftops and chimneys with traces of standing smoke.

Blinking away dregs of sleep that still crowded around the edges of her eyes, she lifted a small fist to knuckle at her droopy eyes as her throat swelled with a stifled yawn.

Almost there.

Remnants of frosted night air still lingered beyond the window– that which managed to slip into her room raised the fine downy hairs on her arms forcing her to hide them within her silk nightgown.

Five more minutes.

Her nose began to leak.

She sniffled and swiped at her upper lip with the back of her hand, a streak of watery mucus iridescent against pale skin which she stared at in dull amazement then wiped off the side of her gown. 

The possibility of using a napkin had crossed her mind within the hour of waking and listlessly staring out the window, but the floor looked impossibly cold even with the plush carpet and the fear of missing out on the world’s rising kept her anchored to the spot.

Four more minutes.

Her heart began that familiar pattering rhythm against the top of her thighs pressed tight to the small barrel of her chest.

Today is the day, she chanted inwardly as fear and anticipation rose bittersweet to the back of her throat, today is the day.

Nine months of observing the most basic, fundamental greetings of wolves and mortals alike. 

Nine months of practising before mirrors, day and night, on how to talk, which facial expressions to use, the slackness of her posture, the openness of her face– willing to absorb everything and return it back with as much intensity.

Nine months of fabricating and perfecting her human veil within the gilded cage of her room had narrowed down to this moment.

Today today today–

Today, I’ll do it.

The night had begun to take on a hue brighter than her eyes, flushes of orange unhurriedly creeping across the skyline as the sun’s outline appeared in the horizon like a distant promise. It rose in a pale accretion of light that gathered softly in the heart of her bedroom, speck motes that hung suspended in the quietude wheeling, about in the golden shafts of sunlight.

The creature shut her eyes to the blinding intensity, waiting with bated breath as her vision adjusted then peered through the slices of light to not miss the dawning day.

Four minutes.

Her pink tongue tracked a nervous circle around her lips as a silhouette appeared beyond the estate gate. 

A maid… two maids… three… she lost count of the servants that began to steadily stream through the iron gates, pausing once for security screening then proceeding onwards with mechanical gaits. Heads tall, spines straight, uniforms starched and neatly pressed in knife-edged lines that pleased the commander’s wife.

Her eyes slid across the bedroom in search of the clock still perched atop her nightstand.

6:03 AM

He would be arriving in two minutes.

Her heart did that funny jump; that’s enough time to get it right.

How had they done it before?

Spine tall, shoulders dropped and rolled back… no that’s too rigid. He’ll think I have the trots.

Focusing on the wooden panel before her, the creature cleared her throat while morphing her facial expression to that of amiable… warm… a cordial invitation for a friendship of innocent sorts.

“Good…morning.” The timidity of her voice wavered. She cleared her throat again and practised a smile, the corners of her mouth straining unnaturally. “Good morning… good morning… goodmorning!”

Did that sound too formal? 

Yarrow never greeted her like that. 

Child you best get yo’ ghost ass up and outta that bed before them waters run cold.

No, Yarrow had raised her, their relationship gave the old woman licence to speak that way, and the creature knew that she could not mouth those words to the man. Unless she intended on never seeing him again.

Biting her sulky underlip in frustration, she drew it into her mouth, sucking in thoughtful contemplation as a delicate line furrowed between her dark brows.

How had the servants done it?

Rarely had she seen them speak before her. Most days the room she would be placed in was empty save for Yarrow’s lumbering figure and a guard. Oftentimes they spoke with hushed voices and moved with quiet steps around her, their eyes gliding across her coolly as if they didn’t quite see her.

Once, in the throes of naivety as a young child, she had approached them.

Two girls that seemed young, nearly within her range. And she had smiled at them, almost reflexively, as their gazes met in the distance between. They stared for what seemed like eternity then dropped their eyes all while muttering incoherent apologies and pivoting away.

Her head dropped into the palms of her hands with a soft groan, “I can’t do it.” Already defeat rolled its heavy head in the base of her belly; what if he simply stared? What if he did not return the acknowledgement? What if her response scared him off? 

Afterall, he had been the one to approach her first.

But then a familiar whistling sound echoed from the main gates: a sharp, shrilly tune that she had grown accustomed to every morning. The song she did not know yet it felt all too natural to memorise it and hum along.

He had arrived.

Her body stiffened in nervous anticipation. 

Somehow unable to lift her head completely, the creature carefully parted her fingers and peered from between like a shy courtesan at the man as he crossed the screening. He was half-turned, waving and shouting something at the guards in a jovial manner that juxtaposed the soberness of other servants.

Him.

A tightness stretched at her throat. He wore the same outfit as every other driver that worked for the mistress; resplendent grey gabardine trousers pressed to a knife edge, the collared shirt creases thrice across the back in military fashion, a leather whip encircling his left hip that she had seen him use to woo the female servants as he cracked it expertly in the air, drawing figures in the air, curling it like a serpent around his bicep as if the item was simply an extension of his arm.

She judged him to be no older than twenty-two; a young man fresh from the army hired to work in a position for a lycanthrope second-in-power to the Alpha.

Her master. Her creator.

The commander.

He tipped his hat at the servants and clapped hands with the males, a guffaw of laughter ringing about his bright presence. He was the sun and they were all flowers listing towards him for warmth, comfort, thirsty for a sliver of that brightness.

He’s coming. He’s coming.

Still she had not moved from her position. Her palms felt warm and soft and damp against her face.

Varying emotions raged through her deceptively still frame as he turned down the path that ran directly beneath her window. His hands slipped into either pockets casually, a spring in his step as he whistled. She stared at the top of his head, marvelling at the dark hair slicked back fashionably, at the youthful face tanned golden from standing in the sun while washing the cars.

“Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up–” look up look up look up please look up

His pace shifted to a purposefully slow gait as if her debating words had somehow reached him and he was intent on taunting her. 

But then his head craned to the side and she knew that he would look up.

Unprepared but frozen in that vulnerable, awkward position, the creature could only watch as the male raised his head in search of her. He found her within a heartbeat– eyes snagged on hers, trapping her in a look that somehow left her unable to avert her gaze.

With dramatic flair, he visored a hand upon his brow though the sun was barely out, and stared at her. The corner of his mouth jerked upwards in a secretive smile that surfaced a flush hot as steam across her cheeks.

And then he spoke.

“Hello.” The movements of his lips was all she could use to decipher his mute voice.

Hello. Hi. Goodmorning. Hey you.

Everyday for the past nine months he spoke to her. Everyday for the past nine months she failed to gathered the courage to return his words. 

Her throat jerked spasmodically as she swallowed a lump then the word came quietly through her, muffled and hidden by her hands still pressed against her hot face.

“Hello.”

A look of surprise flashed across his face disrupting the usual pattern of friendliness. He wasn’t expecting it. Somehow that gave her courage not to slip behind the curtains. The male raised both hands to his face in mimicry of hers, then lowered them and shook his head as he mouthed; “I can’t see.”

Oh.

She felt naked while lowering her hands, suddenly exposed to the elements of his scrutiny. Her eyes immediately averted to the wall and lingered there. Look back look back look back before he goes. Inhaling a mouthful of the cool morning air to douse the fire in her face, she returned her attention to him.

He was still standing there, waiting, a large smile on his face baring the sharpness of each tooth. “Hello,” he repeated, then waved at her to respond.

All practice went out the window. 

The creature stared mutely, then slowly, hesitantly, raised a hand in a small wave-like gesture with words spoken so quietly she could barely hear them, yet his intense expression was confirmation enough that he understood. “Hello.”

“How are you?”

Her heart was thrashing now, caroming wildly against the walls of her chest. Dumbly, she raised a finger and pointed it at herself; Me?

The male’s head fell back in a laugh so boisterous it startled her. “Yes, you!” 

It was intoxicating, this happiness of his left her light-headed and giddy and thoroughly confused. Perhaps sensing the onslaught of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, he continued while gesturing animatedly at himself. “Me? I’m as great as I can be, you?”

She stared.

“It’s so cold out here,” arms wrapped about himself, rubbing each bicep whilst subtly flexing them. He pointed at her exposed arms and the light gown, “aren’t you cold?”

She had scooted closer to the window now to properly watch his hands, his face– eager to pick up traces of humanity for herself to practise later in the night. With her palm pressed upon the surface and her upturned nose puttied on the cold glass that fogged over with each intense exhale, she began to shake her head–

He stopped her with an open palm and gestured at his mouth.

“Speak to me.”

The hue on her cheeks deepened. 

“I’m not cold,” this was the longest conversation she had ever had with someone other than Yarrow. It felt… odd. 

Was this the beginning of friendship?

If so, she liked it… a lot.

Should I ask him if we are friends now? Or is it an unspoken rule?

The male dropped his stare and glanced in both directions, perhaps wary of someone walking in on them. His head tilted back once more with a look much different from the previous friendliness, “What’s your na–”

She was off the window in an eyeblink— silent feet stealing across the floor at the sound of a key slipping into the keyhole of her bedroom door.

Her figure landed over the beddings in a muted disarray as she dove beneath the covers with the dexterity of one having done this for far too long.