Meet Talia

Talia's POV

"No, This is a mistake! A wolfless, overweight werewolf can't be my mate."

His words hit me hard; Whispers erupt from the crowd, murmurs of disbelief and judgement that swirls me like a storm. But I don't let them see how much it hurts. I don't give him the satisfaction.

I square my shoulders, forcing a smile that feels like it's going to crack my face. "Well, Bran, I guess the Moon Goddess has a sense of humour after all," I say, despite the pain running through me. "Too bad she didn't give you one."

Everywhere is silent now, shocked by my words. Bran's eyes are turning red from anger. But I hold my ground, refusing to let him see how much I'm breaking inside.

"Talia," he begins, but I cut him off before he can say more. He was going to reject me anyway.

"Don't worry, Bran," I say, sarcastically. "I'm sure there's some loophole you can find to get out of this. After all, you can't have someone like me ruining your perfect reputation, right?"

The tension in the air is suffocating, and I can see uncertainty in Bran's eyes. He doesn't expect me to fight back. And for a moment, I wonder if he's reconsidering our bond, if the bond is pulling at him the same way it's pulling at me.

But then he turns away, "This conversation is over, Talia. You should leave."

I feel the sting of his rejection like a blow, but I don't let it show. I won't give him or anyone the satisfaction of seeing me break. Instead, I nod, keeping my head high as I turn on and walk away.

**********

MEET TALIA (My life before today)

Everyone knows that the beauty of a wolf lies in his or her furs and ability to shift. Having a wolf in short. But in my case, it's the opposite. My name is Talia, a wolf-less wolf of about 5'6 to 5'8" with a curvy body and weight which was mostly in my hips, thighs, and stomach. It often makes me feel solid compared to the lean wolves in my pack.

My hair is a frizzy mess of curls that's hard to control and they never cease to remind me of how I don't fit in. My skin is fit but with some blemishes, which makes me feel self-conscious. I have rounded cheeks and a soft jawline which make me look kind, but my insecurities often overshadow this.

Sunlight strains through the rippled curtains of my room, showing faint golden rays on the floor. I blink, groggily while I adjust to the light as the world comes into focus. For a moment, I consider pulling the blanket over my head and going back to sleep cause that's where everything is simple, quiet, and without the constant judgment of the pack members. But I know that's a fantasy I can't afford.

I sighed reluctantly and stood up, my joints creaking like an old, rusted hinge. My hair is a wild curl-tangle, sticking up in every direction and putting all efforts to brush it to waste. I catch a glimpse of myself in the cracked mirror in my room and snort. "Good morning, beautiful," I mutter sarcastically as I try to untangle a stubborn knot in my hair.

My bed groans as I swing my legs over the edge, and I can tell it's protesting for a smaller load to carry. I swallow hard as I was already feeling the day's weight before it even started, but one thing makes getting up a little less unbearable, and that's breakfast. My stomach rumbles in agreement and I can tell it's reminding me that it's time to eat.

I wobbled bear-footed, dragging my feet on the worn carpet in my room. The promise of food motivates me to move faster, and I head straight for the kitchen. My sanctuary. The place where I'm not judged for being different, wolfless, or the odd one in a pack of perfect, slim wolves. Here, it's just me and the comforting aroma of whatever I decide to cook.

As I rummage through the cupboards, I smile because anticipating a hearty breakfast is already lifting my spirits. "Pancakes sound good today. Maybe with extra butter and syrup - why not? Life's too short to skimp on the good stuff."

I pull out the ingredients, moving with an enthusiasm that only food can bring out in me. The cooking rhythm always calms me; each time I crack an egg or whisk batter, I'm usually welcomed into a world that seems promising. The sizzle of butter in the pan is like music to my ears, like a melody that drowns the doubts and insecurities in me.

When the pancakes start to brown, I begin to rejoice. The sweet smell of batter fills the air, and I flip the pancakes with a feeling of satisfaction. I am wearing a mismatched set of loose sweatpants and an oversized hoodie which I splattered with bits of flour and batter, but I don't care. This is where my happiness lies, just me, my food, and the quiet of the morning.

But as I enjoyed the moment, my mind wandered to the pack members, to how they looked at me as if I was some alien creature. The whispers, the snickers, the way they make no effort to hide their dislike.

I shake my head immediately to push those thoughts away. "Not today, Talia," I muttered, trying to keep the negative aside. "Just focus on the pancakes."

But still, the thoughts were still hunting me, they were creeping back like an unwanted guest. I can't help but compare myself to the others - how they glide through the day with effortless grace, their lean bodies and their hair always in place. Meanwhile, I'm a mess of curves and frizzy hair, and my wolf forms are conspicuously absent, leaving me with nothing but human imperfections.

It's not that I hate myself, not really. I've made peace with who I am, at least on most days. But the pack makes me feel small as if my worth is measured solely by how well I fit into their definition of strength and beauty. And I know I don't measure up.

The pancakes are golden and fluffy, just the way I like them. I stack them high on a plate, slather them with butter and drizzle syrup on them until they are drowned in sweetness. I take a moment to appreciate the pleasure of a good meal as I sit down to eat. The first bite I take is heavenly, it is a sugary flavour that makes everything else fade away, if only for a while.

But as I eat, my doubtful thoughts return, what will they say today? Will there be more snide comments about my weight, more jokes about my love for food? Or will they ignore me, as if I'm not even there?