Alora’s POVAs I stood by the wall, the noise of the ballroom swirled around me, a chaotic symphony of laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft strains of classical music. The gilded walls and sparkling chandeliers cast a warm glow over the sea of pack members, each adorned in their finest attire, lost in the revelry of the night. My fingers curled around the slender stem of a champagne flute, the cool glass a contrast to the warmth of the room. I raised the flute to my lips, taking a small sip, the bubbles dancing on my tongue, but the taste was lost on me. I felt like an outsider here, a ghost haunting the edges of a world that had once been familiar. The sight of everyone dancing and drinking, laughing like they had no cares in the world, should have been comforting, but instead, it only deepened the hollow ache inside me. Their joy felt foreign, a distant echo of a time when I, too, might have laughed so freely. Now, I was just a shadow, hiding by the wall, hoping to remain un
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