Silver Skin

48

Avoiding phases
~
Erisa
~

Uncle Frankie used to tell Erisa about the moon.

Its phases, its cycle, the waxing and waning.

There were eight phases of the moon and every phase had something to offer. A gift to give. A sacrifice to be made. A price to pay.

Erisa didn't know what phase of the moon she was at, but she thought it was the dark phase.

But she figured, in her dark phase, through the inner parts of the dark forest in her soul, she would travel, yearn and embrace what called to her.

The moon. Whatever phase it was at. The new moon, a beginning, to the very last, the full moon.

She could never be who she once was. Not wholly and fully.

For hunters, the phases of the moon taught them how to prepare. How to gather. And how to survive.

The full moon taught them it was the night of the hunt.

Erisa steadily realised she would be the one to become the hunted.

No matter how many books she was told to read, to master the knowledge of the body of lycans and werewolves, she still couldn't comprehend what was happening to her.

Her body was no longer her own. She was separate, in the back seat with no control over what body part did what.

She could no longer control herself on the night of the full moon. For the rest of her life, no matter how everlasting it may be, she was doomed to have bones broken, body reconstructed and a wildness tear through her human skin.

That was the hardest concept for her to realise. She would soon become the hunted. Her lineage, her bloodline was stained by lycan blood.

Would Uncle Frankie accept this? He had accepted many things in the past. A mother abandoning their child, becoming a father even though that was never his intention and raising a girl that resembled him just like his brother once did.

Her skin and bones would be reconstructed every full moon for the rest of her days and there was nothing for her to do about it, but to feel every ounce of it. Could Uncle Frankie come to terms with that?

Erisa could hardly process she was believing it, let alone living it. But she was feeling it. That wildness uprooting through her, tickling her body and teasing her senses. She cycled with the moon, following its every phase.

At the beginning of the bite, she was thirsted for revenge and craved her wound to be cleansed of him. She had to align her cards right even if she made folly attempts. Waxing gibbous.

The full moon left her in a blank state. It was a harvest, a shedding of what the previous night brought. Tattered fur, sharpened claws and canines designed to bite.

Where would Erisa go from here? Stuck in a cell bathed in moonlight left her in a disarray. Confinement left her erratic. But when morning came, she honed in her abilities, even though they were faulty attempts. Tala helped. Cole made it worse.

What would waning gibbous bring?

Looking inward, Erisa realised there were far more worst things to live through than a lycan bite.

The air around her lifted, the weight of order diminishing and Erisa moved her foot away from the crushed fingers and a pool of horror washed down her face.