Damsel in Control (18+ Only) - The Rogue Pack

Chapter 23

The spring blooms of Ktukda make the city sparkle with vibrancy and colour. They fill the grass verges on the sides of streets and spill from the balconies, their petals making soft colourful carpets below. The pink, blue, and purple hues of the peonies, the sunny yellow of the tulips, the peaceful white of the daisies. I can't help but feel joyful and optimistic as I take in the colourful scene. It fills the world with a sense of new beginnings. Of hope, and the reminder that change can be beautiful. Even the warm air, the soft breeze carrying the flowery scents that fills my lungs, reminding me of the joys of life.

It's the day after my dinner with Alice, and I've escaped into town early in the morning, not wanting to be stuck indoors with my thoughts. I'm not even sure I've ever seen Ktukda during the daytime. My brief stints are usually in the late evening, followed by the early morning trip back to the train.

The city seems quieter than usual, partly because it's early morning on a weekday, but also because it'll soon be the start of spring, and wolves will be choosing to return to their packs to spend springtime with their family. It's a big time for celebration in the werewolf community. A time when you are statistically most likely to meet your mate, a time when females are supposedly most fertile. Although I reckon that's an old wives tale driven from the mating patterns of actual wolves. But it doesn't stop the huge celebrations thrown by the wolf communities, hoping to bring new cubs into their packs, and allow young wolves to meet their mates.

The city is surprisingly beautiful during the day, and there are more things to see than I had noticed during my drunken nights and mad rushes home. As I leave the train station, I notice that the shutters lining the ground floor of almost every building have been thrown open, revealing rows of small, quirky shops that call to me with their eye-catching fronts. Each one is more exciting than the last, their wares displayed in a cascade of colour in the windows, and the sweet tinkling of bells as customers open and close the doors sounds like music to my ears. They sell such an incredible variety of goods, from gorgeous hand fashioned jewellery, to bright traditional werewolf clothing, to the most beautiful stationery sets I've ever seen. I lose myself in the magic of the area, momentarily forgetting my Alice conundrum as I wander between the various stores, letting my fingers thread through the soft materials, tracing the gorgeous patterns and designs.

I'm not looking to buy anything, simply enjoying the feeling of exploring, and discovering the joys of small talk with the intriguing shopkeepers. They're nearly all older members of the werewolf community. Most represent a specific pack, here to sell the wares produced by the wolves back in their regions. The older women tempt me into trying on outfit after outfit, testing the blues, greens and red against my skins, trying to find my colour. They're so motherly in their words and actions, that I have a hard time trying to avoid thinking about my own mother. But a brief, caring smile from one of the sweet looking old ladies is enough to make resolve fly from my brain, the tears quick to come. I force myself to quickly close my eyes as I struggle to hold back the tears at the deluge of memories, that motherly smile so like my own mother's. The woman who raised me. Who picked me off the floor when I fell and scraped my knee. Who would kiss my injuries better, would brush my hair in the morning. The woman who held my hand when I got scared, but pushed me to be the bravest version of myself. Who abandoned me when I needed her most, unable to recognise me when I was at my most vulnerable.

These elders, with their wrinkled hands and wise eyes make me miss home in a way that I haven't in months. I've always thought back on it with melancholy, but here in sunny Ktukda wandering through the streets, surrounded by the kinds of people I would have seen at home, for the first time ever, I feel like going back.

I shake my head slightly, trying to rid my mind of the idea and go back to my exploration, nodding along with the women's chatter as they hold up fabric after fabric against my skin, trying to tempt me into buying more, ever more. I finally manage to extricate myself from their motherly clutches, hands miraculously empty, and am instantly stopped again by the beautiful window display in the next shop and the whole ordeal starts again.