Until the shocking revelation of real werewolves throws society into turmoil, the world's definition of fear was set at a low expectation. However, as humans exploit these creatures, trading them for power, Seraphina's world unravels on her 18th bir...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✦ . 🖤⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ 💛. ✦
"Seraphina!" The sound of my name being yelled scared the crap out of me. I about dropped the stacks of hay on myself while I was trying to grab the top one.
"Coming!" I yelled back, exactly the way she had yelled my name. I jogged towards our cottage home, bordered by our crop field which marked the edge of our town. My dad had just finished up harvesting the corn we had been growing for a year and was setting up to leave to the city and sell it with my mom.
It was their yearly trip to the city which I got the chance to help prepare them for. Not to mention, they wouldn't be back for two days since they were taking our two old horses and a wagon full of the crops. Plus, with the money they got, mom would go shopping.
The inside of our cottage home was really nice. My mom grew plants and they either hung on our windows or sat in the sun on the porch. Our dining room wasn't that big but it was enough for the three of us. Whenever my school friends came over for sleepovers, they refused to sleep in my bedroom. Rather argued over who would get our couch. Though I never saw anything special about it.
Our dining room table was made from wood, something my dad carved when he and my mom got married before having me. My mom always kept it neat, and to this day, after their twenty-four years of marriage, it still didn't have a dent or a scratch in it.
My mom was a middle aged woman. She was almost in her 40's but even then she looked to be in her mid-twenties. With her dark brunette hair and wild brown eyes, she was a real beauty. Yet with my dad's blonde hair and blue eyes, one would really check their rings once more and then look at me.
A lot of people asked if I was adopted. And although my parents should have had a dirty blonde kid and light brown eyes maybe or any other version of their genetics, I was the completely opposite.
With my wavy black hair and light blue eyes that almost looked cyan, my parents didn't look like me.
At all.
And yeah, I used to ask them when I was little if I was indeed adopted but they always did the same thing.
Their arms would intertwine with each other and they would look at me with a gentle but teary gaze. "Sweetie," mom would say, "you were born just a little bit different than us. Just because you don't look like us doesn't mean you aren't ours. Your genes just changed themselves."
When I grew up and thought back to it, I couldn't make any sense of it. Eventually I just thought it was a genetic mutation.
Mom was waiting for me in our small kitchen. With her apron tied around her petite form, she looked like a cook making a video. "Dear, your father wanted to give you something special before we left. For your eighteenth birthday."
