In the grim city of Nightburg, where the neon lights barely illuminate the horrors of the streets, Sofia leads a life on the fringes of society. As a talented singer in the dazzling nightclub "Lunar Haze," she is the muse of many-but behind the glam...
Since my childhood, I dreamed of standing on a big stage. Since the age of nine, I have taken singing lessons every day. It was always my mother's wish for me to succeed in singing, her great passion.
In the past, it was just a regular hobby for me, something I pursued to make my parents happy. But everything changed abruptly when men in white coats informed the mother of 16-year-old Sofia that she had cancer. It affected the pancreas.
The words of the doctors hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating everything around us. I still vividly remember the day when the world seemed to shatter around us. My mother, who was always radiant and cheerful, sat there with uncertain, tearful eyes as she heard the shocking news.
In those moments, I realized how fragile life can be and that it's not just about big dreams, but also about the people closest to us.
In the months that followed, I visited my mother in the hospital as often as I could. I wanted to be by her side, to cheer her up and to sing for her. I shared with her my deepest fears and hopes, as well as the joy that singing had begun to bring me. We sang together songs she had lovingly composed, and I noticed it helped her forget the pain and sadness for a moment. In those moments, I felt just how powerful music can be—it has the ability to make even the darkest times a little brighter.
This turning point in my life not only changed how I viewed music but also how I viewed my goals. I began to understand that singing is more than just a hobby or a way to make my mother proud. It became my way of dealing with feelings, evolving into a form of healing therapy for me. I decided to channel all my energy into music and pursue my dreams with new intensity.
Shortly before my twentieth birthday, my mother passed away. She left peacefully in her sleep. The doctors assured me that she was too drowsy from the medication to feel anything. Since then, the world has lost its colors.
The days following her death dragged on like a gray veil, casting everything in a dull light. I remember sitting silently in her cold room, surrounded by the objects that once radiated her warmth and love. The smell of freshly washed sheets and her favorite soap lingered in the air, yet these familiar scents suddenly felt foreign and painful.
Friends and relatives came, mainly cousins and colleagues, to express their condolences and to comfort me. Yet their words seemed to flow through me, unheard amidst the noise of my own pain. I smiled when I had to and nodded whenever it was appropriate, while a storm raged inside.
Images from my childhood flashed through my memory—moments when her presence meant everything, as if she were my only connection to the world. I didn't know how to go on without her. She always found the words to soothe me and to give me strength—and now she was simply gone. I felt like a bird whose voice had been stolen, trapped in a cage made of grief and loneliness.
My father disappeared years ago, dedicating all his attention to a model and her career. He was of no help to us when my mother was still alive, nor did he contribute to the costs of her funeral, even though he had the financial means.
With each day, the world seemed to fade a little more, as if reflecting the loss of my mother. In the silence of the nights, loneliness crept back, and I was forced to confront the thought that I would never hear her calming voice again and that I would never sing with her again. The certainty that I would have to make decisions in the future without being able to seek her advice was overwhelming.
Somewhere amid this chaos, I knew I had to find a way to look forward. So, I terminated our lease and took my life into my own hands. I moved to Palms and got by working as a waitress. I spent the nights dodging the lecherous gazes of men and meticulously cleaning glasses. With blisters on my heels, I stood behind the bar in red pumps, my tight blonde ponytail and a form-fitting suit, softly humming to myself and swaying to the music.
The job was poorly paid, and the colleagues were even worse, fighting over tips. My career as a waitress ended when a slimy and extremely unkempt man approached me after my shift outside the bar, refusing to take no for an answer. His hand closed around my wrist like a handcuff, and before I knew it, he lay on the ground with a pained expression, clutching his abdomen. I then hurried to my studio apartment with a pounding heart.
Soon it became clear that he was a friend of the business owner and had betrayed me to my boss. Of course, he hadn't told him that I was merely defending myself, and so he had me thrown out on my ear.When I moved to Nightburg, a city where the night became day, a poster at the train station caught my attention."Casting for the Lunar Haze. Young attractive singer wanted! 6 PM!"So, I spent the entire morning in the bathroom, standing in front of a small round mirror, horrified to find that I had no idea what to wear for the past half hour."Well, I guess I'll have to spend my savings on new clothes!"
------------------------------------------------------ Hello and welcome to my first werewolf story! I hope I was able to give you a little insight into what awaits you. How do you like this chapter? Is 1,000 words a pleasant read, or should I shorten it?
Feel free to let me know in the comments!
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