☽•◦➛ In 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 a girl finds her place in the world
and family between a pack of shapeshifters
and a coven of witches.
𝙤𝙧
In 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 Beatrice Uley finds so...
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╰┈˚ · ° . HOURS PASSED, THE DAY FADED INTO NIGHT. The pack had left as the sun started to set, there was no need for them to wait alongside me for my brother that could easily not come back until morning or even in days.
The cloak ticked, the numbers showed 2 AM. The tv was playing some random cooking show, in my hands there was an almost finished sketchbook as I randomly drew shapes and turned them into art.
Another hour passed, and the front door opened. "Sam?!"
"No, mom." The woman stood frozen on her spot, hand still on the door handle. I could see that she was drunk from the way she slightly slurred the words . "Sam is not back yet?" She asked, finally moving away from the entrance. She threw the keys in the ceramic bowl that was on a small drawer near the front door, the sound echoing through the house as the same time she took a moment to leave her high heeled boots on the lower compartment.
"No, he needed some time to clear his head. He had... a fight with Leah." I replied trying not to stumble too much on my words and lie that fell from my lips.
My mother let out a sigh, massaging the temples with her fingers. "Again?" She scoffed under her breath, shaking her head slightly in what was perceived as disappointment.
"It's-"
"I don't want to hear it, Beatrice." She said suddenly, cutting me off abruptly and without an ounce of guilt. "I'm going to sleep." And with that she left, climbing up the stairs and disappearing behind her door without even caring that her daughter was still awake deep into the night or that her son was not home yet.
Disappointment bloomed in my chest. She didn't even stop to ask if he was okay. If I was okay. It had begun again a few weeks prior, the drinking. Both Sam and I knew that her stopping wouldn't have lasted, but still, it always managed to hurt me. Because wanting or not, a slight kindle of hope always bloomed at her sobriety.
The door opened again breaking my train of thoughts, and this time, it was Sam.
He was clenching and unclenching his fists, eyes red and swollen, filled with tears that had left streaks down his tanned cheeks.
