It all begins when a silver dagger goes missing.
For her entire life, a human named Cora Gabris has known that lycans were searching for her, as she was born as a Ruby -- a human that, when turned into a lycan, will become much stronger than any of...
THIS IS NOT A SEQUEL TO WAXING MOON. This is the rewrite of Waxing Moon
Again, NOT A SEQUEL
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One thing was for certain in life -- everything was always changing, no matter how slow the current of life moved. Cora Gabris was all too aware of this, as even though the morning was quite like any other, something was off.
It had been off for the past few weeks, too. Only today did she witness the change. Or at least, I think I saw it.
Cora lowered her arm and relaxed her grip on the hilt of her silver dagger, peering through the morning fog as she swore she saw something.
Relax, you're just overreacting again.
The crisp, late summer draft bit at her exposed calves and arms. She sharply glanced to her right at the sound of something moving, only to see a squirrel climbing on her mother's headstone. Cora rushed at it until it climbed up the tree with a scurry of its claws on bark; her parent's graves were buried right in front of it.
Their old cat, Walnut, was the old guardian of the tombstones.
Now even he was gone.
We'll have to get another, and hope he doesn't venture into lands that he shouldn't.
Cora stared at the gravestones of her parents, sighing and shaking her head. She hated that change as well, as not long ago it had only been one headstone. "Sorry that a squirrel crawled on you, mom." Cora glanced at the other. "Good thing it didn't claw on yours, dad. It cost extra to get it polished."
Her smile only last for a sliver of a moment before she frowned, staring emptily at her father's fresh grave before looking away. It was too soon to make jokes with his memory. Even the grass was thinner where they buried him, with it hopefully matching the rest of the lawn by next summer.
Despite the many manners in which humans could perish in their dangerous world, her parents had managed natural deaths; her mother from childbirth, and her father from pneumonia. Her mother's small, carved rock already was weathered, whereas her father's had only been placed there six months ago.
