1st place Hunter x Hunter Watty Award (Kurapika Kurta) winner of Spring 2017 Book 2: Our Story (Y/n)'s clan called Kurta was massacred... and she was the only known survivor. However, when she discovers that someone else shared the same fate, will love arise spontaneously? -- DISCLAIMER (Copyright): Cover was made by myself. The art used for this cover does not belong to me, therefore that credit goes to the original artist. Furthermore, I do not own Hunter x Hunter or the characters.

Me: Er... what can I say? It's a Killua x Reader. You: DO A FREAKING DESCRIPTION OR I WILL- Me: *Sweatdrop* Ok! OK! You: *Walks Away* When you were 8 years old you sat on a bench alone. No friends, and no teachers. The second day you had spent on that bench, and something finally happened. A girl came up to you and asked, "Any cool tricks?" And you gave a small smile. No one ever actually talked to you because they thought your tomboy-like style was too strange for a girl; they thought it wasn't.. lady like. "I don't have any, sorry." You saw her roll her eyes and she turned and began walking away from you. "Whatever, I knew you didn't have it in you." A sudden rush of adrenaline pumped throughout your veins as she said it. 'She didn't just do that!' A voice echoed in your head. You stood up and got in a position with one of your hands out as a tail and cat ears appeared on your head. You ran up to her with an inhumane speed and scratched her face with your extremely sharp claws. "That teaches you to mess with me!" She was crying as ran into the building and you looked at yourself in a daze. 'Woah... What did I just do?' You hopped on your bike and rode off, not looking back to see the people chasing you. (The photos used in the cover/story don't belong to the author-chan) (Cover made by DjDemonGirl)

"When, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolf-like, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through him. And his cadences were their cadences, the cadences which voiced their woe and what to them was the meaning of the stillness, and the cold, and dark." -Jack London, The Call of the Wild