The Queen of the Rogues

IMPORTANT! STORY BASED ON DESCRIPTION!

The Werewolf world was always seen as the most complicated in the supernatural realm; no one really understood them, the rules were too strict, the packs too large, and the punishments too severe. For some reason, beyond the comprehension of many other creatures, the Werewolves liked to have a kingdom of their own, one ruled by a King who decided how things went, yet still have individual packs ran by Alphas. It was truly a strange system they had, even stranger how it had lasted them centuries, but that wasn't what threw many off- it was the Rogues. Outcast from packs for whatever reason, they had formed their own community (because fuck those who said they can't) and elected themselves a leader- one to rule them, to tell them what to do, because no one else would.

The Rogues had a Queen, and hell, did they respect her. After all, she wasn't someone to get on the bad side of...