The Wandering Girl

The Wandering Girl

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    Chapitres 3
WpMetadataReadEn cours d'écriture14m
WpMetadataNoticeDernière publication lun., nov. 30, 2015
It was raining the day I left home for good. My little sister began crying. It tore me apart, but I couldn't stay. She wouldn't have understood my reasons, so I kept them to myself, bottled up deep inside my heart. We were living on a jar filled with paper bills, we had been since dad left and mum drank herself to death with a bottle of Gypsy. I couldn't take the sadness, the melancholy, the memories of living in that house. So I left. Mentally, I had left years ago, along with the trunk full of trinkets mum and I used to collect. I left with all the memoirs of our past, sold one by one when money began running scarce. I physically left three years later, with a suitcase full of clothes and four $30 bills shoved into my back pocket, determined to wander the planet until I forgot.
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Everything was gone. I sobbed, my clothes ripped and I was bleeding, but it didn't matter. I had to get to her, to them. Had to find- Struggling to stand, I grasped my side, biting back the scream that wanted to escape. I looked down at my hands and red coated them, blurring together until I couldn't see anything anymore. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing my panicked breathing to slow, until I felt in control of myself again. It had been so long, I thought as I turned my peeling and dry face to the sun, my fingers shaking as I struggled to make sense of them. For so long, I'd been a wolf, cursed. All that I was, or could've been had been reduced to nothing but an animal driven by instinct, bloodlust, thousands of lives met their ends at the edges of my razor sharp claws. I had no idea where I was, how much time had passed. My fingers touched something hard in the sand, and a jolt of information went through me as Queen Azalea's sword, gleamed as I pulled it free. My heart started to pound as sun glinted off of the blade, reflecting back at me. I nearly dropped the metal when I saw myself. I took a second look and saw white hair, caked with dirt, and yellow eyes, blue veins sparking in their depths. All at once, I remembered who I was. I remembered why I was here, how much time had passed. I am Azalea Marie Albescu, The Queen Alpha. A false queen sits on my throne, controls what's mine. I would have to make my way back to my pack, my family, and my home, if still there. I would rise again, as I had before, and reclaim what belongs to me. DISCLAIMER: AS WITH MANY OF MY STORIES, I DO IMPLICATE SITUATIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT/ABUSE. Not in any way do I intend to glamorize this behavior, I write about these delicate and painful situations because I myself relate to them and will always fight for survivors, including myself. Thank you for your understanding and if you are in any way uncomfortable reading these stories, I encourage you to look elsewhere.

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