PORSCHA

***

I fall down with a yelp, aches bursting along my flesh before the back of my skull slams against the granite floor with a finishing thwack! Everything explodes in an array of color and pain, and I only manage a choked noise of shock before someone kicks me in the temple. Wham! My head snaps to the side. I catch the briefest glimpse of a face—its features melting and distorting—before I am kicked again. Wham! This time, my entire body convulses, and my mind teeters dangerously on the edge of consciousness.

Muffled sounds reach my ears, and it takes me a moment to register it as laughter. I'm kicked, punched, and slammed in many areas on my body, from my face to my ribs all the way down to my knees. All the while, their jeers warble around my skull like water as it rushes over rocks. The worst part is that the abuse doesn't stop. It just keeps going on, and on, and on...

Then, there's silence. My breathing rattles within my ears, and for many moments, I lay still, waiting for the next blow, the next round of punishment. It never comes.

I don't know how long I lay there. At some point, I think I pass out, because one moment, I'm staring up at the vaulted ceiling, and the next, a face is looming above me, its features twisted in concern.

I shut my eyes, terrified. I expect another set of blows, so when their hand rests gently upon my cheek—almost in a feathering caress—my eyes fly open in shock.

I see the face clearer now. It's a man who looks no older than me. His olive face is pale with worry, and his dark eyes—softly angled at the corners—shine with something close to sadness. His hair, however, is what snares my attention entirely. It's a glaring silver, and the longer I look at it, the more I believe that somebody took threads of moonlight and spun it into his strands.

A discombobulated flow of sounds meet my ears—familiar syllables arranged in ways that make no sense to me. I take a good moment to focus on my hearing, concentrating on sorting through the wordy mess.

"...Hey, can you hear me? I said, 'Are you alright?'"

I go to nod instinctively, but stop myself. No, I'm not okay. My head is throbbing, I think my nose is broken, and I'm so sick with hunger and pain that I might just start throwing up bile.

I shake my head. The man grimaces.

"Will you let me help you up? I think we should get those wounds checked."

"Please." My voice is nothing more than a hoarse rasp—it's quite pathetic, really—but thankfully, the man doesn't show an inkling of judgement as he hobbles over to my side and braces an arm behind my neck. Slowly, he sits me up, and when I feel ready, he helps me to my feet.

"Thanks," I say, my voice more of a normal tenor. He waves me off with his free arm, the other still braced around my back.

"It's no worries, but... Excuse me, I'm going to need to ask you to stand without me supporting you, because if I put pressure on this leg for five more seconds, then I'm going to collapse."

"Yes, I, uhm—oh!" I exclaim, as he releases me and hobbles towards a long wooden pole on the floor. A walking cane, I realize with a jolt. I watch him bend down with great effort to retrieve it, and when he's balanced properly—right leg planted on the ground, left foot hovering, body leaning against the cane—the relief which passes over his face is palpable.

"That's better. Sorry, my name is Hitoshi. I forgot to introduce myself. Not that we're meeting under the best circumstances... but, uh, yeah...heh."

He rubs the back of his neck, and whatever steadiness he had while helping me flows out of him. Instead, it is replaced by an anxious jitteriness, accompanied by minute twitches in his extremities. His slight bodily tremors guide my eyes down to his left leg, although his pants conceal the extent of the damage.

"Oh, that. Er... I had a bad accident when I was three. It never healed properly."

"Oh!" I exclaim, horrified to have let myself stare so long. I feel my cheeks grow hot. "That's incredibly rude of me. I didn't mean to stare—"

"No, it's okay, don't worry about it. I'm quite used to it. Actually, yours is probably the kindest response I've gotten." He sends me a crooked smile, which then devolves into an anxious grin. It's as though there are two animals inside him, one that wants to talk to me, and the other that wants to run far away from any social interaction. It results in this strange disposition that I'm observing now.

My stomach growls, and despite the gentle throb of my body and the pulsing heat of my wounds, I decide ice and salve can wait. "Would you be able to point me in the direction of the pantry?"

"The...pantry?"

"I'm hungry."

"But your wounds—"

"Please. I haven't eaten in three days. I don't even think I'll be able to make it to an infirmary at this rate."

Hitoshi's eyes widen, and I can see the question on his tongue before he swallows it and says, "Right. Follow me."

⋆ ☽⋆☾ ⋆

Turns out I was right. The pantry was back near the dining hall. In fact, if I had gone right instead of left at that crossroads with Diamora, I would have found it right away. Knowing how easily I'd been fooled—and how close my objective truly was to me at the time—sends prickles of hot humiliation down my neck.

"You're lucky I found you when I did. Who knows who may have found you first? Not many of the wolves here like Pinecrest. I wouldn't put it past one of them to take up the mantle and continue the thrashing."

'Thanks, Hitoshi. That's reassuring,' I want to say, but I keep my lips sealed. I may have found my first and only ally in this place, and the last thing I want to do is scare him away with my dry sarcasm. Besides, he's actually making an effort to have a conversation with me, and although it's nervous chatter, it's certainly better than the awkward silence that would otherwise permeate the air. Besides, every now and again, Hitoshi will drop a mildly interesting fact.

"Which is weird, if you think about it. It wasn't that long ago that rumors were circulating of a romantic affair between some higher-up members of Ironpeak and Pinecrest. Maybe we could get along better than we all think." There we go. "Say—do you know who attacked you, Porscha? Maybe we can report it to Alpha Raiden."

"I mean, I'm not entirely sure who it was since I didn't actually see them, but I'm ninety-nine percent sure it was that Diamora woman and her crew."

Hitoshi's face whips to mine, dark eyes widening to saucers. "You ran into Diamora?"

"Unfortunately."

"Goddess," he murmurs. "All us invalids are terrified of her. She's made her distaste of us clear. The others adore her, of course, but I don't know if that adoration stems from genuine devotion or a well-masked fear. Regardless, if you think it was her that attacked you, it probably was. What did she say to you?"

"She just started going on this tirade about how I am a spoiled Celestine and how she is the one who truly deserves the title of Luna. She said the Ironpeak wolves will never accept me and... oh, she said she's going to steal Alpha Raiden from me, because he loves her or some shit."

"She did?" Hitoshi's voice is laden with horror. Then, however, his brows crease, and his olive skin takes on the pallid shade of rage. "How dare she say that. I mean, how dare she attack you in the first place, but also, how do she assert something so treacherous? How did you respond, Porscha? Please tell me you gave her a serve."

I shrug. "I didn't respond. In fact, I was going to tell her, 'Go right ahead, you can have him', but I knew that wouldn't go down well with the rest of the pack. So, I said nothing."

Hitoshi gapes at me. With a cold pang, I realize I shouldn't have told him that. Oops.

"I... What? Do you not want Alpha Raiden?"

I hesitate. Although he's proven himself good so far, I hardly know Hitoshi, or how loose his tongue may be. It would be smart to leave him in the dark. Then again, he already knows too much, and leaving him to speculate would probably only make things worse. So, I exhale a long sigh. "Can I be honest with you, Hitoshi? I don't want to be here at all. I was forced into this arrangement against my will. I'm sure Alpha Raiden is...erm...nice and all, but he just wasn't what I was imagining as my mate. So... no, I don't want him."

Hitoshi is silent for a long time. For a minute, I worry that I offended him until he says, "I see. I understand. I'm sorry about your situation. Was there someone back home?"

My entire body goes tense. I feel my heart cooling rapidly, and Hitoshi realizes his mistake as he stammers, "Oh, forgive me, I shouldn't have asked that. It's not my place to ask; we barely know each other. Sorry, sorry..."

"It's okay," I whisper, and although I try to hide it, the strained aspect of my voice betrays me: there is somebody back home, and I miss him. Badly.

Just like that, the dam which I'd built to hold back the thoughts of Jericho fissures, and slowly, they begin to flow into my mind. What is Jericho doing now? Does he think of me as much as I think of him? Is he heartbroken, or has he accepted the situation? Has he found a replacement for me, another girl to make love with? The last thought makes me sick to my stomach.

"Hey, we're here," Hitoshi says with forced cheerfulness, and I look up to see a large mahogany door on the wall before us. There's a slight tremor in his hand as he grasps the knob.

When he throws the door open, the smell of food immediately floods my senses, and, like a receding tide, all thoughts of Jericho flow away. "Knock yourself out."

Don't have to tell me twice, I think to myself as I rush inside.