"Momma! Momma! Look I made you a card!"

A blonde, pig-tailed girl --barely five or six-- ran past other elder werewolves, in a hurry to reach her mother who was already looking at her excited daughter with a happy, expectant smile.

She --her mother-- had been busy talking to other women gathered on one of the picnic tables when she had turned away from the others at her daughter's loud cry.

The mother stood up and knelt down on the grass just in time to receive the fiery ball of blonde in a bear hug, both of them laughing blissfully.

She watched silently from the window of her room as the girl proudly showed off the card she made, while the mother entertained her with kisses, compliments and smiles as she observed the scrawls and glitter on her daughter's card.

A tear trailed down her rosy, pale cheek after having dangled in the web of her long, lower lashes for far too long.

She withdrew her little hand from the cool glass of the window and turned away from the sunny, happy afternoon of mother's day celebration going on in the backyard, not having enough strength to watch more. Trying to go far away from the sunlight casting into the room from the windows, she pattered over to the darkest corner of her room as fast as her little legs could carry her and nestled between the huge chest and her dresser.

With her knees up against her chest, she wrapped herself in a tight, little ball, tucking her head down in her arms. In seconds, her body began to shudder and shake violently in a staccato rhythm.

While everyone cheered and laughed merrily in the bright, delightful backyard, she heaved out noiseless, soul-shattering sobs in the darkness as muffled cheers seemed to resound inside her room, unable to numb or lessen the pain and weight of loneliness and loss from her innocent heart.

She raised her flushed face and looked at the small card on the floor beside her —the card she made for her mother.

Her lips wobbled, the tears never ceasing. She reached over and picked it up slowly with a shaky hand. She ran a hand over the drawing she made of her mother and herself standing side by side while holding hands.

And she began crying anew.

°°°

She stirred awake at the sound of a curt knock. She had fallen asleep sometime during her torturous lamenting. She stayed where she was, not making a single sound until she heard the footsteps fade away.

When she was sure the person was gone, she straightened up and got off the floor at a leisurely pace. A glance at the window told her it was now night time.

From the muffled bustling, talking and laughter she could hear, she deduced it was time for dinner. Yet, she found she had no appetite. No urge to eat or get ready for dinner. Not when the two most important people in her world wouldn't be there waiting for her.

She walked towards the door with lazy, crestfallen steps, eventually reaching the door. She slowly turned the knob and opened the door.

She squinted against the bright light in the hallway --a sharp contrast to her room which was bathed in darkness all the time. Except for when the nights scared her more than most and the past horrors overwhelmed her, she would seek out the lights only then to save her from the hell she was left in.

She lowered her beautiful and unique eyes to the tray of food sitting before her on the wooden floor. It was one of the only reminders that told her the pack was still aware of her existence, yet they all wanted nothing to do with her. She, was a mere duty. An unwanted responsibility. A liability.

And in her little heart, she knew it.

It was saddening when she was stuck between the urge to leave the food there and go back in, or say her prayer and eat like her mother had taught and asked of her to do.

But she just couldn't eat.

Not when pain gnawed at her. Her heartache was too painful to stomach anything.

She did however sit down with her legs folded beneath her, whispered her prayer with eyes closed and small hands clasped in front of her chest. Her lips appeared to be trembling instead of whispering, her face and demeanor as that of an angel. Such was the beauty that beheld her.

She opened her eyes then, and stared at the tray for a whole minute, before tentatively picking up the glass of water and sipping it down little by little until it was empty.

Her pale pink, parched lips turned ruby red, her sore throat moistened. Quietly, she placed the glass soundlessly back on the tray and stood up gracefully.

She glanced at both ends of the hallway, once at the tray, before turning around and shutting the door calmly after her, unaware of the intent and awed eyes, which had been watching her.

She went and settled down on her huge bed, which wasn't often if it wasn't necessary --she hated how vacant it was-- and waited.

She waited for hours. She waited until every single noise died down. Until she could hear nothing but the meaningful silence surrounding her.

In that moment, and forever in her gloomy life.

She stood up and walked over to the window, opening it. The cool breezes blew back her shiny, silk-straight locks, invading the room and ridding it of the day's warmth and suffocation.

The slight chill in the air didn't deter her from perching up on the window seat and scooting close enough to feel the wooden ledge against the side of her small body. Once settled, she placed her chin on her knees and began to stare out into the quiet night before her. It was just like her, the darkness and cold loneliness which surrounded her and her heart, the small, winking stars a reminder of the past joys, which were nothing but mere memories and... the dead silence.

Silence, it meant a lot to her four-year-old mind. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it wasn't always a good thing either.

For her, silence had always meant bad.

She closed her eyes, her mind --much to her unwillingness-- recounting the events of the night from where her horrors and desolation had truly begun.

She was only three back then, but in her mind's eye, she remembered every gory detail with appalling clarity.

A tear raced down her cheek and she opened her watery eyes when the onslaught became to much for her fragile being. She took in a shuddering breath.

"I love, you..." She breathed out, "Mo-omma and D-dada."

°°°

The very next morning she heard the knock at the door. She got out of the bed, made it and headed for a shower.

When she was showering, she heard a small, lighter knock. It confused her. There were only three knocks a day for food and four knocks on Sunday and Wednesday for laundry.

So who could want to see her?

Showered and dressed, she walked over to the door, and pressed her ear against the door. She heard no sound nor felt anyone's presence.

Curious, she backed away and opened the door to find the same breakfast tray before her. Everything was the same, except for the parchment placed beside it with a white rose on it.

She glanced around and he ducked back just in time to escape her searching gaze.

She folded her legs beneath her and settled down before picking up the rose and observing it. She had a penchant for everything nature-related.

It was fully bloomed and freshly picked --she knew-- with its sweet, heady scent wafting around her, calming her senses. The petals were soft and white, the thorns removed.

Overall, it was the most beautiful and biggest rose she had ever seen.

She wondered whoever wanted to give her this beautiful flower.

He watched her stare at the rose he had picked for her sneaking out early that morning from the farthest clearing deep in the forest, which was the only place that had roses growing naturally.

It was hard enough to sneak out and back in unnoticed, but harder to remove the thorns. He constantly pricked himself. Though thank goodness he had healing abilities or he would have been caught by his mother.

He watched in disappointment as she placed the rose back down.

She picked up the parchment and opened it gently.

It read,

Please eat. You no eat last night. Mama say it bad no eat. You like the rose? I got for you. Friends?

B.

And at that moment, for the first time in a whole year, she felt... happy. Someone wanted to be her friend. Someone... cared.

He saw her stand up with the tray and shut the door to her room. He sighed, sad.

At least she took the rose and tray, he thought dejectedly.

He was about to stand up from his hiding place when he heard her door open. Quickly, he turned to the door and saw her place a paper where he had and go back again.

He waited for a few minutes before he tip-toed to her door, picked up the paper and rushed back to his room. He eagerly unfolded the paper and after reading it, he grinned brightly.

It read,

Rose very pretty. Thank you. Friends.

R.

Author's Note:

Hey everyone. Surprise! I wouldn't have uploaded this in all honesty if it weren't for beamingstars. She encouraged me and practically demanded an update, lol. Love her already 😘 So I dedicated it to her. Take care, everyone. Until next time (:

—R