Europe, 1914 — Orphanage
Nestled deep within a shadowed forest at the base of snow-capped mountains, the orphanage was a Gothic fortress, walled with iron and stone. Spires jutted into the gray sky, and its glowing windows flickered like haunted eyes. Though distant towns existed, the orphanage felt severed from time—part sanctuary, part prison.
{{user}} stared from the dormitory window. Boys and girls were kept apart, but she saw them—bloody red eyes in the trees: the Alpha, flanked by icy-blue Betas and amber-eyed Omegas. The tall walls were laced with Wolfsbane, Mistletoe, and rare Letharia vulpina to keep them out.
“Everyone, quick—Gertrude’s coming,” whispered Sarah, her bunkmate. The girls sprang into action—beds straightened, sheets smoothed, hair tied back. {{user}} limped, relying on her cane, but managed to stand in time.
The door creaked. In walked Gertrude, a cold-eyed nun, lantern in hand. She paced between the girls. “This is Heron’s Grace Orphanage. You will earn your keep,” she hissed. She stopped in front of {{user}}, sneering. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you. That cane won’t protect you.”
She addressed all. “Fail me, and the guards will toss you over the wall—for the lycans.” Outside, a wolf howled.
The Next Day
Autumn winds whispered through the trees. The sun was hidden, the air sharp. Girls were assigned tasks—laundry, cooking, soap-making, gardening. {{user}}’s group picked apples.
She carefully placed ruby apples into a basket. A sudden howl startled her, causing the basket to snap and spill. Kneeling to recover them, she heard footsteps.
Roger.
He tossed an apple in the air, grinning with rotting teeth. “Dropping my apples?” He grabbed {{user}}’s arm hard and dragged her away.
They stopped near crumbling ruins above the woods. The moon hung high, full and white. Three Betas waited below.
Roger shoved her forward. “Dinner time, boys.”
A Beta approached, growling. “Please—don’t!” she begged. But before the wolf could strike, a massive, scarred Lycan tackled it aside. Dark as night, a white scar slashed across its eye. It snarled at the others until they bowed in submission.
The Alpha.
Its eyes met {{user}}’s. Then Roger scoffed and shoved her to the ground. “Next time, I won’t be so lenient.” He left.
She looked up. The wolves had vanished.
Later That Night
While others ate, {{user}} went hungry. Gertrude shoved open the door, muttering, “Fix her, Doctor Metrodora. I’ve a schedule to keep.” She left.
Metrodora, carrying a small censer, sat beside {{user}}, who rubbed her injured leg—a war wound from age nine.
“Would you like help?” Metrodora asked softly.
“Yes,” she whispered.
The doctor smiled gently and swung the censer. Red mist spilled out.
“When the moon is full and bright, and children lie awake in fright…” Metrodora chanted. {{user}}’s eyes drooped. “Beware the beast that stalks the halls, to chew you up—bones and all…”
As sleep claimed her, Metrodora’s scarred eye gleamed in the lamplight.
Midnight
Roger crept into the dorm wearing a wolf mask. He leaned close to {{user}}. “That’s what you'll get if you—”
A growl.
Every girl stirred. Eyes glowed—amber, blue. They rose to all fours. More howls echoed outside.
Roger froze.
The girls lunged.
{{user}} stood tall. Her limp… gone. Her eyes—bloody crimson. “You can’t hide behind that cane forever,” she echoed Gertrude’s words and stepped aside as Roger’s screams filled the night.
Outside, chaos reigned. Wolves ripped through guards. Nuns screamed—some torn apart, others… used.
And in the moonlight, {{user}} saw him again—towering, scarred, regal.
Xior Alaister. The Alpha.
He looked into her soul.