How could I have been so blind? Diana's kindness, Stas's care, and even Violetta's voice of reason had turned from sincerity into mere formal handouts for a weak, frightened girl who was only beginning to discover herself and the true nature of things. It was so bitter that my eyes stung with hot tears. They wanted to spill out at the worst possible moment and in the wrong place. I forced myself to stay seated instead of rushing, out of habit, to the girls' restroom, simply because I had no idea where it was located in the institute. Like Pavlov's dog, honestly: the slightest tear, and I would bolt.
Pulling the sleeves of my hoodie down to the tips of my fingers, I gripped the soft, cool fabric. The new tactile sensation calmed me slightly, as if helping to cool the fire inside, but it was still not enough to soothe my soul.
"He doesn't love you," Kaandor whispered in my ear, and I flinched, not expecting the creature to return. "And he never will."
"You don't know that," I murmured, barely moving my lips, hoping it would be enough for my dark companion, but instead, I drew the attention of Violetta and Diana, who immediately turned to me, frowning.
"Did you say something?"
"No," I lied, and Diana scrutinized my face even more closely. Kaandor laughed sharply in my subconscious, turning my sadness into rage, making my hands itch to run along the flawless concrete walls of the hall, painted in a pleasant powdery shade.
"There is no sadder tale in the world than the song of a she-wolf's unrequited love for Nosferatu," Kaandor said in an intentionally theatrical tone, and I was ready to swear that he had begun to waltz inside the prison of my mind, which had forever locked him in, as I hoped, without a chance to materialize.
"Tick-tock, tick-tock," he said cheerfully.
"Ow!" My claws pricked my skin painfully, and the people nearby turned toward me. Their displeased faces demanded to know why I was disturbing the presentation, seeing only an ordinary high school girl before them, and I forced a smile, quietly muttering, "Sorry, sorry."
In horror, I realized that another wave of attention was about to sweep over me in the crowded hall, and, of course, I was in the front rows.
"Our institute has a philology faculty, as well as journalism, for those who want to work with the power of words," the presenters continued, and my inner thoughts were interrupted by Dasha, who sat up straight and moved to the edge of her chair, trying to be closer to the stage. Her future looked clear and simple. I even envied her, understanding that every victory of hers had been earned through sleepless nights with textbooks and flawless completion of assignments. Her intelligence and knowledge were the result of effort, not innate talent or a special memory. Dasha's perseverance impressed me, and at the same time, I wondered: how would she have acted if she were in my shoes? Would she still pursue her carefully planned path, perhaps one she had charted as early as fourth grade? I would never know the answer, simply because, fortunately for Dasha, she would never face the chain of changes that had fallen to me. If only someone could truly understand me and serve as an example—but even my father could not. Neither he nor Denis Drozdov could. They knew about the legacy that haunted the family. They had time to prepare for changes, which could pass them by or be inherited. The news fell on me like a snowball, sweeping me far from my familiar life and leaving hope behind.
"In addition to the exam results, applicants to these faculties must write a motivation letter and come to write an essay on a given topic within a limited time. The schedule will be posted on the university website no later than a month before the planned date," the presenters continued.
"You can't get rid of what is already part of you."
"Shut up!"
"Miss, what do you think you're doing?" a woman in the chair in front of me exclaimed in indignation. Instantly reacting, Viola grabbed the collar of my hoodie and forced me to stand, hastily trying to lead me out of the hall. She pushed me toward the aisle along the wall, and each touch reverberated inside me like a heartbeat:
Thump. Thump. Thump-thump.
A dark haze clouded my eyes, but I tried to stay steady. Stepping forward grew harder with every move. I feared that a misstep would make me fall on some of the applicants, and who knew where a claw might strike.
Just don't hurt anyone. Just don't hurt anyone, I kept repeating to myself, trying to drown out Kaandor's gleeful tirades as he reveled in my weakening will.
My phone vibrated, and in a moment of clarity, I unlocked the screen, hoping to see a message from Vladimir: if only my father could come to his senses right now, when I so desperately needed another werewolf by my side. Mentally, Kostya might not understand the choices and reconciliation with his daughter's natural nature, but Dad knew better than anyone what could keep the beast inside. I would have given anything for someone to be there with me safely—even if there was a risk of turning into a dog without the chance to revert. Better a kennel than hands in blood, especially when it involves loved ones.
Viola and Diana risked themselves trying to get me through the long hall to the frosty winter air. But instead of a saving message from my father or Vladimir, I saw a notification that the phone was back in network coverage, followed by a message from Stas, which should have arrived back in the hall but, for some unknown reason, came only now:
S: "Alright, don't sulk like that. I can see everything from the back row. So, Tanya and I talked, and I explained again that I'm not looking for a serious relationship. She thought there was love between us, can you imagine? Complete nonsense))) I'm too young to play games like that. I don't need anyone. Especially 'forever and ever.'"