The first crack appeared not in the walls, but in the air itself.
Dawn Felicia Hopefully stood perfectly still in her bedroom, watching a sunbeam dance on the polished surface of her oak dressing table. She was practicing, as she did every day, the art of being normal. But today, on the cusp of her eighteenth year, normal was proving difficult.
As she stared, the dust motes in the sunbeam stopped their random, chaotic dance. They froze, then slowly, deliberately, swirled into a complex, glittering lattice—a miniature constellation hanging in the mid-afternoon light. From the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow cast by her bedpost stretch and twist, forming the sleek, predatory silhouette of a wolf for a single heartbeat before snapping back into place.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. No. Not again. She squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her fists so tightly her nails bit into her palms. Breathe. Be normal.
"Dawn! The guests will be here soon!" her mother's voice called from downstairs, a familiar, fluttering sound that usually brought comfort. Today, it felt like a reproach.
The world around her was becoming a lie. The pristine white walls, the carefully arranged books, the view of the manicured garden—it was all a gilded cage, and whatever was inside her was rattling the bars. For years, it had been small things: a vase of dead flowers suddenly blooming overnight, a room growing warm when she was angry. But lately, it was getting stronger. More conscious.
She opened her eyes. The dust had settled. The shadow was just a shadow.
She turned to the mirror and forced a smile. It was a good face, she supposed. Ordinary. Honey-brown hair, eyes that shifted between green and grey depending on the light, a spray of freckles across her nose. The face of a girl who belonged in this quiet town, in this comfortable house, with these kind, anxious people.
She knew she was adopted. It was one of those quiet, open secrets, a fact acknowledged but never discussed. She had a file, locked in her father's desk. She'd found the key when she was twelve. Inside, along with the legal documents, was a small, velvet pouch. She never removed its contents, only ever touched it through the cloth. It was a shard of something warm, something that hummed with a low, persistent energy that called to her.
Tonight, after the party, she would look at it again. She had to. The cracks were widening, and soon, the whole perfect picture would shatter.
Downstairs, the front doorbell chimed. The first of her birthday guests had arrived. Dawn took one last steadying breath, her reflection staring back at her with eyes that seemed to hold a flicker of unearthly, golden light.
The cage would not hold much longer.