I woke with a violent jolt—like someone had ripped me out of a nightmare and slammed me back into my body. Except… this was worse. So much worse.
Pain tore through me in every direction, sharp and suffocating. My lungs felt like they were collapsing inward, like the air inside them was being stolen, yanked away by invisible hands. I gasped, but it wasn't breathing—just choking on nothing. My chest refused to expand. My throat tightened like a tightening rope.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't think.
I couldn't understand why this was happening.
A scorching heat blasted through me first—an unbearable fire that seemed to start in my bones, spreading outward until even my skin felt too tight. And then—just as violently—a freezing cold swept over me, making me shiver so hard my teeth nearly cracked. It was impossible to tell which sensation was worse. It felt like my body was being pulled in two opposite directions, like I was burning and freezing and breaking all at once.
The worst part was the feeling in my bones—raw, excruciating, like someone was swinging a sledgehammer inside me. Every joint ached. Every rib screamed. My spine felt like it was being stretched and twisted.
And the tattoo on my forearm—
Oh God.
It wasn't just itching. It burned.
It felt like someone was pressing a brand straight into the skin, carving the shape deeper, darker, forcing it to fuse with me.
I clawed at my arm, desperate for relief, but the heat only pulsed harder, rising with every frantic heartbeat.
My vision blurred. My ears rang. The room spun.
I couldn't stay still.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't survive this.
With the last bit of strength I had, I rolled—falling off the bed and hitting the floor with a thud that barely registered. Somehow, I managed to get on all fours. My skin felt too tight. My clothes felt like they were suffocating me. I clawed at them—pulling, tearing, trying to free myself from fabric that now felt unnatural, wrong, trapping me.
My nails scraped against skin. My breath came in harsh, jagged bursts. I felt myself losing control, slipping away from reality.
"Calm down."
The voice was soft—gentle in a way that didn't match the agony ripping through me. It felt like it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
I jerked my head up, scanning the dark room.
"W–who is there?" I gasped, chest heaving. My eyes stung from the strain. My limbs trembled under me. There was no one. No shadow. No figure.
Just emptiness.
Maybe I really had gone mad.
Maybe the pain had snapped something in my brain.
I tried to move but collapsed, crying out as another wave of pain hit—so painful I thought my bones had genuinely shattered.
"Marcella, you need to calm down and let this happen."
The voice again. Firmer this time. But calm, still impossibly soft—but edged with something unyielding. Authority. Strength.
I clawed at the floor, panting. "Who are you?" I managed to choke out.
A pause.
Then—
"I am a part of you."
Her voice wrapped around me, warm and absolute, like it had always been there and was only now choosing to speak.
"Now, Marcella… let this happen. Deep breaths. Let yourself loosen."
Let myself loosen?
I wanted to scream at her.
My bones were BREAKING. My lungs were STRANGLING me. My skin felt like it was splitting apart.
But her tone—steady, patient—cut through a tiny corner of the panic clawing at my mind.
I forced air into my lungs. One breath. Then another.
Shaky. Uneven. Barely breaths at all—but breaths.
The pain didn't stop.
But it shifted.
Something inside me cracked—not physically, but spiritually, like a door opening. My limbs felt wrong—too long, too short, too weak, too strong. My nails dug into the floorboard and chipped it like it was nothing. My muscles tightened and loosened in wild, chaotic rhythm.
And then—
My bones began to move.
Not break.
Rearrange.
I felt the shift—felt ribs stretching, spine arching, legs twisting into a shape not meant for a human body. Fur prickled over my skin, spreading in a wave of shockingly cold relief, replacing the burning, pulling tight to form a coat that felt… correct.
It was agony.
And it was liberation at the same time.
It felt like hours—like I had been trapped in a storm that tore through every part of me—but it couldn't have been more than a minute. Maybe even less.
When it finally stopped, the world felt different.
My senses were sharper. Colors were brighter. Sounds were clearer.
The air itself tasted new.
My breathing steadied. My chest expanded without effort. The pain faded into a deep, humming strength that vibrated through me.
I pushed myself up—on paws.
Silver fur brushed across the floorboards. My vision shifted height, angle, clarity. The room looked different—larger, more detailed, filled with scents I had never noticed.
Shaking and stunned, I turned toward the standing mirror across the room.
A wolf stared back at me.
A massive wolf, silver-haired and shimmering under the faint moonlight coming through the window. Not normal silver—metallic, moonlit, ethereal.
My eyes—its eyes—were mismatched: one blue, one gray.
Heterochromia.
One the same as mine.
"Is… is that me?" I whispered—though what came out of my mouth was a low, rumbling noise. But inside my mind, the voice echoed clearly.
"Yes," she answered, her voice resonating inside me.
"Well, me. Us. That is my true form."
I swallowed even though wolves didn't swallow like humans. The shock, the confusion, the disbelief—it all tangled inside me until the only words I could muster were:
"I… am a werewolf?"
"Yes, Marcella," she said gently. "You are."
My mind spun.
Pieces clicked together.
The strength.
The reflexes.
The power I had felt in the fight.
Everything Carissa had hinted at.
Everything I had been denying.
I didn't know how to process this.
I didn't know where to begin.
I didn't even know who I was anymore.
"Let's go for a run," she said suddenly, her tone soothing and warm. "Clear your mind."
"Okay," I murmured—barely thinking, barely resisting.
It felt easier to listen than to argue.
My body moved almost on instinct, guided by her—my other half. I padded toward the window, toward the fire escape. My legs felt strong, steady, even as they wobbled from the newness of this form.
I climbed out, clinging and leaping down the metal steps with surprising ease. At the bottom, I pushed off into the night.
The wind hit me.
The earth felt solid beneath my paws.
Everything smelled vivid and alive.
I ran.
Limping, stumbling a little at first—but running.
Because if I stopped—if I thought—
I knew the panic would swallow me whole.
I couldn't believe it.
I didn't know how to live with it.
Oh God…
This was only the beginning of my problems.