Chapter 22

TW: mild gore. 

Lenore stirred from her deep slumber, draped over the table; as she awoke, and her senses returned to her, she became distinctly aware of the discomfort flaring in her back, and shoulders—something else caught her attention, a familiar scent, floating around her like a cloud. It clung to her, rich and sweet. With a sound of effort, she slowly sat up, entire face scrunching up against the light rudely invading her eyes.

“Tired?” Miss Capri asked, and Lenore blinked repeatedly, trying to snap out of her trance—she felt a heaviness draped over her shoulders; she craned her head, finding a leather jacket laid over her. In her confusion, she looked between the jacket, then Isadora, and back, until Ms Capri started laughing.

“Yeah,” she muttered once she had processed Isadora’s words—a few curls were gently tucked away from her eyes, secured behind her ear, hand caressing her face. Lenore froze, heart leaping as she caught the warmth in Ms Capri’s expression—she watched as her hand retracted, and laid on the table, “how long was I asleep?”

“You were asleep when I came here, and I’ve been here twenty minutes,” Isadora said, gaze flicking between the work she marked, and Lenore, who sat there—the distance of being freshly awoken lingered in her eyes; she stared outside, through the frosted glass, and noticed the window had closed.

“Is it lunch yet?”

“No, you’ve got half an hour,” Miss Capri answered, checking her watch repeatedly to be sure, “have you talked to Lorelai yet?”

“No, she wasn’t there when I came back last night, but when I woke up, she was asleep,” Lenore replied, trying to ignore the incessant tugging of guilt—her hands curled up on the table, nails digging into her palms; it only worsened when she remembered why she felt so breathless—why that weight laid on her chest.

“Lenore,” Isadora said softly.

“Yeah,” Lenore murmured, distracted by watching people walking around outside, trees blowing, and cars driving in the distance from the window. Isadora didn’t reply for a moment, only the sharp tap of her rings hitting the table speaking for her.

“Look at me,” her hand slipped up Lenore’s jaw, tracing the sculpted edge, until her palm laid against her skin, fingers curling around the back of her head—she firmly tilted Lenore to face her, who watched her with widened eyes, “what’s wrong? Something’s bothering you.” She asked. Lenore’s jaw muscles rippled against her hand, and she instinctually tried to look away, but didn’t once she felt resistance.

“It’s nothing, it’s stupid.” She muttered, Isadora’s hand slipped down, trailing down her shoulder, arm, before laying on Lenore’s hand, tracing the scarred knuckles.

“If it’s bothering you, it’s neither,” Isadora said.

Lenore breathed in deeply, “you said… earlier that you cared about me more than you should.”

“Yes?” Isadora asked, “what about it?” A hint of nerves shivered in her voice.

“Don’t you have to care for me? I mean, that’s what you were told to do,” Lenore said, struggling to look Ms Capri in the eye, instead choosing to look past her—a sigh fell from Miss Capri’s lips, almost amused, and something shined in her eyes.

“You idiot,” she stated bluntly, “yes, I care for all my students, partially because I am supposed to, but I meant it when I said I care for you more than that,” Isadora said slowly, carefully, like she was picking out the correct words. Lenore nodded, finally looking her in the eye again, a smile twitching at her lips. “There’s that smile I-” she cut herself short, like was going to say something she shouldn’t.

While Lenore would’ve questioned it another time, distraction had grasped her by the shoulders, and shifted her attention elsewhere—when her teeth began to itch, and ache furiously; a sign of the moon phase and her stomach sunk as dread gripped her. Her fingers found the pencil on her desk, and dug into it like a lifeline.

She brought it to her mouth, and sunk her lengthened teeth into it, and began to chew on the wood, which cracked, and splintered; she only realised what she was doing when Ms Capri cleared her throat, and raised a brow. Lenore crunched down on the pencil again, before placing it down, with heat flaring under her skin.

“Lenore,” Miss Capri started, voice shaking with concealed laughter, “how many pencils have you destroyed?”

“None,” she stated. “Recently.” She added, and glared irritatedly at Ms Capri, though it had little actual bite to it.

“Just your hoodie, then.” Isadora said; Lenore rolled her eyes, and sunk back into her seat with a childish pout.

“Only near a full moon… my teeth ache,” she mumbled; her teeth sunk into her lip, and she chewed absentmindedly on her cheek, until it began to feel raw. Isadora shook her head—she grabbed Lenore’s jaw, and glared at her sternly, until she stopped, and slumped against the table.

“Dear lord, you’re like a teething puppy.”

Lenore narrowed her eyes. “I am not.”

“You so are,” Isadora said through repressed amusement—Lenore fixed her with a glare, before her exhausation bettered her, and she yawned, tears coming to her eyes, “don’t get me wrong,” she seemed to weigh her words, “it’s… endearing.”

Lenore laughed out a breathy, irritated laugh, and tore her eyes away from Isadora’s amused expression, to shut herself up.

It never worked, and before she could stop herself—she had opened her mouth, “really? I think that’s the first time anyone has ever strung those words together to describe me,” Lenore mumbled, sinking back into her chair, and staring up at the ceiling. Her leg moved incessantly beneath the table.

“Really…” Isadora trailed off, with a mischievious spark in her eyes—Lenore glared at her, daring her to say whatever she was thinking, “but you really are more like a puppy than the younger wolves—” laughter broke through her sentence, and as Lenore gazed her, she didn’t find herself to be annoyed or angry—”you even look like one when you’re asleep, too.”

Lenore pouted—before wiping it off her face, realising, she proved Isadora’s point; she smiled, despite herself, before looking away, to hide it. “Shut up,” she said, with absolutely no bite. Isadora stopped laughing, and she stared at Lenore—a taken look, that showed nothing, bar her entrancement. She leaned on her jaw, with her fist—and traced the glow drenching Lenore’s face, like a halo of sunlight.

Lenore glanced back, and tilted her head, “what?” She asked, smilingly.

“Nothing, Lenore.” Isadora breathed out contentedly, “nothing at all.”

A sun swept smile crept up Lenore’s lips, despite the dread hanging around her like a winter storm—but she didn’t question Isadora, not when she looked so peaceful; purely the sight of it, settled that ache in Lenore’s chest.

If this is what peace feels like, she thought, and it trailed off into a silence she hadn’t had for years.

–

Ranks of footsteps—slamming like gunfire, ricocheting off concrete—walked along the damp, darkened stone of Nevermore’s courtyard. Laughter rang piercingly through the air, and voices had jointed together in an inaudible mumble that she couldn’t understand. Her head rung. The ground seemed unsteady beneath her—but that was only her deer-like legs. That peace, that simmered in her chest, had left—and she scarcely remembered it had ever been there.

She weaved between students, if they didn’t stumble out of her way—like the red sea parting for moses; a headache thumped at her bruised eye, and her patience hung on a fraying rope. Heat had begun to pool beneath her cheeks. She felt awfully snappish.

A voice echoed out—and a hand grasped her shoulder; she whirled around, fist raised, but relaxed upon seeing her younger brother. He looked alarmed, momentarily, before she dropped her her hand. She breathed out heavily, in her panic.

He caught her wrist—and she flinched, but allowed him to gently lead her away from the crowds, and noise; they stopped in a corridor, by the Poe statue. Life quieted, and she breathed freely.

“Hey, Lee,” he said, shifting nervously between his feet—and a sense of confusion found her, at how awkward he seemed near her.

“Bruno,” she said, “are you alright? You’re all fidgity.” Unconsciously, she looked him over, for injuries from transformations—or anything else, ensuring enough flesh was on his bones, and that he didn’t look low on iron.

It was an unconscious behaviour, after all these years.

“It’s just been a while, you know? I haven’t actually had a conversation with you for months,” he said—and Lenore felt a pang of guilt pick at her heartstrings; she’d been so focused on herself, she had completely forgotten about him. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I’ve been hearing about you from everyone, but you.”

Lenore’s softness froze abruptedly, and her tension hardened into stone, “like who?” She asked roughly.

“You know, people, like Enid, some kid called Tomoe, Ms Capri, that English teacher who thinks you’re like, a prodigy,” he answered, with a hint of nerves, that made Lenore soften again—she didn’t want him to be scared of her, that’s the last thing she wanted.

“Sorry—about that whole thing, I’ve been so caught up with my own stuff, I haven’t been a great sister,” Lenore said—and he held his arms out; she looked around, at the hordes of people walking past, but none seemed to be taking any notice of them. She caught him in a bear hug—lifted him off the ground with ease, and shook him like a ragdoll. She felt a gaze glaze over her, but once she had put him down, and looked to follow it, she couldn’t find it.

Before she turned back—for a moment, he looked like the young boy she used to carry around on her shoulders, and shake like a ragdoll until he couldn’t stop laughing.

She yearned for those days, for that innocence like nothing else.

It shattered like waking from a dream once she looked back at him.

For once—for the first time in years, she truly looked at him; it felt sobering. He had gotten older, lost that chub around his cheeks, and he had grown much taller. He used to stand at her hip. Though, he still didn’t stand shoulder to shoulder with her—he barely scraped her eyeline. Muscle had filled him out, shoulders widening; it had always irritated him that, still now, she was broader, bulkier. His boyish smile remained; he grinned at her—and that infantile look flashed back for a mere second.

“So… what’s all this I’ve heard about you and Enid?” Lenore said with the subtlest of smiles creeping upon her lips—and she decided like she so often did, to be a problem. Bruno’s reaction, however, wasn’t the amusing one she searched for. His eyes whitened, and a deep blush curled around his eyes. She knew what his guilt looked like, and it was written over his face.

Bruno laughed—though, it crackled through the air, high pitched, and uncertain.

Lenore opted for silence. She made sure to remember it, though.

“Yeah,” he said, voice pitching at the edges; though, he seemed genuine, “yeah, we’re- she’s all good.” A pathetic attempt at being convincing—Lenore had noticed that everyone did it—add details that weren’t asked, dodge the question, to seem truthful. Lenore refused to push more, as his face looked lighter, happier since he had joined the school. He had settled in nicely. Not once had he needed, or asked for her.

It burned in a manner she swallowed down.

“Good. I’m glad,” she said—and her aching, foreboding body struck her without warning; she braced herself against the wall. Bruno’s face contorted with concern, and he led her over to sit—she patted his shoulder in appreciation, but didn’t say anything. Her cheeks burned at the shame of it.

A sharp ache writhed between her ribs—and she breathed uncomfortably, “I swear this comes out of nowhere,” she said, pressing her feverish hand against her ribcage. Bruno sat beside her, nudging her with his shoulder, smiling subtly. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She mumbled, shooting him an irritated glare.

“You’re so grumpy, you know that?” He asked.

She hummed curtly, “I’m aware…”

“You know the entire pack talks about you…” he started—and she scowled, a crawling anxiety spiking in her gut; she shrunk into herself, wrapping her arms round her waist. “They all want to know why you avoid them like the plague; they know about that time you snuck onto, and jumped down from the roof last year to avoid them.”

Lenore felt a chill of regret at telling him that, “it isn’t my fault Weems tried to shove socialising down my throat,” she mumbled, “I mean, I have friends. I don’t need the pack, and I would do it again.”

He laughed—in his carefree way, and slung an arm around her shoulder. She rolled her eyes, but didn’t shrug him off—taking her peaceful moments where she could get them.

“So… do you have anyone of interest?” He attempted—feebly—to wink, but awkwardly blinked instead; she bit her tongue, stopping herself from calling him an idiot. She stared at him blankly—not a hint of emotion, just awkward, unshaking eye-contact.

“Got it.” He clicked his tongue—and didn’t pry any further.

–

Nightfall had begun. It slithered from the where the land, and sky met, a wildfire horizon glowing through the trees; night rose like smoke on the horizon, thinning the further into the twilight sky it ventured. Glinting stars, like embers, begun to glow over the hills, and below the stormy clouds.

It wouldn’t rain.

Lenore knew that—in the prickle of her neck—as her gaze remained locked on the sky.

A hazy, shifting frame surrounded the moon—where it surely rose, like a doll on a string, towards the peak. Dread bristled Lenore’s neck, and needled sweat onto her face. Her nail beds ached. She pressed her fingers into her palms, a balm to the ever increasing discomfort.

Her bones felt wrong—like they were oversized, muscles burned like the sun itself had been whispering in her ear, and her skin felt stretched, and thin—paper begging to rip open, and spill ink.

Moonlight burned her skin—and a hazy mist crept into the corners of her vision, roiling, clawing ever closer.

Goosebumps shivered up her skin; a warning, of the presence scratching at the edges of her composure—like a slender hand, worn like a shock collar, squeezing at her throat, she began to feel dizzy.

Exhaustion—like an age far beyond her years, rattled in her chest. Her breathing had become ragged.

“Lenore.” A warm voice broke through the damp cold—and Lenore craned her head; she hardly acknowleged her, “are you ready?” Isadora asked, reaching for her hand.

Lenore’s fingers twitched—like the timely tick of a clock counting down to midnight.

“Yeah.” Lenore’s raw voice rasped, like she had awoken from a nights sleep. Mechanically—heavy limbs stiff like death, she turned towards the lupin cages; the thick, weather worn brickwork, and faint glow that crept into the darkness, from underneath, and between the cracks of the wooden door—never failed to instill horror.

Isadora’s hand wrapped around hers—ringless, and tracing her layered scars.

Gentle, a ghostly brush of affection.

It steadied Lenore enough to step into the building.

Voices from excited chattering, to anxious mutters echoed metallically from the walls, weaving between the steel bars; a raging headache pulsed in her temple. She dug her palms tightly into her ears. They began to ring sharply, and kniving whispers made her flinch.

The students voices grew pointed—but they blurred together, despite that, she could’ve sworn she heard her name.

Her panicked breaths rattled through her ribcage.

Her eyes darted around—red pooling at the edges of her vision, and she stared at the scratches covering the floors, walls, even ceilings—blood pooled in faded, crusted spots across the room. Dents, where teeth had sunk into the metal bars, afflicted the steel.

Her name echoed again—over, and over; a twitch ran through her body.

“Lenore.” Ms Capri’s voice found her, finally, in the midst of her panicked stupor. “Lenore,” she murmured, squeezing her hand tight, leading her away from the pack, into a quieter, private cage.

Lenore resisted stubbornly, at the cage’s entrance—Isadora stood beside her, tugging her willfully, but she refused to move an inch. Her towering frame couldn’t be budged—muscles pulled tight; it felt like trying to bend steel.

Isadora glanced around—and upon seeing no eyes lingering on them, slipping a hand along Lenore’s jaw, holding her faraway gaze; she cradled her face, and leaned to whisper in her ear, “come on, I’ll be there all the way.”

Lenore softened, and gave in—but upon laying eyes on the scratches peeling open the floor, flinched; her last transformation, in the cages, bolted through her like lighting.

Blood dripping like a metronome—pulsing through her veins.

Bones cracked—shifting like a foreign body beneath her skin.

Vocal cords snapping—muting her pained wails.

Humanity swept under—beneath the foaming waves of animalistic instinct.

The world blurred, through the fog constricting rational thought, a guiding voice willed her into action, “come on, down you go,” Isadora murmured, and Lenore felt herself get guided down slowly, blood rushing like riptides in her ears.

Air refused to sweep down her throat fast enough, a wild panting echoed from her mouth, as she greedily swallowed air that never felt like enough—like she’d never be satiated.

“Head between your legs,” Isadora said, gently pressing her hand against Lenore’s hair; she tucked her head between her legs, and breathing eased. The tightness in her chest shifted an inch—she felt nails scratching at her scalp, strands curling around Isadora’s fingers as she played with Lenore’s hair.

Isadora led Lenore through grounding exercises—in, holding, and out for three—her breathing would occasionally bolt, and she would struggle through her hyperventilating, but Isadora would be there to bring her back. Her breathing guided Lenore’s own. A calmness—a strange, unfamilar feeling—fell over her.

“Are you with me?” Isadora asked, hand grazing down her jaw, angling her head up. Lenore’s deepset, faraway eyes found hers, and she looked exhausted. “Lenore?” She squeezed her jaw, to earn her attention.

Lenore blinked into reality.

“Yeah, I’m with you,” she rasped, throat aching—a foreboding warning of the scream itching to scratch up her throat.

“Good,” Isadora murmured—her voice a distant whisper, breath feathering against Lenore’s lips; her gaze teased downwards. Lenore leaned into her hand. Isadora flinched forward, before collecting herself—she cleared her throat, and stepped back.

Lenore’s unreadable eyes remained fixed on her—and she lingered, before breaking contact, allowing her head to loll back against the concrete wall. The headache pulsed harder in her temple. “Sorry, about that,” she said, staring at the ceiling.

“Don’t apologise, Lenore; there is nothing to be sorry for.” Isadora sounded incredibly genuine. It struck Lenore off guard.

She laughed—a soft, open-mouthed chuckle, tired, and laced with a smile.

Isadora’s expression fell incredulous, and she crossed her arms over her chest; Lenore observed quietly, as she looked away, blush crawling around her ears.

“What are you laughing about?” Isadora asked sternly.

Lenore shrugged, “absolutely, no idea—laugh or you’ll cry, I suppose.” Her mirth faltered, and she, with dark-eyes, met Isadora’s gaze, “you should really leave. Moon’s reaching its peak, soon,” she muttered lowly.

Night darkened outside—through the gap beneath the door—the umber light faded, chased away by the darkness amassing in the west, and the song of wind sounded like howling. It rolled over the building, and rattled the doors hinges.

Lenore shivered.

Isadora stood unmoving.

“If you don’t… I’ll hurt you—and regardless, I don’t want you to see me like that,” Lenore said. Claws cracked forth from her nailbeds, relieving the aching. Isadora didn’t flinch, and Lenore could quickly feel her patience running out.

Her eyes had eclipsed—into a shining pool of darkness; the dim, flicking light made them appear like a deer’s, struck by headlights. Or a wolf, waiting in the shadows.

The muscles in her legs constricted—tightening to cramping, and she struggled to approach Isadora; her feet dragged against the floor, shoulders rolling painfully as she tried to force away the stiffness. Fog began to crawl into her vision, and she flinched abruptly.

Lenore stared down—at Isadora, who wasn’t an inch away from her, shoulders brushing her—and she met her gaze; she gripped her shoulder, “go.” Her voice trembled, “please,” she begged. “I can’t have you see me like that.”

“Lenore—” Isadora started, but cut herself off—when a cracking echoed through the air; Lenore braced in agony, back curved as her spine writhed under her skin. She collapsed, to her knees, claws ripping into the floor.

“Isadora,” Lenore whimpered—chest heaving as she muttered her last word of the night; Isadora locked the door behind her, watching as Lenore writhed on the floor, skin ripping, muscles rippling, bones breaking. Blood dripped onto the floor, pooling like glistening ink.

A growl ripped from her throat—and the creature she had become, hulked over who she was mere minutes ago; she pushed herself up from the dusty ground, and her sunlight dappled eyes bore into Isadora. She tilted her head, and huffed softly, observing the surroundings, from the cage opposite her, the gaps between the bars, keys Isadora held, and the lock.

She nudged the lock gently, and it rattled the door.

“Miss Capri,” a young, pitchy voice called, and Isadora’s attention snapped away from Lenore—she glanced back, hesitating, before she left Lenore on her own, and joined the students calling her name.

Lenore’s unblinking gaze watched her leave. 

–

Hi, sorry about the delay, I had exams, then a massive decrease in motivation, so this chapter isn’t up the quality I would like, but I thought to post it nonetheless, or I wouldn’t get anything done. I hope you enjoyed.