Chapter 20

Lenore gasped for air like a woman drowned, head pounding against her skull like it was trying to escape. Cold sweats covered her, and her uniform stuck to her figure uncomfortably, clinging to the muscle of her arms, and curve of her waist. Her nails left needle-thin scratch marks in the wooden desk she grasped at.

Every sound in the room rung out like metal.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been out—her neck ached from the position she had been laid on the table, and her mouth felt strangely dry. She pushed her palm into her eyesocket—the pain snapped her from her daze. Everyone had begun to pack up, chatting amongst themselves, tucking their belongings into their bags, and siphoning out the door.

“Ms Yuson, stay behind,” Orloff said, and eyes snapped to her, whispers flooding the room; they offered her sympathetic looks before making themselves scarce. Lenore lingered awkwardly in the back of the room, before slowly approaching the front, where Orloff was.

“Sir,” Lenore said stiffly, glare forcefully sharp as she tried to puff out her chest threateningly—she was at her utter wits end, and couldn’t deal with being scolded for sleeping through his class. Orloff didn’t look angry, and strangely not stern, either.

It set her teeth on edge.

“We- I have noticed your effort waning in lessons, and I’m concerned as to whether something is going on outside of school that’s affecting you.” He said, watery eyes watching Lenore’s every move, like she was a feral animal.

“There’s nothing going on that I cannot handle,” Lenore stated calmly, “and who is we?”

“Your teachers, Ms Capri, Miss Parker, and Ms Zhang; you’re a gifted student, but that doesn’t mean you can let the effort slip.” He said.

Lenore’s nails dug into her palms—she took in a measured breath, and met his eye. “I am not letting my effort slip.” She murmured. He didn’t say anything, and she looked upon him like she was daring him to disagree—he didn’t. They stayed there in a tension fraught silence, where it was obvious what the truth was, and what Lenore’s reaction would be with rage simmering beneath her skin.

She toyed with the strap of her bag, and left, slipping out the door—it was lunch now, and it showed, students fled through, first years running down the halls, while older years chatted in bunches she had to weave around and dodge. The memories festering fresh in her mind began to make her head ache, as her recollection of past bled with what her mind had blocked out.

Her body reacted before her mind could sort reality from nightmare, in the buckle of her knees, shortness of her breath, and every sound that knived at her like a northern wind. Her throat felt constricted, and she swore she could feel a hand locking around her neck, fingertips digging into her skin.

Lenore’s shoes tapped against damp stone once she stepped outside, and she breathed in the fresh air, laughter filtering softly through the courtyard; it felt less restricting than the enclosing halls, but it didn’t beat the forest. The weight on her chest loosened slightly.

It didn’t last long when the ring of Lorelai’s soft laughter met her sharp hearing.

She found her across the courtyard, by the food truck getting swarmed by students, laughing alongside her fellow sirens—she looked so at home. Lenore’s stomach bottomed-out, and that familiar weight returned only more crushingly. Light seemed to pour from her eyes, and her cheeks curved under her smile—then, she caught Lenore across the courtyard.

Her smile changed, and she whispered to Bianca, who looked over, and nodded. Lorelai stood up, and waved her over. Lenore hesitated, shifting her weight between her feet unsurely.

Lorelai mouthed, “come over, idiot.”

Lenore’s hesitation fell away, and she walked over the damp stone, and muddy grass, towards them; she squared her shoulders, and looked upon them fearlessly, even when she wanted to shy away under the feeling of their gaze. She couldn’t help the way her eyes darted around unsurely.

Lorelai immediately noticed, and gave her a look—she stood up from her table, and approached Lenore; she leaned up to whisper to her ear, “what’s wrong?”

“It happened again,” she murmured.

“When?”

“In class with Orloff,” Lenore answered.

Lorelai stepped back slowly, confliction pinching at her features, and she sat back down, her leg tapping beneath the table.

“You’re Lorelai’s friend, right?” Kent asked.

“Yes.” Lenore said.

“We’re going swimming in the lake by Crackstone’s Crypt, you should totally join us,” he beamed. Lorelai opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, the entire group chimed in agreement.

“No, I can’t,” Lenore stated.

“Come on,” a siren said disappointedly.

“She really can’t, she’s got fresh stitches,” Lorelai concurred.

Bianca simply shrugged, “you can come along anyway, use your werewolf senses to make sure we aren’t caught by any teachers,” she said—and Lorelai glanced between them conflictedly, before sending Lenore a begging look.

Lenore’s protests immediately crumbled, and she begrudgingly agreed, “okay.”

Lorelai smiled softly at her, “we’ll go together, so I can make sure you don’t skip.”

“You think that of me, I’m hurt,” Lenore said playfully—she froze when, in the corner of vision, she noticed Ms Zhang approaching her, “I should… go.” She said slowly, stepping away from the group, and Lorelai noticed her hesitance.

“What trouble have you gotten yourself in this time?” Lorelai called after her as Lenore quickly left, weaving through the corridors as she fled from conversation.

– 

Quickly after they left, sneaking through the school halls, Lorelai stole Lenore’s leather jacket, baggy around her shoulders, and falling high on her thighs; she shivered even with the jacket.

“Remind me who’s smart idea was it to go swimming in the middle of autumn?” Lenore asked, oversized shirt soft against her skin, and warm despite the chill in the air.

Lorelai glared at her, and pulled the jacket tighter. They walked through the forest together, trees swinging lightly in the breeze above them, curling over, blocking the silvery moon out, leaving slivers of moonlight shining onto the leaf litter covered ground. She avoided them as she walked, and could feel Lorelai’s gaze follow her as she did.

“What does it feel like?”

“A burning itch, like something’s trying to possess my mind, everything comes a little sharper when it touches my skin,” Lenore explained. Lorelai said very little in response, only nodded, and hummed lowly.

The forest poured out before them, sounds slipping through the air in their silence, the faraway rustle of wildlife, sound of the almost silent flight of owls, and tap of water that dripped off leaves, onto the muddy forest floor. It peaceful between them, the lingering tension finally falling away into something comfortable once again.

Lenore found the sirens before Lorelai, hearing them in the distance, growing slowly louder as they neared the lake; its rippling surface shimmered, like diamonds under the sun, yet dark as a moonless, starless night sky. An inky abyss. It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Bianca, and her friends had already begun to relax, mocktails, energy drinks laid on the dock, and Lenore knew Lorelai had brought a little weed with her, but she doubted any others would have the nerve to join her—she wouldn’t herself, she couldn’t afford to loosen her judgement.

“Hey, Lori,” Bianca smiled, and turned to Lenore, positive expression falling a little, “Lenore.”

“Hey,” she responded stiffly, while Lorelai left her side, embracing Bianca, hands lingering, before greeting everyone else with a smile—she looked so carefree. Lenore didn’t stay around them, instead she sat on the rotting wooden dock, feet hanging inches from the surface. It rippled beneath her. Her reflection lay shattered on the waters surface, like something ripping from her face, shifting, changing into something unrecogniseable. She blinked, and it returned to normal, just a simple reflection, not wolfish or monsterous.

“Here’s your jacket, wolfie.” Lorelai draped the jacket over Lenore’s shoulder, who absentmindedly grabbed it and placed it over her lap. She flinched when a hand squeezed her shoulder—she looked over Lorelai, smiling tightly.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Lorelai stared at Lenore—at her curls, cascading down her back, the slump of her broad shoulders like she was holding the weight of the world up, and she was—the weight of her world. Lenore felt her stare, like a knife to her head, easing between the plates of fused bone, a bullet to the brain. She didn’t say anything.

Her gaze lingered on the forestline, illuminated through the spring green of her eyes, a deer stood on the edge of the island, pine trees stretching high above it, grass tickling at its hooves—it stared at her, through those animalistic eyes they shared, blank, baseline instinct pulsing behind them—they looked like a forest fire, glowing amber beneath the moon. It crawled over her skin, its silver glow like sunburn.

The animal didn’t blink.

Lenore’s eyes fluttered closed, then opened—and it was gone—she could hear the crunch of its hooves against leaf litter grow faint as it ran away. She shook her head, waking herself up from the trance she had fallen into.

Her focus shifted, upon hearing shrill, amused laughter, as Lorelai dipped into the cold lake, alongside Bianca; they grinned wildly, teeth gritted as they braced against the cold. Lenore’s face paled, and cold sweats flooded her body—in the light, the carved muscle of Lorelai’s richly toned back was adorned by puckered, rageful scars; they were vibrant even now, like a lightning strike surging down her skin.

On her shoulder, deep teeth marks lay, of a wild animal, and scratches travelled down her back, swerving, and curling—like something had locked on, and raked down her flesh. Chills drew up Lenore’s spine, and her mouth spilled with saliva—her stomach turned.

Her fellow sirens went quiet, too, staring at the scars—however, none tossed an accusatory glance Lenore’s away—they were too transfixed. It far too late when Lorelai realised they were staring, and that Lenore was—once she did, Lorelai turned to Lenore, like a puppet, slowly, mechanically. Her eyes glassed over with sheer horror, corpse pale in the moonlight, and she parted her lips to speak, but it was too late.

Lenore shot off, wood crunching, and splintering beneath her—but before the dock could bottom out under her, she was gone. Mud splashed against her legs. The muscle constricted like pistons. Her ankle rolled painfully. It didn’t stop her.

Miles of forest were eaten up, quickly put behind her as she tried to run from something inescapable—the sickness continued to rise up her throat, but the world began to shatter before then, a single tree multiplying, and a blurriness creeping in from the edges of her vision. She couldn’t help the feeling like something was chasing her.

Before she knew it, Lenore found herself inside the school, her journey was a blur, and she all knew she was the searing pain in her back, and the tacky feeling of blood. She slowed down. The world spun on his axis. She braced on her thighs, bending over as she tried to push away the dizziness. Her knees buckled beneath her, and the world faded away, while a desperation clawed within her, and she prayed to keep her mind.

–

Lenore felt herself moving, entirely without her control, hulking muscles shifting, paws padding along the forest floor, flattening the wildflowers and grass beneath her. The moon shined, bright and full at the apex of the starry night sky. Wind whipped through trees, howling like a wolf, rustling the pine, and oak canopy’s.

Her eyes rolled, against her will, darting through the trees, finding a figure, cloaked by darkness—she caught their familiar scent, and her lumbering limbs began to move quicker. They slammed against the ground—and the chase started.

Lorelai’s face twisted in horror, and she scampered forward, running as fast she could, even as she was followed—her footsteps crunched against leaves, cracking twigs in half, weaving between trees; it forced her pursuer to slow down. She snapped at air, crunched like snapped bones, travelling through the air.

Lorelai quickened in her pace.

The ground seemed to tremble beneath her, shaking like an earthquake—as they continued, further into the forest, over uneven ground, streams, hills—the foliage grew thicker, snapping, crunching, and Lorelai slowed—her pursuer on her tail.

Through the ground, rising from the dirt, a thick, hardy root stuck out, and as Lorelai ran—her foot caught it, and she slammed into the ground. Her palms were skinned, and her skirt was caked with dirt—she slowly turned around. A sickening fear filled her eyes as she looked upon her stalker—they stared at each other for a moment, then she looked over the creatures shoulder, and a name fell from her lips, “Lenore.”

–

“Lenore, sweetheart, please wake up,” an echoing voice met her ears—her body felt stiff, and even twitching her fingers needed more effort than she could give. Her throat thickened, like she was trying to breath through a straw. She tried to thrash wildly—a feral animal, but paralysis had caught her, digging its nailing deeply into her back. She felt a hand grip her arm, and another tuck hair gently behind her ear, lingering against her warm cheek.

The numbness tingling in her body beneath to subside—her fingers twitched, and she gasped for breath; she snapped up. She panted like a wild animal. Lenore braced against her thighs, sucking in air greedily, as she tucked her head between her legs—a desperate attempt to calm herself.

The warmth of a hand seeped through her shirt, pressing against her back firmly, but gently.

“Lenore?” She recognised the voice as Ms Capri’s—it was deeply concerned, and soft as velvet.

After another deep breath, she sat up, a red clouding the edges of her vision—she looked at Miss Capri, with all the control of a wild animal. Ms Capri reached towards her, to brush dirt from her cheek—instead Lenore lunged forward, snapping wildly for her hand. She pulled away just in time, so that Lenore’s teeth collided together with a sickening crack.

“Behave,” she warned, quickly grabbing Lenore’s jaw, holding it closed, despite the twitch of her snarling lips, “I know you’re in there,” her voice softened, and their eyes met—Lenore’s eyes were entirely swollen with darkness, little of the fresh green left. Her chest heaved, and her head shook against Miss Capri’s tight hold, but she held her gaze.

“Lenore, I know you won’t hurt me,” she brushed her thumb along her sharp cheekbone, repeatedly, until, without realising it, she leaned into Ms Capri’s hand. A soft, deep sound resounded from her throat—perfectly content—and Miss Capri looked upon her in awe, a disbelieving softness on her face. “You really wouldn’t, would you? You aren’t violent at all, are you, sweet girl? You’re scared.”

Lenore’s eyes fluttered closed, and they sat there for a few long seconds; once she opened her eyes, the colour had returned, and so had she. The distance in eyes returned, and she pulled away from Ms Capri—she rung her hands anxiously.

“What happened?” She asked.

“Nothing,” Lenore shook her head, “couldn’t sleep, went on a walk, and woke up here.”

“You’re telling me you snapped into that trance for no reason? Because that’s dangerous if it’s true,” Miss Capri said.

Lenore looked down—then, she noticed the state of undress Ms Capri was in; she wore a tightly cinched velvet and fur dressing gown. Her cheeks flared with heat, and she looked away, tightening her fists at her sides.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, but be truthful, is there another reason for this?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “There is.”

“Okay,” Miss Capri said, “I’m going to take you back to your dorm, and we’ll discuss this tomorrow.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her hand lingered by the warmth of Lenore’s cheek. Ms Capri stood up, and offered her hand to Lenore—she hadn’t braced for her weight, or strength, and was almost pulled down.

“Sorry,” she murmured sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” Ms Capri said, smiling gently up at her, like even a hard look Lenore’s way would shatter her. She grapped her wrist, and pulled her along, through the darkened yard—over frost bitten grass, and through the chill that lingered in the air; she could only focus on the warmth spreading through her wrist, though.

The door whined open, and as they crept into the hallway, they were careful to be quiet—a student and teacher caught together at this time wouldn’t be good for either of them—Lenore’s skin crawled with goosebumps at the figures she saw shifting in the shadows. Ms Capri’s hand trailed down, slipping into her own, until their palms were pressed together, fingers interlaced.

Neither mentioned it.

Her nerves calmed slightly—the stiff jumpiness in her body relaxed, and her jaw slackened. Miss Capri’s thumb rubbed over her hand. She didn’t protest as she was led along, through the corridors, towards Ophelia Hall—she felt that familiar gaze boring into the soft flesh of her neck, watching the steady thump of her pulse—but the threat felt further away, like it couldn’t hurt her here.

The journey to her dorm slipped away, and before she realised it, they stood there—Lenore fumbled absentmindedly with the lock, before managed to slip the key in, and step inside. It was fridgid, frost creeping up the windows, and the screen of her computer. She rubbed away the condensation on the glass.

“Where’s Ms Ali?” Miss Capri asked, and Lenore didn’t reply, silently rounding her teacher, and shutting the door. “Lenore…” she trailed off disapprovingly.

“Out,” Lenore replied curtly.

“Is she why—”

“—No!” Lenore barked. She breathed in unsteadily, and her eyes immediately went doe-like with remorse.

Ms Capri walked up to her, and gripped her jaw tightly, forcing her to look down, “don’t talk to me like that. I understand that you want to defend your friend, but if she’s responseable for this, then…” Lenore firmly wrapped her hand around Miss Capri’s, and freed herself—she walked away, and slumped down on the chair before her desk.

“It isn’t her fault,” she ran a hand down her face—her voice dropped to a murmur, “it’s mine.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“What do you mean?” Miss Capri said, sitting on the desk, inches away from Lenore—close enough to feel her warmth, and smell the lotion that clung to her skin.

Lenore’s shoulders crumpled, like she was bearing the weight of confession—her head hung low, “I can’t,” the truth was close to slipping out, but the words remained stuck in her throat, like she was going to choke on them.

“Look at me,” Ms Capri said, and Lenore listened, meeting her eye—she looped a curled strand of Lenore’s hair around her finger, brushing it away from her face, “whatever happened to break you like this, when the time comes, I’ll listen to it. I won’t judge you either.”

“You promise?”

Her hand travelled to play with the hairs at the nape of Lenore’s neck, “I promise.” She said, “can I ask a question? About… these,” she stroked the vibrant scar on Lenore’s forearm, glancing at the matching one on her palm.

“Depends, what do you want to know?” She asked, feeling the matching scar on her chest, hidden below her shirt, itch hotly.

“These scars… are they related to what happened?”

“Yeah, these aren’t the only one’s… the worse is,” she grabbed the collar of her shirt, and pulled it down slightly, to reveal a puckered scar, bloody red, glowing like an infection, it wound low under her shirt, onto her chest, “this one.”

A soft gasp filtered through the air.

Her hand paused stroking Lenore’s neck, staring down at the scars, seemingly glowing with their own light , “they’re beautiful.”

“What?” Lenore sputtered.

“Brutal, but beautiful,” she said, stroking the baby hairs on her neck, down to where the muscle rippled at her shoulder blades. Lenore smiled ghostly, eyes fluttering shut, and she swore she could’ve fallen asleep there, if it hadn’t been for the pain searing in her back.

Hesitantly, Miss Capri pulled away, and stood up—she walked towards the door, “I should go…” Lenore caught her wrist sharply, wrapping her fingers around it; her puppy-dog eyes quickly crumbled Ms Capri’s resolve, who looked between the door and Lenore. She sighed, a chuckle following suit.

“Please, stay?”

“Lenore…” an excuse sat on the tip of her tongue.

“My back, I need the dressings replaced, but Lorelai isn’t here.” She explained, smiling warmly at her, a lengthened canine peaking out from under her lip—utterly endearing. Miss Capri’s face softened to ruin as she approached Lenore.

“Where are they?” She asked.

“Bathroom, left upper cabinet,” Lenore answered—her eyes lingered, watching wordlessly as Ms Capri walked into her bathroom, ears twitching as she heard the whine of cabinet doors, and the rustling of items. She turned back to her desk, and pulled open a drawer—a worn leather book, coffee coloured pages feathered and soft, filled with thick, scrawled on paper sat inside.

She flicked open the second page, getting a flash of the firstone—it was a tendancy of hers to leave the first blank; a clean start. It had a date written in the corner, in slanted writing—started when she was only thirteen. A diary, one she rarely touched—she began to write when once she had started losing her memories. Even now, she didn’t know what compelled her to record those haunted days.

“What’s that?” Miss Capri asked, brushing her fingers along the paper. Lenore snapped it closed.

“A record,” Lenore answered, tracing the carvings she had knived into the front in her boredom.

“Of what?” Ms Capri sat back on the desk.

“What I’ve forgotten. It isn’t something I like to look back on.” Lenore answered, grabbing a hairtie off her desk, gathering her hair and cinching it up.

“You forget things often?”

“Depends, but yes.”

“You didn’t forget how you got those scars, though.”

“No, I could never forget how I earned these,” she brushed her hand along the scar on her forearm. She shook her head, like to dismiss her thoughts, “we should get started on the dressings.”

“Turn around then,” Miss Capri said.

Lenore did so, straddling the chairs back—her shoulder brace was gently unstrapped, and her arm pulled from the sling. She winced shakily through her teeth as she slowly lowered her arm. Soft, warm hands slipped beneath her shirt, pulling it up, around her shoulders. The old, bloody dressings were pulled from her back, and swiftly binned.

“Oh, Lenore, how could you do this to yourself?” She asked, seemingly to herself—looking at the stitches, and unhealed wounds—at her lower back, they had been ripped, only a few, but enough for blood to seep through. It had clotted now, and thankfully stopped bleeding.

An alcohol soaked rag ran over her back, leaving a burning in its path, stinging nastily over the wounds.

“Sorry,” Ms Capri murmured.

Lenore’s jaw ached with tightness. “It’s fine,” she gritted out.

Despite the pain, she enjoyed the feeling of her skin against someone else’s—even in the context of getting dressings applied to her back. It had been years since she had felt warmth like this—it wasn’t the same with Lorelai, and now, in recent weeks, she struggled to bring herself to touch Lenore. She had noticed, from the subtle shake, to the hesitation.

Miss Capri had no such reservations.

“And you’re done,” her breath curled against Lenore’s ear, and she shivered.

“Thank you, Ms Capri.” Lenore said as her shirt was pulled down.

“While we’re alone, call me Isadora.” She said.

“Isadora,” Lenore murmured, playing with the name on tongue—Miss Capri stiftened upon hearing her name spill like silk from Lenore’s lips, “it’s greek, means gift of the Goddess Isis.”

She stroked the soft fabric of Lenore’s shirt, thoughtfully smoothing out the wrinkles, “I didn’t know that.” Isadora said. “What does Lenore mean?”

“It comes from Poe’s poem The Raven, but it’s meaning is mostly unknown, some people speculate it might mean light or touch because of its roots in Greek,” Lenore answered.

“Light,” Isadora mused, “that suits you.”

“It does?” Lenore chuckled.

“Yes,” their eyes met, “despite everything, there’s… something bright in you.” She whispered.

“Well, I haven’t been told that recently, I’ve only heard of my lack of effort,” Lenore muttered bitterly.

“Who said that?”

“You apparently, among others, like Zhang and Parker have been concerned,” she explained with the utmost sarcasm.

“Lenore, I haven’t discussed my personal concerns about you.”

“Your personal concerns?” Lenore questioned.

“Yes, my concerns about you aren’t academic.” Isadora said, “I’m concerned for your welfare, you may be talented, but that doesn’t mean anything if you’re so haunted you cannot do anything with it.”

“Caring for my talent does sound academic.”

“That’s what I would tell anyone else who asked.”

“And what would you tell me?”

“The truth,” Isadora stated, suddenly unable to look Lenore in the eye.

“Which is…”

“That I care about you more than I should.”

“Why?”

“You were just curious to me at first—you reminded me of someone I knew, so filled with rage. Misled. You’re so much more than that, though. Much more than they ever were.” She said, and laid a hand on Lenore’s shoulder, tracing circles comfortingly.

“You think I’m misled,” Lenore muttered.

“You’ve got your heart in the right place, but it doesn’t always come out right, that’s fault of your anger, I think,” she said, then her lip twitched with amusement, “like telling Ms Zhang to shove the publishing offer up her ass.”

Lenore’s composure wavered, and she burst out laughing, pearly teeth glinting in the light, “no, that isn’t what I said,” she started, earning a confused look, “I told her to shove the publisher up her ass, not the offer.” She grinned.

Isadora covered her mouth, but laughed despite herself, once she calmed down, smile still itching at her lips, she spoke, “you have a beautiful smile, you know that?”

Lenore blushed brightly, “I’ve never heard that, everyone always said it was too… sharp.”

“They found it threatening?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re many things, but I don’t find you threatening.”

“Really? Many people do. Comes with being a werewolf, I suppose.” Lenore yawned, water springing at her eyes.

“You are more like a… puppy.”

She sharply raised a brow, “you know, if I wasn’t so tired, I might be offended.”

Isadora couldn’t help the stubborn twitch of her lip—she looked hesitantly between the door, and the younger werewolf—she gracefully raised up, and wasn’t stopped this time. Lenore followed her to the door, and leaned against the doorframe, over Isadora, “okay, puppy,” she teased, and kissed Lenore’s cheek. Her lips lingered there, and she breathed in, and out softly before pulling away and leaving.

Lenore stared at her figure getting hazier in the darkness, until she disappeared around the corner.

–

Lenore didn’t have her jacket—she had forgotten it last night, dressed without it, in her Nevermore uniform, walking around Jericho didn’t feel right. It wasn’t quiet like usual, school students walked around, whispering, and staring at her. It worsened her usual nervous ticks, but instead of unbuttoning the cuffs of her jacket, and pressing them back together, she just tugged at her shirt’s sleeve.

It didn’t feel like she could ever escape the rumours.

The uniform, rather recogniseable, alongside her towering stature didn’t help—she quickened her pace, weaving through the crowd. The bell rang as she entered The Weathervane, and she shot a very busy Mateo a smile, before walking to the corner, where Avery sat tucked in a booth.

She slipped in opposite them.

“Hey, Ave,” she said, and they looked up from their sketchbook—schematics for something she didn’t know drawn down, “you alright?”

“Fine,” they said, shifting their entire attention onto Lenore, taking in all of her appearance, “you slept surprisingly well last night.”

“Yeah, I know better than to ask how you figured that out.” She muttered, flinching jumpily when something fell on the floor behind her—her shoulders practically met her ears, and she tossed a nervous glance around.

“What’s bothering you?” Avery closed their sketchbook.

“The wolf,” she whispered as she leaned forward, “it left me a warning last night.”

Avery’s expression darkened, “what happened?”

“It was me, chasing Lorelai through the forest,” Lenore said, “it stopped… when she fell—she said my name, then I was woken up.”

“You were woken up?” They asked. Lenore nodded. “And you’re sure your analysis of this warning is sound?”

“Yes, I am, Avery.” She gritted out.

“Lenore, dream warnings or foresight are a very loose version of visions, and aren’t trustworthy. You aren’t exactly in touch with your emotions, not to mention, you don’t often get these. It could just be the wolf playing with you,” Avery said, running a hand through their platinum curls.

“Yeah, I know that, but what I saw; I haven’t experienced anything… like that, not in years.” Lenore said.

“Did it just happen or were you triggered?”

“Triggered,” she answered.

“By what?”

Lenore remained quiet, digging her fingers tightly into the table.

Avery rubbed their brows wearily, “I can’t help you if don’t tell me.” They said, but didn’t gain any response, only a thickening silence, “who woke you up?”

“Isadora- I mean Miss Capri,” she stuttered, and Avery sent her a look. She only glared in reponse.

“What happened once you woke up?” Avery asked, pulling out a notebook from their jacket pocket, and scribbling down notes in it.

Lenore shifted in her seat, eyes darting around the room, and outside, at the busy street—crawling with people, “I wasn’t myself—I couldn’t move, but I heard her calling for me, she said she wasn’t scared even when I snapped at her… but something’s bothering me.”

“What is?”

“She was right, she said I wouldn’t hurt her, and I didn’t.” Lenore asked.

“Why is that bothering you? I would argue it is a good thing.”

“It is,” she breathed out, something like dread shifting in her stomach, “but why her? I’ve hurt people before, but the idea of laying a finger on her sickens me. It isn’t only me, but… the wolf can’t either—I wasn’t in right mind, but even then, I couldn’t hurt her. I just can’t wrap my head around it.” She dug her fingers into her head, into her curls.

“Lenore, I still don’t understand why that’s bothering you.” Avery said dryly. Her head snapped up, neck cracking, to meet their gaze.

“Because why her?” She shouted—then looked around at people staring at her, she breathed in deeply to maintain her composure, “why couldn’t it have been someone else who I can’t hurt, why couldn’t it be her?” Her voice broke, strength cracking like glass, letting something slip through.

“Maybe because she’s also a werewolf,” Avery said—their voice growing faint as she stared out the window, focusing on something that wasn’t there—their head twitched, nails digging into the table. Lenore frowned at them.

“Avery?” She questioned—they didn’t reply, “Avery?” She repeated louder. Nothing. Lenore leaned forward, and snapped her fingers by their ear, and they jolted in their seat. They blinked rapidly.

“What?” They asked, glancing towards the window again.

“What were you looking at?”

Avery shook their head, and ran a hand through their hair, “nothing. I’m just busy right now. Mentally, that is.” They muttered.

Before Lenore could respond—her phone chimed, and buzzed in her pocket; she yanked it out, clicking it on. Lorelai had left her a message—she hesitantly read it.

“where tf are you?”

Lenore looked between her message and Avery—and she stood up, “I’ve got to go,” she said, and swiftly left—distress curling like a serpent in her stomach. 

Hi, this will probably be the last chapter for a little while, hopefully not, I’ll see what I can manage. Anyway, from I gathered from the poll, 91% of you want me to continue with longer, less frequent chapters, so I apologise to the 9% of you that voted otherwise, but I will be continuing the current set up; I hope you enjoyed this chapter, don’t be afraid to let me know about what you think happened, or what you think generally, I love the theories. Have a nice day.