The road beneath me shook, small rocks jumped up as I stomped my way through the familiar dirt trail in the forest, heading back home. I was sad, angry, and scared. I was a riot in the making. My body ached because of the lack of a peaceful good night's sleep, and my arms were even worse thanks to holding up the heavy piece of clothing. It seemed like a robe, but it was wrapped around me so oddly that I didn't think I would know for sure until I was able to lay it out in front of me. Wearing it made it seem like I was five again and dressing up in dresses that were way too big for me. I want my clothes back, or Johnny's, either of those would be good.

But, this? It made me want to claw my skin off. To rip the flesh right off my body. It's old, dirty, and his.

On the walk home, I realized something, or rather I figured out what to do next. I grew up with stories of Morpheus, and of course the war, but I haven't heard them since her death. She would haunt me some nights. I would find myself not being able to sleep, but instead I yearned for her voice. I've always loved a story before bed, and Morpheus' was her favourite. No clue why, maybe it was the Moon Goddess? Or maybe she actually felt sorry for that no-good spoiled brat. Can I call him spoiled? His mother did pull a sleeping beauty on him. It doesn't matter! I'll call him whatever I want.

Dad was never the storyteller, but he didn't need to be. Mom was. And, she absolutely loved it.

Usually, I would become sad and cry like a baby. But, this time was different. Swallowing back my tears and running my hands down my face, I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. Almost like I was suddenly plucked out of the hole I made with my own self pity, I started marching to my house. Now, I'm on a mission. As I got to the front door, I yanked it open, and was instantly welcomed home with the familiar surroundings.

The plan in question was simple. I would go home and dig up as much as I could about Morpheus online, and then I would go to the town's library to find out even more information. And, if I got real desperate, a call to Viviana would solve it all. Not only was Viviana interested in history and werewolves, but she also had access to some of the pack house records in their own library. Thinking the idea was genius, I kept with it as I took the first step inside.

The air around me smelled of cleaner and peanut butter. Wait, peanut butter? My house never smells like peanut butter.

Cautiously, I tiptoed towards the kitchen while simultaneously searching for a weapon. Dogs love peanut butter. Dogs are wolf-like. Werewolves are part wolf. So, that can only mean one thing. Looking up to the ceiling, I thanked whoever or whatever was watching over me as I snatched up one of Viviana's heels she left at the top of the nearby shoe rack, and nearly kissed it. The heel was red and pointy.

Gently leaning my back against the wall, I readied myself. Oh, sugar, was my last thought before jumping out through the kitchen entrance and landing in the best defense stance I could think of, then yelling, "You better have an amazing excuse, you filthy mutt! But, I swear to all things dessert I will not hesitate to unleash this weapon of pure destruction!"

Realizing quickly that during my take on a threatening attack I managed to close my eyes, but thankfully I opened them pretty fast. At first try my brown eyes landed on his jean covered legs, then his flannel shirt, and then finally his face! Ah, it's hideo-my dad!

Slowly, I lowered the heel and told him honestly, "You do not look good."

My father stood there, a peanut butter sandwich gripped between his fingers as it stayed next to his opened mouth, stuck between almost taking a bite and dropping from shock. And, what was I doing? Standing across from him, feet planted into our floor with my hands shoved out in front of me as I pointed a fiery red, six inch heel at my father. Not to mention my attire. But, that wasn't the weirdest part. Thick, black marker stained drawings all over his face.

"Is there something wrong, Emmy?" My dad asked me as he placed his sandwich off to the side. Concern written all over his face, that and some inappropriate doodles. "Any problems I should know about?"

"Why would you say that?" I dismissed his question with a shake of my head, frowning as I stared at the awkward choice of artwork. Pointing to my forehead, I also had something to ask, "Care to explain what that is, and why it's there in the first place?"

"I would have preferred if you asked about the mustache," he answered. This started an excruciatingly painful staring contest, all we did was pucker our lips at each other as we shrugged. I may look exactly like my mom, but he's definitely the reason behind my personality.

I nodded along to his words, "Yeah, that would probably have been better."

"Should I ask what you're wearing?" His gaze wandered over my outfit, "It's quite interesting. Is that style in these days?"

"I would rather if you didn't." Because I sure as hell can't explain it. "You wouldn't pull this off, if you're wondering."

"I was, thanks for the honesty." He ran his hand through his short, blond stubble, "But, you look nice. I mean, if that's what you like, then that's okay. I just had no idea you were into, uh, I-I don't know what you're wearing?"

"Well-" I clapped my hands together, "-I'm going to my room!"

"I'm leaving too," he agreed as he looked back to his sandwich, grabbing it before giving me a closed lip smile once he turned back to face me.

I saluted him and left the room. Why did you just salute him? Why would you do that? What made you do that? Those questions hounded my mind. Making my way up the stairs, the nearly silent sound of the creaking boards led the way with each step I took. Soon, my dad called out behind me. As he always did before we would part, even if it was just to say a sweet farewell before I left for school or before taking a trip to the nearest convenience store.

"Love you, Emmy!" I took a long glance down the stairway, holding on tight to the handle as I twisted the top of my body to see him. My dad saluted me back before biting into his sandwich. His hair was a mess. The bags under his eyes worried me. And, his outfit was wrinkled, which made me believe he slept in it. But, his smile was genuine.

That's all I need, I reassured myself.

"Love you, Dad." Smiling wide, I continued to walk up to my room at the top of the stairs. My bedroom door wasn't shut, just by a crack, so I pushed it open and closed it with a lock as soon as I was in.

Finally, after it seemed like forever, I tugged the outfit off. The fabric fell to the floor after pulling it apart, like water it easily slid off and puddled at my feet. Sighing as I threw the pile on my bed, I followed behind it by jumping up and sprawling out. I just wanted to stay there, to regain my composure and settle down after the long day. To sleep even.

But, I couldn't. Or at least not for long. A nap never hurt anybody, the words eased my mind as I tried to persuade myself, it'll be short.

There's a lot of researching to do.

Whatever, I have time. Dragging my body out of bed, I changed into a pair of matching pajamas. A striped blue set. The sleeves were a tad too long and so were the pant legs, but that didn't matter much because they were comfortable. "Now, all I need is my phone," I said aloud as I started to search the robe, stretching it out until I figured out that it wasn't a robe at all. A weird tunic? I wondered, why would he put an old tunic on me?

I shook that off. "Where is my phone?" My voice sounded panicked, and it very much represented the truth. Where is it? Did somone steal my phone? Morpheus? Did I leave it in Johnny's room? How am I supposed to have a nap now?

"Emmy!" My nickname echoed through the house. "You have a visitor!"

My heart stopped.