Ruka flipped through the remaining pages of her father’s journal, all blank, with many pages torn out before the record of his graduation. The silence of Ruka’s bedroom was broken by her asking, “Where’s the rest of it…? Is this really how it ends?”

The mara who gave Ruka the journal stood near an open window, wearing a brown robe to hide all but her mouth. “That is its entirety… I’m sorry.”

Ruka held the red leather journal close to her chest, her arms covered with the scars of self-harm. “You’re Rosa, right? What happened to him? Why…?”

The mara frowned and said, “You have his eyes,” then floated away through the window without any elaboration.

Ruka leaned out with tears welling up. “Wait!” she pleaded. “Where’s my father…? Take me with you!”

Out in the twilight sky, the mara turned to Ruka one final time “Happy birthday,” she said before fading away, leaving specks of mana floating in the air.

Ruka, turning back and curling up in her bed, silently wept as to not disturb her parents or step-siblings. A bulging shadow soon clawed its way out from underneath the bed to comfort her—a shade taking the form of a black wolf, called “Shuck” by her, a familiar haunt.

Shuck spoke calmly to Ruka, his voice echoing like a distant radio in her head. “A strange turn of events… What will you do now?”

Ruka said, “I don’t know yet. I don’t know what to think.” She lifted her pillow and then smacked Shuck on the head with it. “You should’ve told me about him… Or are you in on this too?” She wanted to be angry, but all she felt was sorrow. “Everyone is so full of shit.”

Shuck gave her a tilted look. “Your heart is clouded by the stories your mother told you as a child. She had already created a monster in your mind: one who abandoned you, disowned you, and then died—all conflicting with the stories of not knowing, not caring, of who he is in the first place; believing her own lies. But with the evidence left in this journal, despite his intentions, a monster your father may very well be.”

With a sniff, Ruka said, “I still want to find him—find out for myself.”

“Be not so reckless, Ruka, and consider the associates your father kept. Your long-held curiosity is not worth the risk of bringing undue attention upon yourself—or me. You are but one girl with no powers, no contract. And what trust do you have that this is not some plot created by the mara…? A journal? You know not the author or its origin beyond what is written.”

Ruka’s temper returned, a false strength in loud whispers. “I want to find him! That should be enough justification for you… or have you forgotten my wish?”

The shade lowered his head in submission. “No, I have not forgotten.”

“Then tomorrow we leave for Sorrow.”

“You plan to run away again? You promised your parents that—”

Ruka scowled. “At this point they’ll be glad I’m gone.” She got up from the bed to start packing her trusty backpack as she had done many times before. “Now make yourself useful, mutt. There’s plenty more we need before we leave.”

“As you wish, Ruka.” The shade gave a wolfish grin. “It would be my delight.”

❦ ❦ ❦

That night, Ruka reflected over the past to further her resolve. She lived every day thinking she was unwanted, unneeded, and uncared for despite the fact her needs for survival were met in a way one would expect from a dutiful parent. Ruka didn’t see her mother as anything more than a stranger, however; and herself as a neglected pet. That natural trust a child has for their mother was lost when Ruka was abandoned by Lyca at a young age, unable to cope with the stigma of having a half-human spawn, and to acceptably marry a man who was of similar blood to her—a wolf therian who also desired to keep his lineage pure. It should have ended there for Ruka; to be taken in by another family or forever lost to the shadows. But when the man, her now step-father, found out what Lyca did to prove she was still worthy of a respectful marriage, he said that he wasn’t going to accept anything except for the “full package” and rescued Ruka, bringing them both into the Lowell family.

For that short period of her life, Ruka thought she had found a father worth believing in, and that she would finally be accepted by her maternal grandparents when their favor returned to Lyca after her marriage. Unfortunately, that fleeting hope was lost when Ruka’s mother and stepfather had children of their own. All of their focus and love turned to them, their pure children—untainted by man—and left Ruka emotionally neglected as a result. Those memories of isolation formed like knots in her mind with any reminder causing immense frustration in her teens, only to find relief beneath the blade of a knife. In her more recent years she learned to ignore those thoughts, and managed to stop the harm she did in response to them in an attempt to feel; but the lingering pain crept back into her consciousness as she tried to sleep—dreaming of the day she met Shuck.

Afraid of being abandoned again, Ruka’s childhood self ran away, feeling that if she was going to be left alone, then she can at least be alone on her own terms. She knew there was an old water tower near her home where the older children were known to hang out—far away from the safety of the neighborhood and watchful eyes of their parents. Her parents taught all their children to never climb or be around that tower, stressing that it was dangerous. And so, in her young mind, she thought that when her parents noticed she was gone, they’d look there first, and prove to her that they cared by going up the tower after her.

Cutting quickly, Ruka’s hands on the ladder and her eyes looking up at that snaking path towards the top of the water tower, she started to climb. She didn’t get very far up before the rusted segments started to fall apart, leaving her feet dangling beneath her. In reality, she was still close enough to the ground to survive the fall, but she was too afraid to jump. In the dream, however, it was certain death not to continue with a gaping abyss below waiting to swallow her up. So, the headstrong child kept climbing up to the metal platform where she would meet a hazy shadow in the grotesque form of a man.

“Do not be afraid,” said the shade, a dark arm reaching to the child before him.

Ruka’s heart raced at the sight of the umbral existence, so she ran around the platform to get away, screaming with no sound, unaware of the already rusted away panels on the other end. Shuck slowly pursued Ruka, his haze failing to form a proper body, watching her grab onto the twisted railing to avoid falling in her haste. Standing still, Ruka gazed down at the abyss beneath her, mesmerized by the serpentine movement in the void, completely unaware that what little footing she had was about to give way. And while Shuck saw the shifting metal, he paused as shades are not meant to interfere in one’s natural demise, gambling on those who might wish for salvation in their last moments—making the terms of their contract all the more exploitable. A gamble for sure, to wait for her death wish, or watch her be lost to the void. But Shuck was not one to leave things to chance. A child so young—a body so new—could last a long while; and there was only one action which could lead to so many potential futures for them both.

Dream and memory merging into one, Ruka fell as the metal bent and twisted beneath her, falling with more grace than she. Shuck, as part of his devilish scheme, took the form of a wolf and grabbed Ruka with his maw, bringing her back to the precarious safety atop the water tower. As he released her, he said, “Let not your heart be lost to the endless abyss, for you carry a great and unrecognized potential.”

Ruka paid little mind to the dark whispers and hugged the shade in appreciation, realizing that he was just a big doggy and not some scary thing, not understanding his true intentions. She then rubbed her face into Shuck’s warm fur, and he felt her tears. “Thank you,” she said, her voice muffled. “Thank you…”

Shuck, to better manipulate his prey, saw into Ruka’s heart and understood. “So desolate, this place… I will stay with you and wait.”

The two lingered on top of the water tower and watched the sunset, Ruka’s sadness fading as the light did until both were completely gone. The night air was cold, and so Ruka cuddled with the shade for warmth; only to be woken by the light of the next day. And in her mind, the conclusion: her parents never cared.

Shuck, not wanting his potential vessel to starve, said, “Get on my back. I will not leave you for dead.” Ruka climbed onto him, and he grew great and wondrous white wings. Shuck took a mighty leap into the air, gliding down to the ground, convincing Ruka that he was actually her guardian angel. And when she dismounted, Shuck asked her, “What is your desire? Make it known.”

“A friend,” she cried, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“But you are not alone,” he grinned, “now you have me.”

“If that’s true, then… I want a new family.”

❦ ❦ ❦

Now in March, Ruka arrived at the outskirts of Sorrow on her bicycle and stopped at an empty, overgrown lot off the side of the highway. Besides the weeds growing through the cracks in the pavement, there was little else in the way of vegetation—the area still regularly mowed which made it seem all the more barren.

Looking down, Ruka spoke to her own shadow. “I thought you said Rosa’s bar was here.”

Shuck arose from the depths of darkness only slightly. “The operative word being ‘was.’ You are much too late in coming here—all this way for nothing. A pity.”

“I didn’t expect it to be easy… but this was the best lead I had.” She looked back at the road heading into Sorrow. “My father's house is down the road, right? Does anyone live there?”

“As you often say, ‘How would I know?’”

Mocking him, Ruka replied, “And here I thought you had an answer to everything.”

“I am not omnipotent. Surely you can surmise that I spend most of my time with you, unable to know what happened here… I will seek information from those that linger if being alone for the duration of my search is acceptable to you.”

Ruka crossed her arms and said, “Go ahead.” The shade then bolted off to whereabouts unknown. Alone, Ruka turned back to the empty lot, imagining what the Rose Den might’ve looked like, the faded front entrance before her. Faintly, she heard the sound of a piano drowned out by clinking glasses and laughter. She wanted to enter and see for herself the reality of those days before her birth—to see who would walk through those doors, coming and going, and share the same experience. But time made it all unknowable to her. And with no evidence beyond the cracked parking lot and broken foundation in the vicinity, there was little to prove that it ever existed at all.

With a sigh, Ruka got back on her bike and headed down the road towards her father’s old residence, but there would be no house for her to find. The neighborhood had since gone commercial with a strip mall along the main road. Even the place where her father once lived had been cleared away to make room for a gas station on the corner lot. Further still, she saw the park and church which, to her relief, acted as landmarks to prove she was at least in the right place. The pizzeria from her father’s youth stood abandoned and gutted—the remaining sign claiming it was three different venues in one. And while the mall still remained, there was little in the way of business due to the frequent crime and squalor from the nearby subsidized apartments for monsters. Progress, it was, that the entire town had grown to become a more proper city for those who could still afford to live in the central area, now predominantly human. And progress is what made Sorrow become even more foreign to Ruka than the somewhat humble town she envisioned from the journal.

Ruka rested on a shaded bench in the park, pulling a gas station sandwich out of her backpack to eat and regain her strength. With nothing better to do in between bites, she decided to pass the time by reading through her father’s journal again. Her frustration at seeing the well-memorized words got the best of her, however, and so she flipped through the pages without much thought, going all the way to the last written words of her father. She then slowly turned through the remaining empty pages until there were none left, staring disappointingly at the inside of the back cover. Becoming bored, Ruka secured her father’s journal and put it away in her backpack, deciding to watch passerby while she ate instead. To her surprise, many of the others at the park were staring at her in kind—all humans. Some women whispered to each other on the bench opposite of her. A man held back his curious child from going near. And a group of children were holding their noses in disgust, giggling as they ran away. It was clear that she wasn’t particularly wanted there, but she stayed in place to enjoy herself a little bit longer than she intended out of spite.

When Ruka had enough of resting, she took her bike back to the road and looked around at the signs. She noticed the main road had been named after a lake and that she had not seen one on her way in, thinking that if she just followed the road long enough, she’d see the lake in due time. It was a simple curiosity that drove her to the water, along with the fantasy of catching a big fish to eat. Salivating, Ruka sped off towards a new desire. She was mistaken, however, in how far the lake was and ended up following the road for some time. Far outside of Sorrow, Ruka found herself in a sparsely populated area with the lake coming into view on the side of the road. Running out of breath and wanting to finally rest, Ruka cut across the grass towards the lake without seeing the steep ditch in front of her, sending her tumbling down the rocky edge and bending the front wheel of her bike. Ruka laid on her back and yelled, “Damn it!” while punching the ground in frustration at the damage she caused in her carelessness. She then stared up at the sky, seeing a suited elven woman with blonde hair and icy blue eyes looking down from the edge of the ditch with a wry smile.

“What have we here?” The elf made careful steps to where Ruka laid and extended her arm to help her up. “I’m Arbiter Antha. Looks like you need some help.”

Unmoving, Ruka firmly said, “I don’t need any help.”

Antha tilted her head, puzzled. “Why not?”

Ruka gave a conflicted look, knowing that an arbiter would likely be her best bet in finding her father, but also cause a lot of problems for her and Shuck. “I don’t trust you.”

Antha retracted her hand and gave a worried smile. “I suppose that’s fair… Tell me, are you a stray?”

“Yes—and I’m not looking for handouts.”

With a giggle, Antha said, “I believe you. You seem to be doing fine for somebody with no home—well, except for the smell.”

Ruka pouted and turned away from the arbiter, laying on her side. “Nobody likes wolves,” she said under her breath. “Just leave me alone.”

Antha bent down to carefully rub the back of Ruka’s wolf ears. “There, there. You came all this way for something, yeah? No point in moping on the ground.”

Ruka’s ears twitched with delight, though her face didn’t reflect that the touch was welcomed. She shook her head and got up on her own accord, climbing up the ditch and going to the sloped shore of the lake to sit. Antha followed close behind and sat beside Ruka near the water, relaxing with a grin as the sun hung low in the sky, reflecting off the lake in a straight line towards them both.

Antha looked out at the calm surface and said, “Just so you know, you’re in good company—I also left home when I turned eighteen. What about you, though? Rather, what made you leave home?”

Ruka hesitated to say. “I’m in search of someone… my father.”

Antha furrowed her brow. “You left home to find your father, but that’s where a father should be.” She then looked over at Ruka. “I hear wolves hunt in packs. Is there a partner, or a sibling, with—”

Speaking sharply, Ruka said, “I’m alone.” She then scowled at Antha, staring. “Is this supposed to be an interrogation? I want to be left alone.”

Antha sighed with a pensive look. “There were some concerned citizens at the park that felt there might be a feral on the loose—a wolf girl with brown hair on a bike, likely stolen, heading down the road.”

“Me?” asked Ruka with a frown. “But I’m not feral, I’m just…”

“Misunderstood?”

Ruka nodded, gazing at the lake in contemplation. “Why would they even think that…? I’m not an animal… I was minding my own business.”

Antha’s attention turned to a nearby commotion caused by two lesser harpies that appeared human from the breast up with feathery hair juxtaposed with a birdlike torso, wings, and legs. Watching them play in the shallows while trying to fish with their talons, she said, “Our society is built on the expectation that everyone acts a certain way and follows the same rules. There’s little room for those who deviate from the expected norm—those that think and feel differently than one would expect… And there are some who just never feel like a part of anything; never have any sense of community. Demons, beasts… abominations… Many see them as menaces to society… and some consider ferals among them as well. I suggest you look at how those ‘beasts’ act for a moment, though. Tell me what you think.”

Ruka observed the lesser harpies as they splashed water on each other with their wings. They laughed and smiled and spoke to each other in words only they understood, happy to be in nature where they belonged. There was a certain uncanniness to their appearance that caused Ruka to imagine herself in the body of a wolf with a human head, wondering if that’s how humans might see her—a monster—and how that same vision affected how she views others. Then came another feeling, one of hunger, seeing them as a tasty meal—a delicacy she had before on holidays. “They’re just animals. Sure they look human, but they aren’t people. It’s different.”

Antha frowned. “Many would agree with you—and against you. Greater harpies are quite similar, having a human torso and proportions, and are accepted as demihumans because of it. The lesser harpies, to them, are kinda like how devils are with imps—or humans and chimpanzees. Yet despite all that, greater harpies still carry the stigma of being seen as birds by others… and bird-brained. Therians like you don’t have much different going on anatomy wise, having human arms and legs instead. So it should come as no surprise that you also get related to a beast by others… and seen as feral when you lack hygiene, among other things.”

“But I’m half-human!” Ruka bared her teeth in anger. “My own family won’t even accept me because of it… And humans don’t recognize that, either.”

Antha nodded. “A sad truth for many. Do consider this, though: while the lesser harpies are known to have their own society and language, they’ve never communicated any desire to join human society; and so, they are nothing more than mere animals as far as the law is concerned. If one were to only focus on their face, they’d be no different than a human… But they aren’t considered human. And therians aren’t either. You act human enough. Seem human enough… and sometimes even feel human.”

“But I’m not… not completely.”

“Yeah. That’s not to say that you lack humanity, though; no matter how dehumanized therians become.” Antha smiled, happy to share her thoughts. “It’s a shame, too, since you’re not actually part animal; it’s the plant cells that cause the ears and tail, remnants of a parasitic relationship turned symbiotic after innumerable generations on Arcadia that—” Antha stopped herself, realizing she was going back into old habits. “It’s the same struggle of acceptance for elves and any other humanoid species these days… even for those who have human parentage… and human DNA.” She straightened her posture a bit to appear more serious. “But there are real monsters in this world—ones that are alien and unknowable. There is no commonality in that case… no humanity. They see us as objects, use us as pawns in their schemes… And compared to us, they are basically gods. It’s only natural that some worship them… and others rebel against them. And the rest… just do whatever it takes to survive.” Antha then stood up and smiled, speaking quickly. “That’s enough chatting, though. I do hope that you can forgive me for this, Ruka.”

Ruka frowned. She wasn’t sure what Antha was rambling about and why she was suddenly trying to leave. “I don’t understand. Forgive you for what…? And how do you—”

Ruka turned to where Antha was sitting but saw nothing there. Feeling a shift in the air, her gut warned her of imminent danger, causing her to stand up; but it was too late. A feminine voice entered Ruka’s mind and uttered, “Sopor.” Trusting her instincts, Ruka grabbed her concealed knife and swiped at Antha who was standing behind her, but the overpowering desire to fall asleep prevented her from producing much force behind the swing. And gently, Ruka slumped over, unconscious, so that Antha could rummage through her backpack and find Elliot’s journal.

“How tempting it is to read.” Antha opened the journal and turned to the back cover, running her palm over the blank space. “But there’s no point in going back to yesterday.” A hidden flap was revealed in response to her touch, opening near the spine. Inside was a white card with a minimalistic drawing of a rabbit on one side—the one Ruka’s father received nearly two decades before. Antha kept the card in hand as she returned the journal to its spot in the backpack, then walked a couple paces to place it down on a flatter patch of grass. By extending her hand above the card, Antha channeled mana into it, causing it to expand and pop out white rabbit ears with stubby arms and legs to match. The card stood itself up and grew a fuller body with an oversized head of white hair. As its red eyes opened, the doll faced the arbiter with a bow, its head nearly touching the ground, then returned to a neutral stance to stare at her. Antha spoke to the doll, saying, “Ruka Lowell has been intercepted and subdued for transport… I must say that she seems considerably motivated in finding her father—even tried to pull a knife on me when she realized I cast a spell on her. The fact she is armed at all has me believing she is within… expected parameters… but the rest is up to her.” Antha then picked up the doll under its arms and asked, “Did Alice get all of that, little one?” The doll’s eyes flashed a bright crimson and then nodded to confirm the message had been sent. Antha gave the doll a half-sincere smile for its service, then forcefully threw it far over the water of the lake. The doll futilely wiggled its arms, half-floating and half-falling, and instantly burst into flames with the snap of Antha’s fingers; the ash carried away by the wind. And in reflection at what she was about to set into motion, Antha spoke to the sky: “Now, it seems that I am devising against this family an evil from which they cannot remove from their necks.”

A chilling air came off the water as the light started to leave the sky. Antha went over towards the senseless and shivering Ruka, taking out from her suit pocket a small metal case filled with scarlet vials and a previously prepared syringe. Grabbing Ruka’s jaw and tilting her head away, Antha injected the glowing red liquid into her neck. Ruka gave a sudden look of pain and distress, clenching her fists and moving her legs across the grass, but remained unaware of what was going on—relaxing again into a completely catatonic state. After giving Ruka some time to heal while she retrieved her bike, Antha scooped her up and carried her to a windowed black van; taking her back to Sorrow where she belonged.