《Devils in The Details》Born a Demon
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The day I was born, was the day everything changed. My pheromones were already so strong, that it had brought fear to the other pregnant mothers in the Healer's Wing. That I was a demon child, having killed my mother on my way out. Screaming shrilly, bright red from my mother's blood.
The Elders had made a choice as to whether I should live or die. They were merciful and let me live. Forcing one of the nursing she-wolves to feed me, the woman cried and cursed me while I was at her breast. I grew and grew, exceedingly large for a toddler. The other children would not play with me, terrified. I was forced to sit far away from the other children, listening intently when one of the pack mothers would read a story to the other children. I always watched from afar, wanting to join. Wanting to play. I wanted to understand. I wanted to open my mouth and ask, but no one ever taught me how to speak. How to read or write. To draw or color. About shapes and puzzles and books. I wanted to know. Every detail, every purpose, every reason.
On a night with the new moon and the inside of the packhouse darker than pitch, an Elder had taken me. I didn't scream as I was taken from my sheets. I didn't know how to use my voice. I was five now, though I wasn't sure. We traveled far and fast that my eyes started to droop. Trying to keep them open, hoping it was a chance to learn. I saw a very small packhouse appearing between tall, bulking trees. I nervously nibbled my cut bottom lip, one of the pack mother's screaming and hitting me for getting too close to her child. All I wanted was to paint with my fingers too. I think the color was blue, but maybe it was the one the children kept saying was yellow.
The thing the Elder and I were in stopped, making a rumbling sound as we got closer to the small packhouse. The Elder stepped out, grabbing me and setting me on the ground in front of the small place. It was made of wood and stone. There were bushes and lots of trees. A flower was blooming right on the corner of the small packhouse. I wondered what color it was. I could hear yelling between two people in the small packhouse, but I remained where I had been left.
I knew basic words, I did, having heard the pack children, wanting to copy them. Maybe if I sounded like them, if I said the words that they did, they would let me play with them. I would see them sometimes, running between trees and then touching another child who then chased them in turn. I was curious. The Elder returned, chin raised evidently under their hood with their black cloak billowing. They looked like a living shadow with no moonlight to highlight their features. The Elder got back in to the large box that let out a loud rumble, leaving me sitting on the ground. I watched them go until I could no longer hear the sound. I turned to the small packhouse, my eyes widening at an older looking man. His scent was musky, my nose wrinkling. He held a large stick in his hand as he made his way towards me. He was thin. Whether from old age or not eating enough, I did not know. There was some muscle hidden beneath his clothes. The man's light hair was brushed cleanly to the side, wrinkles heavily making up the creases on his forehead, around his eyes and mouth. His eyes were what caught my attention. They were a color I hadn't seen before, and would likely never know the name of.
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"A boy. Barely out of diapers, causing such trouble?" The old man's voice as soft as velvet. Tucking my chin lower to my chest, I could not stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. I had already heard from the other children that crying was a sign of being weak. They already didn't like me, so crying would have definitely made it worse. Unbeknownst to me, my eyes began to luminate the darkest of golden shades. With no full moon to brighten the night life, the color was eerie within the darkness.
Why, I wondered. Why me? What had I done?
"Hush now child. I am not them. The spiteful old fools will get their comeuppance, I will make sure of it. Come into the house," the man said, taking his stick and poking my foot.
"And where are your shoes?"
Those were the first kind words anyone had said to me.
☆
At first, it was difficult living with him. He hardly spoke and I didn't know how to speak. There were only four rooms in the entire house. A small kitchen that lead into a small dining area. I considered it one room because it was so much smaller than the pack house. There was a rectangular wooden table in the dining room with chips and knicks in the legs and surface, having withered many years. Two chairs, just as old and scuffed were around it. Next to the dining room was the living room that had a small but comfortable sofa with a matching armchair next to it. A large fireplace took up half the wall in front of the couch. Next to it and against the other wall that held a small window with an alcove you could sit in, were books upon books upon books. An over-heaving bookcase with piles of books holding down other books.
Past the living room was a small bedroom. It held the single bathroom in the house. It wasn't very large either with only a shower, a sink, and a toilet. A large mirror was hung up above the sink with a few chips at its corners. The bedroom had a bed that could perhaps fit two persons, but it would be a tight fit. The duvet on top of it was very plush and dark in color. There was a single standing wardrobe and a dresser off to one side. A small night table was next to the bed.
I was instructed that the couch was now my bed. I didn't mind since the man kept the fire fed even after I fell asleep. My room in the pack house was a tiny room just on the other side of the pantry. I followed the man wherever he want. I watched how he cleaned things, I watched how he cooked and I watched how he hit his stick against things.
What I longed for truly, were to read the books. I never saw the man read them though. Even when I pretended to be asleep on the couch sometimes. One morning I had toddled as fast as I could after him, seeing him walking away from the house. He turned to me and told me to sit. I did as he said for the man never lied to me. Never said anything that didn't need to be said. I never wanted to do anything to get thrown away, so I always did as he said.
Nodding his head once, I watched in awe as he transformed. No longer was an older man standing a few feet from me, but his bones had cracked and hair started to sprout over his body. I was never allowed to watch up close the adults who suddenly became wolves. Now, it looked painful and I worried for the older man. He merely shook out his pale fur. His wolf was taller than me if I had stood and there were several scars that littered his body. He looked at me for a long moment, nose wriggling, turning and disappearing into the woods.
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At first, I was going to follow him but remembered he told me to sit. So sit I did. And I waited. I waited until the sun started to set. My heart had been thudding in my ribcage harder every hour he was gone. I stood and ran into the house. I quickly used the bathroom, because big boys have to use the bathroom, and just as I was about to run out again, my nose sniffed and wiggled, smelling the man's scent on a shirt. It was thrown atop a messy pile of clothes by the wardrobe. The man would go down once a week to the river close to the house to wash clothes. I bit my lip before snatching it and pulling it over my head. I ran outside on my short little legs, the hem of the man's shirt dragging on the ground. My heart dropped when there was still no sign of him. As the last bit of sunlight clung to the horizon, I began to cry. Softly at first until I was sobbing.
I clutched the older man's shirt in my tiny fist as I cried. I was alone now. I was alone and scared and didn't know what to do. Why did no one want me? What did I do? What did I do!?
So lost in my sadness, I did not see the graying wolf freeze when he came out of the forest. Three rabbits hung from his maw. The scent of fear and sadness rolled off of me in waves. The older man shifted, running on his two bare feet, nearly stepping on me in his haste.
"What is it child? What is wrong? Are you hurt?" The man asked, lifting me before I latched on to him with all my might. I tried to tell him why I was scared, but only broken sounds and jumbled consonants were heard. I buried my head against his chest, clutching my fingers against whatever I could hold on to. He came back! He came back for me!
The man had frozen for a moment, before carefully cradling me against his chest, one hand behind my head.
"It's alright now," he whispered, "I'm here."
I had promptly stuffed my head into the crook of his neck as the man moved about. The man had set down the rabbits on a workbench in the shed by the house. The cool wind brushed against my wet cheeks as we headed inside. The man had headed to the bedroom making me think he was angry at first for wearing his shirt without asking. Instead, he quickly pulled on some pants; impressively with one hand. I burrowed my head against his neck again, having peeked out, out of curiosity. The next thing I heard was the crackling of the fireplace and the heat that started to soak into my shivering form. The man had sat on the couch and I refused to budge for even a moment.
"I merely went to get us food for the next two days. There was no need for tears," the man said quietly. I sniffled, watching the man's hand suddenly follow the ribbing of his shirt I was wearing. His head cocked to the side, his mouth parting in understanding suddenly.
"Little one," the man's voice even softer now, "you stand just taller than my knees. I heard your cries. Can you not speak with me?"
I trembled in his arms, shaking my head no against his chest. I hiccupped and snuggled against him when his hand soothingly rubbed my back. The man and I were quiet for a long time. I tried to be brave and speak, but only sounds came out. Not elegant words that I heard everyone else speak. The man's head tilted again, his brows furrowing in confusion.
"They never taught you," the man's voice like thunder. I could only hold him tighter, feeling my eyes grow warm for some reason. His head turned to the piles of books by the fireplace. I perked up, scrambling off his lap and picking the closest one to me. I pressed the book up to the man who took it gently. His fingers ran over the cover, letting out a nostalgic sigh.
"Little one," the man said, lifting me onto his lap suddenly. I didn't complain because I had been jealous for so long of other children receiving hugs and kisses from their mothers and fathers. For him to pick me up without any fear brought me enough joy to fill, and nearly break, my heart. This man would let me near him and I could have cried endlessly with relief.
"I became blind a few years ago child. I can no longer read the words on these pages, no matter how much I long to do so," the man said, patting my back gently. I cocked my head to the side, the man having felt the action.
"Do you see my eyes?" He asked. I nodded.
"When your eyes look like mine, they can no longer see anything. Not colors, or shapes, or even shadows," the man said quietly. I was sad then. Sad that I could not read. To understand more. But I felt even more sad that even though I could not read, I could still see colors and people and animals. I gently put my fingers just below his eye, the man flinching slightly. He apparently had not expected that. I leaned in to him again, wrapping my small arms around his neck in a hug. I've always wanted to give someone a hug. The man's arms slowly wrapped around me too, making me smile against his shoulder.
I don't know how long we stayed like that, and I didn't care. Not even when my eyelids started to droop. The man suddenly stood with me in his arms. We went into his room as he tucked us both into the bed. I made a sound, though I was really trying to say a word. The man chuckled softly.
"Though I can no longer see, I will do all I can to teach you everything that I know," the man said. I sniffled again, the man clucking his tongue quietly. If I had looked up, I would have seen a gentle smile on his lips. I burrowed myself against him, falling asleep.
Indeed the next morning he started teaching me. Numbers, colors, animals and letters. I diligently learned every day. He showed me how to skin rabbits and pluck birds. How to brush my teeth and the importance of soap. What was good wood for fire burning and the names of different animals. I absorbed everything like a sponge. The letters were harder for both of us but we were getting a system down. He would draw a letter with his stick or his finger into the dirt around the house, telling me the name of the letter and the sound it made. Speaking was difficult, but the older man was always patient and he never got mad at me. He was stern, but never angry.
The days hurried along until four years had passed. I had grown and now wore the man's clothes, rolling the hem of the pants. I already reached the older man's chest. I had grown frustrated at not being able to read well, stuttering through words and throwing books at the walls when I got angry. The older man would chide me, but never blamed me for being angry. I knew more now. More than I could have dreamed. I wanted to absorb every ounce of knowledge, but I was limited.
I awoke from the couch after taking a nap, having skinned the rabbits the older man caught that afternoon. I was getting old enough now to help with some of the chores around the house. The man walked out of his room, passing by the couch as I let out a yawn. The man ruffled my hair making me let out a soft growl. With a chuckle, the man headed to the dining room where his walking cane was. Before reaching it, he had frozen. Both our heads swiveled to the sound of a rumble coming up to the house. I stood slowly, looking out the window, seeing the same box thing that had dropped me off all those years ago.
"Little one, hide in the bedroom and do not make a sound," the man said. I looked at him for a long moment, quickly hurrying to the bedroom, leaving the door cracked. A cloaked person with a deep hood came up to the door, knocking briskly. The older man hurried to answer. I peeked through the crack in the door. The cloaked person's back was towards me. Their voice was a higher pitch than either mine or the older man's.
"Still doing well? Impressive," the Elder speaking with a sneer.
"Hoping for my death so quickly?"
"And the demon? Where is it?" The Elder asked as I hid deeper into the shadows of the bedroom, peeking out an eye when the Elder was no longer looking about the small house.
"He is not a demon. He is a boy and you are weak to fear anything from a child," the older man snapped. The Elder hissed at the disrespect, their hand gripping the older man around the throat. I moved to help, to attack anyone that dared to harm him. The older man lifted his hand to his hip, making a slashing movement. I gulped, gritting my teeth, staying where I was.
The older man's feet were dangling from off the floor, the Elder dropping him like a pile of clothes. He coughed and wheezed, rubbing his throat.
"Mind your tone, dog," the Elder snapped.
"Why are you here?"
"There has been some unfortunate accidents, some blaming that little bastard. Though we have assured those that remember him that he can not harm anyone. We like to make sure to keep an eye on him," the Elder said, crossing their arms. The sleeves of the cloak were far too long. The Elder looked at the blind werewolf in front of them.
"You've grown soft, old man. Don't tell me you feel something for the creature," the Elder's voice sounding disbelieving. I hunched my shoulders, feeling my throat become dry.
"Pray tell where is it?"
"Off hunting for dinner," the man replied, getting off the ground.
"Ha! Like a true beast. Disgusting," the Elder's lip curling, "I hope you haven't forgotten the deal. The only way it stays alive is away from the pack. One whiff of his scent on the pack border and his throat will be ripped from his body. It is not a child so stop deluding yourself and thinking it is one. Kill the beast if you deem it so. Keep it as your pet for all I care. But one toe out of line and it dies. You think anyone but a lonely blind old man would want that thing? It was hated ever since its birth. It is an unlovable spawn."
The Elders words held nothing but contempt.
"Leave," the man growled dangerously. The Elder huffed, sticking their nose in the air. With a billow of their pitch colored cloak, they were gone out the door and into the thing that rumbled. The old man paced and growled back and forth from the living room to the dining room in quick steps. He combed his fingers through his hair, sharp canines snagging at his bottom lip. Several pops and snaps resounded, his fingers shifting into claws.
My own fists were clenched tightly, tears streaming down my cheeks. I shut my eyes, hoping to never see such a person again as the sting of tears burned behind my eyelids. My balled up fists were pressed against my ears, hoping to jam out the mean words from my head.
"Little one," the man's voice soft, my eyes opening as withheld tears poured from my eyes. I knew he could scent the tears. He pulled me to the bed, hugging me, rubbing my back in soothing circles. Though I was getting taller and larger by the day, I knew I would feel sad when I could no longer be held in his lap; I still clung to him like a small child.
"Let me tell you a story," he said, combing his fingers through my hair. I was already listening intently, the man knowing I loved stories.
"There was once a beautiful woman. So beautiful it made my heart flutter like a bird's wings in my chest. She was my mate. She was kind, caring, gentle, and sweet. Though we could not have children of our own, her sister had been mated to a very strong Alpha. The two had many beautiful children. Their daughter, so similar and sweet to my own mate, ended up being the soulmate to the Alpha in the pack you came from. The Alpha had been going back and forth from the pack trying to protect his lands and his people from attackers. One day," the man's voice suddenly horse, "one day some very bad people, killed my precious mate," the man said, his breath shuttering as tears wet his lashes. I gasped in shock, clinging tighter to his shirt. I had been curious about mates since being in the pack house so long ago. I didn't know what they were. Just that everyone wanted one.
"And in my grief, my wolf and I realized that we would never see our mate again. Will never see her laughing. To feel her kiss, or the soft touch of her skin. Her delicate fingers or her sweet voice. The power of our bond broke when she died, my vision leaving with her."
Tears ran over the wrinkles on the man's face. I couldn't help but brush them away, my heart aching at the sadness coming from him.
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