C11 The Hate From The Pack

The house was oppressively silent, the kind of quiet that felt intentional, as if the world itself wanted her to sit with her thoughts and stew.

Seraphina leaned against the windowsill, staring out at the scenery beyond. The weather was unexpectedly pleasant, a soft, balmy breeze carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth.

She had imagined werewolves living in bustling packs