It was broken. Shattered glass decorated the dark wooden floor, sharp edges glinting as it caught the moonlight peering through the window – like tiny stars in the midnight sky – a fall so grave yet magnificently beautiful. All that was left to be done was sweep up the little pieces and hope that it could be whole once more.
She sat at the window sill wallowing in the betrayal, the blame, questioning herself. What had been broken? Was it her soul that had been stripped of all feeling? The numbness was deep, right to the bone…
Or was it her heart?
But the beautiful beast had dismissed her. He said he loved her with every little beat of his heart yet he could not accept her in her darkness despite the fact that she had embraced and loved his tainted soul. All fault was at her expense.
Hate. The word was felt so harsh to her tongue, the feeling too complex, too passionate, she didn’t think she’d be able to feel it. And the truth is she didn’t. She didn’t hate him, he didn’t deserve emotion with that much intensity, instead she pitied him because she knew what devastation lied ahead.
She glanced at the ax which laid upon the wooden table in the middle of the room. Besides it was a monstrous shotgun with the family heirloom engraved on the grip.
The wolf and the hooded hunter, their eyes locked as their bodies intertwined engaging in an aged long battle which seemed to have no end.
As a young girl the image had puzzled her; it woken within her a sense of unconditional duty, as if neither of them had a choice in their fate. It had always been that way, her grandmother would say. The hooded hunter could not choose her destiny, it was already chosen for her by the Gods.
And then that duty had become her own and this she knew in the deepest parts of her soul,she could feel it as it twisted in her gut and see it written in the stars above her.
And she could never forsake her duty again, once was already too much and what had that gotten her? A shattered heart.
The full moon beckoned her, the magnetic pull so strong- colossal. She could hear them calling, howling.
She loaded the shotgun with the silver bullets and place it in its holster.
Another howl – this one loud and clear, apologetic almost. She knew this call as if it were her own.
She drew the crimson hood over her pink hair, picked up the ax and headed through the door.

Once Upon a Moon

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