The moon was like a wailing clock. Everytime that moon was bright, it caused me a lot of considerable pain. Then at its fullest, I go through a phase of severe sickness until I'm Wolf. I dread when the moon is full. I find it a curse.
Now the moon is less full, all I'm left with is a fever.
It's been this way since I was a child. It started when I was six years old, and the doctors told my foster carers that it was a whooping cough. The illness symptoms stopped when the moon reached a third quarter but it started all over again during a waxing gibbous moon.
I despise the moon.
The only werewolf who does.
I'm the only one in my pack who hides in the dark. I want to avoid the moon. Being underground or in a mountain cave removes the worst of the sickness so that I can become Wolf without feeling ill or under pain.
The moon hates me.
It is said my maternal ancestor was goddess Lupa Herself, the foster mother of Romulus and Remus.
Then there is my pack... my father's pack. The reminder that I also belong to the Warriors of Fire, as they call themselves. It has something to do with empires long ago, battles between werewolves and men.
I have a plane to catch. I'm going to the Teatro La Fenice and perform my contralto in flowers and satin. If I can't do this under the heavy burden of the moon, then I shall submit and be killed.
The werewolves watch me as I stand on stage under the full lights. I'm good at being an opera singer, and critics have said they've heard "the most beautiful howl".
My hair is heavy in sweat. My beautiful gown becomes sticky and itchy. I can't wait to get this performance done with. I didn't do so well.
Perhaps I should quit the world of opera and choose something less strict.
I don't like the moon. I don't want to be a night diva, or a full moon singer starlet. I just want peace, a quiet sky, and daylight.
Then in the shadows of the romantic city, there were flaming eyes watching me. Alphas, and their army of Betas, Gammas and Deltas. As frosty as snow, a dark figure appeared at my front door as I was going home. A tall powerful man in a hat. His eyes were furious and blazing red.
"Stop what you are doing!" he snarled.
I knew what he was. An alpha werewolf of the city of Venice. There was more than one.
"Or we'll do it for you"
I was shiddering. He stood aside and let me into my house.
That wasn't the first of the intimidation. I continue to make little performances, in clubs and cafes. They hate it. I was shot at in the city square but was missed. The bullet was silver! Dammit!
My life is on the edge. I love singing. I know the public loves me and I've got fans who adore me. I give to charity. I have a nice sum of money. But the more powerful werewolves want to frighten me away from my success. I can only think it's because they're worried I'll change into one during an opera night! I laugh at this. I refuse any performances during a full moon.
Then everything changed. Last month after I'd finished a final act of Staruss' Elektra, there was a present waiting for me in my changing room. A bunch of red roses, and a scarlet box with a note from someone who signed:
"To beautiful Vanity, I love you and cherish you. Romeo."
Signed with kisses and lovehearts.
I opened the box and found a bottle of red Italian sparkling wine! My favourite. That was my undoing. Although tasty, the wine was poisoned. It gave me a sore throat at first, then a polyp formed in my mouth. I was then rushed to hospital but needed a laryngectomy. Sadly my voice has gone!
The angry watchful eyes have gone. My career is over. I can't sing anymore.
They stopped me for me!
There was no real person called Romeo. That was a ploy to get me to drink that infected wine. They've ruined me. All I can do is suffer the monthly pains until I become Wolf each full moon. I'm still the same person but like the Little Mermaid, I've lost my voice. I can't even howl anymore.
I'm a werewolf who doesn't like the full moon and cannot howl.
A victim of the elite werewolves who hate it when an omega girl such as I makes it big in the world of celebrity. Now I need to reconsider my life.
((The Fenrir's Daughters fiction stories belong to author Rayne))
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2015 Rayne Herbert.
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