Emotionally, she was done. Mentally, she was drained. Spiritually, she felt dead. Physically, she smiled. She was smiling right now, though half-assed. It was the kind of smile that was traded when awkward eye contact was made. Somewhere between a grimace and a mere twitch of the lips, both serene and shy—reserved and fake. She chose to brandish it like a shield in this place of strangers. Rathbone, she hadn’t liked, and Margarita… well, enough said. She was the only one Absinthe had taken a liking to so far. Hopefully the only one. Relationships were a liability, not just to her, but to everyone and everything.
In all honesty, Absinthe didn’t know what was next for her or what lay in her future. She was lost. Actually, she was pretty fucking hungry. The mountains had been harsh and volatile; they had proven to be challenging to survive in. She’d been a little over eight months then, waiting for a wolf that would never show. Starving herself for loyalty. Look where that got her. She would have died if not for a man of the mountains. Sir Freyar. His voice of doubt had eventually persuaded the child to leave the crags behind—otherwise she would have lingered in the pass for much longer.
Gone was her loyalty now. Her trust. Her faith. Fuck all of that, Absinthe was loyal to herself. That was she would never be disappointed.
Rithya. Every now and then she would forget to respond to the new name she had forged for herself. It angered her. Rithya was the name given to her by a bastard and a bitch. It didn’t deserve to be worn by her—not anymore, not while she was free from their scrutiny. Their dirty looks and shamed faces.
All she’d ever wanted was to be loved. The task had proven to be too hard for her dam and sire because of her size and unfortunate markings. One person would love Absinthe now, forever and always. Herself. The title she’d created would be the first of many steps to building a new life for herself. It wasn’t a pretty name—but she wasn’t a pretty wolf. Screw beauty when it was all her dam and sire had ever wanted. Screw stature when the weak could rise and the strong could fall.
Sorry, the old Rithya can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Absinthe killed her.
Jul 01, 2018 12:04 AM
[ ignore ]