Chapter I: Raven

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BE AS YOU USED TO BE!?”

My Mother’s words echoed through my mind as I imagined her baleful gaze and malicious mouth, spitting at me.

She shouted at me in a fit of anger, one that she likely already regretted. But none of that changed what she said, nor does it make it any less painful. If she apologised and showed true remorse afterwards, perhaps this pain would be easier to bear, but as it stands, I can no longer take it.

Originally, I planned on going for a short walk around the village. But as I walked through the muddy streets, I sensed eyes on me, all around, even when they were not.

Keeping my head down, I hid myself away, the rage of my Mother’s treatment subsiding into sadness. As I hid, I sensed those same gazes grow longer, more observant, and more judgmental.

They don’t like me. They are whispering behind my back. Holding my head, I wanted the thoughts to go away, but they only produced more tears. I can’t stay here. I changed my pace, changed my direction. I wanted to be away, away from the voices, the eyes, the people, the feelings and the cage.

So I began to walk in the opposite direction, out of the village and toward the forest.

The sun was already setting on the horizon, painting the sky in an orange, foreboding hue. Looking ahead, salty tears blurred my vision, rendering it somewhat fruitless, save for amorphous blobs of differing shades and shapes that still allowed me to find my way.

“Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?” A familiar voice called after me. It was Joe who lived across the street; beside him, his dog Hugo, panting and pulling on his lead as my scent filled his nose.

Stopping, I refused to turn. Refusing to let him see me like this. Thankfully, Joe stopped a ways away, ensuring Hugo could not get too close.

“Phoenix. It’s dangerous for you to be out at this time; who knows what could have happened if I hadn’t had Hugo on his lead.” Joe said, his tone caring, but to me, it was the same control and confinement.

“My name is Raven!” I bit back, my emotions too high to check my tone or measure my feelings. “Please s-stop calling me that,” I added, trying to tame my tone.

Still refusing to face Joe, there was a silence between us before Joe spoke up again. “Tell you what. I’ll tie Hugo to this tree here, and then I’ll walk you back to your house. I don’t know what happened to make you get so worked up; it must be the curse. But what you need to do right now is go home and calm down. How does that sound?” He asked, as if he were trying to reason with a volatile animal.

Stop it! Please just stop! I just want to live! Looking down at my feet, I started breaking again, tears falling from my eyes to the floor, with no sign of stopping. But through it all, unmoving, I listened as Joe turned to tie Hugo to the stump. And in his distraction, I ran.

I did not know why I was heading for the forest. We had always been told to stay away from there.

“There are wolves in the forest.” Is what we had been warned since we were little.

It was far from a baseless warning, one meant to keep us in line. But that did not stop the forest’s allure of mystery and danger from capturing the curious minds of kids. To me, the wolves and the forest itself always intrigued and interested me, both for its fear and for an understanding that, like everyone else in the village, and like me now more than ever, the wolves were animals too, trying to survive the only way they knew how.

Anywhere but back there. I thought as further images of my Mother and Father appeared.

“We’re still grieving.”

“I didn’t kill anyone. This wasn’t my choice.”

“Don’t be so unempathetic towards our feelings and how this affects us.”

The conversation replayed as if it were the first time; the wound was old, but still stung as fresh as the day it was inflicted.

Affects you! How does any of this affect you!? Don’t call me ‘unempathetic’! I’m not the problem!... Am I? For a moment I imagined myself responding, standing up for myself, but the prospect of their replies scared me into questioning.

I kept running, dark ever encroaching, tears falling, cheeks flushed. I was in a sorry state. “I-I didn’t ask to be b-born this way." I cried out to myself through quickening breaths as I came to a stop at the edge of the forest. Each time I opened my mouth, the taste of salt bit my tongue as my tears seeped past my faltering lips.

Standing at the forest's façade, the skies now turned shades of black and blue, mixing with the light of the rising moon—the stars above shone like pinpricks to a brighter world beyond.

Staring back at the village, the wooden buildings and thatched roofs turned into dark black-and-brown shadows from up here. Lights from some of the open-shutter windows gave shape, as did smoke slowly billowing from some of the chimneys.

Should I go back?

A breeze whipped up, bringing sharp pangs of winter with it, through my dress and deep into my skin. Pulling my hair across my face, I reached up to comb it back down with my fingers. Looking at it for a moment, its darker-than-night colour, ever a reminder of what I had become… What I always had been.

* * *

4 Years Earlier

CHIRP! CHIRP!

“Hmmm.” I sounded as the birds awoke me on a warm summer morning. Looking over, the sun’s rays bled through the cracks of the window shutters.

My Mother and Father were still asleep, their harsh, reddish-ginger-coloured hair glowing warmly under the cracks of sunlight.

It’s rare for me to be up so early, and yet I feel so refreshed. I thought, wondering what time it was. And to think I was boiling up with a fever only last evening. I added with a giggle of good fortune.

With this seldom-experienced vigour, I rose from my bed, only for my hair to fall across my eyes.

“Black!?” I questioned.

Looking back over my family. They lay there peacefully, with their harsh ginger tones, a colour I also should have possessed, and that was even my namesake, and yet.

Gripping it in my hands, I stared and stared, hoping my eyes needed to adjust to the lack of light. But as my eyes adjusted, it became clearer, and the more confused I felt.

“What is going on!?” I inquired, a little louder than I had intended.

“Hmmm?” Startled, I found my Mother waking. Sweat dripped from every pore, and my whole body shivered with a panic stronger than ever before. But I also felt something else, as my fear and anxiety spiralled, a deep-seated, natural desire to run gripped me.

What is happening to me? I wondered for a brief moment before I caught my Mother’s eyes, locked right on me.

“Phoenix? No…? Who are you?” She asked with such innocence.

My head went light as the room spun around me; all I saw was my Mother’s worried visage, projected onto the inside of my skull as I fell to the floor.

* * *

Since then, nothing has ever been the same.

Changes became more obvious and life-changing. After my hair changed colour, I started growing black fur all over my body. When my senses changed, my eyes changed too; their colour went from a woody hazel to as black as my hair. Through it all, I found myself becoming more easily panicked, anxious, and wary. With each change, people’s gazes shifted too, their opinions souring, their understanding fading. Until one day, waking up snuggled next to my wolf soft toy that my Mother and I had made together, I found the wolf now larger than me; for the first time, I had fully transformed. It only lasted an hour, but from then on, my family seldom let me leave the house. Like a pen had been built around me. I was different. Not of my choosing or desire. I just was.

The only person who treated me with any respect was a girl called Emi, who I had been friends with since we were little. She lived on her family's farm and only visited the village every few months to trade.

Standing before the forest, I let my hair fall to my side again. My hands were shaking, and my heart sank.

At least that fear is mutual. I thought as I turned back towards the forest.

“Even if it’s only for a moment, I can’t go back there.” My words did little to stem the tears, but they did give me enough resolve to pass by the trees and through the threshold of the unknown.