I woke up the next day with the knowing that my birthday had arrived.
How could I forget?
My birthday coincided with the day the goddess's handiwork was remembered and appreciated, and also the day that had heralded my bullying episodes in the pack.
It was supposed to be a day of light, of gratitude, of celebration. Instead, it was a scar. My scar. It was the day, on my sixteenth birthday, that I had been marked an outcast in the pack—a less than an outcast, worse than an omega.
The thought landed in my chest with the weight of a stone, and I inhaled sharply, feeling the despondent mood swarming me like a dark tide. I dragged myself from the bed and padded over to the window.
The sky outside was still ink-dark, a faint bruise of gray suggesting dawn's approach. My eyes found the clock across the room. Just four a.m. The world would soon awaken, but for now, everything was suspended in this liminal quiet.
