Seeking Solace In The Break Of Dawn

A lone figure draped in a black cloak sat upright on a rock facing a hilly forest. The cool morning breeze swayed her cloak back and forth, showcasing her lean fragile back from time to time. This did nothing to disturb her stoic stance.

The area was entirely covered by well-trimmed short grass and shrubs. Before her very eyes, the sparkling morning dew lit up the grassy plain like the canopy of fireflies creating a grandiose view.

She took a deep breath and could feel the brisk forest air fill her lungs. Her eyes moved about for a few minutes before they settled on the hill that seemed to be towering over the forest at its feet. Its peak shone like emeralds against the dark blue starry sky emphasizing the verdant that was its color.

As it was a few minutes before the break of dawn, all that could be heard were the sounds of the crickets and of the birds chirping from a distance. The land itself was full of life. With the movement of the wind, swaying of trees, and the occasional winking from the stars as they surround and serenade the moon.

The weather was one of a kind so energetic and warm that the spirit of it was that of joy. There was a hint in it of joy, a joy so infectious than any chime from the wedding bells, a joy warmer than the glorious sun rays.

It was the virtuoso and the communicable wisdom of nature warming the hearts of the lonely souls trodding through the abandoned path in life feeling lonely, helpless, and cold. It was the wild, the savage yet gentle hands that were at the edge of the Lupus realm.

The cloaked figure was of course affected by nature. Her heartfelt warmth and ease inside. On the outside, her hoody rested neatly on her head hiding most of her facial features from the world.

The moon fell on her face shining directly upon her features as though it had a special connection to her. It illuminated her as though she was the center of the universe where all thing good and bad originates from.

This greatly highlighted her Romanesque nose and pouty cherry red kissable lips. The hoody covered her eyes yet the moon cast a shadow of her long eyelashes on her cheeks. A subtle smile formed on her lips as her tongue darted out to wet the now dry lips.

In one hand, she held a flute that came off as ordinary and dull at the first glance. On closer inspection, however, the intricate designs drawn on the flute would be enough to charm anyone who was someone in antiquarianism. A slender finger moved the flute towards her eager lips as another covered the barrel.

She removed the flute and adjusted the lip plate until it rested comfortably upon her soft pillow lips. Her other hand worked to place her fingers in position as the first sound resonated in the air.

The darkness was slowly fading away as the sun began to wake. Shortly after the piping sound from the flute floated around spreading its wings, touching the spirit and soul of nature.

Its brilliance rivaled the moon's enchanting nature like an addicting drug.

Its graceful and rich timbre became one with the wind creating a romantic ambiance. The flute made animated sounds that harmoniously blended with nature as though it had a life of its own. The darkness faded away slowly paving way for the king of dawn. A smile of gold, yellow of color, and warmth of nature embraced the cold cottony soft clouds. It was time for the sun to rise.

Birds flew around in circles, chirping, and singing. The vibrant melodies from the flute incited a smile from nature. The coldness in the clouds thawed, the sun smiled and the air bubbled with joy.

The fingers playing on the flute stopped moving as a uniform flawless sound filled the air. Finally, with the break of dawn, the sun rose as the sound of the flute came to an abrupt end.

The stillness in the atmosphere was enough to welcome any misfit, outcast, or lack of better words abnormal werewolf shunned by society. Xiomara fit perfectly in all those categories and hence found solace in the break of Dawn.

She watched the beginning of a new day yet again. This was a routine that had formed a strong part of her existence. It was considered her favorite time of her days. The only time her soul and wolf were at peace with the world. Unfortunately, that was also extremely short as the rest of the day and night overrode the peace it provided.

Like the rest of the wolves in the realm, her days were nothing close to flowers and rainbows. They were instead full of mistreatment, overworking, punishments, mockery, and torments. Everyone was familiar with her. Even the weakest werewolves vented their anger and frustration on her little body. She could feel the soreness all over her body from the beatings she had received the night before.

The sound of a chiming bell rang in the air boisterously, signing the beginning of her torturous day. A heavy sigh left her thin lips as she stood up from the rock ready to head back to the general’s manor. She held the flute in her hand before it disappeared into thin air. Each step she took towards the interior of the realm was painful.

One more year, she thought as she vanished into thin air reappearing in a small room that could easily be mistaken as a closet. She changed out of her outfit into her sleeping clothes and lay on the worn-out mattress that was on the floor. The thin sheet she used to cover her frail body had big patches of different colors sown on it. She silently started to count in her head from ten to one. By the time she was at one, the door was flung open violently.