The Hate From The Pack

The house was oppressively silent, the kind of quiet that felt intentional, as if the world itself wanted her to sit with her thoughts and stew.

Seraphina leaned against the windowsill, staring out at the scenery beyond. The weather was unexpectedly pleasant, a soft, balmy breeze carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth.

She had imagined werewolves living in bustling packs, constantly surrounded by noise and activity.

But here? There was only the quiet hum of nature, a stillness she didn’t trust.

Where is everyone? she thought, her brow furrowing. But she wouldn’t ask. She didn’t want to know.

She had planned to do nothing today.

No exploring, no stepping outside the house—just sitting in solitude and waiting for this nightmare to end.

But as the minutes dragged on, she realized there was nothing in the house to hold her interest.