WARNING : Sensitive content ahead (non-gory).
Another nightmare.
Another feeling of the pain, sharp and suffocating, as if she were still there.
She had woken up from the nightmare she couldn't seem to escape, her eyes dark, too dark. They were the kind of eyes that swallowed light instead of showing it.
She hadn't cried in years, her expression still and perfectly composed. There were no emotions, nothing. No gasping, no trembling, only the rise and fall of her chest.
Morvienne simply stared at the night sky, empty, awake and detached, her long, dark chestnut-brown hair spilled across the blanket beneath her.
She looked ethereal with her pale skin, calm, too calm for someone who had just relieved hell.
Slowly, she sat up and inhaled, welcoming the smell of the forest and enjoying the cool breeze that comforted her.
It had been ten years, ten years since that night. Ten years since she ran from the ruins of her home, barefoot, trembling, and covered in the blood of her parents.
But still as she fled, she didn't look back. Not once.
Even at eleven, she knew that hesitation meant death. Her mind was sharp, calculating, and even then it screamed one thing to her : Survive.
The forest became her new home, her teacher. She learned to move quietly, learned to observe, learned to listen, really listen to every creak of branches, every flutter of wings, and even to the silent sound of the wind.
Hunger had driven her to set traps, to study the movement of animals, to hunt. The first time she had killed with her little hands, her hands had shaken, but by the fifth time, they didn't.
There were nights she thought she would die from cold, from hunger, from the pain of being alone, but she didn't. She refused to die just like that.
Her parents had taught her many things, how to sense a presence in the dark, how to mask her scent if enemies were near, and she had thought those were just lessons for play, but now, looking back and remembering everything she had been taught, she lived by them. Every small lesson became a weapon.
As she grew, so did her strength.
And something else.
It began with small things, strange warmth in her palms when she was angry, some strange energy when she concentrated too long, how the wind would shift with her moods, how flames would die down at her will. So many things, including her scent. She could change it when she wanted to. Sometimes sharp and dominant, other times soft and submissive or a mix.
She learned to control it, to suppress the Alpha in her when it drew attention, and that was when she realized what her parents had always known. They had told her she was not just one thing.
She was an Almega. A rare blend of Alpha and Omega. Her power was different, unpredictable, and she was even more enhanced than any werewolf.
If anyone ever found her they would want to use it or destroy her for it but right now, they couldn't even try even if they wanted to. But for her plan to work, she would need to hide who she really is.
And so...
She hid.
She trained.
And she became her own teacher, her own weapon.
She would sneak in and out of packs, studying their fighting techniques until she mastered them.
As an heir to the Seran Pack before they were wiped out, she had already been taught the basics, although she still needed more training.
Morvienne had no one to train her, but she had the pain and a mind that learned too quickly.
Years passed and her small hands grew strong.
The child who was once scared and trembling, no longer flinched at unexpected sounds.
She no longer feared the dark, but instead, the dark feared her, and now...
She was ready.
Ten years.
Ten long years.
Now, she will make them pay.
Slowly, she sat up and brushed a strand of hair from her face, her expression unreadable and calm.
She looked down at herself and brushed her fingers slowly across her worn dress, her thoughts running wild.
Then, she tore the dress.
She moved on to splitting it at the shoulder and side seams, destroying it just enough to look desperate and weak.
After that, she dragged the edges against the ground to smear them with dirt and dead leaves, making it look as though she had been dragged and beaten.
The dress was already quite messy, something she had planned beforehand. All she had to do now was spice things up a little bit to make it more...
Believable.
Satisfied with the outcome, she picked up a blade she had kept beside her and drew it across her upper arm, not too deep, but just enough for blood to bead and run.
Next, she cut along her shoulder where the fabric hung loose and hissed quietly at the pain, although that didn't stop her as she proceeded to make another cut down her side, careful to angle it so it looked like claw marks.
She knew she could endure the pain and wanted to make the most out of it.
When she was done, she reached behind her for the finishing touch, turned the blade and nicked the skin along her back, making it long enough to sting and bleed. She wanted it to look like she had been attacked from behind and forced to run.
Blood trickled slowly from each cut she made on her body, her expression still blank.
She watched for a moment to make sure it looked right, then pressed her hand against each cut to spread the blood unevenly. It had to look messy. It had to look real.
And when she was finally finished, she exhaled softly and she sat there, her dress ruined and bloody as she set the knife aside and let herself bleed.
She had studied enough wounds to know how pain should look. How trembling hands should move, and how fear should breathe.
After a few seconds, she lifted her head and stood up.
Her hair was clung to her skin, streaked with dirt and blood, and blood ran down her arm, dripping from her elbow, but she didn't care or look at it. Instead, her hand rose to her neck, fingers brushing lightly against her scent gland.
She tilted her head to one side, pressing her fingers on her scent gland as she breathed in slowly and closed her eyes. Then, she started to change it.
Her scent.
The energy around shifted as she focused, a small cold smile playing on her lips.
She had the mix of Black Orchid and Vanilla scent, which complimented her Almega nature. But now, she pushed the Black Orchid scent deep down, letting her sweet Vanilla scent hide it, just like how she had hidden that night.
As she felt it change, light, sweet, and harmless, she tilted her head again, rolling her neck slightly as if checking how it felt.
"Mmm..." She finally let out as she opened her eyes, her dark eyes glowing golden before going back to normal as the sweetness of vanilla, clung to the air, soft and inviting.
Straightening, Morvienne rolled her shoulders back and stood in silence for a moment, listening to the wind and the quietness of the river nearby. Then... she moved.
Her bare feet brushed over leaves and roots as she looked every bit the broken, lost omega she wanted to be, fragile and pitiful.
She could already scent them from where she was. The Varyn borders. Wolves. Patrols. Guards stationed close enough to hear.
It was perfect.
As she drew closer to the border, her heart rate slowed and then quickened. She let out a shaky breath and slumped her shoulders, her lips trembling as she rubbed some of the dried blood across her cheek, making herself look even more pitiful.
"Help...!" she tried once, soft, breathless and desperate like the sound of someone who was barely holding on.
Then louder, she screamed, raw and breaking.
"HELP!! PLEASE!"