Toni's PoV:
I marched up to my room, already plotting a way to delay the sealing. I wasn't totally against marrying Will -- I knew it was best for the pack -- but I didn't want it to happen so soon. Perhaps if I could just talk to my mother, she could convince father that it was best to wait...
I pushed open my bedroom door, only to see my mother already sorting through my wardrobe. She had a pair of jeans and some pajamas in her hands, and on my bed behind her was an open suitcase. I stared at her.
"Mom?"
"Oh, there you are!" She turned towards me, clothes still in hand, and pulled me into the room. The door shut behind me with a click.My mother, who had always been the optimistic, affectionate parent, was looking at me with disapproval.
"There's barely any time left before the celebration," she tutted as she folded the clothes. "You've got to start taking this whole thing more seriously. Go have a shower, you have to get dressed for the ceremony."
I clenched my fists, feeling the sting of my fingernails as they dug into my skin. "I don't want to."
My mother sighed. "Obstinate child! You'll do as you're told -- you have responsibilities to your pack, and to your father. This is very important."
I hung my head and stared at my muddy shoes, shocked. I was surprised that my mother was so disappointed -- usually that task was taken up by my father -- and I hated that I'd disappointed her, too. Still, though, in the pit of my stomach, was that angry itching at being told what to do with no regard for what I felt.
"I'll marry William," I said, "but I don't want to just now. I haven't even left high school yet, and no one gave me any warning."
I thought I was being reasonable, but apparently I was not. My mother shook her head and scowled, gesturing towards the bathroom. "Shower. Now. We haven't got the time to argue."
I stayed exactly where I was, my nails pressing little red semicircles into my skin. Perhaps I was too stubborn, but I wanted an explanation. No one had told me anything, and I was beginning to think that was on purpose.
"Antoinette, there are things you don't understand, and I haven't got time to explain. Just do as you're told." There was something in the resigned tone of her voice that made me bend. She was tired, and I didn't have the heart to add to her burden.
I walked into the bathroom and shut the door loudly, just so she knew I was still unhappy. Hanging on the back of the door was a white dress made of two fabrics, one layer was soft and cottony and the other was a sheer white silk, making the dress shine a little in the light. It was a beautiful dress, one that I'd seen before -- it was my mother's, an heirloom worn by all the girls in my family for the ceremony where then were engaged.
I felt almost sick to see it there, waiting for me. When I was younger, I had longed to wear it myself -- I couldn't wait for my turn to put on the soft white silk and become, finally, an adult in the proper sense of the word. I had wanted so badly to grow up, to continue the tradition, but as soon as the time had come, I faltered. I no longer wanted to grow up.
I showered quickly, washing my hair with my favorite lavender shampoo. The smell was comforting and familiar, but it didn't help the anger that was still brewing inside of me. Instead, as I dried my hair and dressed myself, I thought of reasons why I should be proud of what I was doing.
My pack and Will's had been rivals for centuries, and our feud had a long history of bloodshed. For the past twenty or thirty years, however, there had been an uneasy truce, and, more recently, a proper alliance. My marriage to Will was meant to unite the packs for good, to cement the alliance and make us stronger against our joint enemies. My father had always said that it was the greatest thing I could ever do for the pack. It wasn't just a responsibility, it was an honour.
I stepped out of the bathroom and joined my mother, who had completely filled the suitcase on my bed. She was now holding a long piece of blue ribbon and a comb, and she gestured to me to sit down. I did, staying silent as she combed through my hair, pinning it up in an elaborate, but still traditional, bun.
My hair was put into a ponytail first and then looped through itself to create the bun, with braids running from my forehead to the back of my hair. The ribbon was tied around it, finishing it up, and with that my mother put down the comb. She stepped back, her hands covering her face, and smiled. I watched my mother and saw, clearly, that for a second she was proud.