Veronica covered her mouth in attempt to hide her shallow exhales and avoid getting in trouble for waking her comrades up.
It was also her desire to rest peacefully because she had wounds and aches from long hours of practice spars to prepare for the planned attack on an enemy guardpost.
She wasn't going to let her nightmares deprive her of her beauty sleep, but going back to bed was quite difficult because whenever she had those dreams, to stop thinking about the woman she loved the most was hard.
"13 years…" The same dream kept happening on the day the event happened. 7th April 1657. And now it was 7th April but 1670.
"Mom where are you?," Veronica said in a voice not louder than a whisper. She turned over on her bed before she held onto the broken bracelet she turned it into a necklace she could hang around her neck.
She barely remembered anything after the scene of her mother's kidnap and she didn't know why her memories of the scene was fuzzy either. So, she just assumed it was because she took a heavy blow to her head by one of the attackers that caused her to pass out. Or maybe as time passed on, it was only normal for her mind to reset those agonizing memories so she'd heal and learn from it.
The young girl pulled out a book from under her pillow, then wrote in the dimly lit room with her owl vision. "It's Veronica Wallis again. I'm a seventeen-year-old survivor of a widespread massacre. My village was attacked when I was only four years of age. The ones I've always mistaken to be magic users with red eyes are not humans. They are disgusting werewolves who stow away in their humanoid form to deceive us humans and attack us when they see fit.
To those monsters, we are slaves, livestock, sex objects, toys at their disposal and many terrible things I cannot mention. For everyday I spent away from my mother, I wished nothing but death upon myself, but it never came. To be honest, a part of me still wants to live because my mother could be out there somewhere waiting for me. It is possible she could still be alive. I don't want to believe otherwise.
Where am I after the attack? Well, The gods out there probably saw my distress and sent saviors my way. They are Werewolf and witch slayers, a rebellion made up of our powerful leaders and members that have put in their best in training and mastering new skills that would help humankind and save us all from the dreadful clutches of the people of the devil.
Although I appreciate their agenda and will always acknowledge the lives of the fallen fighters, I can't hide the fact that I've not really enjoyed my stay here.
I was robbed of my childhood. I've lived in fear in the wild without any love and friends. The older boys here made fun of me while growing up and made things so unbearable because I wasn't strong enough to their standard.
They see me as a burden and time without number they've spoken to the chief and have attempted incalculably to convince him to marry me off because they claimed fighting wasn't for me.
Despite all they've said, I've hunted down 20 werewolves, but for some reason I could not bring myself to kill them and that's what they found revolting about me… my inability to kill for a reason even I do not know. It's strange because I always thought my hatred for those monsters would be enough to slit their throats, but after years of espionage and raids, I still can't bring myself to have the blood of anyone on my hands. And to the people of this camp that is what true weakness is.
At times like this, I always try to not think about this topic because it's a mental strain. I've done too much to still be dealing with these problems, but until I can kill a werewolf, these people will never leave me alone.
Even the chief sometimes makes it obvious that he doesn't care about me and wants me around. He doesn't care about most of the things I'm opened to here. He's not bothered about the behavior of the rebels towards me because he wants me to be emotionally strong, but whenever they make fun of me despite my efforts, it brings me to tears no matter how hard I tried not to cry. It's as if no matter what I do, they'd continue snickering and giggling, addressing me with terrible names and mocking me with downgrading slurs.
It's disgusting how I had to pretend I was a boy as soon as I came because the chief said he wouldn't take actions against his men if something was done to me. He had more grown women than men in his camp, and he wasn't ready to lose any of his workforce, but as I grew older, i could no longer hide that I was pretending to be who I was not."
Veronica put down her pen and sighed. She ranted about the same topic almost every time because that's all she could do. She joined the rebellion because they went on adventures a lot and she thought it would be best to seize the opportunity to join them so she'd be able to search for her mother, but for the past thirteen years, all her efforts were in vain.
She turned over to continue her sleep because she had a long day ahead of her. They were going to attack, and she had to try her best to kill if necessary to or else she'd be the one that would be killed instead.