I have been struggling since I was twelve years old. I've endured so many abuses since I was twelve. I've been at the mercy of my father and the pack since I was twelve. The cause of all this torment? I was wrongly blamed for the death of my mother.
For some time, I actually believed I was the cause of her death, but as I grew older, I understood the truth. It was not my fault, but it wasn't enough to erase the pain i felt whenever I was reminded that I was the reason behind my mother's demise.
Not up to a year after my mother died, my father remarried. Cynthia, my stepmother, perfectly fit the stereotype of a wicked stepmother. She was mean, driven by a desire for wealth and power, with long blonde hair, light blue eyes, and an apparent single goal in life.
My knowledge of her life before entering ours was limited, but I knew her mate had tragically died during a
rogue attack, leaving behind her twin daughters, Nevaeh and Hazel. Nevaeh was an exact replica of her mother, both in appearance and personality, while Hazel stood out.
Hazel didn't resemble her mother and sister; she had long wavy brown hair, hazel brown eyes (hence her name, Hazel), and softer features. Nevaeh, like her mother, had pin-straight blond hair, light blue eyes, high cheekbones, and sharp features.
I became the family's personal servant, responsible for cooking, cleaning, and whatever tasks were assigned to me. My daily routine began at 6 am when I prepared breakfast and tackled the day's chores while being beaten in return.
No matter how hard I worked or how well-behaved I was, I was never right. Instead, I was subjected to physical, mental and verbal abuse. Most nights, the beatings consisted of a few punches and kicks, but on worse occasions, my father's temper would make him suffocate me until I lost consciousness. I feared those nights.
As if that weren't enough, food was a rare privilege for me, and when I did manage to sneak some, it was either scraps or leftovers. My malnourished body struggled to heal properly due to the constant hunger.
The one ray of light in my life was my wolf. While other pack members received their wolves at the age of thirteen, I bonded with mine at the tender age of twelve, shortly after my mother's death. I kept this a secret, fearing that revealing it would only worsen my situation.
My wolf, Mia, became my closest companion. She was there to lift my spirits when I felt down, to encourage me to persevere when I considered giving up, and to convince me that life held better days in store.
"Ela, dinner," I heard her gentle mental reminder, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I swiftly got off my small bed and headed upstairs to prepare dinner. My basement room had cold, concrete walls and floors, devoid of windows or heating. My bed consisted of an old mattress on the floor with a thin blanket and no pillows. A small chest contained my clothing and a few cherished mementos from my mother.
I had secretly taken these keepsakes from my mother's belongings before my father locked them away. My parents were in love, and their love was evident in the way they showed affection to each other. My mother was an amazing woman, and I was often told i had a striking resemblance with her when she was younger.
Unfortunately, that resemblance was one of the reasons why my father abused me because i was a constant reminder of his precious mate that he lost.
Before my mother died, my father was a good man, he loved me so much. But the day my mother died, the love he had for me turned to hate, that's when my happy life changed to the saddest one ever. My mother's death was a double loss for me because i lost both her and my father's love as well.
A small sigh escaped my lips as I stopped reminiscing. I wished my mother was still alive, and we were still a happy family. I wiped away a stray tear and set the table, plating the dinner. I stepped back and waited as
footsteps approached.
"You are dismissed, Ela. Carry on with your chores," my father grunted as they all took their seats at the table. I bowed my head even lower and hurried out to the garden.
I spent the next hour tending to the garden, pulling weeds, planting, and collecting ripe vegetables. When I finished, I carried the basket in and i started washing the vegetables and also wiping the sweat from my
forehead.
My heart skipped a when i had footsteps approaching me. I quickly turned toward the sink, pretending to be busy washing vegetables.
"Elanor?" a familiar voice called out, causing me to tense and then relax as I recognized it. I turned to see Hazel, the only person who treated me with kindness.
"Do you mind braiding my hair for me? I can't and I love how you braid it," she asked with a sweet smile. I nodded and followed her upstairs to her room. She sat at her vanity while I focused on her hair.
"Dinner was amazing, as always. Thank you," Hazel said with a smile when I finished. I nodded in gratitude and left.
After putting the vegetables away, I came back to my room, closed the door, and knelt in front of the small chest at the corner of my room. Carefully, I opened it and looked at what was inside: my mother's signature necklace, a pair of her earrings, her engagement ring, and two photographs of her.
The first photo portrayed my mother, father, and I when I was just eight years old. It was taken on my mother's birthday during a pack barbecue party. I sat on my father's shoulders, a big smile on my face, while my father held my mother close. Their love for each other was seen in the photograph.
The second picture captured my mother and me on my eighth birthday. I was blowing out the candles on my cake while my mother held it. She was laughing, having picked one of the trick candles that wouldn't go out, and I was getting increasingly frustrated.
I let out a small laugh that turned into a sob. As I looked at the photo, tears filled my eyes. I placed everything gently back in the box, closed the chest and hid it in the corner.
I walked over to my small bed, curled myself to a ball, and cried myself to sleep, longing for a time when my family was truly happy.