*Melody's POV*
As the dawn's gentle light spilt across the castle's luxurious chambers, the distant echoes of my past murmured through the silence. Sitting by the expansive window, my fingers traced the cool glass, drawing patterns that mirrored the tangled paths of my earlier years.
My life had not always been framed by the comfort of opulent drapes and soft linens. Born into a household where my presence was a constant reminder of my mother's death in childbirth, I endured the brunt of my father's bitterness. He never forgave me for the life traded for mine, and in his eyes, I found no warmth, only a lingering resentment that chilled my heart.
The arrival of my stepmother brought no reprieve. She, along with her son from a previous marriage and the daughter she later bore my father, formed a new family unit from which I was conspicuously excluded. I became the shadow in their sunlit lives, an unwanted specter lurking at the edges of their happiness. Their home was a fortress from which love and kindness were barred from reaching me.
"Euphie, do you remember how they made us feel so small, so invisible?" I whispered to my inner wolf, seeking solace in her ever-comforting presence within the recesses of my mind.
"Yes, Melody, but let's not dwell on those shadows," Euphie's voice echoed softly, tinged with a protective sorrow.
But the memories were relentless. I remembered the harsh commands and the cruel laughter of my stepsiblings, their voices sharp as thorns. They ridiculed the late emergence of my wolf spirit, an omega, neither strong nor significant, a disappointment that only fueled their mockery.
One particularly harrowing memory surfaced, as vivid as the day it unfolded. It was during a family gathering, a time when the house buzzed with the laughter and chatter of relatives who seldom spared me a kind glance. I had been tasked with serving drinks, a chore I approached with trembling hands, acutely aware of the judgmental eyes that followed my every move.
The tray was heavy, laden with crystal glasses filled to the brim with sparkling wine. My fingers were slippery with nervous sweat, and my heart raced as I navigated through the sea of people. Then, disaster struck. My foot caught on the edge of a carelessly placed rug, and I stumbled, the tray tipping dangerously.
Time seemed to slow as the glasses slid from the tray, their descent to the floor a symphony of impending doom. They crashed onto the polished hardwood in a cacophony of shattering glass, each piece reflecting the shocked and disapproving faces of the guests.
Before the last echo of breaking glass had faded, my stepmother was upon me. Her face was a mask of fury, her eyes burning coals of wrath. Without a word, her hand struck my cheek with a force that turned my head and left the room momentarily silent. The sharp sting was immediate, but it was the heat of humiliation that burned deeper, leaving a scar far worse than any physical mark.
As I kneeled to clean up the mess, my ears rang not just with the tinkle of broken glass but with the harsh whispers and tsk-tsks of the family. Each word was a lash, each glance a reminder of my lowly place in this household. My stepmother's voice cut through the murmurs, her words like ice.
"Clumsy girl! Can't you do anything right? Look at what you've done!" Her tirade continued, each word a nail in the coffin of my already fragile self-esteem.
I gathered the shards of glass, the sharp edges biting into my skin, a tangible pain to match the ache in my heart. Blood mingled with tears, but I dared not let them see me cry. I knew better than to show weakness before the vultures ready to feast on my misery.
That night, as I lay in my small, cold bed, Euphie's soft whimpers echoed my own feelings of worthlessness. "Why does it always have to be like this?" I whispered into the darkness, my voice a mere thread of sound.
Her reply, a tender nuzzle in the recesses of my mind, offered little solace against the harsh reality of my life. The memory of that day lingered, a constant shadow trailing my every hesitant step.
"The beatings, Euphie... when I failed to meet their impossible demands," I murmured, the words heavy with the weight of remembered pain.
"And the school," Euphie prompted gently, her tone a nudge to confront even darker corners of my past.
I had been allowed the briefest taste of education, a glimpse into a world where knowledge flowed freely and hope sprang from the pages of worn textbooks. The school had been a sanctuary, a place where, for a few precious hours, I could pretend to be just another child eager to learn, not a burden or a disgrace.
However, my respite was short-lived. My presence in the classroom became a subject of contention once it became apparent that I was nothing more than an omega, weak and unimportant. Whispers grew into vocal disapproval, the teacher's eyes often filled with regretful pity as they glanced my way.
One stark morning, the principal called me aside, his face stern yet not unkind. "Melody," he began, the weight of his words already sinking my heart, "your father has made it clear that your education is no longer a priority. He believes—and I find no pleasure in agreeing—that a girl of your station needs no such enlightenment."
His words were a formal seal on what my fate had always promised. I stood there, numb, as he spoke of practical skills and duties more suited to my supposed capabilities. The finality of his words echoed through the empty hallway, chasing away the faint echoes of children's laughter.
As I left the school building for the last time, the door closing with a soft yet definitive click, a part of me mourned not just the loss of my education but the loss of that brief, beautiful belief that I could be more than what my birth dictated. The walk home was a blur, each step a reminder of the narrowing path ahead, confined by the rigid expectations of a society that saw me as little more than a servant.
Euphie's presence in my mind was a small comfort, a faint whisper of support in a world that seemed determined to silence me.
"I wish I could've learnt more..." I whispered.
The walls of my home had always felt confining, a place where shadows clung to corners and whispered taunts, but the cruelty didn't end there. As I grew, it seemed as though the target on my back broadened, each year adding layers to my perceived vulnerability. I was an easy mark, or so they thought, the boys from the village whose rough manners and cruel laughter often echoed down the narrow streets.
One harrowing evening stands stark in my memory, etched with the clarity of a moonless night. I was returning from the market, my steps hurried, my heart pounding with a mix of exertion and fear. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the village was swathed in the kind of darkness that felt thick, almost palpable. That's when I heard them—the shuffling feet, the low chuckles. Fear gripped me, cold and sharp as a knife.
"Hey, little Melody," one of them called out, his voice dripping with a venomous kind of mirth. "Lost your way?"
Their forms materialized from the shadows, three boys who were too young to be men but too cruel to be considered boys. I backed against the rough brick wall of the alley, my eyes darting for an escape that didn't exist.
"Please, I need to get home," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper, my breath forming clouds in the chilly air.
They advanced, a predator's grin spread across their faces. The leader, a tall boy with hair like straw and eyes like slate, reached out to grab my arm. His grip was tight, painful. But as he pulled me closer, his gaze fell on the bruises that flowered across my arms and neck—ugly, purple blooms that told stories of a recent beating.
"What's this then? Someone got to you before us?" His voice was a sneer, the disappointment palpable. The other boys leaned in, their laughter faltering as they took in the extent of my injuries. The one who had grabbed me pushed me away abruptly, his expression contorting from desire to disgust.
"Look at her, she's already been beaten," he spat on the ground near my feet, his eyes raking over me with disdain. "She's not even worth it. Let's go."
Their laughter, once filled with anticipation, now bore undertones of mockery as they turned and disappeared back into the night. I slid down the wall, my knees buckling under the weight of relief and humiliation.
The cold seeped through my thin clothes as I curled into myself, right there in the alley. The bruises throbbed with a dull ache, a painful reminder of the beating I'd received for accidentally breaking a dish earlier that day. It was a common occurrence, a mistake met with violence, and now, it had inadvertently saved me from a worse fate.
"Come, Melody. Let's go home," Euphie murmured within me, her presence a gentle force nudging me to rise.
I pushed myself up, steadying my trembling legs. The encounter had left a new scar, not on my skin, but somewhere deeper, a place even Euphie's warmth couldn't reach. As I made my way home under the uncaring gaze of the stars, I couldn't shake the feeling that each step was leading me further into a life from which there was no escape.
"They didn't even see me as human, Euphie," I confessed, the hurt still fresh as if the wounds were etched anew.
Euphie's presence swelled within me, her spirit enveloping mine in an embrace as tangible as the morning light.
"But you survived, Melody. You're more than they could ever see."
Shaking off the shadows of those dark days, I allowed my mind to drift back to the present, to the security and promise of a new life that Marco had offered. It was a memory that shone like a beacon in the fog of my past miseries. He had found me one fateful day, battered and bruised, cowering in the dense underbrush of the forest after one of my many desperate attempts to escape the relentless cruelty of my home.
He appeared before me as if he had stepped out of the fairy tales that I had pieced together from old books and the whispers of village children, since my mother had died giving birth to me and could tell me no stories herself. These tales, filled with brave princes and magical rescues, had been my solace, my escape from reality. And there he was, his figure emerging through the mist, a real-life prince poised to lift me from my despair.
"He saw me when I felt invisible," I said aloud to the empty room, my voice soft but laced with wonder. A small smile began to bloom on my lips, a rare flower in the barren winter of my existence.
His approach had been gentle, his voice soothing, as if he understood the fear and the flight that had led me to that secluded spot. His eyes, filled with concern and an earnest tenderness, met mine, and in that gaze, I felt a warmth spread through my chilled bones. It was as if his presence promised a reprieve from the relentless storm of my life.
"Hey, it's okay. You're safe now," he had said, extending a hand with cautious kindness. The simple act of kindness was a stark contrast to the harshness I had known. His touch was careful, respectful, as if he knew that I was like a wild creature, easily startled and ready to flee.
I hesitated, my instincts screaming for me to run, to hide, to escape as I had always done. But something in his eyes, a glimmer of genuine concern, halted my panic. Slowly, tentatively, I placed my trembling hand in his. It was the first consensual touch I had received in years, and it didn't bring pain or demand submission—it offered support and, perhaps, a new beginning.
As we walked back through the forest, the canopy of trees seemed to part before him, the shadows recoiling from his confident stride. His presence was a shield, and for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe, just a little, in the possibility of a happier ending.
Now, as I sat by the window in the safety of the castle, the memory of that day when he found me remained a cherished beacon—a moment when, against all odds, I felt seen, valued, and perhaps even loved.
"But remember, Melody," Euphie cautioned, "we have yet to see if he truly can be the mate we hope for."
"Marco says once he's free from Nemesia, everything will change. He'll be able to recognize our bond, and we'll truly be together," I reassured her, clinging to his promise like a raft in turbulent waters.
Euphie's silence was thoughtful, her doubt palpable but unspoken. As I gazed out at the castle grounds, watching the early risers start their day, I held on to the hope that soon, I too would find my place in the sun, no longer a ghost, but a queen with love and family of my own.