The first light of dawn barely touched the small room where I slept, its faint glow struggling to penetrate the thick curtains.
The chill of the morning air bit at my skin as I pulled the worn blanket closer, trying to hold onto the fleeting warmth.
But it was no use. The coldness of the Ashford estate seeped into everything—walls, floors, and hearts.
This place, despite its grandeur, had never been a home to me. It was just a house, filled with memories I'd rather forget.
I sat up slowly, my body aching from another night of restless sleep. Every morning was the same, filled with the heavy silence of a house that never felt like home.
The distant echoes of voices and the clinking of dishes from the kitchen signaled the start of another day—a day I would face alone, as always.
The emptiness of my room mirrored the emptiness I felt inside. No personal touches, no warmth, just cold stone walls and the distant sounds of a life I was never truly a part of.
I dressed quickly, the fabric of my simple dress rough against my skin. It was one of the few things I owned, and it showed.
Threadbare in places, patched in others, it mirrored the state of my life—a life held together by fragile seams.
Every stitch told a story, a story of survival in a world that had no place for me. I knew that soon, even this dress would be too worn to mend.
But what choice did I have? My meager existence didn't allow for luxuries like new clothes.
I made my way down the narrow hallway, careful not to make a sound.
The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself. Attention meant questions, and questions meant reminding them of my presence—a presence they barely tolerated.
But as I passed the grand dining room, the sound of laughter reached my ears—Lily's laughter, bright and carefree, a stark contrast to the heaviness that settled in my chest.
I paused, lingering in the shadows just outside the doorway.
Inside, I could see them—my father, Gideon Ashford, seated at the head of the table, his eyes trained on Lily with an expression I hadn't seen in years.
Pride. Approval. Two things I would never receive.
My heart ached as I watched them, a family I had never truly been a part of. It was a scene that repeated itself every morning—a scene that reminded me of my place in this household, or rather, my lack of place.
"Father, do you think I should wear the blue gown or the green one to the ball next week?" Lily's voice was sweet, playful, and it grated on me. She was everything I wasn't—beautiful, confident, loved. The perfect daughter.
Gideon smiled—a rare sight. "The blue, my dear. It suits you."
"Of course, Father." Lily beamed, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Her happiness was palpable, a stark contrast to the hollow feeling in my chest.
I looked down at my own dress, the color long faded, and wondered if I had ever been given such consideration.
The answer was clear. I hadn't. I couldn't even recall the last time my father had spoken to me, let alone asked for my opinion on anything. I was invisible, a ghost in my own home.
"Aurora!" Lily's voice suddenly cut through the air, sharp and demanding.
I stepped into the room, my heart pounding. "Yes, Lily?" My voice was small, almost inaudible against the brightness of her presence.
"Fetch more tea for Father, will you? And do hurry. You know how he dislikes waiting."
I nodded, keeping my eyes lowered. "Yes, of course." I didn't dare meet his gaze.
The cold indifference I would find there was more than I could bear. As I moved toward the kitchen, I could feel my father's gaze on me—cold, indifferent.
It was always the same. No matter what I did, I was invisible to him, a ghost in his house.
And yet, there was a time when he had looked at me differently, when I had been his little girl. But that time was long gone, buried beneath layers of disappointment and unmet expectations.
I tried not to dwell on it, tried not to remember the days when he would lift me up and spin me around, calling me his little star. Those days were over, and there was no use mourning what could never be again.
"Do you think she'll ever find a suitable match?" I heard Lyla's voice drift in as I passed. Her words were casual, but the sting was anything but.
I paused, barely breathing, knowing they were talking about me. They always talked about me when they thought I couldn't hear. As if I wasn't worth the courtesy of discretion.
Gideon sighed. "Who would want her? She's nothing like Lily. No wolf, no prospects."
"Perhaps we should send her away," Lyla suggested. "It might be for the best." Her voice was light, as if she were discussing the weather and not my future.
The words stung, though I had heard them many times before. Sending me away had been a topic of conversation for years, ever since it became clear that I wasn't like them.
No wolf's blood coursed through my veins, no strength, no power. I was a disappointment, and everyone knew it. But hearing it said so plainly, so casually, still hurt.
They didn't see me as family. They saw me as a burden, something to be discarded when it became too inconvenient.
I hurried to the kitchen, trying to push their words aside. But they lingered, settling deep into my bones, a constant reminder of what I would never be.
The servants didn't spare me a glance as I moved past them, too busy with their tasks to notice the girl who barely existed.
In the kitchen, the servants moved around with practiced efficiency, their hands busy with the morning's tasks.
I found the teapot and filled it, the warmth of the liquid offering little comfort. Even here, in the heart of the house, I felt like an outsider. The servants had their own world, their own lives, and I was just a shadow passing through.
As I returned to the dining room, Lily's laughter filled the air once more, light and airy, as if she had no cares in the world.
And why would she? She was everything they wanted—beautiful, strong, a true Ashford. I was just… me. A pale reflection of what could have been.
I placed the teapot in front of my father, keeping my head down.
"Your tea, Father." My voice was barely a whisper, lost in the noise of their conversation.
He didn't respond, his attention already back on Lily. It was as if I wasn't even there.
"Thank you, Aurora," Lyla said, her voice dripping with forced politeness. "You may go now."
I nodded, backing away quietly. I was used to this—their dismissal, their indifference. It was the story of my life. And yet, every time it happened, it hurt just the same. No amount of indifference could numb the sting of rejection.
I retreated to the small garden at the back of the estate, the one place where I could find a semblance of peace.
The air was still cool, but the sun had begun to rise, casting a soft golden light over the flowers and shrubs.
I sat on the worn stone bench, closing my eyes and letting the silence wash over me. Here, at least, I could breathe.
Here, I could pretend that I was somewhere else—somewhere far from Eldoria, far from the suffocating expectations of a family that didn't want me.
But the peace never lasted. The weight of my life always pressed down, reminding me of who I was and what I wasn't.
A daughter who had failed to live up to her father's name, a sister who was nothing more than a shadow in Lily's light. The garden, once a place of solace, now felt like a cage—a reminder of the life I was trapped in.
And yet, despite it all, I held onto a small, fragile hope. A hope that one day, I would find a place where I belonged.
A place where I wasn't just the forgotten daughter of Gideon Ashford, but someone who mattered.
Perhaps one day, I would escape this life. Perhaps one day, I would find a way to break free from the chains that bound me to this house. But for now, all I could do was dream.