Azaria's Point of View
I awoke in a world that feels like a dream. But not just any dream—an ancient place that pulses with power and serenity in equal measure. My body feels weightless yet grounded at the same time. As I push myself up from the soft, glowing grass beneath me, I notice that it hums with an ethereal light, every blade gently illuminated by my touch. It's as if this place itself is alive, aware of my presence.
I rise slowly to my feet, taking in the sight around me. The trees here are enormous, their silvery bark shimmering like molten metal under the sky. The leaves rustle with a sound that's too soft to be from any breeze I can feel. There's something peaceful yet otherworldly about this forest. The sky above me is painted in hues of deep purple and indigo, stars scattered across it like jewels set in the fabric of time. They twinkle brighter than any stars I've ever seen, casting a soft, gentle light down on me. It feels as if they are watching over me, guiding me through whatever strange journey I have embarked on.
Each step I take feels deliberate, like I'm walking through a place that holds the secrets of life and death itself. Ahead of me, a stream of crystal-clear water flows lazily by, its surface catching the starlight in dazzling reflections. The sound it makes is soothing—a melodic lullaby that calls to the deepest parts of my soul. I want to stay here forever, to lose myself in this place and never return to the pain and uncertainty that awaits me in the waking world.
But then, I feel it.
An immense power, ancient and raw, presses against my back. I stop in my tracks, my heart skipping a beat as a shiver runs down my spine. I turn slowly, my breath catching in my throat as I face the source of this overwhelming presence.
It's her—Nyrie, my wolf.
She stands tall and proud before me, her fur shimmering with an iridescent glow that matches the surreal beauty of this place. Her eyes, deep and knowing, lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my chest tighten. It's been so long since I've seen her like this. So long since I've felt her presence so strongly.
"What is this place?" I ask, my voice small yet filled with awe as I take a few hesitant steps toward her. I want nothing more than to bury my hands in her soft fur, to feel her strength and warmth surround me.
Nyrie watches me for a moment, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and love. This is our spirit world, she says, her voice echoing in my mind like a distant melody. Where I reside. I brought you here to help your healing and to protect us.
A flood of memories washes over me, unbidden and unrelenting. I remember this place—it's where I first met her. Where I first dreamed of her when I was just a child, too young to understand what she truly was. I remember the day she told me her name, her voice calm and reassuring in the midst of my confusion. And I remember the day she brought me here again, years later, after the events I try so hard to forget. The day she picked up the broken pieces of me and promised that we would survive together.
"Oh... I remember now," I say softly, my voice trembling with the weight of the memories. "It's been so long since I've seen this place. Since I saw you like this."
Nyrie's gaze softens as she steps closer to me, her massive form radiating warmth. Yes, she murmurs. It has been many years. But I've always been here, even when you could not see me.
I feel a lump form in my throat, emotions swirling within me like a storm barely held at bay. "Why do we need protection now?" I ask, my voice tinged with bitterness. "And where was this protection when I needed it most? When Margaret... and then Ethan..."
The mention of my stepmother's name tears at the fragile peace I had found in this dream. Margaret. Just the thought of her sends a ripple of cold dread through me, a shudder that I cannot suppress. My heart beats faster, as the vivid images of her cruelty begin to creep into my mind like a poison, filling me with an overwhelming sense of helplessness.
Margaret had always looked at me with disdain, from the moment I could remember. Her dark eyes, cold and devoid of any warmth, would settle on me with a kind of hatred that was hard to understand. She had no real reason for her malice—at least not one that I could ever comprehend. Maybe it was because I reminded her of my mother, or my father and the roles she had been forced into the few times he chose me over her ambitions. Or perhaps it was simply that she could. I was defenseless, just a child, and she reveled in her power over me.
I can still feel the sting of her punishments, the agony that burned through my skin as she wielded her wolfsbane-laced whips with practiced precision. The silver in the whip would sear my flesh, leaving behind jagged, inflamed welts that throbbed with a pain so deep it felt as if my bones themselves had been scorched. The wolfsbane only made it worse, its poison soaking into my bloodstream, weakening my body with each blow. And she never stopped—not until I was gasping for breath, my vision blurring from the agony.
"You're nothing," she would hiss through clenched teeth, her voice dripping with contempt as she circled me like a predator stalking its prey. "No one will ever love you, Aria. Not even your father loves you, you do you think your left in my care."
Her words, as sharp as her whip, cut into me with a brutality I couldn't escape. At times, I almost wished for the physical pain to take over completely, to block out the soul-deep wounds she inflicted with her poisonous words.
I remember the first night Nyrie brought me here vividly, when I was only ten. Margaret had grown particularly cruel that evening, her anger flaring over something as insignificant as a broken dish. Her punishment was especially vicious, and instead of the whip, she chose something far worse—a barbed-wire bat, coated with wolfsbane and poisonous herbs. She had wrapped the wire tightly around the bat, each barbed spike gleaming under the dim light of the kitchen.
When she swung it at me, the pain was unlike anything I had ever felt before. The barbs tore into my skin, ripping through flesh and muscle as the poison worked its way into my system. I remember the sound of my own screams echoing in the empty house, the way my blood splattered against the floor with each brutal strike. But Margaret didn't care. She watched me with cold, calculating eyes, her lips curling into a smile as she reveled in my suffering.
"You deserve this Aria," she had whispered, her voice low and filled with venom as she leaned close to my ear. "You deserve all of it."
Even now, the memory makes me want to curl into myself, to hide from the world and never come out. I can still feel the phantom pain of those nights, the way my body would tremble and shake long after she was done. There were times I thought I wouldn't survive it, that the next strike would be the one to end me. But I always survived. Somehow, I always found a way to keep going.
The second time I came here, was because of Ethan.
If Margaret was a slow, festering poison, Ethan was a storm—violent, unpredictable, and destructive in every way. I had hoped, naively, that being forced to marry him would be an escape, a way out of Margaret's cruelty. But I had only traded one kind of hell for another.
I remember the day of our wedding. I was fifteen, barely old enough to understand the weight of what I was agreeing to. The contract had been clear— since only Ethan can ask for a divorce, I was to choose when to mate and I wasn't to be marked until I turned eighteen. It was meant to be my decision, a way for me to have some control over my own fate.
But he didn't care.
I can still feel the panic that gripped me on the night he decided to take that choice away from me. We had only been married for a few weeks when it happened. I had been trying to avoid him, knowing that something had shifted in him, something dark and dangerous. But there was no avoiding Ethan when he wanted something.
That night, he had come to me, his eyes wild with possessiveness. I had backed away from him, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to reason with him, to remind him of the contract. But he didn't listen. He never listened.
"Ethan, please," I had begged, my voice shaking as I pressed myself against the wall, my hands trembling at my sides. "The contract—"
"The contract means nothing," he had snarled, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're mine, Azaria. You always have been. And I'll take what's mine."
Before I could react, he had grabbed me, his grip bruising as he threw me onto the bed. I remember the weight of him pressing down on me, the suffocating heat of his body as he pinned me beneath him. My heart had raced with fear, my mind screaming at me to fight back, to do something—anything—but I couldn't. I was too weak. Too broken.
I remember the moment he marked me, his teeth sinking into my skin with brutal force. The pain was excruciating, burning through me like wildfire as the bond was forced upon me. I had cried out, but Ethan didn't stop. He didn't care about the pain he was causing, the way my body convulsed beneath him from the sheer agony of his bite. The marking was supposed to be a sacred moment, a union between mates, a bond forged in love and trust. But there was nothing sacred about what Ethan did to me. It was violent. Cruel. A violation of everything I had been promised.
When it was over, he had rolled off of me as if nothing had happened, leaving me trembling and broken on the bed. My skin still burned where he had marked me, the bond throbbing with a sickening pulse that I couldn't ignore. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional wreckage he left behind.
"This is your fault," he had said, his voice cold and indifferent as he buttoned his shirt, not even sparing me a glance. "If you hadn't resisted, it wouldn't have had to be this way."
I remember lying there, staring at the ceiling in disbelief, my mind struggling to process what had just happened. My body ached, my heart shattered, but his words echoed in my mind, planting seeds of doubt. Was it really my fault? Had I brought this on myself by trying to hold on to the little bit of control I had left? That's when I was finally pulled here.
For so long, I had convinced myself that I loved him, that the feelings I had for him were real. But deep down, I knew it wasn't love. It was fear. It was desperation. It was the kind of attachment that grows in the darkest corners of the mind, where hope dies and survival is the only thing that matters. It was Stockholm syndrome, plain and simple—a twisted bond born out of my need to believe that there was something good in him, something that would justify the pain I had endured.
But there was nothing good in Ethan. Nothing at all.
I let out a shaky breath as the memories crash over me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me in their darkness. My hands tremble, the phantom pain of Ethan's mark still burning beneath my skin, as if his touch had scarred me in ways that would never fully heal.
"I'm tired of surviving," I whisper, my voice barely audible as I hug my knees to my chest, the weight of it all pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. "I'm tired of pretending that I'm okay when I'm not. Everyone sees me as a 'good Luna,' but that's just a mask. I've hidden so much of myself... I don't even know who I am anymore."
Nyrie steps closer, her fur brushing against my arm as she leans into me, her warmth a balm against the cold emptiness inside me. You are so much more than what they see, she says, her voice strong and unwavering. You've been scared for too long, Azaria. But now is the time to be brave. You will need to find your strength if you want to survive what's coming.
My heart skips a beat at her words. "What do you mean?" I ask, a sense of dread creeping into my chest. "What's coming?"
Nyrie lowers her head slightly, her eyes filled with sorrow. How much do you remember of what just happened? she asks gently.
I shake my head. "Nothing," I admit. "For a moment, I thought I was dead. I... I don't understand any of it."
A heavy sigh echoes in my mind, a sound filled with ancient sadness. He did this to us, Nyrie says quietly.
"Who?" I ask, my voice rising in panic. "Was it a mage? Did someone attack us?"
Nyrie's eyes darken with pain. I wish it were that simple, she says softly. But it was a betrayal... from our so-called mate.
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. My legs give out beneath me, and I sink to the ground, my back pressed against the trunk of one of the ancient trees. The bark feels cool and rough against my skin, but it does nothing to ground me. My mind races, the world spinning as I try to process what Nyrie has just told me.
"No... No, that can't be true," I whisper, shaking my head in disbelief. "He wouldn't... He couldn't..."
But deep down, I know the truth. I've always known. I just didn't want to admit it to myself.
"H... he... betrayed me," I say, the words barely a whisper as I hug my legs tighter to my chest, burying my face in my knees. The sobs that I had been holding back for so long finally escape, wracking my body as the reality of what has happened sinks in. Ethan's betrayal. The way he cheated on me, despite everything I had endured for him.
Nyrie is silent for a moment, her presence a comforting weight beside me. I'm so sorry, Azaria, she murmurs, her voice soft with empathy. I know you were holding out hope, but it's time to face the truth. We must leave. The contract will be up soon.
"I can't do it," I whisper, my voice broken and filled with despair. "I can't go back. Not to him. Not to any of it."
You're stronger than you think, Nyrie says, her voice filled with a quiet determination that makes me want to believe her. You've survived so much already, Azaria. You've faced pain, loss, betrayal... But you are still here. You are still standing. And that means you are stronger than anything they can throw at you.
Her words wash over me, soothing the raw edges of my pain, but the weight of everything still presses down on me like a heavy burden. I want to believe her—I want to believe that I'm strong enough to face what's coming—but the doubt still lingers, gnawing at the corners of my mind.
The dream, the memories, and the pain swirl together in a chaotic mess inside me, and for a brief moment, I feel like I'm drowning in it all. But then, Nyrie's voice cuts through the noise, her presence grounding me in a way that no one else ever has.
Time to wake up, love, she says softly. Think about what I've said. And if you need me... I'm always here. The thoughts most hidden in your mind. Just reach out.
I reach out to touch her one last time, my fingers threading through her soft fur as the world around me begins to fade. The brilliant stars, the glowing grass, the shimmering trees—it all disappears in an instant, replaced by a blinding white light that pulls me back to consciousness.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, the dream is over.
I wake with a sharp gasp, my body jerking upright as I'm pulled back into the harsh reality of the waking world. The coldness of the real world is a stark contrast to the warmth of the dream, and I shiver as the memories of everything—Margaret, Ethan, and the pain—flood back into me.
The room around me is dimly lit, the soft glow of a nearby lamp casting long shadows across the walls. My skin still tingles where Ethan had marked me all those years ago, a phantom reminder of the bond that had been forced upon me. I bring a hand to my neck, tracing the faint scar that remains, my chest tightening as I recall the night he took everything from me and every night since.
But this time, there's something different. A flicker of something new stirs within me—a quiet, simmering strength that wasn't there before. Nyrie's words echo in my mind, a gentle reminder that no matter what happens, I'm not alone. I'm never alone.
I draw in a deep breath, steadying myself as I glance around the room. It's time to face the truth, no matter how painful it might be.