(Azaria's Point of View)
Once again, I awake in the spiritual realm within my soul, a place that feels both familiar and unsettling. The surroundings are hazy, like a dream that hovers just out of reach, yet the sensation of being here is all too real. I take in a deep breath, the cool, ethereal air filling my lungs as a sigh escapes my lips. It feels as though I've been here so many times before, always coming back when I'm at my most vulnerable. I know why I'm here this time, and it weighs heavily on my heart.
"I guess the pain was more than I could handle," I mutter to myself, feeling the ache of recent events pulse through me. The severance of my bonds with Ethan and Stephanie has left me in shambles, my emotions scattered like shards of broken glass. I'm so sorry I failed, I think, though I'm not sure who I'm apologizing to—myself, perhaps, or maybe to Nyrie, who has always been there for me, my guide and my guardian in this mystical place.
"I had to pour my powers…elsewhere to keep us all safe," Nyrie's voice cuts through my thoughts, a soothing balm to my raw emotions.
I turn to see her, my faithful wolf companion, standing a few paces away. Her head is lowered slightly, a posture of quiet strength and gentle understanding. Her fur glistens in the soft light of the spiritual realm, the glow accentuating her powerful form. I get up slowly, my legs feeling like they're made of lead, and walk over to her, reaching out to pet her head. The soft fur under my hand is a comfort, a reminder that I am not alone, even in this surreal place.
"It's fine," I say, trying to reassure her as much as myself. "I kind of expected it to be painful as hell, just didn't know how bad." I pause, my brow furrowing as her words sink in. "Wait…what do you mean by 'all of us'?"
Nyrie's eyes meet mine, her gaze steady and filled with an ancient wisdom that I have always admired. "In due time," she replies, her voice calm and measured. "You will know soon enough. But for now, you need to focus on healing and adjusting to the basics of our new…strengths-- to help stabilize internally before you can awake."
"Ugh, do what?" I blurt out, frustration creeping into my voice. "I'm already adjusted. And what do you mean stabilize myself, am I not stable enough?"
I can hear the soft chuckle that escapes her as she lies down beside me, her massive form stretching out on the ground. "Sit," she instructs, her tone gentle but firm. "There is a lot to discuss."
Reluctantly, I sit down next to her, my legs folding beneath me as I prepare myself for whatever she's about to say. I can feel the tension in my shoulders, the tightness in my chest. I try to relax, to let go of the stress that has been building inside of me for so long.
"Firstly, our heart and mind are NOT stable," Nyrie begins, her voice resonating with a deep authority. "As long as you push your true feelings and thoughts down, we will be unstable. Power that had been bonded within us, now unleashed and surging uncontrollably because it too is ignored since we are not stable. In this state, we will either go feral or completely human depending on where we end up falling when outside the balance. I cannot accept my true form until you are ready to accept yours."
Her words hit me like a blow to the chest, each one sinking in deep and sending ripples of confusion through my mind. I stare at her, my eyes wide with shock. "What are you saying?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
"You have to face your emotions, Azaria," she explains, her gaze never wavering from mine. "You have to acknowledge the pain, the anger, the love. All of it. Only then can you begin to heal, to stabilize yourself."
I nod slowly, my mind racing with thoughts and feelings. I know she's right. I've been avoiding my emotions for so long, pushing them down, burying them deep inside. It's easier that way, less painful. But I can't keep doing that. I have to face them, to confront them head-on.
After a few deep breaths, I look at Nyrie and nod again, this time more firmly. "Okay," I say, my voice stronger. "Let's do this."
She guides me through the steps of adjusting, helping me to dig deep into my soul and pull out the emotions that I've been hiding. It's not easy. It's like peeling back layers of skin, each one more painful than the last. But I know it's necessary. I have to confront the truth, to accept it.
I start with Stephanie. It's hard to even say her name without feeling the weight of it in my chest. I have to admit it now—I loved her more than I ever let myself believe. I thought I could keep that part of me hidden, as if not saying it out loud would make it less real, less painful. But the truth is, letting her go was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. And even now, I'm still bleeding from it.
Her rejection cut through me in ways I didn't think possible. It wasn't just the bond we shared—it was deeper than that, like she had carved out a piece of me when she turned away. I feel betrayed, not only by her but by myself. I let myself fall, let myself hope, let myself believe that maybe there was something more. That maybe, for once, I was enough.
But the grief of losing her... it's more than just the end of a fated bond. It's the death of every dream I didn't even know I had. The love I thought was real, the safety I craved—it was all just an illusion. And now, I'm left holding the pieces, wondering how I let it get this far, how I let myself trust her, trust us.
I move on to Ethan, though even thinking of his name now makes my stomach turn. I have to confront the truth: I blame myself for how everything fell apart. I hate that I wasn't stronger, that I let myself be blinded by his charm, his false promises. I feel this deep resentment toward myself for not seeing through him sooner—for not recognizing the darkness beneath the mask he wore so well.
There's this constant ache of regret inside me, knowing that I was kind to him in our youth—well my youth, that I believed there was something good in him, that we were real friends. It disgusts me, how foolish I was, how naïve I must have seemed, holding on to the idea that he could really be more than what the rumors had said he was. And now I can't escape the anger I feel toward myself for letting him in, for not being like everyone else who saw him for what he truly was from the start.
The betrayal cuts deep—he wasn't just unfaithful, he was cruel. Every lie, every manipulation, every moment of abuse wrapped up in that false smile he showed the world. I hate myself for falling for it, for thinking that somehow, I could be the one to save us. But I wasn't. And now, all I'm left with is this bitterness—toward him, and even more painfully, toward myself.
Then there's my family. I have to confront the lack of love I felt from them, the anger I hold towards my mother for leaving me, for abandoning me to a life of suffering and pain. I have to face the fact that I feel like she should have taken me with her, that death beside her would have been better than life without her. I have to acknowledge the neglect and disregard I felt from my father, the way he treated me like a tool, a pawn in his schemes, rather than a daughter.
Marcellus… my only real family. I miss him more than I ever imagined I would. The love I have for him runs deep, but lately, it feels complicated. I haven't heard from him since I got married, and it gnaws at me—this constant worry about where he is, how he's doing.
I cling to the hope that Lolani is still close to him, that he's not out there facing the world alone. But the silence hurts. It makes me question things I never thought I would—his love for me, our bond. Was I just someone he felt he needed to protect, to save? Or did he truly love me like a sister, as I always believed?
Then there's this anger—this quiet, simmering frustration that I've been left in the dark. I trusted him, depended on him, and now it feels like he's disappeared, moved on while I'm stuck here, waiting for something, anything, to show that I still matter to him.
Even Margaret and Jennifer. The hatred I feel for them runs so deep it's like a sickness that I can't purge. I despise what they did to me, how they took pleasure in breaking me down, piece by piece, until all that was left was a shadow of who I once was. Their abuse didn't just leave scars on my body—it carved itself into my mind, into my soul. I feel their cruelty in everything I do, every thought I have.
It's like they've planted something toxic inside me that I can't escape. I catch glimpses of it in the way I flinch at kindness, in the doubts that creep in when I look at myself in the mirror. No matter how much time has passed, their voices still echo in my head, twisting my perception of the world and my place in it. I hate them for making me feel weak, for making me question my worth, for making me carry this pain long after they're gone.
But what disgusts me the most is that their cruelty still has power over me—that I'm still haunted, still hurting because of them. They may be in the past, but the damage they did feels so present, so real, as if I'll never fully escape the cage they built around me.
As I go through each emotion, each feeling, I can feel the weight lifting off my shoulders, bit by bit. It's like a heavy burden that I've been carrying for so long, finally being released. I feel lighter, freer, but also raw, exposed. It's a strange sensation, like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, about to take a leap into the unknown.
After we've addressed all the issues, Nyrie tells me that this is just the beginning. "You will need to keep working on this when you wake as well," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "You're basically just building the foundation of awareness; you will have to work on fixing them daily."
I nod, understanding the truth in her words. This isn't a one-time fix, not a quick solution to my problems. This is a journey, a path that I will have to walk every day, one step at a time.
She then shifts the conversation, guiding me on how to sense the new power within my body, the energy that had been released when the bonds were severed. She teaches me a meditation to help regulate it, to channel it into my system in a controlled, balanced way.
I sit by the riverbed, my eyes closed, my mind focused on the rhythmic flow of the water. I can feel the changes within myself, a great shift that has occurred, and yet, at the same time, it feels as if nothing has changed at all. I feel lighter, freer, but also more grounded, more connected to the world around me.
Nyrie nudges me gently, a soft, encouraging touch that brings me back to the present. "You're doing well," she praises, her voice filled with pride and affection. "Now, go and see your new appearance."
I stand up slowly, my body still feeling fragile and weak, and make my way to the reflective surface of the water. What I see takes my breath away.
My reflection shows a version of myself that is both familiar and completely new. My hair, once a deep, rich black, is now as white as my eyes, shimmering in the soft light like freshly fallen snow. The kinky curls are still there, cascading down my back in a wild, untamed mane. My skin, a deep, dark brown, is now adorned with intricate markings and symbols, etched in patterns of wavy lines and stars. A full moon pattern adorns my stomach, and a crescent moon graces my neck, each one carefully etched in what looks like molten gold.
I stare at my reflection, awe-struck by the transformation. I look ethereal, otherworldly, like a being out of a myth or legend. I turn to Nyrie, ready to ask for an explanation, but my words die on my lips when I see her.
Nyrie, who has always been a large, imposing wolf, is now the size of a Lycan, her fur glowing with a luminescent light that seems to pulse with energy. She looks unreal, mythical, like a creature from a dream. As I stare in awe, she towers over me with an air of regal power.
Her expression calm and composed as she explains. "We are more powerful than we were told," she says, her voice filled with a quiet certainty. "Although I'm not sure how."
I nod, taking in her words, understanding the gravity of what she is saying. We are different, more powerful than anyone has ever known. But with that power comes a responsibility, a need to control it, to understand it.
I go back to meditating, focusing on stabilizing the energy within me, channeling it into a steady, controlled flow. It is a difficult task, requiring all of my concentration and willpower, but I know it is necessary. I have to find a balance, to learn how to live with this new reality.
After what feels like an eternity, Nyrie nudges me again, her touch gentle but insistent. "It's time to go," she says, her voice filled with a sense of finality.
Before I can respond, the world around me begins to fade, the mist swirling and thickening, pulling me back to reality. When my eyes open, I find myself in a vehicle, the soft hum of the engine a distant, soothing sound. I sigh, my heart heavy with the weight of everything that has happened, but also filled with a sense of determination. I don't know what the future holds, but I know I will face it head-on, ready for whatever comes next.
As I sit in the vehicle, the world outside blurs into a haze of greens and browns, the trees and fields merging into a single, continuous stream. The pain from the bond severance still lingers, a dull ache that throbs in my chest, but I focus on my breathing, on the steady rhythm of my heart. The air inside the car is cool and crisp, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the spiritual realm. I close my eyes, letting the sounds of the road and the hum of the engine wash over me, trying to find some semblance of peace.
Nyrie's words echo in my mind, a reminder of the journey ahead. I know that I have a long road to travel, that I will have to face my demons, my fears, my doubts. But I also know that I am not alone. I have Nyrie, my faithful companion, my guide. I have my strength, my determination, my will to survive. And I have my newfound power, a force that I am only just beginning to understand.
I take a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs, the tension in my chest easing just a little. I don't know what lies ahead, but I am ready to face it, to confront it, to embrace it.