Bane of the Wolves

Chapter Three - Rose de Gilmore

Chapter Three - Rose de Gilmore

IT'S BEEN THREE days. Two nights since, I awoke in this stone four-walled cell with rodents roaming free and a small square window with a glimpse of the sky. I had gotten used to the rodents' small nails scraping against the concrete floor, no longer quivering or tensing. Yet the thought of them still made me a bit uneasy.

During these past few days, I remained curled in the corner of the cell near the iron bars. The still coldness that lingered in the air seeped into my bones, causing my cheeks, lips, and fingers too numb. I blew out a shuddered breath, hearing low wheezing emit from me. My throat hasn't healed, nor did the soreness fade.

I haven't spoken much since the first night here, and even if I wanted to, there was no one to talk with. When morning came -after that first night- two wolves came down, their footfalls heavy and keys jingling at their waist coming to a stop at Frank's cell. They didn't spare me a glance, not when I glared at them, or asked for water. My throat was drier than a summer morning after spending time playing chase until curfew as a child.

If they heard me, they made no indication. They kept their focus on Frank, who offered no resistance when being grabbed, his head bowed as they escorted him down the length of the hallway. My voice croaking after them with fire in my veins and an insult on my lips. I was still human, with basic needs, yet they could care less.

"Beasts!"

Like most humans, we grew up being taught about the Wolves and the laws we had to abide by. They made it all sound like it was for our sake, that it was to keep us safe. The idea of humans living in a district only for them, having a curfew, restricting us from jobs that were too hard on us by their standards. 

"You humans are fragile. We are only helping you to live a wonderful and long life."

As a child, those pretty words were just enchanting. They made it sound good to follow the rules they gave us, to believe we needed their help. They were lies, all lies. We, humans, were forced into a submission that has gone on for generations, and no one seemed to fight back. A lot of humans were like Kat. They survived by keeping their heads down, mouths closed, and voiceless. 

I couldn't be them, not truly. I had practiced being voiceless, staying out of trouble, and learning that it wouldn't do my mother good. However, the burning feeling in my chest whenever I had to bow, speak of myself as less than, beg, and plead became harder and harder to do. Kat could be right, the others too, but so am I. I have the right to speak about the wrongs I feel are done to me, to us, by the Wolves and their supposed King.

__________

I didn't get water until that night. It was brought in a small metal cup along with stale bread that tasted awful but stopped the grumbling of my stomach. The water soothed my throat but didn't help the pain.

By the second morning, another person was brought in, a woman. Her hair was wild, eyes feverish and stomach prodding outward. She was barefoot in a plain cotton dress, face pale and lips thin. They tossed her into the cell across from mine, her hands slapping the concrete floor, and a groan sounded. My eyes narrowed, my mouth opening to voice my anger but just as quickly as they came, they were gone. 

It was from her, a twenty-five-year-old woman, I learned I was in the Gamma faction. She didn't seem bothered to be in the cell. She sat up, cross-legged on the floor, cooing to her stomach. A content smile played on her lips, eyes glued to her swollen belly. She didn't speak much, just hummed a lullaby softly that was very familiar to me. It was one that I heard as a child.

It wasn't long after she arrived that she was removed. When she was leaving, she looked at me. A smile on her lips. Her eyes bored into mine with such an intensity I couldn't look away, not even if I wanted to.