(Wanda)
The wind whipped at my fur, a biting caress that mirrored the icy dread gripping my heart. My paws crunched on the frosted earth, each step a prayer, a desperate plea to the ancient moon goddess. This was it. The culmination of months of planning, of whispered threats, of carefully cultivated rage. I was a shadow now, a phantom slinking through the fringes of the werewolf kingdom, the scent of their arrogance, their power, heavy in the air.
My name, once whispered with respect, was now a curse. Wanda, the she wolf who dared to strike at the Queen, Yadieliz. Yadieliz, who dared to take the king from me, the man who once was mine. They wanted my head, mounted on a pike, a warning to any who dared to dream of freedom from their iron grip. But I had other plans. Plans forged in the
