When I was young, there was only ever one constant in my life and that was the hurt and the pain and watching others suffer along with me. Tortured and kept under heavy doses of wolfsbane, I was in a constant state of death.
I remember it all so very clearly. I remember how they kept us in small cages made of silver, separated but close enough to see the horrors of what was being done to them, dreading our turn. I remember the smell of rot, of something putrid and sour, and then there was blood. So much blood.
I was youngest in those cages, surrounded by my family as we were all injected and forced fed wolfsbane, all day long. The pain was excruciating, the constant throb of death always continually knocking, and I never knew if it was time to answer it, to accept the inevitable.
I re
