Another week slipped by in a haze of pain. Each morning, I woke to new horrors etched across my skin.
This morning was no different. I dragged myself to the bathroom, my body aching as if I'd been beaten. Turning my back to the mirror, I slowly lifted my pajama top and twisted to look over my shoulder. I couldn't hold back my gasp.
Three fresh, angry red lines ran diagonally across my back, joining the collection of similar marks that had appeared over the past weeks. They looked exactly like claw marks—as if my wolf was desperately trying to tear her way out of my skin.
"Stop," I whispered, pressing my palm against the mirror. "Please stop hurting us both."
I felt her stir weakly in response, a faint whimper echoing in my mind before she retreated once more into the dark corner where she'd been hiding. Each day, that corner seemed to grow smaller, darker.
