Slumping exhaustedly down onto her bed, Isabelle pushes back the tears pooling in her eyes that are threatening to fall any moment now, how had her life come to this?
As a 6-month-old baby, she had been abandoned on the steps of the pack she now called home. The Alpha had pitied her, brought her in, and cared for her like one of his own. Alpha Jay already had three sons; the eldest (and future Alpha) was named Axel, the middle son was Ryker, and the youngest son was named Finn. When Alpha Jay had taken Isabelle in, Finn had been 7 months old himself, and they thought both children would be incredibly close like twins.
Both the Luna and Alpha loved their three boys more than words could describe, but they had been yearning for a little girl of their own (More so the Alpha), and just like God had answered their prayers, a baby girl was left for them to care for as their own. Yet since Alpha Jay's untimely death 2 years ago, any protection Isabelle had was now gone, and her life had gone downhill.
Now, Axel, the eldest son, was Alpha of the pack. As he climbed the ranks of the pack, Isabelle was forced down to the bottom. There had always been claims of favouritism from the Alpha to Isabelle so everyone seemed happy to see her now at the bottom of the food chain. Isabelle had been forced to move out of the only home she knew at the pack house and move to a cottage, 2 miles away which was at the edge of the packs land, she was also now made into the 'pack cleaner', everyone treated her like dirt without the protection of the Alpha, she didn't naturally belong in this pack and people often liked to remind her of this while she simply tried to live her life with what had been handed to her, even if she now drew the short straw.
Today had been particularly hard for Isabelle, after setting off from her home at 5AM(to make it to the pack house on time to start her jobs) she had to clean every room in the pack house, it wasn't until she had this job title that she realised how disgusting some werewolves could be but she dared not complain out of fear of what would happen if she did.
Throughout most of her time in the pack house, day in and day out, Finn, the youngest brot, found pleasure in ridiculing her and making every single second of her time there much harder. Isabelle had learnt the hard way to ignore his verbal punches and even physical ones, she had the scars to prove this.
The one good time of the day was when Isabelle could go and tend to the horses, she felt at peace with animals, particularly horses and cats. Having a love for cats was practically unknown for werewolves, even though most werewolves wouldn't like to admit it; they were distant relatives of the dog, and they seemed, for some reason, to be unable to gain an attachment to cats like many dogs. Despite this, Isabelle was different, one day on her long walk home from the pack house she had come across a small kitten who was crying out in the bushes, despite only planning to nurse the cat back to health before setting it free, the cat now named Bulkoso - had simply stolen her heart and was now her escape.
As if on cue, when Isabelle's head dropped into her hands she felt a ball of fluff circle through her legs with a comforting 'meow'
"Hello, you," Isabelle says, forcing a smile before scooping Bulkoso up into her arms, and she cuddled him close to her neck. She felt a rough lick on her neck, which made her giggle slightly. Once Bulkoso was placed on Isabelle's knees, he gave an appreciative yawn at the back scratching he was receiving and curled up on Isabelle's knees, his favourite place to be.
"You're the only one I need Bulkoso" Isabelle grins slightly pushing away the escapee tear running down her face, she lies down bringing Bulkoso to her side and she curled herself up into a ball too she hadn't changed her clothes from the day or even locked the front door but she very quickly fell into a deep slumber, her final thoughts about how she wanted... no needed someone to love her, she didn't know how much longer she could cope, despite the pack hating Isabelle they were not willing to let her leave but then she was unsure if she wanted too, how would she cope being rogue? This would mean that she no longer belonged to a pack. Rogues were categorised as untrustworthy, dangerous and killers, meaning most packs.
Despite Isabelle being 18 years old, her small body curled comfortably on the single bed she slept on, food was usually an afterthought for Isabelle so her small frame resembled a 14-year-old rather than the one she should have at her age but Isabelle had no one to impress, she was told this continually so she never had to worry about it.