Where I grew up, there were many kids like me and some a bit more unique. There was one girl who would sprout wings the color of a rainbow, wings that always seemed to shimmer no matter if the clouds blocked the moon. Her gift was pretty like she was, how her wings could captivate any traveler and how her melodious voice would easily make anyone do her biddings.

That girl was long gone now.

Her wings ripped and scattered across the ground and for once anything but pretty. It didn’t shimmer anymore; it looked more like a fly’s wings. I realized that the beauty of it was only because of her pretty face and her voice – how her personality had made her look so enchanting. Much like how a goddess was simply someone who was worshipped and praised all day that people didn’t believe she had any flaws.

I, on the other hand, was nothing but an overgrown wolf who was named a witch at day by the humans next to our village. Humans – who was very much alike the winged girl – now lay lifeless on their cold marbled street. Unlike the winged girl, they were in piece but splattered in a thick crimson liquid. I wonder if that’s all they have inside of them.

I had a friend who called them walking blood bags when I was about eleven. The girl was gorgeous unlike the winged-girl who was charming – this girl could make your head turn towards her and ask her If there’s anything you could do without her uttering a word. She was alluring; a girl wrapped in mystery that made the men crazy after her. The humans liked her to the point they gave their necks up to her pointy teeth and then the human would never stand up ever again.

Much like the pile of bodies lying in the street, all of them had the same dazed look but this time their mouth was open in a silent scream. Eyeing my body, I realized I was coated in gray-white fur and splattered in the same liquid like the humans. I knew my paws were bigger than the usual, they had never been as big nor had my claws been this pointy and black.

My lips were pulled back in a snarl that was out of my own will as my friend, a boy who had the gift of playing with the wind and always wore that trademark green hat – much alike Peter Pan’s – and the foxlike smile he always wore on his thin lips. The boy was my closest and truest friend, his name is Sehun; Oh Sehun. He had a way in saying my name; he spelled it out as Al-lish. Before he gave up and gave me a name that everyone calls me with: Eun.

The way he said it was always different than any boy could – even the boy who had a gift of impersonating anything couldn’t say it the way he did – the way my name rolled of his tongue was slow and unlike anything I could explain. It held a tone that I took years to realize was jealousy. I knew the word back then but the thought of anyone being jealous over me has never crossed my mind at all.

“Eun,” That time I thought he called my name in relief, the smile hinting that he was glad I was standing in front of him. I could never have been more stupid. I replied his smile with one of my own and for the first time I saw his smile falter – “How could you, Eun!!” The fury and accusing tone of his was new.

Foreign to my ears as I was used to his lazy way of speaking, of how emotionless his words had been. My feet, rooted the ground, couldn’t dodge the dagger thrown at me but a force had made the dagger dropped to the ground with a clang “You’re a monster! How could you slaughter all this peop – “ A snarl left my lips as I didn’t like the way he raised his voice “ – le mercilessly like this.”

My heart was pounding and the blood that ran in me felt warm, my ears twitched at the sound of footsteps behind me, the scurrying of footsteps that was as familiar as my own; the thundering footsteps of wolves bigger than I am. I wondered why I decided to keep my mouth shut, not uttering a word as the boy who I cherished lashed out vehemently at me – I figured it was from the shock at this boy who held features of someone I knew well but at the same time a stranger.

“ Alistair Gale Lightwood! “ My name boomed across the silent village as the stampede of wolves came to halt. Oddly the voice that I had never heard before was registered as my father’s voice even if I was an orphan all my life. I didn’t make a single move to face the wolves behind me, instead my bones cracked back to place as I shifted back to an unfamiliar body.

The cottages and shops in the human village didn’t hover over me like they used to, now they look just right. I didn’t have to tiptoe to see the store’s display anymore – I could see the bread that was sprawled all over and the claw marks inside the ships walls. My hands weren’t stubby and fat anymore, they were now long and slender – my skin no more