“We still have leverage. Grab the baby.”
The second man walks to the bed and tries to pick Cora up but the moment his hands make contact with her he lets out a cry of pain and falls to his knees. His palms are burned. His two companions rush over and look at the baby. A blue orb of light surrounds her and every attempt to penetrate it has their hands bouncing back, blisters appearing and healing slowly. Their efforts are hindered when they hear the footsteps of Magic guards finally approaching.
“Fuck! Let´s go.”
TWO YEARS OLD:
A toddler, Cora, lies in a bassinet at what seems like a crowded kitchen. Servants surround her, running back and forth in a hurry, but no one pays her any attention. The poor kid looks exhausted and underfed, dark smudges of dirt covering her little face here and there. She must have been crying for hours judging by her red cheeks. No one makes an effort to approach her though as she shakes her tiny fists in desperation.
FIVE YEARS OLD:
Cora stands between her father and Angus, obviously shy and uncertain. She is dressed in a long shirt -a few sizes too large for her skinny frame- trying to peer over the crowd. When Angus sees her craning her neck, he lifts her up and sits her on his shoulders.
“Now pay attention,” Larson says.
A small crowd has gathered around a Werewolf and, in complete order like this is an everyday occurrence, they take their time torturing him, tearing out his claws and teeth while he is still conscious. The poor creature cries out in agony and Cora yells for them to stop, her voice loud among the silent crowd. Angus feels his neck starting to burn where she is grasping him and immediately sets her on her feet. Her small hands have left their print on his neck. Larson backhands her and she falls to the ground. The two men turn to leave, Angus landing a last minute kick to the kid´s stomach.
SIX YEARS OLD:
Larson is in the crown room, sitting on his throne. A man is kneeling in front of him, hands tied behind his back, and various officials are gathered around observing the scene. Angus drags in a reluctant looking Cora and leads her to her father. Her bottom lip is split and a fading bruise covers her nose.
“This is your chance to prove your loyalty to me,” Larson says to the kid. “This man was convicted for crimes against me and you are here to execute him.”
“What did he do?” Cora asks, defiant. Despite her bruised body she still holds her head high, her eyes full of sights no six-year old should ever see.
“Your lord gave you an order. It is not your place to question it.” The man´s temper starts to flare and everyone takes a step back, apart from Cora and Angus. “Now kill him!”
“No, I won´t!”
“Thank you my lady.” The man tries to kiss Cora´s hand in gratitude but Angus takes out his knife and slices his throat open.
“What did you do?” Cora yells and Angus´ robes catch on fire. The man starts frantically patting himself down trying to put the fire out and is soon joined by two frightened servants.
“You insolent child!” Larson screams and takes off his belt.
EIGHT YEARS OLD:
Another Werewolf has been captured by the Magics. As he waits in a cell for his interrogation, the bars covering the air duct fall open and Cora drops clumsily inside the tight room. She quickly picks herself up and sits on the ground facing him, crossing her legs in front of her. The two stare at each other questioningly, Cora with curiosity and the wolf with amusement, his spirit still intact.
“What´s your name?” Cora asks.
“Alan,” the man answers and tilts his head, waiting.
“Why are you here?” The kid is still hesitant to approach too close, not because she is afraid of him but simply because she doesn´t want to overstay her welcome.
“I´m a Werewolf,” the man shrugs, like that is the root of all his problems.
Cora´s gaze falls on the chains around his wrists. “What are those for?”
“They prevent me from shifting.”
She contemplates this for a second before she remembers she hasn´t introduced herself yet. “I´m Cora,” she clarifies in case he was wondering.
“I know who you are Princess.” Alan smiles and his face looks even younger than it already does. He is barely an adult.
“Are you going to die?”
“Probably,” he smirks, so sure of the fact, that he doesn´t even bother to feel bad about it.
They hear the guards outside unlocking the wooden door leading to the cell.
“I´ll be back,” Cora says and disappears through the hole in the wall.
EIGHT YEARS OLD:
Alan is in his cell, beaten to the brink of consciousness and not healing as a Werewolf should. Cora comes in again using her secret passage. This time she is carrying a bowl of water with her and a cloth which she uses to tenderly clean Alan´s wounds. With her index finger, she wets his parched lips and tries to coach them open to pour some water down his throat. The man stirs but doesn´t wake up.
“Shh, sleep,” the little girl murmurs and combs her small hand through his golden locks. She takes a piece of bread out of her pocket and leaves it next to him before she goes.
EIGHT YEARS OLD:
“What were you dreaming of?” Cora asks once Alan opens his eyes. He looks in better shape today, more rested. “You were smiling in your sleep. What were you dreaming of?”
“Home,” Alan rasps and Cora runs to her hidden entryway and retrieves a pitcher full of water. The man drinks greedily, coughing most of it back out, and thanks her.
“Where is home?” She asks after his breathing turns back to normal.
“Far, far away. What are you doing here kid?”
“I´m helping you,” Cora shrugs like it´s no big deal, not realizing that, although her presence is comforting, it does nothing to help him in the long run. “Do you have family?”
“Why do you ask?” Alan starts getting suspicious, thinking about what new techniques of interrogation Larson could be trying on him. The girl seems indifferent though as she tries to keep the conversation going.
“I don´t have any,” she offers.
“You have a father,” Alan corrects her.
“He´s not a good father,” Cora says but the Werewolf had already guessed after seeing her sporting a new bruise every day.
“My parents are dead,” the man relents after a few moments of comfortable silence.
“I´m sorry.”
EIGHT YEARS OLD:
“My girl´s name is Jen.” Alan is the one to start the conversation this time. He looks worse for wear, his arms and legs obviously broken in various places but still smiling, trying to reassure Cora instead of seeking comfort for himself.
“I couldn´t bring anything this time,” says the girl apologetically.
“It´s okay.”
“Tell me about her,” Cora asks in an effort to draw his mind away from the pain and settles next to him on the ground. “Is she beautiful?”
“Very. And kind. Shy too, although you wouldn´t think it for an Alpha.”
“Alpha? She must be very powerful.” She looks fascinated. From the way Alan is talking about her, Jen sounds as a very lovable person. She could never meet someone like her while surrounded by Larson and Angus. Jen is a dream of safety and acceptance.
“She is. But she doesn´t like to show it,” says Alan. “She thinks people should be ruled with respect, not power.”
“She sounds awesome. You are lucky to have her.”
“I am,” Alan agrees.
“I wish I could meet her,” Cora says, mostly to herself.
The man lets out a tired chuckle. “If you ever do, make sure to take as good care of her as you did of me.”
“I will,” she promises and goes on asking him about Jen.
Later that night Alan falls into a deep sleep, delirious with fever. Cora never leaves his side, whispering nonsense in his ear until he calms down, giving her the opportunity to flee before the guards come for him again.
EIGHT YEARS OLD:
“I need you to bring me a really long knife,” Alan asks the next time Cora visits.
“What for?”
“Can you just do this for me?” His smile has started coming out less and less often. His spirit is breaking. His fingernails are gone and his fingertips are mottled with dried blood. Two long cuts run from the corners of his mouth down towards his jaw.
Cora nods and leaves.
EIGHT YEARS OLD:
The next time Cora comes back to the cell, Alan is barely breathing. There is a large hole in his stomach oozing blood and black vines spread from it, twisting around his torso. His fingers are pulverized and his face disfigured by a whip blow.
“I brought what you asked.” Cora kneels next to him and tries to touch him but pulls her hands back when he hisses. “I´m sorry, I...” she breaks off in a sob. “I didn´t mean to.”
“It´s okay baby girl, don´t cry.” He tries to lift his head up but he doesn´t have the strength to do so. “I need you to do me another favour.”
“Anything,” Cora sniffs.
“I´m scared Cora. Remember when I told you about Jen?”
The girl nods her head, wiping her tears away.
“I´m scared the next time they´ll ask me, I won´t have the guts to say no.” His voice breaks under the burden of what he is about to ask a little kid to do. “So I need you to take this knife and drive it into my heart.”
“No, no,” the girl shakes her head frantically. “I´ll get you out of here. I´ll save you.”
“You can´t. And even if by some miracle you did, I´m too broken to go back.” He knows that he won´t heal even if they will take off the cuffs. And his mind is too damaged, in danger of carrying Jen´s mind away too through the link they share. With no claws and fangs he is not a Werewolf anymore, and he has never been simply a man. The only thing he can do is hope Jen will survive his loss. He trusts her to do so.
He tries to explain all this to Cora but she refuses to listen. She takes his head in her small arms and moves it on her lap, gently massaging his scalp. The tears now run freely on her cheeks and loud sobs rack her thin frame. “I will help you, you will see.”
“I know you will. This is what I need you to do. I´m sorry to ask this of you little Princess, but I need you. I can´t move.”
“You are my friend.”
“I am,” Alan nods. “Thank you for being mine too. Now hurry.”
Cora wipes her cheeks with the back of her palms and lays his head gently on the floor. She goes to the air duct and takes out the knife, returning to Alan´s side swiftly.
“Close your eyes and strike as hard as you can.”
Cora closes her eyes and lifts the knife above her head ready to strike. Her hands are shaking but her grip is steady.
“Hey, Cora.”
She opens her eyes and lowers her gaze to look back into his.
“Thank you,” Alan says and the girl nods decisively. As their eyes meet for one last time, it seems like there´s a multitude of things being said in the silence between them; fear, respect, reassurance and a promise. Cora brings her hands down and Alan´s heart gives a few traitorous beats before it stops completely.
EIGHT YEARS OLD:
“Cut him into pieces and sent him back to his bitch bit by bit,” Larson, sat on his throne, screams at Angus. Alan´s lifeless body is between them lying on a dirty sheet.
Cora watches the scene, eavesdropping from behind a pillar. Once the room is empty she walks up to the body and grabs the sheet´s corners trying to drag it away, but he is too heavy and she is too small.
“I can´t let you here,” she cries. “I can´t let them do this.” She tugs at the sheet again and it suddenly gives. Like it weighs nothing, Cora manages to pull it all the way to the forest by some miracle -or rather by some extreme use of magic- undetected. Her nose starts to bleed but she doesn´t stop until she reaches a small clearing. She kneels on the ground and starts digging with her fists, the dirt mixing with her blood as it drops from her nose. Hours later, Alan finally rests in peace, lying in a shallow grave dug by his enemy´s innocent hands.
The ground above the grave is fresh and Cora knows that if someone was to look, they´d discover it immediately. She panics but before she has time to think of a solution, moss starts covering the site leaving the space looking undisturbed. “One day, I´ll find a way to get you back to your Jen,” she murmurs and takes the way back home.
The minute she steps foot in the city, Angus grabs her by the hair and leads her in front of her father.
“Where is he?” Larson´s rage makes even Angus flinch.
“He is safe,” the girl answers, head held up high. Larson throws her over his shoulder and starts for the dungeons.
“Then you can take his place.” He puts her in the same cell Alan was held and leaves, locking the door behind him. She isn´t left alone though. Angus takes out his whip and brings it down repeatedly with all the strength he can muster. Afterwards, with a satisfied, manic smile, he locks the familiar manacles around her wrists while she lies unconscious.
TEN YEARS OLD:
Cora leads a bunch of smaller children through an underground tunnel, a lit torch in one hand and a dagger in the other as the only means to protect herself and her charges. They reach a trapdoor that leads to the forest and Cora throws it open and climbs out first, making sure they haven´t been followed.
“Take this,” she says to one of the older kids, handing her a compass. “The needle is enchanted by a friend. It will lead you straight back home.”
The other girl throws her arms around the Princess in gratitude but Cora pushes her off in a hurry. “When you cross the river you will be in Werewolf land. Your people should find you once there. Go!” She says and falls back through the trapdoor.
TWELVE YEARS OLD:
“I must admit,” Angus says with an arrogance that has Cora cowering in the corner of her semi-dark room. “Your inability to give up is quite impressive.” He reaches out and draws a thumb across her cheekbone. Cora slaps his hand away with disgust and he throws her a smug smile.
“What do you want?” She asks, anger blossoming in her chest and boiling under her skin. Angus grabs her arm and twists. Her shoulder comes out of its socket and she lets out an anguished scream as the bone breaks in several places.
“Let´s see how many monsters you are going to help now.”
When he leaves, the tears that were flooding the girl´s eyes finally fall down her cheeks as she clutches her arm close to her chest feeling more alone than ever.
FOURTEEN YEARS OLD:
Cora sits forlornly on the bed in a room that looks like an infirmary but scantily equipped. A maid is tending some scratches on her arms, her kind, old eyes twinkling with something akin to worry.
“You need to stop,” the woman says, dabbing the burns with a wet cloth. “You can´t save everyone.”
“I can try and save some,” Cora counters, silently begging the maid to understand that this is who she is.
A young man barges into the room carrying a vial of disinfectant. “I managed to find this,” he says.
The maid eyes the small bottle and nods. “It will do. Go keep an eye out.”
“If he finds out you are helping me...” Cora continues once they are left alone and the older woman feels a surge of affection for her Princess.
“Don´t you worry about that,” she says patting the girl´s shoulder comfortingly. “Now, let´s see what we can do about these little scrapes.”
FIFTEEN YEARS OLD:
Cora cries over the dead body of the maid.
“You think you can fool me, huh?” Larson steps into the infirmary, thankfully alone. “You think you can make friends behind my back?” He grabs her elbows and pulls her to her feet.
“Leave me alone!” Cora cries and tries to disentangle herself but he grabs her by the throat and immobilizes her.
“Let me be clear. Anyone that ever helps you will
meet the same fate. Look at her!” He orders and forcefully turns her head towards the body. The poor woman looks like she was tortured for hours, not a sliver of skin unscathed. “Remember this. Any time you think that someone is being kind to you, remember this!”
“Stop!” The girl cries trying to move her head out of her father´s tight grip. “Please stop.” Her pleas go unheard.
“And since I can´t seem to trust you, let´s see how much trouble you can cause if there is no one around for you to help.”
FIFTEEN YEARS OLD:
Larson and Angus throw Cora in the warehouse where Steven first found her.
“Go,” Larson orders his second, not taking his eyes off of his daughter. “Don´t try to contact me unless it´s time.”
“How are you so sure it´ll work?” Angus asks.
“It´ll work. We will make them desperate enough for it to work. They will come for her.”
They leave and when Cora awakes her world is dark, remaining that way for five years until...
TWENTY YEARS OLD:
Two men burst in the warehouse. Cora eyes them from her hiding place behind the door. They haven´t seen her yet but, for some unexplained reason, she doesn´t feel threatened. For the first time in her life, she feels hope.
14. THE PRICE TO PAY FOR A LAST CHANCE
The moment Jen withdrew her claws from Cora´s head, was the moment she shed her first tears for Alan´s death. Her parents rushed to her side, trying to hold her up and murmuring words of comfort that went unappreciated. When the sobs quieted down, drowned underneath a layer of anxiety and false bravado, Jen looked at Cora with a whole new palette of emotions in her eyes; respect, gratitude, regret, admiration. The girl she had almost killed twice was the only person to offer comfort to the most important person in her life during his worst moments. By doing so, she had sacrificed whatever innocence she had left, darkening her soul with an irremovable taint. Jen´s hands made an aborted effort to reach out but the younger girl took a step back. It was one thing to punish her body, but invade her mind and spy on her most private thoughts and feelings? That crime was ten times worse and unforgivable.
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