Wren screamed.
It wasn't a cute, startled gasp or the kind a protagonist in a rom-com might give after tripping into the arms of her mysterious love interest. No. This was a full-throated, soul-ripping, vocal cord-abusing shriek that clawed its way from the pit of her stomach and exploded out of her mouth like a banshee.
Because her eyes—her freaking eyes were not her eyes anymore.
The reflection in the mirror didn't lie. Her once-mossy green irises now shimmered with a strange ring of silver, like moonlight had been bottled inside her skull. They pulsed faintly with a glow. And behind the glow, the whites of her eyes weren't entirely white anymore—they were threaded with faint, glowing veins, as if tiny cracks had formed in the barrier between her and something not human.
"What the actual hell?!" Wren dropped the mirror like it bit her, sending it clattering noisily to the floor. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!"
The woman didn't react. Instead, she leaned against the wall like someone who wasn't being accused of spiritual possession. "Are you ready to listen now?"
"LISTEN?!" Wren screeched, backing up until her butt hit the bed frame. "Lady, I don't even know who you are! What you are! You've hijacked my body, dressed like a bloodied nurse from a Victorian horror movie, and now you're standing there acting like you're my life coach!"
The woman finally stepped forward, and Wren didn't miss the way her bare feet made no sound on the wooden floor. The air grew colder as she approached.
"My name," the woman said calmly, "is Lulu Calderón. And I used to be the most powerful elemental witch of my time."
Wren blinked before scoffing.
"I'm sorry," she deadpanned. "Did you say witch? Like... 'double double toil and trouble'?"
Lulu tilted her head seriously. "More like 'rip the air from your lungs and light your bones on fire with a whisper.' But yes. Witch will do."
Wren gaped at her. "You're insane. You're absolutely, off-your-rocker bonkers."
"And yet here we are," Lulu said with a shrug. "Now shut up and let me tell you a story."
Wren scoffed one more time. "This better not end in 'and that's how I met your father.'"
Lulu's lips twitched, like she almost smiled. But her eyes... those never lost their gleam of tragedy.
"Over a century ago," Lulu began, "I was revered and feared by nearly all who crossed my path. I could bend air and fire, twist water into shapes, and collapse stone into sand. But that wasn't what made me powerful. No, what made me dangerous was my ability to see threads."
Wren frowned. "Threads?"
Lulu answered with a voice that grew distant, and nostalgic. "Threads of fate, I mean. They shimmer in the air like spiderwebs—those thin lines that tether people to destinies they cannot yet comprehend. I saw them. I touched them. I twisted them."
Wren sat slowly on the edge of the bed, despite herself. Not because she believed her, but because her legs felt like melted noodles and the alternative was passing out again.
Lulu continued. "I lived in a time when peace among werewolf packs was as fragile as glass underfoot. They were powerful creatures, territorial and bloodthirsty. And the only thing keeping them from tearing each other apart was a magic pact… a moon-blooded bond."
Wren's brow furrowed. "Werewolves?"
"Shh," Lulu waved her off. "Yes, werewolves. Pay attention."
She paced now, her form ghostlike as the shadows clung to her.
"They called on me to forge the pact. I agreed. I brokered unity among the great packs. The Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta were the ones who came to me. They were losing the war, you see. So I bound them with blood and moonlight. Harmony lasted for decades. But…"
"But?" Wren prompted, forgetting her fear and getting invested in the story.
"Power breeds envy," Lulu whispered.
And just like that, the temperature dipped again. Wren rubbed her arms.
"I fell in love with the reigning Alpha of that time. A man with fire in his blood and rot in his heart. He was... cruel, but charismatic. You couldn't look away. I saw his thread and thought I could change it. I was… foolish."
Wren tilted her head. "Let me guess… he used you."
"He used my magic. My blood. My body." Lulu's jaw clenched. "When I became pregnant, I thought he'd finally see me. Instead, he panicked. The other sons of power; the Beta, Gamma, and Delta of that time, and their mates grew afraid. They thought my child would upend the order of succession. So…"
Her voice shook.
"They hunted me down," Lulu said quietly.
Wren's breath seized. The air felt thinner now, like the room itself had taken a long inhale and forgotten how to exhale.
"They took me to a sacred circle I had carved into the earth with my own hands. A place of power. They tied me there. Stripped me of my sigils. They… took the child from my womb."
Wren winced. "Jesus."
"They said it was for the good of the packs. That my child was an abomination. That I had corrupted the bloodline with unnatural magic."
"Did you?" Wren asked before she could stop herself.
Lulu turned her head sharply. "No."
Wren held up her hands. "Okay! Sorry. Just—trying to figure out how murder-y we're talking here."
Lulu's voice turned brittle. "They murdered me, Wren. Not in battle or in a frenzy of fear or survival. They planned it deliberately and surgically. They burned me alive under a false moon."
"I…" Wren tried, but nothing coherent came out. There was nothing you could really say when someone told you they were ritually executed by a werewolf government.
"And they took my child," Lulu said again, as if that part hurt more than the fire. "I never saw her face. I don't even know if she lived. My blood, was cut from me and scattered. My soul was bound to the spellwork they used to trap me. I should have passed on but I didn't."
Wren's mouth was dry. "And now you're in me?"