Reborn: His Scarlet Moon
- Genre: Werewolf
- Age: 18+
- Status: Completed
- Language: English
- Author: Frost
She no longer was the queen she used to be. Reborn as a mere human. Sherizad, the werewolf queen. None like history had ever seen. She would have disowned her own self had she seen her future like that.
An young adult, freshly dropped out of college, drowning in debts, struggling to make ends meet and keeping her dying father barely alive with a little prayer, hope and a lot of chance.
Oh! And I forgot to add, she lived beside a dump yard. She, who was the queen. It is said that men from all packs flocked to sniff a little bit of her heavenly scent, that radiated across her country, when she was declared the first female Alpha in werewolf history.
“Ahhhhhh! Hhhhmmmm! Ahhhhh!” Her groans woke her up with a start. She was having trouble sleeping again. She got up from the bed without even trying to get back to sleep.
It was useless. She knew it very well. She was used to spending night after night. Awake. For no reason in particular. Her doctors said it was probably due to stress.
She searched her pocket. “Found ya!” Her hands took the cigarette out quickly as her fingers hurried to light up its tip.
“Ahaaaaa!” One draw from the soft cylinder between her lips, and…
Everything bugging her head blew out like the circular smoke that she exhaled.
“Ahem! Ahem! Ahem!” The sound of a series of coughing pulled her immediately back to the inside of the room. Up from the heavens, she was again in her own, tiny, personal hell.
“Baba! Baba! Are you having trouble breathing again?”
She ran back to the old crippled man. Her father. A former drunk head. But he was the only family that she was left.
“Sherizad?” he looked at her with those questioning eyes. That was the name he addressed her by whenever he was having his am***** attack.
She lifted his half raised hands and put it against her face. “Baba. Look carefully. Look into my eyes. It’s Sherry. Your Sherry. Your little daughter.”
He immediately withdrew his hand. Then ran to the corner of the room. “Don’t... don’t hit me. Don’t hit me. I will do anything. I swear. Anything.”
Sherry rolled her eyes over. He was at it again.
She tucked the sleeves of her long T-shirt. She was gearing up for her regular battle routine. It was time to pull and tie the old man up on his bed.
She usually kept him chained when she went out for work. Or rather looking for it. But she felt too bad to let him be that way when she was around. She often gave him a little breather. However it never ended well.
The doctors had suggested sending him off to a rehabilitation center. But they had given no hope of him getting any better. They said he was definitely in his last stage.
His body had suffered several damages during his young years. Sherry didn’t know much about her father’s past as well. What he did. Where he lived. His family. Nothing.
She didn’t have the opportunity to ask her mother about it as well. She had died during childbirth. Her life had ushered in her death.
It was traumatic whenever she tried mentioning her mother to her father. He would absolutely break down. So. much so that they didn’t even have a picture of her anywhere. Sherry wanted to. She wanted to talk about her. Know her. What kind of a woman she was. What she liked? How she looked?
But it was impossible to bring the topic up in front of her father.
“Leave me! Let me go. Let me go!” The old man was stretched out. Holding the pillar with one hand and the table with his legs.
Sherry was standing over him. Looking for the perfect position for the tackled. She pulled his feet off from the table.
She pulled him with a jerk by his legs. His hands flung open. With one or two tiny cuts. The pillar inside their room was still not plastered. It was just a crude cement structure. The rough edges were responsible for whatever damage he suffered.
“Let me go. Let me go. I swear. I swear.” His gibberish never seemed to end. Often time it climaxed into a yell.
It was lucky they lived beside an isolated dump yard. The stench from the place kept most people away. But Sherry never complained. She was grateful to have at least a roof over her head.
“And...here... you... go!” She heaved heavily as she finally put the chains back on.
It seemed to calm him. Like placebo. It immediately put him back to sleep.
“Ufffff!” Sherry heaved again. Looked at the sky from the tiny window. It was still stary and clear. The moon shone like a temptress against the black. Like a mistress open for her master.
She picked the end of the half-finished cigarette that she had hurriedly put off. Lit it again. This time taking her sweet time drawing in every bit with pleasure. No hindrance. Nothing to disturb or distract herself.
She heard a distant howling from somewhere far away. A pained, tormenting lament. Withering, crying, lamenting for its mate.
Sherry strained her ears to hear some more of it. Animals never scared her. Wolf or tiger. It was human beings that were more scary. She always thought.
She had always been shunned, kicked, bullied and laughed at for her background. A smelly rotten pig. That was what she was. Throughout infancy and school.
When she had finally got the opportunity to be in college, she had thought her past would never haunt her there.
But it seemed like it was too much of a wishful thinking on her part. She was humiliated on the very first day of college. In the middle of the university. She had come running back home. Wanting to hide there forever.
But luck didn’t bestow her with that much favor. She saw her father coughing blood the moment she returned.
“Baba! What! Wh... What is this?” her already shaky body became weak at the knee. Fright, shock, worry. All hit at her together.
“Sherry? How are you here. Aren’t you supposed to be in your college? Ahem! Ahem! Cough! Cough!”
“Baba!” Sherry ran towards her dad. Blood filled as his body shook with the after effect.
“STAY BACK!” he yelled. Sherry stopped on her track.
“Don’t come near me.”
“I said NO!” his voice was stern.
Sherry froze in her steps. Then turned back and ran out of that door.
From that point onwards the only aim in her mortal life was to collect enough money, to treat her ailing father.