There are wolves tearing at my soul. I am meat. I am food. I am fuel for their hunger.

I look down. My dress is in tatters. I am no longer beautiful. I feel torn at. They shred me with their claws. Lips draw back to show pointed teeth. And those teeth rip through me.

Those silken coats. Those achingly lonely calls to the moon. Those eyes that take in the expanse, yet never hold your gaze.

Ah, that invitation. Come into the wilds and play with us. Let us play in our court, out where the line between sky and ground is grey. Lily, come join us. Come join me, out where I have played.

I do not know how to play like a wolf, and I do not want to learn. I do not want to know what you know of this life among those you call your kin. Those who run with you live with such hollowness.

I did learn, a little at a time. Out where you said I’d be safe. Always there was a little farther. But I didn’t become a wolf. I said no to this, no to that. Yes, to some things. No, to running with your pack.

Come away to where the land is good. To where you are not a slave, or prey. I said.

No. You’d been with your pack longer. I was nothing next to that. You needed to be with them.

And then I wore out, like old rags.

I don’t know you. I don’t know you. Where was this side of you hiding? This lurking creature. You’ve shredded my soul. No more. No more. I am not a wolf, and will not live this way. Away. Away.