[i]“They’ll come for me one day, Czigani, as they’ve come for many of our kin throughout history.”

The girl, much younger at the time, stared into her grandfather’s deep-set hazel eyes with much concern in her own expression, as he recounted stories of old -myths perhaps- but stories nevertheless of things that didn’t quite make sense to her early adolescent mind. She loved when he’d come to visit -much to her own parents reluctance to accept him and his unusual folk lore- but she felt a closeness with him that she didn't have with her father and mother and that tight knit kinship allow an otherwise sceptical mind to open up. However, even as the girl got older, she'd forgotten much of those stories; ancient tales that spoke more of her own future.[/i]

Her eyes suddenly sprung open, as a brief glimpse of the vicious wolf form flashed in her head, petrifying any further movement in her otherwise sore body for a few moments. “Okay, Czi...it was just a dream” She finally muttered, finding herself laid out on the cold, hardwood floor next to a bed that appeared to be in disarray with fragments of shredded fabric scattered about. The girl sat up with the partially torn sheet covering her bruised and blood-stained naked body, causing a gasp to escape her lips as she examined the mess. Her hand ran along a few of the older cuts and scratches that scarred over, and even the bullet hole on her thigh was gone, leaving only a slight blemish. Her guess? Being in werewolf form facilitated healing of her flesh, although she wondered if the bullet itself was still lodged inside. She tried to push herself up from the floor, and while she had the strength, a searing pain still resided in her leg. 

“Fuck!” She exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes as she stood to her feet, throwing the sheet aside and limping over to a tall mirror hanging on the wall across the room.

“You're a disgusting mess…” She mumbled to herself while examining the apparent bruising and markings left by the change, her dry skin showing signs of stretching and contorting in certain areas, and a sour -yet empty- feeling was left in her stomach that made her want to throw up. Even her own stench repulsed her as she realized she hadn’t bathed in what could have been days or even weeks. Czi drew closer to the mirror and, for the first time since her transformation, saw a face she didn't recognize anymore, albeit it was still her face, but it seemed to take on an altogether different feel that was unsettling and this [i]thing[/i] inside her was wanting to take everything away.

“I guess you were right, [i]purodad[/i]…” She whispered, referencing the Romani word for “Grandfather”, before stepping away from the mirror and rummaging through one of the dresser drawers, pulling out a soft flannel long-sleeved shirt and holding it up to her nose while taking a deep breath. She could sense the hints of aftershave still embedded in the fabric, reminder her of her own father. Her eye was drawn to an old photograph partially covered by a book laying atop the dresser, and when revealed, it showed a young smiling couple sitting on a porch swing holding hands. Czi picked it up and stared at it blankly for a few moments before snorting and carelessly letting it fall to the floor. She knew simplicity like that would never be found again. 

Not now. Not ever.

The woman stepped out into the darkened hallway -the wooden floorboards creaking along every footfall- and stopped, closing her eyes and listening intently. She needed to focus on the here and now, not a past that has already happened and can't be altered. Her senses wandered through the winding corridor, in and out of each adjoining room, picking up nuances throughout each until it landed on a single irregular heartbeat and raspy breathing. Instinct directed her movements toward Kelly's location, and without use of sight by choice, Czi eventually found her curled up in one of the far bedrooms, most likely asleep or at least lying with her eyes shut. The woman stood for a moment in the doorway before opening her eyes.

“We need to talk.” She finally said in normal vocal range. “Soon…”

Czigani turned back out into the hallway and walked into the adjacent bathroom they were in earlier that day, tossing the flannel shirt aside, and stepping into the now chilled water in the old clawfoot tub. A gasp escaped her lips as the cold was instantly felt through her body, but at the same time, dulled the remaining pains she felt as she settled. Grabbing a washcloth that hung loosely on a small brass hook along the wall, she ran the dried soap bar along the rough texture and began scrubbing at her arms, chest, and face, eventually working her way along the rest of her body. She wanted to feel nothing, wanted the stings of loss and hopelessness to disappear into the icy liquid that surrounded her…

But it wasn't just about her anymore.

[@Xandrya]