Talia's POV
"Yes, Alpha?" I say, quieter than I intend. He steps closer, narrowing his eyes as he looks me up and down. "I've noticed how you present yourself these days Talia. The way you dress, eat, and carry yourself is not appropriate for someone in our Pack, especially not with the gathering tonight." My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard after hearing his words. Of course, it's about how I look. That has always been everyone's headache. "The dignitaries from the neighbouring Packs will be there," he continues, firmly and unkind. "We can't afford any embarrassment, Talia. You need to cushion yourself, understand? Dress properly and eat with restraint. Don't draw any unwanted attention to yourself." If he has a baton, I would prefer he hit me to those words. I knew the pack didn't think much of me, but hearing it plainly from the Alpha himself stings more than I expected. I grip the edge of my plate, and my knuckles turn white. "I... I understand," I manage to say, though the words taste bitter. Alpha Bran nods, I guess he's satisfied with my response. "Good. Make sure you're ready by tonight. We all need to put our best to the success of this gathering." With that, he turns and leaves as quickly as he can. I shiver at the click of the door as Alpha Bran closes it. Silence envelops me and I stand speechless for some seconds. My parents don't say anything, but I can feel their eyes on me, their concern written boldly on their gaze. Finally, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and placed the plate on the counter. "I'll be upstairs," I mutter. I don't expect a reply, so I head back to my room. The stairs groan with each step I take. When I shut the door, I catch sight of myself in the mirror again. My reflection stares back at me just as always. I don't know how I'm supposed to make myself "proper" in just a few hours, but I know one thing for sure: I can't let them see how much their words hurt me. I will not give them the joy of seeing me cry. The party is this evening, so I am to get some groceries after breakfast, before Alpha Bran's interruption. Mum obviously can't mention it because of the way she thinks I will feel with Alpha's words. Buying groceries is one thing I never do wrong. I head back to the kitchen, pick a grocery bag and head out. "I'll get the groceries now," I inform my parents who are now sitting peacefully in the sitting room, probably hating themselves now for not being able to defend me from Bran. Oops, did I just say Bran? It feels comfortable to call him that and I don't understand why? I step out of the house, and to the trodden paths of the pack's territory; the sounds and smells of the pack welcome me just like always. The pack's activities are in full swing, with wolves milking about, preparing for the day's duties, or simply socialising in small groups. I pull my hoodie tighter around myself as if the fabric can somehow shield me from the inevitable stares and whispers that follow me wherever I go. My legs were heavy from stares. The first group I walk past barely notices me; they are so deep in conversation and don't pause to register my presence. It's a relief anyway, better to be ignored than to be the subject of their scorn. But then, as I go further into the heart of the territory, the looks start. Gazes and whispers that grow to a halt once I'm close but won't cease to resume once I'm past. A group of young wolves, probably in their teens, stand near the training grounds, they watch me approach with amusement, their eyes raking me as if I'm some curiosity or an oddity that doesn't belong here. "Hey, Talia!" one of them calls out, mockingly. "How's it going? Had a big breakfast today, huh?" The others snicker, taping each other as if they've just seen a comedy genius. I force a smile, though it feels more like a frown, and I respond with the same mockery that has become my armour. "Yep, can't start the day without my ten stacks of pancakes," I joke, patting my stomach for effect. "You know I have to keep these curves in shape ." They burst into laughter, the kind that stings even when the sound has faded. I keep walking, quickening my steps as I try to put as much distance between myself and their mocking voices as possible. But the damage is done. Their mocking sounds worms its way into my thoughts despite my efforts to brush it off, My heart feels like it's about to explode from pain. And no matter how thick my skin is, their words still go through. I head toward the edge of the territory, where there are many trees; it's a place I've come to know we'll be - a small place where I can be alone with my thoughts. At the spot, I take a long breath lean against a tree and slide down to sit on the ground. The air here is cooler, and I can finally let the mask slip, if only for a moment. My hands tremble as I run them through my hair, and I close my eyes, trying to block out the images of sneering faces and whispered insults. I'm lonely. I know it, even if I try to pretend otherwise. I'm an outcast in my own house, a wolfless girl in a pack that values strength and power above all else. And no matter how hard I try to fit in and be accepted, it always feels like I'm on the outside looking in. I pick up a small rock, turning it over as I stare into the trees. The loneliness is a familiar ache that has settled into my bones over the years.
