Wolfbitten
What was wrong with me?
I wanted to cry. To sob. But in this form, I couldn’t.
Still, my tear ducts tingled, like they were filling with something. My eyes burned. And the longer I thought about everything—the more I stewed in my grief, my guilt, my rage—the hotter that burning became.
A sudden, penetrating heat burned behind my eyes and cut through the despair like a firecracker. I sucked in a breath as a strange sensation pulsed through me, anger, grief, regret all coiling into something hot. Something alive.
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