The Hunt For Lycan Queen
I poured everything into that song… the fear for my mother, the loneliness of pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
The final verse was quiet.
Sing true, little wolf, though silence grows around you
Your howl is still your power, your song the only light
You’re made of more than mourning, more shadow than surrender
So burn, fierce and tender, and make the dark your right.
My voice ached on the last word, the room suspended in its final note.
Then silence. Utter, ringing silence. I stood frozen in the space between the last breath and the first reaction, still not breathing, not moving.
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