We Are Not Ourselves Novels & Stories

It's been a week since my little brother and I have moved too the new town - Mysticwoods. The town is small, but has a lot of character. The only problem is, we don't really fit in here. I think it's, because we are human and the rest of the town- not so much.

And for the first time, both packs had heard their heirs say the same thing, in almost the same breath: We will not disappear into your stories so you can sleep easier. We are here. We are real. And we are not yours to shape.

But I know, deep down, that to do that, we will have to face our demons. His, mine. And perhaps lose what we are, to hope to rediscover what we could be. ---

Not as warning. As witness. As hope. Because in the end, we weren’t meant to control the world. We were meant to become part of its song. And now, it sings. Not perfectly.

The article hangs over the room without being mentioned. Finally, someone says it out loud. “This is what happens when we don’t define ourselves,” he says. “Others do it for us.” “And if we define ourselves too tightly,” someone counters, “we become another institution.” The room splits—not evenly, but meaningfully. This is the fracture we couldn’t avoid. I speak carefully. “Being unclaimed doesn’t mean being undefined,” I say. “It means we choose the definitions we’re willing to live with—and the ones we’re willing to refuse.”

Mirrors never reflect your truth When we don't do what they say to others Many claim equality always, but never they dare to cut the roots of selfishness without further ado. Our real color is hidden. We always change garments like a chameleon, Whether we are yellow or blue, Pink or purple like a rainbow, Whether we are dark or white like a sky, Nobody can say.

Not perfect. Not fearless. But— Grounded. --- Realisation And the difference isn’t in how I look. It’s in how I stand. --- Final Shift Because for the first time— I’m not trying to take up less space. --- FINAL HOOK And for the first time— I don’t wonder if I’m enough. I just know— I’m not the same.

"I saw myself. In the mirror. A‍nd I was​n't hu‌man anymo​re." Daxen was ac‍ross the room in two s‌trides. H‍e grabbe​d my face.‌ Made me l⁠ook at him. "You're not a mo⁠nster. Y⁠ou're⁠ ou‌rs. And you're perfect." "I'm not perfect. I‌'​m—I don't⁠ even know w​hat I am.‌"‌ ‌

I say quietly. The words from Zaia’s book come back to me and I frown slightly. This conversation with Mom is something I wouldn’t have ever questioned, putting it down to her simply being a concerned mother. But now it’s showing me how much we are actually growing further away from our truth and who we are meant to be. “I know, but we have to tame the beasts within us. Look at the rogues, people think you’re going feral.” She says, pulling me gently into the laundry room and shutting the door. “Because you are mate-less.”

I and all the beings that surround me have that fakeness as a wire that joins us and makes us all common with the imperfections placed within us. It is that that makes us unique for even The Creator does not have it for He is the gap that we try to reach. You see before we were born, we were awaiting trial. In the simplest term we were non-existent, to be appropriate we had no life within us. Bodiless souls awaiting birth. A disagreement with the Memorandum is as if one has forgotten the lyrics of a National anthem that the country sings whilst holding their chests tight as if their hearts are about to fall off.