I quietly observed the room since noone seemed to notice me yet. Everyone present is a Hawthorne through and through. Raspberry red hair and emerald green eyes blessed them. Royce-my eldest uncle, sat with a cup of coffee in the first of ten black oak barstools that faced the countertop made of red berre stone. His short-medium length hair cast a shadow over his crow-like eyes, causing his features to look more worried than his broad and sloppy posture indicated.

Several feet away, in the dining room, nestled closely at the corner of an elaborate twelve-foot Witcher’s black oak table sat his twin daughters. Rizaria, the older of the two, kept her neat and long-bearing hair in a ponytail and accessorized it with new hair ornaments daily. On the other hand, Rachel was a tomboy. She preferred her hair short and natural, something I could relate to. However, Royce insisted that she keep it at least shoulder length- because all girls should have long luscious locks. The two fair-skinned, petite girls were immersed in silent conversation about a boy Rachel liked. Smiles and giggles filling their space as their hands raced to communicate.

Callum and Arkadium were leaded against the far right wall discussing music. They are twins whose wolf forms looked identical; other than size. Royce's younger cousins, though they couldn’t be more different. They, too, shared the hair, but Ark kept his much lengthier than Cal did. Glasses sat across his nose, making him look all the more like an intelect.

My father was no where to be seen, nor was the final member of our six wolf squad.

The idle chatter died when I continued further into the house, and five pairs of indistinguishable green eyes landed on me.

“Harou Brier-Hawthorne, you had better not be scratching up my Black oak floors with your nails!” A shrill voice encompassed the house.

'Darla' A low thunder welled inside of me.

I rolled my eyes, digging my nails a little deeper into the floor as I continued my journey up to my room. Once outside my door, I shifted back, stretching out the ache of sore muscles and broken bones as they healed instantaneously.

My room hadn’t changed in years; two black and white pieces of art decorated the four grey walls. A king-sized bed with white sheets, and a grey comforter lay unused in the middle of the room. Not a speck of dust on the chest of drawers or dresser that lined the left wall and the black drapes sealed out all sunlight. I advanced into the blackened room, traveling the space by memory. I seized a white and blue button-up and a pair of jeans from their hangers in my walk-in closet and dressed.

I made a visit to the attached bathroom. The room reeled me, forcing me back a step, shaking my head before willing myself to enter the vacated space. The mirror remained spider-webbed from when I broke it after hearing of my dad remarrying. I remembered that day, nine years ago, like the events that transpired happened only minutes ago. Shaking the melancholy memory from my head, I stared at my scattered reflection. The white strands on my head fell a few centimeters over my eyes.

′Your hair has gotten too long.′

The thought drew me towards my mother. When I was just a boy, I hated keeping my hair short. She would run her fingers through the long strands and tell me those very words. She loved my hair short and spiky because it reminded her of my father in their earlier days.

I closed my eyes and let the memories take me back to a simpler time. I could feel the comforting pressure from my mother’s loving touch as she smoothed my hair back, smell her rosy scent mixed with the Mestle Wood pine as we walked our favorite path. I could see her warm smile that wiped away all the anger or sadness I felt at the time. Her light honeysuckle laugh sounded through my ears, and I felt the warm presence of tears fall. It was peaceful, whole, timeless, and it hurt all the same. The phantom wound in my chest ached, still deep and fresh.

Voices from below grew louder.

I took a deep breath and staggered from the haunted room. Somehow I made it to the edge of the bed and slid down to the floor. Slowly, I reached under the piece of furniture and pulled a small worn box out. I flicked off the top and plucked the lonely picture from the bottom. Unlike the box it was stored in, the three-by-four-inch picture was untouched. A weak chuckle escaped me as I brushed my thumb over the image. Frozen in time forever were my mother and I, cuddled up under the old Tortoise Tree sleeping in the rain.

“I miss you so much mom,” With no way to stop them, I let the tears fall. After what I presumed was just a few minutes, I pinched the bridge of my nose and sniffled, sighed, and laughed at myself. My head hit the foot of the mattress when I threw it back.

“Okay, feelings, you’ve had your five minutes, now back to business.” I took steadying breaths; water trickled from my face in an attempt to wipe away the vulnerability it expressed. My ears twitched as Jonah and Royce’s argument heightened further in the kitchen. Grateful for the distraction, I headed down the stairs to see what conflict had arisen.