#werewolf!luka

She found herself wandering the Parisian forests again.  The crunching of the fallen leaves breaking below her feet as she walked along the invisible forest’s path.  

Everything felt so similar yet different at the same time.  Brushing her fingers along the barks of the tree, the moisture of the moss and vines cold to the touch.  The everlasting glow of the moon casting as her only source of light through the mighty evergreen sanctuary surrounding her.  The overbearing silence was the only thing greeting her the more she wandered.  However...it felt...welcoming somehow; she felt at peace and belonging.

It felt like a part of home though she never once set foot within the forest.  At least not this deep within.  Only ever near the boundary’s edge where the city was mere feet away.

Perhaps that was the reason for the magical pull Marinette has felt since she was a teen.  Spending years avoiding the longing pull of the magical force to finally have it come back at full strength.  The unavoidable calling that her witchling instincts have all but ignored.  

Throughout her childhood, the Coven had told her and her parents that she was to be a witch of great power.  Her magic aura surging as one of uniqueness, possessing an unknown quality that was viewed as typical hints of those categorized as prodigies.

As much as she’s heard that term many times, nobody knew her most struggling secret.  The Covens may see her abilities as magnificent and outstanding, but that was only during the day.  No one has ever seen her magic when the sun disappeared below the horizon.  The way her magic became unpredictable and sometimes uncontrollable.  

How could someone like herself be in control perfectly fine during the day but be the opposite at night?

The eighteen-year-old witchling heaved a sigh as she continued to walk, weaving through the thickened trees and bushes.  It wasn’t till she came to a wide-open clearing that she came to a halt.

Open grass surrounded by a barrier of trees formed into a perfect circle.  The magical essence radiated differently within the clearing.  A sense of serenity.  Perhaps the witness of the moon glowing above the open area added to the serenity.  Or maybe the sister moon and mother earth decided to provide areas of magical harmony where any magical creature can feel calm and peace.

Pushing away from the shadows of the tree line, Marinette crossed the line of shadow meeting moonlight.  Entering the circular open forest clearing, the raven-haired witchling took a deep inhale of the air around her.  The air was seemingly lighter, relaxing.

Walking towards the center of the clearing, Marinette felt a light breeze surge around her.  The magical aura welcoming her presence.  It felt…

It had a sense of home.

The snapping of branches and fallen twigs on the forest floor brought Marinette’s attention towards the opposite side of the forest.  Listening to the rustling within, she stood patiently and quietly.  Staring towards the area of the noise, Marinette caught little glimpses of a glowing orb object bouncing through the breaks of trees.

Squinting, the small reflective glow grew closer until a familiar creature emerged from the shadows.  The same black wolf, fur as dark as a moonless night, and the brightest blue eyes like an untamed ocean.  Blues eyes that still displayed the sense of longing when he gazed at her.  A werewolf she started to meet in her sleep where the boundaries between dimensions held no bound.

As the wolf pushed forward in her direction, she forgot how big he stood compared to a modern wolf.  He easily stood two heads taller than her when he stood at full height.  Marinette was sure he either stood to the height of her father or perhaps even a slight bit taller. 

Their gaze never wavered from one another until he met her in the middle.  

As the werewolf came to a stop, Marinette felt the hum inside her head.  Closing her eyes, she allowed the bridge of communication seep through when she heard a soothing, familiar deep voice, “mo ghealach”.   

Wanting to reach out to him like always, Marinette stretched her hand out to rest on the soft, dark fur.  The moment her hands graced the surface of his fur, her vision went black.

Blinking, Marinette’s vision of the Parisian forests disappeared and the familiar surroundings of bedroom walls stood before her view.  Like always, the comfort and pull of the forest were lost, and retreated back to the barriers of her own mind.  The longing to be back with the wolf hurt more than having woken up in the early hours of morning.