Trinity's soft snores echoed through the room, a quiet crescendo to the turbulent dream unfolding in her mind. She didn't feel in control. Somehow, she knew she was dreaming, but she wasn't the ultimate conductor of her own experience. More so, she was a tepid audience member who had already seen this production a few times.
Trinity watched herself walking down her old street, Ryan on her left, Jess on her right. All three of them laughed happily as they made their way to their old high school. Trinity couldn't understand why her mind was replaying such trivial memories, but she was a silent observer, unable to control the flow of her own dream.
As if her memories were searching for something, they switched suddenly. The next memory was just as trivial as the last. She was at the bus stop, feet pressed against the cold glass, listening to music. The night was dark, the air cool. Just as she felt that creeping sensation rush up her spine, she watched from outside her body as she got up from the bus stop, looking around in panic before she took off running in the rain.
Trinity wanted to follow, to watch this memory unfold, but as she tried to take a step, she looked down only to see that her feet had been replaced with paws. She was in the body of a wolf, a wolf that looked to be Auburn in color. But she couldn't be sure; the night sky above didn't offer enough light to truly see her form.
She noticed that in both memories, she couldn't see her face. In both, she only watched from behind, seeing her black hair swaying in the wind. The smallest expanse of the side of her face wasn't enough to even confirm it was her. Someone who didn't know her well could think it was anyone. No matter the image, neither one showed her face, just the back of her head.
As the next memory played across her eyes, this one she didn't want to see. This one she wanted to turn away from. She was in the basement again, cold and small, curled up in a ball, head tucked in her lap, her fingers digging deeply into her own arms, wishing to be anywhere but where she was.
Even on her four paws, Trinity wanted to get to her younger self, to shelter her from what she knew would be coming. To rip apart Mickey before he got to her. She found herself trying to speak, to tell her younger self to get up, to run, to hide. But all that came out was barks and snarls. Suddenly, in a moment of panic and exasperation, she howled. She howled like a true wolf, calling its misery to the sky, to the moon. A call, as if she was trying to speak to someone who could not yet hear her.
Trinity clutched her chest as she woke up suddenly in the dark, low light of her room. If there had been a mirror, she would have seen her eyes glowing a bright golden hue, something deep within her was waking up.
In another part of the world, every member of the Council had shared a dream, a dream they all knew was not theirs, but the first step in knowing that a Red-Made Queen would soon be found.
The youngest of the Council members, Carly, being newly awoken by the shared dream, smiled happily, wondering where the girl would appear. In the dream, she could only just see the black hair, but Carly knew that when they found her, the hair would not be black but red. Every Queen had red hair, a symbol of their power and a gift bestowed upon them by their goddess. Carly swung her legs out of the large, four-poster bed, the heavy velvet comforter pooling around her. The ornate, dark wood furniture of her mother's room felt strangely cold and imposing in the pre-dawn light, a stark contrast to the youthful energy bubbling within her. She bounced on the balls of her feet, already envisioning the vibrant future this discovery promised.
Marina hadn't yet fallen asleep, but shared the same dream, an awakening tapestry of a queen they were yet to know. From the images she saw, she knew she had to be young. This wasn't the first time Marina had experienced these shared dreams; she'd been on the Council long enough to know what they meant. They all would know what these hints meant. It was the hint their goddess left for them, a holy scavenger hunt to find the next monarch of all wolf-kind.
Taking a long, deep sip of her wine, Marina thought herself unlucky as she gazed into the lit fireplace in front of her. The glow illuminated the war-centric paintings on the walls, the glint of ancient weapons on display. She knew from what she had seen that the new Queen was not from her Russian region. She had noticed the street signs had all been in English. She worried about the influence Marcus could have over a new Queen, a young Queen, an inexperienced Queen. A subtle frown touched her lips as she considered the political ramifications. She felt there was a need to reach out to her Council counterparts. Perhaps it was time to talk to Carly about being a more forceful Council member. Marina didn't want Marcus to have any more power than he already did. His influence was already well established. She needed Carly to have an equal foothold in their region, and she leaned back in her ornate armchair, a slow, calculating smile spreading across her face.
Marcus chuckled as he rose from his sleep, a broad smile on his face. He sat up, the crisp white sheets of his impeccably made bed rumpling only slightly. His wife remained deeply asleep beside him, oblivious. It had been some years since they had last had a Red-Made Queen, let alone one that seemed so young and impressionable. The final memory they got to relive – her trapped in a basement – made Marcus consider how malleable this one would be. He'd never had the opportunity to have a queen who could be made into what all wolves needed, and he thought this could possibly be his chance: to shape a broken defective into a true Queen. He wasn't sure if his fellow wolves would have understood the implication of seeing her in the human world, but it was not lost on him. Marcus knew the only way a wolf of her age would ever be found in these settings meant that she was a defective.
A defective as Queen would mean far more responsibility for the Council. She would be delicate, small, weak, vulnerable – not just to Council influence but to attack from the rest of the wolf world. Strength was the only thing respected, and even if she had the strength that every Red-Made Queen had, without the ability to shift, no one would truly believe it. Marcus couldn't believe his luck after so many centuries of service. He rose from the bed, his feet finding the precisely placed rug, and moved towards his desk, where stacks of meticulously organized documents awaited. The dream was a gift, a sign that his meticulously planned work would soon be elevated.
Angus felt uneasy. He knelt, eyes still closed, within the shimmering glass pyramid, the sacred light of the enclosure bathing him in reverence. The faint scent of incense clung to the air, and the intricate carvings on the stone floor beneath his knees felt cool and grounding. He knew his position on Council was to serve the Wolves at large, something he had no issue with. But every time a new Queen was installed, he always felt like his loyalties were being affected. He came into power as a Council member at a very critical time, appointed by his Red-Made Queen. Her rules, her laws, her legacy were not something he wanted to trample on. But a defective. A defective was to be the next Queen. Angus thought this new Queen would really test his ability to be loyal to a crown, and not just a specific Queen. A deep sigh escaped him, a sound that seemed to echo in the hallowed space. His brow furrowed, a silent prayer forming on his lips for guidance in these uncertain times.
Philip Jr. opened his blurry eyes with irritation. He felt utterly pissed off. It had been a delightful evening. Those responsible for his joyous time still lay soundlessly sleeping, wrapped around his body. And he had to dream about little girls trapped in basements.
He knew what the dream indicated, but he couldn't give a damn. He didn't understand why all of this Council stuff always seemed to get in the way of him just enjoying a small crumb of his existence. Refusing to give it any more thought, he grazed his hand over the she-wolf on his left, lightly playing with her breast, helping to rouse her from her sleep. He was up anyway. Might as well make the most of it. His grin returned, and he pulled the woman closer, the dream already fading into the background, replaced by more immediate and enjoyable concerns.