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Daciana (She/Her) is a witch. She wields a member of the unsorted masses of Hogwarts students just off the train eagerly crowding around the Sorting Hat.
About Me
Daciana Greyback, a cub swept up by the pack.
Occasionally, the wee lamb becomes the wolf.
~0~
"Daci! Daciana! Ana!"
Bare feet pounded against the slick memory of prickled grass, each cutting shard of glass becoming another hope for freedom. She was nothing but a slave to them. Nothing but a hardened criminal's child that was housed out of care, as if she was not their flesh and blood. Or half of it. She was simply a plague. Yet she could not bring herself to care about their opinions of her well-being. It was easier to run, to hide, and perhaps allow the elements to take her away.
Do not wander the woods at nightfall.
It was moonhigh, and the whistling wind was her companion, telling stories through the crowded thorns of her dark locks. She was told of bears, out to eat; wolves, sneaking for a bite. She recalled the stories of humans that preyed upon little children out for a walk. But any bite of death was better than the coldblooded hands upon her ivory flesh. Much could satisfy her beyond the means of separation from an icy home.
He was waiting for her.
Uneven rocks became the cushioning charm of a young girl's tumble, and caressed her skin with the lithe manner of her 'Mother' and 'Father'. A creature swathed in darkness became her guide, and he plucked the body easily from the earth's grip. It was either keep the brat, or allow her to fall under another's care. She was bitten, raised, and nurtured to a wolf's ability. And she became the bane of his existance. Daciana Greyback, the werewolf king's failure.
"I love you, Papa."
Occasionally, the wee lamb becomes the wolf.
~0~
"Daci! Daciana! Ana!"
Bare feet pounded against the slick memory of prickled grass, each cutting shard of glass becoming another hope for freedom. She was nothing but a slave to them. Nothing but a hardened criminal's child that was housed out of care, as if she was not their flesh and blood. Or half of it. She was simply a plague. Yet she could not bring herself to care about their opinions of her well-being. It was easier to run, to hide, and perhaps allow the elements to take her away.
Do not wander the woods at nightfall.
It was moonhigh, and the whistling wind was her companion, telling stories through the crowded thorns of her dark locks. She was told of bears, out to eat; wolves, sneaking for a bite. She recalled the stories of humans that preyed upon little children out for a walk. But any bite of death was better than the coldblooded hands upon her ivory flesh. Much could satisfy her beyond the means of separation from an icy home.
He was waiting for her.
Uneven rocks became the cushioning charm of a young girl's tumble, and caressed her skin with the lithe manner of her 'Mother' and 'Father'. A creature swathed in darkness became her guide, and he plucked the body easily from the earth's grip. It was either keep the brat, or allow her to fall under another's care. She was bitten, raised, and nurtured to a wolf's ability. And she became the bane of his existance. Daciana Greyback, the werewolf king's failure.
"I love you, Papa."
