Call Of Freedom

• Niamh Dwyer, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2018

She lived in an old manor. She ate from fine aluminium. She was blessed with eyes of gold, satin-like pale hair, and a gentle hue in her silken skin. She was the most desirable girl in Paris, and so far, her family had escaped the guillotine. Her mother had fled to the rebellers but her dominant, vain father refused. He wished to find an excuse to flee the violence, and so it came as little of a surprise when he announced that she would marry and bear child to a lad he had found in the following week.
That hateful week saw her, every night, her window thrown open, her pure and beautiful face resting on her sill. The moon would reflect in her eyes... and stir a glint in the irises, an ancient and powerful longing, as undeniably terrifying and real as the dreaded wolf’s howl...The day before the wedding, she felt something... something terrifyingly powerful, rearing it's strange head within her. In that moment, she looked at the world anew. She slipped out, into the woods, and gazed at the moon, that force which had led her here.
She could have comfort, her world, but she would ever be straining at her emotional chains. Or she could be purely and simply, free. And in that moment, she chose. She slunk soundlessly toward the glassy waters of a lake...the one many had never left, the one which filled one with a strange feeling, hypnotizing them as they drowned...In that second, she didn’t care. She slid in, perfectly, like an arrow...directly under the moon. She let go of her cares. And calmly swiveled her gaze to the moon. And she threw her head back and let out the most mournful howl of any time of history, ever to reach ears of man.
Ten years later, her bed is still despondently lacking of any occupant. Her shutters hang open, creaking on their hinges. In all this time, she is still innocent. Not once has anything passed those beautiful lips. She should have starved, but she does not care for her hunger. It is nugatory to her. And she has transformed, though none could say she isn't still stunning. As, obviously, wolves carry a beauty all of their own.