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Writer's pictureJ. P. Uvalle

Her Lone Wolf

๐™ƒ๐™š๐™ง ๐™ฌ๐™ค๐™ง๐™ก๐™™ ๐™ฌ๐™–๐™จ ๐™ค๐™ง๐™™๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™–๐™ง๐™ฎ...

...๐˜ผ ๐™ก๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™š ๐™ฌ๐™ค๐™ก๐™› ๐™ข๐™–๐™™๐™š ๐™ž๐™ฉ ๐™š๐™ญ๐™ฉ๐™ง๐™–๐™ค๐™ง๐™™๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™–๐™ง๐™ฎ.

"Ah, here's the problem." I stood up, closing the oven door to find Violet cowering in the corner, avoiding my gaze and biting her fingernail.

"Everything okay, Violet?"

"Are you a...a?"

"A shifter?" I said as I crept closer with my hands out. "Violet, whatever you may have heard about my kind, know I am not like them. I am not here to hurt you or anyone. I just want to help. I promise. I care about what the major is trying to do. Sabrecrest deserves to thrive again, be the tourist town it once was. I know you want that, too, right?"

She nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. "Yes, I want that more than anything. Sabrecrest is a wonderful place rich with history and culture, and I want the world to know it. I want the world to know my bakery exists."

๐™ƒ๐™€๐™ ๐™‡๐™Š๐™‰๐™€ ๐™’๐™Š๐™‡๐™

๐˜ผ ๐™Ž๐™–๐™—๐™ง๐™š๐™˜๐™ง๐™š๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™๐™ž๐™›๐™ฉ๐™š๐™ง ๐™๐™ค๐™ข๐™–๐™ฃ๐™˜๐™š ๐™—๐™ฎ #๐™…๐™‹๐™๐™ซ๐™–๐™ก๐™ก๐™š

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