The jarring sound of the silver box's contents scattering across the wooden floor sent a shock straight to my heart. My hands trembled as I knelt down to pick up the photographs that had fallen. As I looked closer, I saw myself in the images - just a kid, maybe four years old or so. The living room in the background didn't quite ring a bell but seemed hauntingly familiar. Perhaps it was the cabin where we used to live before, while we were still here in the Black Forest, before we moved to Fontainebleau following the trail of the Ironfang Clan.

I examined the photos more closely; their edges worn and colors faded from time. In one picture, little me was teary-eyed with bandages wrapped around my right hand, the white cloth stained with crimson blood. Confusion gripped me tighter when I saw the next photo. My mother was there, pulling back my hair to reveal something... Wait, were those...? No, it couldn't be... They were ears! Animal ears! What the hell did this mean? I racked my brain for any memory of this, but nothing came.

In another picture, I lay face down on a couch, a tail peeking out from under my skirt. My disbelief peaked when I saw the tiny, red werewolf wearing my clothes in the next photograph. Was that... me? No, it couldn't be!

"What the fuck," I muttered under my breath. Frantically, I grabbed the folded papers that had also fallen from the box and unfolded them, scanning the words written in familiar handwriting - my grandmother's, no doubt. My grip on the papers tightened as I started to read.

Beatrice's Diaries:

Red wandered alone in the forest at night, looking for her father, it began. The memory was hazy, but I could picture myself, a small child alone and frightened in the dark woods. I did recall my mother mentioning an incident when I was little, when I had gone chasing after my dad into the forest and got lost.

Hours felt like days as we searched, and at long last, I found her in a meadow. Tears stained her face and blood flowed from her hand, imprinted with small teeth marks. I first assumed it was a wild dog, but I was wrong. My grandmother's words painted a vivid image, and I could almost see the tiny teeth marks on my young hand. Did something really bite me...?

Without a moment's hesitation, I hurriedly carried Red back to our cabin. When Marion and Pierre saw us coming, their faces lit up with relief. Marion had been hysterical at the thought of losing her child. We quickly tended to Red's injury, and then tucked her into bed. However, as the night wore on, it became evident that this wasn't just an ordinary bite. My eyes were glued to the shaking paper, as fear and confusion permeated my racing mind.

Red broke off a raging fever. I examined her and nothing seemed wrong so I rummaged through her pockets and found scattered wolfsbane petals. My mind raced in terror, knowing that even the smallest amount of its toxin could bring a swift and agonizing death. As I was about to seek medical help, the impossible happened – Red began to transform, her body contorting and reshaping, until right before my eyes she became a small, red werewolf.

"What?" I exclaimed, the word escaping my lips before I could contain it. My heart raced as I stared down at the words on the page. It couldn't be true, could it? Was I really... a werewolf?

I took a few shaky breaths, trying to steady my nerves. But every time I glanced back at the letter, the panic surged through me once more. The idea that I'd transformed into a small red werewolf was terrifying, but even more baffling was the fact that I couldn't remember any of it.

"Maybe I was too young," I muttered to myself, grasping for an explanation. "Or maybe this is all just some sick joke." And yet, despite my doubts, there was something chillingly real about my grandmother's account of that fateful night. And, of course, there were the pictures.

With a sense of dread and morbid curiosity, I continued to read, hoping for answers. As I did, I could feel the weight of the revelation beginning to crush me.

Once we were sure Red was perfectly healthy, our main focus was on keeping her transformation a secret from the Hoods. They would never understand, and we knew they would likely be afraid of her, maybe worse. I racked my brain for possible solutions but ultimately decided that seeking guidance beyond our community was the best course of action. We were all at a loss, as to the extent of our knowledge werewolves were born, not made. Marion clung to the hope that a cure existed for her daughter, so I promised her I would at least try to find it.

The thought of my parents hiding such a dark secret made my stomach twist in knots. Would the Hoods really be able to cast me away if they found out? Why did no one ever tell me about this...?

It was then that I approached Ulrich, the leader of the Nightshade Clan. As our trust grew, he shared a revelation. It was indeed possible for humans to turn into werewolves, but the circumstances required were so unique that it seldom happened without intent. Red had unknowingly gone through all the steps: eating wolfsbane flowers under the light of a full moon, teetering on the brink of death, and then being bitten by a werewolf, drawing its blood.

I clenched my fists, anger and disbelief mingling in my chest. How could this have happened to me? What sort of cruel twist of fate had led me to become the very thing I'd been taught to fear and despise?

Sadly, there's no way to reverse the curse. The sentence hit me like a punch to the gut. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead as I realized the implications of those words. I was stuck like this—forever. The life I'd known was gone, replaced by a twisted new reality. As tears filled my eyes, I knew that, somehow, I'd have to find a way to live with this terrible truth.

"Alright, Red," I thought to myself, wiping away the tears with the back of my hand. "You need to know everything. You need to understand." With a deep breath, I continued reading.

Ulrich, however, did provide a glimmer of hope. There were certain things we could do if we wanted to avoid Red transforming. If we were vigilant in ensuring she remained calm, kept her away from the forest, controlled her impulses and needs, it would be possible to conceal her true self. This was exactly what Marion and Pierre desired, so what else could I do? Grandma's words echoed the countless warnings and restrictions I had heard from my mother growing up.

As much as I wanted to reject the truth, it all made sense: the overprotectiveness, the strict rules, the isolation. My mind raced with memories of my childhood – the times I had been held back, kept away from the other kids. The Hoods, the boyfriends I was never allowed to have. All the missed opportunities... because of a secret I hadn't even known existed. My mother wasn't just being difficult—she was trying to protect me from myself. From the monster that supposedly lurked within me.

I couldn't believe it... I had never transformed into a werewolf, ever. I didn't even imagine something like this could be possible. I was just ordinary... But the story seemed believable. It even explained how Ulrich and my grandmother knew each other, and how they became friends. It fit with what Ulrich told me.

I crushed the papers in my hands, my heart pounding as I struggled to catch my breath. Tears streamed down my cheeks, blurring my vision as I tried to comprehend what I had just read. Was I really capable of transforming?

"Fuck this," I choked out between sobs. "How could they keep this from me?" I asked the empty room, my voice barely audible.

My body tensed up as my mind suddenly recalled something Silver had said, his words like an echo in the back of my head. No, it couldn't be... Slowly, the memories came flooding back and an overwhelming feeling of clarity took over. My eyes widened as understanding swept through me like a tidal wave, finally uttering the word I had promised not to speak again: "Silver."