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... like hungry wolves, Not curious stares, but disgusted ones. A wrinkle of the nose here, a furrowed brow there, whispers like hissing snakes behind my back.

I used to tell myself they were wrong, that I wasn't different from anyone else, that all I needed was time. But when I turned eighteen, the truth scraped against my heart like rusted nails.

I was different. A freak. A Half-shifter, a mix-up, a mistake.

The silver glint of the knife I was holding mocked me as I placed ...

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