Born to Soar with Broken Wings

Who is the real monster? The one with the horns or the one with a twisted smile?

SUMMARY
What makes you a monster?
Is it being born different or choosing to pull the trigger on someone who once trusted you?
The demons have a monstrous appearance.
But the humans act as such, hiding behind the mask of civility, committing sins behind closed doors.
It is said that love is natural and hate is taught.
For a child born into darkness, it’s a hard pill to swallow.
The world is cruel for both but some monsters have a heart that never forgot kindness or a close friend.

TRIGGER WARNING
This story has the following themes:-


SA and physical abuse
Mutilation
Child abuse and violence
Street life
Death
Threats
Blood and other graphic visuals
Starvation
hate
Weapon usage
Environmental degradation
Repeating the trauma cycle
Fear of rejection
Idolizing the abusers
Emotional neglect and manipulation
Controlled parenting
Captivity and confinement
Children having to carry their parents guilt and mistakes


PROLOGUE (Draft with more to add)
The night was cold after the evening rains. The stars shimmered above her like a constellation of fireflies and the sweet earthy scent of the earth filled the air.
Under the twisted tree, lay a small gray wolf, curled into a tight ball, his tail wrapped protectively over the old wound.
The bandage she had wrapped around his paw just some hours ago had slipped off, lying nearby like a failed attempt in healing.
The girl took slow hesitant steps towards the beast, the dry leaves crunching under her. She watched as his ears twitched at the noise, the tiniest of smiles tugged at her lips. Her eyes shining with a childlike innocence.
“Why do you keep biting it off, Silva?” she asked softly, not wanting to startle him.
The wolf didn’t look up, didn’t even move or bother to grace her with a response.
A huff of breath was the only proof that he had heard her
With a sigh, she crouched in front of him. fisting a handful of his fur, her fingers tightening instinctively.around the softness.
“You don’t get to be stubborn, you know?” she whispered, “that’s my thing.”
Celine’s fingers froze in his fur as the low rumble started deep within his chest.
It wasn’t the sharp, snapping sound of a wolf ready to bite. Something quieter instead, like the warning hum of a storm far away.

That didn’t make her pull away though.
“I know.” she muttered, “You like your personal space but I can’t help it. Will you run away if I sit next to you?”