Chapter Text
Grace Warren never knew her father.
Sure, she knew of him, in hushed whispers from her neighbors and wistful mentions from her mother.
“Monster” they’d call him. “Lover” she’d sigh.
Growing up, Grace had always known that she was different. From the moment she was born there was something within her, something wild and strange and unseen in anyone else she’d ever met. The first time she really felt it, though, was when she was five years old. Reluctantly, her mother had allowed her to attend the local school. She had always been bright, with a desperate thirst for knowledge, and Mary couldn’t bring herself to deny her daughter’s excited puppy-dog eyes when she begged to go play and learn with the other children. (Of course that excitement melted into hesitance once she realized her mother wouldn’t actually be attending with her.)
Grace quickly forgot about her fears the moment she saw the classroom full of toys and, most notably, other children. She’d never had a playmate before. Within seconds she was bounding up to the nearest little girl and excitedly introducing herself, “My name is Gwace Wawwen and I’m 5 yeaws owd! What’s youw name?” The other girl happily introduced herself, and they began playing with some building blocks.
It didn’t last long.
The other girl kept insisting that the blue block was a prince, and the pink one was a princess. How could that be? They were blocks, not people. Grace tried to explain this simple fact, but the other girl just laughed at her.
“She growled at her.” The teacher called Mary into the classroom after only the first day. “What kind of little girl growls at someone?”
“Mine.” Mary sighed. “I’ll take care of it, just please. Give her a chance.”
That was the day Grace learned what she really was.
“Gracie, these people aren’t always going to understand that you’re different. They might-“ Her mother chokes back tears, remembering what happened to her dearest lover. “They might be mean to you.”
Grace cried, insisting that she was a monster.
“No, sweetheart. You’re not a monster. You’re my baby, and you always will be. But not everyone is so understanding. So please, don’t give them a reason to.”
She held her, then, her sweet little pup. But every time Mary closed her eyes, she remembered that night when she learned her dearest was dead in a field, sheep’s blood still smeared around his mouth. The night she found out she was carrying her saving Grace.