I was reminded of my favorite song by Melanie Martinez, Dollhouse, while writing this.
Don't ask.
Also, you guys asked for Werewolf!Jaspis, so I've finally gotten around to writing it, wheee!
Anyway, this is a prologue to the story, so don't bug me about how Jasper sounds baby-ish here. She's not going to be this young in the rest of the story, she's going to be sixteen.
-Nony
Prologue: Dollhouse
Imagine the perfect family.
A mommy, who wore nice dresses every day, had nice jewelry, and whose ancestors who had lived it up in castles their entire lives.
A daddy, who had nice suits, always smelled of coffee and printers, and was related to one of the richest men in the world.
A daughter, who wore dresses and walked around thinking she was better than everyone.
Do you have that image in your head?
Good.
Now imagine the exact opposite.
My family used to be that way. I was the daughter who was spoiled and always got everything she wanted. My mom was rich. My dad was rich. We fared well.
Until my seventh birthday.
I was born at twelve o'clock AM on New Year's Day. The first minute of the first day of the new year.
When I was seven, I had begged and begged my parents to go to Times Square to see the ball drop. I had been waiting for this day all year.
Of course they said yes.
I always got what I wanted.
But it was a mistake to go.
Catastrophe.
My new teddy bear that I had just gotten that night as an early birthday present was torn apart by monsters.
My mom died.
My dad didn't know what to do.
I didn't know what to do.
I had turned into a beast. A horrid beast.
And it was all because of her.
That stupid little girl. Why did she think it was okay to bring her apparently rabid dog to Times Square? On New Years?!
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I'll always just be a wretched beast...because of her.
My dad doesn't care about me...because of her.
My mom's gone...because of her.
My teddy bear is a pile of polyester, synthetic fibers, and cotton at the bottom of a sewer...because of her...
.
.
.
My name is Jasper Brooks, and it's about time I tell you what exactly I am.
I am a werewolf. Yes, yes. The thing that turns into a wolf when there's a full moon and loses control of all human emotions. Apparently, once upon a time it was a witches curse. But now, all it is is a virus. You get bitten, you turn into one of us, yada yada yada.
And the worst part is that everyone thinks we're emotionally immature. Sure, I mean, it might sound like a ten-year-old is saying all this, but I am FOURTEEN, so FIGHT ME.
Actually, it would probably be better just to run, if you don't want me going all feral-animal on you.
Unless, of course, you were the girl that brought her "pet parent" to Times Square, in which case you can just stand right there and let me kill you painfully and slowly.
Isn't that a nice thought?