In Celtic mythology, there are legends of evil-spirited creatures. One such type of eacreature is the werewolf. Werewolves are born with a red or saber-shaped birthmark, or with wolf like tufts of hair. They are believed to possess magic powers that allow them to see into the future and to turn into animals, especially the fierce wolf.
I'm sure that all of you have heard of werewolves, about how the curse is passed from the bite of one into the body of a human. Well, what if it wasn't so? What if, instead, it was…genetic? Or, one was just born that way and there was no way to fix it?
Would those only turn into a wolf at the full moon? Or would the more resemble the werewolf described in Celtic mythology? Would it be a mixture of both?
A mixture. How do I know? I am one. I've always had the ability to see the future and to turn into a wolf…when I choose. However, when the Full Moon comes, I'm forced to. It's a gift as well as a curse.
You probably think I'm insane, or that I'm just a monster. But I'm not. I'm not exactly human either. Ok, I'm not at all human. I look it, but I'm not. I'm no monster either. I'm a loup-garou. I was brought up to pity homo-sapiens…but you know what? I don't. There are humans everywhere, and it's not hard to find them. Humans can mate with humans, they can find love easily. We can only mate with our own kind, and we don't openly tell people what we are.
Even though we aren't exactly werewolves, people think we are. Those who know magic know the dangers of werewolves. They don't understand that we aren't those creatures, that, unlike werewolves, we can control our animal sides. The Ministry of Magic is prejudice and the witches and wizards don't even realize it.
I'm getting beyond myself. I need to keep to the facts. I'm a loup-garou. I'm 16. My name is Keelin O'Connor. I was chased from my home in Ireland and now go to Hogwarts in England. But again, I'm ahead of myself. Let me tell you the beginning…
Galway, Ireland, 1986
"It's a girl!" exclaimed an exhausted doctor to a very nervous father. The father was Teagan O'Connor. His wife, Saraid, was frail and he began to worry about her.
"How is she?" he asked nervously.
The doctor shrugged and walked back into the labour room. Moments later he came running out.
"Your daughter…she's…" he just shook his head and ran.
Fear gripped his heart. Teagan raced into the room to find his wife asleep and his little girl curled up in a ball at her side. A furry, wet ball. He smirked slightly at what the doctor must have thought to find a wolf cub in his daughters place. As he watched, the little wolf cub shivered and slowly shifted back into a little baby girl.
He bent down and picked her up. Her head was already covered in a soft dark pelt. Teagan grinned. She was beautiful. Hugging her tiny body to his broad chest, he whispered softly:
"Keelin Mercedes O'Connor. Welcome to the world…"
Galway, Ireland, 1997
I ran. I had no choice, really. If I didn't run, they'd shoot me. The people in our town where chasing us out. They had guns, of course loaded with silver bullets. Some even went so far as to have pure silver axes. It was the same. All because of Liam. He'd just had to have killed that girl. Now, not only were the townspeople pissed, so was the Ministry of Magic.
I had watched Liam, the only friend I'd ever had, be executed. It was a dull blade. I could see it. The executioner, Macnair, had to hack at his neck twice. The first time his eyes glazed over with tears, the second he screamed in pain and then…died.
Now I was running so that the same thing didn't happen to me. I heard them shoot someone. I heard the scream. It was my mother. The pain of her death ripped through my heart, but I couldn't stop. They would kill me too.
Suddenly I felt the change. That sweet shiver that would ripple down my back and through my bones. I had to keep going though, so I changed as I ran.
My bones cracked and I could feel them changing. Some people would have thought it hurt, it didn't. It was sweet, as sweet as chocolate…and blood. Yes I've had blood. No I haven't murdered. Well, unless you count killing sheep. They were my father's sheep. I didn't steal them.
As I ran, I heard a growl. It was soon followed by another shot. My dad. I was alone in the world. I wasn't even a teenager. I was barely 10. Who was there left for me to go to?
My aunt.