I didn't look at any of the Dimitrescu family as we trekked back towards the castle.

I didn't feel the cold or the dried blood that stiffened my clothing, my hair.

I didn't tell them about the beast that I'd slain.

I didn't tell them about Lord Moreau.

I didn't tell them about the single, black crow I'd found observing me.

I didn't tell them about the dumping ground of bodies I'd seen, filled with villager and lycan alike.

I didn't tell them about how it feels like their blood has now seeped beneath my skin, forever branding me, haunting me.

I didn't tell them that I recognized some of those faces.

And they didn't ask.