The White Wolf And Her Dear Brothers

“Oh my goodness, my lady…this suits you perfectly,” Ruth cheers as she pins Lora’s hair with the emerald hairpin that actually belongs to Elara, her twin sister.

“Miss Lora, that belongs to Miss Elara,” Fiona says, glaring at Ruth.

“Oh please, how is she gonna wear it? It’s my birthday, and she’s too sick to even step out of that cocoon-like room she spends her days in,” Lora slurs, checking herself in the mirror with a smug grin. “It would be such a waste, don’t you think so too, Ruth?”

Ruth nods, smiling so bright. She tucks a loose strand of Lora’s blonde hair behind her ear like she’s pleased to be the one doing the honors.

Fiona folds her arms, trying hard not to let the irritation show. “Still, it’s not yours, Miss Lora. It’s Miss Elara’s,” she says, low and steady.

Lora turns, knife-sharp look in her eyes. “Fiona, you’re her maid, not mine. Go back to your sickly princess and stop ruining my mood.”

The words bite at her, Fiona knows arguing won’t help. She lowers her gaze, swallows the retort that climbs her throat, and slips from the room. Every time she stands up for Elara, it only earns her a slap.

Tonight is the twins’ eighteenth birthday, and the place looks like it was meant for parades. Only, Fiona thinks, one of the twins is the center of everything and the other is barely a shadow.

She opens Elara’s door and finds her sitting at the mirror, fingers fumbling with a brush. Her hands tremble a little as she tries to braid her hair. In the candlelight she looks thinner than usual, like someone has been erasing color from her face.

“Miss Elara,” Fiona says gently, taking the brush and easing it out of her hands. “Your brothers didn’t even get you anything. It’s your birthday too, you know. Why does everything have to go to Lora? You’re twins—this is unfair.” She can’t stop the click of her tongue. She begins to brush Elara’s long, silvery hair with slow, careful strokes.

Elara gives a small, tired smile. “Lora wearing them is the same as me wearing them, so let it be. I may not even have enough strength to attend the party after all. She would represent the both of us.” Her voice is soft, you can tell she barely said those with little strength.

She and Lora are supposed to be identical, but Lora’s skin gleams; she’s full of color and sharp edges. Elara’s complexion is pale and thin, her lips have lost colors, shoulders narrow. She looks like she might simply fade if someone doesn’t hold her up.

It’s been like this from the start. Elara’s sickness is the thing nobody speaks about. The family tried everything from the day they were born, herbs, healers, even desperate measures. When that didn’t work, the effort subsided into routine. Elara turned into a quiet presence, tucked away in the corners of the family’s life. The Hale house holds wealth and pride in every room, but Elara is that small, stubborn sorrow that sits in the middle of their perfection.

Fiona ties a plain ribbon at the end of Elara’s braid and steps back. “There. You still look beautiful, Miss Elara. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Elara snorts softly. “You say that because you have to,” she teases, but it’s gentle.

“I say it because it’s true.” Fiona rests her hands on Elara’s shoulders for a beat. “If I had my way, that crown on Lora’s head would be yours.”

A ghost of a smile lifts Elara’s lips. “She’d probably kill me before letting that happen.”

Fiona laughs, a sound that’s small but honest. “Maybe she would. But at least you’d die looking stunning.”

For a moment they both laugh and the room feels lighter, like someone opened a window. Then the music from the hall below swells — booms of sound, the clink of glasses, people carrying on as if the whole world is a stage. The sound pulls at Elara, a soft, aching tug.

Her chest tightens, not from sickness but some old, familiar longing. “I just want to see it,” she whispers. “Just for a few minutes.”

A knock at the door interrupts them. Silas slips in carrying a small bouquet of lilies.

“Happy birthday, Elara,” he says simply with his peaceful smile.

“Thank you, brother.” She reaches out and brushes her fingers over the petals. “You remembered I loved these.”

“I always do.” He sets the flowers on the dresser and studies her face a beat. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Just… tired,” she admits. Only Silas out of their four brothers manages to show this much love, every attention has always been on Lora. “But I really want to see the party. Just for a little while.”

Silas’s jaw tightens. “You know Kael won’t like it if you push yourself.”

“I don’t care what my Alpha brother likes.” She tries to stand and her knees wobble. “Please, Silas. I’ve never been to one. Just once, I want to see what it’s like.”

He looks at her and sees the thinness, but also that small stubborn spark and exhales. “Alright. But you’ll stay close to me, and the moment you feel dizzy, we leave.”

Her face brightens like a candle lit. “I promise.”

Fiona rushes for a shawl and drapes it around Elara’s shoulders. “Are you sure Alpha Kael will allow her?” she murmurs as they move.

“She should be there,” Silas says, helping Elara to her feet. “Even if she’s just sitting and watching.”

They walk down the corridor. Elara’s pulse quickens with excitement and nervousness braided together.

At the top of the grand staircase she stops. The hall below is full of pack members, visiting families, men and women in their finery. Lora stands in the middle of it, emerald fabric catching the light, a practiced smile in place as everyone coos over her.

“She looks happy,” Elara says, quiet and a little wistful.

“She always does,” Silas replies.

“Can we just stay here a moment?” she asks. “I just want to watch.”

Silas nods and they linger. For a little while Elara watches her sister laugh, sees the way people lean toward Lora. Her chest aches; there’s pride swirled up with a loneliness that sits heavy.

Then someone notices her. Heads turn, conversations tilt. A whisper or two travels through the crowd — “Is that the sick twin?” “I thought she never left her room.” “She looks pale.”

Elara drops her eyes, heat rising to her face. Her fingers tighten on Silas’s arm. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” she murmurs.

“Don’t listen to them,” Silas says. “You have every right to be here.”

Before he can do anything else, Lora’s voice rises across the room. “Oh, look who decided to join us!” She steps forward with a smile that’s all show. “Everyone, this is my sister, Elara. Isn’t it sweet that she came to bless us with her presence?”

A few polite laughs ripple and the room breathes around the moment like it’s just another piece of theater.

Elara forces a smile. “Happy birthday, Lora.”

“Thank you, and I hope you're also happy, it's our day,” Lora says, that glossy tone in place. “I didn’t think you’d make it out of bed. I suppose miracles do happen.”

Silas’s face tightens. “That’s enough, Lora.”

Elara waves him off softly. “It’s alright,” she whispers. “I just… wanted to see it.” The stairs pierces her. Suddenly her head buzzes.

She tries to stay steady, but color drains away, the room tilts. The music and laughter grow far away, like they’re happening in another house.

“Elara?” Silas calls, and his voice sounds distant as if coming through water.

Her knees weaken immediately, Silas catches her before she can fall, a look of panic flashing in his eyes.

The crowd parts as he lifts her up into his arms. Damon, who had been busy greeting visitors, turns, panic immediately draining the smile on his face, “What happened?”

“She fainted. I told her she wasn’t ready for this,” Silas says, voice shaking.

“Move,” Damon orders, carrying Elara from him. He holds her close, steady and strong as he pushes through the guests and heads up the stairs.

Lora stands frozen for a beat, a pale shadow crossing her features before she smooths it away and clenches her hands into the fabric of her dress.

The music cuts off like someone snapped a chord.

Damon doesn’t look back as he carries Elara toward her room.