The night deepened and the blizzard showed no signs of letting up.
My apartment felt like an island, adrift in a sea of white noise.
I watched as the wolves settled into a rhythm, their presence a steady heartbeat against the chaos outside.
They communicated in ways I couldn’t fully understand, a silent language of looks and nods.
The one who had hesitated at the door continued to watch me, her gaze unwavering.
It was as if she could see through the layers I’d built around myself, the walls I’d constructed to keep the world at bay.
Her presence was both unsettling and oddly reassuring, a reminder that I wasn’t as alone as I’d thought.
As the night wore on, I found myself sharing stories, snippets of my life that I’d kept hidden even from myself.
The wolves listened, their silence a kind of acceptance.
In their presence, the weight of my own solitude began to lift, if only slightly.
But with that lightness came a new heaviness, a realization that I had been avoiding for too long.
Tomorrow, I would have to face the world again, the meeting looming over me like a dark cloud.
But tonight, for the first time in a long time, I felt a spark of something unfamiliar—hope, perhaps, or the beginnings of change.
Whatever it was, it was enough to carry me through the storm, at least for now.
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