Chapter 90: The Fierce Grandmother
**Thelma Zane’s Perspective**
“Actually, if you asked me a year ago, I would have chosen the Moon Goddess without a second thought.” Dorothy’s voice was distant, her eyes blank as if she had suddenly been transported to another place, lost in the past. “But times have changed, and everything has changed with them.”
She paused, as though collecting her thoughts, before continuing, “Since I’ve made the decision to walk this path, to embrace both my werewolf nature and my witch heritage, I no longer feel the need to choose one god over the other. It would be unreasonable and selfish to split my faith like that. If I did, I’d never be at peace with myself. No god would accept such an unfaithful follower, and I would lose everything hold dear.”
I listened carefully, trying to understand the depth of her reasoning.
“If my identity cannot be separated,” she continued, “then why should my faith be? I’ll pray under the moonlight like any devout werewolf and follow the path of fate as a prophet should. I’ll honor both gods equally and with respect, never taking either for granted. Isn’t that enough?”
Her words were both enlightening and unorthodox. While they made a lot of sense, I couldn’t help but wonder how such a belief system would be received by others, particularly those within the rigid, traditional Council of Elders. The elders, who had spent their entire lives defending the purity of werewolf faith, would surely cry out against such an unorthodox view. The idea of worshiping two gods–of mixing two faiths–was something that would be considered nothing short of blasphemy.
“But how can a person truly worship two gods and still be considered pious?” I mumbled, the question escaping my lips before I could stop myself. “Isn’t faith meant to be the heart and soul of one’s beliefs, unified and singular?”
Dorothy suddenly blinked at me, a sly look passing over her face as she shrugged. “Well, actually, I was just thinking about that when you asked me. Of course, I have my doubts, too, but for now, this is what feels right for me. Maybe in another twenty years, my perspective will change again. After all, we’re all so fickle, aren’t we?”
Her words, casual yet profound, left me feeling somewhat guilty for having asked the question in the first place. I had unintentionally caused her to contemplate something that seemed to have been bothering her. Just as I was about to apologize, Dorothy stopped me, her gaze
piercing.
“What about you, Thelma?” she asked suddenly, her tone softer but just as firm. “Why do you keep apologizing? You’ve been apologizing all day. You don’t need to apologize for being yourself. You’re allowed to make mistakes, and you’re allowed to be unsure. But you must also be confident in who you are.”
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Her voice was full of conviction, and for the first time, I saw her as someone far beyond the scared, uncertain witch I had once known. In that moment, she was like a star breaking through the clouds, burning brightly and unapologetically.
“You should be proud of your power, Thelma,” she continued. “You don’t even realize how much strength you have within you. And don’t take your kindness lightly either. To those who love you
your kindness is worth more than all the riches in the world. Don’t underestimate it.
I was stunned by her words, more moved than I cared to admit. It was as though a veil had lifted, and I could finally see Dorothy for who she truly was–strong, confident, and wise beyond her years. She was no longer the timid, insecure girl I had met all that time ago. She had grown into someone remarkable.
In that instant, I realized something about myself as well. My protective, motherly instinct. had clouded my ability to see Dorothy as her own person, capable of making her own choices. I had been trying to shield her from the world, as if I could control everything around her. But she was her own person, with her own path to walk. It was not for me to decide what was right. for her. I could offer help, but I had to learn to let go and trust her.
“Okay,” I said, finally breaking the silence with a small laugh, mirroring her earlier one. “My wise prophet, when do we get to try that cake you promised? Maybe we can pick some fresh berries for the filling
Dorothy grinned, suddenly pouncing on me and tickling me mercilessly. “Hey! You’re copying/ me! No fair!”
We laughed and ran off together, the sound of our footsteps blending with the hum of the peaceful countryside. Behind us, the grass swayed in the breeze, and the air was filled with the gentle song of hummingbirds.
However, our laughter was soon interrupted when we arrived at Dorothy’s grandmother’s house. Dorothy’s grandmother, a woman of indeterminate age with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue, had always been a formidable presence. But today, she was particularly fierce. From the moment we stepped through the door, she didn’t even take the time to greet met properly. Instead, she waved her hand dismissively and barked out, “Who is this? Don’t bring shady little b*stards into my house! I don’t want my home turning into a breeding ground for
traitors!”
I was taken aback by the harshness of her words. The old woman didn’t even ask for my name before she started making rude comments. I was just about to snap back when Dorothy’s icy voice cut through the tension.
“It’s my choice who I invite to my house,” Dorothy said coldly, her eyes flashing with
defiance. “If you don’t like it, then you can leave. And by the way, this is my mother’s house, not yours.”
Chupp 90 The Fierce Grandmother
The old woman’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What did you say?” she hissed. “You dare speak to me like that? You little b*stard! You’re asking for a beating, aren’t you?”
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Before I could react, she grabbed a bundle of tightly intertwined wool needles from and began waving them around, as if she were ready to strike. The sight was so unexpected and absurd that I froze, unsure of how to respond.
But then, before I could stop her, she swung the needles in our direction. The silver tips glinted dangerously in the light, and I realized too late that they were not ordinary knitting needles. Dorothy’s grandmother had wrapped the wool tightly around the ends, but the metal was still exposed and deadly.
The needles struck, and I felt a searing pain shoot through my arm. It wasn’t the kind of wound that would leave a scar, but it burned like fire. I instinctively grabbed my arm, shocked by the intensity of the pain.
“Selma, are you okay?” Dorothy exclaimed, her voice filled with concern. She rushed to check the red burn on my skin. “We need to get you to the hospital right away! Wounds from silver don’t heal easily, especially in the summer.”
But I wasn’t concerned about my injury. My anger was burning hotter than the pain in my arm. I turned to Dorothy’s grandmother, my voice shaking with fury.
“How could you do that?” I shouted. “Dorothy is your granddaughter, and you’re using silver against her? Are you trying to kill her?!”
The old woman merely snorted, unphased by my outburst. “You don’t understand. Silver is the only thing that can expel the filthy witch’s blood from her body. She deserves it!”
I was livid. “I think you’ve lost your mind!”
Her face hardened, and she raised the needles again, her eyes gleaming with a fanatical determination. “I must stay here and cleanse Dorothy of the witch’s curse. She needs to be rid of it for good!”
It was as if she believed her actions were justified as if she truly cared about her granddaughter’s well–being. But I couldn’t fathom how anyone could be so blind, so consumed by their beliefs that they would harm the very person they claimed to love. The situation was spiraling out of control, and I wasn’t sure what would happen next.
C
