hapter 91: 99% and 1%
**Thelma Zane’s POV:**
If that was truly what she believed, then she must seemed like the only logical place for her.
I let out a cold snort, my tone sharp as I retorted, ” propose doing that? Will you wield those silver nee
rant her mercy! This old woman has ch
she holds!”
“You’re the lunatic here!” she shrieked, her voice s a treacherous dog in league with witches! You war you?”
In a flash, Dorothy’s grandmother lunged at me 1: frenzied.
Thanks to years of rigorous training, I was ready t someone so unhinged required no more than the r practiced precision, I stepped aside and swiftly ma effortlessly throwing her to the floor.
Even after landing with a thud, she remained und creature, still trying to attack me.
Dorothy intervened, rushing forward and grabb born from years of enduring such outbursts, she restraining her there. Then, without sparing anot upstairs.
“Don’t waste your energy on her,” Dorothy said
matter what you say, she She’s lost her mind. No
With that, she slammed the door behind us, seal
from downstairs.
Dorothy’s room was modest, to say the least. A by a desk lacking even a single chair, a freestand The furniture–filled every inch of the room, leav
to stand.
Dorothy offered me a sheepish smile, her cheel lack of space. There’s no sofa here. You can sit on
Despite her calm exterior, the earlier confrontat movements were stiff, her gaze unfocused, and
Chapter 91: 99% and 1%
**Thelma Zane’s POV:**
If that was truly what she believed, then she must have lost her sanity. A mental institution seemed like the only logical place for her.
I let out a cold snort, my tone sharp as I retorted, “Get rid of filth? And how exactly do you propose doing that? Will you wield those silver needles you cling to so desperately? Moon Goddess, grant her mercy! This old woman has clearly been driven mad by the very weapon she holds!”
“You’re the lunatic here!” she shrieked, her voice shrill and unrestrained. “You’re nothing but a treacherous dog in league with witches! You want Dorothy to betray the werewolves, don’t you?”
In a flash, Dorothy’s grandmother lunged at me like a feral animal, her movements wild and frenzied.
Thanks to years of rigorous training, I was ready for her unprovoked attack. Dealing with someone so unhinged required no more than the reflexes I had honed over time. With practiced precision, I stepped aside and swiftly maneuvered to counter her aggression, effortlessly throwing her to the floor.
Even after landing with a thud, she remained undeterred, writhing on the ground like a rabid creature, still trying to attack me.
Dorothy intervened, rushing forward and grabbing her grandmother firmly. With strength born from years of enduring such outbursts, she hoisted the older woman onto the sofa, restraining her there. Then, without sparing another glance, she grabbed my hand and led me upstairs.
“Don’t waste your energy on her,” Dorothy said curtly, her voice tinged with exhaustion.” She’s lost her mind. No matter what you say, she won’t listen.”
With that, she slammed the door behind us, sealing out the string of profanities still echoing
from downstairs.
Dorothy’s room was modest, to say the least. A small bed occupied one corner, accompanied by a desk lacking even a single chair, a freestanding closet, and several overstuffed bookcases. The furniture filled every inch of the room, leaving only a cramped space in the center for us to stand.
Dorothy offered me a sheepish smile, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment. “Sorry for the lack of space. There’s no sofa here. You can sit on the bed if you’d like.”
Despite her calm exterior, the earlier confrontation had clearly taken a toll on her. Her movements were stiff, her gaze unfocused, and I could sense the heavy weight of her
and
emotions.
Gently, I took her hand and spoke softly. “Has she always been like this? If you’d prefer, arrangements can be made to get her the help she needs. A good mental institution could provide treatment and a peaceful environment. The Lycan King himself would cover the expenses. After all, you’ve sacrificed so much for the kingdom. You deserve this support.”
A faint sinile graced her lips as she shook her head. “Thank you for the kind offer, but it’s not necessary. She isn’t unwell. She’s just trapped in the past, unable to move forward.”
“Why does she treat you this way? What happened in the past to make her act like this?” 1 asked, my voice heavy with concern.
Dorothy’s gaze dropped to the floor, her expression pensive. “I wish I knew. All I’ve ever been told is that my mother eloped with my father, a wizard. That’s the only clear piece of the story I have. Everything else is shrouded in silence. The burden of their choices has been passed down to me.”
I frowned, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “But this is abuse! Silver is a weapon meant for fighting werewolves‘ enemies. No one has the right to use it against their own kin. What gives her the right to harm you like this?”
“She despises me because I’m part witch,” Dorothy replied, her voice quiet but firm. “She blames my father for taking my mother away, and I’m the only outlet for her anger. Isn’t it natural for werewolves to harbor hatred toward witches? After all, the atrocities committed by those who followed Satan’s teachings have left a deep scar on our kind.”
“But your father wasn’t one of them, was he? You said he worshipped the goddess of fate.
“Yes,” she confirmed with a nod. “If he had been aligned with those invaders, the war’s outcome could have been far more devastating.”
“Then she has no justification for her actions!” exclaimed. “The war had nothing to do with your father–and certainly nothing to do with you!”
Dorothy sighed, her gaze meeting mine. “How many people know that? To most, witches and wizards are all the same–followers of Satan. It’s easier to lump us together than to
understand the nuances.”
She paused, her expression somber. “When 99% of a group is guilty of wrongdoing, the remaining 1% becomes irrelevant. People round it up, because it’s convenient.”
Her words hit me like a cold gust of wind, forcing me to confront an uncomfortable truth. The Blackwater War had left an indelible mark, and the ancient tales of witches persecuting werewolves had only deepened the divide. To many, werewolves and witches were natural enemies, their animosity woven into the fabric of their existence.
But Dorothy’s perspective made me question everything. If witches and wizards were divided into factions, how many innocents had suffered unjustly? How many lives had been lost to
Chappe191.97% and
blind revenge?
The weight of this realization sent a shiver down my spine.
Dorothy’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “My situation is unique, though,” she said. The survival of minority groups is incredibly difficult. Those who follow beliefs other than Satan’s live in seclusion, always cautious. My father is a perfect example. No one knows where he and my mother are now.”
“Do they never interact with others?” I asked, curious.
“They do, but with extreme caution,” Dorothy explained. “They have to maintain some semblance of a normal life. My father used to write in his journal about the measures he’d take to avoid detection. He even used spells to disguise himself as a different race when venturing outside his territory. But he was careful never to take on the guise of someone aligned with Satan–that would have been too risky.”
Hearing–this brought me a sense of relief. At the very least, it meant that not every innocent life was endangered by blind retaliation. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
Chap 92 An invitation takeal
Chapter 92: An Invitation to Heal
