The wind clawed at the windows, rattling the small cabin like it wanted inside. A single candle flickered, throwing restless shadows across the room.

Grandma Lara sat in her rocking chair, her silver hair pulled back tight. Despite the storm and the dim light, her eyes were sharp — too sharp for a bedtime moment.

Little Aurora, only eight, sat quietly on a low stool, her legs tucked beneath a blanket as her grandmother brushed through her curls with slow, deliberate strokes.

Then Lara’s hand froze.

“Promise me you’ll never trust a True Blood Alpha, Aurora.”

Aurora looked up, startled. “Why, Grandma?”

“They destroy what they touch,” Lara whispered, her voice trembling with a rage that didn’t belong in such a gentle act.

Aurora hesitated. “But… Uncle says they’re just stronger wolves, right?”

Lara didn’t answer. She only brushed harder, faster, as if trying to comb away memories that refused to die.

“Just promise me,” she said again, softer this time.

Aurora swallowed and nodded.

“I promise.”

— Why does Grandma hate True Blood Alphas?)