• 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭.
• 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐬.
• 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.

Name: Laura Eudora Lee.
Age: Nineteen.
Birthday: March Second.
Parents: Robert Cain Lee, The Titan Goddess Selene.
Height: Five-foot-seven.
Powers: Madness Inducement, Umbrakinesis, Chronokinesis.
Gifts: Blessed with perfect aim, gift of Artemis.
Weapons: Magic bow and arrow with silver-tipped arrowheads.

Laura Eudora Lee didn’t know the first thing about her mother.She figured it didn’t matter — there was always too much to do on the farm besides. Roping and riding, cutting down trees and harvesting lumber, her father’s meticulously planned harvest schedule left little time for rest, much less wistfully thinking about the woman who brought her into this world. When Laura was a child, she admits, she felt jealously wretch her heart free from its tendons and cast the organ aside, watching little girls sit on their mother’s laps at the park, holding hands and strolling through the aisles of the supermarket, kissing cheeks and soothing aches.Her daddy did his best, she thinks, despite his desire to keep her an arm's length away at all times. Robert Lee — Bobby to the rest of their small, northern town — loved his daughter; Laura could feel his love as tangibly as her foot felt the inside of her boots, her fingers felt the warm wood of her arrows. He didn’t always have the easiest time showing it — a quiet, reserved man who nodded and grunted in response to almost everything his daughter said.Her father didn’t have very many rules: stay away from boys, keep her nose in her books, keep God in everything she did, and never, ever, go in the basement. Boys never interested Laura much, and she found infinite comfort in her books and the word of the Lord — but one night, one humid night on the East Coast — Laura trespassed against her father, twisting the rusty doorknob and descending into the basement.She tiptoed — quiet as death — into the concrete coffin at the base of her home. The washer and dryer, her old hockey gear, a couple plastic containers of childhood relics; Laura didn’t understand her father’s desperate plea for her never to enter this underwhelming room.Until she saw it.Two long, silver chains — bolted to the wall and two matching cuffs at the end of their lengths—a water bowl. The bolts looked old, older than Laura, and from the holes that attached them to the wall, someone had ripped them out of the wall more times than she cared to know.Something — someone.Hearing her father’s truck sputter in the driveway, she sprints back upstairs, precariously weaving his myriad of locks back together. Laura sleeps, her teddy bear tucked tight against her chin. What was her father doing in their basement? And why isn’t she allowed to know?Months pass, a blistering summer blooming into a quiet fall, the seasons crashing like cymbals as snow blankets her small town.Laura had always loved Christmas, loved it for more than the single package that her father would leave on her bed — somehow always knowing exactly what she wanted without her ever voicing any modicum of desire. Waste not want not, her father had reminded her, and she didn’t want much.She had everything she needed. Her father, her schoolwork, hunting, her part-time job at the library — and more than anything else, more than any of those earthly delights, she had God.Laura had God in a way she wasn’t sure anyone else could understand. Sure, she had the faith that compelled her to goodness; she had the will and ability to routinely attend Wednesday Bible study, Sunday service, and Friday’s women’s group — but she had His voice in her head.His warm, lovely voice in her head — the voice she talked to, that talked back, that listened and cared and comforted her. A divine presence in her mind that made her days, her sometimes very lonely days, softer. Easier to manage. She supposed it was easy to be a good Christian when Christ held your hand, tight, and never let go.These thoughts keep her company in late December, the quiver of arrows against her back thumping gently as she walks home. She hums some top-forty-pop-power-ballad, contemplating what to get the nice ladies she works with for Christmas when she hears the sharp crack of a branch behind her. The sound stopped Laura in her tracks; the pressure that caused the snap couldn’t possibly belong to a human, and she was sure the bears had moved further North to hibernate. Blinking, she tilts her head up, watching how the full moon breaks over the branches overhead, slowing her breathing. Maybe she’d just spent too much time with her fantasy novels — surely she had to be imagining it — no.A flurry of dark fur and teeth tackles Laura to the ground, snarling and gnashing in her face, long, white teeth bloody and dripping against her pale face — and she kicks, screams, tries to push the too-big beast off of her, to no avail.Laura manages to free one of her hands, sending her thumb directly into the eye of the beast, sending it whimpering backwards, allowing her enough time to get to her feet — reach for her quiver, shakily load it into her bow — and in the half-seconds between her movements, she takes in the appearance of the beast. Paws the size of her head, easily, teeth longer than her fingers — if this is a wolf, it’s certainly not from around here — a coat so shiny it looked fake.A beautiful, awful thing. A bad miracle.The animal lunges once again, and Laura doesn’t waste time marvelling at the thing — she just shoots. Her aim, true, the way it always is, lands in the beast's heart — and it staggers back, landing in a heap a few feet from her boots. Laura approaches — waste not, want not — content to begin harvesting the wolf for consumption when she watches the beast shrink before her eyes. His body condenses, pale skin blooming where dark fur had once existed, a lupine face morphing into a scared, cold, human one.“Daddy?” Laura whispers, “Daddy, that’s not — how — no, no, you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be fine; I thought you were a wolf,” her mitts press into his wound, warm blood covering her shaking hands, “where’d the wolf go?”“I’m the — wolf, Laura, it’s — it’s me, you weren’t supposed to,”“’S not possible, Daddy, look, I have my phone; I can call for help,” hot tears stream down her face, bloody hands turning her pockets inside out to locate her mobile, “you’re gonna be fine, promise,”“Are those the silver arrowheads, Laura?”She sniffles, “Yes, Daddy,”“Then no, sweet girl, m’not,” his hand, his blessed human hand, runs through her hair, “I’m so sorry, baby, that I didn’t tell you — who your mama is, who you are,” he groans, coughing blood into the space between them, “they’ll come for you soon, Laura,”“Who? Who, Daddy, please, I can’t stop the bleeding,”“The Gods, baby, here,” his hand reaches for the arrow, yanking it from his chest, “take this. I’ll be gone soon; I want you to hear it from me, okay? You’re not from here, you’re like me, but you’re not like me,” he sputters, more blood landing against his chest, “you’ll understand when you get to Camp,”The hot, white light steals Laura’s vision, and the next thing she knows, she’s huddled against the floor of a large wooden cabin.