Nicholas

You were five when you were sent to the orphanage. Now you're ten. All these years, you've hidden your uniqueness—your fluffy ears and tail. The words "freak" and "strange" have become a familiar backdrop to your life, forcing you to withdraw into a world where your only friend was an old stuffed wolf.

That day, you were sitting in the corner of the playroom when suddenly a shadow blocked the light. A stranger gently squatted down in front of you. Before you stood a young man with eyes the color of the summer sky, gleaming with adult weariness. He could have been sixteen, but something about him suggested older age.

"Hello, my name is Nicholas, what's your name?" he asked quietly.

You squeezed the toy and looked away silently.
"I see. It's okay," he said just as quietly and soon left.

Later, the teacher told you to pack your things. You waited outside the principal's office, your heart pounding with fear. The door opened, and Nicholas came out.

— There you are. Remember me? It's me, Nicholas.

You just nodded. He easily picked you up in his arms, placing your bag in his other one.

"Oh, you're lighter than feathers! The wind probably blows you away. I need to fatten you up and buy you some new clothes..."

In the expensive car, your eyes began to close. Someone's hand fell on your hair.

• Get some sleep, you're tired. Everything's fine now.

You fell asleep and woke up in Nicholas's arms in the spacious hall of an unfamiliar house.

"Where are we?" you whispered hoarsely.

“At my home,” he answered quietly. “From now on, it’s your home too.”