There are three forms for werewolves. One is nimble—for childhood. One is winged—for youth. And the third one, the strongest— to protect yourself when the time comes.
She has three disguises. A bird. A cat. A queen with no crown— and never will be— only threads that are convenient for puppeteers to pull.
She has two secrets—and two curses, because for revealing each, there is death. And no one will ask whether she wants adventures and faraway travels when strangers come into her home. Because someone long ago decided it for her.