Harper was dragged awake by a beeping, low and constant and hopelessly infuriating. She had been comfortable in the darkness. It had wanted nothing of her and gave her nothing in return. But now the beeping was there, driving through her head like an ice pick. It brought with it nothing but pain.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Each sound ripped through her like another blow, dragging her farther and farther from the darkness. It was as if she was sinking back into her body after floating on some weightless sea of nothing. And her body was rejecting her. Each breath was a battle.

In. The dull pain of a balloon stretched too tightly over a brittle cage.

Out. The ripping of screaming muscles and the taste of blood.

In. She could feel her arms again, though they didn't feel like her own. They were so heavy. They were dragging her down to earth. She didn't want to go. She tried to move her fingers, a pinky, anything. Her stupid body wouldn't respond. She was so tired and the beeping wouldn't stop. Wouldn't it just let her go' The darkness was calling again.

Out. Her head was so fuzzy. The only thing that cut through the fog was the beeping. But no, there was something there. Something she had to remember. She could taste blood in her mouth. Blood. There had been blood. And a scream, her scream. What else? What else; she had to think. But there was nothing except the pain, and the fuzzy incompleteness of her mind, and the beeping. The damn, stupid beeping. Eyes, that's what it was. There had been eyes. Yellow against the darkness. Brighter than the moon. Colder than, colder than"Damnit she couldn't think. They were just cold and bright and yellow and they had stared straight through her like they knew her. And then nothing.

She fought to open her own eyes. A blank ceiling greeted her, just a whiteness which was so much less comforting than the darkness behind her eyelids. She groaned.

"Oh Harpy, hon, you're awake. She's awake, George." That would be her mother. She tried to protest at the nickname but her mouth wouldn't work right. A groan was the best she could manage. Her mother's face swam into her vision, warm eyes puffy and red behind her thick glasses. Everything was too bright and it took all she had just to focus on her mother's face as she bent closer. She pressed her lips to Harper's forehead and even that small comfort sent a stab of pain through her head. She tried to sit up and fire carved through her. With another groan, she dropped back to the bed. She was getting very good at groaning.

"Don't move, honey. It's okay; you're safe now. Just rest." Harper closed her eyes again, praying for the blessed darkness. She was greeted by a pair of yellow eyes that devoured her whole and then, nothing.

A week flew by between a whirlwind of faces; doctors, family, nurses with carefully-placed smiles and gentle voices. Seconds dripped through the cracks between the floor tiles. Waking was lost to the hungry darkness that waited just behind her eyelids. The world was a cloying tide, indistinct and murky, and she felt herself slipping deeper and deeper below its surface. Until William Copperhouse slammed open the hospital room door and marched inside like he was being tracked by a spotlight. He kicked the door closed behind him with a wayward flick of one foot and strode forward like the floor tiles beneath him were a red carpet strewn with rose petals.

"What're you doing still in bed, Lazy Bones" Not quite a hundred years, but the prince was getting impatient to wake Sleeping Beauty. Come on, no more moping. The curtains must rise, the intermission must end, and we must get on with the dance." Harper couldn't help snorting with suppressed giggles as she propped herself up on her elbows in bed. Wherever Will went, he brought the show with him. With his wicked grin, oblivious optimism, and wild gesticulation, he cut through the fog like nothing this week had. He rustled his wild mop of brown hair with one hand and tried to hide the other behind his back. He may have been many things, but subtle certainly wasn't one of them as he tried to keep a fistful of daisies hidden behind his shoulder. A smile twitched at Harper's lips, the first real one in ages.

"How'd you even get in here, Will" Visiting hours are way past over."

"A well-placed wink and a little flirt can do wonders, Harpy. You should give it a try sometime."

"You annoyed one of the nurses into bringing you back here, didn't you?" Will seemed to deflate a bit but nothing could keep him down for long, not even a blow to his ego.

"Where there's a Will, there's a way." He flashed a wide grin and clicked his heels together with a mock bow. Harper groaned and rolled her eyes.

"I thought I told you, that line has been outlawed by order of the queen."

"Well, Queen Harper is a magnanimous ruler. I'm sure she'll spare her loyal, devoted servant, especially if he comes bearing gifts." With a theatrical flourish, Will produced the bouquet of flowers he'd not-so-successfully been trying to hide behind his thin frame.

"Flowers, for me" Who'd have thought?" She waved around at the room crowded with slowly wilting bouquets of all shapes and sizes. If she were more entrepreneurial, she could open up a botanical garden in her hospital room and start charging admission. She tried to snatch the flowers from his hand, but Will stuck out his tongue and pulled the daisies just out of reach. He examined them with eyebrows raised, as if it was the first time he'd seen them.

"Oh these" No, those are for me, dropped at my feet by some adoring fan before they fainted in my presence." He plucked the drooping roses from a nearby vase and chucked them unceremoniously into the garbage can by Harper's bed before slipping his own offering inside.

"No, I bring a far more precious gift." He pulled out a small tin and shook it with a metallic clink before sliding onto the edge of the hospital bed.

"Now scooch." Harper slid over to let him perch there as Will popped open the tin and dumped a handful of bobby pins into her lap. "I hardly recognize you like this. So my little friends here and I'll get you back to yourself." Right, because bobby pins could fix breaks and bruises and scars. Like bobby pins could make her whole again and help her forget those yellow eyes burning through her dreams. She was ready to spit venom but Will just grabbed her limp curls and twisted them into a bun at the back of her head. He motioned with one hand and she obediently handed him bobby pin after bobby pin.

It was such a simple action, but oddly comforting. It drew her back to her childhood, back when she sat not-so-patiently as her mother fought to tame wild hair into some semblance of a bun for her countless dance classes. Back when she couldn't keep a pair of tights for a week without ripping a hole in them. Back when dance was just skipping in circles and fighting to understand how you could wrangle your uncooperative feet into fifth position. Back when she would hold garlands in the background of performances and watch the ballerinas whirl past her, perfect and unearthly light on their feet and beaming with joy. All the bubbling anger within her died in her throat. As Will twisted and pinned, twisted and pinned, Harper could feel herself returning to her body. It was as if she was remembering how to be again. She sat taller in bed, neck long and shoulder blades back like folded wings.

"Tell me about anything, anything but this. How's everybody' Lizzie must be loving this. Finally, she can get her pick of the parts." Will chuckled through a mouthful of bobby pins.

"Probably, not that she'd say it though. Didn't realize how good I had it with you, Harpy. Every time we partner, she smacks me in the face during the pirouettes. I'm beginning to think she does it on purpose." Harper half-giggled. She didn't know why, but the thought of Will partnering with Lizzie made her chest ache. The world outside the window was slowly filling in the holes she'd left. Hurriedly, she changed the subject.

"How're you and John though' On again or off again?" Will gave a playful tug to her hair. Message received; touchy subject.

"Decidedly off again. Artists. I tell you, they're not worth the trouble. But they're just so good with their hands." She reached back and jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow.

"Eww, gross."

"Well you asked. And those daisies were supposed to be his way of apologizing. But I'm done with him, through, caput, finito."

"That's what you said last time, and the time before that. And wait, you gave me secondhand apology flowers?" She whirled around to fix him with a glare, but he grabbed her bun and pushed her head back around.

"Stop fidgeting. I'm almost done. I just thought you'd get more use out of them than me." A small smile crept unbidden onto Harper's face. She felt more awake, more alive than she had since she'd woken in the hospital.

"Why didn't you come sooner?" She sniffled, trying to fight back tears even as she smiled. Will spun her around and held out a tissue from the box by her bed. His eyebrows knit together with concern, but his easy smile couldn't be hidden for long.

"Your mom dropped by the studio. She thought it uh"would be best if we let you rest a bit. She thought it might upset you." And maybe it did. They both left that unsaid. Instead, Harper reached out and wrapped her arms around his chest. Will pressed his chin to the top of her head and gave her a squeeze.

"Everybody's telling me to pack up and leave. They keep saying this is the end. The doctors want me to go home. My parents want me to go home."

"And what do you want?" Harper glanced up at him. The past week, everyone had been talking past her as if she wasn't even there, like she was half ghost already. But Will looked down at her without pain, without pity. That was all she needed, just one person who didn't look at her like a broken thing.

"I wanna go home too. But, they just don't know where that is. They don't understand." She took a shaky breath. "Home is a wood bar and a wall of mirrors, tulle and tights and bobby pins and toe shoes." Will just smiled down at her, tucking back one more wisp of hair and sliding one final bobby pin into place.

"Then get the fuck out of bed Sleeping Beauty and get dancing. Act Two's just about to start.?

The dreams were different that night. She had become so accustomed to the flow of it. Darkness. Bright eyes. The mocking face of the moon, always watching. A snarl. And then she was falling. And then the pain was blossoming around her. And then she dropped into the nothing. This time though, this time there were voices. The first was fluffy, distant, nothing more than a breath of breeze.

"That's what wild things do." Harper tried to follow the voice as it wove between shadowy trees, but her feet were heavy and roots seemed to claw at her legs, dragging her down. She tried to call out but she was choking. She was choking on blood, gasping, falling. The ground came up to meet her but it was no comfort. She crawled forwards with bloody hands. The thing was following her, slowly, almost amusedly. It could take its time. She wouldn't get far.

"Get up." She could hardly see through the trail of blood snaking down into her eyes. Her legs felt useless under her. When the second voice came, it bit deep like a knife and she cried out in fear.

"Lost, are ya girl" Careful, there are wolves in these woods." She tried to focus on it. Male, growled, mocking. It stung the way only memory could, like the growing pearl rubbing away at the oyster. She had carefully hidden it away under layers and layers of fuzzy dream. This way she could dull its edges. This way she could save herself. But there was no saving herself now. There was nothing but the darkness and the cruel moon. A flash of black shot out of the dark, and there was a furious growl followed by a pained snarl. And then the yellow eyes were upon her.

"Fight." The whole world bloomed blue in front of her, like she was plunged deep under the sea. Everything froze, but the voice remained. Get up. Fight. Get up. Fight.

Harper jolted awake with a stifled cry. Her whole body shook and she grasped wildly at the sheets to regain control. She was covered in a freezing veil of sweat though the room was still and warm. Clutching knees to her chest, she shivered in the darkness before her eyes widened. She had lifted her legs up to her chest reflexively and for the first time since waking in the hospital, there was no pain. Gently, hoping beyond hope, Harper tucked trembling fingers under the collar of her hospital gown. She expected to feel the angry ridges of barely-healed gashes, but instead felt the smooth, hard tissue of scars. With a gasp, she wriggled her bare toes against the cool sheets without pain, ran her hands across skin now healed, and turned her arms over and over through the bars of moonlight to show their perfect, unmarred surface.

"Get up," the voice was faint, just a mist dissipating in the morning sun. But it filled her with a strength she hadn't felt for weeks.

Harper clutched at the sheets and dragged herself to the edge of the bed. She swung her legs down, almost afraid to press her bare feet to the tiles. But one toe at a time, like she was testing the waters, she shifted her weight off of the bed. With a steely determination, she took one faltering step after the other. Her body was unruly, not quite her own. Her legs felt wooden, her spine stiff. But she was walking. She grasped at the telephone and dialed home, barely pausing for her mother to answer the phone before she gasped out,

"I remember, Mom." She barely fought down a sob. "Oh my god, I remember a voice.?

"Listen, I know you're in there." There was a rap of knuckles on the door, but Harper just curled up tighter in bed and tried to smother the voice with layers of quilts. Another softer voice pleaded.

"Harper, it's been days since you discharged yourself from the hospital and I don't think you've seen the sunlight since. We're getting worried. Just let us in, honey." She tried to bark out a warning to force them away, but it came out more as a rough growl. The voices wouldn't be deterred. A third sighed and leaned closer. Even behind a locked door and under layers of blankets, she still couldn't hide from it. Somehow Will's voice, with his carefully placed cheeriness and tense undercurrent of worry, set tears pricking at her eyes.

"You're really crimping my style, Queen Harper. How am I supposed to make a dramatic entrance when you've locked the door?" The laugh seemed forced and frightened. He cleared his throat as if the emotion had been a mistake. When he spoke next it was too cheery, almost manically so. "I thought you weren't ready to give up. If you run and hide, you're just letting them win." She wanted to roar and scream and tear the door to pieces so he could see, but she couldn't bring herself to move.

Who were 'they"' The police had told her a dozen times; no man could have done this. There was no voice. There was no sense in it. There would be no justice. All that was left were angry white scars and flashing cameras and people who tried not to stare. None of them wanted to listen. They just wanted to gawk; to see the broken shell, not to speak to the frightened girl cowering within. So she had hidden herself away, growing fiercer and wilder by the day.

Time had slipped away again, but not like a freight train barreling down a straight track. No, it had skipped entirely, leaving her staring down at shaking hands tipped in gnarled claws and grasping at wiry hair that grew too long and too thick for the short time she'd locked herself away. Her voice was raspy and words came too slowly, like her mouth had forgotten how to form them. All it knew how to do was grimace and growl. Her legs shook; her back spasmed. Sharp stabs ripped through her, sending her toppling every time she fought to stand. So, she'd hidden. Better to run than to let them see her like this. Better to bury herself in the dark than let the world see what it had made of her.

"Leave me alone," she tried to warn, but it was barely more than a low moan. Another spasm shot down her spine, this one white hot and leaving her blinded for a moment by the pain. Her skin was too hot, then too cold. She threw the blankets from around her shoulders and toppled from the bed. The fire fought to devour her so she pressed herself into the floorboards, trying desperately to quench it. Everything hurt, from teeth to fingertips. The world was a throbbing mass of pain.

"Harper" Are you alright in there" Please, just let us in." The shaking of the door knob shot through her like a vicious screech. She cried out as the sound tore into her throbbing head, and grabbed at her skull with shaking hands. She tried to scream, but her mouth wouldn't move. Her jaw felt wired shut, and she had to fight for each breath. There was blood in her mouth, but she couldn't remember how it got there. She couldn't remember anything.

Harper pressed her head deeper against the floor. At least that felt real against the throbbing fire of the world around her. With the next spasm, it felt like her vertebrae had torn through taut skin. Bones seemed to shift and shriek as they slid into place like rusty gears. Long claws raked tracks down her scalp as she fought to hold herself together while the world tore her to pieces. There were no words left in her mouth, just long fangs and a mouthful of blood. Her moans grew silent. The world settled back down, and slowly, the thing on the floor raised itself up.

Claws raked the wood floor. Pale eyes searched in the half-twilight of a full moon. Pointed ears swiveled, listening for heartbeats barely concealed behind the locked door.

"Please Harper, just let us in,? her mother sobbed from behind the locked door. Yes. Little wolf, little wolf, let us in. The beast growled and stalked closer: massive shoulders rolling, fangs glimmering in the moonlight, maw dripping in anticipation.

But somewhere within the wolf, a girl still fought. The beast paused for a moment just in front of the door, frozen and twitching like an invisible force pulled it back and then, with one final look towards the door, it turned and smashed through the window, leaping from the roof and off into the moonlit night.