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In a boiler room below a dun painted house lived a werewolf, not a horrific monster who chewed on the carpets, or ate people just because of the werewolf's mindset. A little ten-elevenish year old girl by the name of Julianna Black was the one who lived in the boiler room.

The boiler room was not like your ordinary child's room, the room had a warm mellow feeling to it, it was never too hot in the summer and never too cold in the winter. This was all because of the two great brass cylinders which made loud gurgling or rumbling noises every so often.

At the foot of these two boilers was an old oil drum topped with an opaque glass cup, that had black grime rimming the bottom corners, and a silver chain locket, at the side of this oil drum was an ancient metal framed bed, atop this bed was a mattress with the werewolf slumbering in the dent of the mattress, the dent had formed from an over-due replacement of the spring mattress. This little girl had immensely curly hair, it was not bushy or unruly, this hair was just too wild to handle. Julianna—or Janna, a nickname given to her by her father—had just slept through a full moon which she was now slowly awakening from. Her bones clicked back into placed as she pulled up her frame, her face stared at the pillow as she leaned back to let her back click back in a satisfying stretch which was followed by a wide yawn.

Janna ran her hand through her thick light brown hair before guiding the torn sleeve of an extremely baggy shirt back over her slender shoulder.

A beam of light shone into the room making the dust in the air seem like drizzle floating seamlessly in a dark void. The light shone on Janna's pale skin revealing small scars on her wrists, some were faded and some were only a few years old. Janna slowly opened her eyes, for a moment they seemed dry from the sunlight so she blinked a couple of times. The sunlight continued to shine from the small window into the bright green eyes of Janna, she groaned in discomfort from the light; she rubbed her eyes again.

Today was the twenty-first, ten days until the thirty-first of July, the day Janna was not very fond of, you see, it was her "pseudo" birthday—since Janna was a werewolf she suffered from an increased growth rate so her mother constructed a plan, a useless plan in Janna's opinion, to make sure Janna looked her age so they moved the date back a couple of months—Janna's real birthday was never mentioned by her mother but her father had his own plan, he always made sure she had her proper birthday.

"Wake up! Wake up, you horrid child!" Yelled Janna's mother, speak of the devil Janna thought as she wondered if that the shriek of that woman would one day going to be destined to deafen men so traumatically that not even wizards could fix their hearing. Yes, Janna knew some things to know about wizards and witches, she even was a usual to Diagon alley—she visited by herself on a ritual basis but she never went as far as the first two blocks because she'd only visit for half an hour—the wizard who ran an Inn called The Leaky Cauldron where witches and wizards from all over stayed at if they were in London—Janna knew of the Knight Bus which she used when she was younger to get to school—before it became too hard to hide her peculiarity so she began homeschooling—she had heard very little of this whole world, magic or normal—but before she was nine she was immersed in magic.

Before Janna had a jumper over her head her mother threw the door to the boiler room open, Janna jumped before wincing in pain from her leg which ached after every full moon—or if Janna used her leg to the limit.

"Come child! I won't be kept waiting!"

After jumping off the bed into her trainers Janna immediately hid her hands behind her back "Sorry Mrs. Winslow" Janna shyly called as she sank her aching feet into her faded blue trainers—Mrs. Winslow was Janna's foster mother, this woman was never Janna's mum, the woman never treated Janna with any love, one time when Janna was six Mrs Winslow came home one day to a muddy slosh garden, Janna hadn't really known what she had done because who knew melting snow in the middle of winter was so easy—Janna clambered up the stairs before slowly reopened the boiler room door.

"Now, I want you to be done with polishing the ceramics, varnishing the doors and you can prune those hideous flower buds outside, I don't like it when they die and make a mess on my lawn." Mrs Winslow ordered as she then tossed a once-thick moulting scarf over her shoulder "I'm going out, don't you dare tell your father"

"Yes" Janna murmured as she stood before her door with her head bowed, waiting for Mrs Winslow to go.

"Huh, child, keep your chin up, nobody likes a bust" Mrs Winslow then turned on her heel before walking out of the door, Janna watched through the old almandine-brown door, Janna stared at Mrs Winslow who unlatched the iron clad gate under the arch constructed of red bricks. The gate was decorated with the bars which donned diamond-shaped arrowheads in the centre of each bar. The gate slowly closed and chattered as the latch hit the pole, Mrs Winslow continued to flaunt down the pavement away from her house. Janna nudged the front door to close with her foot of her bad leg, the sunlight rained into the house through the glass windows facing the pavement. A deep breath came out of Janna, she wondered if this was all she was worth for.

In the house sunshine still beamed in, but the house still seemed dull.

If it hadn't been for the tasks Janna was daily given this house would have seemed more dreary than not. But Janna set her mind on the tasks at hand, she took in a deep breathe before wrapping her arms around her chest, she shivered in the cold before turning back to the boiler room to get a thicker jumper.

A frumpy pink jumper was Janna's choice of clothing to keep her warm, she pulled the long sleeves over her wrists to hide her scarred skin, she preferred to keep all her scars covered. Like the one starting at the underpart of her knee, a large ripped semicircle which trailed past her thigh and across her abdomen and chest to her right shoulder and ending at her forearm that had multiple semicircles of teeth marks on it, that injury reduced her left leg to be useless after a long while of use and her right arm to be replaced by her left for writing and most of her actions since she could barely lift it above her hand above her elbow for long.

The fact that the flowers had pale pink buds blending into a light green from a pale yellow to the stem of the bud never ceased to fascinate Janna, she hated to cut the buds, she always wanted to know what stunning flowers would bloom (hopefully ones that wouldn't give her hay fever) from the vines that trailed the walls of the house and the red bricked walls between the pavement and the garden—

Immediately Janna froze.

She stared at the gate which the arrow heads, the wind rushed against her, brushing leaves against her heels, she could feel her heart beating in her chest, she wasn't able to breathe, the scar on her right forearm began to itch.

Janna suddenly felt a sharp jab in her leg, she squealed and jumped back in pain as her leg collapsed.

Her body arched back and her back landed on the early autumn leaves, she shivered as she stared wide-eyed at the grey sky, her eyes watered slightly as she then slowly rolled her head so she could quickly stare at the gate again.

A gust of wind blew over her, Janna slowly sat herself up on the dying grass, she sniffed a little before wiping the back of her hand over her eyes to clear away the dampness.

Nothing scared her more than that gate, she was grateful that it wasn't nighttime or else this fall wouldn't have ended so smoothly. Janna picked up the pruning scissors as she folded her legs to her chest to erect her body up again, her left leg wobbled under her a bit but she quickly retained her balance. The night she received the scars was when the world turned inverse, everything was altered, Mrs Winslow, people, her birthday, her body, her life was turned inside out.