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She Fed a Starving Wolf for 7 Years — Never Knowing the Alpha King Remembered Every Kindness The basket feels lighter than it should. Seven winters of the same ritual, and still my hands shake as I cross the frozen creek behind the village. The morning mist clings to the ground like gossip clings to my name, unwilling to let go, impossible to escape. Worthless girl. The baker's wife had said it just yesterday, loud enough for everyone at the market to hear. Can't even find a husband. Twenty-three years old and still living off charity like some stray dog. I adjust the worn shawl around my shoulders, the fabric so thin now that the cold bites through it like teeth. But the basket, I clutch the basket close. Inside are scraps from Mrs. Hewitt's kitchen where I work from dawn until my fingers bleed, peeling potatoes and scrubbing floors for coin that barely buys bread. Today's offerings are meager. Three chicken bones with bits of meat still clinging to them, a crust of bread gone hard, and half a turnip too bruised for the Hewitts' table. Not much. But it's something. The forest knows my footsteps by now. Seven years of walking the same path, through spring mud and summer heat, autumn leaves and winter snow. Always to the same clearing where the old oak tree stands, its trunk so wide three men couldn't circle it with linked arms. Always at dawn, before the village wakes, before anyone can see where I go. If you're enjoying this story so far, don't forget to hit the like button and subscribe! Drop a comment telling me where in the world you're watching from—I love hearing from you! They'd call me mad if they knew. Or worse, touched by dark magic. The elders warn children about the deep forest, about things that walk on four legs by moonlight and on two legs by day. About wolves with eyes too intelligent to be merely animal. About the old ways that still linger in places untouched by church bells and iron crosses. But I know the truth. The wolf I feed is just a wolf. Starving, lonely, probably cast out from its pack just like I was cast out from any hope of belonging. We're the same, really. Both surviving on scraps, both existing in the spaces between, where the worthy don't have to see us. #AlphaKing #WerewolfRomance #OmegaStory #FatedMates #FantasyRomance #EmotionalStory #HiddenIdentity #LoveAndDestiny #EmotionalFantasy #ProtectiveAlpha #StorytellingVideo #TrueMateStory #HeartwarmingStory #EmotionalDrama #FantasyLoveStory