The Collar and the Sins
I noticed each collar had a name etched into the leather near the buckle, and as I ran my fingers along the strap, I couldn't help but wonder if mine bore Grandfather's name. It seemed fitting—his family legacy, worn like a badge, but also a reminder of the consequences we faced for our failures.
Outside Grandfather’s office door hung a letterbox marked with the word "SINS." It was an ominous label for something that had become routine: people slipping little pieces of paper into the box. Some confessed their own mistakes; others reported someone else’s. But it always ended the same—someone had to face the consequences. It was as if the pack had adopted the idea of punishing sins for the sake of some twisted justice.
Each evening at dusk, the pack gathered for
