You stumble through your bedroom door, clutching the bite wound on your shoulder. It's not bleeding anymore, it doesn't even hurt, but your fate has been sealed. You'd hoped to throw yourself onto your bed, desperate to drift into peaceful oblivion before any changes started, so you wouldn't have to be aware when your body rearranges itself-- but a prickly tingling at the base of your spine tells you it's already too late.
You sob into your pillow, pleadingly squeezing it as if clutching a teddy bear for comfort, as your body shakes in an awful combination of anxiety and involuntary spasms. In a desperate attempt to push the sensations out of your mind, you sing lullabies to yourself, count sheep, do long division in your head, ANYTHING to quicken your slumber, but it won't come.
Like an idiot, you went out into the woods at night, under a full moon, and now you're paying the price-- soon you will join your voice with that of the beast who bit you, and sing an eternal dirge in the light of the moon...
Collieflower
2025-11-07 17:32:36 +0000 UTC