The pavement blurred beneath my feet, a desperate sprint towards solitude. Moments ago, laughter and chatter had surrounded me, friends oblivious to the lunar pull. Then the familiar burn began, the telltale sign of the shift. The full moon. I’d forgotten. + 

A collision—a woman startled by my haste—sent a wave of panic through me. The transformation was already underway, my face stretching, the snout beginning to push outward. I was still on the street, vulnerable, caught between human and wolf. I veered sharply into an alley, narrowly missing a tipped trash can. A yelp escaped my lips, muffled instantly by my hands, praying it hadn’t roused anyone nearby. + 

Now, the true agony began. My knees buckled inward, a searing pain radiating up my legs. Hands shrunk, bones reshaping into paws, nails extending to scratch against the rough concrete. My tailbone flared with agonizing growth, a heavy, furred club whipping through the narrow space. The final wave of change crashed over me, a raw, animalistic cry ripped from my throat. Control slipped, replaced by instinct. All that remained was to endure, to wait for the moon to wane, to allow the shift to complete. + 

The pain subsided into a dull ache. I slumped against the brick wall, the alley reeking of decay and regret. I was trapped. Trapped by the moon, by my own body, by the beast within. The only certainty was the inevitability of the next full moon, and the preparation it would demand. The cycle would repeat, a lunar curse etched into my very being. + 