Narrator: Rebecca

 

 

 

 

At sixteen, I was already certain of one thing: the universe loved to test me. And, apparently, I always failed.

 

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a poor little thing. I'm the girl who laughs at her own chaos because, if I don't laugh, I'll have to cry – and I'm already tired of crying.

 

My adoptive mother, Ingrid, used to say I was born with a "gift for confusion." My father, Torben, would correct her: "She wasn't born with a gift, Ingrid. She studied." And I would laugh, because it was true.

 

Torben and Ingrid weren't my real parents. But they were my parents.

 

They found me in a wicker basket when I was a baby, left on their doorstep like an unwanted cat. They could have ignored me. They could have taken me to the village, to church, anywhere but their home. But no. They took me in, raised me, loved me – even when I gave them reasons not to.

 

Torben was a quiet man of few words, but each one he spoke was worth its weight in gold. He worked the land, fixed everything with his own hands, and had a dry sense of humor that I inherited – and used against him whenever I could.

 

Ingrid was the opposite. She talked a mile a minute, gave her opinion on everything, and held the family's emotional burden together fiercely. She was strong, direct, and the only person who could make my father truly smile.

 

They raised me to be someone. I, however, became something else.

 

 

 

---

 

At age six, I realized I was different from other children.

 

My eyes, for example. Ingrid said they changed color depending on the light. Torben would laugh and say I had "fox eyes." I liked that. I liked imagining there was something special about me—before I discovered that "special" was a nice word for "cursed."

 

I was stronger than the boys my age. Faster. I heard things nobody else heard. Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night because I heard bears moving in the forest almost a league away. Torben said I had a vivid imagination. Ingrid said I spent too much time alone.

 

They were both wrong.

 

Something inside me was awakened. And I didn't know what it was – but I knew it wasn't normal.

 

---

 

When I turned fourteen, I met Leif.

 

The blacksmith's son. Tall, clumsy, with blue eyes and a soft heart. A bit dim-witted, but very handsome. The kind of boy who falls in love at first sight and wants to build a wooden house, have children, and live happily ever after.

 

I, of course, was the last person in the world who deserved someone like him.

 

But he didn't know that.

 

And I, being selfish, made sure he didn't find out.

 

We spent hours walking around the outskirts of the village. He talked about the future – about the house he was going to build, about the children he was going to have. I listened and thought: you have no idea what you're talking about.

 

But I liked him. Of course I liked him. I liked the way he looked at me, as if I were a promise of a better world. I liked seeing him blush when I laughed.

 

I knew it wasn't going to work. But I ignored it.

 

---

 

The attack happened when I was fifteen years old.

 

I was walking home at dusk when the creature appeared out of nowhere. Yellow eyes in the darkness. Fangs. Claws. Pain. Lots of blood.

 

A bite on the shoulder. And then it disappeared.

 

I thought I was going to die. I almost died. But I didn't. Because the deities have a wicked sense of humor, and they thought it was funny to leave me alive to see what would happen next.

 

I survived.

 

And then, the changes began.

 

Dreams of endless forests. Running on all fours. Blood in my mouth. A hunger that wasn't for food.

 

When I woke up, I was sweaty, breathless, my heart racing – and, most of the time, with a warm dampness between my thighs and it… yes, swollen… I groaned even before opening my eyes. The beast inside me wasn't just a threat. It was a promise. A hunger that wasn't just for blood, but to be felt. To be desired.

 

And I, poor fool, didn't know what to do with it.

 

---

 

The first full moon arrived in the spring.

 

It marked the end of Rebecca Sorensen's career.

 

And the beginning of something else.

 

---

 

Leif invited me for a walk.

 

Like so many other times.

 

We followed a trail near the woods. The winter snow had already melted, but the air still retained that biting chill that preceded the true warmth of spring.

 

We talked.

 

We laughed.

 

We talked about the future – about the house he dreamed of building when he was old enough and had enough money. About the trips we would never take, because none of us would ever leave that region. About a life that would never exist, because teenage dreams are made of that fragile stuff.

 

I didn't know that would be the last night of my life as a human being.

 

If I had known, maybe I would have said something different. Maybe I would have held on to him tighter. Maybe I would have cried.

 

But I didn't know.

 

So we just walked, talked, and laughed.

 

And time passed.

 

 

The snow began to fall.

 

Not that furious blizzard that blinds and buries, but slow, almost lazy flakes that descended from the gray sky like feathers plucked from some giant bird. They landed on Leif's shoulders, on his disheveled blond hair, on the eyelashes he blinked to see my face better.

 

We stopped in the middle of the trail.

 

I don't know who stopped first. Whether it was me, pulling his hand. Or him, turning me by the arm. The memory is as confused as snow in the air. I only know that suddenly we were there, standing, staring at each other as if it were the first time we had seen each other – even though we had known each other since childhood, since the times when he threw snowballs at my window and I hid his boots in the stable.

 

— Rebecca — he said.

 

That's all. My name. But said in a way that warmed my heart more than any winter campfire.

 

I touched his face. His stubble scratched my palm. He tilted his head, pressing his cheek against my hand, and closed his eyes. A snowflake melted on his temple, trickling down like a warm tear.

 

I kissed him.

 

It was slow at first. A sweet hesitation, like someone tasting fresh mead to see if it's ready. His lips were cold, but his tongue was warm, and when he opened his mouth against mine, I felt a shiver that had nothing to do with winter.

 

He led me off the trail. Among the pine trees. The ground was covered with dry needles and a thin layer of fresh snow. His hands – large, calloused from chopping wood and carrying bales of hay – tightened around my waist as he gently laid me down on the winter blanket he himself had spread on the ground.

 

The snow continued to fall.

 

Flakes landed on my neck, on my breasts when he opened my woolen dress, in his hair as he moved his mouth down my stomach. His breath warmed my cold skin. Each exhalation formed a small cloud of vapor that mingled with the snow around us.

 

— Leif — I groaned.

 

He looked up at me. Snow on his eyelashes. Lips red with cold and desire. He smiled. A silly smile, the kind he always had, but now there was something more there – something that took my breath away.

 

"I want you," he said. It wasn't a request. It was a statement of fact. Like saying the sky is blue or that winter is cold. Simple. True.

 

He went down.

 

Not in a hurry, but with a devotion that hurt because it was so sweet. His mouth found my neck first – warm kisses that contrasted with the cold of the snow. Then it descended to my chest, to my breasts, his lips enveloping my nipples one by one, sucking, licking, making me arch my back against the icy ground.

 

— Leif — I repeated, and my sound was different now, higher-pitched, more needy.

 

He continued down. His tongue traced a wet path down my belly, circled my navel, and plunged into the warmth between my thighs.

 

When his mouth finally found mine, I closed my eyes and bit my lip to keep from screaming.

 

His tongue was soft and insistent. He licked me as if I were the most precious thing he had ever tasted – parting my large, protruding lips with his fingers, exposing my most sensitive clitoris to the icy air and the heat of his mouth. The contrast between the cold snow on my back and the fire of his tongue between my legs made me tremble all over.

 

He sucked on my clit. Slowly. Deliciously. His left hand squeezed my thigh, keeping me open for him. His right hand moved up my belly to my breasts, squeezing, pinching, while his tongue traced slow, wet circles.

 

I writhed beneath him. My hands dug into his blond hair, pulling him closer, holding him against me as if I wanted him to drown there.

 

He groaned against me. A vibration coursed through my entire body, and I felt the moment approaching like an avalanche – slow at first, then inevitable.

 

"Don't stop," I pleaded. "Please, don't stop."

 

He didn't stop. His tongue moved faster, firmer, and his fingers replaced his mouth for an instant – his fingers sliding across my flower, opening my labia, while he licked my pussy in quick, short strokes.

 

I came with a groan that echoed among the pine trees.

 

My legs trembled. My body arched. My nails scratched Leif's scalp, and he continued licking me throughout the entire moment, prolonging the pleasure until I couldn't take it anymore and pushed him away, breathless, laughing, dizzy.

 

He climbed on top of me. His face was wet – with melted snow, with me. His eyes were shining.

 

"You're so beautiful when you orgasm," he said.

 

I didn't answer. I pulled him down and kissed him, tasting myself in his mouth.

 

"Now it's your turn," I said, reaching for his pants.

 

His leather pants came down with a tug. I helped him with trembling fingers – not from the cold, although I was shivering all over. My skirt was already hiked up, the icy air brushing against my damp skin.

 

I sat on him. Not on top of him – over him. Between my thighs, I felt the tip of his penis touch my clitoris. It was big. Warm. I looked into his eyes and thought: "This is going to be the first time!"

 

I didn't say that out loud. I didn't need to.

 

— Rebecca — he whispered. — Are you sure?

 

"I do," I replied, and it was true.

 

I guided him myself. I took his penis in my hand, positioned it against my entrance, and went down.

 

Slowly.

 

He entered me inch by inch. I felt the stretching, the filling, the pressure. A sharp pang – the pain of the first time – and I closed my eyes for a moment.

 

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice hoarse, his eyes fixed on mine.

 

"I am," I said, and smiled. "Just... wait a minute."

 

I stopped. I felt my body adjusting to him inside me. The strangeness, the newness, the warmth. Then, I took a deep breath and began to move.

 

"Like this," I said. "Slowly. Feel every movement."

 

He obeyed. His forehead pressed against mine. His blue eyes – the same as the sky hidden by the snow – never left mine. His right hand intertwined my fingers against the cold ground. His left hand held my waist firmly, like someone holding something precious that could break.

 

"Don't squeeze so hard," I laughed. "I'm not going to run away."

 

He tried to relax. He failed. But I didn't care.

 

The rhythm was slow. Loving. Each thrust made the snow around us crunch beneath our bodies. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and I saw a drop trickle down his nose, mingling with a snowflake that had landed there.

 

I raised my hands and placed them on his back. I felt every muscle contracting beneath his cold skin. I felt his breathing quicken, escaping in low grunts that he tried to muffle against my shoulder.

 

"Don't stifle it," I said. "I want to hear it."

 

He groaned.

 

It was a guttural, almost animalistic sound that made my belly clench around him. He sped up, but still maintained that sweetness – as if each movement said I want you and I respect you at the same time. His hand released my fingers and descended to where our bodies met. His thumb found my clitoris, lightly brushing against it in rhythm with his thrusts.

 

My groan echoed through the forest.

 

The snow was falling harder now. Flakes piled up on our backs, in our hair, on our outstretched arms. But I didn't feel cold. I only felt it – inside me, on me, all around me.

 

"Rebecca," he groaned, and it was a warning.

 

"Inside," I asked. "Please. Inside."

 

He came with a long, low moan, buried deep inside.

 

I felt every warm pulse inside me. My body began to tighten around him, the moment rising up my spine like liquid fire. My back arched. My mouth opened to scream.

 

But the scream never came.

 

What followed was pain.

 

 

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains while we were there. The moon appeared in the sky – full, round, yellow like the eyes of the creature that had attacked me a year before.

 

And everything changed.

 

First came the pain. A pain so intense it felt like it was tearing my bones in two, as if someone were breaking them one by one with an invisible hammer. It wasn't normal pain – it was pain that came from within, from my own bones, my muscles, my joints.

 

I fell to my knees in the snow. The icy ground burned my skin.

 

Leif ran towards me. His hands touched my shoulders. His voice called my name, once, twice, three times.

 

Rebecca? Rebecca, what's going on?

 

He tried to help me. He tried to understand. But there was nothing to understand – or perhaps there was, but I didn't know how to explain it. I myself didn't understand what was happening inside my body.

 

My fingers twisted. Nails began to grow, to darken, to curl like claws.

 

My skin burned as if fire was running beneath it.

 

My body began to deform. My spine cracked. My shoulders broadened. My jaw stretched forward, my teeth lengthened, my tongue protruded from my mouth.

 

I was screaming.

 

I screamed so much that my throat bled.

 

The last thing I saw as a human being were Leif's eyes. The terror in them. The horror. He took a step back. Then another. His hands trembled. His lips moved, trying to form words that wouldn't come out.

 

I tried to say his name.

 

"Don't be afraid. It's me. I'm Rebecca."

 

But no words came out.

 

Just a growl.

 

A guttural, animalistic sound that emerged from the depths of my transformed throat.

 

Then came the darkness.

 

 

When I woke up, I was alone.

 

Naked.

 

Covered in blood.

 

---

 

I didn't find Leif's body. I believed I had killed him. And that destroyed me more than the transformation.

 

I thought to myself: "You're a monster, Rebecca. A fucking creature."

 

I thought about him. I thought about the blue of his eyes. The way he laughed.

 

I loved him. And at the same time, I hated him. I hated him because he saw what I had become. I hated him because he loved me.

 

---

 

I got home before dawn. I didn't tell Torben and Ingrid anything. I said I'd gotten lost in the forest, that an animal had attacked me. They believed me – or pretended to believe me.

 

But the hunters found the tracks in the woods. They found blood. Fur. Claw marks. And, worse – they found Leif's body. Or what was left of it.

 

At least, that's what I thought.

 

The next day, I didn't go to the village. I stayed home, near my parents. But I felt the weight of their stares even from a distance. I heard the whispers coming from the road. The children who had previously run to me now changed course. The adults spoke softly when I passed near the window.

 

And I knew that, at some point, they would come.

 

---

 

They came on the night when the moon was hidden.

 

I heard the footsteps. I heard the screams. I heard the wood creak.

 

"Get out of the house!" someone shouted.

 

My father, Torben, opened the door. His face was pale. But his hand was steady.

 

"Let's go," he said.

 

— Dad... — my voice faltered.

 

- Now.

 

We left through the back.

 

And the house caught fire.

 

I looked back. I saw the flames rising. I saw my childhood burning. I saw everything I had known disappear.

 

The irony didn't escape me. I spent fifteen years trying to be normal, and in the end, it was the fire that set me free. What a genius.

 

---

 

We ran until dawn. No destination. No plan. No future.

 

I gazed at the starry sky as smoke rose from my house and thought: _That's it. There's nothing left to lose._

 

---