The snow is tainted red from blood. The shackles bristle against each other as the carcass is shifted to expose more meat. Wind is blowing, rustling the tree-branches and masking the sound of me feasting. I look to the right, suddenly aware that there is a dim glow off in the distance. It's a hunting party, coming for my hide.

There is enough time to eat my fill. I go back to the carcass. As a piece of meat is beginning to tear, there is a snap of a twig. Someone's there. I turn around, teeth bared, to see two figures in the shadows of the trees. My feet begin to pick up as I enter hunt-mode. I jump just as the figure in front raises a weapon and releases-

I jolt up in my bed, distressed from the nightmare I just had. As I become more awake, confusion begins to settle in. The night before I was in the woods, making lifetime promises to my lover. Why was I back in the cottage?

The shutters are slamming against their frame in the other room. It's the shutters that Peter waits behind for me almost every night.

A sinking feeling begins in my stomach. Peter, my childhood friend, my adult lover. I believe deep in my heart and soul that Peter is my true love, which is something known to exist in my world and is commonly pursued. How lucky of me to find it at home.

There is something wrong though. It is a worry that nestled in my heart when I woke up, to only be intensified with each passing moment. My memories are not false; I did leave while dusk settled in with Peter into the woods. I was so happy, yet scared. Over the last few weeks the village I live in had been having problems with a beastly wolf, one that caused terror to spread and lives to be ripped away. In the midst of the wolf's reign of terror, I found a woman hiding in our chicken coop. She introduced herself as Frosty, then Margaret, but we decided on Mary. I don't know what secrets her heart hides, nor did I want to push it. I did, however, push her into tracking the wolf with me. We found the prints in the snow, among dead bodies and blood. The prints transformed from animal to human. That fact alone sent chills down my spine, a cold far more severe than anything I've ever experienced.

Fright really began to set in when Mary and I discovered that the tracks followed back to my cottage. The beast had made a visit to my home, at the same shutters that Peter stands behind. Mary's voice only partially registered in my mind at that moment; I could not bring myself to answer her demands of knowing if anyone was stopping at those shutters. How could I tell her about Peter?

I finally found my voice, informing her that it was in fact Peter at the shutters. In a whirlwind of excitement, fear, and all irrational emotions based on love, Mary urged me to go be with Peter. Run off together, accept and work with the fact that while he was a man, a deadly animal raged inside.

Of course I listened.

I sent a pigeon to him, telling him to bring whatever he could easily carry and to meet me outside of the cottage. He had a puzzled look on his face, but did not question me until we stopped for the night. As we settled in, I began to explain my afternoon with Mary to him, ending with our speculations about his body. He didn't seem outraged or upset. Then again, I'm not sure how I would react to being told that I was the monster that had caused so much damage and pain on our village. I promised him my support and devotion, despite knowing about his other side. He pulled out chains. The last thing I remember is restraining him.

My head began to rush; did all of that really happen? Being in my bed, at the cottage, seemed to disprove all of it. Did my mind know truth from fantasy?

Someone was standing in the doorway. It was Granny. A grim look was set upon her face, her hands were empty. This was odd, considering she sat with her cross-bow at night in anticipation of the wolf. Mary was standing a ways behind her, chewing on her fingernails.

"It's time we had a talk girl." Granny choked out.

I stood up, tripping over my cloak. How did that insufferable piece of clothing end up on me? I rid myself of it last night when I asked Mary to cover for me. Granny bought it for me a while ago, and she constantly insisted that I wear it, even in my sleep. If I'm out of her sight, I'm to have the cloak on. It's a pain really. The burgundy swirls that spun all around the red cloth always taunted me. It's like I'm never truly free from her. I love my Granny, but she's extremely overbearing.

"What's going on?" I found myself whispering. All of my strength seemed to leave my body as soon I stood up.

"You don't remember?" She asked me. I shook my head no in response. Tears begin to brim along my eyes, I'm not completely aware of what is happening, but somewhere inside of me I know the truth, and it's not good.

Granny sighed. "It's going to be a long morning. Come on."