"There's no place left to go
When you're running from yourself"
-Joan Jett, Hold Me
Three days to full moon. Her skin is already itching, her teeth ready to elongate. She is edgy, easily irritated, and those who know her stay as far away as possible when its That Time Of The Month.
As usual when she is in a mood like this, she asks herself why she's still here. A big city is no place for a creature created for running through vast woodlands and over snowy hilltops. Werewolves are not supposed to skulk in the alleys of the shades. It's just not right.
She could leave. It would be so easy. Just walk out of one of the city gates and turn back into the wild. Go home.
But she can't go all the way home, can she? That place, that dreary old castle wasn't really home to her any way. It's just the place were she was born, nothing more.
She's got nowhere to run.
He walks by her. He stops, and turns around. Bends down and drops a light kiss on the top of her head, then leaves. He's the only one that dares approach her at a time like this.
She smiles. Maybe she'll stick around just a little longer.