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Moonborn: Werewolf InfoFemales
There are no natural-born female werewolves known to exist today, and there haven't been for centuries. All females that exist were exposed to the virus through a bite, or other means (introduction of infected blood into the bloodstream, infected saliva coming into contact with an open wound, etc). The reason for this is quite simple and begins on a microscopic level. The lycanthropy virus makes werewolves superior to humans in nearly every way, including their sperm. Male-making sperm cells outrun and destroy female-making ones, ensuring that any offspring conceived are male. This process is so effective that a female werewolf is only born, on average, once in every three hundred years. This, along with the fact that natural-born females only give birth to full-blood werewolves (whereas a bitten female, possessing traces of human DNA, may give birth to human offspring), makes natural-born females priceless to the pack.
Natural-born werewolves undergo their first c
Moonborn: pt 1Damien jerked awake with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Breathing hard and drenched in a cold sweat, he sat up and ran his hands through his hair.
He'd lost count of how many times he'd dreamt of the white wolf. After three months and well over five-hundred dollars wasted on fake psychics and palm-readers, he was still no closer to finding out what it meant. He sighed deeply and covered his face with his hands.
Reluctantly he peeked through his fingers at his alarm clock.
Letting out a groan, he fell back to the pillows. He'd have to get up for work at the diner soon.
It was a dead-end job and everyone there -- even his boss -- was afraid of him, but the meager paychecks kept the landlord off his back. That was the only reason he kept showing up.
As he showered and got dressed, his mind drifted to his former pack; the family he'd left behind. He remembered vividly the tears in his mother's eyes and the angry disappointment on his father's face as he'd told them his
Moonborn: Rough DraftDamien heard the sounds of a struggle down the alley. He strained his eyes to see -- it was pitch black, almost too dark for his Lycan eyes. When his vision adjusted, he saw the familiar fiery red curls and his heart leapt. As the man pinning her to the wall came into focus, however, a furious growl sounded low in Damien's throat. He walked toward them, his wolf begging to be set free.
"Hey!" he shouted, and the woman's assailant glanced up from the soft curve of her neck to yell an insult. Before a word escaped his lips, however, the woman's teeth elongated and she lunged for his throat. With a snarl, she snapped her jaws shut on the man's windpipe. He began to thrash and squeak uselessly in terror as the woman slowly tore out his throat. A panicked gurgle was the last sound he made.
The woman let his limp body fall to the ground in a heap. Her face, neck, and clothing were splattered with blood. Damien stood a few feet away, the human part of him shocked and horrified. His wolf, howe
GoddessSkin made from soft moonlight
Pale and lovely as she sings
Hair black as the darkest night
As the ebony of ravens' wings
Lips softer than silken whispers
Speak words only some can hear
She mourns the flower that withers
Though others bloom when She is near
Eyes that see old and new
Violet flashes below the surface
Like sapphire pools of blue
She emanates tranquil grace
Blissfully she dances far and long
Her voice softly echoing
She gave each little bird a song
And taught it how to sing
Clad in beautiful raiment
Made from dazzling dewdrops
She is simply radiant
Although She mourns Her loss
Her tears fall like rain
Nourishing the earth
Her love endures the pain
On the night of His rebirth
Her love is the purest of all
For She loved Him so
She refused to let Him fall
And instead let Him grow
Together again at last
In divine eternity
They protect us, but alas
Not all of us believe
Jackunzel: Forget MeJack slipped silently into the tower and closed the window behind him. Rapunzel lay asleep in her bed, more beautiful than ever. Her long golden hair was strewn about the room, as usual.
Jack's heart broke when he saw her and tears stung his eyes. He rested his staff against the windowsill and sat on the edge of her bed, watching her chest rise and fall with each steady breath she took. Her face was peaceful, her lips parted slightly, and Jack longed to see her smile again; to hear her bubbly laughter one last time.
His heart ached. He loved her more than he'd ever thought possible, but he was immortal. He couldn't bear the thought of watching her grow old and die while he remained the same. She deserved someone she could grow old with, and that was his reason for returning to her tower.
He lay beside her, studying her painfully beautiful face.
"I love you, Rapunzel." he whispered before lightly pressing his lips to hers. He searched her mind for her memories of him -- the day they'd m
A Memory of BlissShe watched him lovingly as he slept. He lay on his back, one arm tucked beneath his pillow and the other loosely wrapped around her waist. His lips were parted slightly and his face was peaceful, his soft, steady breaths the only sound in the room. She smiled down at him.
Sometimes she couldn't believe that he was real. He seemed too good to be true, and occasionally she found herself worried that she would wake up one day and it would all be a dream. She'd realize with shock and heartbreak that he'd never existed -- or worse, that he did exist, but the past four years of memories with him were nothing more than the yearning fantasies of her own mind.
Pushing these upsetting thoughts from her head, she gently kissed his lips. Those same lips had kissed her own with such passion only hours before, and the memory of his body joining with hers stole her breath for a moment. He did not stir from his sleep.
"I have you now, and that's all that matters." She whispered to him, lightly kissin
Legend of the StarthiefOnce upon a time, long, long ago, there lived a dragon named Callus.
So fascinated with the stars was he, those pinpricks in a black curtain,
Those tiny specks of light that glittered as diamonds,
That each night he beat his mighty wings
And tried his hardest to touch them.
His efforts were in vain, however
For the stars were far beyond his reach.
Poor Callus sulked, brokenhearted, until one night
When he spotted a star streaking across the sky.
Joyously he chased it for what seemed like years
Until his lungs burned and his wings ached unbearably.
Finally he reached and reached and reached
And snatched the star in his claws.
Clutching tightly his prize,
His precious star, he returned home to his den
Only to find that his prize wasn't so precious at all.
A rock, a hunk of stone, was all that was left of his star
And bitterly he wept, for he had destroyed the thing he loved most
Simply by desiring it just a little too much.
UntitledOh how I've missed it,
The sweet razor's kiss;
As the crimson line appears on my skin.
It's been a long time, old friend.
I've missed your icy sting;
The excruciating release.
Let the pain begin.
Lunacy: Becoming a WerewolfBy the time we managed to pull out of the little cabin that Krissie’s parents lived in, the sun was pretty much gone. I couldn’t really tell if it had set yet- spring was always the middle ground of sunset, not too early but not late- due to both the woods of northern Minnesota, and the overcast sky. By the time I turned our little Impala sedan on the highway south towards Minneapolis, it was starting to rain.
I kept down a sigh as I turned on the windshield wipers, only to see an empty road.
“We could have just spent the night, you know,” Krissie said from the passenger seat. “Mom and Dad always love having guests.”
I huffed. “Don’t worry, it’s just some rain. Besides, there’s some stuff I had planned when we get back… Not to mention, your dad was getting a little hard to deal with.”
“Oh, Martin,” she sighed. “I know you guys don’t see eye to eye, but you don’
Lupus IntusYou fight against the bonds I’ve made for you;
rip and tear at the walls of the cage,
You bark and growl and hate everything about me,
because I can never let you go.
You want to run free across the open world;
too fast for any chains to catch you.
You want to rejoice at the moon and taste the night air,
without fear of my dark cell.
You know release will never come;
we are slaves to one another.
You are trapped here with me in this darkness,
where no one can find us.
Because without you I am completely empty inside.
Still a Werewolf at HeartTo be free, a concept for that people have fought and died over for centuries but what does it really mean? We call ourselves a ‘free society’ but it seems as if we are nothing more than slaves. Slaves to debt, slaves to fashion, slaves to society’s expectations but most of all, slaves to the mistakes of our pasts. But what does it truly mean to be free? Is it wrong of me to want to want to get away from all the pressure and restrictions to live a life of pure independence? It was these ‘cabin fever’ like feeling which led me to fall in love with werewolves.
I have always been interested in animals but it was only three short years ago that I became fascinated with werewolves. The idea of true and unrestricted freedom, the idea of becoming something greater than myself, and most of all the pure connection to nature I craved more than anything.
I know I sound like a spoiled brat, I have nothing really to complain about because I have lived a very go
Earth and FangThis deep into the ancient maintenance halls of the disused subway system, air ventilation was not sufficient for a fire. Clara Hailey tightened the ratty length of knitting she called a scarf around her weather-worn face and surveyed the other piles of tattered, filthy clothing huddling together for warmth in the dank, dark environment humanity had been pushed into. Her raw fingers squeezed at the frayed ends of her scarf, as telltale sign of her stress. She did that a lot lately. The cold penetrated her into the marrow, as she had very little flesh on her bones to retain body heat. This was no way to live. Only two decades ago, humanity had been the undisputed masters of the world. She had been a child then, but she still remembered the pinnacle of their species. Now there was a whole generation for whom those were only abstract stories.
Sure, they had managed the Earth with foolhardy recklessness, but it had still been theirs. They had more rightful claim to it than the aliens who h
Off LimitsMary is unusually quiet on the drive home from the doctor's visit. I'm so wrapped up in my own excitement that I don't even notice until she breaks the silence. "Well, now that we know it's going to be a boy, how do you feel about Jonathan?"
"It's nice, but I still prefer Jacob."
"I was just thinking. I mean, I only met him a few times when I was little, but it was my grandfather's name."
Her sudden change of mind puzzles me. She didn't have any stronger relationship with her grandfather than I had with my own granddad, so why does it matter? "I'm sorry if you like that name better, but you know how it is. Pop would throw a fit if I didn't follow tradition."
Even with my eyes on the road I can hear the roll in hers. "It's still a grandfather's name. Would it really bother him that much?"
I know what's coming next and I can feel the heat creeping into my cheeks. "Uh, yeah, yeah it would. Pop is, well you know how the old ones are. Tradition, tradition, tradition. They breathe it, and th
George brightened at the knock at the door. It was "Shave and a Haircut," the same knock he always gave. He still looked through the peephole but knew all along who it was.
"Trevor!" he exclaimed once the door was unchained.
Green eyes glinted in the dark, and strong arms balanced a bouquet of daffodils and a plate wrapped in plastic.
"I'd hug you, but then you'd be wearing these," Trevor explained. He entered and set everything down on the dining room table. "OK, now," he suggested, arms outstretched.
George embraced his son, but with lips pursed. Trevor took care not to hurt him.
"You know," George said, "it's a shame to wear such a nice suit with all that scruff on your face."
"It's fur, Dad," Trevor retorted.
The kitchen door opened, and a tall, thin woman of about forty approached with a bowl of potato salad.
"Tessie!" Trevor yelped, and ran across the room to nuzzle her before she could put the bowl down. She giggled, sounding significantly younger.
"Help with anything?" Trevor i
MonkeymanA cool breeze stirred the night air, bringing the ripe scents rising from the Delhi Drain. The creek was little more than an open sewer, a collecting spot for runoff water and human waste. In the heat of day cattle lay in it to cool themselves, lending their own unique odor to the pungent cocktail. The smell was sharp enough distract any newcomer unaccustomed to the crowded conditions of city life, but residents learned to tune it out like so much olfactory background noise.
Arriving fresh from the USA armed with nothing more than youthful eagerness and what he had learned about India on television, David had been horrified by the stink. It was a constant twinge in his nose, an irritation he doubted he would ever get over. For the first time since he was bitten, he felt there were some disadvantages to being a werewolf beyond his coping ability.
He joked about it with his companions on their first day spent exploring New Delhi. They found little humor in his observations on the unpleas
Looking UpAaron fumed.
It was his day off, and here he was at work anyway, two hours to close. He hated training people, but tomorrow was a big day, and he would pay for it in the long run if he put it off. He had been home alone, wasting time, but the principle of it still bothered him. He practically lived here these days.
He exited the car and slammed the door. Then he noticed a young man, probably a college student, standing at the edge of the parking lot. He was on the grass, looking straight up at the night sky. A full moon gleamed overhead.
In his funk, Aaron had forgotten the full moon! It almost always cheered him up. He smiled and called out to the stranger, "Hope I didn't disturb you."
There was no response, and Aaron stopped to stare at the full moon for a while himself. He felt better. He laughed, remembering his childhood experiment to see how long it took for the full moon to turn him into a werewolf. He had been a weird kid, and proud of it.
"It's beautiful, but it doesn't do any
Moonborn Prologue: Damien's NightmareThe white wolf's paws carry her effortlessly through the snow-laden forest as she races her young friend. He is fast, but winter is her season; snow her element. While his red-brown fur stands out boldly against the crisp white, she blends in seamlessly.
She leaps gracefully over a fallen tree and changes her course, heading toward the setting sun and its dazzling display of color. Her friend is now struggling to keep up. She runs faster, her heart pounding and lungs beginning to burn. She looks back over her shoulder and, as expected, her friend is gone from her view. She laughs out loud, her playful yips dancing through the trees. She has won this race.
The darkness of night arrives sooner than expected, and the sky is now inky black. There are no stars, no moon. Confused, the white wolf begins to slow down, looking upward and around. Her friend should have caught up to her by now.
Suddenly the cries of a wolf in agony echo all around her. The sound stops her in her tracks and she wh
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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