The Night Of The Plenilune

It was the Night of the Plenilune, 

The brilliance of the nighttime celestial body illuminated the gloaming countryside.

Creatures of Nocturne have made their awakening, 

Well-rested, ebullient , seething with gluttony and urgency;

They will lay their decree over the land as they see fit, for as long as The Moon’s ubiquity deems it. 

Alas, on this particular night these creatures may not be alone to lay their claims.

The Daemon of Night will vivify and rise, as he always does on the Night of the Plenilune. 

But, tonight, it is not here to hunt.

It is not here to maim, or slaughter in a blinded crimson frenzy. 

At least, that is what it would like to desire.

If it could dare hold back its beastly urges, the grotesque  temptations. 

The Daemon writhes in utter agony as it metamorphosizes into its macabre conformation.  

The sound of bones cracking and joints rearranging themselves reverberates  in the barn.

You can audibly hear the sound of its flesh tearing itself apart and its tendons mending itself anew.

The  chains that The Daemon had enshrouded itself in prior to this transformation vehemently  rattles and thrashes violently,  conducting  a cacophonous melody of dismayful apprehension.  

Its Lover was aghast, uncertain if she would endure this foreseeable night that has besieged her.

What she saw before her was the magnificent  manifestation of a Lycanthrope,

To behold such a sight was  like witnessing the fervent passions of birth.

Birth is typically  a beautiful thing to foresee but this…

this was not. There was nothing beautiful about this abominable parturition, if you could even call it that. 

The Man that she was once certain that she knew, 

The Man that has enamored her, 

Kissed her,

Hugged her,

Embraced her, 

Made  love to her, 

The Man that has made her feel completely safe and contented,

Was no longer a Man, but a monstrous Beast. 

Instead of his comforting soft voice, the sounds that now emanated from his throat were guttural growls and snarls that made her entire body shiver viciously, despite the barn being hot and humid.

One last snap echoed.

The Lycanthrope slumped,

 It was unmoving. 

She quietly gasped for air, unaware that she had been holding  her breath. 

She watched Him anxiously, unable to beckon her legs to move. At this moment time has halted. She was waiting. Waiting for signs of life, reanimation.

It twitched suddenly, and slowly began to rise. 

Clutching the musket that she has been wielding closer to her petite frame , she finally began to take command and slowly stepped back. 

Its stature was magnificent, It was an absolute behemoth. 

The Moon peeked through the barn’s open windows and shone on The Lycanthrope,

Its magnificent black coat shined brazenly.

Its long, lusturious  bushy tail swayed rhythmically as it wistfully glared at It’s Lover,

She met It’s eyes with hers, and she was beheld with  the most vivid hue of  amber she has ever seen. These eyes were not the gentle brown eyes that she was accustomed to. No, these eyes were ravenous beyond comprehension.

Swiftly, the Lycanthrope effortlessly  rid itself of its restraints that feebly confined it and, in seconds, it had  pinned Its Lover against the ground with Its enormous  razor-sharp claws. 

The musket was now very much far across the barn, in complete smithereens.

Her heart pounded against her chest, it was desperate to make its way out. She saw nothing but rows of sharp canines and the hot strings of saliva that sporadically adorned the entirety of  her face. 

This was it. 

Her Lover, now Beast, was going to rid her existence of this plane in a manner of absolute  gruesome carnage. 

She prayed that her demise would be quick, though she feared the great agony that it surely will come with. 

Closing her eyes, she awaited for what was to inevitably come. 

Death.