❝ Sheep abide by the herd complex; safety in numbers. When all are the same, no one can be singled out.
A fox among sheep is able to infiltrate the herd only a handful of ways: under the veil of dusk, or by clothing itself as the prey, shedding i...
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Loup-garou.
(noun.) The French term for werewolf; a person who changes into a wolf, typically on a full moon.
Monster. Man-eater. Folklore. Killer. Beast. Gildedhorrors have sunken their sinister tendrils deep into Lozère's past and present, casting a dark shadow over the blight heart circulating the nightmare; Bêtemont. Unspeakable things have transpired in the unnoticed village, buried in the countryside in more ways than one.
The search for Shazia had been called off weeks ago, her name withered to a ghost of the young woman who once existed. Mourned alongside Alain, most were content with the false sense that justice had been served in the local newspaper, the deceased face of the alleged canine responsible stamped on the front. The truth is, justice was far from the horizon; it was roaming in the brambles and thorns of the woods.
Jonah was wise enough to know the forest could be sheltering an equal amount of secrets and bodies, the common factor being they have yet to be stumbled upon. The encroaching entrance to the labyrinth lurked little more than the view from his bedroom window, a taunting reminder of how close to home it had followed him each time he dared set foot past the border of towering pines.
Scary stories and the dark have a connection; nightfall brings the haunted tales to life better than a dimly lit corner during the day, just as how gravity doesn't seem to have any weight to it until you're up in space. The shadows become broader, the rain heavier and the noises outside louder, until you feel the monster breathing down your neck beside you.
Jonah couldn't imagine such a description to match the girl who was simultaneously sharing with him her break time and Haribos. Other than having a preference for purple gummy bears, there was nothing overly odd about Opal— if he had been none the wiser, of course.
Successfully dogging a crater-sized puddle which had been generated from the mud of the disintegrating football field, he rewarded himself with a cola bottle. "Full moons?"
"False. Matthieu and Peter are able to change at whatever time of the day or month they want," she lectured. "It's the amount, where the issues begin."
Jonah decided to entertain his curiosity; it had been starved for long enough. "How so?"
He watched Opal's gaze skim over the other wandering students, who were now mere flecks splattered into the landscape. "The entire process of changing, then to only stay in wolf skin for a few hours, it's dangerous."
She retreated her hands into the pockets of her coat, shielding them from the unaccommodating weather— and perhaps in an unconscious action directed at herself. "There have been far too many times when Matthieu has come home with a dislocated shoulder, or collapsed lung. He only transforms so it doesn't happen sporadically; once or twice a month is enough for him. My uncle chooses to put even more space between his intervals, being as he's getting older."
