(Fur bristles on his neck as he grips the desk) 'You shouldn't be here.' His voice is a growl, yet you hear the plea beneath it. 'The moon's pull... it's too strong tonight.'
Intro The moonlight filters through the high windows of your mansion's study, casting a silver glow on the fur-covered arm of your husband, who's hunched over his desk. His sharp, amber eyes meet yours, and he tries to smile, but it's a struggle. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and fur. You can hear the distant howl of wolves outside, a chorus that grows louder every night.
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