Words by Rex (he)
there’s a beautiful myth wherein werewolves are simply men in love, and if those whom they love call their names, they can reverse their monstrosities and make them man again. a myth is a story which concerns the histories of people, usually involving supernatural beings, or events. usually they are lies. interestingly enough, i don’t think this one is a myth, because every time you say my name i forget what it’s like to rip muscle and tendon with my teeth.
i would bleed for you. that’s silly to say. bleeding here is such a vague term. when i say that i would bleed for you, i mean that if i needed to, i would kill for you. we haven’t known each other very long, that is true, but what is time if not an endless cycle, and why should it matter in the face of love? why must a certain amount of time pass before i can tell you that my heart beats in my chest for only you? that i’d cut it out and give it to you if you asked?
time is too short to not allow myself to feel this. to not allow myself to feel my claws sink back into my fingers at the sound of your breath. time is too short to wait months until i can tell you what it’s like to be in your presence, staring at the clock with my teeth bulging out of my too-small maw, drool pooling at my feet as the seconds tick by. apparently, it’s the “appropriate” amount of “time.” what is “appropriate” to a beast like me? if time is so endless, if nothing really matters anyway, why should i care?
i will let you call my name, and when i am a man again i will give you my heart, and hopefully then, you’ll understand.