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"There's something very wrong with me."

Owen had been in a relationship with Amaris for long enough to know this was a tremendous understatement--although probably not in the way that she may have meant it.

"Baby, look at this place! I'm surprised you're breathing!" He sat his sketchbook aside and moved to touch her forehead with the back of his hand. She didn't seem like she had a fever, although it was hard to tell just from a look at her skin. If he was being honest, she always looked a little sick. When he held her hand earlier it had felt slightly clammy. Then again, it kind of always did. Owen felt that Amaris--Mary for short--always had a peculiar look about her. It was a small part of what made her so interesting. He felt that she must have been a distant cousin to the Adams Family, even before he had seen the place in which she lived. She was preternaturally pale, her skin seeming to resist any celestial body's best attempts to add any pigment to it. In sharp contrast, her lips were an overpowering shade of red, the color of blood, and seemed perpetually wet. Her eyes were cloudy, her irises almost pink. It was a trait he'd heard that albino people had, but given her raven black hair and thick, dark eyebrows that was certainly not the case with her. Her fingers were long and thin, almost skeletal, her fingernails growing to sharp points, although her habit of biting her nails tended to lessen that a bit. There was a scent around her, simultaneously alluring and offputting, like loose black soil hastily thrown over a hastily-dug grave. She tended to dress in plain black or gray clothing, and her dusty black shoes seemed like something one would find in a mennonite community. Mary was an altogether strange creature.

And Owen was hopelessly in love with her.

Mary set aside her own sketchbook, leaned away from Owen's hand, and turned her head. Her reaction to almost being touched caused Owen more concern than what she had just said about feeling sick.

Mary lived alone in what was, for all intents and purposes, the most haunted fucking house on the planet Earth. Period. Ever. Even including the ones in all the horror movies he had ever seen. It was absolutely ludicrous, comical in just how laughably spooky it was. A dilapidated mansion barely holding its foundations together, it was a massive three story villa with a full-sized basement, a modest 15,000 square feet of fixer-upper that had been built in the 1920s at the absolute latest. The disrepair was understandable; there was no way Mary or anyone else could possibly keep the place looking nice on their own. The abode came complete with a sinister-looking tower that doubled as a reading nook; several chimneys which likely contained the bones of hapless small children; and enormous gothic windows in the ballroom that looked into the oppressive nothingness of the impenetrable forest.

Because of course the haunted mansion had a haunted forest. It would be concerning if it didn't.

The furniture looked like it came out of a Vincent Price movie--or so Owen assumed. He'd never actually seen a Vincent Price movie. The upholstery was torn, the couches and chairs in the lesser-used rooms covered in a half-century of cobwebs and several layers of dust. And considering most of the rooms seemed like a human benign had entered them in decades, this included most every piece of furniture. The filthy white curtains covered the dirty windows, swaying in the breeze even when there was no breeze in which to sway. An imperial staircase--an imperial fucking staircase!--greeted visitors just past the eleven-foot-tall front doors. "Through me is the way to the lost people," it seemed to say, although there was only one person who lived here, and she certainly wasn't lost. He was pretty sure of that at least. Maybe.

And then there were the grounds. Owen wouldn't have been surprised if Dick Durock were to suddenly emerge from the brackish, mosquito-infested oily water of the abandoned pool. Or perhaps it would be some shambling fish-man-thing out of Lovecraft. Either of them would probably emerge simply to complain about the sorry state of the place. Several half-broken statues lay around the perimeter of the property, no doubt waiting for the opportunity to spring to life and attack any passersby. Their faded features and lifeless gray eyes seemed almost upset that there was no one to terrify.

He had been forbidden from entering the basement; he had no problems with that whatsoever.

Owen, in stark contrast, was about as milktoast-white-guy as one could possibly be in the year 2023. His father was a floral arranger and his mother ran a part-time daycare in the summer months. He had graduated high school with mediocre grades and currently enjoyed full-time employment at the CVS a block away from where he had grown up. Owen was not an exotic person.

To say their paring had been unlikely was doing an injustice to the word. Owen had always wanted to draw, although he was never very good at it. When he had chanced across a sketching class at a nearby arts center he had jumped at the opportunity. And when he had seen the odd yet strikingly beautiful woman sitting alone in the corner of the room he knew immediately which seat he would be taking. He had never been a very adventurous person, but there was something equally sad and alluring about the strange young woman that he just couldn't ignore. The other students seemed to make an effort to sit as far away from her as possible, and as Owen had taken his seat he almost immediately knew why. There seemed to be almost an aura around her, a stillness that made Owen want to move away from her as soon as possible. Just as he was about to follow his instincts, Amaris had glanced in his direction for just a moment, sniffing her nose as if to smell him as a small smile appeared on her ruby red lips. She was happy to have someone sit next to her, and in that moment there was nowhere Owen would rather be.

Owen was a complete novice to drawing. The closest he'd ever come to mastering the craft was drawing replicas of his action figures before the second grade. Mary was slightly better, but still had a lot to learn. Owen found himself unable to listen to the instructor, focusing instead on the way her graceful, thin fingers glided across the page. His own drawing more or less attempted to mimic what the teacher was displaying, but he noticed with a start that she wasn't following the direction. Instead, she was making a portrait of Owen himself. The pharmacy cashier felt flattered, albeit more than a little confused: it was as creepy as it was endearing.

After the second class, Owen had asked her if she'd like to visit the coffee shop a few doors down from their classroom and was delighted when she said yes. He got the feeling she hadn't been asked out in a very long time, even if it was just for coffee. In truth, he spent most of their "date" trying to find out more about her, usually only receiving one- or two-word answers to his friendly inquiries. He hated talking about himself, and she seemed to have similar misgivings, so it had made conversation extremely awkward. Owen read her silence as disinterest and felt like he had already botched it completely. He was dumbfounded when after their next class she had started walking in the direction of the coffee shop, only stopping when she noticed he wasn't following. It was like she was confused that he wasn't accompanying her, like it was a foregone conclusion despite neither one asking the other if they'd like to visit the shop again.

Coffee turned into dinner. Dinner turned into dinner-and-a-movie. Dinner-and-a-movie turned into Owen sitting in the creepiest fucking mansion ever conceived and attempting to feel his girlfriend's forehead to see if she was running a fever. "Mary, how long have you lived here? Like this?" Owen gestured around them. "There's gotta be mold and water damage and-and--"

"Not sick," she interrupted with a whisper. "Wish I was. Would be easier." She seemed suddenly about to cry.

Owen was not following this at all. "Easier? Than what? Mary, we need to get you out of here."

Mary looked at her hands, no doubt wanting to chew on her fingernails. Her response was so quiet that he couldn't make it out.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you." He moved to place a hand on hers, but she again pulled away.

"I said this was a mistake. You should go. I'm sorry."

Owen wished he could go back in time five seconds to when he wasn't sure what she had said. Things were so much happier five seconds ago. "Y-You ... I don't understand. Did I do something wrong? I wasn't trying to be mean, I'm just worried about your health."

Mary shook her head quickly, almost robotically, like she was mimicking a movement she had noticed somewhere rather than it being a natural response of her own. "No. No. Didn't do something wrong."

"W-What then?" Owen was hurt. He had really suspected Amaris was "the one," the mythical "the one" that he had waited for all his life. Sure, her living arrangements had added more than a little uncertainty into that fantasy, but he was willing to overlook a few literal skeletons in the closet if it meant spending more time with her. Shifting gears, he tried to say something funny. "Is this the part where you tell me you're a vampire? That's fine, I figured that bit out when I saw your house."

She shook her head; again the movement was strangely unnatural. "Not a vampire. Wish I was." The serious tone of her response confused Owen even more.

"What is it, then?" he asked. "I ... I mean, I really like you, y'know? Like really, really like you. If it's something I did then--"

"We should have sex," she interrupted. Owen choked on something; he wasn't sure what it was. "Would you like to have sex?" she asked, as if she were inquiring if he might like a piece of gum.

Owen blinked. "What? I don't ... What?"

She looked at him as if she were inquiring if his car was blue or green. "Intercourse."

"Y-Yeah, I got that bit. It's just ... like, one second you are saying we should break this off and the next you're asking if I want to ..."

"We should still ..." She frowned, as if to consider the words. "We should still 'break this off.'"

"Buuuut ... You want to have sex?"

"Yes."

"With me."

"Yes."

"And ... then break it off?"

"Yes!" She seemed happy that he was on the same page, as if she wasn't breaking his heart. She seemed to notice the bewildered look on his face, and his confusion was now reflected on her own. "You don't wish to?"

"No ... I-I mean, yes! Yes, I would very much like to have sex with you. It's just ..." Owen searched for the words he felt like he shouldn't have to find. "I mean, usually people don't announce they're going to break up and then move into ... y'know, being intimate. U-Usually people wait until AFTER I've had sex with them to tell me to leave and never come back. Heh heh. Heh."

Mary pulled her legs onto the dusty couch and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I don't want you to never come back."

"But it's ..."

"For the best. Yes."

Owen's eyes drifted across the room, as if the dust-covered tables or soot-choked fireplace would offer some answers for the questions racing through his mind. "Why is this for the best?"

"Because I'm going to kill you," she calmly answered.

There was a suit of grimy armor displayed in the corner. Perhaps the ghostly apparition that certainly rested inside of it knew what the fuck was going on. He should remember to it later.

Mary hopped up a bit, placing both of her hands on Owen's lap. "I said that wrong. I didn't mean I am going to kill you."

"That's a relief," Owen muttered.

"I-I meant that I'll kill you if we stay together. That's all."

"Oh ..." Owen took her hands, and wasn't sure how to feel when she didn't pull away. "What's your preferred homicide method? You don't seem the firearms type. Like a knife? Hatchet? Suspension above a ridiculously elaborate yet inescapable death pit? With a pendulum or something?"

She seemed about to cry. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Don't want to talk about how. It's not ... nice."

"Yes, I suspect it wouldn't be." Owen cleared his throat. "But you want to have sex before you kill me?"

"Yes." She nodded, again an unnaturally exaggerated motion. "But don't worry. I won't kill you until after we have sex. You're perfectly safe as long as you leave afterward. Immediately afterward."

"I'm perfectly safe ... as long as I leave after we have sex?"

"Yes!" Her smile was genuine, off-white teeth surrounded by sanguine rose petals. "You have to leave before dusk. Earlier, if possible, although I would like to have intercourse with you for several hours if you are amenable to that."

Owen shook his head and prepared to stand up. This was wrong, and it was wrong on levels he wasn't sure he was smart enough to realize. "Listen, I--" He stopped as he noticed Mary was unbuttoning her simple black blouse, the graceful, porcelain dip where her neck met her chest slowly revealing itself to him as her thin fingers continued to the lower buttons. He had wondered what she looked like underneath her clothes a thousand times, and his presumptions were more-or-less on the money. Her skin was just as pale on her torso as it was on her hands or face. She pulled the blouse open, revealing thick nipples that were just as pale, nearly indistinguishable from the skin surrounding them. Owen just barely noticed a few oddly-placed bumps down her torso, although his attention was understandably directed elsewhere. When she had unbuttoned the blouse she lifted it off of her head, and for a moment Owen saw the woman had a thick patch of luxurious dark hair underneath her arms. This wasn't entirely expected, but the tightness in his pants indicated Owen wasn't bothered in the least. Her breasts were sizable, more than a handful. Owen knew they were more than a handful because Mary had taken both of his hands and put them against them.

One of Mary's thick black brows raised, a smile appearing and disappearing from her lips several times in the space of a few heartbeats. "These are agreeable?"

"Ver--" Owen's voice cracked. He coughed to clear it. "Very agreeable. Agreeable. Yes, that is the word. Agreeable. Very, very agreeable."

"Good!" She released her grip as she stood. "Then we can have intercourse now?"

Leave, replied the part of Owen's brain that had led his vertebrae ancestors to successfully crawl out of the primordial goo 4 billion years before this encounter. Get the fuck out, you absolute moron. She literally said she'll kill you. Something is wrong--something is OBVIOUSLY fucking wrong. So pick your ass up off of this couch, go downstairs and--

"Yeppers," Owen whispered. "That sounds nice."

---

Amaris led Owen by the hand down a long hallway, the eerily vacant stares of dozens of portraits following him as the mistress of the house took him to her chambers. The paintings seemed ancient, though there was enough of a resemblance between their subjects and the batshit insane young woman that he had no doubt they were her ancestors. There was enough of a similarity between all family members that he wondered if the family tree wasn't more narrow than it should have been. Each step he took echoed through the hallway like the dying squeal of some small rodent. Cobwebs were everywhere, although he didn't notice any spiders. They probably wanted as little to do with this place as anyone would.

Anyone except the strange young woman and the rather stupid young man, now practically being led by his penis to what was probably his death.

The pair entered Mary's chamber, and Owen had only a short time to appreciate it before being pushed onto her bed. The ceilings were vaulted, rising higher than the hallway or any of the other rooms he had seen on this floor. He briefly wondered if perhaps this room was underneath the tower he had seen from outside. A massive fireplace was on the opposite wall, its ancient and menacing hearth opening like the maw of some primordial worm. It had likely not been used in at least a few decades, the remains of its ashes now caked onto the hearth as if they had become petrified. A cold chill emanated from it, though Mary didn't seem particularly bothered. It was hard to make out any other features in the gloom. The only light being emitted was from the windows, which were covered in opaque curtains. At one point they had probably been black, but were now mummified under an inch of thick white dust.

In stark contrast to the ancient furniture and ominous tapestries was the gathered trash from modern-day fast food restaurants that lay strewn about the floor. McDonald's, Subway, a local Chinese place. Owen noticed half the bags were from a small chocolate shop that he knew Mary was fond of. It was apparent from a casual glance that this was the only room of the house that Mary spent any amount of time in. Maybe there was less mold in this room. Maybe that was why she wasn't sick.

Owen stared up at the bed, another cyclopean affair with four corner-posts surrounded by yet another black curtain. Mary pushed him past the curtains and slid onto the bed alongside him, pulling the curtains behind her and leaving the pair almost in complete darkness.

"Hey." Owen was whispering, although he wasn't sure why. It just seemed like the thing to do. "Could we open a window or something? I can barely see in here."

"Good!" she replied, her tone almost chipper. "Please hold still, this will only take a moment." She was addressing him like this was a visit to the doctor. Her bony fingers touched his forehead and he soon felt a thick cloth being wrapped around his eyes. "Can you see now?"

"Uh, no."

"Good!" she repeated. Her hands were undoing his belt now and she was soon tugging at his shirt. He lifted his back to make it easier for her. In a few moments he was naked, all foreplay discarded in favor of an almost clinical procedure of undressing him.

It's a sex thing, he finally realized. Of course it's a sex thing, you dumbass. He was being blindfolded and fed a line about how she was going to murder him if he wasn't out of the house by nightfall. The woman lived in a ghostly mansion and dressed like an aristocrat that was buried centuries ago. Of course she wasn't into anything vanilla when it came to the bedroom. Owen took a breath, now feeling relieved and chiding himself for his earlier obliviousness. He was disappointed that he couldn't see her body, but if blindfolds and ominous threats got her off then he wasn't going to begrudge her.

Soon enough his clothing and shoes had been discarded, and he was fairly sure from the sound of them hitting the floor that she had tossed them in the direction of the door. Owen wondered if she expected him to beg for his life to roleplay along with her, but he had a feeling she'd let him know soon enough if that was what she wanted. He started to play along before he felt a wetness envelop his cock, her tongue suddenly rubbing along the underside before she pulled away.

"I've always wanted to do that," she whispered. "It tastes good." She lightly kissed his balls, moaning and giggling happily. "Like meat."

That wasn't a comforting analogy. "Have you, uh, never ..."

"Sucked cock?" The words sounded strange coming from her. She was likely using that specific word for the first time in her life, like she was mimicking words she felt she was supposed to say.

"Um, y-yeah. Or ...?"

"I am a virgin." Again she took him into her mouth. She was bobbing her head a bit too swiftly, and more than once her teeth slid roughly across his tender skin.

"Can you go a little slower?" he whispered. "Just, y'know, kinda give us both time to get into it?"

She released him from her mouth for just long enough to apologize. "I am sorry. I'm not really sure what I'm doing."

"No no no, don't be! You're doing great, just slow down a bit." He reached for her to reassure her, but she pressed his hands back into the mattress. He had to fight off a cough as the smell of unwashed bedsheets sprang into the air.

"Am I doing okay with my tongue?"

"Ohhhh, hell yes," he answered. "You are definitely doing okay with your tongue."

She gave a happy giggle as she licked the tip of his cock again. He thought it strange that she apparently had no trouble telling exactly where he was in the gloom, although soon his mind was focused elsewhere. Her bobbing was slower now, the soft caress of her tongue far more delicate on his sensitive skin. He reached for her face, his fingers lightly tracing her strange, beautiful features in the darkness. At first she recoiled as if she didn't want to be touched, but relaxed and gave a soft whimper of pleasure as his fingers brushed through her hair. He thought he noticed something odd about her ears, but she swiftly pushed his hands away.

Mary leaned back, releasing him from her mouth. "Are you preparing to ejaculate?" she asked.

It was such an odd question that he had to laugh. "Um ... getting there, yeah."

The odd woman slipped past the drapery for a moment, kicking off her shoes and stepping out of her dress. Soon he felt her bare flesh against his as she lay atop him. Not for the first time he found himself wondering how she could be so cold and so warm at the same time. He felt her breath against his lips, the smell of nightshade, cold earth, and the strange scent of her body odor drifting into his nose. Did the shower even run in this place? He opened his lips, wanting nothing more in the moment than to feel her tongue inside his mouth. Instead she calmly whispered, "I 'really, really like you' also. I wish I didn't have to worry about killing you afterwards."

As far as sweet nothings, it was lacking, but soon he felt her lips against his own and all his concerns were swept aside. She interlocked one hand with his, her other trailing through his chest hair. He cupped her right breast, and she immediately made to pull away. "I want to touch you," he almost whined. She slowly relented, and he soon slid his thumb across her plump nipple. He was surprised to find more than a few hairs encircling her areola as he noticed she was holding her breath. He was afraid she would pull away again, but instead she let out a soft gasp as he continued lightly swirling his thumb in circles around the thick nub. She leaned away slowly, but didn't resist as he continued to play with them, even going as far as to pull his free hand to her other breast. The swell of her soft ass against his rigid cock felt wonderful as his hands drifted lower, caressing her sides, her belly, her navel. There was more hair there, a rather thick happy trail rising from her mound.

"S-Sorry," she muttered. "People don't like hair there. Normal people, I mean."

"I don't give a single fuck," he answered.

"I do," she barely whispered. She started to say something else until she felt his thumb brushing through the thick patch between her legs. "D-Don't--oh!" Her hands flew to cover her mouth as he felt the wetness between her lips.

"Lay back," he urged gently.

"O-Okay ..." She slid onto her back, parting her legs slightly as he climbed to his hands and knees.

"The blindfold?" he prodded.

"Leave it!" she hissed, perhaps a bit more angrily than she meant to. At least, he hoped so anyway. "Please."

He simply nodded before he gently spread her legs a bit wider. He brought his lips to her inner thigh, smiling at the gasps that escaped those maddeningly crimson lips. He could feel thick hair on her shins, her inner thighs, even on the top of her feet. It was more than a little strange, but what wasn't where she was concerned? He slid closer, kissing her inner thigh again and again as his lips moved closer to her mound. He kissed the space where her leg met her crotch, smiling as he felt her knees slightly tremble around his head. Owen relished the bitter taste as his tongue slid between her lips, although he grimaced slightly as he felt her sharp nails on the back of his head. Her taste was stronger than any previous partner and he had to press his tongue harder in order to find her clit, although once he did he found it was nearly the size of the tip of his pinkie. He smiled as he was almost able to wrap the entire nub around his lips, a lupine smile spreading across his features as she gave a soft squeak at his touch.

Owen pressed his face closer now, gently parting her legs wider to give himself better access. The thick hair covering her knees was more than a little off-putting, but the taste between her legs was far more deserving of his attention. He swore he could almost feel her labia pinching his tongue as he fought to flick it again against her clit. Her scent was growing stronger, a thick musk trapped within the thick dark curtains. "Morrrre," she almost growled. "Please. Morrrrre." He was happy to comply, if only her pussy wasn't so tight, her labia now swollen beyond anyone else he had been with. He continued to try to give her what she so desperately wanted, but with a groan of frustration she gently pushed him away.

"Morrrre," she growled. Her voice was harsher now, far more gravelly than he had ever heard her sound before. She pressed him away with her feet, and he was somewhat confused when her long toenails scraped across his skin. Mary shifted, pulling herself to a sitting position and almost shoving him back against the ornate headboard. He felt her teeth against his neck for one moment, his chest the next, her sharp nails scratching him hard enough to break the skin. How could they be so sharp if she chewed them all the time? Her long tongue was lapping at his chest now, licking over and over like an animal as she growled. He wasn't sure what aspect of her roleplaying they were entering now, but he was more than a little surprised at the rough behavior coming from someone normally so timid.

"Morrrrragh," she growled again, grinding her groin into his leg, her puffy lips leaving a touch of warm wetness against his thigh. She reached out to touch his face, reassuring herself that his blindfold was still in place. He reached for his cock, wanting so badly to slip it inside her, but this only earned him another harsh growl. She was in charge now, and she wanted him to know it. He wrapped his arms around her back, and was surprised to find her thick hair draped over her ass. He didn't remember it being so long, but before he could consider this new discovery he felt her hands wrapping around his, pulling them again to her large breasts. God, they were even bigger than he remembered.

"Pinch them," she hissed. He complied, sinking his fingers into the soft flesh, softly pressing his smooth palms against her nipple. "No, fucking PINCH them!" Owen took her thick teat between his thumb and finger and pressed on it, earning him a high pitched yip and then an even more sudden bite along his shoulder, though not hard enough to break through his skin. "Harrrrderrrrr!" He was twisting them now, eliciting a deep moan from his lover. "Now bite me. Bite me, pleeease, fucking bite me!" Owen pulled her arm to his mouth before she growled, "No!" and brought her breast to his face. "Fucking BITE me!" He sank his teeth into her teat, and the sharp gasp that emanated from her throat sounded like the harsh growl of a bitch in heat.

"Fuck me," she moaned, pleading and demanding. Her voice was so deep now as she swung her leg over his body to straddle him. He started to bring his hands to her breasts again, stopping when he felt a large bump along her torso that felt remarkably like ...

His cock was pressed against her swollen cunt now, and all other concerns were pushed aside as the tip started to slide past her thick labia. "Fuck meeeee!" Owen couldn't tell if she was ordering him or pleading with him. She grasped his cock and he winced as she inadvertently poked him with her nails, but as the head of his rod slipped between her lips he could think about nothing else. She moaned in blissful agony as she was no doubt feeling that once in a lifetime feeling of her hymen being torn in one moment while the painful emptiness demanded she slide him further inside. Owen had to resist the urge to simply thrust hard into her depths, although he wasn't entirely sure this wasn't exactly what she wanted.

As he felt her ass against his crotch he knew that he was fully inside of her now. Words deserted her as they devolved into growls. He prayed he'd be able to last, but she was just so unbearably tight. His hands gripped her waist now, and he was confused when he felt more of her thick body hair even there, trailing out of her mound to wrap around her sides. He could just make out his lover bringing her arms to her head, tossing her thick mane across her shoulders to her ass and his lower belly. She was bouncing faster and faster now, and it was only then that Owen realized his blindfold must have slipped low enough for him to just barely make out her form in the dim light.

What he saw terrified him. Wisps of hair were just barely visible on her shoulders, her forearms, her breasts, any other part of her body he could see. Her ears were pointed and were far longer than they should have been, their sharp points looming even above the crown of her head. Her fingernails seemed more like claws, pawing at her much larger breasts before trailing down to rub another pair growing just beneath them. Her feet were longer, ending in wicked talons that flexed and gripped at the dusty blanket like they belonged on some sort of primate. There was a stench about her, the familiar smell of wet earth, but something fouler as well. It was the musky smell of a beast in heat mixed with sweat, cum, and the sickly sweet smell of a carcass laying by the road.

But by far, the thing that filled Owen with horror was her teeth. Each tooth had grown to a point, but her canines were now extending several inches, and he doubted she'd be able to close her mouth if she tried. Thick drool was falling from those elongated fangs even as they continued growing and gnashing, looking almost serpentine.

Owen started to fling the creature off of him, but before the thought had even finished forming in his mind her thick cunt gripped him harder and he was cumming, pumping his seed into this abomination, not quite an animal and certainly not human. For a moment she screamed in ecstasy, the noise eerily sounding like the voice of the woman he thought he knew before warping into a symphony of growls and screeches finally ending in a long, almost mournful howl.

As the monster came down from her ecstasy, she slowly turned her gaze in Owen's direction, probably sensing something was wrong with the way he was frantically trying to pull away from her. It was in that moment that he beheld her eyes, mismatched like everything else about her body. One eye was an icy blue, almost white. The other had a yellowish glow, though the color shifted to a bright orange as she focused more on his form.

He knew immediately what was going through the creature's mind. The fact that what had been Mary was still able to form rational thoughts was perhaps the most terrifying thing about the monster.

She knew that Owen's blindfold had fallen off.

She roared, her fingernails continuing to grow into claws as the tips of her long, bony fingers split. She kicked at the mattress, trying to dislodge herself from his cock. Owen felt himself softening, the heat of his passion a distant memory as his heart filled with terror. He had to get away. His cock slipped from the creature's strange, pronounced cunt and with every ounce of strength available to him he pushed the monster away and fell past the curtains onto the wooden floor. It was only then that he noticed the thick furrows that had been dug into the floorboards, claw markings the beast must have dug over countless years as she slipped into bed like she was a human being.

Owen scrambled, trying to reach his feet as he crawled towards the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the creature struggling with the curtains surrounding the bed, tangling itself in the moth-eaten cloth as it roared and hissed in frustration. The sounds it was making were two separate voices, one a high-pitched screech, the other the growl of a large animal. It sounded like it was trying to form words as its roar stabbed at Owen's ears like a rusty knife. Owen found his feet, somehow managing to grab his pants and shoes as he ran into the hallway. He had made it perhaps twenty steps before he realized he wasn't running in the direction from which he had come. It was so easy to get lost in this labyrinthine manor at the best of times, and now Owen was running into the unfamiliar darkness. Behind him he heard the creature fall onto the floor, a loud thump and louder scream indicating the horror had found its way off of its bed.

She told him that she was going to kill him if he didn't get away. It was now safe to say she wasn't kidding.

There was no way he was going to be able to reach the end of the hallway before it would see him. It could likely follow him by the smell of his fear, but perhaps if he ducked into one of the long-forgotten rooms the scent of dust and mold would cover up his scent. He hurried into a random room, not bothering to close the door for fear it would squeak and draw attention to him. There was just enough space underneath one particular table to allow him to slide underneath. Owen brought his knees to his chest, curling into a fetal position. He closed his eyes, thinking that if he was going to be soon ripped to shreds that at least he wouldn't see the terror stalking into the room.

Moaning preceded the soft padded steps of the creature as it made its way down the hallway. It was coming in his direction, he was certain. In that moment, Owen tried to rediscover his belief in a higher power, just to have something to pray to. But after being inside the vagina of that monster and hearing its shrill cries he knew no god would be coming to his rescue today. Closer and closer it stalked until he could hear its steps just outside the door. It paused, sniffing the air, its delay surely preceding the young man's death. Owen tried to slow his heartbeat, covering his mouth with his hand to keep from breathing in the thick dust beneath the table. The slightest noise would be the end of him.

Tears fell from Owen's eyes as he heard more steps, not into the room but further down the hallway. It was moving on.

Thank you, Owen thought. Thank you, thank you, thank you. He wasn't sure if he was thanking God or the creature or his own stupid luck. He waited for what felt like days as he heard the sound of her footsteps continue to recede. He remained still even after he could no longer make out the sound of the beast's claws scraping across the nearly rotten wood floor. What if it came back? What if he stepped out of the room and it was there waiting for him at the end of the hallway? He couldn't wait. Even death would be preferable to waiting to hear the sound of the thing's return.

Owen slid out from under the table. He paused for another moment, straining his ears to pick up any sound of the wretch's return. When he was as certain as he could be that she was gone, he stepped into his pants and forced his feet into his shoes. He'd likely make more noise in his well-worn sneakers, but he'd need them if he had to run. Or rather, when he had to run.

He leaned his head out into the hallway as if he were placing his neck on a guillotine. To the left where the creature had gone. Nothing. To the right back towards the direction of the bedroom. Nothing. Left again just to make sure, and then he stepped into the hallway as quietly as he could, turned to the right, and saw him.

It wasn't the creature. He wished it was. The creature would've been a welcome sight compared to this. At first he thought it was a trick of the light, some long shade leaning through a window, perhaps the shadow of a tree. But then it moved, ever so slightly like a man leaning from one leg to the other. Its neck was leaning forward slightly against the ceiling. It was a man. Owen wasn't alone with the creature in the house. There were others here as well.

Owen's hands were shaking. What was he supposed to do? Try to rush past him, whoever he was? Run in the direction the creature had gone? Before he could make any decision, he saw the man take a step towards Owen and the choice was made. He would rather be torn to pieces than to have the figure stare at him any longer.

He had taken only a few steps before he heard the monster shriek again, a high pitched wail like a terrified young girl that turned into the howl of an animal in pain. It had heard him. Of course it had. For just a moment, Owen thought he had made the wrong decision and he should try to force his way past the man. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that the figure was much closer than he had been a moment earlier. Owen could almost make out the smile on his face.

And so Owen ran towards the sound of the creature's shrill cry, praying there was another hallway to duck into, some staircase leading to one of the lower levels, even a window to leap through. His steps pounded on the creaking floor, the sound of the creature's footsteps growing closer as he ran towards it.

And then it was there. A clawed, hairy hand gripped the corner, the first sight Owen had really gotten of the animal that was chasing him. Its claws peeled the faded, dirty wallpaper away in shreds as it laboriously pulled itself along. It wasn't long before Owen saw the thing's head peer at him from around the corner, its fangs dripping with saliva, a slightly elongated muzzle ending in a strange upturned nose. Those mismatched, horrible eyes glared at him as its mouth opened slightly wider. The entire visage was ringed by a mass of dirty black hair, wet and slick with sweat. But more than anything else, it was the familiar features that filled him with fear. Her cheeks were the same, her chin still slightly recognizable. Her lips were still blood-red. But while he recognized parts of her, it was plain to Owen that she saw nothing familiar in him. Her eyes were focused on him as prey, his entire being nothing more than something to sink her teeth into.

"M-Mary?" Nothing. He might as well have been talking to a tiger, a wolf, a ghost. "Oh God. Please let me go."

Two more steps and then her entire body was visible. She was slightly larger than before. Sinewy muscles could be seen through the hair, her pale skin slick with perspiration. Those strange simian feet seemed unsteady, like she couldn't decide whether her heels should be touching the ground. Her steps were labored, clumsy, almost tired. She took a breath to let loose another wail, but one foot seemed to linger as she moved her leg and she was sent crashing to the dusty floor.

Owen would likely spend the rest of his short life trying to forget what he saw next. She screamed violently, arching her back as she tried to regain her footing, but was unable to rise. Her spine swelled and pressed against the skin on her hairy back, the indentation of each vertebrae plainly visible even in the gloom of dusk. She reached for him, though he wasn't sure if she was pleading for help or trying in vain to slash at him. She brought the hand to her face, screeching as her palm began to elongate, wicked claws sliding further away from her wrists as her thumbs receded to useless dewclaws. She placed the hand back to the ground and started to lift the other before she howled in pain, fell onto her side, and grasped her belly as her entire form began to swell larger. Her feet were kicking, scraping along the walls and floors as they too began to grow, ankles stretching sickeningly as her padded feet started to resemble the hind legs of an animal. Owen felt strange as his attention was drawn to her breasts, still swelling larger as a third and fourth pair began to fight for room on her slick torso. One forepaw began trailing across her numerous thick teats, the other slipping between her legs now, clumsily pressing against her canine cunt. Her sex began to grow to a point and slid between her legs, marking her as nothing more than an animal. Her tongue lolled as she slipped a finger between her trifold lips, likely trying to use her own perverse pleasure to drown out the pain she was no doubt feeling. As her hands shifted further into paws, she roared piteously in frustration, her body denying her any sort of respite from her horrible transformation. She gnashed her teeth as her jaw slid forward, her muzzle growing even as her black nose became more upturned, almost triangular like the snout of a particular mammal that It wasn't a canine nose. Owen couldn't quite place. A long tail slithered from her backside, fanning the stench of the creature in the narrow hallway as it again tried to stand.

Owen realized he was backing up now as what had been a beautiful young woman not even an hour ago began to rise on two misshapen legs. It opened its maw as it continued growing longer, wider, its black tongue slipping between those serpentine fangs as it gave a cruel smile. One more step, and then the creature was on the ground again, howling in agony once more. Just before he turned to flee, Owen noticed something strange happening along the creature's back, almost like flaps of skin were being flayed from its shoulders.

Owen turned to flee and was overjoyed that the tall man at the end of the hallway was no longer there. His feet pounded on the rickety floor, his heart threatening to burst through his chest. His breaths came in sharp bursts of pain as he fled back into the sitting room and nearly ran into Mary.

He blinked. The world was making less sense with every passing moment. He had nearly ran into Mary?

She grabbed at his shirt, her pale white fingers as skeletal as they had always been, her milky, almost-pink eyes darting across his face in abject terror, her red lips trembling in that same way he had fallen in love with. "That's not me!" she whispered, looking over his shoulder back in the direction of the slathering beast at the end of the hallway. "That's not me!"

Nothing made sense as Owen's fingers traced the delicate features of her face in disbelief, his mind fumbling as he tried to hold onto his sanity. "B-B-But ... I saw ... We-We were ... together in the room and ..."

"That's not me!" she whispered again, pulling herself from his arms, grasping his hand, and pulling him along. They fled to the top of the staircase and raced down the steps as the sound of howling and footsteps echoed on the third floor above them. The creature--the creature that was definitely not Mary--seemed larger now, heavy padded feet stomping towards them in pursuit. Mary paused at the top of the stairs leading to the front door, glanced behind them, and shook her head. Instead of running down the stairs, she turned and fled through another hallway, motioning frantically for Owen to follow. Owen was confused until he heard the she-beast's claws tearing into the floor above. Mary must have realized it was too close now, and that they'd never make it down the stairs before it was upon them.

Owen trusted her as he had before all this insanity began, racing after her as she pushed open a door and waited for him to follow before slamming it shut. It was yet another bedroom, another relic of whatever mad family had once called this hellish manse their home. Mary tugged Owen by his uncovered arm, pulling him towards an absolutely filthy bathroom. He lingered at the doorway, covering his nose in disgust at the decades of collected grime and wet mold. Mary had her back to him now, and was for some reason pushing against a portion of disheveled wainscoting as it began to slowly give way. There was some sort of hidden passage leading into the space between the walls. "Okay, yeah, but hurry!" Owen screamed, realizing only too late that he was being far too loud. The beast must have heard him as it was now running down the hallway towards them.

"Oh, fuck me," he muttered as he turned to look towards the door, expecting at any moment for it to be torn to shreds as the horror stalked ever closer. His eyes lingered on a strange painting on the opposite wall, yet another family portrait. But there was something different about this one. Whereas the others contained only single figures, whose painted eyes lingered on Owen as he had passed them earlier, this one was of three people: a father, a mother, and a young daughter. The father's skin was pale, his eyes piercing as if life remained in the picture itself. His lips were a familiar shade of deep crimson, but stranger still were the twin fangs that protruded from his smiling lips. The mother's features were darker, her hair the color of night, dark eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle, a shade of what must have been black lipstick across her dry lips. In sharp contrast, her eyes were a striking shade of orange. Both the father's and mother's hands lingered on either shoulder of the daughter between them, whose pale skin, dark hair, and red lips were a mix of her parent's own features.

"It's ... you," Owen whispered to Mary as she continued to shove against the door, desperately trying to push it completely aside.

"That's not me!" Mary hissed behind him. She wasn't pushing against the wall now.

Owen laughed. "No, look, it is! Your dad looks like fucking Count Dracula. And your mom kinda looks like ..."

"That's not me." She was standing just behind him now, though he hadn't heard her approach.

Something else struck Owen as strange about the picture. "They ... look happy."

"That's not me." Mary's voice was happy now, almost jubilant, as if they had been playing a game.

Owen's eyes left the painting, lingering on the wall for a moment as he slowly turned to face her. "That's not me," she whispered. He wasn't sure what he would find when he turned to face her, but he knew it wasn't going to be Mary.

He was right.

Its face was Mary's, its arms, its legs. But not the eyes. The eyes were vacant, just two dark holes that continued to expand across a face that seemed to be melting. Its jaw opened wider than should have been possible, its tongue and teeth disappearing as its head drooped unnaturally to the side. Its hands left Owen's arm as its nails began digging into his face, its thumbs pressing into his eyes.

His eyes. It wanted his eyes.

Owen screamed and turned to flee just as the door exploded as the beast's claws ripped through it. The apparition released its grasp at the site of the monster, pulling away as if the real Mary's appearance was causing it fear. With nowhere else to go, he pushed past the thing that was not Mary and ran through the opened passage. Before him lay walls of spiderwebs, parting before him like curtains on a stage, a play starring the Conquering Worm in which he was barely a bit player. Behind him came the roar of the monster and the voice of the figure pretending to be her. "That's not me," it was still saying in the voice of the woman he loved. It wasn't a lie. He prayed it hadn't followed him into the passageway, but he was certain it had. He raced to the end of the passage, arms spread in front of him, waving uselessly in the darkness to try to keep himself from running headfirst into a wall. The faint light he had used to make it this far was gone now, the words of the apparition his only indicator of which way he should go. It was behind him now, whispering in his ear as its fingers wrapped around his neck. He wondered if its fingers were the same as Mary's. As far as last thoughts went, they weren't very inspired ones.

And then he was falling, tumbling through the stale air and spiderwebs as he fell through some sort of trapdoor. He was vaguely aware of his feet kicking against a ladder as he fell, but these thoughts were pushed aside as he crashed into a pile of something hard. The rattling, clacking, shifting underneath him indicated he had found the skeletons in the closet that he had anticipated. There were more than a few. The words of the thing that wasn't Mary were coming from above him now; the wet slapping sound of bare feet echoing in the chamber. It was climbing down the ladder after him.

Owen tried to keep from sobbing as he slid across the remains, thankful that none of them seemed particularly fresh. He wondered how long they had been here. Perhaps the remains of the thing chasing him were underneath him now. Owen whispered a thanks to a God he no longer believed in as his hand touched the wooden floor. He scrambled to his feet, somehow running in the only direction he could without slamming into the wall in the darkness. The bones were silent as he ran, although they began rattling again as the thing stepped onto them.

Just run, he told himself. Just run and run and run and don't look back. The repeated refrain of the figure seemed farther away now, and the growls of the beast were gone completely. More spiderwebs slipped across Owen's face like satin or silk as his feet pounded on the wooden floor. After what felt like a mile he finally reached something he didn't expect. He felt the tiny sharp pricks of thorns against his arms, chest, and face as his lungs were filled with the cold air of the city once again. Tears were in his eyes; he thought he'd never breathe the outside air again.

Owen kicked against the pricks, the sharp teeth of the thornbush biting into his flesh as he struggled to push past them. He could feel the warm trails of his blood running down his face as the thorns scraped across his skin. Just keep pushing, he told himself. Just keep pushing, you're so close. Just keep--

He was free. Owen tumbled to the grass, his legs still kicking to break free of the grasp of the brambles. The mournful words of whatever it was that was following him seemed to retreat further back into the mansion. Maybe it couldn't follow him into the outside world. He wasn't going to wait long enough to test the theory.

Owen rushed to the side of the mansion. It was dark now, but the full moon illuminated the path just enough that he knew he'd be able to find the road. As he rounded the corner he screamed obscenities at the heavens he had just praised as he beheld a large, rusty iron fence blocking his exit, a large logging chain threading through the cold bars of the gate. He pressed on the gate, trying to see if he could create enough of an opening to squirm through, but he was too large. He'd have an easier time making the world make sense again than squeezing through the opening.

A screeching, roaring sound from somewhere nearby indicated Owen would have to make a decision very soon. He could try running to the other side of the house and hope that he wouldn't find the same obstacle there. Running back into the house was complete suicide. The woods behind the estate provided the most cover, but at this point he wouldn't be surprised by any new sort of horror he'd run into there. Still, it was the best option out of all the fatal ones he had to choose from.

Feet pounding, heart thundering, Owen fled from the gate. He made it as far as the open back yard before he heard the mournful howl again. The monster was outside now, and it must have spotted him. The treeline before him was dark, foreboding, filled with shadows that somehow stood out against the almost perfect darkness. The skeletal limbs waved in the wind, beckoning him like a lover into the darkness. The forgotten grove was likely filled with several things that could kill him. And still it was the most welcoming sight he had seen in the past hour.

He had made it perhaps ten feet before the sound of something large pressing through the brush heralded its arrival. The roar that followed him neared ever closer, though there was no sound of the creature's footsteps. It must be leaping towards him. He closed his eyes as he slowed. There was no point in running anymore. It was upon him. He had lost. He was going to die.

Rather than the sharp pain of claws or teeth rending his flesh, Owen felt an altogether different sensation. He was suddenly flying. Not running through the woods, not being tackled from behind. He was literally flying. It took a moment for Owen's brain to piece together what was happening, but when he finally noticed the tight grip of the creature's prehensile feet grasping his shoulders he was clued in. Owen screamed, looking above him as the creature continued its ascent. They were crashing through the branches now, even as it pulled him closer to its torso, grasping him with hands as well as feet as the creature turned him around to face it.

Wings. It had wings on its back.

Owen prayed for death as he stared into its eyes. It was roughly the same form as it had been before, mostly canine like the Hollywood monster movies he'd watched as a child. But there were differences between this horror and the werewolves from cinema. Her feet were almost simian, capable of lifting him off of the ground. Her nose was triangular and upturned, the nose of a vampire bat. Her ears were like sails, turning in his direction as they focused intently on his terrified screams. Her fangs were long, of course, but the four that would have been her canine teeth before she transformed were like daggers, each three times as long as the others. They would extend past her lips even if her maw wasn't open and slathering at the moment. The wings on her back were massive, a fifteen foot wingspan at least, flapping in the night air and spreading the bestial odor of the creature that didn't resemble the person he loved in any way.

He tried in vain to extract his arms and legs from her grip, but it was useless. Hot drool dripped from her still-sanguine lips as she leaned into his neck, her vampiric teeth pressed against his throat for an instant. And her eyes, those mismatched blue and orange eyes ...

What was happening to her eyes?

Owen had only a moment to consider before the ascent was suddenly halted. The monster screamed in surprise as she slammed into a large branch near the canopy. She had lost her prize, sending Owen hurtling towards the ground. Screaming like a madman, his arms grasped for anything they could find in a futile attempt to save himself. His salvation came in the form of several heavy branches slamming into his ribs, his arms, his forehead. The forest was slowing his fall, saving him even as it assaulted him. The ground met him all too soon, but his descent had been slowed enough to keep him alive, albeit with more broken bones than he wanted to consider. Owen was happy he had landed face up. He didn't think he could force himself to breathe if he were on his side or belly.

The creature was roaring overhead ... somewhere. Perhaps she was circling him, perhaps she was diving towards him again. Owen didn't know. He barely cared. The only choice available to him was to remain breathing or to remain conscious. He chose the former.

---

It was daylight when Owen woke. Everything hurt. He fought to cough through ragged breaths, every inhalation sending a stabbing pain through his chest, throat, and belly. He had been scratched badly on the way, although he was conscious just enough to be thankful he hadn't been impaled. He raised his hand, turning it this way and that, slowly realizing that it belonged to him and that he was capable of moving it. Gradually he tested his other limbs and found them working as well. He slowly rose to a sitting position, although he quickly rolled onto his side as he vomited into the bloody grass surrounding him. He was startled as he heard the sound of laughter, and even more shocked when he realized it was his own.

The monster was gone. She had vanished in the light of day, just as all monsters usually did. He was alive. He could make it to the street and away from this insanity--away from the shadows and the monsters and ...

And away from those eyes. Those eyes, focused like pinpoints on his jugular. But that hadn't been what was the most alarming. Something else about those eyes bothered him. His eyes darted back and forth as he struggled to remember. When the realization finally dawned, his breath caught in his throat.

She was crying.

Owen leaned on a tree, pushing himself off of the ground as he stared at the ruined mansion that had almost claimed his life. Whereas before it looked like an entryway into hell itself, now it just looked sad, like a family home without a family. When he reached his feet he took a few tentative steps.

---

It was daylight, but the monster was still awake. The monster was still hungry. The monster was still a monster.

The ghosts of the dilapidated mansion slunk away as she approached, those both figurative and literal. Every shade, every apparition, every half-living echo of the creature's ancestors fleeing from the horror of horrors as she climbed the stairs. Every terror the house could summon fled before her. The creature was that terrifying. That horrible. That disgusting.

That alone.

The beast reached the top of the stairs of the third floor to this home that was never a home. She was still hungry, but right now she just wanted to rest--to lie down and cry herself to sleep as she had done every night for as long as she could remember. Every night, that is, until she had met the wonderfully boring man she'd just spent the previous evening trying to kill. Her own horrid reflection caused her to pause as she passed by the ancient mirror in the hallway leading to the sitting room.

The monster that Amaris had become wept, raising her taloned fingers to her face as she rubbed the tears from the matted fur around her eyes. She almost stumbled as she beheld her reflection, this horrible amalgam of wolf and bat, of werewolf and vampire. Her wings flapped behind her suddenly, causing four pairs of large breasts to sway, drawing her eyes from the topmost to the bottom and the animal sex that lay beneath the last pair. Claws. Fangs. Wings. Tail. Everything about her was an animal, a freak, a mockery of life, a--

She turned her head, growling lowly as she heard something shifting in the room before her. One of them must have been watching her now, the tall man or the wailing mimic or any of the rest of them. She didn't want to deal with any of them right now. She wasn't in the fucking mood.

Dropping to all fours, wings folding behind her, she strode across the threshold, drool and bile dripping from her daggerlike teeth. Her long tongue lolled nearly a foot and a half past her lips, dripping like venom from a snake's teeth as she tasted the musty air.

And then a familiar scent reached her nose. Her eyes went wide as she saw him seated on the couch just as he had been in what seemed like a lifetime ago. He gave a small wave towards her, his hands trembling, whether from pain or fear or both. The monster could smell blood on him and her stomach grumbled. He was weak, even weaker than before, with several sets of broken ribs and a sprained shoulder. Her prey cleared his throat weakly, and the word that struggled to escape his lips was the strangest thing she had ever heard in her long, long life.

---

"Hi," Owen croaked. It was the dumbest thing he could possibly have said, but the only thing he could think of. In truth, it was the only thing he could say.

The monster approached. Mary, he reproached himself. It's Mary. Not a monster, not a beast, not an undead ghoul. It's Mary. She crouched lower, seeming to prepare for another lunge towards him, although she merely crept across the floor until she was directly before him.

She was as beautiful to behold in the light of day as she was horrifying in the dark. It's Mary, he thought. It's Mary. He started to extend his hand towards her, though he wasn't sure if it was to touch her face or to allow her to smell his hand like a dog. He quickly withdrew as she let loose a menacing growl.

"O-Okay," he stuttered through the pain. "It-It's okay, M-Mary. Okay. It's okay."

The monster--Mary, it's Mary--crouched on her haunches now, her long tail curling around her as she licked her lips menacingly. Her chest was soaked with sweat, drool, and Owen's own blood. Her talons flexed, those on her front and rear paws and the strange claws on the first joint of those hauntingly beautiful wings. Everything about her caused his brain to scream at him to run. She was an animal. A freak. A monster.

But the tears were still in her eyes. Those glowing, mismatched, ancient eyes full of pain and bad memories.

Owen fought to get the words out. "I ..." He winced through the pain. The growls were louder now. This was how he was going to die. Why had he come back? What the fuck was he doing here? Her massive jaws opened, seemingly poised to strike. Her breath was hot, wet, and smelled awful.

He closed his eyes. This was how he was going to die.

Mary paused, her breath caught in her throat for a heartbeat as she must have taken notice of what was in Owen's other hand. He slid the object across the couch in her direction, his eyes closed tightly the entire time.

Owen retreated into his mind in the long seconds that followed. He heard her breathing again, and this combined with the fact that he wasn't dead seemed a positive development. He opened his eyes and saw her take the object from his hand, placing it on the table to the side before slowly sitting on her haunches. Mary stared down at the simple thing she had been handed, a look of quiet understanding coming across her bestial features.

The monster was staring at her sketchbook.

With a trembling hand, Owen held a graphite pencil towards her. Those near-feral eyes followed the motion, lips twitching into a snarl, preparing to strike at the slightest provocation. Still, she allowed him to place it on the paper before he slowly withdrew. He resisted the urge to snatch his arm away for fear of losing it. Mary raised her paw, slowly lowering it over the pencil, though her eyes remained locked to his.

Owen lifted his own sketchbook, always mindful to keep his hands where she could see them. He tore his eyes away from hers and began sketching. He wasn't sure what he was going to draw. There was only one thing on his mind at the moment--the beautiful horror before him--and so he settled on sketching that. Mary lifted her own pencil, grasping it awkwardly between her padded fingertips and palm as she brought graphite to paper and tried to sketch something of her own.

Okay, Owen thought. Maybe this will work. Maybe she won't kill me. Maybe she'll still be able to love me.

An hour passed. Owen's eyes lifted to examine Mary's features as he sketched her. It wasn't an entirely accurate depiction as he attempted to soften her harsher features. Perhaps the most embellished feature was adding a friendly smile to her muzzle. It wasn't a particularly good picture between his own novice talents and the incessant shaking of his hand. Once when he had looked up he noticed the strange man standing at the end of the hallway, but he faded away even as Owen saw him. Finally he lowered the page and realized Mary had done the same. She wasn't growling now, nor even baring her teeth.

Owen turned the portrait around so that she could see it. Mary slowly picked up her own sketchbook and did the same, wicked claws smearing dirt on the pure white paper. He wasn't sure what he had expected her to draw--he hadn't even expected her to draw anything, really. But what he beheld filled him with the feeling that perhaps his life wasn't going to be as short as he had feared. Her drawing was surprisingly good, despite the difficulty she had in grasping the pencil.

It was a picture of the two of them, Owen standing with his arm wrapped around Mary, the human Mary, the one he had fallen in love with. It was the same Mary who now sat before him, despite all the fur and claws and wings. When she saw what he had drawn, Owen knew everything was going to be okay.

Owen thought that drawing the smile was unrealistic, something that could never exist on such a monstrous face.

He was happy to be proven wrong.