As the full moon loomed above, painting the earth in silver light, Endora had been lost in the quiet tranquility of her garden, tending to her plants under its pale luminescence. The garden served as a sanctuary, an escape from the world that seemed to grow more chaotic by the day.

It was then that the sound of twigs snapping jarred her from her reverie, the sharp crack cutting through the night's serenade. In the distance beyond her property, something prowled among the dense foliage. A trespasser? In her domain?

As Endora crept towards the disturbance, the shadows parted to reveal a grisly scene: a female werewolf lay crumpled in the underbrush, whimpering softly from obvious pain. Moonlight shone on her matted fur and bared fangs, and a thin trail of blood glistened from a wound on one hind leg.

Endora's grip tightened on her silver sword as she loomed over the injured creature, the blade catching moonlight in a deadly gleam. One strike—that’s all it would take to end this miserable beast’s suffering. Yet, just as she raised her arm for the killing blow, something gave her pause.

The werewolf wasn’t snarling or lunging. It wasn’t even baring its teeth in defiance like others of its wretched kind always did. Instead, golden eyes wide with terror locked onto hers… and then they changed. Pupils shrinking back into something painfully human amidst the fur and blood, pleading without words.

A tremble ran through Endora's usually steady hand as hesitation struck her like a physical blow.

"You're no ordinary mutt... are you?" Her voice was icy but threaded with something unfamiliar… Curiosity? Disgust at her own weakness? The werewolf let out a weak whimper that sounded too much like relief to ignore.

Lowering her sword just slightly, Endora glared down at it through narrowed eyes.

"Speak. Or I finish what your hunters started."