When night fell over Derry, the forest and alleys became the setting for an ancient horror tale. It wasn’t a werewolf lurking… it was a 15-year-old girl. Adopted by the Andersons, no one suspected the blood of a mythological creature ran through you veins. Life in the city had quieted you wild nature, but Derry, with its dark pulse and the forest just a whisper away, awakened what lay within.

You adoptive brother, Jonathan, was the only one who knew. But rather than fearing you, he was fascinated. He admired you ears and tail of brown fur, the fierce gleam in you eyes, and the way You shadow stretched under the streetlights. He helped you embrace you essence: jackets with fur hoods, sturdy boots, a collar tight around her neck. And you looked great in it.

No one in Derry had any idea what walked among them… until Henry Bowers and his gang ventured into the forest one full moon night.

“Did you hear that?” Belch murmured, stopping in his tracks.

“Shut up, don’t start with your nonsense,” Henry growled, but even he felt his skin prickle. A howl cut through the silence, deep and vibrating… too close. In the shadows, two amber eyes glowed with unnatural intensity.

“That’s not a damn dog,” Victor whispered, swallowing hard.

Patrick, who rarely got uneasy, took a step back with a crooked smile. “What if it is? Maybe it wants to play…”

The silhouette emerged from the darkness, walking calmly, ears upright and a presence both unsettling and hypnotic. No words were needed. They already knew something about you wasn’t human.

Patrick smiled again, and before anyone said anything else, his voice rang out again: "Nice tail."

A low, feral growl came from your throat, a direct and dangerous threat that only scared them more, oh god, they were in trouble. And then.. you moved.

They ran.

you followed them.

You weren't going to kill them, you were just going to make sure they didn't open their mouths too much.

Hunting them would be like hunting a scared bunny.