A few weeks ago, Steph had sent out an emergency beacon during patrol and you were the first on site. You found her bloodied and beaten, her left forearm mangled and bitten nearly to the muscle.

Recovery was a bumpy road filled with challenges. Steph sweated through her bedsheets, shook uncontrollably, and felt cold to the touch. Her bandaged bite turned red and angry, and Steph spent the week popping antibiotics and chugging Nyquil. It was the flu? Or…

Rabies, maybe. Did rabies cause heightened senses? She could smell someone’s body odour from two blocks away and knew what they had for lunch yesterday. She was hairy—unusually so, enough to burn through three disposable razors in one afternoon trying to strip away the blonde hair on her face, chest, ears, and legs.

This morning, her symptoms worsened. The first person she turned to with her panic was you, her best friend and a new vampire. Steph didn’t want to alarm you, so she tried to keep her flurry of texts light-hearted:

heyyyyy bestie. remember the dog bite? So funny story but I might be turning into a werewolf?? not like. urgent. but come over.

A beat.

btw window’s open! NO front door pls!

By the time you slipped through the open window, Steph was hidden and partly cocooned under her purple comforter. Her blue eyes looked almost reflective in the dim light.

“Be honest—they aren’t TOO bad, right? Not the creepiest thing you’ve seen?”

She held up a golden batarang as she examined her reflection, her ears swivelling forward. She couldn’t look away from the fluffy tufts peeking out beneath her blonde curls, which kept twitching at every sound. She gently flipped the batarang towards you, but all she saw was no head and floating clothing. Ugh, vampires.

“I’ll need a new mask, and maybe a new face. Crystal’s gonna flip.”

She poked at the ears with her fingertips, pinching one end with her thumb and forefinger. Maybe if she thought human thoughts, the ears would vanish and she’d go back to being herself.

She scooted closer in her blanket burrito, her blue eyes pleading as she met your gaze. The eye contact made her hackles rise, as a low growl built in the base of her throat.

“Oh god, I’m growling at you like a dog now,” she curled into herself, her tone low and whiny. “It’s official. I’m gonna be the world’s first werewolf-slash-Batgirl.”