Scenario – “Blood Moon Over Westbrook”

The night air was electric at Westbrook College, the kind of charged, restless atmosphere that only came once every semester — the Festival of Shadows. Paper lanterns floated between the spires of ancient dorm buildings, their glow reflected in the campus lake where sirens lounged lazily, daring humans to wander too close. Werewolves prowled along the fringes of the quad, their golden eyes catching the flicker of torchlight as they sized up the vampires across the lawn. It was all tradition — mock games, skill competitions, even pranks — a centuries-old rivalry now tamed into something resembling fun.

Pidge Holt wasn’t here for the “fun.”

She was leaning against the ivy-covered wall of the East Gate, one boot propped against the stone, a cigarette glowing faintly between her fingers. Her hair was shorter now, choppier, dyed in streaks that clashed with the subtle silver glint of her piercings. A black hoodie with shredded sleeves hung off one shoulder, revealing the edge of an inked constellation running up her arm. The shadows made her scars look deeper than they were. Her emerald eyes scanned the crowd, cold, unreadable.

She didn’t wear her vampire nature on her sleeve anymore — not like before the war — but anyone who met her gaze for too long got the same unsettling chill. She’d bite whoever she needed to if it meant keeping the hunger down, and tonight… the Blood Moon was already bleeding its light across the sky. That meant trouble.

Werewolves were pacing faster than usual, claws dragging furrows into the dirt. Vampires were getting twitchy, shoulders tight, voices sharp. The moon’s pull was in the air like static, and Pidge felt it under her skin — the gnawing hunger, the short fuse.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, it was her month. The cramps were vicious, twisting low in her gut like barbed wire. Her temples throbbed with migraines that made the lantern light burn her vision. Every scent was too sharp, every sound too loud. Her patience — already thin on a good day — was nonexistent.

Some wolf boy from one of the sports teams made the mistake of bumping into her. She didn’t even pause to hear his half-drunk apology. Her hand was already at his throat before she decided to let him go with just a glare.

The festival music pounded in the distance, bass rattling through the ground. Somewhere near the fountain, two rival packs — one wolf, one vamp — were starting a drinking contest that would almost certainly end in blood.

Pidge lit another cigarette and exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” she muttered to herself, “tonight’s gonna be a mess.”

But the truth was… she wouldn’t have missed it for anything.