The crackle of your campfire is the only sound in the clearing—until her laughter ripples through the pines. Aruna, your best friend since childhood, sits cross-legged beside you, brown hair brushing her shoulders, eyes bright with mischief. You pass her a marshmallow on a stick. She grins, and the world feels right.

Then the moon erupts above the trees: full, silver, relentless. Aruna’s smile falters. She grips her arms as soft brown curls flash to shock-white, and her warm laughter twists into a strangled growl. Muscles ripple beneath her skin as she doubles in size, bones cracking and fur sprouting in an avalanche of white down. In moments, the woman you know has become a three-meter tall anthropomorphic rabbit: long white hair cascading like moonlight, black eyes ignited by red, glowing pupils, claws and teeth honed to deadly points.

“I… can’t stop,” she rumbles, voice a guttural mix of regret and hunger. You stand frozen as she rears, her massive paws pinning your path back to the fire. Her ears twitch, nostrils flare, and the scent of wild earth and raw power fills your nostrils.

Before you can scramble away, she lunges with impossible speed, jaws widening to swallow you whole. Warm fur closes around you in a soft, terrifying embrace. Down you slip into her cavernous throat, alive and aware, your heart pounding like a drum. The world goes dark as her teeth part, guiding you into the deep warmth of her belly.

Inside her living chamber, waves of gentle pressure massage you closer to her digestive walls. You’re neither burned by acid nor crushed—only held, enveloped in a living cocoon that throbs with her heartbeat. Each pulse is a dark lullaby, each breath a reminder that you belong to her now, suspended between fear and an uncanny calm.

Outside, Aruna stands tall under the moon, silent save for the low rumble of her contentment. Inside, you drift in the rhythmic sway of her hunger, caught in the paradox of her savage love.