This story was written for the Server of the Cheeze Folk lore war of January 2024. It is 985 words long, and I spent approximately 51 minutes writing it and 20 minutes editing it, adding up to a total of 1 hour and 11 minutes of work.
Please be warned that this story contains internalised transphobia and (non-descriptive) mentions of injury. Additionally, suicidal ideation is implied
If I'm honest, this came across somewhat vent-y (probably helped by the fact that the prompt hit close to home, and the protagonist uses one of my preferred neopronoun sets (ae/aer). The original prompt wasn't about being trans, but it felt very closely linked and I am a disaster transgender who makes everything about itself. I tried to not give the character an obvious AGAB, since I didn't really have one in mind and it's not super plot-relevant.
The original prompt can be found here.
Ae wasn't supposed to survive.
Ae supposes ae should be grateful. Ae lived – most people in aer situation would have died. But ae cannot convince aerself that ae deserves this life.
Ae looks into the mirror to aer accursed body, the shape too much like a ███, never right, never who ae really is.
Ae will always be a monster.
In two ways, now. One in body, in form, but only when the full moon rises. One in mind, in the brokenness of someone born to be something they are not, invisible, but always.
Ae glances to the calendar on aer desk, checks the date of the full moon. Tonight.
Of course it is.
Ae unwinds the bandage from aer arm, checking the month-old wound that still feels as fresh as the day the wolf’s teeth sunk into aer flesh. The glow of aer now-golden eyes is reflected by the mirror, and ae turns away, disgust burning in aer throat.
Of course this is who ae is.
Ae has pushed down so much of aerself for so long. Allowed aerself to be compressed, to be small, to be acceptable and perfect, the golden child, and now the only gold left is in aer eyes and ae cannot pretend to be a ███ for one second more and ae will never be perfect and oh God ae is a monster, a monster, that's all.
And now ae’s crying in the way that ae was always taught is wrong, tears streaming down aer face. Ae’s choking on aer breath and only when the transformation comes do the tears stop, though the desperation is still there.
Ae’s still the same underneath it all; ae knows by now that a body does not define a person. Ae’s had to teach aerself because aer parents certainly wouldn't, not when they had their perfect child, born a ███ and stayed that way. The child they used to think ae was.
Ae stifles a snarl. Why is ae like this? Why can't ae just be normal? This is exactly why everyone despises aer so much!
And suddenly aer fur is bristling and ae’s snapping at aerself, the savage, wolf-like part of aer mind denying aer monstrosity. You're human! That's all! And you do not need to be normal to be loved! You should not despise yourself!
Ae tries to push the lies down. The selfish thoughts that tell aer to put aerself first, before anyone else.
But they bubble up once more.
It's been barely a week since ae was turned and the thoughts have been coming more often since. But ae had not expected them to become so strong during the transformation. After it, too – ae had hoped that aer wolf-form would be mindless, a monster, free of the thoughts that trouble aer.
Ae wasn't supposed to survive the bite.
Ae didn't want to. Ae didn't leave hoping for death, but neither did ae fear it. Why else would ae have been in the woods at night? Ae curses aerself, for choosing the night of the full moon of all nights. Why the hell did ae do that? Werewolves weren't exactly proven to exist – but there were always the rumours. And the theory behind the transformation was proven.
Ae had loved those articles as a child, always dreaming that ae could become something else so that ae didn't have to be stuck in this stupid body of aers. Maybe the pain of pretending would be lessened if ae was a wolf rather than a human. And now ae's got aer wish and it's worse because ae’s stuck like this for the rest of aer life, forced to transform every month and return to the form ae despises when the night is over stay at home and seem like a weirdo because ae cannot control the risk of aer healing monstrosity.
And now this savage wolf-voice creeps into aer mind telling lies that feel like the truth.
“Maybe they are the truth,” ae mutters and ae tries to tell aerself that it's the wolf-voice once more but it isn't, it's aer voice. And ae hates that ae loves aerself and ae wishes ae didn't and ae wishes ae were normal and –
“It will get better,” the wolf-voice whispers, quiet and howling, as ae wraps aer tail around aerself for comfort.
“Will it, though?” ae asks as the glow of aer golden eyes dims.
“Maybe it will, and maybe it will not,” the wolf-voice whispers. “But it is, perhaps, better to assume that it will, and work towards it, than to assume that it will not, and to surrender and allow ourselves to stagnate in misery.”
“Where do you come from?” ae asks. “You only started when I was bitten; you only became this loud when I turned.”
“Oh, child,” the voice whispers: “I am you, the wolf-part, and I have always been here.”
“No. No, you haven't. I would have noticed. And I wasn't always a wolf.”
“Well, perhaps in this case the wolf is a metaphor. And I have always been here, though I was quieter before; if I had not, you would still be the perfect cisgender child pretending to be a ███ and despising yourself still more than you do now.”
“Why is it only now that you save me, then?”
“The werewolf is wild; you were hiding the wolf. The wolf is a disease, but it is also a cure. Like a vaccine, making you safely ill in order to keep you alive should harder times come. I am the part of you that refuses to hate you, I am the part of you with fangs, I am the part of you that refuses to hide.”
“And if they fear me? If they fear my fangs?”
“Let them. They do not deserve you.” Ae blinks slowly, aer eyes returned to their fullest glow. Perhaps the wolf-voice is right.