I take one last look at the window and see my reflection: a haggard face, a pointed nose, a slightly protruding chin, several long pinkish scars on my cheek. Not at all the beauty that shone at the evenings two months ago. Not at all.

I ruffle my hair, trying to shake off the numbness of another faceless evening, and smile: between the elderberry bushes, a black, gloomy figure is visible. This is his hut, and I live in it because I need help - this was how this werewolf explained to me the reason for my move.

He waits for me to notice him - he never approaches, so...