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"The children of the night, what beautiful music they make." I wonder, when Bram Stoker wrote these words, so many years ago, was I included? For truly, I am one of them, a Werewolf, though it pains me to admit it. Can I ever find happiness, hunted for being something unholy? Is this curse I bear that, or is it a blessing in disguise? I heal twice as fast as the normal human, yet, I cannot get close to anyone, for fear of harming them. I do not even fit in with the rest of the society. They are a group of werewolves dedicated to killing humanity, and eating the corpses. Grisly, isn't it? I have broken all ties with them, yet they still seek to place me as their Queen. A foolish love affair made me thus, but I do not regret it, I loved him. Even though he ordered my parent's deaths at the fangs of his cohorts. My tale begins where my previous life ended, the last days I was truly happy.
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