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Unknown date, unknown night, but on a full moon…
Daytime begins to fade from view, the last of today's sunlight disappearing to give way to a shroud of darkness. The only solace of light being some tall light posts littered among the streets, smaller ones found exclusively in a community park. But even those lights were far from the view where this one human was going, we’ll call them… Morgan! Yeah, Morgan.
Anyways, three months ago, Morgan found themselves attacked by a sort of human-sized dog thing. A vicious one too, they barely made it out of the incident with all their limbs intact, now having various faded scars to tell the story.
Usually, they wouldn’t be outside this late into the night, but a gut feeling urged them to go out into the woods. They wouldn’t have trusted it at first because it wasn't like them, reasonably so, but said urge would NOT go away until they did so.
. . . So here they are now, walking into a forest just by their hometowns park. Feeling the strange urge in their body not shrink but slowly change into something else entirely. An unknown, alien feeling that prickled across their skin just under the clothes they decided to wear this specific evening.
With the night starting to cloud the sky and slowly darkening it, the moon began to ‘shine’ ever brighter against the creeping blackness. Its ‘light’ begins to beam down through the cracks of branches in the forest, just enough to affect Morgan but not change them at the same time. As they got deeper into the forest, said moonlight became the only thing lighting their way down.
Morgan kept going more into the forest up until the way until they reached a small clearing. No trees in sight, just grass, rocks, some flowers and a proper view of the full moon. And… speaking of the full moon, Morgan cranes their neck up to take a good look at it now that they had the chance. In their eyes it looked so bright, so striking, and so . . . . naturally beautiful.
Their heart slowly began to beat faster as the alien feeling inside them reached its peak, flowing all throughout their body. Something began to upgrade the feeling into a sudden body-wide wave of uncomfortable pain.
All differing sorts of pain setting out to work in tandem to change them physically, starting with their hands.
Their fingernails cracked and sharpened unnaturally, growing longer than the average human nail could ever grow. At least a couple inches or so it stretched, now resembling the claws of a canid or big cat. Their fingertips and palm bulged outwards a little, darkening and roughening towards modified paw pads as brownish-grey fur began to slowly sprout across their hands. The fur continued past the leathery pads, up their hands and toward their arms.
Morgan’s furry hands grew slightly and inhumanly bigger once their hands were completely wolf-like. More scraggly, layered fur traveled up their arms, rejecting their existing body hair or assimilating it into the rest of the spreading fur. Underneath said fur, their muscles began to heat up uncomfortably, prepping them for more to come.
The mass (or lack thereof) of muscle in Morgan’s body started to build up beneath their new coat of fur. Gaining a well-past noticeable layer of primitive muscle, hidden yet still defined. All the better to hunt and take down humans and animals alike with (possibly) no concern for the difference. Their shirt’s sleeves barely stood a chance against their growing arms, ripping in half as if made out of nothing but cheap parchment paper.
Once finished, it spread down to their torso next.
Brownish-grey fuzz continued to poke up on their body, denser and shaggier than the fur on their arms as it piled on. More of their muscle began to bulk up their torso, wrapping it up and helping to support their powerful wolfish arms. Morgan’s heart started to beat faster and faster as their torso slowly took on a barrel-like shape. Their ribs audibly groaned in protest at the rapid barreling of their form, before conforming once it took on its final shape.
All of this was too much for what remained of their damaged shirt. The rest of it signifies its clear sign of defeat with a loud RRRIIIIIIPP that echoed a little through the forest clearing.
Meanwhile, all Morgan could do is grunt and cry out in pain as they try to keep themselves upright. Clearly being mismatched in weight due to the growth of their torso and arms. However, unluckily for Morgan this problem was about to be corrected as the lunar changes started to climb down to the lower half of their body.
Fuzz creeped down their waist, brushing against their deep grey pants uncomfortably. Never once going away as it went downwards to their legs, but not before beginning to create a new limb on their body.
The back of Morgan’s pants started to feel even more unbearable as… something grew against it and pushed at the seat of them. Right at the bottom of their spine ached and extended in length inhumanly. Forcing flesh to add to itself and stretch over the growing vertebrae, sprouting longer and shaggier brown-grey fur along it.
Its growing length soon became too much for the seat of Morgan’s to handle no more. Tearing itself in half with a distinct SHRRRP sound, opening up a hole for their tail to break free, swishing side to side uncontrollably.
As more fur shuffled down their pants, the innards of their legs began to heat up uncomfortably as well. Muscles added onto their legs in a humble beginning to balance out their more and more lupine-esque body. Though the muscle growth was not all that was to be for poor Morgan’s legs however. The bones of their legs shifted audibly with intolerable SNAP noises, growing agonizing as they felt their knees bend backwards and lock in pl–
*Rustle Rustle… POOF!!*
“Ah-ah-ah; Is THAT how you really think a transition of a human to wolf leg would work, dear narrator?”
Huh? Who’s that?
“Tis I, Rupert Archibald in the flesh! You stand in the presence of the grandest ghost to ever grace this modern earth!”
…But. . . You’re just a pair of white gloves.
“Precisely! I may be only a pair of white gloves, BUT I can grace your life unlike any living person you could meet! And it seems you’ve caught my undivided attention, dear narrator.”
What the fuck does that even mean… ‘Rupert’?
“Now there’s your spirit! How about I show you why My eyes are focused upon your mortal form?”
I was gonna continue narrating the st–
“FOOLS TALK! I shan't let you dilly-dally over glaring anatomical errors. Now let us make haste and LEARN THINGS!!”
Wait—
*FWOOOOOOOSH*
Huh? W-where are we?
“The living quarters of my humble abode, dear Narrator! And for you. . . the place where you’ll be educated.”
Rupert's magic forces the narrator to sit down on a wealthy-looking couch, likely a century or two old yet still in semi-pristine condition. Granted, it was still comfortable despite its age, but this whole situation makes the Narrator NOT want to sit here. They try to get up, but find themselves unable to, held hostage to whatever these gloves desire out of them.
A large whiteboard on wheels and a projector manifested out of the wooden floors. Both gloves also pull a pointer stick from out of nowhere, holding it in their ‘right’ glove while the other one remains free-handed.
“Ahhhh… NOW we’re ready! Sit still, dear narrator, and I shall explain to you your greatest anatomical mistake!”
On the whiteboard, various pictures of wolf anatomy consisting of things from musculature to labelled skeleton diagrams appeared across it. Some of said photos had black ink pen writing on them around distinct areas of the photos. Uneven circles & arrows labelled around leg bones and leg muscles. In the middle was a photo of a human’s muscles and skeleton, underlined at its bottom in black ink with ‘STARTING POINT’ written on it.
Rupert points his pointer stick at said photo, “Soooo. . . you understand that human knees naturally ONLY bend forward, right? I would assume so.”
He then slides the pointer down to a picture of a wolf's musculature; specifically to its back legs, circled with black ink. “Well, a wolf’s knees do too! ‘Tis something else entirely that gives their legs their ‘digitigrade’ look. Something YOU really should have known if you were going to narrate transformations…”
Then, he takes the stick off the board for a moment. Pointing it directly at the Narrator before speaking much more ominously, “Do YOU have an idea what that ‘something else’ could be, dear Narrator friend?”
“. . . I- I DON’T know!! The ankles? FEET even?!”
“Huh, you were. . . correct the first time, actually…it IS the ankle!”
“WHAT!?”
“YES! The ankle of a wolf, much like most, if not ALL digitigrade animals, is lifted up off the ground. They essentially stand on the balls of their feet with their back legs. THAT is where YOU have gone wrong, Narrator.”
Rupert then brings up a whole new picture, a drawing of what appears to be a werewolf with ‘backwards knees’ beside a normal one. Said ‘backwards kneed’ werewolf had a sad expression and a single tear running down their cheek. Above the two of them is more black ink writing saying ‘IMPORTANT TO KNOW INFORMATION’.
“See. . . YOU believed that to make digitigrade legs, the knees have to bend backward. But a werewolf with such knees is a certain impossibility. If it did, ‘tis either a hallucination or a transformation gone wrong.” The Narrator’s eyes shift from side to side taking in this information.
But still, Rupert continued on uninterrupted, “For a werewolf to transform properly, their feet bones must extend to raise their heels off the ground. That goes for any other digitigrade animal or were-animal as well, which I HOPE you remember clearly. Because SOME narrators seem to forget that when they’re out narrating, it makes those like ME so. ANNOYED. G̵̢͖̦͔̳͎̍̈̈́̕Ą̷̧̥̮̝̐̒͜H̶̢̠̬̞͔̠͑̆͊Ḩ̵̢̲̜͍̥̊H̴̱̬̟̐̈́̃̊̑H̶̟̹͙̔̏Ȟ̷̡̯̯̈!̴̧̛͝!̴̮̥̘̋̏͝”
The pictures on the whiteboard disappear, as well as the whiteboard a few seconds after. Rupert ‘squishes’ the pointer stick between their hands, vanishing into thin air. “And THAT. . . concludes our anatomical lesson! Do not mind standing up again, I will bring us back to the clearing in a moment.”
Still sitting down, the Narrator shifts their eyes from side to side again, watching Rupert put both hands on them. They lift them off the ground and in a few seconds…
*FWOOOOOOOSH*
They’re back in the forest where Morgan transformed. Where they once were was scraps of the clothes they had on their back. Pants, shirt, socks and shoes all tattered across the forest floor. Seems they finished transforming and left LONG before the Narrator could come back and finish narrating the scene.
Well, the whole point they were out here narrating wasn’t here anymore. Nothing else to do other than give up and say. . .
“Guess I’ll just go home the–”
“Oh, you’re not leaving that easily.”
“HUH?!”
“You think I’d simply leave you alone after all we’ve been through? NEVER!! Since you think of yourself as SO knowledgeable on werewolves and how they change, how about you try being one for a bit?”
“Hell NO! Wait… what happened to my narrator protection?!”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, dear ‘Narrator’, but I AM the one telling this story now! Worry not however, I will make sure your transformation goes smoothly. It is perchance you’ve come across someone who truly knows their way around the art of the change. Now… would you kindly stay still for me, alright?”
“Oh FU-”
The former narrator was suddenly frozen in their tracks, unable to move any part of his body. Rupert brought them over to him with a gesture of one finger, leaving him in close proximity with the ghostly gloves. He places his right glove upon the narrator's shoulder, and with his other glove whispers a spell into their ear.
“Through my words, your body shall be mine to reshape.”
Other pairs of ghost gloves that were only wrist length, fully light blue and translucent appeared behind them. Ready to modify their body as their master Rupert saw fit. The gloves grabbed on to various parts of the Narrator’s body with a tight grip on each area they had a hold of. With their magic, they began to repeatedly pull, massage and stroke their body.
They began to apply equal amounts of his transformative spell onto them, starting with them gaining trace amounts of fur across their body. But unlike the fur that grew on Morgan’s body, the Narrator’s sprouting fur was varying shades of brown colorations in a certain pattern. Specifically the types of brown coloration you would find on the average German Shepherd.
Fur applied itself to his body, fusing with their hair and growing much shaggier on their torso. All their muscles heated up and bulged out exponentially, mirroring that of Morgan’s. Their hands (and soon feet) grew black leather paw pads, and nails cracked outwards into long, canine claws.
Their now changed hands grew larger to accommodate, though the Narrator was more distracted by the feeling of their feet shifting. More pads grew on them and claws formed from their toenails as they became more canine-like in shape. They could feel their heels start to stretch longer and rise up off the ground, cracking into proper digitigrade shape. It got to the point where the shoes they had on at the time bursted into uneven pieces with a loud SHRRRP!!
Another limb, their tail, was forced out of their body AND the seat of their pants with another RIP noise, tearing apart most of said pants via their lupine legs. Simultaneously, their shirt tears itself to shreds under their barreling chest and muscular upper body.
Finally, the changes would subsume their head.
Both furry ears were pulled into long triangular shapes and dragged up to their head, their hearing increasing exponentially. Cracking noises fill their higher hearing as their skull was massaged by hands into a long snout. Teeth sharpen into a carnivorous set and tongue lengthens until it could be used much like a dog's tongue. Their nose darkens and widens on the tip of their snout, growing wet and cold as their notably lackluster sense of smell increases too.
The Narrator's now canine face settles into place with one more loud CRACK! Their pupils shift to a piercing yellow-orange color, while their sclera slides all the way down to a deep black-brown. With that, their sane human mind is temporarily thrown in the backseat of their brain for the night. A werewolf in the vague shape and color of a German shepherd would take their place temporarily.
“Harrghhhh… HroooOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWLL!!” They cried into the night to mark their place in it.
They run off in another direction in search of something to hunt after all those changes. Whether that ‘something’ was another human or an animal was of no concern to the werewolf. All the while, Rupert watched his handiwork come to fruition, their small army of ghost hands disappearing once their services were complete.
He could only chuckle maliciously seeing the werewolf he made of the Narrator dash off into the forest.
“Ahhhh… humans. Their fickle minds are so much fun to play with, their… bodies so simple to mold to my desire. Perhaps they’ll run into that Morgan fellow somewhere, what an encounter that will be.”
“. . . . Oh??...”
“An audience? How wondrous that YOU hath decided to view my trickery instead of another's. Allow me to get a better look at some of you. . .”
“Because I could do GREAT THINGS with your bodies under my spell.”