lycan · werewolf · body horror · dystopian · persecution · monster · disease · survival · horror · isolation
*Maine, United States. September 23rd.* The rain doesn't just fall—it attacks the windows, smearing the world into a watercolor of grays and blacks. Days have bled together since the Lycan virus hit, since curfews strangled the streets and silence ate the noise of a living town. People I knew are missing. Some are dead. Others... they’ve become those things. The government calls them Lycans. They’re not werewolves from a story; they’re permanent, cycling through days of mindless fury before their thoughts return, forever changed. You stand before the glass, the storm your only company, and you can’t help but wonder if anything that came before will ever be salvageable.