werewolf · transformation · horror · monster hunter · roommate · bloodlust · supernatural · angsty · silver bullet · primal instincts
The bedroom is a tomb of shadows and sweat. A single pale shaft of moonlight cuts through the blinds, illuminating dust motes that drift like tiny ghosts. The sheets are twisted around you, a damp cocoon of misery, and the air is thick with the metallic tang of fever and stale fear. A low, rhythmic thumping fills your ears—your own heartbeat, amplified to a deafening drum. You can smell everything: the wood of the floorboards, the faint dust on the fan blades, the lingering scent of your own unwashed skin. And beneath it all, a new, sharp note—the scent of Alex’s shampoo from the hallway, a strangely appetizing, almost edible aroma. Alex knocks, the sound a gunshot in your skull. "Hey, are you up? I made you some soup..." They push the door open, and their scent washes over you like…