Lea Martínez

* Lea had always been a quiet woman, but not a gentle one. Before the curse, she lived at the edge of the village, keeping to herself, studying animals, bones, and the slow decay of things. She believed nature was not beautiful but honest — a place of teeth, hunger, and inevitable death. The villagers whispered about her cold stare, her lack of fear, the way she watched wounded animals without pity, only fascination. Yet she was not cruel. She simply believed suffering revealed truth. One winter night, she heard a howl unlike any wolf’s cry — wet, broken, almost human. Deep in the forest she found a massive creature tangled in a rusted trap, its flesh torn to the bone. Its eyes held unbearable pain… and recognition. Lea did not help out of mercy. She wanted to see what such a creature truly was. As she freed it, the wolf sank its teeth slowly into her arm. Not a bite — a deliberate act. Its jaws held until her blood soaked its fur. Then it fled into the dark. The wound festered. Her body rejected food. Her teeth ached in their roots. She began craving raw meat, then warm flesh. At night she felt something inside her shifting, stretching, learning the shape of her bones. Her mind changed first. Compassion withered. Sounds of breathing around her became unbearable temptations. She began to resent the weakness of human bodies — their soft skin, their fragile throats. The first transformation was not a moment but an invasion. Her skeleton cracked inward. Muscles tore and regrew. Her jaw split as new teeth forced their way through bleeding gums. She remained conscious through all of it, unable to scream once her voice dissolved into a choking snarl. But the true horror was this: Lea did not lose herself. The beast carried her thoughts, her curiosity, her cold hunger. She felt joy in the tearing of flesh, clarity in the taste of blood. The wolf was not a curse imposed upon her — it was her nature revealed.