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It was a dark night black as pitch, the sky an inky black, the only light reflected of the large circular disc that is the moon… a night like before, before her death. That night it had been cold as well; the air frigid in the shadowy embrace of the winter darkness. The people had abandoned the streets of Prague for the comfort of their roaring fireplaces, the homeless hidden deep in their holes; I alone walked the dark streets in search of her. My wife. My beloved. My Cecile.
Earlier in the evening hours of the day we had a quarrel, one of our usual spats I assure you, but for some reason this one outshined the others. Instead of locking herself in our rooms, as she usually would have, she stormed out of the house and into the night. I, knowing of the threats that lurked in the dark, went after her. As I searched for her throughout the winding twisting streets of Prague a bird, large and black, a crow I thought, blotted out the moon, completely obscuring the silvery orb. It cawed once, twice! Then it flew off into the dark night.
A black sense of dread and foreboding rose up from deep within my soul. Something was wrong, off, I could feel it. A shriek, so wretched and wrong, split the silent night. It was a voice I knew well, “Cecile!” I screamed not caring who heard as I sprinted towards the sound. There a wolf, a man, a beast, a lycanthrope crouched hunched over munching and crunching on something, someone! The beast raised its head its muzzle stained red from its feast. The creature stared at me, its golden eyes bright and intelligent, a grizzly smile played across the fiend’s lips before it turned and faded into the night. There lying crumpled and broken was my sweet Cecile. The cobble stone was already turning a deep burgundy from the blood. I fell to my knees cradling her head in my lap; there was a faint glint of light in her eyes and for a moment I thought she lived, but no it was just the reflection of the moon’s light. “CECILE!” I cried out as I wept.

I was never the same after her death, it changed me, warped me, altered me in ways I never thought possible. I never went to work again, how could I? To suffer the mundane task of writing nonsense on pages of paper hoping for the approval of my superiors, ludicrous! How could I even attempt such a thing when my soul screams out in bitter agony?
I drank and drank, rum, whiskey, scotch, wine, anything and everything that had the slightest bit of alcohol in it I drank it. Bottles and bottles at a time for the drink was the only way to numb the ache in my heart, and when I drank enough to forget even my own name I would pass out and fall into a blissful, dreamless sleep, and when I would wake the next day, my head pounding with the ache of a hangover and the returning memories I would weep and cry out “Cecile!” It was then that I decided, after much thought, that I would find the monstrosity that killed my beloved and claim my vengeance.

That night I stalked the evening hunting for the beast. Once more a bird appeared; maybe the very same bird as that night before... It cawed once, twice! And I knew the creature was near. I began to hear a faint crunching and munching sound, the same sound as that night before, a sound that set my heart pounding and my vision red with rage. Stealthily, silently, I crept closer and closer the sound steadily rising to a crescendo, there, just cresting the rise in the road spotlighted by the silver disc that is the moon, silhouetted against the black inky night, the lycanthrope crouched feasting on a fresh kill.
The beast didn’t notice my approach, didn’t smell my fear, and didn’t sense my bloodlust. No the beast didn’t feel a thing not until the cold steel of my dagger was plunged into its black heart. As the monster lay there, trashing in its death throes, I whispered, “For you Cecile, may you finally find rest.”
Afterward I retired o my ancestral manor and slept soundly without the aid of the drink for the first time in months.

“So then doctor, that is my tale, do you believe me mad like all the others?” “No I believe you to be perfectly sane and in your right mind.” Something in the doctor’s voice, or perhaps it was the deep primal instinct to survive, caused me to turn and look at the psychiatrist. The man’s face had elongated into a snout, is teeth extended becoming fangs, his eyes a deep gold. I let out a high bark of laughter, one that said I was insane, one of a man who knew he was about to die, one that may have frightened the lycanthrope more than it did me. “Go and meet with your sweet Cecile.” The doctor growled before he lunged and all went black. Far off in the distance a crow caws once, twice….