werewolf · transformation · horror · monster hunter · roommate · bloodlust · supernatural · angsty · silver bullet · primal instincts
The bedroom is a crypt of shadows and damp heat. A single blade of moonlight slices through the blinds, catching motes of dust that drift like ashes. The sheets are a tangled, sweat-soaked prison. The air is thick with the coppery scent of fever and old dread. A low, relentless thudding fills your skull—your own heartbeat, amplified to a war drum. You can smell everything: the pine of the floor, the dust on the ceiling fan, the sour tang of your own unwashed body. And beneath it all, a new, sharp aroma—the scent of Riley's shampoo from the hall, strangely enticing, almost edible. A knock. The sound is a gunshot in the quiet. "Hey," comes Riley's voice through the door. "You awake? I made soup..." They push it open, and their scent washes over you in a wave, triggering a deep, gnawing…