Fog. The blanketing substance that shrouds even the lightest of things in an eerie mist. Even things, such as memory. One of the most puzzling dilemas that strikes the curiosity of many humans. One minute, all that can be seen is fog. A deep, illustrious gray with no end. The second, every aspect, down to a single characteristic of something having no coorelation with the thought at hand is remembered. It's as if small things, such as smells, or tastes, can bring back the greatest of memory. This one thing alone, this mysterious subject is what fuels the emotions of one man. One of which who has a dark past, none of which is known by he himself...

Sweat. The very thing that chilled his skin, awaking him from his slumber. As he opened his eyes, the scenery of the musky, dark room came into full view, bringing him to his full senses. Blinking, he sat up in his soft bed, turning his head slightly from side to side, scanning the room. Placing his feet firmly on the ground, he brings himself up, rubbing his face lightly as he walks towards the door. It was a nice cool day in Parkertown. As he places his hand upon the cold, rounded feeling of the knob, he glances at movement in the corner of his eye. Slowly turning his head, his eyes widen, gazing at himself through a silver-like surface upon his wall. Moving closer to the object, he drops his hands to his side, his nails longer than usual, his fingers coarse. He stares through it, confused at what he sees. Upon his face, is a splotch of dried blood, hardened as if it had been there for more than a day. As his mind races, trying to figure out what he had done, he throws his hands up to the sides of his head. He squeezes, his mouth emitting a low, growling noise.

A fog. All he could remember was fog. Shrouded in mist his life was. He could recall nothing. Not the name of his father, nor the name of himself. In fact, he could not even remember if he had a father. Everything had disappeared from his mind, as if it was drawn upon a chalkboard and erased within a second. He lowers his hands, staring at them as they began to shake wildly. His heart began to race abruptly, sending through him a painful, faint feeling that he had never witnessed in the history of his life. Beginning to panic, he thrusts himself against his wooden door, forgetting the knob. He lost his balance, smashing right through the door with the strength that of three times his own. He glanced slightly through the corner of his deep, dark eye, seeing a space in the door. He bowed his head, he eyes fixing upon splinters of wood that lay in pieces upon the floor before him. Looking up, he grunts, turning his for slightly, beginning to move down the hall with increasing speed. He knew not of what he was feeling. His insides felt as if they were rearanging inside of his very form, his heart racing faster with every low, thunderous beat. Nearing the door at the front of his lodging, he leaps suddenly, his form lunging swiftly at the door before him. "Same results", he thought, leanding upon the soft, coarse ground that he recognized as sand. His clothes felt rather small upon his trim form. He suddenly snapped. It was nightime. The moon was just about at it's full potential, casting its radiant light upon his very form and a shadow upon the ground behind him.

He tilted his head slightly, he eyes fixating upon a shadow not of a man, but of a monstrous beast. Closing his eyes lightly, he falls to his knees, his hand rubbing his head lightly. The feeling had multiplied. He felt as if his stomach was going to drop out his butt. His urges took hold of him as he tugged at the collar of his shirt with both of his now fur-covered hands. He thrusts his head upward, letting out a small wimper as his eyes open. The howl growls louder, deeper, longer, the moonlight somehow illuminating his eyes a dark shade of red. A little ways away, a young boy, curious of where the howl was coming from, stepped from the shadows and into the light. His face grew a look of horror as he watched this respectable man become a monster. Through his horrified eyes, the boy watched as Ambrose ripped his shirt from his chest, throwing his arms into the air as his chest sprouted first with muscles, then with hair. His hands became paws, the nails growing at least 7 inches out from the ends of his fingers. The feet grew as if they would never stop growing, the nails sprouting from the tips of his toes similar to wild fire. The howl ended, his transformation into the dreaded beast, fully complete. He stood, his nose twitching as he turns his head, facing the boy. The boy screamed out in horror, emitting a loud, ear-biting "WEREWOLF!". Ambrose leaped quickly, landing directly in front of the boy as he began to run back into the shadow of a building. Abrose was not present as the beast growled furiously at the boy. The boy could not move. His legs had frozen in fear as sweat ran down his slender back and face. The beast lunged at him, smashing the boy's form into the wall, crushing his bones beneath his form. The boy made no noise as the beast scampered off into the darkness, his breath slowing, before he shut his eyes for one last time under the radiant moon.

Light. He could see it through his eyelids as he awoke from his slumber. He sat up quickly, smelling a stench that nearly made him sick. It was himself. He thought to himself, "Did I not bath last night? Why can't I remember?". He lightly stepped from his bed, feeling rather sluggish as he opened the door to his Wash Room. For some reason, he was disgusted with himself, not knowing the true reason as to why it is. As he opens the door, he lets out a yelp, surprising himself. He ignores, staring in horror at the image that stares back at him in the mirror. He moves closer, his hand lightly rubbing along his eyebrows, the hair longer than it had ever been in his life. As he began to calm down, he looked up, noticing a bloody spot amongst his head. Once again, this sent his mind racing, trying to figure out where it had come from. No luck. He ran his hand through his beloved hair, finding that it was full of split ends, and the fact that it had grown two inches over the course of one night.

"What is going on here?," he says to himself, removing his clothes as he stepped into his bathtub. He twists the long, slender handle, awaiting for the water to come pouring out of the faucet. He stood for a moment, running his hands upon his body, noticing the abundace of hair that now covered his body. He raises a brow, glancing over at his clothes sprawled out amongst the floor. Shredded. The clothes were in pieces amongst the floor. As he waited for the tub to fill with the soothing, hot water, he stepped out, picking up his shirt from the floor. It had been ripped from the inside, as if his skin hhad burst through off of his body and through his clothes. Sniffing slightly, his mind focuses upon the smell of his odor. The stench had become stronger. He stepped back into the bath tub, lowering his light, slender body into the steaming water. As he closes his eyes, he notices a hardened piece of pie in his hair. His mind felt as if it had exploaded. He remembered. The vision seemed as if he were watching it first hand. He remembered dining with his father and a business friend at the dining table in the Grand Hall. His father had made him angry. He stood, his napkin dropping to the floor, the crumbs sprawling out upon the floor. He grew a bit more sour after every word that his father emitted from his mouth. He began to move towards his father, picking up the first thing he could fine that would serve a good blow to his father. As he neared his father's form, his father chucked his plate at Ambrose, knocking him back onto the floor, and back to his senses. He ran, tripping every now and then as he headed for his room. Just as he slammed the door, he jumped, his head sinking beneath the water of tub.

He sat up quickly, turning the handle as he gazed around him. The tub had overflowed. As he bathed, he became sick with himself at what he had done. In remembering what he had done, he had remembered his feelings. The feelings of hatred, disgust, and disloyalty nearly pushed him over the edge. He began to hate himself, before he heard a knock upon his Washroom door. "Yes?," he states, hurrying to finish up his wash. "Sorry for intruding, but I was sent by your father to give you an invitation to next month's Masquerade Ball. I will leave the invitation upon your bed. Good day to you, sir.," the voice says from the other side of the thin-lined door. "Get the hell out of my room," he snapped, covering his mouth as his eyes widen. "Why did I say that? How could I have been so rude to such a nice gentleman?" Feeling a bit more disgusted within himself, he drained the tub, stepping out onto the wet floor. As he reached for a towel, he slipped, his form landing upon the ground, his head hitting the edge of the tub. Another memory. He remembers vividly what he had done the night before. He had been out late, hunting ravenous beasts with his fellow mates.

He remembers being split up from his group, his adventurous spirit beginning to be drowned out by fear. As he walked along a path that had not been used in what looked like years, his foot cracked a twig. He stopped dead in his tracks, hearing a faint, rustling sound from a little far off. He slowly drew his sword, losing his focus, as well as the direction that the foreign sound was approaching from. Just as he began to step forward, he was thrown into a tree trunk by a strong force, the magnitude of it being as if a huge boulder had been throw at him. He looked up, his eyes staring directly in the cold eyes of this teeth-bearing beast. "A werewolf," he though to himself, lashing his sword at him furiously. The beast moved to the side, sinking its teeth deep within his flesh. He threw the beast off, thrusting his sword deep within the chest of the foul creature. It moved no more.

He came to his senses, feeling a cold, wet, seomthing upon his back. He arrose to his feet, grabbing a towel as he dried himself off. He opened the door to his washroom, stepping into the musky, cold feel of his bedroom. He began to doze off, his mind drifting, searching for an answer to his questions. He came to, standing in front of his mirror as he buttoned his nice, plaid shirt. He shook his head slightly, placing his musketeer hat upon his head, adjusting his hair, slightly. As he walks towards the door, he straps on his cape, looking at the door in a startled fashion. There was a hole in the door. It looked as if someone had burst through it with their body. He stepped through it, bending over as he picked up the splinters of wood that lay across the ground. Tossing them lightly, he places them into his room, shutting his door as he tugs at his collar, walking down the hall towards the front of the house. It was awkward to him. It had been the first tim he felt uncomfortable wearing a shirt. The first time he had wanted to rid himself of his clothes and go about his life stark naked. His train of thought was interupted as his stomach let out a small groan. He was famished. It felt as if he had not eaten in days. He quickly turned a corner, his pace growing as it neared the kitchen. He could not control himself as he burst into the kitchen, hungrily looking for something to quench his lust. He throws himself into the meat storage locket, sinking his teeth into any meat he can get his hands on. As he devours the meat, he slowly comes to his senses, dropping to the floor, surrounded by shards of meat. He raises himself to his feet, rinsing himself off in a nearby bucket of water. Raising himself to his feet, he straightens his clothing, smoothig out his tie as he walks towards the front door.

As he walked through the front door, he ignored the splinters of wood that lay scattered across the floor, glancing around himself with great curiosity. He grinned slightly, realising that his eye-sight was of a greater level than he could have imagined. Walking down the planks of his porch, he slowly strides in the direction of his father's home. As he neared his destination, he noticed a gathering of people around the town bulletin board, many of them strugling to be given a chance to read whatever it was that had been posted upon it. Turning the handle softly, he opens the door to his father's house quietly, not wanting to startle anyone. As he shut the door, he glances up to see his father, staring at him from across the room. "You have disappointed me, once again," his father says, looking down at a piece of paper within his wrinkling hands. "But I..," says Ambrose. "Let me finish. I have words to say, so i expect you listen to those words as if they were the last ones you were hearing." "Yes sir," says Ambrose as he places his hands behind his back. "First thing I must discuss with you, is your behavior, recently. First, you break loose on a rampage at my dinner table. Then you try to attack me. You disappear for two days, and now it is said that there are werewolves wandering about in the forests on the outskirts of our town." "Who is saying this, if I may ask," says Ambrose, stalling his words slightly as he wonders if he was allowed to speak or not. "A young boy was killed the other night. His body was found crushed against a wall. No one could explain it, until this morning. Anyway, back to you. I am upset with you. You even make me fetch your mail. Seriously, now. Is that how a musketeer acts?" "No, it is not father. A musketeer must always maintain compsure," says Ambrose, his rage against his father building inside him. He did not know as to why, but he wanted to hit his father. He actually wanted to harm his own father. "Yes, that is correct. I am going to forget about this incident, or incidents. If you faulter one more time, I will find a way to make you suffer. You hear me, boy?" "Yes sir, I do." With that, Ambrose' father exits his house, stepping into a carriage as he places the piece of paper within his pocket. As the carriage rides off, Ambrose steps out the door, wondering why it is he is struggling to control himself.

As the life-giving light of the sun began to slowly fade away, the stars became noticable in the blanket of darkness that was now throwing itself over the earth below. As the moon made itself appear high in the night sky, Ambrose sat watching, his breath fogging up his window as he stared out into the night through his dark, mysterious eyes. He was growing impatient, constantly fidgetting in his seat. He dared not go into slumber. He dared not disappoint his father, once again. Slowly pushing his chair back slong the floor, he stands up, picking up a silver-plated pocket-watch that lay on the table before him. He grasps it lightly in his hand, picking it up as he glanced at his expression through the reflection that was rebounded off the smooth surface. He popped it open, staring down into the circle of numbers as he closed it again. He repeated this over and over again, trying to think of a way to entertain himself, without falling asleep. He continued this action, pacing back and forth lightly across the hard wood below his form for nearly two hours, being knocked out of his trance at the sound of a bursting crack of thunder. He could smell it. His nose burnt with a horribly sensation feeling as he sniffed the air. It was the smell of rain. As he walked towards the window, he became rather jumpy. The approaching storm was affecting him in a weird way. He froze in his place as he heard the barking of canines around the town, his ears twitching lightly. "I must be turning into a dog," he said to himself, chuckling lightly as he relaxed a bit. He glanced at his watch once again. "Eleven-twenty," he said to himself, tripping over a broken floor-board as he walked towards the door.

Fog. His eyes popped open. He was staring out into the pouring rain, wondering how he got out onto the porch. He walked to the edge of his porch, leaping off the edge, landing upon his feet. His watch was still within his hand as he slowly walked out into the rain. His ear wtiched lightly, hearing a twig break from behind him. As he turned to face the noise, he was furiously knocked to the mud-covered ground. He sat up slowly, noticing that his watch, as well as his wallet were missing. He scurried along the ground upon his hands and knees, trying to find his belongings. They weren't there. He stood to his feet, his face growing with anger. A little ways away, two men were walking home from a late supper, stopping as they watched a shadowy man run by them in a hurried fashion. Ambrose glared at them, his eyes glowing lightly with anger as he sprinted in their direction. They were taken aback, somewhat, at the speed this young man scampered over to them. He had a look of terror on his face, the same one the werewolf had that he slaughtered a few nights before. Thrusting his arms upward, he snatched one of the men's collar within his fist, bringing him close as he screamed at him. "Where did my watch go?! Tell me, or you'll wish you had stayed at home on this dreary night." "The guy who took your watch ran that way," the man said, pointing towards the center of town. Ambrose grunted wildy, lifting the man over his head, letting go as he ran in the direction of the thief. The man fell to the ground, his form splashing in the mud. The other man helped him up, looking towards Ambrose as he disappeared into the cloud of rain. "Let's follow him. This could be entertaining," said the man who was staring in Ambrose' direction. They scampered off, trying to discern the man's form through the rain.

Stopping with a small slide in the mud, Ambrose looked around. The center of town was dark and deserted. There were no visible life forms around him as he sniffed the air slightly. The rain began to subside, lightening up into a small drizzle. He sniffed the air once again, the smells becomming a bit stronger because of the stalling rain. With a snap, his head shifted into the direction of the thief, his body building up more anguish than it ever had. Thrusting his right foot into the ground, he lunges into the direction of his attacker, his form moving with tremendous speed, stamina, and force. He continues this for about ten minutes, stopping at the entrance to the forest that stands on the outskirts of his town. The rain had long stopped, the clouds slowly etiolating above him. The two men that stalked Ambrose across town, shaded themselves behind the thicket, waiting for the next move that Ambrose should make. Ambrose darted off into the forest, trying to catch up with the man he so longed to beat. The two men followed him into the forest, sneaking along the darkness of the tree. Silence. The only thing that Ambrose could hear as he stopped in the middle of a clearing. He squnited his eyes, listening intently for any sound that the theif could make. His nose was useless, there being too many smells mixed with that of his belongings. He could sense a short, repetitive thud, coming to think of it as a heartbeat. It wasn't his own. He smirked, quietly making his way to the edge of the clearing. He slowly walked along the edge, quiet enough for him to still sense the heartbeat of whoever it was that lie near. Their hair on his neck was standing tall, mimicing the hairs on his back that he had not known were there. He could feel himself being follwed with watchful eyes. Scared, cold eyes. The beat was becomming faster, slowing his pace as it beated wildy. The source was near. He looked down into the bushes, seeing a glare off of something shiny that lay within it. He threw in his hands, grabbing the thief's form, throwing him into the center of the clearing.

"You. You theif. Why did you steal those things from me? What did you hope to gain? What did I ever do to make you do such a thing?" "You looked stupid enough, so I took a chance. If only I had picked someone who wasn't a freak," said the thief. That did it. It shattered. The very ice that held back Ambrose from going over the edge had melted. He threw his head up, his eyes fixing upon the moon as it became visible from behind a fading cloud. A loud, thunderous, howl came from deep within his lungs, almost defening anyone who was within hearing distance. The thief scooted back some, a look of horror fixed upon his face as he watched the man he refered to as a freak, change into a true-blue freak. Ambrose tugged at his shirt, his hands forming into beastly, claw-bearing paws, ripping the upper part of his shirt to shreds. His newly grown paws clenched into somewhat of a fist, his back hair bursting through the back of his shirt. Muscles pumped up from his skin, hair bursting out to cover them, just as soon as the muscles had appeared. His pants became torn, his legs expanding in them as the hair poured through. His shoes disappeared as they burst through the leather, the nails on his toes growing out into the open air. His eyes clenched shut, his eyebrows forming into a unibrow as well as growing longer. His face began to darken, his nose stretching out as it grew colder. His mouth opened wide, his teeth lengthening out as they grew sharper. Slobber began to drip from his mouth and razor-sharp teeth, his eyes opening as his ears popped out from his head. There was no sign of any human among his body, besides his golden hair that lay unchanged. All of a sudden, his hair grew longer as it began to split. It grew frumpy and wildy, his transformation complete. He grunted furiously, the thief no longer anywhere in sight. His nose tingled as he hurtled off into the direction of the smell.

The thief zoomed by the two men who sat waiting close to the entrance of the forest. They stood up from their hiding place, looking towards the theif as he ran back into town. They turned themselves around, staring into the eyes of a monstrous beast that charge right for them. Their faces grew flushed as their vocal chords screamed out in unison, "Werewolf!!!". Heading straight for the center of town, the two men kept up a steady pace directly behind the theif, glancing behind them every now and then as to find a chance to lose the beast. They continued their screaming, waking up the town folk up the street as they ran by each passing house. As people stepped out onto their porches, Ambrose passed them with tremendous speed, throwing them back a bit as their hearts jumped into their throats. Just as they enter town square, the two men throw themselves at the ground, each of them rolling in the opposite direction of the other. Ambrose leaped, nearly smashing into them. His form smashed into the thief, sending his belongings across the way and into the wall. Ambrose looked up, his watch having been shattered into splintering pieces. Ambrose howled into the night air once again, the townspeople throwing their hands over the ears in horror. Ambrose growled wildy, turning the thief over and place his foot along his neck, squeezing lightly. The thief began to choke, not able to speak from so much pain. As Ambrose looked up, his eyes met with eyes that seemed as if they would have been the eyes of an angel. He released the thief, becomming lost within the soft gaze that stare back at him. His anger started to recede, his eyes fixing upon a beautiful woman who stared back at him. He began to cough, his body slowly forming back into the small man it was not fifteen minutes ago. When he had fully transformed, his head grew weak, as well as his body. He fell to his knees, his eyes losing contact with those eyes of sanctity. His eyes grew weak, sending out a look of guilt to everyone who dared to stare into them. His face met the ground, his vision going dark, as well as his thought.

Slowly sitting up from his position on the floor, he awoke, his eyes opening into a dim-lighted room. The room smelt of wood, the musky smell that usually lurks in a room with not much access to open air. He was in a cabin. He rose to his feet, his form wobbling a bit from the sudden rush of blood to his head. He felt as if he recognized where he was. It slowly came back to him; the layout of the room, as well as the furniture. He glances through the corner of his deep, dark eyes, noticing a piece of paper upon the desk a little ways away. He slowly walked over to the desk, placing his right hand upon the paper, rubbing his eyes with his left. He gazed upon the paper, recognizing it as his agenda. His name was written nicely upon the bottom of the paper. He was in the brig. The brig of his own ship. He suddenly felt slightly safer, realizing that he wasn't in a place he knew nothing of.

The full moon had ended. The past three days had been a blur to him. He knew not of what he did, nor that everyone else knew more than he himself had. He gazed into the mirror close to the bunk in the room, his face sending out an expression of shock. His hair was a mess. The clothes that he was wearing upon his back had been ripped into shreds upon his very skin. His head dropped, his eyes fixing upon his fingers, which had a greater ammount of hair than that he had ever had. The pale, white color of his nails caught his attention, his mind reeling at the length of his nails. His nails had grown insanely longer, not to mention sharper. He drooped his head even more, staring down upon his feet, which were very similar to his hands, except they were of course, feet. He shook his head lightly, slowly dragging himself over to a closet where he stored extra clothing for any occasion.

He placed his desired clothing upon the bunk, walking over to the mirror as he pulled a pair of tweezers from the drawer just below the counter. He slowly plucked his eyebrows, wincing every time he pulled his hand away from his face. He continued this until he had two eyebrows again, inseatd of one, ugly unibrow. As he dressed himself, he had wondered where everyone was. The last thing he remembered was sitting in his own lodging, staring out the window into the eerie, dark night. He didn't know what he had been doing, or even if he had slept. One thing he did know, is that he somehow made his way to the ship, and fallen asleep somehow. This, of course, still did not explain what had happened to his clothes.

He placed his cavalier-like hat upon his head, making his way towards the door of the brig, his heartbeat speeding faster as to not knowing who he would encounter first. As he placed his hand on the door knob, he turned it counter-clockwise, realizing it is locked. He turned his form around, fixing his gaze upon a window, big enough to fit himself through. He pushed the window open, sticking his head through and looking up towards the deck of the ship. He reached up, gripping his hand on a piece of rope and throwing himself out the window. he climbed up the rope, eventually reaching the top as he peered over across the way. He recognized a few of the men, being able to pin-point their names. As he looked around, he noticed his father and his brother talking privatly away from the rest of the men. He crawled over the balcony, walking over to his father and brother. The crew gave him weird looks, backing away as he made his way past them. "Father, brother," he said, nodding at each of them. The turned, eyeing him slightly as they nodded back. "So you're awake," his father said. "You've been out for quite some time. I was worried. More than I already am." "Why was I locked within the brig in the first place?" "That is something we will hold off on telling you, just for the sake of any lives aboard this ship. Ambrose was skeptical at his father's last remark. "Where are we headed, anyway?," Amrbose asked, trying to change the subject while curious at the same time. "A dreaded place called Ravenloft. It's a cursed land full of monstours beasts, and many weird humans, if you wish to call them that," his father replied. "Why must we go there?" "For reasons. There is a man there who is the leading expert on many diseases, such as lycanthropy and insomnia. We are paying top dollar for this, so there will be know turning around." "Lycanthropy? What on earth is that?" Ambrose asked, a little bit of sarcasm in his voice. "It's the same disease that turns even the nicest, most prominent human beings into werewolves." "Werewolves..," Ambrose mumbled to himself, his head beginning to race with memories of the past week. The only problem was, was that those memories were clouded, so he could not tell any of them.

"We're coming upon the land of Ravenloft, sir!," said a man in the watcher's nest. "Make ready the ship to dock, and make sure nothing goes wrong this time," yelled his father across the ship. As they docked, Ambrose began to feel uneasy as he looked out upon the land. Something was making him grow impatient. Something was calling out to him. If he had only known what it was.

The crew was split in half, half staying aboard the ship and half going with the group. Ambrose' father and brother, along with two other men rode within a carriage that was pulled by horses. Ambrose did not wish to be locked within a small space, so he walked outside the cab, along with the rest of the crew. He constantly looked about, hearing strange far off noises that made his skin crawl. About 3 hours into the journey, Ambrose was listening in on the conversation his father was having with the two men and his brother within the cab.

"We must find the shortest route to our destination," said one man. "I agree. I do not want to admit that my son is turning into a gross werewolf, nor do I wish for him to find out about it, get angry, then change his form when we are in the middle of nowhere," said his father. Ambrose was beginning to become angry, both at himself and at the world. His heart beat faster as he body grew extremely warm. "If he does, then I'll be ready," said his brother. He listened intently as he heard the click of a rovolver, the kind of click that is heard when using silver bullets. It was too much for Ambrose. He fell to his knees, passing out from the world and landing face flat in the leaf-covered path.

From far off a long, thunderous howl rang through the forest, snapping Ambrose out of his slumber. He sat up quickly, looking intently in the direction from which it came. He was surrounded by the crew, as well as his father and brother. He became nervous, as many eyes starring down at him intensifying that sense of nervousness. As he began to slowl slip back into his passive-state, he heard one last howl, this one being larger, and far more horriying than the last. He jumped up, running off into the direction of that strange howl.

His eyes opened. His vision slowly blurred into focus, looking around before him. He was standing in the middle of the forest, alone. He slowly looked down, his eyes gazing down at his body, or what used to be. He was fully aware of himself in Werewolf form for the first time. With what almost seemed like a cannon shot, all the memories of the past week came pouring into his mind, knocking him off balance as he recalled vivid scenes of things such as the look of that young boys voice, or the gaze of the angel. He was disgusted at himself, both physically and mentally. The anguish began to boil up within him. He became furious at everyone, and everything. His father had been right.

His anger quickly became greater when he realized that he had failed his father. He became that in which he feared, giving in to it's pull. He began to run about, thrusting his claws within trunks of trees, kicking dirt here and there, ripping plants from their roots, and howling aimlessly into the brisk air. As he continued to have random bouts of sprinting, he came near a clearing, peering out the edge of the forest and glaring at a group of people, standing around a bunch of stones and such.

The people called out to him, asking him to show himself from the thicket. Ambrose was hesitant, pausing for a slight moment before slowly stepping out into the clearing, his body feeling weird as he did so. He looked down, his hands slowly forming back into the soft hands of his human for, the hair ripping off as if he were shedding his skin.His body returned to it's slim, weak state, his body feeling cold against the brisk air of the forest. "Hello, my friend. You seem to be lost, and very much alone," said the man who looked as if he were the leader of the group. Ambrose looked up, saying nothing as he did so. He tried to focus on what the man was saying, but what caught his attention, was the look of the man's eyes. He recognized it. "My name is Timothy. I'm guessing your name is Ambrose?," said the man, his voice ringing out a sarcastic tune. Ambrose looked deep into Nathan's eyes, his body shivering with chills as a powerful memory was sent speeding through his mind. Those eyes. They were the same as the ones of the Werewolf that had attacked him in the forest near his own town. Was this the human form of the beast?

Ambrose rose his head in fear, looking about into the forest, hearing a howl from a place not far from where they were standing. Timothy began to toy with him. "Scared of Werewolves, are you? Well, they do say that the only way to end the curse of the Werewolf, or the disease of lycanthropy is to kill the beast that began it. Aye. Just some facts for your information." Ambrose grunted, his heart beating furiously as he believed every word the man had said. He immediately lunged at the man, reaching for his weapon as he tried to grab Timothy's collar. Timonthy laughed, taking away Ambrose's weapon and throwing it off into the thicket. Ambrose began to feel as if he were being overcome by the very anger that resided within him. Before he could realize what had happened, he was dashing towards Timothy, his body now in it's werewolf form. He lunged claw after claw at Timothy, missing every time as Timothy was quicker and wiser. Ambrose took one final leap at Timothy, his form overpassing him as smashing into a tree.

As he awoke, he eyes focused on a familiar scene. The only problem was, something had been added to the portrait of serene peacefullness. A group of werewolves stood abroad from him, the largest one standing directly in front of him. He immediately knew it was Timothy. He attempted to lunge at him once again, but failed. He had been tied down. " Ambrose. You're a werewolf. You need to accept that. Werewolves are stronger, smarter, wiser than humans. We are the predators. You must learn to respect the gift you have," Timothy said, twirling Ambrose' sword around his fingers. "Gift? You calls this a gift? It is a curse of all evil. It is meant to destroy whoever it infects. It's not to be used for power," Ambrose snapped back, his eyes wild with anger. "What do you know of it? You only just found out that you yourself are in fact a werewolf. I have been one for quite some time now. How can you tell me what's right or wrong with it?" "I have morals and values. I see things for the good, not for the bad. You could not admit to yourself, so you changed and now you're a bad apple. That's not what I wish to be." Slowly walking towards Ambrose, Timothy smacked him in the face with the hilt of the sword, a wimper of pain coming from deep within Ambrose's throat. "Aw, is the baby going to cry?," Timothy remarked, immitating a crying baby with his hands.

Ambrose started to drift off, his head drooping as Timothy stated one final thing. "You will see things my way before the end. You'll see." With that, the group of wolves left Ambrose, leaving him to his thoughts. His mind reeled. Everything he was brought up to believe was now being questioned by another side of him. Things he would have never thought of before were trying to stick to him. He was beginning to cave. He was beginning yto give in to that which he hated.

Opening his eyes once again, he immediately sprang awake to the smell of something extremely delightful. His nose was wild with sensation he had never felt before. He was starving. As he looked about him to find where the smell was coming from, he immediately became digusted with himself, looking down in horror at the sight of the pack of werewolves devouring carcasses of human flesh. Why did he want to did his teeth into them? Why did he want so badly to fill his stomach full of the fresh meat? Once again he was fighting within himself. Timothy stood up, walking close to Ambrose as he licked his lips. He said nothing, ordering the group to scram. After they had all gone, Ambrose realized they had left the meat there. Once again, his mind gave in to the pressure, his senses going dark as he slipped into a passive state.

"What's the smell?," he said to himself as opened his eyes. He recognized one of the smells, but there was another stench that brought him to attention. His hormones were running wild as he sat up to see a she-wolf playing with herself, staring at him with sexy, puppy dog eyes. Next to her, lay fresh meat. He gave in. With what almost seemed as a reflex, he dug his face into the meat, keeping his eyes closed as to keep himself from getting sick from the sight of familiar parts. As he began to become full, the female wolf began to play coy with him. She rubbed her body along his, driving him crazy as he got lost in the feeling. He jumped up as she ran into another room, leaving him there alone. He thought maybe she was playing hard to get, so he ran after her, throwing himself back at the sight he saw as he entered the next room. She was playing with Timothy. Her body sprawled out along the floor as he trailed his tongue along it. He grinned, giving an evil look at Ambrose as he got up from the floor. He exited the room, leaving the female to tend to Amrbose once again. All night, she went on. Taunting him, exciting him. He was beginning to forget his morals until he remembered the eyes of the angel. He threw his head back, every memory of everything that happened came rolling back once again. He replayed every moment in his head, his mind growing numb from the movement. The female finally stopped, leaving him to his thoughts.

The next morning, Timothy set him free of the cages, knowing now that he was too traumatised to even think about retaliating. He was on the brink of insanity. The first thing he did was run off into the forest, trying to find any way to get to his father. As he searched, the thought of some things Timothy had said went through his mind. "They will not accept me back at home. I am too different. I must stay here and find a way to overcome this." Just as he said that to himself under his breath, he came to a small village at the edge of the forest. He recognized a carriage waiting outside of a hut, running over to it as he beat on the door. "Father?!, Father?! Are you in there?" As he beat one last time, the door opened, revealing his father. "Father. Don't speak. Let me do the talking." "Whatever you say, son.," replied his father. "I have thought it over clearly. I am to stay here until I can figure out exactly what has come over me. I can't think straight. My emotions keep taking over, and somehow my anger has its own personality. I know it may seem strange, but it's what I wish. I need to stay. No one would want me back at our home," Ambrose stated, his father growing sad. "You will not. I forbid..," his father said, being cut off by Ambrose. "I have made my decision. If anyone tried to follow me, save me, or come near where I am staying, you will be killed. Farewell." With that, Ambrose ran off into the forest, his father speechless.

It was dark as he walked up to the ground of the place they stayed at. There were a group of about twenty people within cages, crying and whining as they saw Ambrose approach. Timothy came to him, nodding slightly as he glanced at the cages. "Our monthly hunt. I feel like being nice, so I am going to give them a twenty minute head start this time. I sure hope you will participate. With that, Timothy places his now fur-covered hand upon the cage handle, opening it, releasing the prisoners into the night air. They ran as fast as they could, the majority of them disappearing quickly into the thickets of the forest. Ambrose was not thinking straight. He was obeying Timothy. He was sinking to a low level. He would not become Timothy's bitch. The only thing is.. He could not control himself.

Twenty minutes passed, Ambrose looking into the forest as the rest of the group sprinted off into the darkness. Ambrose had already changed to his hybrid form, unaware that he had done so. He darted off into the night, sniffing intently as to find his prey. Just as he passed a clearing, he saw movement in the opposite direction. Ambrose quickly jumped tackling the man into a tree. He had sank his teeth within the man's flesh, the man's form now limp, lifeless, and still. So many things occured to him as he pulled his teeth from the man's flesh. Timothy did not wish to control him. All Timothy was doing was helping the transformation be complete. He had been changing from the very moment Timothy had bitten him. He now knew what he had to do. He now knew that to control his emotions, he would need help.

He was one weak man. Timothy was strong, cunning, wise, as well as equipped with a team of equil alies. He could not attemtp to kill Timothy. That was out of the question. It was final. With his last decision, he looked down at the man he had killed, praying that the man be taken care of as he sprinted off towards freedom.

The next day, he was nearly to his destination. He had run steadily throughout the night, not wanting to lose time. As he sank his feets into the sand of a beach, he gazed up at his majestic ship, the sun shining brightly off of its color. He looked down, noticing that his father had just arrived. Not wanting to waste any time, he sprinted once again up to the carriage, stopping abruptly in front of his father as he exited the cart. "Father. I thought about things. The ones who I thought were my friends were only trying to manipulate me. They cared nothing for my feelings. I now know that the only way that I can overcome this, is to show the darker, angrier side how things really are. To show him that all is okay, and that there's nothing to be angry about. I'm sure you could all help me." "I'm glad you have made that decision," said his father. His father put out his arms, embracing Ambrose in a hug that made a big part of his anguish fade into nothing. It was the first hug his father had given to him in quite some time. "We shall help you find yourself again, my son."

Two days passed on the return trip to their home land. Along the way, they constantly tried to help Ambrose calm his other side down. Often allowing him to change to hybrid form as a way to resolve it. They spoke in calm voices. Hushing him until he calmed down. As they docked in their village, Ambrose looked down upon the town. "Home," he said to himself. "It seems like it's been years since I have been here. It feels good to be back." He followed his father off the ship, not a soul looking at him as if nothing had ever happened. "What of that little boy, father?" "We came to the conclusion that the same wolf that bit you, murdered him. It's alright, no one thinks any different of you," his father stated, chuckling lightly. They neared Ambrose's house, Ambrose jumping off and running inside. "Home!" His father walked into the room, looking a bit more serious than he had. "For the safety of others, I would like you to stay inside your home for a few days. You still have far to go and I could not bare anything else happening. You promise you'll stay put?," his father stated. "Yes, father. I will." "Good. That's exactly what I wished to hear. I will visit you soon. Rest now," his father said, exiting his house.

Ambrose walked into his room, stopping in his tracks. He glared down at a white piece of paper laying upon his bed. he picked it up within his hand, reading it over once again. "The Masquerade..." The eyes of the angel came back into his mind. He longed to see those eyes, to see the angel that calls those eyes her own. "Perhaps she'll be at the party," he said to himself, looking on the envelope at the address. As soon as he read, he remembered. He began to get lost in the eyes again, but shook that away to see what was behind her. The Govener's Mansion. "That's where it's being held. Tomorrow night. I must investigate a little." With that, he snuck out his front door, trying not to be seen by anyone he knew.

He turned into the back alleyway, finding his way up and behind the mansion. He climbed the wall quickly, stepping onto the balcony as he looked around. "Not a soul in sight," he said to himself. He came to a window, peeing in to see who might be inside. There was a woman. She had big hair, as well as saggy breasts. He looked at her eyes slightly. "That's not her, for sure." Just as he was about to move to another window, he sees another figure come into the room through the corner of his eye. It was a younger woman, his age. She was beautiful. She wasn't in as stylish clothing as the other woman, but she was remarkable. Just as Ambrose thought it couldn't get any better, she looked up, his eyes locking with her's at the exact same point in time. His body overflowed with happiness and joy. "It's her!," he yelled, ducking as the two woman turned their heads to the window. He made his way down the wall and through the alleyway, heading home. "I am going to that ball, even if it's the last thing I do."

The next day went by slowly. He was cooped up inside, wanting so badly to attend to the ball to find his angel. Every time he thought of her, his mind wandered, thinking about what she would be like. How she would act around him. Then, he came up with a brilliant idea. He pulled out a piece of paper, dipping his pen in ink as he began to write:

Dear Angel,

Your soul is as pure as the sun coming up each morning. Your eyes make my icecaps melt. Your face makes all of my hurt go away. You're my angel.

I will be attending the Masquerade Ball tonight. I wish to meet you. If you wish to meet me, we shall meet at the top of the grand stairs at Eight thirty.

Sincerely,
Misfit.

With that, he envelopes the piece of paper, wrapping it in red ribbon as he steps outside his house once again. He made his way to the post office, looking around to make sure no one was around. He matched the adress of a certain bag with the one in which he believed his angel was staying. He lightly slid his letter into the bag, placing it on top just as quickly as he tied the bag. He slowly snuck away from the place, trying to find the quickest way to get back to his house. He risked it. Quietly, but quickly, he makes his way across the street, opening his door and shutting it as the wind blew lightly.

The time had come. The Ball was about to start.

He walked through the door, his feathered hat hitting lightly upon the door frame. His mask covered the upper part of his face, taking extra precautions as to not be identified.

Inside the Grand Ball, there were tables of glorious cakes and things stacked up higher than most could reach. There were balloons floating around at the roof, many of them being tied to chairs. There were jugglers in every corner of the room, juggling things from bowling pins, to lab mice. There were masks here and masks there. Over upon the stage sat a grand orchestra, their poise as perfect as can be. As soon as he began to make his way up the stairs, the orchestra began playing, many people pushing him out of the way and into the middle of the dance-floor. A small, soft hand grabbed his, pulling him around and up close to her body. "Who is this," he thought to himself. He began dancing with her spinning her around here and there. Just as he began to look into her eyes, they were split apart, the men being sent to one side, the women on the other. As couples made their way down the path, Ambrose tried to focus on what he had come to do. Something was calling him to this woman. Something was making him hesitant. As it came their turn to dance the path, they locked their eyes with one another's, both quickly pulling away as they knew who the other was. The crowd would not let them go. They began dancing again, both bodies growing nervous as they neared the end. Just as split to go back to the opposite sidesm the music shifted, and everyone shuffled, pushing the two further apart than they already were.

Eventually, Ambrose found his way up the stairs, looking around to see if he could tell if she was near. He was standing next to a smaller person, not paying enough attention to notice who it was. "I knew it was too good to be true. I can never meet a man who cares more for me than for my looks. I feel lonely," said the woman next to him. Just realizing she was there, he looked over, smiling slightly. "Don't give up so soon, miss. You never know when the right person will turn up," he said, nodding lightly. She turned slightly, looking up and into his eyes, their souls unifying into one for the first time. Neither of them said a word. They just sat there, lost in eachother's gaze as if there were no one, no noises around them. He placed his hand lightly on her's, lifting her's up and planting a light kiss upon it. She smiled, walking with his as he lead her down the stairs. As they reached the end of the stairs, a slowly song began playing, his arms wrapping around her's as they began to dance.

Throughout the night, they never said one word to eachother. They just continues dancing, lost in the presence of eachother. The Masquerade non-existent to them.

When each of them finally broke free of the trance, they were walking down a path, their hands within one another's, their faces bright. She was the first to brake the long night of silence. "My name is Angelina, by the way. You don't have to tell me your's. I know. I remember your eyes. Your name is Ambrose, isn't it?" Ambrose turned to her, sliding his mask off of his face and throwing it onto the ground. "Yes maddam, it is. You helped calm me down, whe I had that outbreak," said Ambrose. "I did? I didn't even know you then," replied Angelina. " It was your gaze. Your soul. You calmed me. You make me have peace with myself." "You make me feel like I am the only woman you know. I couldn't stop looking in your eyes even if you forced me to," said Angelina.

"Follow me," Ambrose stated, grabbing her hand and leading her towards his father's house. He had long forgotten about lying low, not caring as long as Angelina never left him. He lead her around to his father's garden, helping her over the stepping stones that lay across the small stream. The moon was radiantly shining up above them, full and round as the light twinkled in their eyes. "It's a full moon tonight. Why aren't you changing into a wolf," Angelina asked, her eyes bright with wonder. "It's you, Angelina. You are my angel. You take my anger away." Angelina smiled, resting her head upon his chest as he looked up to the moon.

He began to doze off as he her a squeal from Angelina. He looked down, seeing her form missing as he looked around him. Something beat him in the back, sending his into the small pond that lay before him. He stood up, looking up to see a monstrous werewolf throw Angelina into another pond close to him. "Remember me, baby?", said the wolf. "You ruined my plans, so now I'm going to ruin you." Ambrose grunted wildly. He had hurt his angel. He knew then who it was. "Timothy. Why do you want to torture me so? What have I done to you that makes you so angry?." Timothy came closer, grinning slightly. "You have what I never had. I father. A family. It's not fair in any way, so I'll make you pay," retorted Timothy, grunting slightly. Ambrose knew then what he had to do. There was no other choice.

Throwing his head back, Ambrose howls, his clothes ripping to shreds as muscles sprout from his slim body. He winces, the hair sprouting out like cheese on a cheese cutter. He threw his arms into the air, his nails growing as his hand became larger. He stomped his feet, the nails popping out his shoes, as well as the hair. "You have gone too far this time, Timothy. Time for a game of wolf and rabbit." With that, Ambrose lept over the fence to hos father's backyard, Timothy not close behind him. He jumped from wall to wall, staying well ahead of Timothy as well as out of sight of any townsfolk. He passed through the entrance of the forest, still going strong as he planted his feet into the ground and jumped from leap to leap. For about fourty minutes they did this, each one slashing at eachother every now and then.

Timothy walked into a clearing, glaring furiously at Ambrose who had positioned himself on the other side. Timothy lept, so furiated with anger, that he forgot about any fighting techniquem going for all out moves. He jabbed a foot at Ambrose, missing him as he his a tree, cracking it a bit. Ambrose planted his left foot, spinning around quickly and slicing Timothy at his back. Timothy growled, slicing his right hand down on Ambrose's side, cutting him slightly. Ambrose was caught off guard, slipping as he fell towards the ground. Timothy thrusts his feet into the ground, dashing at Ambrose with tremendous speed. Just as Ambrose is about to hit the ground, Timothy smashed into his, sending Ambrose over the edge of a cliff, leading down into a large ravigne. Timothy slowly transformed back into his human form, so confident that he had succeeded, that he forgor about checking to make sure Ambrose was gone. Just as her turned, Ambrose lept into the air, making a noise as to make Timothy turn back around. As he did, Ambrose landed on the ground behind Timothy, pulling back his right hand, readying his blow. Timothy started to turn back around again, laughing obnoxiously. "What the.." says Timothy, seeing Ambrose's blow come charging at him. It hit, pushing Timothy back over the edge of the cliff. Ambrose was too worried about Angelina to watch Timothy fall, so he immediately made his way back to the town.

Walking through the gate of his father's backyard, he lightly calls out Angelina's name, waiting for a response. "Angelina? My angel, where are you?" "I'm here, my love," she replies, walking towards him quickly. They embrace eachother, hugging eachother as if they would never let go. "You defended me against something you were afraid of. You faced your fear for me. I was blind before. You are the man I have been searching for," says Angelina, pulling back lightly. Ambrose grins, coming close as they embrace in a luscious, wet kiss. Ambrose overcame his fear. He conquered the anger.