“He had wealth and charisma and power. She fell for him at a young age almost involuntarily, mesmerized by the fire in his eyes, a fire that burned on seemingly endless fuel. He took her from the streets of her small township onto his horse without a word, and she never felt fear or concern. They rode to his chateau where she was treated as a queen, his queen, and shown every luxury in the world.
He was passionate, almost savagely so, but she never thought him anything other than a beast of man. She was eventually told, in his firm arms by the fireplace, that he was actually beast and man. A werewolf, turned by the pale light of the moon only to recover at dawn, having lived for generations and not seen a beauty as her.
She'd grown madly in love with him, spellbound by his powerful and primal aura. Their connection was supernatural, a direct channel from soul to soul. When she roused from mid sleep to a shriek of a howl, she felt his life fading. She left her bed and chambers and followed the distressed howls past the river to the parched land where there used to be a lake. There lay her king, a monstrous lycanthrope who's fur was matted with blood and dirt. She soothed him with her voice as he passed, her tender arm cradling his muscular neck. She dare not move him and when the morning sun awoke she returned to the walls of her now lifeless castle.
Every full moon she visits his grave, sharing her warmth with the lupine skeleton of his corpse.” -M.D. Walter