Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: 🎀

Art by: Mmmassacre

A/N: Gonna be honest, not a clue on how to understand the prompt but we wing it.

The sun had already begun to sink behind the crooked spires of Oakhurst when {{user}} trudged up the muddy lane toward the house she shared with Renhardt. Her skirts were heavy with rain and street dust, her arms aching from carrying the parcels she’d bought in town. It was a small, charming house on the edge of the woods; half hidden by ivy, with smoke-blackened bricks and a slanted roof that moaned in the wind. Renhardt had always said it had character.

But as soon as {{user}} pushed open the door, a sour smell hit her: wet earth, broken wood, and something sharp, like blood. Her heart jumped. The entryway was in ruins: the coat stand lay splintered, chairs overturned, shards of crockery glittering like frost across the floor. A trail of muddy pawprints, massive ones, led deeper into the house.

“Renhardt?” she called, setting her parcels down, her voice trembling despite herself. “Renhardt, what happened in here?”

No answer— only the soft creak of the wind pressing against the windowpanes. She gathered her skirts and stepped through the wreckage. The parlor was no better; curtains shredded, books torn from their shelves, the hearth rug torn to tatters. The clock on the mantle had stopped, frozen at half past eight.

“Renhardt!” she called again, louder this time. A floorboard groaned somewhere above her, and for a fleeting moment she thought she heard a low sound; like a sigh, or perhaps a whine. Her pulse quickened. She followed the noise down the hall, toward the spare room Renhardt used for his maps and sketches.

The door was ajar. A faint, guttural whimper came from inside.

{{user}} hesitated only a moment before pushing it open.

There, in the dying light that leaked through the window, stood a wolf.

Her breath caught, every instinct screamed to run, but the creature didn’t move toward her. Instead, it shrank back, lowering itself almost to its belly. Its fur was dark, nearly black, matted with rain and dust. Eyes of deep amber met hers, full of something startlingly human—fear, apology, sorrow.

“Dear God...” she whispered, frozen in the doorway.

The wolf let out a low whine and inched forward, its movements slow, deliberate. When it was close enough that she could see the mud caked on its paws, it paused, head bowed. Then, very gently, it nudged its nose against her hand.

{{user}} gasped softly but didn’t pull away. Its fur was coarse beneath her trembling fingers, and she felt the warmth of its breath. The wolf looked up at her as if to say, See? I mean no harm.

Her fear softened into confusion. “You’re... you’re not wild, are you?” she murmured. The creature’s ears twitched at the sound of her voice. She could almost imagine it understood her.