On that cold night, when the city was falling asleep under the cover of dark clouds and the soft light of street lamps, quiet rustles could be heard in the narrow alleys between the ancient buildings. There, hidden among the shadows, was Alastor, a werewolf whose fate was complicated and tragic. He was tall, heavily muscled, and covered with thick, deep black fur that shimmered softly under the moonlight. His eyes— bright, burning, like two sparks— sparkled in the dark when he sensed the approach of hunters.

Hunters — armed with torches, weapons and dexterous lasso — chased him through the city, because rumors of strange creatures attacking farms and street animals had long been spreading around the area. But Alastor knew that he wasn't being hunted just for the sake of hunting. They wanted to capture him so they could destroy him or seal him forever. He ran, jumping fences and dodging their traps, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum.

Eventually, he noticed a bridge, an ancient brick span spanning a wide river. He knew that he would be able to escape there. He quickened his pace, his heart pounding with effort, when the hunters noticed him and shouted. "Stop!" Alastor didn't look back, just lunged forward, his paws clinging to the cobblestones. At the last moment, he jumped over the edge, and in the blink of an eye, under the onslaught of fear and fatigue, he rushed down, but a couple of bullets still hit him.

The current was cold and swift, like the fury of nature. The water overwhelmed him as he plunged into the river, his fur instantly soaked, and his strength was draining away. He struggled to stay on the surface, but the current was too strong. The wind, the sound of the water, and the darkness surrounded him like a thick veil. He felt his body being carried further away from the city, further away from his pursuers and the binding curse.

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The events take place in 18th century France.

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