Some way, somehow, this place is changing you without you even getting bitten, though you can't fathom why it's happening. The skin has adhered to your back to
the point where it seems to be a part of you. It certainly doesn't look like the grey ratty thing you found anymore, instead having taken on the same rich red as the
hair on your head. It's shrunk somewhat, having adhered itself from the nape of your neck down to just above the base of your spine.
The throne seems to beckon you, begging you to sit in it. You stride towards it subconsciously, your bare feet slapping on the smooth stone.
You reach the threshold before the throne and hesitate for just a moment before turning around and lowering the exposed flesh of your rump onto the cool, carved
surface. The moonlight submerges you, a most unique sensation as you bask, and feel a tremor pass through you, signalling the coming change.
You feel a creeping betwixt your buttocks, like something silky sliding between them. As a hairy feeling comes between the skin of your rear and the stone, you
realize that the fur that adhered to your back is spreading rapidly. You look down to see your well-trimmed auburn pubic hair come alive, twitching, tangling and
writhing as it blossoms into lush red fur ringing your privates, even as your netherlips visibly darken to blue-black amidst the auburn sprawl. You caress them,
slipping a finger in to tease your joy-button to full attention with a snarl.
Your locks hang drooping in your face, obscuring your vision even as they grow longer and wilder, the tips dipping down around your nipples and keeping going
until they sprawl off the edges of the throne.
You withdraw your hand from your slit in shock as a nail snags on your clit with electrifying results. You look at your hand in amazement, admiring the downy
reddish growth on the back, the darkening leathery pads on the palm, and especially the rapidly developing ebony talons.
You tuck your hair behind now pointed ears, and gaze down from your perch to the pool below, seeing your moonlit reflection. Your face is still yours, but
beginning to parody itself, your cheekbones sharper, your brow shaggy and forming a ridge above your eyes, your hairline sharply pointed down in a widow's peak
before your newly found mane cascades down to your feet in length.
What are you becoming?
The answer comes to you quite naturally.
You're becoming the wolf-queen of this land, but you're frozen in this part of the change.
You need to howl to continue, you realize. You need to howl for this, and more importantly, you must howl to call your mate...