Once a month, Vigak craved treacle tarts. She craved them so much, that she had learned long ago how to make them for herself, and she would make and devour an entire batch during the full moon.
A tiny scar could be visible if she moved in just the right angle, in the shape of a small set of teeth impressions on her right foot.
That tiny scar had changed her life in more ways than just the mar on her flesh. She was much older than she should be, and knew that it came with the curse.
She would transform every full moon, and for one night a month, was unrecognisable to her family and loved ones. She would hide from them in a tiny rundown cottage at the end of the forest, and wait out the horrible night in silent agony and fear of others seeing her, shaming her, or worse.
It had started when she was so young, barely able to run if truths were told. She had been curious and playful and quite adventurous, and wandered away from her family, soon happening upon another female sitting by a stream munching on a delicious smelling morsel of food.
“Hiya! I’m Red! Wanna treacle tart? They’re supposed to be for my Gramma, but she won’t know if one or two are missing!”
Vigak was so delighted at the thought of someone sharing with her, she hastily began stuffing her face with all the pastries and muffins in the basket. Red began to shout to not be so greedy, but Vigak wouldn’t be daunted. She had never been allowed sweets before this moment, and she wasn’t going to give them up with out a fight. Red seized the basket from Vigak, and started to run away. Vigak chased after her, wanting the rest of the goodies inside.
Red was slowing, unable to keep up her pace much longer, and Vigak easily caught up. Red rounded on Vigak, swinging the basket hard, but missing the target easily as Vigak crouched low as the wicker and gingham and sweet smelling tasties sailed viciously above her. Vigak pounced toward the basket once it had passed her head, and for a moment, the smell of treacle tart filled her nostrils completely blanking out her other senses.
It wasn’t until the teeth had sunk into her flesh that she was brought back to her present reality.
Red had BIT her! Drawn blood and ripped flesh! And the pain! It was incredible!
Vigak stumbled backward, unable to stay upright, her right foot coursing with throbbing agony.
Sixty-four years had passed. Over 770 moons had passed since Red had cursed Vigak. Over 640 moons since she had stumbled upon the cottage at the edge of the woods, where Red’s Gramma had lived. The old lady was kind enough to teach Vigak how to make the treacle tarts, and never questioned when she arrived just as the full moon began to rise and had to leave before the sunrise the following morning every month. Vigak was sad to see the old lady pass 412 moons ago, but the old lady had been true to her word and gifted the cottage to Vigak, with the provision that until the end of Vigak’s life, she only need leave a note on the door once a month to prove she still lived there, supplies for her treacle tarts would always be waiting on the doorstep.
Her cursed life was sweet indeed. Wolf for most days, and human one night a month to enjoy the sweet treats she had fallen in love with so many years ago.