High Tea For Werewolves

High Tea For Werewolves

The shift began at the emotional level before mutating your physical form. It was subtle at first; a sudden, sharp intolerance to indoor lights, a heavy pressure behind your brow. It became too dark to read the books on your shelf. The text blurred into meaningless shapes, leaving you unable to decipher what you yourself were about to become.

Think before you speak, you reminded yourself. Your vocal cords were thickening now.

You retreated outside. In a cosy nook in the garden, safely hidden behind overgrown ivy, your third eye finally awakened. The iris was a wet, oil-slick black. To ground yourself, you went through the familiar, domestic motions: you boiled the kettle, selected the porcelain, and made a cup of tea. But the transformation would not be ignored. Sitting in the damp grass, you found yourself rubbing your nails a good deal. It was a rhythmic, scratching sound. It was comforting to know everyone in the house was doing it now.

From the kitchen window, your family watched you. They were waiting. The rest of the world was entirely missing out on this glorious, terrifying evolution, locked away in their mundane lives. You carried the tea tray inside, alongside the heavy faux fur coats and the leather straps you had prepared.

"Time to get dressed," you rasped, your new eye blinking open to take in your family. Together, you stepped into the dark.

My original poem developed from this piece can be viewed : https://vocal.media/poets/high-tea-for-werewolves

I also wrote a haiku:

High Tea for Werewolves

The third eye opens

Tea brewed for the changing pack

Wild claws start to grow.

So, now for the novel.....🤣🤣🤣... seriously though...