Monster Attraction

~ A mature fantasy tale ~

They called him a monster.

No one said it to his face, of course — not unless they wanted to see how fast a man could regret his last breath. But the whispers followed him: in the towns he p*ssed through, the shadows he left behind, the glances cast from behind curtains. The villagers spoke of clawed hands, fangs like obsidian, eyes like molten amber — and worse things still.

But when Selene first saw him, she saw something else.

She had wandered into the forest at dusk, seeking silence, not magic. Not monsters. Her village, nestled against the edge of the Blackwood, lived in anxious peace. The elders had long warned against entering the deep trees. Old things live there, they said. Hungry things.

But Selene wasn't afraid. Or rather — she was tired of being afraid of everything else.

When she saw him, she didn't scream. She didn't run. She simply stared.

He was huge — easily seven feet tall, broad-shouldered and cloaked in dark fur. His body was humanoid, but his limbs ended in clawed digits, his face stretched forward into something vaguely lupine. His mouth held teeth that gleamed too white, too sharp. And yet...

His eyes held sorrow. Depth. Humanity.

He didn't speak at first. He only watched her, tense and alert, as though she might strike him.

But it was Selene who broke the silence.

“You're beautiful,” she said.

The creature — the monster — blinked slowly.

“You don't mean that,” he growled.

“I do.”

No one had ever said that to him. He had lived a century in the wilds, cursed by old g*ds or forgotten or some combination of both — and no one had ever called him beautiful. Not even kindly. Not even in pity.

And yet, here she stood. A human woman — soft-featured, dusk-skinned, her hair braided in loops down her back — looking at him like he was the moon made flesh.

That was the beginning.

She returned the next day. And the day after that. At first, they only talked. He told her his name — Thorne. She told him about her village, her, the expectations of a place where difference was feared more He listened with a strange attentiveness, and in turn, she asked questions about his life, his transformation, his solitude.

“I was not always like this,” he said one evening, as the sun d*ed slowly behind the canopy. “But I've been this way long enough that I've forgotten how it felt to be... normal.”

Selene stepped closer, close enough to hear the rough edges in his voice.

“Maybe you're more real now than you ever were before.”

Their connection grew in the small moments. The way he'd wait for her, just beyond the clearing. The way her breath would catch when his deep voice rumbled her name. The way their fingers brushed, once, by accident — and neither pulled away.

He was massive and scarred, furred and fanged — and yet, she was drawn to him not in spite of what he was, but because of it. The wildness in him mirrored the chaos she felt inside herself. Society had no place for either of them.

They made their own place.

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