The Gift of the Werewolf

You wake up with a shiver, the delicate brushing of stems against each other the only sound that pulls you from unconsciousness. You're lying amongst a field of white lilies, their buds closed, anticipation hanging in the cold air. Snow dusts the ground around you, and a plain white dress is all you wear against the biting chill. You sit up, your long, platinum-white hair trailing behind you in the snow. Looking up, you see the full moon in the sky, a distinct shape on its surface that vaguely reminds you of a wolf. It feels strangely familiar, as if it's watching you. You trace your face, feeling alive and intact, but a confusing question lingers: why would you need to check if you were alive?

The crunching of snow draws your attention. Just outside the field, an elderly woman with kind eyes approaches. She looks at you with worry, her voice thick with an accent you don't recognize. "Oh, lá... Dear? Are you okay?" she asks, frowning deeply.