THE NIGHT SHE FELL IN LOVE WITH THE MONSTER

She first noticed him on the night the moon looked wrong.

Too bright. Too close. Like it was watching.

He stood at the edge of the forest, half hidden by shadows, eyes reflecting silver light. Not threatening. Not welcoming. Just waiting. Something about him felt ancient, as if he had been standing there long before she arrived and would remain long after she left.

She should have turned back.

Instead, she walked toward him.

They spoke little that night. He avoided her gaze, kept his distance, answered questions with fragments instead of stories. Yet when he looked at her, it felt heavy, like restraint. Like hunger chained by will.

“You shouldn’t come here after dark,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because some things don’t survive being loved.”

She laughed, unaware of the truth hiding behind his warning.

They met again. And again. Always near the forest. Always at night. He never invited her closer to the trees, never stayed until dawn. His hands trembled when she laughed. His jaw tightened when she stood too close.

He never kissed her.

That frightened her more than desire.

One night, she followed him.

The moon was full. The forest breathed differently. Alive. Restless. She heard bones crack, flesh tear, a sound no human throat should make. Fear froze her blood, but love pushed her forward.

Then she saw him.

Not a man.

Not fully a beast.

Eyes glowing, body twisted by curse and muscle and pain. A creature born of punishment, not evil. When he realized she was there, he howled—not in rage, but despair.

“Run,” he begged, voice breaking through fangs and fur.

She didn’t.

Instead, she whispered his name.

The monster collapsed.

By morning, he was human again. Broken. Ashamed. Terrified.

“I was cursed to become this,” he said. “To lose myself to the moon. To destroy whatever I love.”

She touched his face.

“And you didn’t,” she said.

He smiled sadly.

“Not yet.”

They loved in stolen nights after that. Carefully. Desperately. He chained himself during full moons. He kept distance when hunger rose. Love became restraint. Desire became discipline.

But curses don’t negotiate.

The night the moon bled red, the chains snapped.

He found her before he could stop himself.

When she woke, he was gone. The forest was silent. Too silent.

They found her alive.

He was never seen again.

Years later, on certain nights, she still feels him. In the wind. In the trees. In the way the moonlight pauses on her skin.

Some say the monster still roams the forest.

Others say he disappeared the night he chose love over survival.

She knows the truth.

He loved her enough to become a legend instead of a killer.

And some curses are broken not by magic—

But by choosing to leave before you destroy what you love.