The Werewolf [COMPLETE]

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            She rose to the tip of her toes, stretching her arm and straining her fingers as far as she could. Her little hand slowly inched higher and higher in the cold air until her entire body was as taut as a cord. She maintained the pose with difficulty, her young features were furrowed by the effort and her short frame was wobbling under the strain of her tensed muscles.

            Her palm turned to the dark sky, she was waiting, ardently waiting, fervently waiting for a snowflake. She wanted to catch one, just a single one; then she would go back home, back to her room and back to her bed, back to sleep, but she had to have one before. Determined, the little girl lifted her head to the sky and searched the darkness with great concentration. Catching the sight of the whitest snowflake she had ever seen, her eyes avidly followed its slow descent. The icy stroke on the skin of her palm immediately lit up her serious gaze and broke her tight mouth into a grin. Barely containing her excitement, she managed to carefully lower her hand and near it to her eyes. The young child gazed with awe at the lone snowflake lying in her palm. Such a little thing. Such a beautiful little thing. She gently sheltered the snowflake in the crook of both of her palms, protecting her treasure from the cold and the wind.

       

            She had soon forgotten and abandoned her earlier resolution to head back home, and she sauntered away in the streets, chasing and running after snowflakes. Her boots were sinking deeply into the snow and were leaving footprints behind her; but oblivious of the danger, the little girl played cheerfully on her own, her giggles rebounding on the houses and in the roads and alleys of the silent night. Her hands closed tightly, she didn't separate them once, keeping her precious possession safe and secure inside.

            Footsteps echoed behind her. The little girl turned around.

            Her hands parted. The whitest snowflake she had ever seen fell, but it wasn't white anymore. It wasn't pure, it wasn't immaculate, it was red. It was a red drop. Falling on the snow, it became a red flower blooming in a bouquet of ice, a drop of life freed in a sea of death. Another red drop. Another red flower. And another red drop. And another red flower. And again and again. More and more drops. More and more flowers.

            Until she fell like all the other drops. Until a flower bloomed on the little girl's chest. A red snowflake.

            A Villager was dead.