CHAPTER 7: THE WINDOW

THE WINDOW

Raj disappeared into the confines of his hostel, the thought of Amavas still hanging in his mind like a persistent fog. Meanwhile, Meera and Anya returned to their shared quarters, a realm of luxury and comfort. Their room, a large and luxurious space equipped with all the amenities for comfortable living. The room was decorated in a distinctly girly style, with a canvas of soft pastels and cozy furnishings, radiating a distinctly feminine charm.

"I'm going for a bath," Anya announced, peeling away her garments with a tiredness in her movements. "Okay, I'll study for a while," Meera responded, her voice a soft murmur as she drifted towards her bed, her arms embracing books, her scholarly companions.

In just her panties, Anya moved to the bathroom, her body, naturally a painting of a seductive goddess, further sculpted by the discipline of yoga. She summoned a hot bath, the water's steam rising like spirits in the twilight. Submerging herself for one whole minute, she was a nymph in her aqueous realm, before emerging to sit, the water caressing her like a lover's whisper.

As she relaxed in the warm, soothing water, steam rose around her, enveloping the bathroom in a hazy mist. Her thoughts drifted to the encounter with Amavas. 'That bastard insulted me in front of everyone. What does he think he is, that pathetic, dirty cleaner? I will make him bow to me in front of everyone,' she thought, her eyes narrowing as her expression shifted from anger to fierce determination.

Her mind then wandered to his name. 'Amavas… What kind of stupid name is that? What kind of parents name their child Amavas, a moonless night?' She scoffed, the name echoing in her mind like a dark spell. 'Is that name really a curse like Raj said?' she wondered, her fingers tracing idle patterns in the water.

Despite her disdain, she couldn't help but acknowledge his presence. 'Whatever I think of him, he certainly is handsome,' she admitted begrudgingly, picturing his rugged features. 'But there's something odd about him, an aura that's hard to ignore,' she thought, feeling a shiver that had nothing to do with the water. The contrast of the steamy warmth and her cold, calculating thoughts created a surreal atmosphere, heightening her resolve and curiosity.

Meera placed her books on the bedside table, a silent small tower of her academic pursuits, and retrieved her laptop, its sleek surface reflecting the soft light of the room, cool and familiar under her touch. She then liberated herself from the shackles of her jeans and fitting top.

She too had a beautiful, hot body—perhaps a touch less than Anya's, but still praiseworthy to any beholder. Opting for the airy comfort of a loose t-shirt, she let the fabric drape over her, a casual shroud that spoke of relaxation and ease. Clad only in the t-shirt and her delicate panties, she settled onto the bed, her back against the headboard, a casual queen in her private domain.

The laptop sat perched on her beautiful light brown thighs. She opened it and, with a few clicks, brought up information about 'werewolves' on the screen. The room around her faded as she immersed her gaze into the laptop's display.

As Meera's gaze sank into the depths of the screen, the mythical world came alive with the haunting tales of werewolves, each story more gripping than the last. She read of ancient curses and the chilling metamorphosis of man into beast under the full moon's spell.

The legends spoke of the Epic of Gilgamesh, where the scorned lover turned her mate into a wolf, and the Greek tale of Lycaon, punished by Zeus for his sacrilege¹.

The Nordic sagas whispered of enchanted pelts that bestowed the power of the wolf, and the grim accounts of men like Peter Stubbe, whose monstrous appetite led to a reign of terror¹. The screen painted a picture of a world where the line between human and monster blurred, where the howl of the wolf echoed through the annals of history.

But few legends like the legend of the ointment, a concoction rumored to grant the power of lycanthropy, that ensnared her attention. The tale of Giles Garnier, the "Werewolf of Dole," unfolded before her, a man who, cloaked in the guise of a wolf, became a predator of the innocent¹.

She read of the Forest of Tenebris, a place untouched by time, where the werewolves were not cursed but born of the earth and shadows, guardians of an ancient secret.

In one tale, the Luna's Heir, a young man named Eldric was drawn to the forest by dreams of a silvery wolf with eyes like the night sky. On the night of the blood moon, he found himself transformed, not by bite or scratch, but by the will of the forest itself, becoming the embodiment of the wolf and the man, protector of the realm.

Another story, The Howling Dusk, spoke of a village that lived in harmony with the werewolves, sharing a bond forged in old magic. But when a malevolent force threatened to consume both man and beast, it was the werewolves, with their fierce loyalty and power, who stood as the village's last defense.

As Meera delved deeper, the air grew thick with the scent of ancient forests, and suddenly, a distant howl of a wolf snatched her attention. She turned towards the window that opened towards the jungle, placed the laptop on the bed, stood up, and approached the window. Gently, she drew back the curtain and peered outside.

Just a few meters away, the thick, towering fences of the college and hostel building stood as silent sentinels, separating the academic sanctuary from the wild jungle. From the vantage point of their 5th-floor room, Anya and Meera could gaze deep into the forest's heart. Meera's eyes scoured the shadowy expanse, seeking the source of the howl.

The full moon bathed the night in a silvery glow, enhancing visibility. She surveyed the entire stretch of the jungle visible from her window but saw nothing. After a couple more minutes, she shrugged to herself, about to dismiss the search and return to bed. That's when she caught a glimpse of something—human-like yet much larger—darting into the forest. She quickly adjusted her glasses and leaned on the window, but in an instant, it vanished, as if it had never been there at all.