The beginning

Some would call fate cruel. Another would comment on how it liked to repeat itself. In this case. It was both.

At first their life was perfect. Diana Lucifera had met the love of her life, Fenrir Hróðvitnir. They were from different worlds. Diana belonged to the castors of Verona meanwhile Fenrir was cursed. A lycanthrope from Carlisle. Diana liked to believe they were a modern day Romeo and Juliet. Only, they would have a much better ending. They had settled in a little rural village in the north of England, Haworth. It was bliss. Fenrir spent his days in the garden either tending to the garden or teaching his love better english, spending time amongst nature helped against his primal urges from his wolf side. The side his Dianna called the Amarok. A side with the deep dark desires of the wolf. Desires that he tried to suppress, desires to hunt and maim and worse. Together they spent their days in their little garden in the village of haworth, in the sun during the heatwave of '59. In bliss. In their honeymoon period.

As the days drew shorter and colder the couple retreated indoors and life became a little harder. Slowly leaves fell and became crunchy casting a colour amongst the cobbled and paved streets alike. Fenrir began to lose his touch with nature. Days got shorter and nights became longer, full moons making the wolf within him a terror. Scratch by scratch he would claw at the confinements of the basement. In the days before and after the full moon bruises would appear on Dianna's arms and hips from when Fenrir forgot his strength. The wolf was ashamed at how the bruises would please his inner beast, ashamed at what his wolf, his lycanthrope infection would do to him and what it would make him do to others.

There came some form of hope for Dianna, for the pair. A little ray of light to get them through the dark winter months in a special form. The form of a growing bump under woolen jumpers, with thick hand knitted socks from the local boutique and maternity pants. Throughout the pregnancy Fenrir's wolf side became more submissive to it's human side, more docile, almost tame as his heir grew inside the woman Fenrir loved. Their little bump got the couple through the harsh winter that came after such a warm summer and autumn. That was the way of England, anything it gave it would take back. Springs full with rainfall and flowers would lead to heatwaves and drought to snowstorms and frostbitten noses; a never ending cycle of life. A cycle of loss and life.

Once again the season change came again. Days lengthened and nights shortened. The biting cold was replaced with warmth and colourful growth of flowers and blossoms alike. They could spend time in their little garden with their bistro set and potted plants. Yet something had slowly begun to change between them. Something had begun to change within Fenrir.

The air in the bedroom of the couple's little house was pierced by an infant's cry. The first cry of a newborn, screaming and covered in blood. Diana could barely keep her eyes open and her brow was covered in sweat. The midwife smiled softly at the screaming child as she cut the umbilical cord. "You have a beautiful baby girl, Mrs Greyback." Diana nodded as her hands reached for her child, yet she wasn't being given the now calm babe. "Ill have her cleaned up in a jiffy. Do you have a name?" The young woman asked as Dianna's arms dropped onto the bed in defeat. Before the new mother could answer the midwife, who had worked tirelessly through the labour to ensure both mother and babe survived.

Fenrir entered the room for the first time in the long labour period. "The child shall be called Nuntis. The wolf of the sun." He declared disregarding his wife's desire to name her child.

Dianna protested quietly, energy sapped. "No, No. Julieta. Per favore, mi Julieta." She begged. Fenrir ignored his wife watching the nursemaid walk away with their daughter. Their daughter with porcelain skin covered in a layer of blood and after birth, downy dark hairs that would grow long and silky with doll-like features. Despite her italian heritage she was the picture of a perfect english heir in Fenrir's eyes. The wolf let out one last growl before walking out of the room, leaving his once beloved wife alone, to lie in her sweat and mutter weakly in her native tongue her protest of his naming of their child.