The Legend of Wrath

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(A/N: YOU DONT HAVE TO READ THIS CHAPTER. This is a short story about Elizabeth, a lycan. Her story is NOT related to Wrath or Artemis’. Read this if you’re interested in other lycans. Skip it if you’re not.)

She was born in the 16th century into a family of two sisters and a widowed mother. There was no father figure, no money, and no education. The only thing the young maiden had going for her was beauty.

The daughters of Britain’s noblest families couldn’t hold a light to the beautiful peasant girl’s thick blonde hair, unblemished angular face, and generous body.

All the other girls in the town had faces as plain as their personality; including her siblings. But not Elizabeth. Her mother, scared that no man would want to marry her rebellious youngest daughter, pleaded her to appease society. “You don’t have anything to offer your husband,” she said. “Just a womb to produce children. Please, try to carry yourself like a lady,” is what she preached.

Despite her mother’s attempts, Elizabeth continued to roll her eyes, scoff, and put people in their place like it was a chore. She hated the church women who praised the Lord in the morning and reserved the night for gossip. The young girls of the town were just as hypocritical. In front of their parents and suitors, they would smile sweetly but in private, the jealous devils would instruct their servants to bully and tease Elizabeth.

She hated women, society, and the fact that the only way out of poverty was snatching a husband with deep pockets.

Elizabeth couldn’t keep living in rags and eating scraps. As the only person in town who had a straight backbone, she felt entitled to a better life. She was convinced that she wasn’t born to be a peasant. There was something inside her that told her she would make a great queen. Something very... primal.

Brighter jewels, puffier gowns, and more servants than any other woman in the town is what she needed. So she sought them. And it didn’t take much to figure out how to get it.

She was sixteen when she entered a farm, lifted her skirt, and gave her virginity to the blacksmith’s son. He was seventeen, also a peasant, and engaged. But Elizabeth found none of those details relevant. She was too busy exploring life, seeking the ultimate weapon that would allow her to reach the peak of society. It was that same night that she discovered what this weapon was. It had been with her the entire time: between her legs.

Frank, the boy who took her maidenhood, began breathing down her neck since he got a taste of her. He became protective, possessive, jealous of any other male who so as much looked at her. As far as he was concerned, her perky, soft, warm flesh belonged to him.

Any normal girl would feel annoyed— enraged even by this objectification. But Elizabeth wasn’t normal. As a matter of fact, she loved how simple Frank was. Adored how all she needed to enchant the bloke was spread her legs wide for him.

She finally found her weapon.

There was a town girl who was especially nasty to her, always flaunting her wealth and picking on Elizabeth. The maiden recently got engaged with the son of an earl. When her betrothed came to visit her, Elizabeth decided to introduce herself. A roll in the sheets later, she was gifted two beautiful gowns that she hid from her mother to avoid any pesky questions.

Her beauty got her plenty of jewels boys stole from their mothers and money taken from fathers. Elizabeth was having a blast moving up the ladder. As her sexual knowledge expanded, her beauty remained constant regardless of how many men she gave a piece of herself to. Even an unplanned pregnancy, a temporary issue that was easily resolved, took no toll on her body.

The only time she was truly concerned was when a ghost of the past came back to threaten her plans. Frank, her first lover, wanted to have her again. But Elizabeth refused him since the peasant boy had nothing to offer her. Completely desperate, Frank threatened to tell the town that she was a whore.

Elizabeth panicked. She had carefully picked out all of her clients to keep her business secret. All except Frank. If the town found out that she had been “broken in,” no noble man would wed her.

She remembered feeling rage so pure that it burned her. Then, there was a brief period of darkness, and when she finally regained her senses, Frank’s corpse laid by her bloodied paws.

It was that night that she discovered she had a second weapon. She was a werewolf.

When Frank’s body was discovered, the town’s authority determined that an animal attack resulted in the tragic death. Elizabeth laughed behind the scenes at the irony. Her eldest sister, on the other hand, cried herself to sleep every night as she mourned the death of her dear fiance.

Frank’s death planted deadly seeds. Elizabeth’s self-absorption became an illness. Now that she had strength and healing capabilities, she was convinced that she was above all others. A goddess in a past life.

At age twenty, Elizabeth managed to book herself the title of a countess. Her golden ticket to the top of society was her clueless mate who was as rich as he was ignorant of Elizabeth’s whorish past.

She met multiple other werewolves in her travels. Some were lone wolves and others part of small packs. Being far more interested in human lifestyle, she steered clear of both.

Elizabeth’s wildest dreams came true. She went far— to the most lavish lands, loudest balls, and tallest castles. She wore heavy necklaces, garments designed for a queen, powders to enhance her beauty. She met talented and rich people, nobles who looked at her as an equal instead of inferior.

It was wonderful. While it lasted, anyway.

She had a healthy daughter at twenty-six, later than what was expected of a wife. Elizabeth loved her daughter. The girl had thick blonde hair just like her mother and a face that would surely steal hearts just like her mother’s did. But as life would have it, this motherly love soon began to decay along with Elizabeth’s youth.

Fifteen years had passed since she birthed her princess, and Elizabeth did not look the same. Since the werewolf had been suppressing her wolf to live as a human for so many decades, her healing had been hindered. As a result, she adopted the aging rate of humans.

Her hair, which was once a blonde waterfall of bright and bouncy curls, was dull and flat. Her perky breasts that once upon a time drove men crazy were now strained with faint stretch marks. Her body was adopting wrinkles that told tales of her motherhood. And her face, her now plain face was the worst part of it all. She used to be able to smile and have her husband melt with adoration. Although they were mates, he had never fallen in love with her shallow personality. All liked was her beauty. Now that it was gone, he barely looked at her. As a matter of fact, all men barely looked at her! Because there were prettier, younger, fresher girls out there. Girls like her daughter.

Katherine, her daughter, was in her teenage years. At the dawn of womanhood. With every day that passed, Elizabeth looked more and more like a hag. And no amount of makeup or jewelry could fix it. Meanwhile, Katherine’s natural angelic face could conquer a crowd. The girl looked just like Elizabeth in her prime! She stole her mother’s youth!

One particular night, Elizabeth was found in a bathroom crying over her misfortune. She was aging so quickly. She was sure that menopause would soon be at her door and take the remaining value she had as a woman.


The voice of her thieving daughter reached her. Katherine was a pure girl. She wasn’t whoring away like her mother was at her age. She didn’t need to, because she had been born into a position of power all thanks to Elizabeth. And how does she repay her mother? By taking what was hers!

Blinded by the same rage she felt the night she slaughtered Frank, Elizabeth snatched the sharpest tool she could find in the bathroom. When she opened the door, Katherine went to console her mother.

The insane werewolf was embracing her one second and impaling her the next. A small cry was heard before Katherine passed out and began endlessly bleeding.

With a smile on her face, Elizabeth locked the door and carried Katherine’s perfect body to the bathtub. She stared at her for a second, remembering the days her body looked like hers.

Elizabeth’s eager hands moved to the bleeding lesion on Katherine’s waist. She meticulously cupped the precious crimson that was pooling out of her offspring.

“This is mine,” Elizabeth whispers, frantic eyes on her bloodied hands.

“Mine,” she chanted as she pulled her palms to her body and began recollecting what was once hers... what was stolen from her. Her fingers went to her cheeks and massaged the young virgin blood onto her face. Her neck and arms were next. Soon, she was covered from head to toe with the remains of her daughter.

This night was special for Elizabeth. Because she discovered her third final weapon. Blood.

She no longer craved fame or money. All she wanted was her beauty. It was the only thing she ever really owned. The fame and money had always been her husbands. But her beauty... it was God-given.

Bodies of young virgins began piling up, appearing all over the woods full of an animal’s bite marks but drained of blood. Elizabeth reigned terror on nearby towns, shifting to her wolf during the night and snatching whichever young woman was unfortunate enough to cross her path. She was convinced that their blood was slowly rejuvenating her.

But as usual, her happiness was only temporary. She woke up one day without the ability to shift. The moon goddess had taken her wolf. She could no longer abuse her gift to murder and mutilate her victims. Luna also took her mortality, making Countess Elizabeth the third lycan roaming earth.

She can now be found in her hometown, which has been taken over by nature. She looks every bit her four hundred years of age with grey hair, bony and hunched body, warted face, and veiny skin.

Envy: desire to have a quality, possession, or other desirable attribute belonging to (someone else).

This chapter was inspired by the story of Countess Elizabeth Báthory de Ecsed (1560-1614). She was a Hungarian noblewoman and alleged murderer from the Báthory family of nobility in the Kingdom of Hungary.

She bathed in the bath of virgins, convinced that it would slow her aging.

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