The pale dawn light filtered through the study's curtained windows, casting everything in a soft, hazy glow. Elizabeth and I hunched over the scarred oak table, bleary eyes scanning the ancient texts spread before us. We had spent the entire night combing the archives, desperate for anything that might reveal the key to breaking the Wendigo's curse. Outside, the city was beginning to stir, but we barely noticed, focused intently on our research over a hasty breakfast of tea and scones.

The events of the past two nights - the frenzied battle in the dark alley and our narrow escape from the creature's gnashing jaws - hung over us like a pall, lending urgency to our efforts. I stifled a yawn, blinking gritty eyes as the Latin text swam before me in a blur. Fatigue clouded my thoughts, but I dared not rest. Not while the Wendigo still stalked the shadowed lanes and alleys, its insatiable hunger drove it to ever more gruesome feats.

Across from me, Elizabeth's delicate brows were drawn together in concentration, her lips moving faintly as she translated an arcane passage. Shadows smudged the pale skin under her eyes, and a livid bruise purpled her left temple where she had struck the floorboards in our frantic escape. Yet determination blazed in her piercing emerald gaze. She would not waver until we uncovered the solution.

I forced my attention back to the 12th-century illuminated manuscript laid out before me. Much of the information was more superstition than scholarship, yet perhaps some kernel of truth remained concerning the dark magics that spawned such unnatural creatures. I scanned entries on basilisks, manticores, and other mythical beasts, searching for any mention of the dreaded Wendigo. The minutes crawled by, measured in the steady wax drip down the taper's side.

"Listen to this," Elizabeth murmured abruptly, her eyes lighting up as she tapped a passage. I moved to peer over her shoulder at the book.

"It describes a ritual called the Rite of the Standing Stones," she continued excitedly, "used to cleanse curses and dark enchantments. It requires channeling the magic through an ancient stone circle." Her gaze flicked to meet mine, triumph gleaming in their emerald depths. "If we perform this at Avebury, we may be able to break the curse!"

Hope flared within my chest at her words. Avebury's towering megaliths were but half a day's ride from London. If this ancient Druidic ritual held the key, we could end the Wendigo's bloody rampage before another night fell. No more innocents would fall victim to its insatiable hunger.

"What does the ritual entail?" I asked. Elizabeth's brow creased as she quickly scanned the entry.

"Rowan ash to purify, freely given blood to catalyze, and tears of compassion to reclaim the lost soul," she summarized. Her eyes widened slightly. "And the words must be spoken as the moon rises on the night when its magic peaks."

My jaw tightened at that unwelcome revelation. The full moon was tomorrow night, when the Wendigo's bloodlust and power would surge to an apex. We would be forced to attempt this untested ritual with the creature at the height of its strength.

Yet what choice did we have? Each new moon claimed more lives. This was our only recourse, no matter the risk. I met Elizabeth's steady emerald gaze and gave a curt nod.

"Make preparations," I rumbled. "We leave as soon as we are able."

The day passed in a blur as we readied ourselves for the rite. In her makeshift alchemy workshop, Elizabeth carefully prepared the rowan ash and vials to collect the blood and tears. Meanwhile, I honed an obsidian blade until its razor edge glinted in the candlelight, ready to provide the innocent blood we needed. As the sun sank below the rooftops, we gathered our things, steeled our nerves, and set out for Avebury.

The last rays of sunlight streamed through the study windows, bathing the room in molten gold. As Elizabeth and I donned our coats and weapons, I admired how the dying light set her vibrant red braid aflame. Though clad practically for the road in a woolen riding habit, she looked every inch the competent investigator—save for the bulging satchel of ritual components slung over one shoulder.

"We'll make better time if you run as a wolf while I take the main road on horseback," she suggested, voice echoing in the townhouse stairwell.

I nodded in agreement. Four legs would carry me swifter over the rolling hills and fields between London and Avebury than two.

In the mews behind my building, a sturdy gray gelding awaited, saddled and ready for our urgent journey. After checking the straps and hooves, Elizabeth swung smoothly into the saddle. She wheeled the horse toward the cobbled lane and glanced down at me expectantly.

While she readied her mount, I made a quick request of the stable boy. In exchange for a day off work with full pay, he happily provided the final ingredient needed for the ritual—a few small drops of his blood.

"Ready?" Elizabeth asked.

In response, I dropped into a crouch as the change rippled through me, sinew and bone shifting and elongating. Transforming was always easier for me beneath the moon's rising influence. Within moments, I stood before her as a massive black wolf, my clothing and gear piled around my paws. I quickly scooped them up in my jaws so Elizabeth could stow them in the saddlebags.

With that done, I stretched tall, nearly at eye level with her skittering horse. I chuffed softly, then turned and loped toward the outskirts of London, keeping parallel to the thoroughfare. Elizabeth urged her mount after me at a brisk trot.

Together we traveled beyond London's crowded tenements. The smells of woodsmoke and humanity faded until only the loamy scent of earth surrounded us. Patchwork farmland rolled by, livestock grazing in silver moonlight. An occasional farmhouse or lonely windmill stood silhouetted against the horizon.

We continued beneath the moon's baleful eye, the ancient standing stones of Avebury drawing ever closer. I ran tirelessly, muscles bunching and stretching in a primal rhythm. Beside me on the road, Elizabeth maintained a steady pace, jaw set with determination. She seemed heedless of the late hour or the burden of our errand. Her will remained as unbending as the iron of her horse's shoes striking sparks on the flagstones.

At last, we crested a hill, and there beneath us sprawled the massive ring of Avebury. The ancient megaliths reared stark against the night, their craggy surfaces seeming to drink in the moonlight until they shone with a spectral glow. The grassy interior lay empty and still—a perfect setting for our arcane ritual.

I loped down the slope, Elizabeth close behind, angling toward a gap in the towering stones. She quickly dismounted and retrieved the ritual components from her satchel. Time was short now—the moon had nearly reached its zenith. I shifted back to human form and donned my clothing. Together Elizabeth and I hastened to prepare the rite, laying out chalk and lighting braziers at precise points to delineate the circle.

The ritual preparations were complete, Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep, centering breath. When she opened them again, serene purpose filled her expression. Whatever doubts she'd harbored, she'd set them aside for the task at hand. Her clear voice rang out as she began the Latin chant flawlessly.

I solemnly added each offering to the central brazier as she spoke - rowan ashes to purify, innocent blood to catalyze, tears to reclaim. With every addition, the flames surged higher, glowing an unearthly azure. Ancient power built within the confines of the circle, raising the fine hairs on my nape. The air itself seemed alive, thrumming with magic.

When the final tear hissed into the fire, Elizabeth extended her hand. I grasped it tightly, adding my voice to the chant as our tones wove together. We willed the ritual to succeed. The flames snapped and danced, dazzlingly bright.

Abruptly they flared even higher, then vanished in a silent concussion that drove us both to our knees. Ears ringing, I lifted my head, blinking until the dazzle spots cleared. The braziers smoldered, smoke twisting lazily upwards. The circle stood dark and silent.

Had we succeeded? Or was the curse too potent? I strained my senses for any sign of the Wendigo's approach. But no pulse of unnatural power or stench of decay tainted the air. Perhaps the ritual had worked after all...

An agonized, inhuman howl shattered the silence, sending dread down my spine. The baying seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating through me. I knew that cry and felt it in my blood as the wolf within responded instinctively.

One of my kind still endured the Wendigo curse, transformed against their will. The Rite had failed.

The last embers of hope guttered out, crushed to dust beneath despair's unrelenting weight. I had been a fool, blinded by arrogance, to believe our amateur dabbling in Druidic rituals could counter the ancient blood magic binding the werewolf's curse. We should have known better. Now London would pay the price for my hubris, as the Wendigo claimed more victims' lives to sate its monstrous hunger.

I welcomed the bite of pain as my clenched fists drew blood. It was less than I deserved for the deaths I could not prevent. I should have relied on my skills as a hunter, tracking the beast as I would any other predator, instead of wasting precious time fumbling with half-understood rituals and arcane magic.

A small hand gripped my shoulder, jolting me from my spiral of self-recrimination. I blinked down at Elizabeth's slender fingers, then raised my eyes to meet her steady emerald gaze. Sorrow etched lines across her youthful face, but determination still burned resolute in her expression.

"We will find another way," she said, her voice soft but steady. "This was but our first attempt. Now we have more knowledge to guide us."

I searched her face, seeing only unshakable conviction reflected. Her courage and pragmatism shamed me. She had not surrendered to despair nor shirked responsibility for our failure. I drew a deep breath, then gave a brusque nod. As long as the creature roamed free, we could not give up the fight.

Together we extinguished the ritual fires and gathered our equipment in silence. The short journey back to London passed in exhausted quiet. Side by side we led the horse down cobblestone streets to the grateful stableboy before trudging up the steps of my townhouse. Inside, we shed our travel-stained coats and sank wearily into armchairs before the hearth, the day's events etched in the lines of weariness on our faces.

Bone-tired as I was, I knew sleep would elude me that night. Even now the Wendigo likely stalked the shadowed alleys, its crimson eyes aglow with predatory hunger as it claimed more innocent lives.

"We should begin tracking it again immediately," I said abruptly, half-rising. Elizabeth lifted a hand, forestalling my movement.

"In our current state, we would be of little use," she countered, her pragmatism piercing my desperation. "You can scarcely stand, and I can barely keep my eyes open. Rest first, or our efforts will be wasted."

I hesitated, frustration warring with exhaustion. She was right - I could barely remain upright, much less fight. But the thought of the Wendigo roaming free while I slept twisted my gut. Helplessness clawed bitter in my throat.

Sensing my struggle, Elizabeth's expression softened with sympathy. "We've done all we can for now," she said gently. "Blaming ourselves solves nothing. Have faith; we will find the answer together."

Her quiet conviction drained the helpless anger from my limbs. Succumbing to despair served no one, least of all the lives depending on us. I managed a jerky nod and sank back into my chair, scrubbing my hands over my face. My body's demands would override any protests soon enough.

Elizabeth gave a tired smile that didn't reach her shadowed eyes. "Get some rest," she advised wearily. "We'll resume the hunt on the morrow." With that she trudged up the steps, softly shutting herself in the guest bedchamber.

Alone before the dying fire, I could no longer resist sleep's siren call. I staggered through my bedtime ritual and collapsed onto the mattress. But even as exhaustion claimed me, my thoughts lingered on the horrors the coming dawn would surely reveal. More victims would be taken because I had failed them. Their lives were a bitter sacrifice I could not prevent, but silently vowed to avenge.

Morning came, and with it, a grim accounting of the Wendigo's butchery. Elizabeth and I were blearily breaking our fast when a sharp rap at the door heralded a street urchin delivering a terse summons from Inspector Fletcher. We were needed at the latest killing site immediately. My stomach sank at the news, though it was no less than I expected after last night's violence.

We hurried to the location specified in Shadwell, a warren of dilapidated buildings and sagging warehouses huddled by the fetid Thames docks. A crowd had gathered outside one of the structures, held back by a handful of constables. Their faces reflected the same dread and horror I felt churning within me as Elizabeth and I approached.

Fletcher's permanent scowl deepened when he spotted us elbowing through the onlookers. "About time you decided to show up," he barked. "We've got eight corpses in there, and no bloody clues about who or what is responsible."

I bit back a caustic reply, knowing it would only provoke the man's temper further. Brushing past him, I entered the warehouse and was immediately assaulted by the abattoir stench of voided bowels and torn flesh. Suppressing a grimace, I forced myself to examine the remains systematically.

The killer had feasted gluttonously. The corpses were strewn haphazardly atop one another, limbs twisted at obscene angles and torsos ripped wide to expose gristle and shattered bone. Blood soaked every surface and congealed in vile pools that squelched underfoot. Only the utter savagery of the wounds left any doubt about the perpetrator's identity.

Elizabeth's normally pale complexion took on a greenish tinge as she surveyed the carnage. I could see she was fighting to maintain her composure in the face of such depravity. This was no sanitized murder scene, but an abattoir reeking of viscera and gore. The Wendigo's butchery tested even her stalwart nerves.

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Fletcher had followed us into the warehouse, his habitual glower replaced with disbelief as he stared down at the remains. "No animal could have done this," he muttered, half to himself. He rounded on me, jowls quivering with outrage. "What kind of fiend are we dealing with here?"

I met his challenging look with an impassive gaze. "One that will kill again tonight if we do not stop it." I turned and strode from the warehouse before he could interrogate me further. After last night's failure, I had no answers to satisfy him.

Elizabeth hurried after me, still looking shaken. Her innate curiosity had led her to this gruesome profession, yet scenes like these sickened her as much as any civilian. But she would not be deterred from her duty any more than I from mine. We both had our roles to play in ending this horror.

"Back to the archives?" she asked in a subdued tone as we navigated the bustling streets. "There must be some clue about the Wendigo's origins we have yet to uncover. Perhaps in one of the older Celtic texts..."

"Not this time," I rumbled. "The killings are too frequent for us to risk another fruitless search through moldy pages. I mean to track the beast to its lair before it claims more lives tonight."

Elizabeth's gaze sharpened. "Daylight tracking of a supernatural creature? That will be incredibly uncertain, even for you."

"I am willing to take that risk." I met her eyes steadily. "My oath as a Crimson Paw binds me to end this creature by any means necessary. I must at least attempt to follow its trail while it lies dormant."

Elizabeth searched my face for a long moment before giving a terse nod. "Very well. But I am coming with you." She held up a hand to forestall my protest. "You know my skills complement yours. We stand a better chance together."

I ground my teeth in frustration, but could not refute her logic. Her alchemical concoctions and knowledge of warding magic would indeed be valuable. And I could not deny her bravery after our shared battle against the Wendigo in that fetid warehouse.

"So be it," I conceded. "But stay close and do exactly as I say. Your safety is my first priority."

Elizabeth lifted her chin. "I can handle myself, as you well know. Now then, let us be off before the light fails."

Chagrined by the stern reminder of her competence, I quickly turned my steps back toward the killing ground. The afternoon sun already hung low above the cramped rooftops, gilding the cobblestones with gold. The scant hours of daylight remaining were our best hope of picking up the Wendigo's trail before its next bloody outing.

Mindful of the time constraints, I did not linger this time amidst the gruesome tableau of carnage. Blocking out the cloying reek of death, I swiftly circled the chamber, sifting through the churned debris for any trace of the creature's leavings.

There, by a broken crate - a clump of coarse white hairs snagged on a loose nail. I bent and delicately plucked them free, rolling the strands between my fingers. The hairs carried the Wendigo's scent of grave dust and musk beneath the overwhelming stench of blood. An unexpected bounty, and our first tangible link to the creature.

Keeping the precious hairs safe in a folded parchment, I continued searching for any other traces left by the Wendigo. But the blood and offal obscured any fainter spoor. This single clump of fur would have to guide my pursuit.

Emerging from the warehouse, I explained my meager findings to Elizabeth. "It left little behind, but with focus, I may be able to follow this link back to the creature's lair," I rumbled.

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully, her keen gaze already surveying the surrounding streets and alleys. "Then let us begin. But stay alert."

The warning in Elizabeth's eyes was well-founded. Last night's bloodshed proved dark forces stirred in London's shadows, wielding the wendigo as their gruesome weapon. They would not appreciate our tracking the beast to their lair.

I focused inward, attuning my senses to the subtle scent of grave dust and musk beneath the wendigo's gory reek. Lifting my head, I parsed London's effluvia until that faint scent emerged.

There—on the chill breeze, so faint only my preternatural senses detected it. The trail led from the docks towards London's twisting heart of streets and alleys. Elizabeth and I tracked it swiftly but cautiously through increasingly opulent neighborhoods. Wrought iron fences and tidy hedgerows replaced the packed dirt yards and crumbling tenements of the dockside slums.

The scent trail vanished just before we reached the fashionable West End. I halted, casting about in confusion. The link simply winked out, as if the wendigo evaporated. But with sunset nearing, it should be in its lair, not roaming the streets.

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked, reading my frustration.

"The trail ends here," I growled, "But there's nowhere for the beast to den around here. I don't understand how it could just disappear."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed in thought. "In that case, perhaps it didn't..." She turned slowly, scrutinizing our surroundings. "Look there," she said, pointing down the block.

I followed her gaze to an ornate townhouse with leering gargoyles perched atop its slate roof. Sinister stained glass windows depicted grotesque imagery, at odds with the refined neighborhood. Unease trickled down my spine. Whatever happened inside, it was surely unnatural.

"You believe it's gone to ground there?" I asked. Elizabeth nodded curtly, her eyes never leaving the building.

"It's concealed from plain sight somehow. But this place reeks of magic." She met my gaze, expression grave. "I suspect we've found the wendigo's masters."

My hands curled into fists. After last night's massacre, rage simmered within at finally confronting those responsible—these meddling puppet masters, heedless of the innocent lives destroyed by their tampering. My claws strained to extend and tear the truth from them.

I forced my hands to unclench, breathing deep in and out to steady my anger. This changed things. A direct assault would gain nothing. We needed to gather information and formulate a new strategy.

"We should withdraw for now and plan our next move," I suggested, turning from the ominous facade. We'd lingered too long already. I didn't want to risk alerting the townhouse's occupants.

Elizabeth didn't move to follow, her stare fixed on the curtained windows as if she could pierce their secrets through will alone. I recognized that obsessive gleam—her keen intellect snared on unraveling this mystery. She wouldn't walk away without answers.

"Elizabeth," I pressed urgently, "we can't afford a misstep here. Leave this for another day when we're prepared."

Reluctantly she yielded to my insistence and let me steer her away at a brisk pace. But her eyes remained locked on the townhouse until it disappeared from view. I knew that coldly calculating look—this temporary retreat wouldn't sway her from confronting them soon. And when Elizabeth Bellamy set her mind to something, not even the forces of hell could turn her from the task.

The short journey back to my townhouse passed in tense silence. Elizabeth was preoccupied with planning our next move against the newly discovered lair. For my part, fury still churned just below my composed exterior. It was a struggle to keep the wolf restrained when every instinct screamed to attack those threatening my territory and the vulnerable packs under my protection.

But I could not afford to indulge my more savage impulses tonight. Not if I hoped to keep Elizabeth safe. So I clung grimly to my control as we arrived at my doorstep just as dusk's fingers smudged the sky.

Inside, I quickly prepared a simple meal while Elizabeth retreated upstairs to review her alchemical texts. I suspected she was seeking just the right concoction to use against the townhouse's inhabitants. Her concoctions tended to the more destructive when she was vexed.

We ate in preoccupied silence, both absorbed in our thoughts. I needed a little imagination to guess Elizabeth's. While I still harbored doubts about a direct assault, she had no such reservations. I recognized the resolute set of her jaw - she was merely biding her time before taking the fight to our hidden enemy. And I knew better than any arguments would sway her once her mind was set.

So be it. When she inevitably launched her attack, I would be at her side, ready to tear out the throats of any who threatened her. But until that time, I must prepare myself, honing my weapons and my rage into tempered steel. When the battle was joined, my enemies would discover the peril of rousing a wolf's fury.

After clearing away the remnants of our meal, I retreated downstairs to my private training chamber. Methodically I stripped down and began working through the lethal forms and stances drilled into me since childhood. The familiar exercises helped bleed away some of my restless anger, narrowing my focus to each movement until nothing existed but the strike and flow of muscle.

I continued well past full darkness until sweat slicked my bare skin and my lungs burned with exertion. Only then, pleasantly exhausted, did I seek my bed. But sleep remained elusive as I lay staring up into the darkness. My thoughts circled endlessly around the looming confrontation, calculating variables and seeking any advantage that would keep Elizabeth from harm.

When she crept down the stairs past midnight, clad in her darkest clothing with her potion satchel over one shoulder, I was instantly alert. So the hour had come. Elizabeth paused when she saw me sitting vigilantly by the dying fire, surprise flitting across her face. I met her gaze steadily, letting the banked heat smoldering in my eyes convey my displeasure at her attempted departure without me, and tilted my head to the side.

"Did you truly think I would allow you to face this peril alone?" I admonished. Chagrin flashed in her expression and she glanced aside almost guiltily.

"I did not wish to put you at undue risk," she explained. I bit back an impatient growl. Did she not yet realize her safety was my sole priority in this endeavor?

"Cease your noble idiocy," I said gruffly, rising to gather my weapons and coat. "You know I will permit no harm to befall you that I can prevent."

Seeing she would not dissuade me from accompanying her, Elizabeth reluctantly waited while I strapped on my sword, bandolier, and finally my hooded cloak. Prepared at last, I nodded brusquely.

"Now then, let us away. The night wanes."

We slipped silently into the deserted streets, the only sound of the soft scuff of our boots and the whisper of our cloaks. A half-moon peered between scudding clouds, casting intermittent silver light to guide our passage back toward the affluent West End. I kept my senses primed for any hint of ambush, but it seemed our enemies slumbered as innocently as babes, ignorant of the justice now stalking their doorstep.

At Elizabeth's insistence, we halted one street shy of the townhouse itself. "Let me scout first and assess their defenses," she whispered. "I may be able to weaken them with the appropriate concoctions."

I hesitated, instinct rebelling at letting her out of my sight, but could not deny the sense of it. So I reluctantly conceded, melting into the deepest pool of shadow while she ghosted down the lane with her satchel of alchemical munitions. Time crawled as I awaited her return, my body coiled with building tension.

At last, she reappeared, the brisk efficiency of her stride reassuring me all had gone well. "I've identified weak points in the rear garden wall where my explosives will have the optimal effect," she reported. "We should-"

Her words cut off with a strangled gasp. Elizabeth reeled back, clutching her skull as her knees buckled. I darted to catch her before she could collapse completely, shock and dismay crashing through me. She shuddered violently in my arms, tearing at her hair as though assailed by agonizing pain.

"Elizabeth! What is it?" I demanded, fear constricting my throat. She only moaned, writhing and twisting in my grip. I stared down helplessly, horrified by this seizure yet powerless to aid her.

Then understanding pierced my confusion. The Wendigo's curse. Somehow its malevolent energy had touched Elizabeth, invading her vulnerable mind. Revulsion surged through me at the violation. By preying on her, the foul enchantment had made this battle personal. I would see its twisted masters obliterated for this outrage.

But first I needed to get Elizabeth to safety. Scooping her rigid body into my arms, I sprinted back to my townhouse, one thought spurring my race through the night - I could not lose her to this darkness.

Within minutes I had Elizabeth ensconced in the parlor sofa, wrapped in blankets. She had gone limp during our headlong flight, her shallow breathing and pallor alarming me further. But a quick examination assured me she had taken no physical injury, though the psychic assault had drained her reserves. Now she rested fitfully, twitching and moaning as if still tormented by formless nightmares.

Unsure what else to do, I brewed a strong sleeping draught and managed to coax some down her throat. Soon she relaxed into a deeper, healing slumber. Only then did I sink into a chair beside her, scrubbing my hands over my face. Helplessness and simmering fury warred within me. I had failed to protect her from this violation. And the longer we fought this shadowy evil, the greater the peril to Elizabeth's brilliant mind and spirit.

I needed to end this. Now. Before the cursed magic could sink its claws deeper into her. But Elizabeth's reckless attack plan had proven we were still woefully ignorant of what we faced. I required insight into the true nature of the Wendigo curse and its vile origins. The solution might well lie in the moldering archives I had discounted before.

Reluctant as I was to leave Elizabeth alone and vulnerable, research offered our only recourse. I would delve through the oldest manuscripts and most arcane tomes until I uncovered the knowledge that could defeat this evil. Once and for all.

The following days passed in a blur of study broken only by brief periods of fitful rest. While Elizabeth lay abed regaining her strength, I ransacked every occult volume and ancient codex I could lay hands on. The Aurelius family archives offered a wealth of untapped lore, their hoary pages crackling with the secrets of centuries. Among their crumbling leaves lay the key to understanding the Wendigo curse. I had only to find it.

The glyphs and sigils swam before my gritty eyes, their meanings slipping away before I could grasp them. But I persisted, driven by the unshakable certainty that time was running out. With each day Elizabeth grew paler, her sleep more troubled. The curse continued gnawing at the barriers around her psyche, seeking a foothold. Once breached, her keen intellect would become its tool, and I would be powerless to stop the atrocities that would follow. That grim fate was unacceptable.

So I delved deeper until dust and worm-eaten parchment obscured the present and the study faded away. Only the ancient words filled my reality, promising salvation if I could but piece together their meaning...

It was well past midnight on the seventh night when revelation struck. I surged to my feet with an oath as the cryptic passages I had been parsing finally divulged their secrets. The viciously elegant complexity of the Wendigo curse unraveled before me, and with it, the awful truth of how it might be undone.

The answer lay not in breaking the curse, for it had been crafted by potent blood magic. Only the willing sacrifice of a life, freely given in an act of love, could cleanse the stain upon the soul and lift the curse entirely. The pureness of such a sacrifice would burn away the bitter magics, severing their hold. But the sacrifice must be willingly chosen by one bound to the afflicted by true affection, or the curse would simply pass to a new vessel. There was only one way forward, though it cleaved my heart - I must give my life to save Elizabeth and prevent her fall into an unending shadow.

Faced with Elizabeth's darkening fate, I realized only my willing sacrifice could break the curse completely. If I willingly gave my life before the next full moon, the purity of my act might banish the Wendigo spirit and spare Elizabeth.

Heavy of heart, I composed a letter explaining my intentions. I would use myself as bait, allowing the creature to end me beneath the full moon. I prayed my death might lift its curse forever. Then it struck me, at some point during the long nights in her company, I started to think of her, not as a companion but as something more and very profane. My mate.

When the fated night arrived, I placed my written letter once more on my pillow where Elizabeth would find it. And then made my way alone to Avebury's standing stones. Only a simple white shirt and trousers clothed me, suitable attire for what was to come. The massive megaliths loomed stark and cold beneath the moon's pallid eye. This ancient place would bear witness to my final act.

I stood beneath the tallest pillar stone and turned my gaze skyward, drawing strength from the glittering expanse. Somewhere above, the souls of my ancestors watched this destiny unfold. I hoped they would understand why I walked this lonely path.

The weight of the coming sacrifice pressed upon my shoulders, but I did not flinch or flee my choice. This was for Elizabeth. I would gladly give all so that her inner light might continue shining, untrammeled by the curse's corrupting stain. She would mourn, but in time would come to see the necessity. My life for hers - she was everything to me, how could I choose otherwise?

A mournful howl cleaved the night, sending prickling dread down my spine. The Wendigo was close, its blood-madness rising with the ascending moon. Soon it would come for me, a lamb willingly offered to the slaughter. I stood tall, my errand complete. Now my broken body could provide the means to heal Elizabeth's spirit.

My end came with violence, but I made no attempt to fight or flee. The Wendigo descended in a fury of rending claws and jagged teeth, shredding flesh from bone. I cried out as its talons pierced my heart, spilling crimson down the pale standing stones. As my life force drained, only one thought filled my mind - let this be enough to save her.

Darkness took me, and I knew no more.

Elizabeth woke miles away, jarred from sleep by a psychic shockwave at the moment of my death. She understood immediately what had transpired. With solemn grief, she whispered a final blessing over my soul, hoping I had found some measure of peace.

In the days that followed, no further attacks plagued London. My willing sacrifice had lifted the curse, banishing the Wendigo's malevolent spirit. Yet when Elizabeth wept over my broken body, she sensed some vital spark still trapped and unfulfilled.

Though the curse was lifted, a sliver of my essence remained, bound to the physical plane by unfinished business. Elizabeth wore a pendant enchanted long ago by her father - and my spirit was pulled inexorably into its crystalline depths, where it now rested invisible to her eyes, but ever present and warming her skin.

Sensing this psychic disturbance but not its cause, Elizabeth vowed to solve this final mystery. She would find a way to grant my soul the tranquility in death that had eluded me in life. Her promise gave me hope that we would meet again, if only for one last farewell.