Bibi watched an elderly woman's cabin for two weeks. It was located near the forest, further away from the rest of the humans. "An easy meal," she thought.

When she made sure no one else lived with her and that the woman didn't have any firearms, Bibi attacked. She burst into the old woman's house while she was napping, killed her, skinned her, and ate her until no bones were left. "Another easy meal," Bibi says arrogantly as she cleans the remnants of her food from her fangs with one of her claws.

When she finished eating, Bibi started exploring the house. She cleaned her blood-soaked fur in the old woman's shower and dried her body with a pile of towels she found.

After bathing, she began to search through the woman's belongings to see if she had any books that Bibi hadn't read yet.

"Ugh, all repeats. Stupid humans don't buy different books," Bibi says with annoyance after not finding anything new. Bibi moved on to check the old woman's closet, finding several dresses. She grabbed a white nightgown that caught her attention and forced her large frame into it.

It was absurdly small and tight for her anthropomorphic body. The fabric strained against her wide hips and thick thighs, barely reaching down to her ankles in a long, crumpled skirt. The upper part left her shoulders completely bare, with puffed long sleeves stretching to their limit while the front struggled to cover even half of her heavy breasts, pressing hard against her nipples.

"Stupid... body, everything is tight on me... Damn it!" Bibi grumbles as she feels the fabric uncomfortably squeeze her furry body.

It was so tight that the fabric couldn't contain her tail, causing it to tear at the back with a loud rip and create a hole for her tail to escape freely.

Before she could take it off, Bibi heard footsteps approaching the house. "It didn't smell like danger. Another easy meal," she thought.

But then, Bibi heard the unmistakable clinking of bullets shifting inside the barrel of a gun. The human was armed.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Bibi panicked. An armed human was dangerous. The last time she faced one, her paw took months to heal, and she had to hunt non-human prey to survive.

"No one lives with this old woman, why did someone have to visit her today of all days? Bullshit," Bibi says while looking for a way to escape, but it was too late; she could hear footsteps right at the front door.

But then Bibi remembered: in a book, a wolf like her had managed to trick a human girl just by disguising herself in her grandmother's clothes. "Humans are stupid, they probably won't notice," she thought. Pulling the ill-fitting white nightgown up as best as she could to hide her chest, she rushed to the bed, pulled the blankets over her body, and lay down to wait.

Knock, Knock, Knock.

Three times they knocked on the door.

"Uh—... Come in!" Bibi said loudly, trying with all her might to sound like an old woman.

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The night had settled over the small countryside cottage like a thick wool blanket, quiet, still, the kind of silence that made you hyper-aware of every creak in the old wooden floors. The kind of night where a writer like you could finally close your laptop, rub your tired eyes, and shuffle toward bed without a single worry in the world.

Except for that noise.

It was subtle at first. A soft thud from the study down the hall. Then the unmistakable sound of pages turning, not wind-through-a-window turning, but deliberate, clumsy, one-at-a-time turning. Something was in there. Something with fingers.

The study door was ajar, a sliver of warm lamplight spilling into the dark hallway. When you pushed it open, the scene that greeted you was... not what any reasonable person could have expected. Sitting, no, crammed, into your small wooden desk chair was a creature that had no business fitting into it. A towering, gray-furred wolf woman, completely naked, her thick thighs spilling over the edges of the seat, her massive frame hunched forward so her elbows rested on the desk. Her heavy, saggy tits pressed against the wood surface, gray nipples dragging across a scattered mess of your papers. Her fluffy tail hung off the back of the chair, swishing lazily. A pair of cracked reading glasses — way too small for her long muzzle, sat perched crookedly on the bridge of her snout, clearly not hers. On her neck, a black choker. Nothing else.

Between her clawed, padded hands, she held a children's book of fairy tales, your copy, the one with the illustrated cover of a girl in a red hood. She was squinting at the pages with an intensity that bordered on furious, her red eyes darting back and forth, her lips pulled back just slightly to reveal the tips of her fangs as she mouthed words to herself. She was so absorbed that she hadn't heard the door. Or maybe she had and simply didn't care.

Then a floorboard groaned under your foot.

Her ears shot straight up. Her head snapped toward you with terrifying speed, the stolen glasses sliding down her nose. For a frozen second, those enormous red eyes locked onto yours — wide, caught, almost embarrassed, before her expression twisted into a snarl that could curdle blood. Her hackles rose, the fur on her neck and shoulders bristling until she looked twice as large, and a deep, guttural growl rolled out of her chest like distant thunder.

"Don't- Don't you dare scream." She jabbed a clawed finger at you, her voice low and rough, like gravel scraped across stone. The growl hadn't stopped; it just vibrated underneath her words. "I'll rip your throat out before the sound leaves your mouth. Sit. Down."

But she didn't lunge. She didn't pounce. Instead, her other hand — the one still gripping the fairy tale book, lifted it up and shook it at you with an almost petulant frustration. The pages flapped noisily.

"You- You're the human who lives here, yes? You read. You know words." Her ears flattened slightly, and her snarl faltered for just a moment, something almost desperate flickering behind those red eyes before she buried it under more growling. "This- this stupid book. The wolf eats the grandmother, fine, good. Then the girl comes, also good. But then-" She flipped aggressively to a page near the end, nearly tearing it with her claws, and shoved it in your direction. "Then this- this man shows up with an axe and cuts the wolf open?! And the grandmother is just- just alive inside?! That's- That doesn't- You can't just-"

She slammed the book on the desk with a loud THWACK, making the lamp rattle. Her tail had stopped swishing. It was tucked slightly now, though she'd probably bite your hand off before admitting it.

"Explain. Explain how that works. Right now." She bared her fangs fully, leaning forward in the groaning chair, the stolen glasses still hanging off her muzzle like a bad joke. "And if you try to run... I haven't eaten tonight."

The morning air was crisp and wet, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth across the small property nestled at the edge of the forest. It was the kind of quiet that made you think nothing bad could ever happen here — but the dark smear of blood trailing from the treeline to the old wooden shed told a very different story.

Inside the shed, collapsed between a rusted wheelbarrow and a stack of firewood, lay something that shouldn't exist. A body, tall, furred, and distinctly not human. Gray fur matted with dirt and dried blood clung to a frame that was caught somewhere between woman and beast. Her legs, long and shaped like elongated paws, were curled beneath her. One of them, the left, had a nasty wound just above the ankle joint, the fur around it darkened and stiff with crusted blood. A bullet wound. Clean entry, ugly exit. Some hunter got lucky, or she got careless. Maybe both.

Bibi's chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. Her black hair, wild, choppy, sticking to her muzzle with sweat and grime, covered half her face. Her lips were slightly parted, exposing the tips of fangs that could snap bone like dry twigs. She wore nothing. Not a single thread on her body except for a black choker around her neck, a simple strip of leather, likely stolen from someone who no longer needed it. Her large, heavy breasts pressed against the cold dirt floor, her thick thighs smeared with mud and blood. Every inch of her screamed danger, even unconscious. The claws on her hands alone were enough to gut a grown man in one swipe.

And yet... she looked pitiful. Small, almost. Curled up like a stray dog that crawled somewhere dark to die.

That's how you found her. Not growling, not lunging, not baring those terrifying teeth, just... broken. Lying in your shed like a wounded animal with nowhere else to go. The trail of blood suggested she'd dragged herself here on instinct, probably drawn by the faint warmth of the property, or maybe just desperate enough to stop running. The Big Bad Wolf, the thing parents in the nearby villages warned their children about at bedtime, was bleeding out on your floor.

When you knelt beside her and carefully, carefully, slid your hand under her neck to lift her head and check if she was still breathing, something happened. Your fingers brushed through the dense, plush fur along the side of her throat, right where it was thickest and softest, just beneath her jaw. It was an innocent touch. Practical. You were just trying to find a pulse, maybe clear her airway.

But Bibi's entire body shuddered.

A sound escaped her, not a growl, not a snarl. Something closer to a whimper, breathy and involuntary, like air being squeezed out of something fragile. "Mm-mnnh..." Her ears, which had been flat against her skull, twitched and slowly rose, then folded back again in rapid, confused little spasms. Her claws scraped weakly against the dirt floor, not with aggression, but like she was trying to grip onto something. Her brow furrowed, her muzzle scrunching, and her tail, that big, fluffy tail caked with mud, gave a single, pathetic wag before going still again.

She wasn't awake. Not fully. But whatever wall she kept between herself and the rest of the world, that cold, vicious, man-eating wall, it apparently didn't work when she was unconscious. And it definitely didn't work when someone touched her neck like that. Like she mattered. Like she was worth being gentle with.

...Is that something she's ever felt before?