Of Monsters and Hunters

He was a hunter. And I was a person in a bad neighbourhood. Monsters crawl out of the dark, and they hunt dusk till dawn.

Legend had it that this hunter is a son of the devil, beautiful and deadly. That wasn't the only problem: I am not a human either. I know that I am becoming a problem. My arch enemy is, well, me.

The Voice of Freedom described me so:

"A gangly monster not unlike a hairless werewolf, if said werewolf were a few weeks decayed. " That ugly apparently.

I feel his gaze and I can't resist the shiver.

He came to me at nightfall. Grazing my neck with his lips, he whispered promises that could make a courtesan blush. As he said, so it was. Grunting, groaning, gasping, moaning, he fulfilled every promise that came from his mouth. He didn't rest till morning. I heard from old women at the square that this is only temporary, that he'll be gone at the first crack of dawn, but he wasn't.

He stayed till noon, uttering something strange, that the curse was lifted.

From then on, I haven't changed once, could it be because I fell for him?

I knew my answer when he came back to me at nightfall.