Most Fables usually stare at me and ponder whether I am a wolf or a man. And of those, a great majority erroneously assumes I am both. A man who can tame and master his inner wolf. A vile one at that, though.
I don't even bother reminding them who I was. How many of their families my jowl had the pleasure to feast on, sipping every last droplet of blood contained within. Warm drink, gelid flesh. Perhaps that's why I chose the detective work after all, makes me keep up with my instinct. The thrill of surprise and the savageness of a pursue. Its when I feel like myself, when I can hunt, when everything encompassing me and the one I'm following fades and there's only two things left: wolf and prey.
No matter if they have legs, they never outrun my unquenchable thirst.
But, as every fairy has its tale, why wouldn't the Biggest Baddest Wolf have his?
As any pup, I was born in a pack, roughly three millenniums ago in the gloomy corners of the Homelands, peasants named it 'Howling Forest'. We were conceived altogether, gnawing our way outside, yapping and perhaps commencing life-lasting rivalries. We used to say that, by the time we had clawed our way out, our family was already dead to each.
I can't remember how many siblings came to life and embraced it that cursed night, all I can say is that the babies whom survived were strong as weeds. As usual, they had their first brawl over milk. Mother would stay with us until nourishing had been fulfilled. A spotlight was put on the youngest, he pushed and shoved every cub back and forth, right and left. I can say the family was admired. I scrutinized it all quite skeptically.
Since I was a cub, analytically gazing situations and thinking them through. I'd rather crack my head metaphorically than literally. My instinct told me there would still be milk after they finished. Those beastly imbeciles and their futile fights. They were wolves in violence, yet in wit? As scatterbrained as the wind itself.
I could allow this childhood tales to ceaselessly extend, only if they were quintessential to what I am. All you need to perceive is that I was... different and not having similarities meant you were the most despised cub of the pack. Labeled as an outcast, I had to follow their trail and eat their crumbs. Only speak when spoken to.
My parents ostracized me the same. Why have a pup that cannot fight?
Well, they were tremendously mistaken. Big Bad must be the icon of our lineage, but it was me who always held the title for most vicious. A title that didn't aggrandize my fame as it should. I permitted no survivors to abscond from my carnage. No single soul to spread the word. To warn the wolf was coming. I did all lurking in the shadows, chewing from the borders until I ended up devouring the center.
My brother always loved a thunderous clash to boast of.
With that kind of mentality, they expelled me from their pack as a test. To see if I could possibly survive an entire year in the wilderness without succumbing to its hazards. You know what? Most idiotic error those nonchalant and pompous simpletons ever did. I was the outcast in the position of a lone Alpha. And, boy, had I seen those Alphas hunt.
Good thing of always thinking first and acting second, you notice better and reproduce flawlessly.
I trembled a bit before my first kills, murdering wasn't as pleasant for a lonesome, jaded kid as it seems. I begun to build a legacy on that enclosed habitat, I could hearken the whispers of animals as a prey squeaked between my fangs.
Yet, my destiny was only crystalline when I ate human flesh for the first time. Sealed to be a defiant monstrosity by childhood, those memories have earned a special place, after all, it's not always you feed of a widow's twins...
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