Nocturnal De Vieux Carre' - Werewolves of the French Quarter

Not yet long into the night, a translucent mist hovers, cold as it settles upon the fine hairs. Runty knobs form along the exposed skin, an insufferable chill has come to the Quarter. Secured dwellings sheltering those from who prey in the dark, prowling the vulnerable, pilfering life from the innocent. Gas streetlights lay witness to this harrowing theater, stretching shadows, slithering the alleys for a pristine morsel. Moist from a recent offering, hunger demands fruition, devouring the still beating heart prolongs one's existence. Gnawing at the bone, consuming of the flesh, ensuring nourishment 'til the next illuminating full Luna. Before the dawn reveals this carnage of the night, a solitary horse drawn cart wanders the curbs, collecting the discarded remains of those ravaged, harboring the rumors only locals know to be true. Awaiting the ensuring engorged orb, I endure, I thirst, I hunger.