It's hard to always watch what you say, always watch what you do. People get suspicious about the strangest things, but I suppose they have good reason to. Hello. My name is Vivian, and I'm a werewolf.

Every day, ever since I moved to the city, I had to remove the habits I did when I lived in the wilderness with my family, with my pack. After seventeen years of being able to run around in any shape I wished without paying retribution for my actions, it's so difficult to make sure I don't do anything to give others the suspicion of secrecy.

When my father died in the fire in our old cabin, everything around me changed. Sometimes, when I sit out on my new house's roof, I squint through the smoke that covers our precious moon, and silently cry to myself. I start to think about how there was always somewhere to run, how the smell of fresh night air filled my lungs, how I could sing to sky assured that no matter how loud I was no one would hear me and think that there was a crazed werewolf coming to eat them.

That's how I feel the city sees me. When I walk around the tunnels in one of it's minds, I feel young eyes pressing down upon me, interrogating me. When I jog the hardened veins in it's winding body, it's as if a force is trying to crush my legs. Nothing feels the way it should, and I'm pressured knowing that one wrong move that I make anywhere within it's blinking eyes poses a threat to my life and my pack.

One time, I came close to exposing my secret to this city. I had mistakenly fallen in love with a human man, thinking that maybe somewhere around me there was someone or something that would understand me and love me in return. All the good things I had thought would happen turned completely around, and I exposed my pack to this man, put their existence on the line for my mistake. I paid for my mistake with the death of one of my own, and the man I thought I was in love with fled back to his bleeding buildings never to speak again.

I've adapted since then. Now I can walk out my front door, constantly learning from my mistakes, and mold myself into a seemingly acceptable being. Living in this secrecy makes me feel caged, and I fear what would happen if we were seen beneath our molded exteriors. Would they do experiments, torment or possibly even kill us? So many frightful scenes play through my mind on the night of a full moon, when we have no choice but to change, and I know that one step outside our white-painted wood would mean these frightful scenes would have a chance to play through.

I'm always watching what I say, always watching what I do. Alas, here in my mind, everything is exposed. The most important thing that I keep in my mind is that no matter what others think, no matter what I hear or read around me, in the city, it's not easy being a werewolf.