‘ Newt .

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He ponders for a long moment.

“… Tangy. Meringue pie.”

His head tilts, contemplative.

“Familiar by name … not by taste.”
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a man is standing in front of a building with scaffolding in front of it ALT: a man is standing in front of a building with scaffolding in front of it

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letting off steam — and the fireplace does require more sustenance.

... a win, win.
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He takes a moment, swirling the gauntlet — red wine teasing the rim.

“A dessert, you say…”

His gaze lifts, slow.

“Sweet as chocolate cake? Mysterious as red velvet? Or…”

A pause, lips barely curving.

“Something rarer still?”
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His gaze softens.

“…Then I count myself the luckiest of souls.”

A pause lingers.

“Fear not — no one is served as the main course in bitten matters. Merely a principal delicacy, one might say … metaphorically.”
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A brief silence.

“…Someone who makes you feel alive — so to speak.”

He observes her snort of amusement, the seamless laugh threading through her words.

“A figure of speech, hm? Not all are … fortunate enough to use biting figuratively.”
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“Of who falls into the category as it were.” A brief silence. “Oh. A biter. An … enthusiastic appetite for flesh?”
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Humans. Their ability to destroy what they don’t understand — a species that is inhabited in him.

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An ear splitting thud punctuates the air between them — breaking the last shred of hope woven with tension.

She stumbles, crimson splattering the brickwork. Her body slides, lifeless, leaving a trail in her wake. ⠀⠀ ›
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“Please...” His voice is weak, almost inaudible.

She moves closer, feet turned inwards. Her steps are hindered, adjusting to the beast consuming her.

He remains hopeful — recognition possible.

Another step. His arms are extended, reaching for her. ⠀⠀›
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“Newt. Your Newt.” A tear escapes him, fingers still reaching — knuckles bruised, arms scratched from the beast that planted the seed inside him, the same mindless creature that has taken her — the woman that stole his heart all those moons ago. ⠀⠀ ›
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Save her.

Their touch is electric — sparks, fireworks and joy.

... until it isnʼt.

Dark eyes are staring back at him, unyielding, determined — turned.

“... Itʼs me,” he says, voice breaking, desperate to connect with his wife. ⠀⠀ ›
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crawl he learned in childhood. The sitting room; blankets draped over armrests of fabric sofas — a military game.

This isnʼt a game anymore. Stakes are poignant. Fateful.

Heʼs desperate now. A need to hold her. ⠀⠀›
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His gaze is misted up with unshed tears of heartache for the woman that lay across the cobbles — face down, close, too far too hold. His exclamations of despair echo.

Fingers brush hers, five shuffles later combined with the army ⠀⠀ ›
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The ridge on the skin — uneven and unwelcoming.

Teeth — razor sharp, sinking into his flesh, determined. He tousles with the mindless beast.

Soon, he slides down the wall of an alley — defeated, hybrid turned. ⠀⠀›
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for what lied ahead that evening.

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A usual, recreational sinking of three pints and a packet of crisps at the pub is just the beginning of the turn — the pivotal moment.

A new scar, faint but present. ⠀⠀ ›
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kitchen table, toast smeared across his cheek where he fell asleep mid- breakfast.

Having shares in coffee would be his best investment.

But no amount of studying, no amount of extra classes or highlighters could have prepared him ⠀⠀›
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A University student majoring in the science trilogy — chemistry, physics and biology — he spends more time with his head buried in novels.

His vision blurs more times than not, candles burn at both ends and he has been found to be face-down on the ⠀⠀ ›
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⠀🕊️ 🪦 ‘ blood, gore, zombie biting, death and loss.

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⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀🫀‘ before

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⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ 🧬 ‘ background

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⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀🪡 ‘ portrayal

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⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀🧵‘ threads

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“That raises questions ... the best ones.”
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a woman in a pink hoodie is standing in front of a tree in a park .. ALT: a woman in a pink hoodie is standing in front of a tree in a park ..

Back up account for Maggie McClure.

Fandomless OC.

Art teacher by day, witch by night.

💥NOT a lewd account!

Sarah Wayne Callies is the FC.