Chapter Sixty Two: Werewolf

I was about to fight vampires,

and my name wasn't Buffy --

I was so screwed.

Patricia Briggs, Frost Burned

Santa Claus' transformation is about to happen. The full moon was drawn horrendously in the clear night sky, as always, extravagant in its beauty, yet poisonous to his own nature. He is a Werewolf, after all. No one of his kind appreciates the beauty of the moon while it was suspended in the glory of the darkness, other than those who feel a sentimental connection to the romantic mood of the cloudless horizon that offers a glimpse ahead.

But still, Santa Claus believes in the beauty of everything so that he did not develop a certain animosity to the trigger of his nature. He wasn't born a Werewolf, first of all, and his senses were cognitively developed, clearly adept to the beauty of the moon in its entirety. He had felt on his own accord on how his weakness can be viewed by others who subscribe to a certain form of romantic manifestation, a jewelry within the dark bluish sky of nature that just happens to show itself within a well-appointed time, to be appreciated fully and capably, reminding those who are on the outside looking in to simply declare the beauty of the phenomenon.

It was love, after all; it was a colorful portrayal of the substance of the verb that moves everything into existence.

Santa Claus felt the interlude of the transformation, and he physically prepared himself for it. He took an orange vial from his under coat and quickly drank all of its content. This is an alchemic solution to fight the excruciating pain as he was undergoing the metamorphosis required of a "good" Werewolf. 

It is not a convenient time to develop the nature and character of a "bad" Werewolf at this time, but suffice it to say that a good one is very similar to the natural disposition of Santa Claus. For him, his secondary nature does not prevent him from being a human capable of all the power of his own self and his potential love had to offer. This is a beautiful occasion for him; he simply had found a way to embrace the consequences of his own culpable acts, embrace it, keep it, allude to it.

After all, any act made with love is never regretted; instead, by its own accord, anybody can let it change the world with all the affected impetuses that compose the cosmos, that influence the expansion of the universe, and assert the fullness of life: developed in the past, present, or future.

This is how Santa Claus spends his monthly vacation leave; away from the noise of the noble business of the Christmas Corporation, away from his self-imposed obligation, away from his "celebrity" status, away from the evil and the naughtiness of unsuspecting children, away from the purity, and coldness, of the snow.

Some may say that Santa Claus had an unfortunate past, but the way he treated this regrettable past had transformed him into a different kind not far from his human character. He may have been a Werewolf, physically, visually, but his transformation wasn't as evil as it now looks. In fact, he became more of a human being than anybody else for these reasons.

His metamorphosis tells a different story, it was so solemn and beautiful, far from what his enemies had initially wanted.

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Picture from Pexels.