The air was cold and the mood was somber. The day became transfixed when Margaret's eyes feel upon the potion, the potion that must be drunk for it was time once again for the change. From the first sip the sweet but fiery liquid seeping down the throat to begin to satisfy the urge for the Transformation. Slowly at first the change began. First in the eyes, normally a quite green became luminous with an unnatural Emerald and Golden hue that surely came only from the dominant beast that had been lying in wait now seeking it's inevitable return. You could heir the cracking of the bones and the tearing of the muscles as they grow, increasing with power and possession. Then there was the deep Growl of the Wolf coming from within, buried but now boisterously echoing out across the firmament. The Werewolf of Old was emerging again and taking over with no chance of retreat. The long and penetrating talons crept out from beneath the nail beds ready to scratch and claw it's way to your very soil. The long snout that protrudes and grows from out the middle of the face snorts and sniffs probing the World looking for the next victim to fall beneath the the power and strength that boils over leaking into every pour. There is no escape, no sanctuary, there is only your submission to the vigor and vitality culminating with the very sexual prowess of the Beast.