Moonchild; The Rise Of the Lycans
Under the dim emergency light, I saw it.
On the skin just above my wrist, where a drop of my blood had splashed earlier when I wiped my face, a small mark had formed.
It was not a scab, not a bruise. It sat under the surface, in the skin itself, pale and silvery, like a moon reflected in water.
A simple shape. A small crescent, thin and sharp.
When I touched it, a ripple shivered up my arm, into my chest, then out, faint and wide, like a pulse spreading through unseen water.
Sikat na Kabanata