Abby was born in Boston in the year 1855.  She came from a well-to-do family.  Her main concerns growing up were fashions and who was invited to who's party.  The biggest decision she ever had to make was whether to wear green or blue to a party.  She was frivolous and flighty and she loved her life.

That was until the party she was at was attacked by werewolves.

At the time Abby did not know that was what they were called.  To her the party had been crashed by dirty gypsies.  That theory fell apart when one of them howled through a muzzle that was definitely more canine than human.

While the girls all around her went "into a swoon" and the boys ran like scared chickens, she grabbed the saber off the mantle and attacked the creatures head on.

The four of them were about a head taller than the average man.  It looked as if some fiendish devil had taken a dog and stretched it into the shape of a man.  They were covered with mangy fur that grew in uneven clumps all over their bodies.

Her speed scared her.  She did not realize she could move so fast.  It was not fashionable for ladies to do anything physical, and she was the picture of fashion.

Her blade kept making solid contact with the creatures, but the affected creature would only back off for a second, shake himself off like a dog, and the wound would be gone.

Abby impressed herself by her skill at evading the werewolves. Her dancing lessons (an acceptable physical pursuit for a young lady of society) kept her light on her feet and quick to change direction.  She was untouched, but her new party gown was in tatters -- which was just as bad.

The fight continued round and round the parlor.  Abby was unable to make a lasting mark on the werewolves, but they were unable to snag anything but satin.

"Obviously I've read all the wrong books.  Nothing in my romance novels or history books prepared me for this.  I wonder what my tutor would think of this."  The banter kept Abby from thinking about the seriousness of the situation.

"I wonder how natural historians would classify you?  Canine? Lupine? Are you Homo Candid?"

At this one of the creatures took a snap at the end of her saber.

"Well it is very rude of you to crash this party.  You aren't even dressed for the occasion."

One of the creatures tried to get behind her, but she stepped up onto the sofa, jumped up and grabbed the ceiling fixture and swung herself to a more defensible position.

One of the creatures had become bored with playing with its food and decided to lunch down on one of the fallen girls.

"How DARE you!  You are ruining a perfectly lovely gown."  In her rage, Abby thrust forward and skewered the dog directly through the heart.  With an unearthly howl, the creature fell in a heap and decomposed at an alarming rate until it was nothing more than a grease spot on the carpet.

Everything in the room stood still.

Abby wondered at what she had done.

The werewolves realized that she could actually hurt them.

Abby wondered at what she had done.

The werewolves backed into the other side of the room.

Abby wondered at what she had done.

She had actually killed one of them.  Destroyed one of them.  She felt her power growing inside her.  The situation was not desperate. She could stop them.

She let out an amazonian scream and lashed out the the creatures cowering at the other end of the room.

It was over quickly.

But there were serious repercussions.