A single light burns in an upstairs window.
A restless sould lies in bed staring at the wall, waiting for the zombie-like trance to leave her.
Exhaustion has come and gone, but sleep will not release her from her bondage to the moon.

The full moon shines brightly on the dew-laden grass, and the sound of music drifts alluringly through the open window.
An almost uncontrollable urge to prowl, to stalk, to run through the spruce and pine forest and roll belly-up laughing at the moon with blood-tinged eyes sweeps through her body with a burning need, causing her to wimper out loud and drop to the floor on her knees, holding in an aunguished howl as bones pop and stretch.

In her minds-eye, there are bars at the window instead of the screenless opening.
There are are bolted locks on the door instead of the freedom to come and go as she pleases.

An animal lust stalks the one it has chosen tonight, for she belongs to the Moon.