CAINE
I glare down at the bed where my entire wardrobe splays out like darkness incarnate. Fashion isn't something I've ever paid attention to, but I don't think I ever realized what lack of variety exists in mine.
Black on black on fucking black. I grab one shirt, examining it for any distinguishing feature that might set it apart. There isn't one.
You dress like an emo teenager.
"Shut up." I don't need fashion advice from someone who considers fur their only outfit.
What you need is color, my wolf continues, ignoring my irritation. His enthusiasm grows with every word. Something that catches the eye. A vibrant red, perhaps. The color of blood freshly spilled. Showcase your strength.
I toss the shirt back onto the pile. He isn't helping, but telling him so will only make it worse.
You could shift for the occasion instead of worrying about clothes. Show yourself in all our glory. Have you ever seen a wolf as magnificent as us?
