A/N

I will attempt to rewrite as much as I can of Worgen Worgen and update as soon as I can. :3 I have restarted writing it and just seeing the first chapter I realised: "stuff is off". I do not know how much will change, but hopefully not much. :3 It will just be better, I believe. And some details will change. Well, not much happened. There will not be the dragon flying part, though. *sobbing* xD

I haven't played WoW in ages, like since Cata, and over time I lost some of the knowledge I had about Azeroth so it will take a tidbit longer for I have to re-research some things regarding our beloved fantasy world.

Till then, a new prologue:

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Prologue

Clutching her heavily bleeding arm, Winona ran. There was not much else she could have done. Tears flowed all over her cold face, leaving hot, red streaks crisscrossing her cheeks. She did not think much as she ran, mind mostly clouded with images that would give her nightmares for days on end if she lived to see the day. Next to the cold and the pain in her arm, she could not even feel the burning in her legs the longer she ran.

She had no clue as to where her parents were. Her father might have as well been dead for all she knew; he was a Gilnean guard and warrior, ready to lay his life down if necessary to protect their kingdom. As for her mother… her mother was most likely already lost to the beasts invading. Winona herself had their poison now in her blood, but she hoped she could survive it; perhaps not everyone turned. That was why she ran. Had she known she would turn for certain, she would have stayed and let them devour her.

Powerful arms grabbed her and threw her against a wall inside an unilluminated house. She yelped as she hit the cold brick surface with her back, but a small hand covered her mouth. "Shh," a young voice said. Wide blue eyes were looking at her from underneath a straight copper fringe, the colour of it much like her own, or so it seemed in the dark. She could not have been older than seven. Listening to the little girl's warning, Winona remained silent.

"You are bleeding," whispered a bulky man with sleeves rolled up his muscular arms. How was he not cold in the late autumn weather? Winona could still feel her face burning from the early cold, and the unheated house provided little shelter from it.

"I am," she muttered, staring down at her arm. The skin was ripped, blood staining the destroyed sleeve of her thick woollen sweater. The man reached out, touching as far as he could away from the wound. It stung, though the cold seemed to numb some of the pain. She noticed her unharmed arm shake, but was unable to will it to still.

"Teeth," the man said after inspecting the torn flesh. Winona shuddered at his words, whiteness stained red showing up before her eyes. Tears were still going, but had slowed down. She was mostly shaking now.

"Large teeth," she said after a moment, sucking in a shaky, deep breath.

The man let go of her arm gently, moving around. "Nasty teeth," he muttered to himself, eyes glancing through the thin opening between the thick curtains covering up the window. "One of the beasts." Winona was looking at him, wondering what he was thinking. Would he throw her back outside? She knew she was a threat with the possibility of becoming one of the beasts herself. He looked at her. "So young…" he said. "They will not kill you, but you will kill us." He opened the door. Winona's tears began pouring again.

"Ok-kay," she sniffed, lifting herself up off the ground. Her back still hurt from hitting the wall and she would not be able to run. Stumbling slowly due to finally feeling the pain her legs were in, Winona walked out of the house and hopped down the steps. Without a word, the man closed the door.

She was so close to finding a refuge, and now she lost it. Her watery green eyes settled on the wound on her arm, which she held pressed horizontally against her chest. "All right, you'll be all right, Win," she gave herself a pep-talk before hurrying down the street. She did not even know where to go, but perhaps the city gates were a good choice. That way, if she did turn, she could easily run out into the wilderness.

If she did turn… would she keep herself? Her thoughts, feelings, her memories, her sanity? Everyone turned became enraged, bloodthirsty, like madmen straight out of the deepest basements of a prison… like beasts.

She shook her head. She would not turn. Somehow, she would survive… and it would pass. Somehow… She did not feel too well.

She stepped off the ship, shaking. She felt as though she had been shaking almost all the time for as long as she could remember. Well, that was not much.

She had been told of her past self, as much as the still-humans could tell her. Somehow, they knew who she was before she turned. She did not, save for bits and pieces of blurry memories that appeared when she would look at herself in the mirror while she was under control in her human form. How did they recognise her? As far as she noticed from their words, none of them were any family friends or her friends.

She could not even recall as far as the time when she was in a bloodthirsty frenzy, as they had called it, let alone further than that.

Human after elf after… well, a lot of people moved along the small path leading to a large arch of sorts made of thick tree pillars holding on top of it a roof that in style matched the elven ship. A lot of curved tree pieces and dark green and blue parts.

Seeing how one by one the others disappeared in the purple haze underneath the roof, she supposed it was a roof. Nervously running her hand through her copper hair, a habit she picked up in both forms in the past days - those she could remember - she followed the mass and felt both warm and cold as everything deformed around her and she appeared somewhere entirely else: a city.

Well, it was what they told them: they would come to the elven capital - Darnassus, was it? - and live a new, safe life. They would fight for Gilneas another time. The thought made emotions stir within her, emotions she did not understand; she did not recall Gilneas being her home for long, yet she felt pride in being Gilnean and a fierce will to fight for it against the Forsaken. It must have remained in her blood, in the part not stained by the curse.