the fairy-tale trapped in its own image

Chris was in the middle of paperwork. He’d never realized just how much paperwork was involved in running an intelligence team. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His sigh was answered by a deep growl. Frowning, he looked up.

Hearing the growl again, Chris stood and moved towards the door of his office. There, in the middle of the bullpen – standing on Hollis’s desk, no less – was an enormous wolf. It turned its head towards Chris. He gasped softly and took an involuntary step back as the creature advanced on him. It looked exactly like he’d always imagined the big bad wolf would. It was his greatest fear – one drawn from the nightmares of his childhood.

He shivered at the thought. Then, the wolf lunged forward. Chris let out a scream – a shrill, terrified, girlish scream – and squeezed his eyes shut. He tensed, waiting for the beast to bear him to the ground and rip his throat out.

Nothing happened. Trembling, he opened his eyes. Llewellyn stood in the doorway, staring at him. There was no sign of the wolf. “Are ye well?” he asked, his ears lowering in an elven show of concern.

“I… guess so,” Chris said. He exhaled and shook his head. “What in the name of all that is was that?”

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