Loving the Wolf in My Bed

I suffer from clinical prosopagnosia. Face blindness. Even after months of marriage, I couldn’t pick my husband—a notoriously lethal black mamba shifter—out of a police lineup.

That night, I was waiting for him to get home from work, just like always, when it started. A bizarre, glowing stream of text began scrolling horizontally across my field of vision, like a spectral ticker tape.

At first, I thought I was having a stroke. But the words were too coherent.

[God, the wife is so pathetic. Her husband is totally exploiting her face-blindness.