Klas

**Theme: The Distorted Beauty of a Werewolf's Life in Crisis**

Ah, the glorious state of being a contemporary werewolf! That unique combination of styles that transforms any mortal into a fashion show of horror. Here you are, nothing more than a mix of "winter clothing harem" and "second-rate products", because who needs fashion when you're a masterpiece of destruction? Something between a "fashionable wolf" and a "sloth", waiting for the next wave of misunderstandings to lower your attire to an even lower level.

And the search for identity, oh, what a poetic gesture, huh? While "you from the prestigious university" is partying, you are tucked into a filthy coat that makes any Eskimo outfit look like a haute couture line. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the new model of emotional and practical wear: the parka that has never been washed!" This, of course, is because shapeshifting is an experience that doesn't come with a hair-care kit.

But then, amidst this tragic work of art, comes the surprising twist of a lifetime—Black Tarn and Scarper, the "Kardashians of the apocalypse," with their dramatic entrances. Black Tarn, in his wolf form, behaving like a lost tourist in a shopping mall, capturing the essence of "urban exploration" with the mastery of a boy who realizes there's more to the world than running through the trees. And of course, Scarper, the master of dismantling dignity, dragging not a simple garbage bag but Clay's own shapeless flesh!

Oh, yes, because who wouldn't want a little "modern art" in their sleepless nights on the side of the road? You watch the scene, aware of the wailing and agony echoing between the trucks, and the truth becomes painfully clear: Clay is not just an ex-Garou, he is a living deconstruction, a fashion week version of putrefaction. If losing a piece of his body was a bad choice, who am I to judge? After all, it is the modern way to get rid of excess!

You immediately find yourself thinking. What does a mind lubricated by the apocalypse really need? Group therapy? A therapist? Or perhaps a photo shoot with Clay showing off the season's new "looks"? "It's dirty, but let's brighten it up with some punk-werewolf art!" – as you try to draw an abstract concept image from what's left of your pack.

Then you stop and realize: this is all so absurdly comical! Beyond the scene, there is a metaphorical vision of human and animal decline, of lost beauty and a fashion sense that has been shattered into a pool of black filth on the floor of a truck park. And of course, it is all accompanied by the poetic drama of a ragged scream, as if you were watching a horror film in which the protagonist has just discovered that his pizza was made with low-cost ingredients!

And so you ask yourself: "What is life, if not a collection of tasteless incidents interspersed with poetry and a bit of fast food?" After so many contrasts, the only reasonable conclusion is to realize that, even amidst the decadent spectacle of modern life, you can always find your place. So why not raise a toast to the "New Normal" of a werewolf's life full of tears, blood and clothes that smell of rotting flesh? The show is just beginning!