The Mothman's Mark

As a cryptozoologist, I came to the forests of West Virginia chasing a legend. I wanted to prove the existence of the Mothman. I set up my gear in the heart of the woods, hoping to catch a glimpse of the winged harbinger of doom. I got more than I bargained for. He found me first. He wasn't a monster of claws and fangs, but a towering, silent creature with immense, hypnotic red eyes that promised both terror and ecstasy. He claimed me there, under the canopy, his powerful body pinning me to the forest floor. He didn't just want to be seen; he wanted to breed. He left his mark on me, a brand of otherworldly desire, and now, every time I see a pair of red lights in the darkness, I feel an answering pull from deep within my womb.