A good werewolf came to a youth with the five gifts of life. Dressed much like the peasant youth, presents five cards.
"Take only one," he says in an angelic baritone voice. "But chose wisely only one of them is valuable." The werewolf flashes a welcoming smile that would draw even the meanest of strangers to smile.
The five gifts were these: Death, Riches, Fame, Love, and Pleasure.
Choosing instantly the youth grasped pleasure; focusing on the image painted onto the card he doesn't notice the creature leaving him alone.
Some years passed, and all the pleasures ended in pain. The young man said, "If I could choose again, I would choose more wisely."
The good werewolf made his second appearance, the four remaining gifts held in his dirty paws. The wolf's dark cloak flows, weightlessly down his arms. He presents the remaining gifts.
After some deliberation the young man reached out and grasped love.
Years passed. All those he loved eventually left him- for other places, people, to the GRAVE! A little love brought much grief. The man said to himself, "If I could choose again, I would choose more wisely."
The good werewolf made a third appearance, still wearing his cloak in the hot sun. The werewolf was working this time, swinging a reaper and collecting the grain. Stopping his work he presents the gifts again. After careful reflection, the man asked to receive Fame.
Years passed. His name became known and praised. Then it became envied, hated, derided and pitied. The aging man said, "If I could choose again, I would choose more wisely."
The good werewolf appeared a fourth time, holding both arms up to present the two remaining gifts. Cloak flowing off of his arms revealing the thin spindly arms, the aging man chose instantly, grasping riches.
More years passed. The gift helped him to amass increasingly more wealth and to buy all that could be bought. Then all of it was lost through gambling and drunkenness, the old man said, "Pleasure has brought me pain, love grief, fame shame, and riches poverty. I know now that these gifts are valueless. If I could choose again, I would choose more wisely. May death be given to me?"
The werewolf appears for a fifth time atop a black steed, reaper in hand, reigns in the other. "The gift of death is gone," voice airy and raspy. "I have given it to a needy child."
The creature steers his horse closer to the man, the air growing very cold around. The old man shudders, "What is left for me?"
Leaning over toward the old man, his own-clouded old eyes staring back at him. "Nothing.... the nothingness of Old age."
