Once there was a beautiful princess whose only ambition in life was to become a Werewolf.
This was unfortunate, for it is death to touch a person of the Blood Royal. Normally, for the crime of lèse-majesté, one is horsewhipped and then (to insure no-one accidentally enjoys the horsewhipping) one is drawn, quartered, cubed, and tossed into two or more oceans.
Now, had the princess wanted to become a Vampire, that would have been another story altogether. Vampires are often, in and of themselves, nobility. This does not give them the right, by human standards, to fang anyone in particular; but it certainly gives them a certain perspective (if not contempt) for the rules of ordinary Humans.
Werewolves, however, are particularly law-abiding beasts, outside of the whole carnage and consumption things. They might slay a few dozen beings out of the sheer savage delight of serving the Moon, but they certainly aren’t going to tread upon the inalienable right of the highborn to not be nipped by beasts.
The princess, however, had a clever plan: she waited until the full moon, then covered herself with garlic.
She felt quite ridiculous when she realized that Werewolves don’t actually care about garlic; the ones who do are the aforementioned Vampires, dammit, and they don’t even like the stuff.
So she came up with another clever plan: she would turn herself into a pile of bones, and then the Werewolf would chew her up.
Then she realized that (a) she would be dead, and (b) it’s actually very difficult to make sure you become bones, at least if you plan to do so quickly, and (c) did we mention the part of being dead?
Eventually, she realized that her best move was simply not to get bitten by a Werewolf at all. So she let go of her foolish fantasy and turned to healthier hobbies, like camping.
Outside of the nice caves on the edge of town.
The ones which kept emitting those howling noises.
Because the Princess was learning wisdom.