Bonus History lesson on female werewolves

Did you know that one of the earliest werewolves to appear in print literature was a sexy tomboy? It's true. Way back in 1896, 'The Werewolf' (creative title, I know) by Clemence Houseman. The main villain, White Fell, is described as follows (emphasis mine):

The stranger stood in the doorway motionless, one foot set forward, one arm flung up, till the house-mistress hurried down the room; and Sweyn, relinquishing to others the furious Tyr, turned again to close the door, and offer excuse for so fierce a greeting. Then she lowered her arm, slung the axe in its place at her waist, loosened the furs about her face, and shook over her shoulders the long white robe—all as it were with the sway of one movement.
She was a maiden, tall and very fair. The fashion of her dress was strange, half masculine, yet not unwomanly. A fine fur tunic, reaching but little below the knee, was all the skirt she wore; below were the cross-bound shoes and leggings that a hunter wears. A white fur cap was set low upon the brows, and from its edge strips of fur fell lappet-wise about her shoulders; two of these at her entrance had been drawn forward and crossed about her throat, but now, loosened and thrust back, left unhidden long plaits of fair hair that lay forward on shoulder and breast, down to the ivory-studded girdle where the axe gleamed.

Alas, there's not that much to recommend the story itself, as it hasn't aged well. It can be boiled down to "the main character assumes this mysterious, beautiful woman who came to the village is actually turning into a wolf at night and killing people based on very little evidence, and of course nobody believes him, until in the end he sacrifices his life in a mutual kill with the werewolf before she can kill his brother".

Or, if you want to re-interpret the story from a modern viewpoint, you can re-read the ending as "A prudish, nosy little prick jealous of how popular his brother's new girlfriend is went chasing after her with an axe at night after convincing himself she was responsible for animal attacks, only for her to elude him in the forest, and then he picked a fight with a random wolf and got himself killed while grappling with it, which the ignorant, superstitious villagers used as an excuse to villify a woman who didn't do anything wrong just because she was stepping outside of pre-modern gender roles". All the narrative says for certain is that Christian, the protagonist, is found dead alongside a dead wolf the night after he claimed White Fell was about to transform, so as far as I'm concerned it's an equally valid interpretation. Thanks, 1967 French philosopher Roland Barthes!

Anyway, the point is, by writing this smut fiction about a sexy tomboy femme fatale werewolf I am carrying on a 125-year-plus literary tradition. Who would've thought?