*Hannibal smiles, and then he has claws, horns and fangs and the air around him turns cold. But not a normal cold, a cold that steals the sustanance from your stomach and makes you feel paranoid and angry.* I am a wendigo, it seems.
I've been cold for as long as I remember. And the memory of hunger never faded.
But controlling it like this? That seemed to come with the joy of killing the last of the men who hurt my sister. *He smiles, rather horribly.* He had tried to become an almost normal person--he ran a taxidermist's. I still have his head.
I discovered my power in the camps....a doctor pulled me aside when I tore
down a gate with one hand to get to my parents. He wanted to see me do it
again...when I could not he shot my mother....then I killed her guards and
he was pleased.
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