AND IT'S EVIL AND IT'S DAUNTING
Tearing from the flesh and blood of his mother's womb is Fierte's fondest memory. At least, it would be, if he could remember being born; but what he imagines is warm and loving, even in childbirth's raw exhibit. With an affinity for blood and a steady recurrence of murderous blackouts, the blood and pain of birth does not leave him with discomfort. The innocence of childhood is a gentily he misses, even if he cannot let go of violence.
"The end is near," the creature whispers to a squealing rabbit, opening his jaw wide to let his second mouth finish the chittering thing off. The noises quickly die and Fierte hums pleasantly to himself, forgetting the agony he feels when he is completely himself. Blood washes over his the inside of his maw as he chews the animal up, bones and all. It's a satisfying, frightening meal. One he will regret when he wakes later. Already, it stirs in his stomach, as if the rabbit is reforming and kicking panicked circles around his belly.
He spends most of his time in the forest these days. Nerine's cliffs and caves grow cold and old when one has hunted all its little creatures (and when the populace fears his blackouts - he does his best to stay under control). The monster fades and something more human comes. A sense of peace, first, quickly followed by the aforementioned regret. Regret and suffering.
He wishes he could be as accepting of this part of himself as his relatives. Perhaps he should speak with them, but that reclusive, shameful part of him keeps the secrets buried deep. (Though the blood on his lips gives him away.) Alone in the forest, as per usual. Alone.
@[Derelict] starters are always so bad