The wound on my arm looked like a carving. I could barely stand, seeing my torn, ravaged flesh. I knew I had to flee now, but all I could was drop to my knees in terror, my heart thumping maniacally. The ground beckoned me to lie down and close my eyes. However, my breath wanted to rage at the moon as the signs of my evolution became evident. I snarl fiercely, and my fear turns to pity for those who would engage this slow reveal of monstrous proportions. I predict many awful things will happen.
It’s not my fault, though.