I am Hunger Picture

For The Parasite's Perspective A mind called across the frozen land. Take me. I am yours.

Wendigo heard. A new gust of wind kicked up and pushed between snow-powdered evergreens. A doe watching for predators while the rest of the herd foraged turned her head. She fixed her eyes on a cluster of trees, which parted with the phantom sound of cougar's claws digging into bark. She snorted and the herd scattered.

Long ago it absorbed the life energy from such
creatures. It amplified the harshness of winter and fed off the weak things that succumbed to cold and starvation. That was a simple existence. With the shaman's invitation to punish those who defiled the dead it lear
Jacques Broussard has been possessed by the Wendigo spirit. It visits him in a nightmare to introduce itself, taking the form of a dead friend.

He tried in vain to read the corpse's expression. It did not advance toward him or fling further accusations. The whistle of wind broke the silence and brought a flurry of sleet that stung his face. It enveloped the corpse until he could barely make out the shape standing before him. Two pinpoints of blue light flared from its eyes, and it tilted its head to the side. He crossed his arms and leaned toward it, shivering. "Pierre, please. I am sorry."

An unfamiliar voice whispered. "You took from him. I take with you. It goes that way."

Jacques shook his head. "I do not understand."

The figure lurched forward. "You were hungry. I am hunger. You will feed me."

The godess of beauty and love
without mythologies
I am Hunger
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