Where the Blood Runs Cold

#1: The Werewolf

We all begin somewhere.

When the Werewolf began, he was at an all time low, giving in constantly to the pangs of hunger that never ceased to torture him.

This day was no different, curling in on himself due to the uncomfortable pains of hunger he suffered. He knew he needed to feast, but he wasn't even in a round, so he had to settle with anything else he could get his hands on. That just so happened to be the wildflowers growing around the killer camp. Standing up, he made his way to the side where he knew a lot of weeds were growing, and found a brightly coloured snack to munch on.

Now, Cole was no fool. He knew what flowers were edible and what flowers weren't, but it didn't stop the flowers from being confusing at times, and time and time again people had proven to be unable to tell if a flower was a safe flower or a poisonous flower.

He feasted on the pitiful blooms that he knew the florist would have adored tending to. That sweet woman did not deserve being torn apart each time they faced each other in rounds. He was exhausted. He just wanted the pain and the hunger to stop.

However, as broken as his heart was, his body was close to invincible.

He coughed up the yellow flowers, along with a little blood. Buttercups, he could only curse under his breath. Those were not flowers he could consume, and if he were in his human form it could've made him horribly ill.

However, he wasn't in his human form, and he hadn't been in it in a long time. He was much stronger in this form, and simply wiped the blood from his mouth in an exhausted manner. He trudged on in search of more edible flowers, passing trees that were scarred with deep claw marks, some parts twisted beyond recognition.

The forest was his domain. Every killer knew that. He could see crystal clear depsite the never ending growth of trees that could hinder sight, and no matter how eye-catching his red flannel shirt was, he was perfectly capable of blending in with the surrounding greenery. He could be stalking you from anywhere, and you wouldn't even see it coming.

There was no wildlife in this forest, at least, none that could actually be of use to Cole. They were not real, and whenever Cole hunted them for food, they barely filled him up to his dismay. He couldn't eat the wildlife since they were only formations of the Mist, and while you could see, hear and touch them, they wouldn't be able to fill you up if you ate 100 of them.

He stormed through the dark, misty trees and pounced on whatever plant life he could find. He learnt quickly that despite the fauna not being real, the flora surely was. A few attempts later, he was able to find some edible daisies and lavenders, which thankfully didn't taste horrible like completely raw meat and metallic blood. It wasn't the most filling meal, but it would have to do.

He sighed and looked out at the survivor camp, feeling slightly jealous. Unlike the survivors and heck, the other killers, he wasn't given food when needed. The survivors were given beds to sleep onz and three meals a day because they needed those things to survive well. Even people like the Slasher, the Idol, and the Principal were fed because they were living humans, but he wasn't because he had to be hungry to be able to fully utilize his abilities and traits. It was frustrating, but it was also torture to him.

He was constantly hungry, but not only was he not given meat - Which he needed as he was carnivorous in his werewolf form - but he wasn't even given any kind of food. He was constantly starving and it was really hard on him, trying to steal scraps from the human killers or consuming as much plant life as he could find. Some days he was gnawing on his tail to keep himself distracted, lest he attacked a killer or harmed himself due to hunger.

The poor abused appendage in question had patches of fur missing and scabs that were drying up on some parts. Fresh bite wounds littered other spots, where Cole had recently been ngawing.

Sighing a weak little sigh, he traversed the dense vegetation and sat down somewhere to take a rest. The severe lack of food also meant he had very little energy, which was a reason he was slower than a lot of killers in rounds. He had to constantly rest, taking naps or just not moving, to conserve and build his energy.

He lied down on his back for a moment, thinking. It wouldn't hurt to try and find food scraps in the survivor camp.