Starving didn't just leave Florian weak—it left him mentally fried, too. With zero energy left, he was basically a buffet for the dark voice lurking in his head.
Little by little, he could feel himself slipping away, morphing into this snarky, shadowy voice. It wasn't just in his head—he was becoming that voice.
He grew restless, unable to sleep, irritated by the smallest things. The echo of his own footsteps annoyed him. The faint draft slipping through the cracks in the window and door enraged him. Even his own inability to find peace fueled his growing fury.
It felt as though the dark voice had seized control of his body.
"I've taken your body? Don't kid yourself," the voice sneered, its venomous words curling in his mind. "You're not possessed—you're becoming me."
Florian knew something was terribly wrong. But admitting it, acknowledging this terrifying transformation, was more than he could bear. He was too afraid to face the truth.
