When you can prolong the inevitable, it’s always better. That’s why, for a predator, the wilding begins with a chase. It’s not toying with food, as some people think. It’s getting the adrenaline level to match your own. There comes a point, though, where waiting is no longer possible. You hear the prey’s heart beating inside your own head, and it is the last conscious thought you will be able to hold. Once you give in to the primeval, you are an observer, watching another part of you feast, shredding the flesh to find the ambrosia. You drink in the victim’s fear, but it tastes like excitement.
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