Chaos was rampant inside her head. Splashes of blues and grays erupted in front of the room she couldn't quite see, darkening quickly to the dull and vibrant crimsons of old and new blood. She could feel every muscle of her body writhe against its anchor, distended, distorted, and her skin burned, throbbing in unison with this heart that was not hers. Sinew and blood and skin and bone were all rent and burning, warped and altered, ablaze with hate and hunger and black fear. She could feel her sanity, her very identity, slipping away, deserting her, and she heard a ragged voice that not her own screaming, 'Don't leave me!' dragging off into a tortured howl with little humanity left in it. Indeed, her only bond to her humanity now was the fear, black and terrible, mounting in her chest, rising to a panic that choked her. Brute impulse superimposed human thoughts, cutting across, stifling. Her blood boiled over against her skin, and she screamed, unable to bear the pain of her own contorted body. She lashed out with animal instinct, to rip into flesh and leaven this pain onto another soul. No one was there, so she turned these claws that were not her own on this flesh that was not her own, and ribbons of hot blood surged down arms where skin belonged, where she found only coarse fur, slashed a lupine muzzle where a face had been: her face. A beast's slavering fangs bit into bitter-tasting flesh, and her own warm blood spilled down her throat. All that was left of her was the fear, forestalling this beast but not its pain. She tore into this alien body as if to rip it apart, to dig herself out of it, screaming and screaming, and heard only bestial, bloodthirsty howls. The warm flow of blood on her lessened the pain only slightly, but only amplified the fear. It stayed with her right through the transformation, blotting out what the wolf would have thought, would have done, had there not been that very human splash of panic and horror. Strong arms—furred also—circled her shoulders, pinning her arms, and she thrashed, clawing at his broad, arched back, heaving sides, but he only held her tighter, silent as she screamed, and their tears and their blood ran together between their two pain-twisted bodies, bathed eerily silver in the light of the full moon.