He went dark.
It began in the base of his skull and by the time he realized it, it was too late. Norman was fading away, some entity taking his place, sweet Norman, good boy-
this hunger, a monster, some Norman-like thing instead of him, or wait- himself, Norman, or was he really ever? He didn't know, couldn't know. Pupils dilating, head screaming and swirling and then blank, a blissful blizzard of black and blood racing, pounding, all corners of his body dulled and numb yet strangely aware, electric and angry. He went dark, he went down the rabbit hole, where he and Mother lived, just the two of them; went down and down and fell into a pair of brown eyes, a nice voice. She's a nice girl, you know, you've always known. And there were three, one that loved and one that scolded and one with blood on its tongue, and all three of them wanted her. What a nice girl. Mother likes her, I like her, with her soft heart and worried eyes, and she was walking toward him-
Norman was choking, fighting against the current, drowning in the dark waters, pulled under and under- And in his darkness he sought a light, and all three knew it was she, an angel, so good and pure, and tainted already with their lips and her love- and he knew, they knew they could have her. Norman knew and Mother knew, and what was in between thirsted greatly for whatever release it could get. She bit her lips nervously; Norman saw her standing before him and his arms reaching, reaching, grabbing her face and neck (too rough too rough stop it now) and snaking down where he couldn't see- and then he was full gone.