Wolverine perched upon the highest tree in a moonlit forest. His costume was in tatters and blood coated his stern face. The wind cast a cold breeze and his hair billowed as he surveyed the area.
Logan glimpsed a few deer in the distance and grunted; they were small prey, nothing worth his time. He sniffed the air catching the sent of something, a human. Suddenly the patter of footprints found its way to his ear. His gaze fell on a young redheaded girl, no older than 6 or 7, sprinting beneath the tree.
Acting on instinct alone, he lunged forward, catching her off guard and forcing her to the forest floor. Logan witnessed her squirm and struggle, before licking his gleaming fangs and flashing a grin. She was just a kid, probably not old enough to spell her own name. There was no chance of her fighting back.
"P—Please mister, don't hurt me," she cried.
Wolverine hesitated for a second from her pleas then gleefully extended his claws. They pierced into her stomach and blood spewed onto the ground. As the child's life slowly faded, with her last ounce of strength she grasped Wolverine's arm and whispered in his ear.
"Animal. . ." then she was gone, a kid with a whole life before her, stolen by the savage act of one man. In a moment of sympathy, Logan moved in to clutch her in an embrace. He cradled her in his arms, rocking her back and forth.
Logan awoke and found himself in his bed, his face alive with sweat. It was the dream again, the god damned dream. Logan had been having it continuously for the past few months. Each night reliving it, each night having to witness himself kill that same girl. What got to him most wasn't her blood on claws or the sound as they punctured her flesh, it was the feeling it gave him, the adrenaline high and the lust for more. That's what made it hurt the most, the utter disgust he felt for himself that he enjoyed it.
He buried his head in his hands. "Who is she?"
