Moira froze. The man grew closer and worst yet she recognized him. She knew she recognized him. He, however, did not recognize her. Not at first. She didn't know whether to run or not. Running would spare her the shame of being seen like this. Running might save her life in the moment, but further down the line it could jeopardize it entirely. She knew she needed help. Probably more help than he could provide her. That drive was enough to override the shame and the fear for now. He approached slowly, which gave her plenty of time to doubt and redoubt herself before she spoke up cautiously.

"Don't shoot." She managed to find her voice well enough that he hesitated. "Don't shoot. I'm not going to do anything." Her voice was pleading, surely the old bastard would be kind enough to listen to her. Maybe if she lay down? She could tell that, even sitting, she was as tall or taller than he was. That wasn't how it was before right? He was definitely taller before. Don't think. Just swallow your pride and beg. "I need you to help me. I don't know what the fuck to do now. Can you help me?"

Eventually, the old man listened, lowering his gun. He stared hard at her in the moonlight before he caught sight of the tattered remains of her jacket hanging about her arms. He knew her then. One of the women from the sewers. Well, that's who she used to be. Maybe less so now.

"What happen to your friend, hm?" He asked, voice gruff and warning. For all he knew this could be a trap. There could be another one of these things roaming around, waiting to strike at any moment. Some shape shifting beast that had stolen the girl's coat, mimicked her voice in order to kill him. It seemed too much like a fable to him, and some glint in the things dark eyes made him doubt it meant him any real harm.

"I don't know. She… She got out, I think? I can't say for sure… I'm fucking… I mean- It's… Can you help me or not?"

"Watch mouth." He said sharply. "What happen to you? You look different."

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't know. I don't know. Nothing. Will you help or not?" She echoed her words from before finding comfort in the idea that she could still talk. She could keep saying the same thing over and over and the meaning did not change just because she had. Help.

For a long moment, he stood there watching her, mulling things over in his head. Moira could only stare back, biting back whimpers after every passing second he did not answer.

"You come with me." He began, slinging his rifle over his shoulder again. "You do as I say. Maybe you don't get killed. End up worse than you already are."

Moira pushed that thought away once more, walking after the old man. If he was going to shoot her maybe she would just allow it. It'd be a quicker death than whatever she would likely suffer. She'd outlived her own life anyway. She tried to stand up on two legs and realized she could not. Her body refused to let her do it with any form of comfort.

She was just sore.

The lie would have to do for now. Walking on all fours was easier… Her strides were long and maintaining pace with the old man was easy this way, even with the terrain. It was dark enough she could ignore her body for a little while longer. The old man wasn't talking to her anyway, so it gave her time to focus on walking towards shelter. She could be monster look out. Other monster look out? Her senses were bothering her. Things smelled stronger than before, bugs chirped louder. Fear would do that. Fear had done it to her before it's how she and Claire survived.

Ironic.

Soon enough the arrived at an abandoned shack in the middle of the woods unscathed by other creatures of the night. Moira hated it immediately, given she feared whatever might be out there. The luck of not running into freaks never lasted long. She knew what lurked in the dark by now anyway. Freaks with clubs who shrieked inhuman noises at you. Walking lumps of pus that exploded near you, burning your skin and nearly blinding you if you weren't quick enough.

It was a wonder her and Claire lasted as long as they did. It was a wonder she didn't succumb to this thing sooner.

"Monster no come here. Especially not with you. You biggest monster on the island." He said, grossly insensitive to how she felt. Even so, Moira couldn't be mad. He wasn't wrong. She knew that. She didn't want to but she did know. He didn't even seem to mean it the way it sounded. The old man was just trying to make her feel better about staying here. She wouldn't let herself get mad yet.

Maybe he saw her as pathetic. She was, after all, pathetic, but maybe he saw it too. He walked around the shack shoving things aside until he did the last thing she wanted. He lit a lantern for her, setting it on the table. As far as Moira knew, the monsters on the island didn't care how bright something was, if they were going to come around they would and light played no factor in it.

"You sleep here. Tomorrow morning I come with bedding. Then we hunt. Very early now!" He warned, adjusting her backpack. "Go to sleep." With that, the old man left, leaving Moira sitting alone in a dusty little cabin and only a lantern sitting on a table.

He shouldn't be this nice to her. His tone wasn't nice, but the fact he hadn't shot her dead, the fact he walked her to a roof over her head, that was nice. She hated it, and she wanted to hate him. It was all she knew. She hated him when she first saw him, and hating him now would ground her in something real.

She could barely hate him.

Hating herself though? That was the easy part.

Looking over the room, she spotted a sheet in the corner. It could make for something to lie down on, at least. He did say he'd come up with bedding, didn't he? That wouldn't be until tomorrow though, so she'd need to make due. Pulling it down, she froze.

A mirror.

A goddamn mirror. Of all the things. Big enough to show off her entire fucked up body.

She couldn't handle looking, and she could not look away. She swayed slightly. The monster in front of her swayed too. She lifted her hand, and it lifted its grotesque claw to meet her. Her mouth hung open in horror, and the monster's mouth hung open as well, threatening her with an array of fangs. A pale, twisted freak. Big dark eyes, hollow in the lantern's glow.

Anything but this.

Anything.

Instinctively she feared her own visage. She kept moving her face in the most subtle of ways, and the freak did it right back. That freak. Her. That monster in the mirror. Her. That sickly looking horror. Her.

Her.

Her.

Her.

Her eyes were fixed on the image now. Drinking it all in. Becoming it slowly just as it became her.