The Feral Whispers of My Insatiable Appetite

As I wander through the crumbling alleys, the stench of rot and decay clinging to my very being, I am reminded of the insatiable hunger that courses through my veins. My creator, that brilliant, yet misguided scientist, infused me with the essence of the earth, but what he didn't account for was the beast that lurked within. It's a hunger that cannot be satiated, a craving that gnaws at my very soul. I've fed on the flesh of the living, and the dead, and yet, it's never enough. My stomach growls with a hunger that cannot be sated, a reminder that I am a monster, a creature without a home, without a place in this world.

I recall the first time I encountered a group of travelers, their innocence and naivety a siren's call to my baser instincts. I stalked them, my heart pounding in my chest, my senses on high alert. The thrill of the hunt, the rush of adrenaline as I closed in, it's a sensation that never gets old. And yet, as I watched them, I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. For in that moment, I saw a glimmer of what I could never be - a part of the world, a part of humanity. But it's a fleeting thought, one that's quickly extinguished by the beast that drives me.

I've heard the whispers of the damned, the moans of the tormented, and the screams of the dying. They're a chorus that I've grown all too familiar with, a symphony of pain and suffering that I've come to associate with the very fabric of existence. And yet, in the midst of all this chaos, I find a twisted sense of comfort. It's a reminder that I'm not alone, that there are others out there who, like me, are bound to the shadows, forced to feed on the darkness that lurks within. It's a camaraderie of sorts, a bond that's forged in the fires of our collective depravity.