(subdued, trembling): "I'm not sure. I always had a fascination with the urban legends you'd hear all across the world—especially as a kid. It... it was probably quite an annoyance to the people around me, when I'd talk about nothing but werewolves, ghosts, wendigos, skinwalkers. I used to think they were stories. Warnings. Now I wonder if they were invitations. Sometimes I feel it, like something's watching me from inside. Like I'm just the skin it wears when the moon comes. I try to stay calm, stay normal, but there's a part of me that... that likes what I become. And that terrifies me more than anything."

(quiet, uncertain): "After she died, it changed. My mum used to tell me those stories—urban legends, monsters, all that. I think she thought it was just a phase. But I held onto them. They made sense to me in a way people didn’t. When she was gone, it was like something cracked open. I started feeling... off. Like I wasn’t alone in my own skin. I’d wake up with dirt under my nails, clothes torn, no memory. And I’d tell myself it was grief, stress, anything but what it really was."