Shenouda slowly embraced her new lifestyle. She slept at midday and rose at twilight. She became crepuscular, then nocturnal. At times she enjoyed herself. She did not give up her capacity for empathy, but she pushed it far down into her psyche. It rose up unbidden and unannounced from time to time. She learned to deal with it.

Whenever the fear in her prey’s eyes affected her, she thought of Ghaelvord and the discomfort faded. She fed her animalistic urges and grew accustomed to sprinting and bounding through the jungle. She even began accompanying Malacoda on some of his recruitment missions. Every day Ghaelvord filled her thoughts. He comforted her and she gave into him. He took care of her. He had a certain dark charm that she found irresistible. No one had ever doted over her the way Ghaelvord did. She somehow knew that Ghaelvord had his own infernal agenda, whatever it was, but she could not help but let him shower her with affection, veiled as it might be. He rarely discussed his plans. She did not know why they were building an army or where he went when he left for those few weeks. Nevertheless, when she entered his presence, she felt regal. Everyone revered her, even Malacoda bowed respectfully when they crossed paths.

Ghaelvord’s operation had changed her body. Her heart had stopped beating. Her blood ran cold. She did not breathe. Her limbs moved with an unholy energy that did not come from oxygen flow to her muscles. Pistons and gears replaced bones and muscles. Instead of traditional food and air, she needed organic food to fuel her livid mobility. She sucked the animating blood that she hungered for from the veins of the tribesmen that Malacoda brought from the jungles. She gave into her urges. She let the cold overtake her.