As dawn began to reach its soft fingers into the dim sky, Figaro deConti stirred slowly into waking, his head pounding harder than it ever had before in his life. He moaned from the pain, raising one paw to the side of his head, his vision blurred and sensitive to even the dim light of the breaking morning; he closed his eyes. With his paw, came something warm. Something wet.

The small otter sat up slowly, confused at the sensation brought with his paw and he wondered what it could be while he tried to recall the night before. He remembered... Nothing. Only dim shadows darted through his mind, like fish. The closer he got to one, it fled and was replaced by another he'd have to chase. He would get a glimpse of something, maybe an area of forest, or even a face but nothing substantial, and nothing he could put together.

His curiosity finally getting the better of himself, he brought his paw down from the side of his head and opened his eyes, just a bit, narrowed to keep the light out and yet let him see what was on his paw. It took him a moment to focus and even longer for his brain to catch up and identify the sticky darkness covering his snow-colored paw.

Blood.

Figaro's heart started to race as his eyes focused a bit more and fell on a fuzzy shape not far from him. He could see it was smaller than him, black and white fur, a fin on its tail like his, a miniature otter like him, its red eyes wide and glassy, one of its legs-
"Oh gods," he choked out and fell backwards, scrambling away from the mass of fur and death. One of the tiny otter's legs was missing and there was blood everywhere. It was on the body, on the ground, on him. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the sight and smell of the deceased, but it didn't work. Suddenly, he was hit by flashes of memory, as if someone had finally turned on his brain.

Trees. I'm being led deeper into the forest, away from my normal hunting grounds. There's another otter, leading me somewhere. She needs my help...

Figaro put his paws to his head, trying to remember.

It's almost dark... I help her get another otter out of a deep hole... They offer me a drink in thanks...

Of the deConti pups, Figaro was the weakest when it came to the offer of a drink. He knew how to pace and not lose himself to the liquid unlike some of his older brothers, but that didn't save him the last night.

Something's wrong... I can't see well and I've barely had a sip. The otters, they're smiling at me... Their eyes... I can't see them anymore. I feel drunk, sick. They back away and fade into the darkness. Oh gods...

The small male doubled over as he remembered a pain overtaking him, falling back to run into a tree with a soft thump, glad for the support as more memories overtook him. Memories of pain and then flashes of forest and faces. It was darkness and fear and death in his memory. He had been larger than he normally was, could remember the ferocity and the uncontrolled need to hunt. There was no rationality in his mind then, he could feel it. Only the need to kill, to eat, to inflict pain and snuff out life. That wasn't him! He was good and merciful, he protected the innocent and drove out the wicked, not-

I can smell it. It's small, frightened, weak. Perfect. The fear, so sweet. I want it. It cowers before me, it sees death in my eyes. And then it sees no more. Delicious...

A choked sob escaped his maw as Figaro turned and pressed his face into the trunk of the tree, trying to block out the images in his mind, the scents around him.
"No... No, how could I do this? How could I do this?"

Because you're a monster now...