Edgar

Quite like many Z'mai with their solitary natures, Edgar was perfectly content living on his own with nothing but the company of his many many birds. His desire to enjoy a quiet and peaceful life led him a bit further than Vanus' boundaries. He settled in an entirely new set of planets with new, unusual types of birds to watch and befriend. He was satisfied with the idea of living out the rest of his days quietly in his new environment with his flock.

Unfortunately the peace did not last long before Edgar ended up being attacked while he was out. He fought off the attacker, but not before suffering a decent amount of wounds. The many frenzied scratches and bites reminded him of a feral Vehema, but the wounds themselves weren't terrible enough to warrant more than cleaning and bandaging, or so he thought.

After a few days of fitful, feverish sleep, he awoke feeling... Wrong. Cold, Numb, and hungry. He thought he could deal with these things, but the hunger didn't seem to go away no matter what he ate and he couldn't get warm no matter how much he bundled up. He found that he didn't look quite right either. It wasn't much different than his usual colors but he looked paler, and he definitely had longer fangs he thought? Or perhaps he was seeing things. It wasn't that different right? He waited longer before he realized his hunger was just getting worse, and by that point he had eaten everything he had stocked in his home.

Coming to the conclusion that he must be sick, he set out to ask for help. He was met with... interesting responses, some a lot more scathing than others, until he finally found someone that could help.

He ended up being relocated (and fighting to make sure his birds could come with) to a planet named Empagu, where a helpful organization known as the Wayfarers resided and cared for people with his particular situation, among many other things. After being told he had contracted a condition called Raktum Tinevadu Syndrome, and referred to him as a Rakta. He was told he would need special care for the foreseeable future and that the hunger wasn't going away because he was craving blood, which he found difficult to believe until he was presented with a pre-prepared packet and after much hesitation, found that it did indeed help. The knowledge caused him more strife than comfort at the realizations of what all of this meant, and his life quickly spiraled from there. There was little comfort that he didn't actually need the blood to live, but the cravings became so bad that it convinced his mind that he actually did. There was only a limited amount that the Wayfarer's were able to supply, and his growing anxieties led to stress eating.

And stress eating.

And stress eating...

Until he didn't have any more birds.

When the realization had hit, it was too late, and he broke.

He was thankful for the doctors that helped, but in the end he still felt utterly alone and afraid of himself. His therapists struggled to get words out of him, though they had managed to get him to take up whittling. He became exceptionally good at it quite fast, though a bit obsessively, sometimes working until his hands bled, though he wouldn't realize there was even pain until the wood came back red. It always startled him out of his trance, but would also always remind him of what he was, renewing the cycle of needing distraction from his growing despair.

Something suddenly changed one day when he had a different therapist. Had the other one given up on him finally? He waited for the new Felidae to try to pull words out of him again like they always did, but she never said anything. The simple genuine gestures and smiles brought a feeling of comfort he hadn't felt in months, and he ended up spilling his heart out to her only after a few moments, something others weren't able to do in months of trying to work with him. From then on the mute girl checked on him often, and he found it more difficult to succumb to his woes when in her presence. Spending time with her gave him the hope to pursue a mostly normal life again.