"Okay, so the game is this," Hilda said, sat across from Fenrik at the high table in the local wing dive. It was dingy and grimy, but shouldn't all good wing places be? "We start with the least spicy wing and work our way up. First one to crack and need milk to cool their mouth down loses. You in?" She didn't offer any sort of reward, she couldn't afford to pay a bet, but that wasn't the fun for her.

New moon transitions happened once a year. And though her body went through the ringer like any other full moon would cause, it was Elba’s mentality that’d faced torment most. It’d taken everything to keep herself from clawing into her head to free the impossible pressure building inside of her skull. The chains that bound her were meant to protect others, but tonight, it seemed they’d saved herself. Now, back in her human form and with the Metallica sweater enveloping her frame, Elba chugged at water like it’d been her first tasting after forty days and nights in the desert.

She more or less gave her dream diner order between breaths, “Pecan pie, blueberry pancakes, extra sausage links, your fruit bowl.”