"When I was eight, I overheard my father, drunk, tell my mother that they should have, in his words, "put me out of my misery" after I had been bitten. The years weren’t easy, the disease, it’s hard no matter what, but when the body is still growing, rapidly growing every single year, and it’s small and fragile, every month I think my parents expected me to die. There was no Wolfsbane, it was a death sentence. My own father talked about me like I was a horse with a broken leg. Just another animal that should be put down."