Maybe this is what happened when Lewis Carroll wrote 'The Jabberwocky.' Whatever creative mojo this sort of fuckery might inspire, James wanted none of it. He was in a foul mood, having dodged most social interaction through the course of the day in an attempt to fix whatever was wrong with him by himself, or at least ascertain what the hell was wrong to begin with. The day had yielded few hints and even scarcer results. As a result, he'd taken to the Labyrinth earlier that night than was usual for him. It was a place to feed, true, but also a place to sate an occasional need for solitude
Or so it was on a normal night.
Uninterested in abstaining from the comfort of a physical meal for the night, the ravenous creature that nightly replaced James Deckard was occupied with the severed arm of a guest when a throb of magic from the mouth of the Labyrinth caught his attention. He paused, chewing, to consider the source. It felt different, not like any of the magics he'd felt from the other witches employed by the cirque since joining six months prior. It piqued his interest. His hunger sated enough to allow for a pause, the monster dropped the limb. It hit the metal floor of the labyrinth with a thump; the empty sound of dead weight. Sinew hanging from his jaws like mardi gras beads around a merrymaker's neck, the Wendigo stalked through the halls over which it held court, making its way to the front of the attraction, it's hollow eye sockets searching the half-dark.
It ducked a fireball, his breath an airy rattle of annoyance. Seth. That was the name of this fear. The fear at which his new plaything hurled fire. Seth ... Seth was a dick of the highest order. The creature wheezed laughter through its tortured ribs. He moved like water through the dark, presenting to the unfamiliar witch as her fear, moving too swiftly to target, too illusive to pin with her spells. She might even see magic returned, if that was what worried her. He could see a little of it, taste just a hint. Closer ... just a little closer...
Frost spackled the mirrors of his hall, creeping higher up the spotless panes of silvered glass. He wouldn't feed from her. Oh no. There was no need, not when his stomach was full and there were games to be had to distract his half-human mind from his earlier frustations. He would not feed. But that did not mean he wouldn't torment. Just a little.