Wolfgang is painfully shy, and left to their own devices would just stand there staring at the floor waiting for other people to leave or do something. Every interaction with a stranger is an agony of struggling to know what to say or do, and then berating themself afterward for all the things they should have said or done instead. They still remember moments from seven years ago that weren't even all that awkward, just amplified in their own stupid head.
They jump when the shadows move, but that caution doesn't last long. Wolfgang's brows furrow together and they tilt their head like a puzzled bird. They still can't figure out how he does it. They know how they would do it — magic works on the basis of I reject your reality and substitute my own — but mutations, as near as they can tell, typically have some kind of explanation in keeping with the laws of physics. They had puzzled over how a human being could fly with a wingspan too small to support their weight — it should be about seven meters long, and they'd need massive back muscles to support that — until it occurred to them that particular person also had low-level telekinesis, for instance.