Write about losing control.

Control, control, why lose it when he could gain it? Wolfsbane Potion, God's little gift in a bottle and Fenrir suddenly had the ability to hunt. Little necks snapping in his jaws like gingerbread and he alone could choose which little ones died and which little ones lived on under his care. Little ones with his mark on their tiny bodies and his will burning in their little brains.

Of course, there was a certain thrill about letting the wolf take control and running wild. Close your eyes, howl to the moon, and find out what you'd killed the next morning. Sometimes it was a pretty little girl. Other times, it was an old man with sagging skin. There really was so much variety and too many people to choose from. Fenrir had no qualms about yielding to his better half to make the choice for him. In the end, everything was blood warmer than wine, the younger the better. Youth was sugar. Fenrir had a sweet tooth.

Muse: Fenrir Greyback
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 168