Cursed for caring, the visage you're wearing is tearing it's own eyes out and taking a good long look at itself.

It's coming. Always does. I was watching a particularly intriguing fissure in the plaster of the ceiling when everything starting to haze around the edges. Then. CRACK. I'm outside. The sun is glaringly bright against the snow. I look down and my pale legs are calf deep in the slush. I glance at my hands quizzically and feel the sharp points of my fangs. How am I not like...on fire? Someone is approaching. I swing around, teeth bared against the oncoming threat? She's no threat. Tall, and athletically built. Her non-descript brown hair frames a pleasantly round face. Green eyes peer from under a fringe of bangs. It's...me. Alive. I straighten from my predatory crouch. She smiles at me. I. I smile at me. The smile turns sardonic. "No matter who you kill. What you do. You can't let go of me. I still manage to dodge around the monster that has a hold over you." The tone of her voice is taunting. Almost mocking.
"Let go of YOU?! You won't let go of ME! You're nothing but a little splinter of oak in a big wood chipper. You don't have control. The MONSTER doesn't have control. It's me. ALL ME." I lose my temper and try to pounce on this taunting specter. Shut her up. Someone is holding me back. I twist around in the strong grip and pause. Dad? 
"Maddie. You can't. She's keeps you tethered." 
And I feel her in me. She wants...I want...nothing more than to turn myself over to my father's comforting embrace. The thought that he can still look at me, put his hands on me, and not cringe away from what I've become. Not wrinkle his nose at the blood on my breath. No! This is all a trick! A distraction from the enemy. Blood lust returns and I pull away, cracking my elbow back into the face of this false begetter. I launch at the living, breathing effigy of myself. Instead of hitting flesh I stumble, face first into the snow. I sputter out the mouthful of melting water. Now she's in front of me, smirking. I leap up and sink my fingers into her...my...HER flesh. Trying to rip and tear. It's like trying to fight smoke. No matter where I attack, she's one step ahead of me. Of course she is. She's me. "There's no point. You can't destroy something that's so deeply a part of your being." I don't know which one of us is talking, now. I plop down and sink into the snow. Maybe if I sit here long enough I'll freeze. Freeze everything inside me. My dad's voice echoing, far away. Or is it? Is it shouting? Is it dad? No.
"Madelyn! Snap out of it! For the love of...no! Back off!" 
Growling? A scuffle? Someones shaking me hard enough to make my brain rattle. Reality is stirring.

Waking up. Not from sleep, but from...what? Gah. My head feels fuzzy. Christ, I can only guess what that means. Looking around the room I notice some telltale signs. Couple of holes in the wall, one of the fancy tables reduced to some splinters. The three Ventrue are at the farthest end of the room watching me warily. I finally turn my eyes to Mongrel. He looks visibly stressed, and there's a hell of a shiner marring his right eye. Fuck. Before I can even look properly ashamed he waves a dismissing hand. "S'fine, it'll heal. Are you...ok?"
I shake my head and shrug, reflexively nibbling the skin around my nails. Tastes like blood. Fuck fuck fuck! I can't remember the last time I had an episode like this in front of anyone. I usually have enough warning to make myself sparse. For Mongrel's sake and for the sake of not exposing my blatant insanity to everyone in the vicinity. "I'm as ok as I can be right now." That seems good enough for the guys. They relax as much as an uppity Ventrue can relax. Occasionally shooting Mongrel and I wary looks. I wonder if our companionship sets them on edge more than anything. I can't put enough effort to suitably give a shit. I still feel shaken up and wrong. It doesn't take a genius to decode what some of these hallucinations, waking dreams-whatever they are, mean. I see the strain I'm putting on my already harrowed Gangrel friend and try to climb out of my own thoughts.

Sitting on the floor I lean back and rest my weary, fucked up cranium against Mongrel's leg. Simply seeking the comfort of someone who doesn't judge the fact that I need to tear people apart to keep my head on straight, or the fact that honestly there is no way for my head to ever be straight. Simultaneously trying to offer whatever deficient assuagement I can. I can only wonder how long before someone other than me cracks under the pressure. We've got to get out of here.