"Much worse," Lupa finally admits after a long pause. His hand is over the black mark on his stomach. "It is never sated, never less than tearing pain that threatens to consume from the inside out. It is beyond words, beyond thought, even at the most contained. Even right after surrendering, even during, it is like that. It takes willpower and thought to control or resist it in that state. But resisting... It gets worse. The pain alone could be bearable. The weakness, even, as it burns one up and tears one down from the inside out could be bearable, alone. Perhaps even together, if it were only those physical things, it could be overcome. But the Hunger eats the mind too. It drives one to Madness, and only death can loosen its hold then. In the Madness, there is only the Hunger, destruction, devouring... And power, because there is no room for pain or weakness within the Hunger, only seeking more and more to burn brighter, hotter, faster. It would drive the Mad to devour the whole world, if only it could be reduced to pieces the physical form could swallow. There is no curse worse than the Hunger."

Although his eyes remain dry, there is so much sorrow and grief in his voice that eventually it cracks altogether and Lupa can't get any more words out. The last few sentences are a struggle.