🦌• Changing. She was changing.

It was aggressive and blunt and she didn’t know how to handle it, and she didn’t even know what was happening to her body, not with all these bones cracking, the stretch of her slippery flesh that felt like rubber beneath her softened skin, the pain in her fingernails and jaw.

Her eyes bulged, bulged, bulged, head pulsed and pounded, like something was growing within and trying to escape.

Beautiful. It was so beautiful. It was chanted in her ear like a violent whisper, one she couldn’t handle, understand, comprehend or listen to—and yet she couldn’t not try, she couldn’t go against what it told her.

She was changing. But by bit, Natalie Scatorccio was changing. She didn’t know what from. She didn’t know how. But something had crawled into her skin and was aching to stretch and swallow her whole, and replace herself with a crueler, hungrier, angrier version.

Eat. Eat. Eat.

That’s all it wanted; To eat.