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(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

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Still fascinated by the transformation yourself, you watch as your fingers<br />

wither away <strong>to</strong> <strong>not</strong>hing, hands swelling in<strong>to</strong> meaty paws from which burst<br />

fur and massive, black claws. The night seems <strong>to</strong> <strong>be</strong>come brighter as your<br />

eyes transform, <strong>be</strong>come accus<strong>to</strong>med the darkness... a wide muzzle comes<br />

in<strong>to</strong> view, and you <strong>to</strong>uch your wet, snuffling nose delicately, chuckling <strong>to</strong><br />

yourself. Next time, you think, you'll have <strong>to</strong> stare in<strong>to</strong> a mirror or pond as<br />

the Curse takes effect... watch your face warp and change, losing its familiar<br />

shape <strong>to</strong> <strong>be</strong>come a <strong>be</strong>ar's.<br />

Soon, it <strong>be</strong>comes difficult <strong>to</strong> concentrate upon anything but your more basic<br />

urges... food would <strong>be</strong> good, right now. Yes, food - perhaps you'll get lucky<br />

and find a nice, fat catfish in the creek. You rise <strong>of</strong>f your massive haunches<br />

with a *huff* and <strong>be</strong>gin <strong>to</strong> amble through the trees on all fours, heading for<br />

the water's edge...<br />

~~~~~<br />

Something hummed at the edge <strong>of</strong> my mind as I passed by one particular<br />

orb, and each time I went near it, something seemed <strong>to</strong> pluck at my <strong>be</strong>ing.<br />

There was a certain casualness about it, something elegant yet simple,<br />

overlooked by most <strong>of</strong> the other Sensates here.<br />

The base <strong>of</strong> the aquatic blue s<strong>to</strong>ne had <strong>be</strong>en sculpted so it <strong>appear</strong>ed <strong>to</strong> have<br />

melted in<strong>to</strong> the pedestal it rested upon. A stream <strong>of</strong> perfect azure tears<br />

dripped <strong>do</strong>wn the sides, framing the inscription <strong>be</strong>neath the pedestal:<br />

"Longing."<br />

I placed my hands upon the s<strong>to</strong>ne, and its surface rippled <strong>be</strong>neath my <strong>to</strong>uch.<br />

The sensation slid in<strong>to</strong> my hands slowly in a rekindled languor, and a chill<br />

washed over my arms, as if I had plunged then in<strong>to</strong> a mountain stream.<br />

Letting myself go, I closed my eyes, and when I reopened them...<br />

The tears come, without breath, without end, merciless and cold like winter.<br />

My sobs trickle back in<strong>to</strong> my throat and flood my lungs, and my chest aches<br />

with the terrible sensation <strong>of</strong> drowning. I tremble with the sobs. They roll<br />

through me like the tide, break from my lips in an unsteady, stacca<strong>to</strong> rhythm.<br />

I wipe the tears away with s<strong>of</strong>t, delicate hands and brush the stray droplets<br />

from my cheeks. I cup them in my palms. Each <strong>of</strong> them are like jewels<br />

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