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She fusses and puffs and preens, like some sort of elegant swan, despite her predatory nature. “Your hair looks fine, I say, teasing her, despite the fact that I roll my shoulders, letting my collar of fur fluff and wave, and prey that my horns are at their best. Ha! That’s funny, as if I would ever look less than presentable in public.
I come to a stop, lifting my head high. “Of course, when do I ever follow after you and pick up your scraps? I am first born, after all.” A playful sparkle lands upon my eye, and I smile at her. “Yet, I’m not sure how I should present myself this beautiful eve. Should I be me, au natural? Or is tonight a good night for a dramatic entrance?”
The mists swirl around my legs as my body begins to shift. It pulls, it ebbs, it flows. I toss my head skyward, feeling the fibers of my being transform. It’s liberating, it’s formidable, it’s dramatic, and god if that doesn’t describe me nothing else will. But something is different this time. My transformation, usually smooth, easy, relieving, it is excruciating. Everything tears and rips and cracks and holy shit is this terrible. I grind my teeth, I feel my smooth face wrinkle, and a snarl erupts from my jaws as I stand like a pillar of salt, still and paralyzed, for what seems like ages. I will not scream, I do not cry, but I want to break bones and smash hearts and force this pain onto somebody else. “What. Is. Happening?” I manage to hiss between my teeth, but finally it passes, and I lift myself up, crowned head high, victorious and furious and ready to strike.
My mortal form has passed, and I stand within the swirling white, dressed in my favorite form. I stand pristine, having shed all of my markings. I enjoy my ghostly glow, my semi-transparent body, as I step daringly towards my sister. Despite my semi-transparent appearance, I am shockingly real, and the anger that radiates through me is palpable. “This land has grown wilder than I remember. It probably has something to do with them. As if they haven’t already done enough…” I trail off, haunting eyes snapping to my sister. I then scoff lightheartedly at her. “Though I get pick of the litter, I’ll gladly take into consideration that which you tend to desire.” My sister, coy and cunning, is as capable of monogamy as a praying mantis. I can always tell by her radiant glow and the blood she preens from her feathers that she has enjoyed a certain kind of unrepeatable companionship.
But me? There is a certain punishment I relish in enacting. Once, so many moons ago, a stallion decided that I was his god given right. Thankfully there had been no permanent repercussions from his actions to carry upon my shoulders or within my womb, but I wanted to make sure he paid up for the goods he thought were free. I’ll never forget his faithful mate, her begging cries, as I corralled their foal into the darkness, forcing him with bites and magic into an open clearing, filled with unfiltered moonlight. How the stallion had rampaged towards us, his mare following in his wake, breaking free from the trees, and how I watched his pitiful face as I crushed tiny bones beneath my hooves. But I am not a ruthless creature, for I know that for a mother to see her child killed would have haunted the woman forever. So I reached out, felt her heartbeat within my minds eye, how it raced and throbbed and ached, and I slowed it. I slowed it and snuffed it and the woman fell to her knees, collapsed beside her child, passed on to a place where she could never be tortured by a life ruined by her husband’s deeds. It had been difficult to escape the stallion, but he had been unable to touch me as I danced away upon ghostly heels. I still remember his cries. I will never forget. It also proved that sometimes you don’t need to apply physical harm to the one who has wronged you. I never laid a hair on him, yet his world fell to pieces as he saw what I was capable off. It was a useful tactic, and all too easy, at that.
So tonight as I wear my robes, I know that there is only one way to satisfy my hunger to spill blood and force them to repay their debts. They had no concerns about us when they had acted as vigilantes, so I would hold no remorse. They forced my hand.
Yet, this should be discussed first, to know if I was alone in this whole thing. “Does your magic feel distorted? I have never suffered through a transformation before. Perhaps we may try it on each other, just to be safe.” A smile lands upon my lips, knowing that these games have always been fun, and that we’ve felt each other’s keen sting before. Maybe this time would be different. And maybe, just maybe, a single thing has remained the same.
“You first.”
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The Portal
