Metamorphosis

I can feel them.

The pressure builds relentlessly like a faucet turned on with the handle removed. It races toward an inevitable outcome, an unavoidable result.

My shoulders ache and the muscles of my back writhe beneath paper-like skin, just a hair’s breadth from giving way entirely.

I wanted this. I can recall it clear as day, but what if… what if I was wrong? What will everyone think when they see me? Will I ever truly have what I sought, or will I forever be some hideous in-between, belonging neither to one world, nor the other?

I chose this fate … didn’t I? The morning tonics have been my anchor to sanity month after month. I’ve been overjoyed with each subtle change, celebrating each arrival like a grand achievement, anticipating this day with bated breath, but now…

Now there will be no more hiding, no more secrecy - no safety net. The doubts are overwhelming, but ultimately futile. The choice was made long ago. The tonic has worked its wonders. No amount of reservation could undo what it has done.

Leaning heavily over the bathroom sink, my hands grip the porcelain with such ferocity that I am certain it should shatter under the weight and pressure.

Perhaps it would’ve once.

Tears I didn’t know I was shedding drip down into the basin. Which pain, I wonder, drew them out of me? My body, my mind?

With that thought, the pressure behind my shoulders reaches a crescendo, moving from throbbing ache to sharp, tearing burn. Then … release.

The pressure evaporates. With a slick, wet sound, a weight shifts at my back. I feel the viscous trickle of warm fluid down my spine. A few crimson droplets decorate the tiles at my feet.

Gulping for oxygen through a tightening throat, I brace myself. My whole body grows tense again, not from pain but from fear. The tension shifts the raw muscles of my back, and something shifts in the room, disturbing the still, cool air against my skin.

With deep inhale of breath, I steady myself to face the worst - to face the monster.

I look up.

Dark hair made yet darker by the damp of sweat falls like curtains to frame its face as our eyes lock. Its naked form seems smaller than I expected. It looks afraid … almost pitiful.

It is pitiful.

Tears trail down porcelain cheeks and trace the line of its jaw, gathering at the tip of its chin. It stares back at me, cold blue eyes boring deep, analysing every detail of my face.

It’s too much, and I drop my gaze lower. Thin, crimson trails wrap around from its back and down its thighs, disappearing behind the basin - vanishing below the frame through which we view one another. Its form is hunched, deformed, grotesque.

It is grotesque.

Finally, my eyes venture to look beyond the creature. I trace the lines separating each splash of colour from the next. It is as though the thing stands before two ornate, stained-glass windows, spreading out behind it like the branches of a tree.

My breath catches in my throat. I tense and relax the tortured muscles of my shoulders and the beast grimaces, as though in pain. The colours behind it shift, not windows but great wings. Enormous, elegant and graceful, they shimmer under the pale light of my bathroom window. They seem utterly impossible.

They are possible.

Steeling my nerve, I meet the thing’s gaze once more, only to see with fresh eyes what I had so feared to look at just moments before. Every curve, every edge, every line; I re-examine every inch … and realise the monster is gone. In its place, I find something beautiful.

She is beautiful.

Our eyes meet as a fresh deluge pours down our face. The edges of my vision blur, my throat burns and draws tight, rendering me utterly speechless, and then … through our tears…

She smiles.