My skin felt as if it was being stabbed, but from the inside. It was . . . it was ripping open!
I heard wet sounds, like something being born. A wave of nausea swept through me, and I vomited black liquid all over the pavement. Cloth was tearing somewhere nearby—and then these bloody, gooey black things flapped in front of me. I shrieked, scrambling away from them.
They followed me! I’d never outrun them; I cowered down—and they stopped. Then quivered when I timidly started to rise. Because they were . . . attached to my body? Ah God, they’d sprung out of my back!
My lips parted with shock. The things unfolding around me were . . . “W-wings.” They were huge and shaped like a bat’s, just like the ones that had haunted my dreams ever since I could remember.
But the lights in the sky . . . must look at them!
Those wings opened wide, blocking the view above, the only thing I wanted to see. Just as I realized I was losing my mind, the wings enfolded me tightly.
Like a shroud.
I wanted out! These stupid things were keeping me from the lights! I raked my nails against the velvety surface to get free; more pain shot through me. Were my nails getting sharper? The grayish flesh on the underside of these wings was as sensitive as my fingertips.
I punched them, wrestling against them. After struggling for what must have been an eternity, I accepted that I couldn’t escape.
The appeal of the lights had lessened, anyway. Now I was overwhelmed with the need to get to Febe. What if she went upstairs and realized she was all alone?
I mentally willed my new appendages to retract. . . . Nothing. I was trapped, a caterpillar in her cocoon.
And like a caterpillar, I began changing.
Molting.
Even in the enclosed darkness, I could somehow see—in fact, my glasses no longer helped my vision, actually obscured it. So I crushed them in my palm. Seeing with perfect clarity for the first time, I watched my nails grow into long sharp claws and my skin thicken into scales.
I wasn’t as shocked by these changes as I would’ve expected.
My mind turned to a memory from eight years ago, when I’d been Febe’s age. I’d watched a teenage boy from my neighborhood stroll hand in hand into the forest with a girl—though he’d already been in a relationship with another one.
I’d followed the couple, hiding in a tree. When they’d started having sex, I’d thought of his betrayed girlfriend and imagined the pain his unfaithfulness would bring her.
Bile had risen in my throat. I’d wanted so badly to punish him that I’d gnashed my teeth and my body had begun to shake. I’d fallen, dislocating my shoulder.
They’d called me Spiteful (as usual) and left me there.
Getting to a doctor had taken forever. The pain in my shoulder had faded after a while, replaced by a dull feeling of wrongness.
Now, as I witnessed my body evolving, I realized my new form was rightness. Something wrong had finally clicked into place.
For all of my sixteen years, my life had been dislocated. I understood that now.
Outside my cocoon, my surroundings were transforming as well. Heat seared the backs of my wings. I smelled flames and soot. I sensed fires, chaos, and destruction. Once I finally got free, would anything still be standing?
Would Febe still be alive . . . ?
Molting must have depleted me; even though I felt gripping fear for my sister, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Sleep took me. Dreams arose. I saw myself spitting acid at foes and soaring through the sky with my new wings. I’d be able to defend myself with them; large hook-shaped claws tipped the ends of the largest flares. They would be razor sharp—
My eyes flashed open, and I was instantly awake. How long had I been asleep? Must’ve been hours. Movement nearby.
I sensed it as a predator would. Moaning sounded directly outside my cocoon. I could perceive wetness against my wings.
Moaning and . . . slime. Enemy, my new instinct told me. Destroy.
I needed to annihilate anything that came so close to me when I was vulnerable. I pictured using my wings to kill. I would corral my enemies with my large left wing, keeping them trapped as I struck with my right one.
This made perfect sense to me. Rightness.
At last the tight folds around me eased. My wings began to vibrate, the weighty hook claws tapping each other to make a rattling sound.
Like a snake, I was signaling that a predator prepared to strike. The sound pleased me, my own purr. I’d never killed before, but already I could tell I would enjoy it.
All was rightness in the world.
I leapt up, wings flashing out, knocking away people as I positioned myself. Wait—not people. Not anymore. They’d been turned into monstrous-looking creatures with filmy white eyes. Some more than others, all of them getting worse. They wore regular clothes, but their skin had the texture of a battered paper bag, as if they’d spent a thousand straight years in a tanning bed.
I readied to exterminate these bag-skinned creatures with my claws, and a sense of satisfaction hit me. This was what I was meant to do. No wonder I’d always felt like an outsider. I’d always been one.
I beheaded the first, then another. And another.
I recognized two things: I was as much a monster as these creatures. And I didn’t enjoy killing; I adored it.
Behind them, the neighborhood was mostly gone. Only brick houses here or there still stood. The rest was ash. I sucked in a breath. Including my family’s house.
Febe had been in the basement; she might have survived! Must get to her.
These things kept blocking me. As I downed more of them, I heard Febe’s scream.
She did live! I used my wings to shove creatures aside as I rushed toward the remains of our home. I spotted her in the dark, could detect the warmth of her little body—as if I had infrared vision.