The transformation always starts in the dark. We don’t need a full moon, we don’t need to wait until night falls but we do- every single time. We run far from home, sprinting until we can’t breathe and every muscle aches.
It’s an ugly thing, the metamorphosis, grotesque and uncontrollable. Bones break and flesh contorts in ways that are painful and unnatural. We scream ourselves raw but no amount of begging will stop it. Some of us change into something reptilian, a basilisk they’ve been called. With scales instead of skin and fangs dripping with venom, they slither unseen in the shadows. Others, like me, have fingers that turn into talons, wings sprouting from our backs- we shift into giant ravens with feathers so black they blend right in to the inky night.
We see in black and white, the lack of color usurped by our sharp senses. Color can be irrelevant, but not tonight. Tonight the blood moon rises and it’s the most breathtaking t