More than you expected.
You hesitate for a moment - you're not really eager to be a spider - but these symbols are probably your only way out of the room. The thought of pawing through poison-fanged cobwebs looking for another exit is hardly any more appealing, and hundreds of tiny legs are already climbing through your fur as the room's inhabitants explore this new object in their midst. This makes it a little hard to concentrate. Only the knowledge that these were all humans keeps you from swatting them off of you - that, and the fact that you don't have hands.
You might as well get it over with. You take a deep breath, reach out a paw, and touch a symbol, bracing yourself for the change.
You'll have to wait a bit longer, though, because the only thing that changes is the pedestal. Racks and drawers unfold from it in a motion that's unsettlingly spiderlike itself, ripping away the cobwebs in the process. Angry arachnids scatter in all directions. The unfolding continues, and it's quickly obvious that there's more machinery inside than should be physically possible.
The pedestal resembles a tree when it finishes, a complex assembly of racks, drawers, and glass cases. Each one is packed with neat rows of spiders - dead, or at least immobile. There are thousands of them in sight, and the knobs and doors in the depths of the machine probably lead to even more. The whole thing reminds you, strangely, of some sort of elaborate jewelry box. It would be rather pretty in a completely different setting.
Apparently, the next step is to pick a spider. There are quite a lot of them. It might be best to hurry - the crawling hordes of previous victims are nearly to the tops of your legs, and you'd rather they didn't get any higher.
Written by Chrysalis on 25 December 2010
