Changes at Home
There was not much distance between the café and his flat, but the walk there felt as if it took for ages. Keeping his collar upturned, Lycan drew his coat around his face to hide the whiskers that seemed to be growing with every minute. As he passed people on the sidewalk, he kept his eyes to the ground and struggled not to scratch. The irritation had travelled to his upper arms and his shoulders by the time he had reached the elevator, and as his hands trembled trying to fit the key in the lock, the young writer noticed a peculiar discomfort in his posterior.
Slipping into his flat and quickly bolting the door behind him. With little thought or hesitation, he rushed through the common area, making a beeline for the bathroom. Something was going on. Something was very wrong, and despite how terrified he was of looking in the mirror, Lycan was determined as he threw open the door.
The face that stared back at him in the looking glass seemed very much the same. He still had the same eyes, same nose, and same shape. Except now it appeared as though he were sprouting whiskers high on his cheek, and the dark hair had gone from his arms and was now slowly making its way up his neck, poking out from beneath the collar of his shirt. And all Lycan could do was look on in confusion and fear.
What is happening to me?
This is exactly what you asked for, Lycan Gruff. A hissing little voice whispered at him somewhere in the depths of his mind. The face in the mirror staring back at the man fell as he realized - he had asked for it. In the café, drowning in hopelessness and feeling so... Could it be possible? Have I really done it? Were all those legends true? Question after question raced through his mind.
What else could it possibly be? Leaning forward, the writer rotated his head to and fro, examining the now inch long whiskers poking out of his cheek. Shrugging off his coat and pulling up the sleeves of his shirt he examined his forearms. The dark hair had grown longer, and still was travelling further across his arm. The back of his hand was hairier than it had been this morning. And was it the light in the bathroom, or did his nails look a little discolored?
'If I am transforming, what on earth am I transforming into?'
Turning on his heel, Lycan stepped out of the bathroom, fingers quickly unbuttoning his shirt. By now the patches of fur were so irritated they were burning and with every passing minute that burning sensation was spreading. Now it was up to his shoulders, spreading across his collarbone and spilling over the tops of his shoulders. As Lycan fought with himself to keep from scratching, he noticed that even though he had calmed himself for the most part his bones still felt as if they were rattling.
Written by palantean-writer on 22 February 2016