Security guards burst through the cafeteria doors, but they stop short when they see me. Even trained adults don’t know how to process what they’re looking at.
“Stay back.” one of them shouts into his radio. “We need... I don’t know what we need. Just get everyone out of here.”
Students are streaming toward the exits now, their screams echoing off the walls. But some of them are still filming, still recording every second of my transformation for the world to see.
Let them. Let everyone see what happens when you push perfection too far.
I straighten up as much as my changing spine allows, and smile at the cameras. My teeth are so sharp now that the smile draws blood from my own lips.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” I call out to the fleeing crowd, my voice a harsh rasp that barely sounds human anymore. “You wanted to see the real Briar Hartley? Well, here she is.”
I spread my arms wide, showing off the fur, the claws, the grotesque hybrid form I’ve become. Several people scream, and the sound fills me with such savage satisfaction.
“I am exactly what I was always meant to be.” I shriek. “I am perfect.”
But even as I say it, I can feel my humanity slipping away completely. The words are becoming harder to form as my mouth changes shape. My thoughts are simplifying, becoming more basic, more animal.
Hunt. Kill. Survive.
The security guards are trying to approach me, circling from both my left and right but my new body is built for speed and stealth. I dart between the overturned tables, using my small size and enhanced reflexes to stay ahead of them.
But I’m not running toward the open doors. I’m running toward the kitchen, toward the service corridors that lead back to the parking lot.
The mouse knows where it needs to go. I know where I need to go, where I have to return to.
But first, there’s something I need to do. A final performance that only my family will witness.
It’s time to show Mom and Dad what their perfect princess has become.
Time to finish what the dollmaker started all those years ago.
The house looks exactly the same as when I left this morning.
Same perfectly manicured lawn, same spotless white siding, same cheerful flower boxes under every window. The picture of suburban perfection, just like the family that lives inside.
Just like the daughter they raised to be flawless in every way.
I linger behind a bush, staring at the front door. My hands—claws now, really—are still shaking from adrenaline and rage. The transformation is accelerating. I can feel my bones continuing to shift, my spine curving more with each passing minute.
I need to see their faces. I need them to understand what they created.
The front door is unlocked, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? This is a safe neighborhood, full of safe families with their safe little secrets. Nothing bad ever happens to people like us.
“Briar?” Mom’s voice calls from the kitchen. “Sweetheart, is that you? You’re home early.”
I don’t answer. I just stand in the entryway, listening to the familiar sounds of home. Mom humming while she prepares dinner. Dad’s office chair creaking as he works on his laptop. The gentle buzz of the refrigerator, the tick of the grandfather clock in the living room.
Normal family sounds. Happy family sounds.
They have no idea what’s coming.
“Briar?” Mom appears at the kitchen doorway, dish towel in her hands. “I got a call from the school, something about an incident in the…”
She stops mid-sentence when she sees me. Her face goes through several expressions in rapid succession; confusion, concern, and then something that might be horror.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, the dish towel falling from her hands. “Oh my God, what happened to you?”
I take a step closer, and she backs away instinctively. Smart woman. She can sense the predator even if her mind can’t process what she’s actually seeing.
