“What happened to me?” I repeat, my voice a harsh rasp. “You mean you don’t recognize your perfect daughter?”
“Briar, we need to get you to a hospital,” she says, but her voice is shaking. “You’re hurt, you’re…”
“I’m perfect,” I cut her off. “Isn’t that what you always said? That I was your perfect little princess?”
Dad’s footsteps echo from the office as he comes to investigate. “What’s all the noise about? Briar, why aren’t you at…”
He rounds the corner and freezes. His laptop falls from his hands, clattering to the hardwood floor, and all those little keyboard letters pop out and skitter everywhere.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. The moment when they finally see me, really see me, for what I am. Not their perfect daughter with her perfect grades and perfect social standing. Not their precious princess who never caused any trouble.
The monster they created with their endless praise and blind enabling. The creature their toxic parenting philosophy has been nurturing all along.
“Surprised?” I ask, spreading my arms wide to show off the full extent of the transformation. The fur, the claws, the elongated snout full of needle-sharp teeth. “This is what perfection looks like, Daddy.”
They’re both backing away now, moving toward each other instinctively. A united front against the threat their daughter has become. How touching.
“We need to call someone,” Dad says quietly to Mom, never taking his eyes off me. “911, or…”
“Call who?” I laugh, and the sound is pure animal now. “The police? A doctor? A veterinarian?” Another laugh, higher and more unhinged. “Who exactly do you call when your perfect princess turns into a monster?”
“You’re not a monster,” Mom says desperately. “You’re our daughter. We love you, and we’re going to figure this out.”
Love. They love me. Even now, when I look like something that crawled out of a nightmare, they want to fix me. Make me perfect again.
It’s almost sweet. Almost touching.
It makes me want to tear their fucking throats out.
“Love?” I take another step closer. “You love the idea of me. You love having a perfect daughter to show off to your friends, but you never loved me.”
“That’s not true,” Dad says, but his voice cracks. “We’ve always been proud of you, always supported…”
“Supported what?” I snarl. “My cruelty? My need to destroy other people to feel good about myself? Because that’s what you were supporting, you know. Every time you praised me for being better than other kids, every time you told me I was special, you were feeding this.” I gesture to my transformed body, to the monster standing in their perfect living room. “This is what you made me into with all that unconditional love and endless praise. You created a narcissist who couldn’t handle being anything less than perfect.”
Mom starts crying. Soft, quiet tears that smell like salt, fear and desperate parental love. The combination is intoxicating.
“We just wanted you to be confident,” she whispers. “We wanted you to know how special you are.”
“Special.” The word tastes like poison in my changed mouth. “Do you know what I did with that confidence? Do you want to know how special your perfect daughter really is?”
I move closer, backing them against the kitchen counter. They’re trapped now, with nowhere to run. Just like all my victims at school.
“I destroyed people,” I continue conversationally. “I found their weaknesses and exploited them. I spread rumors, I orchestrated humiliations, I turned their friends against them. And every time I came home after ruining someone’s life, you asked me how my day was and told me you were proud of me.”
“We didn’t know,” Dad says weakly.
“You didn’t want to know,” I correct. “Because knowing would have meant admitting that your perfect princess wasactually a sociopathic bully and that would have ruined the fantasy, wouldn’t it?”
The tears are coming faster now from both of them. Good. Let them cry. Let them feel a fraction of the pain I’ve inflicted on others in their name.
“So tell me,” I say, leaning close enough that they can smell the animal musk on my breath, they can see their own reflections in my black predator eyes. “Am I still your perfect princess?”
The question hangs in the air like a blade. This is the moment of truth. The final test.
Will they still claim to love me when they can see exactly what I am?
