Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
And of course they are. I’m once again reminded of that kidnapping night, when I was sitting on the edge of the tub lifting my foot up and out of my too-big boot, wiggling my toes like they were a brand-new novelty.
My original body probably had hooves and the boots I was wearing that night must’ve been made for hooves, not feet. That’s why they were too big.
These boots are made for hooves too. Except they are not too big, they are slightly tight on me and I would actually like to take them off, but if I stop walking the moths will revolt and I will barf. So I just keep going.
So. I take stock of my situation as I follow the mothnado. I am a monster. That’s comforting now that my memories are coming back. Because I was never supposed to be a human and I’m getting used to this wood nymph chimera body. I like it, actually. I like the velvety fur that starts at my waist and covers my hips and ass. I even like the longer fur on my lower legs. I have little feathery bits just above my hooves. And I love, love, love my hooves. I like the way they are split and how this lets me grips things when I’m climbing over rocks and shit. And I really like my hair when I’m a monster. It’s so bouncy and long. Plus, I’m only an average-height human but I’m a tall monster. I’m in lust with the shape of my legs too. They’re so long and slender. I feel like a ballerina.
My monster body just… fits. Especially when I’m next to Pell. He and I just go together. We’re like the total power couple.
All this acceptance of myself feels really good. Because I’ve spent most of my life hating who I was—or maybe who I wasn’t—and now I feel like I can just be me.
It’s all very refreshing.
Except for the moths. I might be able to get on board with insects living inside me if they would just stay fireflies, but more often than not, it’s moths that come crawling out. And moths come with dark intentions. I’m not making this up, either. I’ve read a bunch of alchemy books in the apothecary and all the ones with moths engraved on the covers are creepy and talk about things like curses, and hexes, and generally doing bad things.
I pause my introspection when I realize that the forest has become dotted with large gray boulders. I have to jump and climb over these boulders, which is not as easy in boots as it would be if I wasn’t wearing them.
Just a little while later the boulders are dominant and the trees are becoming sparse. Like I’ve changed altitude and the tree line is coming up. I’m not any kind of environmental expert but I took biology in two of my high schools. I didn’t care for the whole internal organs thing, but I did enjoy the botany. And I remember the tree line was like a demarcation into the tundra life zone on a mountain.
So I’m on a mountain. Yeah. This place feels like a mountain even though I hadn’t noticed that I was walking uphill or anything. The air is becoming crisp and cool and the underbrush—which was ferns and stuff when I first woke up—is not much more than low-growing moss. Soon, the trees become spindly and sparse and as I walk I realize there really is a tree line because I come to the edge of the forest and find myself looking out over a cliff.
I am high, high up. This is definitely not PA. Or Pell’s tomb. His place didn’t exactly feel tropical—Saint Mark’s didn’t really feel tropical either—but it was thick, and lush, and warm, and humid.
There is like… no air up here. Which is a contradiction, because there is a lot of wind blowing my hair in all directions.
I sigh as I look past the cliff to another mountain top. “Well.” I’m huffing. Mostly from the walking but also, I’m just ticked off. I throw up my hands. “What the fuck? How am I supposed to get over there?”
And that’s when I notice all the moths have disappeared. And even though I have stopped walking, they are no longer crawling out of my hands.
“Maybe we can just fly?”
I don’t move. I stand completely still as turn my head so I can see my left shoulder. “Pia?”
“I mean, we do have wings.”
“Pia! You’re here!”
She tsks her tongue at me. Which is distracting. Do birds even have tongues? “Why are you acting weird?”
“What?”
Pia actually sighs. “I’m tired of this journey, Pie. I want to go home.”
Home. This word echoes in my head. Home. “We can go home?”
I don’t even know where home is. Or what it is. Or what’s waiting for us when we get there.