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...When you finally awake, it's to a fresh, searing, throbbing agony that pierces through your body with every heartbeat. You let out a barely-human moan and writhe on the ground for a bit as withdrawal wracks your body. Your eyes can barely focus, but you think it's the evening. You think? It's a struggle to focus on anything but the fresh hell your body is putting you through, but eventually, you're able to pull yourself up to a sitting position.

You reach up to hold your head and feel something sticky- blood? Is that blood? Your bleary vision struggles to focus on your hand, but you can see the darkness of half-dried blood on your fingers. That's not good. Did you manage to get a concussion or something while you were out? You will your way through the pain and struggle to look around. The meager sunshine of dusk is still enough to make your head pound with pain. Your throat is dry and scratchy, a wholly foreign organ to what you'd use to communicate like a human being. You try to say something but only manage a scratchy wheeze. That's not good either, is it?

You look around and see the tents your group had set up- save the doctor's which sits in a broken, crushed heap. You try to stand on wobbly legs but eventually content yourself with crawling along the ground like a human soldier out of an old war movie. You need your medication, your pills, the good stuff. You need it like a plant needs water and sunshine. You think you can make out the blue tarp that marks your father's tent and your crawl gains desperate urgency.

It takes you a few tries, but you unzip the door and find your way to your abandoned pack. You rummage through it, half-blind in the darkness of twilight, but find your target- a secret smaller bottle, with a backup supply of medication. You down two pills along with half a liter of water from your old steel canteen, and sigh. The relief is almost palpable. You pass out again, face-down in a tent with half your body sitting outside.

The next time your eyes open, it's to comfortable darkness. The pounding agony in your body is gone, replaced by the tender pain of an unscabbed cut on your forehead. You grab an electric lantern and some washrags and stagger your way to the lake to try and clean your wound as best as you can.

Unfortunately, sanitizing it is out of the question, what with the doctor's supplies lying broken in his busted-up tent. Still, as the gory, sticky mess on your head slowly dissolves and flakes off into the cold sky-lake, you hum to yourself happily. It's hard to focus with your meds in your body, putting bad thoughts and feelings in tidy little boxes where they won't ever bother you, but that's alright. After a bit of washing, it's clear that the wound was minimal but a profuse bleeder. You have nothing to bandage it, but dab at it with a dampened rag until the flow slows once more. That's better. You're alright.

You cough a bit and take another pill, for luck, or something. The smaller bottle is on your hip, and you note with a dulled sense of urgency that you have enough pills for another three or four days. That's right. Your father took your big stash. You'd be worried about him, but you don't remember him being on the helicopter that was demolished. He's fiiiine. That's what you tell yourself. There's someone else, though. That girl- Sue! She was here, too, wasn't she? Everything moved so fast after that machine showed up, or was it that you were moving so slow? It didn't really matter.

You call out for her a few times, your hoarse voice somewhat healed by hydration, but you still feel weak and quickly give up. A warm, vague sort of happiness suffuses your body. Three pills really is the charm. You stagger to your feet from the lake's edge and wander aimlessly for a bit. The pale masonry dotting the landscape, while dilapidated, is quite impressive, and you wonder for a bit who could have created such things. Perhaps the demon-woman and her robot? The haze in your mind stops you from focusing for too long. You continue your drunken, meandering route until you come to a sheer cliff face, opposite the lake.

It's the same pale color as the masonry and rises up further into the sky, seemingly forever. A mountain on an island in the sky. What a world. You turn and walk parallel to its smooth, cold surface until you find a gap in the stone- a hole, leading. Down. Somewhere. You ease your lanky, too-tall body into the hole, and note to yourself the smell of flowers. What a nice place.

You descend down a gentle slope for a while, moss and lichen cushioning the sound of your footsteps. Every time you lean for balance against the wall, you leave a smear of diluted blood, but you pay that no mind. As you descend, it grows warmer. More comfortable. You soon shed your jacket, leaving it forgotten along the slope. This has to be where everyone fled. The heat is probably body heat radiating upwards... or something. Once you find your people, you can shepherd them back up to the surface. The robot and the witch are gone. One of the engineers can just, like, fix a helicopter and you can all leave before this island kills anyone else.

The gentle slope slowly gives way to carved stone steps, yet more evidence of some lost form of civilization bending this island to its needs. The narrow passage slowly widens, and intricate carvings begin to dot the walls as you descend. You notice an almost-ambient light beginning to manifest, the pitch black around you slowly giving way to color. Some sort of bio-luminescence in the moss, maybe? You don't know. You're no botanist. You feel a pang of loss at remembering your father- if he were here, listening to your thoughts, he'd probably... Call you stupid or something, but in that affectionate way that shows he doesn't really mean it. It's hard to put into words.

It's hard to stay on-guard as lush, dark grass joins the moss and the passage widens into a verdant cave. The ambient light grows stronger still, until the cavern is bathed in an eternal twilight. You stumble your way down the last few steps to the ground-level of the cavern. How nice. It's all so nice. You rock back and forth on your heels, laughing quietly to yourself for a bit before remembering. You're down here for a reason! A reason besides how... How nice everything is. You could stay down here forever... You'd find something to eat, and where there's foliage there's bound to be water. But that's not the POINT. You were searching for the science team!

You call out all the names you can remember (admittedly, not very many), as you wander the expansive cavern, boots soon dampened by the dewy grass. You search for what feels like hours and are soon on the verge of giving up. Just as you sit down to rest your wearied body, you hear a voice from above!

"What's going on out there? Is everything alright?"

It's soft and feminine, with an accent you can't quite place. You crane your neck and squint, but can't seem to make anything out- there's many stony outcroppings above you, each coated in foliage. You call out to the voice again, asking who it is. For all you know, it could be that witch, back to torment you some more.

"It's Chako! Do you want me to come down? Are you hurt?"

Well. You can't say you've ever met anyone named Chako before. At least, you think you haven't? Maybe that's the name of someone from your expedition crew. You weren't exactly sober enough to learn many names during the meet and greet.

"I'm not hurt too bad! I think I'm just lost! Have you come across any other members of the expedition party?"

"Expedition? What-"

You see a small figure peek out from one of the outcroppings further above you. Your first thought is that it looks like some kid's stuffed animal come to life, its features docile, leporine, and harmless. What you can see of its fur is lilac with white undertones... Then you make out its forelimbs, ending in something between paws and hands...

It opens its mouth and talks like a goddamn human being, its friendly tone dialing back to something... Disappointed? Nervous? Passive-aggressive? It's hard to tell.

"Oh. You're human."

You jump back, unsure if what you're seeing is a trick of the light, or if there's some sort of cave-fumes that are making you hallucinate. First magic (or maybe just a superconductor wielded by a madwoman), now a talking... Bunny... Person... This shit's insane. Absolutely bonkers. You died and were transported to freaking wonderland. You wonder if your body is still twitching, comatose with withdrawal somewhere on the surface. More importantly, you shout and lurch backward.

The thing, the person, the lilac animal, whatever, wears a puzzled expression. You don't know how it manages a puzzled expression on its inhuman little marshmallow face, but that's just the world you're living in now. A world where sickeningly cute bunny-rabbit people exist.

"W-what are you?"

The thing- she. Is it a she? Its voice sounds feminine to you but you don't want to make assumptions about the sexual characteristics of a brand-new sapient species. You don't know. The rabbit-person schools in their features and adopts a neutral face in response.

"...I'm a mimiga. Why are you here?"

"I already said! I'm lost! I was the guard for a scientific expedition sent to catalog this island's native flora and fauna. We were attacked by some sort of killer robot and got separated. Some of us died, and the rest fled. I'm trying to find the others."

"You were sent here without knowing about us. Really."

"Really! We were told that there was hostile wildlife endemic to the island in the past, but that it was pacified by military robots! Obviously one of them went haywire or something!"

The thing- no, the person, Chako, they have a name, looks at you for a few long seconds.

"It doesn't feel like you're lying..."

"Because I'm not!"

"But none of this adds up. If there's really a robot on the loose, we're all in trouble. It might not be safe out here."

"Then where-"

"I have a house. It's close. Just follow me."

In an impressive display of acrobatics, Chako drops down about 15 feet to the cave floor with apparent ease, paws catching easily on the verdant carpet of plantlife. This close, you can make out more details- for one, they're wearing a navy blue dress. You think it's a dress. The proportions are all different, given that Chako has more of an animalistic build than a humanoid one, but it gives you the vague impression of "dress." Then there's the silky red ribbon tied around the base of one of their shoulder-length, floppy ears. The way they bounce when you walk reminds you almost of hair. Overall, their presentation strikes you as feminine, but, again, who knows. It's enough of a miracle that they speak English. You're not willing to push your luck on cultural matters.

Your long legs easily keep up with their own hurried pace- after all, they're maybe three and a half feet tall. They occasionally turn to ensure that you're following properly, but otherwise interact little. Either they're genuinely afraid of the killer robot, or they're not too keen on humans. You're just glad to have someone to talk to who isn't trying to kill and/or torture you.

"So, you're a mimiga! Is that, like, a cultural group, or a nationality, or a species?"

"It's a species."

Most of their answers are like that. Forthcoming and blunt. It's better than evasive or rude, you suppose. You wonder where the rest of your group ended up if not down here? Chako seems genuinely surprised to see a human being at all, so the news of your expedition's arrival must not have spread. You hope everyone's alright. You wonder briefly if you're wasting your time following Chako instead of searching for the rest of your group, but... It's nice down here. The mimiga seems kind, if reserved. Things will turn out fine. An easygoing haze consumes your thoughts until the two of you come to a hardwood door- it's small, maybe four feet tall at the most. It's set deep into a smooth section of cave wall. Chako produces some keys from a pocket in their dress and unlocks the door, hurriedly beckoning you inside. You have to kneel low to make it under the doorframe, and you find yourself once again cursing your lanky build.

The inside of the mimiga's abode is tidy but sparse, with a small metal cot hosting a pile of blankets and a roaring fireplace built into the wall. There's no tables or chairs, and even if there were they would be comically undersized for you. You feel a twinge of irritation at having to squat, but you make do. It would be impolite to complain after Chako took the initiative to invite you into their home. Said mimiga is quick to close and lock the door behind you before fixing you with a steady stare.

"So. Tell me about this 'killer robot' of yours."

You describe its metallic, boxlike body, its habit of crashing into things from above, and its disgustingly cheery demeanor. You describe how it destroyed your group's only hope of escape and burned several members of the expedition to a crisp. You don't sound or feel traumatized about the whole thing- death was new to you, but these people were nothing. Your addled brain doesn't have the capacity to care for such total strangers.

"Oh! Oh, that's Balrog. That's... Really out of character for him. Let me guess, did a witch named Misery have something to do with it?"

You sigh and nod in the affirmative. Chako clicks their tongue in irritation.

"Balrog isn't exactly a machine- he's more of a... Well, I don't quite know what he is. But he has a soul like you or I. The problem is that he's bound to that awful woman's will."

"You've had past encounters with Misery?"

"Everyone has. She's a regular prankster! Always looking for ways to ruin innocent people's days. She turned me into a male once! For a week! I'm just worried that she's grown so openly-malicious. A little curse is one thing, but outright killing people? She hasn't done that since, well, ever, as far as I know. About a decade ago she was violent, but that was just to robots... And she's cursed you, as well. What is she up to?"

Well, her little aside confirms that Chako is, well, a she. And turned her into a guy? That's a thing that Misery can do? Just change people like that? The thought is intriguing, but as far as you know, it's an utter impossibility.

"A curse? What do you mean? Like, she gave me bad luck or something?"

"I can't tell what she did exactly, but I can smell the magic on you. Something's preventing it from working. Do humans have a natural resistance to magic, maybe? I've heard of your kind and seen pictures, but I've never met one in the flesh."

Her dark nose twitches a few times as she surveys your form critically, large dark eyes moving up and down before settling on your belt. The mimiga's irrational obsession with magic and curses seems a little childlike, but you suppose it's ultimately harmless.

"That little bottle! What's that? Hand it to me! It smells... Strange."

You nervously hand her your pill bottle, opening the child-proof cap for her convenience. She takes one quick whiff of it before gagging and coughing dramatically, thrusting it back into your hands.

"Ghhh... What is that? That overwhelming smell! What are you doing carrying that around?"

You take a whiff of the inside of your pill bottle and only catch a faint medicinal scent. What is she being so dramatic about?

"Can't you smell it? The stuff in that bottle... Get rid of it! Throw it away! It's wrong!"

"But it's my medication. I need it to function."

Her eyes practically bug out of her skull at that.

"Medication? It doesn't smell like medicine... What is it good for?"

"It makes me feel happy. It makes bad thoughts and feelings... Go away."

The mimiga's expression drops.

"What made you start taking these pills in the first place? What kind of bad thoughts and feelings were you having?"

As addled as you are, you genuinely can't recall your bad thoughts. You know they're somewhere in there, locked away by cutting-edge chemical technology, a temporary lobotomization for your own good. You tell Chako as such.

"That's... That's bad. No wonder Misery's curse hasn't yet had full effect. I believe that your 'medicine' is interfering with it. If we're to get to the bottom of this, you need to come down off of it."

You inform her that that won't be an option, that you need those pills like you need air. She snatches the bottle out of your hands in one fluid motion and tosses it in the fireplace. You want to scream, to be angry at her, to toss her stupid fluffy body in the fireplace along with your medicine. You're not sober enough to manage anger, though, so you fix her with an empty look of despair.

"Why would you do that? I- I needed-"

"We need answers. You lost six people to Misery. Sitting around and destroying your brain with that stuff isn't going to help you. You're going to have to trust me."

You want to scream and rage and shout and the best you can muster is an empty nod as you sink to the floor, feeling as though the life has gone out of you. You know what waits for you at the start of the long tunnel called withdrawal, and you dread it like you dread death. You lie on the cold stone floor, unable to manage tears, and let your mind go blank. The mimiga backs away cautiously before grabbing a few comically-undersized blankets from her cot and covering you with them.

"I'm sorry about this, I really am. This is for your own good. If you need anything, just ask."

You don't answer. The only thing you needed was incinerated in her fireplace a few moments ago.

At some point during your slow comedown, your empty, dreamlike fugue shifted into actual sleep. Your dreams are haunted by half-thoughts struggling to surface through a film of medication, as though your subconscious is drowning. You hate it. You fucking hate this. You wake to find your body trembling and your face wet with tears, with Chako gently stroking your back. You tense at the contact at first but eventually let yourself sink into comfortable silence.

"You were crying out in your sleep. I'm sorry if I crossed any boundaries, but you looked like you needed some support."

You remain still and bite back a sob.

"S'fine. S'fine. I'm fine."

You hate your stupid, gravelly voice. Ever since you were a kid, people always asked if you had a cold or something, but no, that low register is just how you are. Just awkward and shitty like the rest of you. The physical pain of withdrawal hasn't kicked in yet, but the bad thoughts are coming, bubbling to the surface one after another. The wave of self-loathing is interrupted by the growl of your empty stomach. You wish you had brought food with you, but you'd been too out of it to grab more than your pills and a half-empty canteen from your supplies in the camp. You briefly consider getting back up and trying to make the trek back, but your body feels like lead. It won't be moving anytime soon. Your side aches from lying curled up on hard stone, but this is where you've chosen to lie.

"That noise. You're hungry, right? I could get you something to eat. I should have some food in my pantry."

You nod your assent and Chako is off, leaving you to sit and ponder the pathetic nature of your existence. God, that sounds like something a depressed teenager would say. You guess you medicated your way through any teenage angst you might have had, so now it's hitting you in full force. Or something. It's hard to think straight with the constant barrage of intrusive thoughts.

You hear the soft patter of paws on stone as Chako returns behind you. She sets a hand-paw on your shoulder and moves to shift you to a sitting position on the floor.

"I won't have you choking on this. Come on, sit up."

Your core muscles ache, but you manage to hold yourself upright against the wall. You manage a grateful smile to Chako (your fucking ugly smile, you always look like you're fake smiling, maybe you are, you hate it, you hate your horrible wide imposing jawline and your thick brows and your crooked nose and) accept the ceramic plate she offers you. Your heart drops as you consider what's on your plate: a small pile of multicolored flowers, mostly daisies. They seem a bit desiccated but otherwise they're in fine condition. Is this what mimiga eat? "I'm not sure what humans eat, but I think this should be fine. I considered getting you some fish, but you might have an upset stomach and I don't know if humans can handle meat. Plus, I'd have to go all the way to the village to trade with Kanpachi and I didn't want to leave you-"

You assure her that flowers are fine and force your terrible, ugly smile to remain. There's no need to be a bad guest, right? You and Chako are both mammals, presumably, so nothing on this plate should poison you too badly if she picked it all out herself. You rest the plate in your lap for lack of a table and gingerly reach down, grabbing a yellow daisy between thumb and forefinger. The greenery, including the stem, of each flower has been carefully removed on closer inspection, leaving only velvety petals behind. Feeling a bit like a child eating something they ought not to, you place the flower in your mouth and begin to chew.

The flavor is indescribably good. The buttery tenderness of freshly-filleted tuna, the sweet flavor of some half-forgotten, honeylike dessert... It's the best food you can remember having. Your eyes widen and you force yourself to remain calm as you down as many flowers as you can politely manage. Each color and species has its own unique flavor profile- some tart, some almost spicy, some bordering sickly sweet, others complex and aromatic. Given the small portion, it's surprising how filling the pile of petals is. You wash down the delicious smorgasbord with a few gulps of water from your canteen.

"What- what kind of flowers are these? They're better than anything I've ever eaten before!"

Chako smiles knowingly.

"That's probably just the hunger speaking... They're much better fresh. These had been sitting in the back of my pantry for days. I hope I picked some of your favorites; I don't really know what kind of flowers humans like to eat, sorry."

Well, humans don't often eat flowers, period, but your gracious host doesn't need to know that. You simply nod politely and settle back down into your pile of blankets. After that floral feast, your mouth and throat feel a little funny. You hope you weren't allergic to anything... Stomach filled, you doze off once again next to Chako's warm fire. This sleep is even more restless than your last, your full stomach doing nothing to abate the nightmares that fill your consciousness.

Your dreams are filled with flowers, petals covering every memory, but their sweet scents and lovely colors cannot calm you. When you look in a mirror, you can see everything wrong in your face, as flowers desperately sprout from the mirrored surface to protect you from your own dysphoria. Every time you look down, a sense of wrongness engulfs you. Your body is your own personal hell, its every twitch and strain a crescendo of insecurity. In your dreams, you scream, while in the waking world, you whimper pathetically, sweat pouring from your skin as you enter a fever.

Unbeknownst to you, Chako eventually has to leave to pick up supplies from the village, leaving you by your lonesome. She had considered putting you in the bed, but you were honestly too large to fit on it comfortably. That, and she wasn't nearly strong enough to lift your weight.

When your senses return, you're back to a pounding headache and searing, full body pain. You manage not to cry out, but you do silently curse this island for all the shit it's put you through. You struggle to a sitting position and try to look around, but your eyes won't really focus on anything. The pain, the nausea, the constant cravings for one more pill. If there's anything you hate more than your sick, twisted body, it's withdrawal. You groan for someone, anyone to help you. Your father, your mother, Chako...

"Well, this is disappointing."

That voice... You squint and try to make out the form in front of you. It's much taller than a mimiga- a human, maybe? But that voice... It's so familiar.

"What's taking your curse so long? The other one is already fully-transformed."

It's her. The witch. Misery. You let out a garbled shriek and flinch backwards, only for your head to impact hard stone. You see stars in your eyes as she laughs at your misfortune. She goes silent for a moment, and you feel the touch of something hard and cold against your forehead... Her staff, maybe?

"How interesting. Are you another witch? An ordinary human wouldn't have been able to hang on for so long."

There's a bright light that passes before your eyes. You're forced to blink.

"Ah, I see. There was already some kind of magic in your system. What a bother. I'll have to punish you for the inconvenience. Maybe I'll enhance your curse..."

You feel a hand on your chest, and then a raw, piercing agony, as if your body is being turned inside out. Whatever Misery is doing to you, it makes her grunt with effort, but she keeps it up. The pain reaches a fever pitch and you feel like you're about to pass out when it subsides as quickly as it had come. You feel... Better. Better than you did before the witch started torturing you, even!

"...That was a strong spell. If it hadn't already started to unravel, removing it might have killed you. Now, about your curse... You called out a name, didn't you? Chako? I remember that one. The curse I put on her... Yes, I think that would be a fitting punishment."

Your vision finally clears and you're able to see the witch- she looms over you from your position on the floor. Her presence makes it feel like she takes up the entire room. You shiver despite your proximity to the fire. Misery could kill you easily, but she seems to have decided to toy with you instead. Is this better or worse? She taps you lightly with her staff, and you feel a bit of a warm sensation within you. That's it?

"You're lucky that I find you entertaining, human. When I encounter you next, I expect you to beg. I might consider reversing your curse if you're pathetic enough."

With that, she vanishes before your eyes. She must have had a teleporter relay on her. What a sadistic bitch. Still, you can't deny that you got off pretty easy this time- no electrocution, and she somehow seems to have eliminated your withdrawal. If anything, you might just have to thank her the next time you see her, though you do wonder what she meant by 'curse.' You settle back down into your impromptu blanket nest on the floor and decide to wait for your host. You don't know how dangerous this cave system might be, and you aren't keen on being eviscerated.

There's no sunlight and no clocks, so you have no real way of keeping track of time as it passes. How long do you wait? Minutes? Hours? As you wait, you feel a funny tickling sensation in the back of your throat, similar to what you felt after eating those flowers earlier. Is this so-called curse just going to give you a cough or something? You chuckle at the thought and stop suddenly. That sounds... Different. Not like you. You hum and find that your voice sounds uncharacteristically soft. Not feminine, exactly, but it's lost that gruff edge you'd grown used to. Intriguing. You massage your throat with your fingers for a moment, trying to understand how this is possible, but you give up after a bit. The change is inexplicable, but it's not like you mind. It wasn't like you liked your voice to begin with.

You'd lay back down and sleep to pass the time, but you've slept plenty. Your muscles are sore with inaction and your joints ache from the cold, stone floor. You stand (thank goodness the ceiling in here is so unnecessarily high) and stretch your arms above your head with a satisfied sigh. Yes, yes. That's much better. You find simple pleasure in cracking each of your knuckles (your bony, too-long fingers that are good for playing the piano but terrible ugly horrible) and performing some basic stretches. Now that your mind has finally cleared, you feel a gentle sense of urgency- your group. While you were here being nursed back to health, the others might have been struggling for survival. You feel a little guilty about it, but you were hardly in a condition to help at the time. That's changed. When Chako returns, you'll have to thank her for her hospitality and make your way out. You feel a pang in your chest at the idea of leaving- the sparse room feels oddly familiar despite your short stay. Ah, well. Once this business with Misery and Balrog is solved, you'll have plenty of time to chum around. It'll probably take the engineers a while to get either of the helicopters in working condition.

You begin to pace uneasily. The one-room house is pretty small, with a sturdy metal ladder leading up to a trapdoor. You're a little curious, but decide it'd be better not to poke around too much. It's important to be a polite guest! You stretch again and notice that your shirt seems to be a little loose on your frame. It must've gotten stretched out from all the physical excitement in the past few days... Or something. Its hem billows halfway down to your knees, and... Your pants are loose too. Huh. When did that happen? They fit just fine a moment ago. You hold them up with one hand. The room feels a little larger each minute and you surmise that you're shrinking somehow. That's probably not good. The hem of your shirt reaches down to your knees at this point, so you give up and let your pants fall to the ground. It's a little embarrassing, but you're alone.

Your newly-sober mind screeches at you that you should be panicking, and you wonder how any of this is even possible. Your mind goes to nanites as a possibility, but nanomachines wouldn't work so quickly... And the process of shrinking would hurt like hell. Where is the extra mass going? You might not be a physicist, but even you know that this violates the first law of thermodynamics. Matter isn't supposed to just... Vanish like this. Are Misery's curses just that? Curses? The thought boggles the mind, but you can't deny the impossibility staring you in the face. You bring a hand up to massage your temple and watch in fascinated horror as your bony fingers begin to shorten, their outlines fuzzy and indistinct. How doesn't this hurt? You wiggle your fingers and watch as this... This magic eats away at them little by little, until they're stubby, nail-less, inoffensive little things. The strange vagueness eats its way up your hand and arm, shrinking things, pulling them in little by little, eating up your lankiness bit by bit. Small, velvety, pink pads swell from your palms.

You are being remade into something entirely different.

As the magic eating its way up your right arm subsides, you watch fine white hairs begin to sprout from the skin, multiplying before your eyes and replacing the black hairs that had been there prior. The hairs continue to multiply and you soon realize that your arm hair has been replaced with, well... Arm-fur. The notion is utterly ridiculous, but you can't deny the reality happening in front of you. A popping, electric sensation eats its way down your spine, and you shift your gaze to your left arm and watch it repeat the process in half the time at most, as though this strange curse is fueled by every ounce of flesh it converts. You let out a girlish shout of surprise as your rib cage begins to compress inwards, bringing your shoulder blades with it until your shoulders are no wider than your hips, maybe even a little narrower. This can't be your body. It's insane. It's utterly insane. You find yourself hyperventilating and lean against the wall for balance. This is too much.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest and your breaths coming short. How? Magic is- It can't be real. And even if it is, this- this is insanity. Like something out of a nightmare. (Or a dream come true).

You slide down into a sitting position as the fur from your arms begins to spread down your shrunken chest, muscles clenching and relaxing as its form is gently coaxed into something less human. The relative flatness of the human sternum is raised into the cylindrical, androgynous chest of an animal, while your legs begin to fade into a strange, hard-to-discern haze. Your shoes, socks, and (mortifyingly) underwear slump to the ground forgotten as flesh and bone are contorted, thighs and shortening shins plumping up into haunches. Your ankles rise to settle just below your bestial haunches and your feet lengthen into digitigrade paws, soft pink paw pads plumping in underneath. Fur grows in to cover your bestial lower half, starting at your paws and creeping toward your groin.

You whimper. This can't be happening. This is probably all just a freaky withdrawal-fueled nightmare. Misery didn't just teleport into the house. You aren't turning into an animal. You'll wake up and Chako will be there and you'll be suffering from withdrawal but magic won't be real and everything will make sense.

Your hearing pops and crackles as your ears are reformed into long, floppy things that hang down past your shoulders, fur growing in soon after to cover the distended pinnae. You slump over and your ears hang down in your vision, almost like long hair. Before you have any time to mourn the loss of yet another human feature, though, your attention is drawn downward. The fur growing down your torso and fur growing up your legs meet at the groin, and you feel a strange, cold sensation overcoming your pubic region. Your hands, if they can still be called that, dart down on instinct, only to find the distinct lack of a bulge. You can't see through the white t-shirt that's become almost a baggy dress on your diminutive form, but as you pat down your lap, it's clear that your "little guy" is, well, gone. Another electric bolt of sensation arcs down your back before you can come to terms with (celebrate) yet another loss. Your spine extends into the small nub of a tail that quickly gains a thick coating of white fluff.

Exhaustion from the physical trauma of your transformation begins to weigh on you. An indistinct, buzzing sensation fills your head as your skull and face are molded like putty into something utterly inhuman. Your crooked nose shrinks down into a dark, damp triangle while your face takes on a slightly-chubby cast, with a subtle muzzle. You hear a few sharp cracks. Slowly, the high, rounded skull of a human is flattened into a boxy, compact profile. This should all be agonizing or worse, but all you feel is a buzzing vagueness, the static of a limb that has fallen asleep, all over your body. The changes begin to peter out. The dark, curly hair covering your scalp evaporates in a sizzle of magical energy while white fur grows in to cover your innocent, wide-eyed visage. Your last marker of humanity has left you forever. You sink into the ground with a yawn, but manage to keep yourself awake.

You force yourself to stand on wobbling legs once again, overwhelmed at the sensation of the cold stone leeching heat from your bare paw pads. If this is some sort of hallucination or nightmare, it's incredibly vivid. Withdrawal and addiction have left you, only for your worldview and body to be broken. That's just your luck. The end of a rounded muzzle peaks into view a little more than your old nose did, but it's remarkably easy to ignore. You look down into small, childlike hand paws, balling them into fists experimentally. This is you. A hollow, panicked bark of laughter manages to pierce its way through your animal chest. No, not animal. You know what you are. A mimiga, and a female at that. A member of a species that, until yesterday, you did not know existed.

The front door opens