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Dear Young Werecrow,

There comes a time in every young man's life when he discovers his true identity. He must shed the skin of his youth and embrace the self that he subconsciously longs to be. Though his infant shell may be the safer, primordial vessel he's come to know, it houses a yolk of greater possibility. You must crack the shell. You must unleash the yolk! As you embark on this journey into newfound adulthood, you're sure to have many questions as to who you are and perhaps even...what you are. You may begin to question the world around you and what other strange secrets it has long kept hidden. In fact, you MUST begin to question. Only then can you truly escape the confines of your former life. Embrace the fear of the unknown. Embrace the possibility of change. No matter the question, and no matter the challenge, you can face it with bravery if you recognize one simple, just, inscrutable fact of life...

Life.

Is.

A.

Bitch.

Ok, English class is over. Sorry if that sounded pandering. It's apparently "tradition" to monologue your opening, much like handwriting this letter as opposed to sending an email. Might as well buy a carrier pigeon while we're at it. You like that yolk metaphor, though? Got that off a Chinese menu for egg foo young. It's pinned to the fridge. They deliver!

Anyway, if you're reading this, then you're a Werecrow -- or at least you're about to become one. You can feel it, right? That's why you came all the way out here...among other reasons. However, can you even call yourself a crow before you change for the first time? Do you call a werewolf a "werewolf" when they look human? Never got a straight answer on that. Either way, crows aren't as flashy as other cursed critters. Werewolves, the overgrown lap dogs that they are, love to hog the spotlight. Scratch one behind the ears enough and you'll get him into Westminster. That has literally happened before.

The envy is understandable if you ask any other Werefolk. The wolves get all the attention and all the movies made about them. Whatever happened to representation? It's only because they're "cute," with their fur and paws and bushy tails. They're overgrown huskies. You know what it's like to grow a goddamn beak? Feathers? Internal...bird...things? Well, those questions are rhetorical because you're about to know, friend. Crows are built different, which means this is gonna suck for you.

So, let's get started! It's time for -- DUN DUN DUN -- The Talk.

First off, to answer your basic questions: Is this an ancient curse? Did your family piss off a witch? Were your ancestors subjected to Cold War weapon experiments that tried making soldiers who could fly bombs overseas then subsequently poop on the Kremlin? Hard to say. Those all sound equally likely. There aren't many books on "the history of Werecrows," after all. Thus, the need for this letter. You're welcome.

What Werefolk lack in accurate textbooks they compensate for with a wide range of B-to-C-list monster movies. If you've seen any (good) werewolf flicks, you know that there is a transformation and it will hurt a fuckton. That's something we do have in common with the wolves. Doesn't matter the species, nobody enjoys having their bones and muscles tear as they turn into a giant house pet. Some people might like the end result fine enough, but the process is just that -- a goddamn process. A car crash in slow motion. And you'd better get comfy because this is a weeklong car crash shot in 4K. The exact schedule will depend on how big or tall you are -- probably not very much on either front -- but it's gonna take about 7 days to change.

S E V E N D A Y S!

You might be too young to get that reference, but fuck it, whatever.

-DAY 1- (Happy Birdday!)

Think back to when you first woke up this morning. All your muscles probably started to ache out of nowhere. You felt like an old man rolling out of bed (a preview of your life 40 years from now). Whatever growing pains you've experienced in puberty ain't shit compared to this. If it wasn't glaringly obvious, growing taller is a lot less intense than sprouting literal wings -- though for the record, you also will grow taller this week. Maybe you'll get a prom date now, or at least not have to stand on your tiptoes to get on roller coasters. Try to remember the positives!

You're probably asking: "Wait, I'll get bigger? I thought birds were really small!" Well, Captain Obvious, you're right. Birds are very small, but remember the "Were" in "Werecrow". You're not 100% dumb bird. Don't worry about shrinking or becoming incredibly stupid -- assuming you're not already stupid, and if you're still reading this, then you're probably pretty bright. Gold star for you!

Along with today's throbbing muscles and stiff joints, you'll be hit with the sweats and some major stomach cramps in the next 48 hours. Organs will randomly twitch beneath your abdominals, which will also feel oddly rumbly, as they prepare to change shape and position. You might even see your guts wriggling about if you lift up your shirt. Do you have abs? If not, don't expect new abs. This isn't "Teen Wolf," so you won't wake up suddenly jacked or Hollywood handsome. Crows aren't that rugged. They're actually pretty bony and..."round" would be a way to describe it. Not necessarily fat, except for the old crows. Bird metabolism doesn't last forever. Give it 40 years.

That's all for now. Plop down on the couch and enjoy two whole days of being very uncomfortable in your skin. The following five are going to be way way worse.

-DAY 2- (Prepare for Take Off)

Not much happens today save the aforementioned cramps. They're getting worse, right? Your curiosity probably got the best of you, so you pulled up your shirt and saw your intestines rearranging under your skin. The sight made you lose what little lunch you had. You've got the munchies, but can't keep much down. It feels like food poisoning at best. Sorry about that. Maybe this will make you feel better:

2 crows flock into a bar. The bartender looks at them and says, "Hey, why the long face?"

One crow caws in a half-intelligible squawk, "Shut up man, my girlfriend just burned down my nest!"

Speechless, the bartender looks away and returns to polishing shot glasses.

The second crow glances at his avian friend and squawks in empathy. "Sorry man. I told you not to use Tinder."

Get it? You will when you're older. See, it's funny because you should never use small wood shavings to build your nest. Rookie mistake. Hopefully, that gut buster made your guts feel a little less busted. They say nothing cures like laughter!

-DAY 3- (Crack a Few Eggs)

Good morning, class! Raise your hand if you woke up with more stomach pain, but now it's traveling down into your groin. Are you following along, Mr. Gold Star? Participation is part of your final grade, and you're definitely gonna want to pay attention to this. Right now is when shit gets fucking weird. The first strange thing is, and not gonna sugarcoat this, you're gonna feel the hard shell of an egg push out of your dick. Freaky, right? Don't worry, it'll be small, no bigger than what you'd buy in the grocery store, but it's got to come out. It really just feels like a kidney stone passing. Ever had one of those? If not, give it 40 years.

Much like having a stone lodged in your dick, it's gonna suck trying to piss for a bit. And don't even try to get aroused and "force it out." You don't want to be hard when this thing comes knocking. It's way worse, apparently. Even without being horny, you'll notice some clear, pre-like fluid leaking out to help lube your tube. Grab some tissues and a fresh pair of undies. Once this fucker starts rearing its ugly white head, you really need to push. Use your hands if you have to, like wringing the last drop of toothpaste from the tube. Yes, it's incredibly unpleasant, but this is just the beginning.

Once it's passed and disposed of, preferably in the toilet, just relax. You'll be sore for a few hours, but nothing else should change down there for a while. You might think it makes no fucking sense to have an egg pop out of your pee hole, and you'd be right, but if you think a man growing feathers makes any more sense, then your gold star is getting revoked.

The good news is this will only ever happen once, and no, you're not even becoming a chick. Get it? Chick? Sorry, more bird humor. It usually lightens the mood. The bad news is that you literally flushed all your human genetics down the toilet, and you'll only be making Werecrow babies from now on. Whether you even want kids or not is up to you, obviously. Just know that they'll be going through the same hell you are. Think of the egg as your human spunk being boxed up and shipped out of your body, where the path of least resistance is the balls-to-dick route. Does that make it a human egg? Could it hatch a person? Would frying it be cannibalism? Don't ask questions you don't want answers to.

With the egg out of the way, you should try to get some rest. The mental trauma is honestly worse than the physical, despite the ache in your Johnson, so put your feet up and pop a bottle. There's beer in the fridge, and no one's carding you here. You probably feel pretty shitty, right? Well, brace yourself, buddy. That was just the warm-up routine. All your organs and muscles are pre-gaming so they can push past their old limits. They need to prepare big time so you don't just fucking die in the transformation process -- yes, that does happen and it's fucking depressing, but it's as sad as it is rare. You're not gonna die, okay? Although, you might want to by day 5.

-DAY 4- (Claw Your Way Through)

Let's talk turkey. Or rather, crow. Be glad you're not a turkey. Too much of a target on your back.

You might still be wondering what it means to be a Werecrow, besides laying that disgusting man-egg. Do standard werewolf rules apply? Full moon, blood lust, the works? Also, is this more of an "American Werewolf" or an "Underworld" situation? Hopefully, you've seen one of those. No one's out here making bird people movies, after all. "Birdman" doesn't count. There are lessons to be learned from each of these flicks, but don't believe everything you (maybe) have seen. There's no hot vampire lady trying to kill you -- sad, to be sure -- and there's not even a secret society of bird people running the government. That stuff disbanded ages ago, if it ever existed at all. You won't be in any danger as long as you don't go wandering out into forests around the holidays (RIP the turkeys).

Although there's no organized bird Illuminati, some folks still live together in flocks. Yes, they are actually called flocks, stifle your laughter. They're more like country clubs than cults, but are just as hard to come by. They're also boring as fuck. Old birds sit around and sip beers, reminiscing about ye' old hunting grounds that have been leveled for parking lots. Stupid shit. Occasionally racist. Do yourself a favor though, if you go to one -- give them a fake name and address. Otherwise, you'll never get off their dumb mailing lists.

On the topic of hunting grounds, as a man-sized bird you might be tempted to eat a live animal given your stature. There's no "uncontrollable hunger for the flesh of virgins", but you will have a larger appetite being a giant bird and all. Fortunately, crows can eat whatever thanks to a little grinding gizzard you'll grow, so the world's your oyster. Oysters are also great since you don't need to chew. Just try not to hunt people or anything larger than a small dog -- and don't actually eat someone's dog. That'd be a dick move.

Ok, back to bird puberty. Buberty? Birberty? Whatever you want to call it. Starting today, the changes will become more visible, faster. It's kind of like an arms race between your insides and your outsides to make different parts of you more bird-like. Feathers or gizzard? Beak or air sacs? The winner is usually a toss-up, but the inevitable result is the same. Birberty.

Question of the day: You ever scratch at your skin so much that it turns red? Like you've got an itchy sunburn, and even when Mom says not to scratch, you can't help it, but that just makes things worse? Well imagine all that, but the itch is under your skin and you can't quite reach it. You can't stop it. It's getting worse. It's spreading! All over your body, across your chest and down to your ankles, you're burning up. You're a sack full of fire ants ready to pop. Big ask, but try to ignore it for now.

More importantly, while you're scratching for dear life, all your fingernails will tear off because your body just decides it doesn't want them anymore. It's not super bloody, but their departure leaves a mark, and you'll be stuck sort of rubbing at your arms with your palms because your fingertips sting. Fun start, huh? It gets better. Your toes begin hurting worse than your fingers. Now's the time to really pay attention. Take off your shoes and socks. You wouldn't want to ruin your Nike's or Yeezus or whatever kids wear nowadays. If you're still inside, head on out before the room feels too claustrophobic.

Next step: Breathe in that sweet, suffocating desert air and get used to walking in the dirt barefoot. It'll be uncomfortable at first, but your soles will toughen up eventually -- after you walk 3 miles home from a Taco Bell where you decided to dumpster dive at 2 in the morning. That's not from an animal instinct thing, so much as being broke and making poor life choices. As you contemplate these and other regrets from your past, you'll pace the ground a little before clumsily stumbling from cramps in your feet.

It's showtime!

Question #2: You ever run around in your mom's heels when you were little, pretending to be a runway model? Strut, strut, strut. No judgment either way. In fact, that's something you might want to practice since your own heels will forcibly lift themselves off the ground, almost like they're taking flight. "Taking flight," get it? Anyway, you'll frantically resist this bizarre feeling, forcing your feet flat again though it pains you to do so. Your tendons will strain and fight you as they desperately try to pull you back up onto your toes. It won't be until your ankles snap that you finally give in, and by then you'll be flat on your ass. Brace for impact!

Question #3: You ever twist your ankle hard? Like you wiped out trying a sick half-pipe for your Facebook? Well, this is worse. Here's where your skeleton gets a life of its own and starts painfully twisting into something more feral. You're in real werewolf movie territory now. It's loud, ugly, and you might even cry as your bones crunch into new positions. No one would blame you. No one should even be around watching this. Don't post anything on Facebook unless you want to wind up in some freaky science lab. Those do exist, somewhere. Besides, your transformation is a very intimate and private process, if you couldn't tell from the dick egg earlier.

It starts with the stretching. Imagine your toes are made of rubber and someone is playing "This Little Piggy" a little too aggressively. The front half of your foot is going to overextend and move farther away from the rest of your leg. It's not fun -- does not feel great! At the same time, the bones in your arch will cramp up as they're squishing together, melting into one long twig. You'll notice how thin the width of your foot is becoming. Sometimes one foot changes before the other, sometimes it's simultaneous. Which is better really is a matter of opinion. Either way, if you try to walk through the pain, you won't get far out here without actually twisting your ankle.

Stay the hell still.

If you ever wanted to be an actor, now's your chance to star in a scary movie. Play the role of the terrified victim subject to a curse. Sit and stare in terror as your body turns against you. Scream like a Hollywood queen! Your feet will keep on lengthening against your will, distancing your toes more and more from the rest of your leg. You won't believe how long they'll get. You'll hate the sight of it. This is pure horror that no special effects can recreate. It's like growing a whole other part of your leg, and if you think about it, that is kind of what's happening.

On the opposite end of your foot, your heels will sting as the bone straightens and thins there too. No way you can stand flat-footed now. You'll dig both heels into the ground to try and ease the ache, but it'll just make the front half look lankier. Soon your soles will be too long for footwear. Even when you change back, your feet are going to be bigger than before. Good luck finding your new weird shoe size at Footlocker. Honestly, it's cheaper to stay barefoot for the rest of your life. Shred enough sneakers and you'll get it.

Fun fact: While your skin struggles to stretch and expand with the growing tarsal bones, it'll never tear or bleed. It just starts to burn as the top layer dries out like leather. No feathers form on your feet obviously, but there are plenty of dark scaly patches to come. They'll look like lizard legs for a little while, though not as slimy. Be glad you're not slimy. As the itching gets worse, you'll rub your soles vigorously into the ground to try and relive the chaffing. It won't help, but you'll get used to trotting around in the dirt like an animal. They say dinosaurs were related to birds, so pretend you're stomping like a T-Rex or something. Roar! You're gonna be a really great actor by the end of this.

The best (see: worst) part of your feet mutating is your big toes breaking off from the pack. They'll start twitching out of nowhere until the bones rip themselves free of the joint, dragging muscles and nerves along for the ride. You'll feel them wriggling as the bones go AWOL and search for a new home. You might expect them to climb up to your ankles like some sort of dewclaw. That's what a wolf would have, right? But that's too normal for a bird. Birds have grabby-feet. Therefore, your big toes have to pull a full 180 and slide around to the back of the building, just behind the ball of your paws. Paws? Talons? Whatever you want to call them now, they just aren't feet anymore. Too messed up for that word proper.

Noticing the free real estate, your other toes will splay out like you're stretching a cramp, except for the smallest one melding into the fourth. There are only three toes on the front of a bird paw, after all. Those that remain will start elongating as more and more bone somehow boils into existence. It sounds like pepper grinding. It feels like your bones grinding. Each toe will get thicker and meatier, and as your giant talons sprout, they'll look right at home on your chunky digits. The second toe will be longest when they're done stretching, like you're giving yourself a big middle finger on both feet. You might even say you're...flipping the bird? Sorry, had to.

With your feet all bird-ed up, the change will stop for a while, giving you some spare time to panic and retch at the sight of your legs. You'll flail about like a whining child, terrified of the cursed extensions hanging below your calves. However, you can only panic for so long until abject fear withers into exhaustion and existential dread. Sounds about right for your generation. All the agonized screaming will leave you hoarse, so take a deep breath and give that voice box a rest. In morbid curiosity, your hands will move to prod at your mutated feet. Feel how the bones have moved and grown? See the cracks where your skin starts bursting into scales? It's pretty freaky. Your soles aren't as sensitive now that they're tough and scaly, so get up and start walking.

You'll stumble back inside on unsteady legs and grab a drink from the fridge, not once looking down at the freakish stilts you're balancing on. It's hard to walk straight when propped up on your toes, right? Now's the time to imagine you're in heels. One paw/talon in front of the other. Dig in your claws if you have to. Strut, strut, strut.

As you chug your cold one from the fridge, you'll start to realize that this letter is legitimate and your previous sense of reality is less so. Any lingering doubt should've gone down the toilet with your egg, but it's rather easy to deceive ourselves. No more delusions. What might've seemed like an impossible idea just became a living nightmare. You'll cling to a humanity that's no longer yours the same way you clutch that cold brewski. Just seeing what your feet have become will make you nauseous again and chill you to the thigh bone. It's okay to feel weird. The dysmorphic vibe goes away after about the 5th time you change. Kind of.

If you thought this couldn't get any more terrible or embarrassing, now's the time to strip naked -- or at least down to some loose boxers. Don't keep anything that's hard to remove. Remember that itch under your skin? How could you forget? It's like a dozen angry snakes wriggling inside you. Well, those metaphorical snakes are about to make their debut and slide up from your pores. Soon your arms will be covered with goosebumps. Or even better, crowbumps. Because you're a crow? Yes, a whole field of crowbumps will pop up on your arms, your chest, and in all the little crevices of your body. By nightfall, those pimples will give way to the little spikes sleeping below. Your soon-to-be-feathers.

Imagine getting a bunch of shots at once, but the nurse forgot to take the needles out. That's your life for the next few days. These little bastards won't rest until you're covered from the ankle up. They're pointy, but you surprisingly won't bleed from them unless you try to pull a bunch out at once. Don't do that. The fuckers grow back too fast anyway. Tonight, you won't be able to sit or lay comfortably with all those spines, so save yourself the trouble and get in a crouching position on the floor. It's surprisingly easy with your weird long feet. This is a little trick we like to call roosting. Despite the name, it's not just for roosters. Crows roost too.

-DAY 5- (Just Wing It)

It's a new day. The sun will rise and poke nosily through those tattered old curtains in the bedroom. After you rub the gunk from your eyes, you'll go to stretch and yawn, rising up from your new favorite sleeping position. Who needs Tempur-Pedic when you have bird feet to perch on? You'll absentmindedly scratch your underarm, and the reminder of growing feather spikes will sting your brain. You plan to avoid sitting down the rest of the day.

That's when your arms will dislocate. Pop. Pop.

All on their own, out of fucking nowhere, your bones snap out of the shoulder joint -- and you will scream. If you didn't holler when your feet grew out, you definitely will now. Bet your bottom dollar on that, Annie. Once free of the sockets, your arms will pull backwards, rotating up in a way never before possible. Unless you were born double-jointed, maybe? Either way, your arms will look and feel pretty broken.

The abruptness is pretty frightening. Flesh and bone grind together as your arms reposition farther back and lower than they used to be. The shoulder blade itself will lengthen until it takes up more space under your skin. Some tendons will pull and tear, reforming for a whole new range of avian motion. When your arms finally pop back into place, they won't bend properly. Both elbows will twist and pull in towards your chest. Your hands are tucking into your armpits as if your body wants you to watch your fingers as they change next. Spoiler alert: here come the wings.

Sounds sadistic, right? This kind of cruelty adds to the "pissed-off witch" theory of origin. It's like you're meant to suffer physically and psychologically. You have to feel every little bone break and each tear rend your muscles. The itching of early feathers, the weird urges to claw at the ground and collect tree branches. Sometimes, you'll even want to poop on people -- while human. It's so insane that some folks lose their mind after the first transition. They only eat worms. They build wooden treehouses and live in them, permanently. Try not to be one of those cuckoos.

Next question: You ever dip your hands in a vat of acid? This one is obviously rhetorical...hopefully you never pulled any "Breaking Bad" shit in chem class, but just picture the sensation. The joints in your fingers will dissolve, and your hands are going to lock into an open palm position. Even as you try to force your fingers to spread, some hidden force will squeeze them together so tight that they'll start merging like slabs of molten cheese. There's that melty-burny-wanna-die feeling! Skin glues onto skin and won't let go, rendering each finger useless. Don't try pulling them apart. You'll only hurt yourself more. Even if you manage to tear your thumb free, it'll just melt back into your hand eventually. No more balling your fists when enraged or in pain, so stick to scratching the ground or clenching your jaw passive-aggressively.

With your fingers smooshed into paddle-slates, both wrists are going to break and snap your hands down at a 45-degree angle. Ouchie mama! Some tendons probably tore for that to happen. Your hands weren't much use without fingers anyway, but now they're just ugly to look at -- like a karate chop gone wrong. They'll also be locked in place for the most part, so don't try to force them back up. As your arms flail about, you might notice a pulling sensation by your oddly-angled elbows. There's some new skin starting to grow in the crook of your forearm, connecting your upper and lower arms together. They look less like human limbs and more at home in a 12-piece bucket deal. Y'know, some people can't even eat poultry after the first change, but anyone who turns down KFC should not be trusted. Crow's aren't chicken, damn it!

Speaking of spicy wings, if you thought your toes grew long, the fat glob of your former fingers is gonna stretch for a good 10 minutes. Wings have to be pretty big to carry a man-sized bird, after all. Your not-hand will reach the length of your forearm, and more spines will jut out of it in droves before blazing a trail onto your back. The wings will look less horrifying once those spikes bloom, though you may resemble a big black hedgehog for the time being. Honestly, being a hedgehog would probably be easier to deal with overall. People like hedgehogs.

Congratulations! Your hands and feet are now Corvidaefied, minus the feathers. Unfortunately, it's much hard to scratch yourself without hands, so you'll need to use your legs from now on. Hopefully, you listened and took off your clothes before your arms mutated. If not, you'll need to remove them with your feet. Paws. Talons. Whatever. Anything that's too tight or bulky should just be torn off with your claws. Good luck getting a wing out of a long sleeve.

Now that your extremities are taken care of, the change naturally starts working inward. Where else is it gonna go, right? Try not to panic when it gets hard to breathe. Crows are really robust in the bust area, so pressure will build inside your chest as it starts to barrel out. Your breastbone will get big, like really big. Some muscles will detach and jerk around along your ribcage, but don't sweat the details. Go to med school if you want all the fancy names. Just picture a big juicy chicken breast in that 12-piece bucket...that's you now! Speaking of which, don't eat too much today or you'll hurl again when your stomach flattens and sucks inward. Your torso will feel like swelling and shrinking at the same time until your whole upper body folds over into a round mound. Sort of egg-shaped, yeah? You'll get the picture once the tail starts coming in.

Finally, here's the part that ALL werewolf movies do where your spine starts to swell and push up from your back. If you could see your vertebrae changing, it'd look surprisingly like how it does on screen. Your skin pulls taut as the bones expand and rise, leaving a bunch of freaky ridges running down your back. It's gonna feel tight between your shoulders as new nerves and muscles twist into existence, but this is all necessary. Your back needs to toughen up to support that tail bump. Otherwise, it'll snap right off, or at least give you major spinal problems 40 years from now.

With your freakish limbs, black spines, and bulging back and breast bones, you might start to feel like a real monster. Welcome to the club! Avoid the temptation to go rampaging in small villages or mouse burrows. That's another joke...the village part, at least. Fortunately, no more changes for the day, so take a deep breath into that big ol' monster chest and go roost some more. It really helps ground you.

-DAY 6- (Shake a Tail Feather)

Early bird catches the worm! Although, acting like a bird could make you change even faster, so don't go pecking around in the grass. Not that you'd be able to bend down right now. Take note of the upper back pains nagging you this morning -- partly because your spine was still growing overnight, and partly because your neck's about to. Feel taller yet? Turns out bird necks are pretty long and flexible, not that you can tell usually with all the feathers. Muscles are forming that will let you turn your head farther than normal, and you're literally going to grow more chunky vertebrae in your spinal column. Where's all that bone coming from? Use your imagination.

You'll know it's done when a sharp snap in your neck forces your chin up to the sky and makes you see stars. That's your spinal cord moving to the back of your skull, a more proper place for a bird. Once the new bones adjust, your neck will be a lot more limber, but any sense of balance will be forfeit for that flexibility. Your vision will jiggle for a bit like your head's made of Jell-O, but at least you can rotate your head almost 180 degrees, and that's pretty neat. It's like pulling half an "Exorcist."

Is that too old a reference for you?

Anyway, on the opposite end of your spine, that useless tailbone will finally find its life's purpose -- to get in the way and knock over flower vases. It will wriggle around until it starts pushing up from your skin like your vertebrae did, uncurling itself from evolutionary dormancy. Compared to other animals, bird tails are weird and don't move much. They're more feathers than anything, so prepare for an itchy ass. In fact, your butt is so useless that your cheeks will simply be absorbed as your crack seals up like a Ziploc bag. Bye-bye booty!

While you endure the lower back pain accompanying your tail growth and loss of ass, here are a few more Werecrow facts that may help you on your journey through birdhood:

-- There are more male Werecrows than female. Mutant genes are bad genes, which lead to birth rate issues (added point to the science experiment theory). As a result, there's a lot of in-fighting for pureblooded mates. Maybe you're fine mating with a human, but the purists are really against it. Or maybe you're gay, and this isn't a problem for you. More power to ya.

-- Werecrows and Wereravens do not get along. They are not the same. If you think they look the same, keep your opinion to yourself unless you want to start a bar fight.

-- When in human form, you're anatomically indistinguishable from regular people except for, believe it or not, bone density. Your skeleton gets denser as the bones hollow out and stiffen. It has to do with flying, but for some reason this will never return to 100% normal. That's all fine and good for your bird side, but as a human it has consequences (more on this later).

-- Werefolk are born, not made, so biting doesn't do anything except piss people off and/or kill them. Birds don't have teeth anyway, but please don't peck anyone to death either (random acts of violence are still punished like in any civilized society). You also can't get Werecrow-itis via sex, though your offspring is extremely likely to have it. Once again, bad genetics.

Ok, your spine should be done growing by now. No more fat back there, just pure skin and bone. Congrats on the bird butt! Now you're ready for the itty-bitty nitty-gritty. At the moment, you're about 65% bird and 35% boy. By the end of the week, you'll be about 98% bird-boy. The remaining 2% of human is expressed in your ability to kind of squawk words (1%) and still having a penis (the other 1%). Most normal birds don't have dicks, except for ducks, and be glad you're not turning into one of those -- ducks are assholes, among other things. Unfortunately, keeping your little buddy comes at a cost. Big surprise there.

You probably don't want to hear this after the whole egg-laying thing, but there's more to be done down near your dingdong. Expect a lot of blood flow that, despite your lack of arousal, will make you quite hard. Your dick will start throbbing as it flushes to a sickeningly red color, like it's embarrassed to turn into something inhuman. Your face will probably go red to match. At the same time, you'll start getting blue balls as your sack and beans begin to tighten. If it feels like they're getting kicked up into your groin, they kind of are.

Question #500: You ever have an STD? Hopefully, a curable one? Well, this will burn like an STD. Your entire dick needs to change shape and size, so that makes sense. You're probably not packing much as is, but expect it to somehow get even thinner. The tip pinches and pulls into a point, rolling up like a mound of Play-Doh in your hands. The good ol' Play-Doh dick. It's not exactly normal or natural, but an amalgam of flesh halfway between bird and man. A hot red fleshy icicle. Somewhere, somewhen, there's an old witch laughing at the thought of your weird penis. She's probably not the first.

On the opposite end, you'll notice some uncomfortable wetness around your rear exit. It's not what you think. It's less gross, maybe? Back when your tail hump pushed out and sealed up your ass crack, your butthole already began moving forward towards your groin. That explains the bizarre clenching sensation, but even all that clenching won't stop this clear fluid from leaking out of you. Think of it like your own lubricant. To spare you the minutia, your internal plumbing is getting a big overhaul. Again, you're not turning female, but Werecrows are sexually dynamic, so your body is preparing for anything and everything. Whatever your orientation is, keep an open mind from now on.

Once your whole shaft is a flesh-cicle, it'll slide down to where your sack used to be. You'll feel it start to collide with your rear hole, and when you don't think they can get any closer...well you'd be wrong. Your dick has to slide up inside it. That's right, inside. There's a lot of merging flesh going on down there, so be glad you can't see it up close. For your own sanity, don't think of it like your butthole anymore, more like a "birdhole," a one-stop-shop for releasing all kinds of junk. The proper term is "cloaca," but you're probably too grossed out and horny to care about semantics. That's right, horny.

Despite the pain of twisting and pulling skin, all that warping around your junk is gonna drive you haywire. Not to mention the adjustments to your balls and prostate and the changing hormones flooding your system. They don't call them "needs" for nothing, and now might be your last chance to satisfy them. Unfortunately, since your dick is properly bird-shaped and currently combining with your birdhole, it won't come out unless you stimulate yourself or get mounted. Therein lies the problem. Your hands won't be any help, and you're probably not going to find another Werecrow in the vicinity. You'll have to improvise. There's a couch in the living room. Just clean up afterwards.

And for the love of God, don't use your talons!

As you're taking care of business, you might notice your hips feeling stiff and starting to tuck in more than usual. Makes it kind of hard to "get jiggy with it." The reality is that some bones are fusing together, so you're gonna feel stiff in the midsection. And the torso. There's just a lot of new stiffness, so prepare to be perpetually hunched over. Hunchback of Crow-tre Dame, anyone? Everything starts collapsing in on itself, and your abdomen will basically vanish. You're all chest and butt now. Stout. Round. Like a teapot. Or an egg.

Your libido finally fades upon release, and soon you'll be able to lie down like a normal bird-person again. Thanks to your new hormones, all those irritating spines in your skin will start flowering into a black sea, wrapping you in a downy coat as dark as the night sky. Sounds neat, doesn't it? It's one of the positives of the experience. Black feathers look pretty cool up close, and they're undeniably yours to own. Be proud that you made it this far. As the itching dies down, you'll finally get a good night's sleep thinking about how cool you look.

-DAY 7- (Play, Free Bird)

Okay, it's the final mile. You're achy, you're tired, and you're definitely avian from the neck down. The horror and grossness have mostly petered out, so now you're a bundle of depression and self-loathing. What else is new, right? But at least it's almost over. Just lie still and let it happen.

Here are a few parting crow rules to ponder while you await your inevitable changes -- while this is a monthly "full moon curse" ordeal, it can also be triggered by extreme emotion. Rage, anxiety, horniness, whatever. One night you might be jerking off and suddenly you have talons and your dick's a lollipop sliding into a bird-gina. Your sports career is probably over too, unless you want to start sprouting feathers during the homecoming game. Some say meditation and a diet help with control, but frankly, yoga is boring and alcohol tastes better than tofu.

You're also probably wondering about flying. Well, there's good news and bad news. Good news: Flying is cool, assuming you don't get airsick easily. You'll figure out the how-to on your own. It's surprisingly instinctual. However, going airborne comes with a cost. Sound familiar?

Bad news: The main downside to Werecrow-ism, aside from the unholy transformation into a bird monster from hell, is the shortened lifespan. Crows notoriously don't make it past their 60s. It's just one more thing we, reluctantly, have in common with the ravens and other birds. This wasn't even discovered until several decades ago when humans started living past their 70s. Suddenly, there were so many widows that everyone suspected fowl play. Fowl play? Sorry, couldn't resist.

Anyway, remember how your bones hollow out to go airborne and sort of stay that way? Well, hollow bones get more fragile as you age, until they start fracturing under their own weight. Regular birds don't usually have to live for 40+ years. Being human at that age could lead to bones splintering into your guts, but resisting the change (in either direction) would be too taxing on the body. Some birds struggle with this for as long as they can, while others take fate into their own talons. It's a personal choice. Either way, use your wings while you've got them.

Okay, chin up. Time for the big finish! You've got feathers, claws, a birdhole, but what's the one bird-thing you're still missing? A beak, obviously. Like that aforementioned, very famous werewolf film from the early 80s, the face is the last thing to go. Maybe the director really was a Werecritter. He certainly got the painful parts right. Once the migraine sets in, it'll be hard to keep your eyes open. You probably don't want to see this part anyway.

You ever start choking as a beak forces its way out of your mouth? That's another rhetorical question since you're going to experience it right now. In order to make a beak, your body has to get a little creative. People don't just have beaks, y'know? Sure, arms can be wings, toes can be talons, but where do you get a beak from? Turns out, the beak is directly connected to the skull, so part of your skull has to push out of your mouth. Yes, it's as horrifying as it sounds, but you should be used to horror by now. You might even be numb to the thought, if only a little.

The fire starts off in your gums, like biting into a handful of ghost peppers and flossing with the stems. There's plenty of bone that needs to be exposed, and your gum line has to pull back to make that happen. Each tooth will grow deeper into your jawbone until they're fully merged with the root, and soon they'll all start melding together into one super-tooth. More melty-burny sensations. Once united, they'll start forcing their way out of your mouth. It's kind of amazing you don't bleed during this part, or any part really. You probably need a lot of blood for this change to happen at all, so it might be intelligent design. Cold war intelligence, maybe?

Here's an exercise: Say it out loud -- "You can't stop the beak!" The moment it starts to poke out from your lips, you'll try to resist it, even shoving it back in with your hands-turned-wings. You'll immediately regret it though because you basically just touched your skull. Ew. It's a hard sensation to get over, and it only gets worse as the beak expands. To make room, your mouth will start pulling back like you can't stop smiling. The smile just gets bigger and bigger and bigger. No amount of chapstick can stop the dry, burning sensation of your lips thinning into little ridges that bridge your beak to the rest of your cranium.

Things actually get worse when the crown of your beak pushes though. Your mouth simply isn't large enough to let the ridge pass naturally, no matter how big you're grinning, so a sharp crack will force your jaw to dislocate and give you enough slack to shove out the last few inches. That's several solid inches of bone moseying on through, half as thick as it is long. The bone in your nose will also break to free up space -- then both nostrils flatten into the beak until you're breathing through two little holes. With your mouth all akimbo, drool will stream down onto your chest and the back of your throat. It's almost suffocating, but try not to panic too much. You can't stop the beak!

In case you weren't screaming already -- yeah, right -- you might feel a bit of a squawk erupt from your throat. At this point, your voice will ascend in pitch, entering a frequency often described as the "shrill angry Karen zone." That scream-caw sounds as horrifying to you as it does to everyone else. Think of it like a crow's secret weapon. If anything gives the government experiment theory any credit, it's the weaponization of squawking. The frequency will jumble your hearing the first few times, but you get used to it once you've been in enough bar fights.

If you hear a high-pitched ring afterwards, don't worry. You didn't give yourself tinnitus. The crackling and earache just mean the canal is shifting around. A bunch of little organs and bones have to reposition for avian efficiency. Bird hearing is better than a human's, believe it or not. Now you'll really pick up on all the nasty shit happening inside your body. Even as the lobes and outside ridges slink into your scalp, you'll be listening to the world in Ultra HD 10.2 Surround Sound. It's like a home theater in your head!

Time for the finishing touches. As the back of your skull curves down and your forehead slopes, that hot fresh beak will slide out of your mouth like a tray of your mom's croissants pulled fresh from the oven, you know the ones. Your hair will fall out completely -- early bird pattern baldness -- and a plume of black feathers will spread across your scalp. Those last few barren spots on your back and thighs will be covered up too. Finally, when your jaw snaps back into its hinge and clenches your beak shut, consider this flick a wrap.

To once again quote the more traditional literature: "As your change reaches dénouement, the pain of your body and mind withers with your humanity. Time freezes around you. The room lies still -- dead even. You may wonder if you yourself have perished, if the crushing pain in your temples had splattered your brain into a slurry of particles. But it did not. It could not. For you cannot suffer if you do not breathe."

How poetic, Mr. Poe. Don't even get me started on that guy. Raven fucker.

Anyway, congratulations, bird boy! You're a bona fide Werecrow ready to perch on the shoulder of a giant witch. Kidding -- giants are extinct. Or, just go fly around and eat a mouse or something. Don't actually...they taste gross.

-DAY 8- (Fly Over the Cuckoo's Nest)

The next morning, this whole process happens in reverse at triple speed, from the beak and talons receding to all the feathers plopping out onto the floor. There's a vacuum in the closet because holy shit do those pile up. The re-humanizing process hurts a lot less because of that big-bird-level pain tolerance, but you'll still wake up sore as fuck. You may notice a scaly black patch left on your foot or some stray chest plumage, but that should clear up in a bit. Throw on your hopefully untorn clothes, pop open another beer, then do your first walk of shame home. You survived the week, so be proud! At least you didn't wake up in a tree...yet.

Along the way, you'll ask yourself if this entire week had been a food poisoning-induced fever dream. Maybe you just imagined sprouting feathers and a beak? The visceral pain of growing bones was all in your head. You certainly didn't piss out an egg! Surely, it's more logical to think that you've gone utterly bonkers, and this letter was simply written to gaslight you into believing you're a monstrous beast. What an awful joke! This letter is stuffed full of awful dad jokes, and it prayed on your vulnerable state. There is some history of mental illness in your family, but yours just happened to manifest in the most fucked up way imaginable. This idea is actually calming. This makes sense. This is what you'll force yourself to believe for the next few weeks.

You'll face the truth come next full moon.

And...that's about it! You might think this whole description was overly elaborate and you won't remember most of what you read when the time comes, and you'd be right. Still, you deserve the whole picture, even if your own change doesn't follow this letter to a T. Everyone's body is different, y'know? Some folks get completely coated in feathers on the first day. Some don't sprout feathers till the last. Some start with the beak and work downwards. Rumor has it that one kid got stuck at the halfway point for a whole month -- 30 days of dislocated hips, goddamn. In short, take this advice with a grain of stale bread. This is just what happened to me. Either way, it'll happen to you too.

You feel it, don't you? Your arms itching, your mouth burning. You're shifting on your feet uncomfortably. Your toes are aching already.

Before you begin to bird-out, your last question is probably: "Is there a cure for this, besides straight-up dying? I don't want to turn into a bird!" Well, we don't always get what we want. Many have tried using science or the archaic arts, but no one's found a cure yet. Frankly, we're tired of looking. You learn to live with it, like a bum knee or an addiction to dumpster tacos. On the upside, the change happens a lot faster after the first time. We're talking minutes. It still hurts, but at least it's over all at once. Your body can only send so many pain signals in the span of an 80s power ballad.

This is just another one of life's sucky lessons. Life is a bitch. You definitely didn't ask for this, and neither did I. Like most folks, we're just unlucky. But y'know who's even worse off than us? No, not just the ravens and the wolves...fleabags the lot of them. There's just probably some sad son of a bitch out there who'd kill to have this experience -- to grow feathers, to fly, or even peck at some field mice -- but they can't because this "gift" is wasted on us. There's no return receipt for Werecrow-ism.

Or maybe I'm just calloused? You might learn to like it. The flying, the feathers, the country clubs. It's hard to say. I don't know you. I don't even know your name. Didn't stick around long enough to learn it. Flew south, y'know?

Not literally. The train was faster.

Sorry, I'm rambling now. There's not much left to say, so I guess I'm filling up the last page. I know it sucks to deal with this alone. Sorry again. Maybe you'll find a flock to, well, flock to and learn everything else from -- they've just never really been my thing. Werefolk aren't immune to politics (which is the one thing "Underworld" got right), but I've been frequently described as noncommittal, so what do my words matter anyway. Don't let me tell you how to live your life. Find a tribe of Werepenguins if you want. Become the first (openly) Werecrow actor in Hollywood. Or burn this letter, that's fine too. Pretend this curse/mutation/horror movie isn't real, and forget about it while you can. Forget about me.

If you're lucky, this is the only thing you inherited from my side. The rest came from your mother -- eyes like the ocean. Again, that's if you're lucky, and we've already established otherwise. Triple sorry.

She's probably worried, and I doubt you told her you were running off again. Yes, word spreads fast, even out here. When you've finished vacuuming up your feathers, go home to her. She doesn't deserve any more runaways in her life. It might feel weird returning to normal after this week, but it's probably healthier if you try to play human for a while longer. Finish school, find a day job, the usual growing up stuff. There's time to figure out the rest. I wish I still had that time left...or any time really.

Part of me wants to change, part of me wants to meet you, but I can't come into your life just to leave so soon. That's crueler than any curse.

Sorry, still rambling. My students always said it was the one thing I was good at -- the more I talked, the less Hemingway they'd have to read. No wonder I got canned. Though to be fair, I can't help that they liked my stories. I could've written a book on this life, an adventure novel at least, and left you with that. Told you about all the places I've gone, the creatures I've seen. I guess I'll take those stories with me. You'll have to find things out for yourself.

All you get is this letter -- this ridiculously long letter that reads more like an essay by now. After years of vagrancy, I think these words are all I can give you, dumb jokes included and nonnegotiable. Also included is this house. You can roost here each month when the change is about to start. It's not really mine to give, but it's technically abandoned, so that makes it yours. I won't be coming back here.

Stop looking for me, alright? I've ruined your life enough.

-- Gregory