In a day already full of weirdness, I was pondering what might have been the strangest question yet: should I lick my wounds?

The question was not at all metaphorical.

On the pro side – all my thorny scratches had bled a bit and the drying blood was uncomfortably itchy.

On the con side – cat mouths were supposed to be full of bacteria.

But it was my bacteria? So that part shouldn’t be an issue?

Decisions, decisions.

This was a stupid thing to focus on, but my other option was listening to my so-called ‘brother’ try to cajole me out from underneath my bush. He had been circling it for long enough that I could just make out the edge of a trail of flattened grass. The susurrus of his movements had long since faded into the background; unfortunately his voice was a bit harder to tune out.

“Your caution doessss you credit. I undersssstand that waking to that awful ssssight musssst have been horrid. I assure you, the alternative would have been worsssse.”

Ignoring him wasn’t going to work, so: “What was my alternative?”

His halted, and I felt every hair on my body stand on end. Every one of my instincts, old and new, was shrieking because he was behind me. The thorny bush between us did not make one whit of difference to my hindbrain. It took a great deal of concentration to keep from growling.

“Our makerssss were kinder to you than they were to me, perhapssss they would have treated you ssssweetly, broken you gently, shaped your nexssst changessss with more care. I could not take that chancssse.”

“You were the one that killed everyone?”

“Yessss.”

“Did you break the tanks?”

He slowly made his way back around until he was before me. He did not bend to my level, but I could see the mottled gray scales of his snake body. The tip of his tail ended in a slightly curved bone protrusion that looked sharp as a blade. It twitched back and forth like a metronome. “Sssome, yesss.”

I shook my head and turned my thoughts back to our conversation. It felt a little silly, but I held up a hand to block my view of his twitching tail. Something about that steady rhythm felt off. “Why did you break some and not all?”

“Sssome of our sssiblingsss were not viable. Ending them was a mercssy few would afford our kind.”

“Our kind?” Shitsicles, every single answer he gave me only made me have more questions. This was like all the worst parts of a dialogue tree in an RPG except it was real and I was 88% sure that this NPC wanted to eat me. And not in a fun way. “Sorry, wait, please explain about our…siblings.”

“You know ssso little. I wonder where they found you…”

I wondered that too. I was pretty sure that I hadn’t kicked anyone out of this body when I entered it, so maybe the lab workers had just found me unconscious somewhere? Maybe I came with a pre-built backstory I would have to piece together? I refused to consider any other less savory options because that way lay madness and I was already holding onto sanity by the tips of my brand new claws.

“No matter. Many of our sssiblingsss were doomed to die without Shaper magic to sssussstain them. I merely exsspedited the inevitable end.”

“Some of the other tanks were obviously broken from the inside,” I pointed out.

“Thossse who were viable I have allowed to…hatch when they may.”

“And have you been so welcoming of all of our brethren?

“Of courssse.”

Now for the important question: “Where are they?”

“Hmm…you are sssmarter than the ressst.”

“Gee, thanks. Please answer the question.”

He shifted on his scales, and the tip of his tail came back into my view. The metronome was faster now, a little spin added to the tick and tock. I felt something like a push on my forehead and shut my eyes so tight I saw stars.

“Much ssmarter,” he crooned. “And interessting. Perhapss I shall keep you.”

“I’m not that kind of cat,” I told him.

His laughter made my adrenaline spike and I felt sweat break out all over my body. “How long can you sstay in there, I wonder? Do you dare to ssleep?”

For fucksake. “Look, I am sure I don’t taste good, and I would rather you not kill me.”

He made a considering noise. “I am not hungry, but prey is sscarcse. I shall leave you be for the night, little ssisster.”

“And…I’m just supposed to trust that?”

“What other option do you have?”

Fuck my life.

Karl did not feel strongly one way or the other about Shapers. Changelings, however, could be quite fascinating. Some considered them art, others victims or, at worst, abominations. Karl had seen Changelings that could easily fall into each of those categories. The victims were pitiable, the abominations best dispatched and quickly, the ones who were true art, who embodied the best of what Shapers could bring to the world, were few and far between.

Karl had once caught a glimpse of a Changeling with butterfly wings, carefully shepherded through a bazaar by a dragon. Whether they were wed, mated, or the Changeling was a part of the dragon’s hoard, he had not been able to determine. It was not his business, one way or the other. But he remembered that Changeling, their bright wings and ethereal air.

A Shaper’s art was truly a sight to behold, and worth preserving.

Karl looked down as the snakeling circled around the thorn bush and began to exert a weak sort of charm.

He was not yet sure how he would sort the two who were arguing below his perch in a convenient tree. The snakeling had, by his own admission, killed and eaten several of his fellow Changelings. Karl did not like kinslayers, and what were Changelings from the same Shapers if not kin? The Changeling under the thorn bush smelt of feline and something else he could not quite identify. He had not yet managed to catch sight of her, and as such was holding off on forming an opinion.

She seemed clever, though. If she was not too abominable he might even let her live after he killed her brother.