Leaving the room, he marches ahead of you, leading you down two hallways and through the door of what might be some kind of sitting room. The curtains are open and morning's warm grey light is pouring inside. You blink.

Quickly, he shuts them. Now that you're in the darkness you can see clearly. Your eyes briefly scan what appears to be an ordinary room—an ordinary room for an ancient castle anyway—before focusing on the wall ahead.

You try to be brave as you step up to the massive mirror but your heart is fluttering and something tight has clamped itself around your throat. The mirror itself is stunning, as big as you are tall, surrounded by a wide border of gold designed with flowers and curling vines. It must be worth thousands of dollars and could be as old as the castle itself.

If only the reflection within could be so exquisite or worthy.

Or just plain normal.

As you stare at yourself you have to remember to breathe. You look like a different person. Stupidly, you glance over your shoulder, as though looking for the real person in the mirror. But there's only Rush, quiet and stiff.

You look back again and grip your throat. Tears swell in your eyes. You're even worse than you feared. At least in your mind you could recognise yourself. In reality, all you see is something else.

You're tall with big shoulders, wide hips and powerful legs. Though nowhere near the size of Rush's, the muscles in your arms are hard not to notice. Your neck is thicker, your belly taut and tight. Your breasts are at least a cup size bigger. And your skin—it's as red as a sunset.

Even that you can deal with—but not your face. You touch your cheek with a whimper. You almost don't look real. Your cheeks have lifted to an unnatural height and your lips are too full. But that's not the worst of it. Your eyes— they're slitted like a reptile's, just like Rush, except yours are orange, not yellow.

Your horns—you raise your arms, watching in horror as your reflection does the same, grabbing onto them. They're about half the size of Rush's, hard black bone that curve upwards at the sides of your head. 'Small' they might be but no less horrifying.

No less devastating.

Even still, it's not the last of it. You bare your teeth, allowing your canines to finish the dreadful visage. You try to smile but it only makes it worse.

Horrifyingly worse.

Hot, burning tears pour down your cheeks. Your breaths come out shuddering. You hardly notice as Rush steps up behind you and places a big, warm hand on your shoulder.

'I'm a nightmare,' you whisper.

'You're a dream.' He gently squeezes your shoulder. 'She is merely who you have always been, finally broken out of her false shell. She is who you are meant to be. Who you were always meant to be.'

You touch your face again. Accepting Rush was one thing but accepting yourself is something entirely different. It's worlds apart. Galaxies apart.

Shaking your head, you take a step back, trodding on Rush's foot. He seizes onto your hips to steady you.

'No, no, no, no, no.'

'I know it's hard.' He turns you around to brush the tears from your face. 'It was for me too. But soon you'll accept it and you'll be happy to be something more than what you were.'

You don't know what to say. You don't know what to do. It takes every ounce of effort just to hold up your weight and breathe.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders. 'Come. You need rest. It's been a long night, don't you think?'

Mutely, you follow him back to his room. He doesn't speak but simply helps place you back in the bed, your head on your pillow, your sheet pulled up. He rests his big body beside you and tucks you in close so your face is pressed into his neck.

For a long time you lie there numbly, Rush breathing against you. He's not sleeping, rubbing your back with one of his massive hands. Then it happens—the tears, the anguish, the guilt. They toss you about like a wave, like you're a tiny boat trapped in a stormy sea. You can't get the image of yourself out of your mind. You can't forget the buck and what you did to it. The unnatural urges you feel around Rush. Your friends, your family, your old life—all gone. Because he's unequivocally right—you can't go back.

Could you imagine it?

It all becomes too much and the tears gush as you shudder into Rush's chest. Squeezing you tightly, he murmurs gentle words in your ear but you're too fatigue and confused and panicked to hear them.

At some point you must have fallen asleep because when you next wake the light in the room has changed and Rush is gone. You rest your hand where he once rested, then look towards the windows, blinking in confusion. You've either hardly slept or you've slept too much. A curtain has been drawn open slightly, probably by Rush while you slept, and the light is a soft grey again, suggesting either sunrise or sunset.

You knuckle your eyes. You're going to have to get used to this nocturnal business. It shouldn't be hard; you've always been a night owl. Still, you feel strange, like the world has somehow flipped on its axis.

You narrow your eyes against the glare, spotting something unusual through the windows. Carefully, you get out of bed, taking care with your 'new' body. Now that you've had some rest and your mind has cleared you feel extra strange. Your strides are too long. Your perspective is all wrong; the ceiling is too close, the floor too far away. Even the way you breathe is different, long and slow.

You're a little shaky and you grip onto the window edge to steady yourself. It's hard to see with your night vision but somehow you can tell there's something different about the view. Something so subtle you can't describe what, even to yourself.

You frown as you study the scene. Are you imagining it? It's the same forest. The mountains are hazy against what you now believe is the setting sun. That same ribbon of smoke coils into the air from the distant village.

Shaking your head, you turn to the room and are about to go in search of Rush, when you stop yourself and turn back. No. Something ... something isn't right. You're mistaken; it's nothing to do with what you see but what you feel. The only way you can explain it is that it's like a sixth sense. Is this part of your transformation too? Or are you just going crazy?

Whatever the reason, you don't like it. There's a coldness to the air that makes you nervous. It ties a small knot in the pit of your stomach. If Rush drew the curtain open, does that mean he was here too, looking out over the forest? Had he felt the same thing?

At the sound of a knock at your door you turn with a start. 'Rush?'

No answer.

You back up against the wall as the door moans open.