Faceless

I don’t know why I am still writing in this journal. There is no point to it and yet it has become a small comfort. Writing these words down lifts a burden from my shoulders. While it is horrible to see quite plainly my sins in these pages it is also a purging that I’ve needed for a long time.

I feel the dull ache building in my body that will soon be excruciating pain. Will this be my last transformation?

* * *

On the edge of the last village I came across I saw a young man riding on a beautiful horse the color of honey. The man’s own hair was the same shade as the horse’s mane. He had large brown eyes and a thin roman nose. I have assumed his form in this dark cave. It feels unnecessary to transfigure myself in a place where no one can see me. Still, what other choice do I have? If I remained in the state between shifts, my true visage, the pain would be unbearable.

A shape shifter’s actual body is too delicate to remain in without molding itself into another person’s appearance. Thin naked muscles stretched over liquid bones, no hair, no nails, no teeth, no skin, no sex, just a coating of slime not unlike the fluid a child sleeps in within her mother’s belly.

I am utterly repulsed by my own true form. How can I blame the humans for sharing that repulsion?

Oh God. I hear them coming, heavy footfalls against rock growing nearer and nearer. It’s over.