That was so not soup!

When the world finally dragged itself back into focus, the agony began to recede, leaving my muscles twitching and my breath coming in ragged, heavy heaves against the dirt floor. I stayed there for a moment, pressing my face into the cool earth, before reaching out a trembling hand to grip the edge of the wooden table. As I hauled myself up, my joints popping with a strange, fluid grace, I heard her raspy voice cut through the silence. "Oh... interesting." I glared at her, my palms splayed flat against the scarred wood as I fought to steady my breathing. My mouth felt dry, and I instinctively swept my tongue over my lips to moisten them before I started screaming. I froze. I had to run my tongue over my teeth again just to be sure. My canines had lengthened. It wasn't a massive transformation, but they were sharp, noticeably, dangerously sharper. "What was… " I started, but the sentence died in my throat as I lifted my hands to point at my mouth. The teeth weren't the biggest problem. My fingernails,

the ones I constantly clipped short because they got in the way, were long. They were dark, curved, and looked like they were carved from obsidian. "What the hell did you do?!"

I shrieked across the table. "I didn't do that," she replied, her voice infuriatingly calm as she watched me with those mild, searching eyes. "You changed my body, you hag!"

"If you relax, I will explain. And they will go back... I think."

"Relax? RELAX?!" My temper, always a volatile thing, exploded. "That was so not just soup!"

I slammed my hand down onto the table in a fit of rage, but instead of a dull thud,

there was a sickening thwack. My new claws sank deep into the ancient wood, pinning my hand to the surface. "Fuck!" I screamed again, my fury instantly replaced by panicked frustration as I yanked at my arm, trying to pry my own fingers out of the table. After a torrent of curses and several failed attempts to swat at the old woman, which only resulted in me jolting my own trapped hand.

The fire in my chest finally flickered down to a smoulder. Or, at least, as calm as one can be when their anatomy has been hijacked by a forest hag. I sat there, my claws still sunk deep into the grain of the wood, as she began to speak. "There is magic in our world," she said, her voice steady and rhythmic. "It once lived in yours, too, but your people chose to suppress it. You pushed it down so hard, for so many centuries, that it eventually withered away. But in some of you, the spark remains,

buried under layers of mundane dust. The door only opens for those who carry that potential. The others get trapped.

" She leaned in, the firelight dancing in her pale eyes. "Usually, it takes years to coax that power to the surface. But I don't have the patience for years. So, I gave you a little... nudge."

"And why would you care if it takes years for me?" I snapped. "It’s got nothing to do with you."

The old woman let out a dry, rattling chuckle. "You have an... how shall I put it... interesting path ahead of you, sweetie. And without the powers of yours awake, that path would have been considerably harder to walk." I narrowed my eyes, the heat in my stomach finally settling into a dull throb. "So, what? I’m getting powers now?"

"Perhaps," she whispered, As I stared at my hands, the obsidian claws began to recede, sliding back into my fingertips until my nails returned to their bitten, jagged normalcy.

My hand came free with a wooden groan. I swept my tongue over my teeth, the fangs were still there, sharp and alien against my lip. I didn't say a word. I snatched the leather pouch of Dasus off the table and shoved it into my bag, which I retrieved from the dirt floor.

"Don't expect a thank you," I spat, my voice trembling with a mix of rage and lingering shock.

 "I'm leaving." I stormed out of the cottage, my boots crunching through the moss as I marched blindly down the path. I didn't care where I was going, as long as it was away from her.

A sharp, pointed throat-clearing sounded behind me. I spun around, glaring. She was standing in the doorway of her mound-house, pointing a gnarled finger in the exact opposite direction.

"If you wish to reach the city and not wander for weeks, I will prefer you walk that way,"

she called out. I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder, pivoted on my heel, and started walking the way she pointed. "When you get to the fork, go left. All right?" I waved a dismissive hand over my shoulder, refusing to look back. As if I’d trust her directions after she’d turned me into a literal predator.  The trek through the forest was unlike any hike I’d ever taken back home. In the "Normal World," the woods felt empty, a collection of static objects. Here, the forest felt awake.

The air was thick with the hum of insects that sounded like tiny, buzzing orchestras, and the sunlight filtered through the canopy. Giant ferns, taller than I was, unfurled their fronds as I passed, their undersides glowing with a soft, bioluminescent dew. All the time my hand flew to my mouth, feeling for the sharp points of my new teeth. The path was a winding ribbon of silver-grey dirt, flanked by trees with bark that looked like braided copper.