Howl of the unchosen
The air buzzed around her as her shape began to tessellate, her skin stretching and twisting into otherworldly forms, the sides of her body warping and shifting like shifting glass.
It was an overwhelming sense of control, of shaping the very world to her will. She was aware of the metamorphosis, aware of the aggression’s energy coursing through her, aware of her face transforming, her skin becoming smooth, her hair lengthening and changing to a silken shade of brown. Her bones snap, crackle and pop, and reform, becoming the willowy frame of the woman she is trying to impersonate. It was a grueling process, grounding in the best way, and it made her head spin with the thrust of power, and sh
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