When my body changes, when my clothes fall to the manicured grass around me, and I’ve taken on a new body, it isn’t any breed of serpent that lies coiled in the grass. The world looks different, but not in the way I expected. Not in the way I was told a serpent could see and sense the minute vibrations of the world. Hollow bones and feathered skin burn like acid and I change again. Bones crunch, ligaments stretch. Then a third time. Then a fourth. By the time I shift back into my human body, the sharp pains in my bones and an awful, cold shock make tears spill down my face. My father is
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