The raven huffs. But he unfurls his wings. At first, I don’t see anything happening. There are no sparkles or “shazam!” sound. But then his wings grow outward. “Croak!” the raven cries, tossing its head. His legs lengthen, his body contorts, and the sound of bones snapping and muscles twisting rends the night. The raven tips forward off the sill onto my floor. What lands is a crouching man, his skin prickled with feathers that retract to reveal pale skin and lots of intricate, artistic tattoos. A waterfall of shimmering black hair falls down his back.
