Transformation scene

**Sariah is getting bitchy, she hasn't been let out in a while. She's been barking and scratching at the door in the back of my mind. So, instead of sex, or violence, I thought I would allow another side of her out...**

Four city blocks from the corner where she abandoned her recent kills, the bones of her feet, which bore the most weight, began to ache. Then the need to return to human became strong and hurtful. Even after hundreds of years, she could not get accustomed to that particular pain. She began to hurry, and in her haste she sacrificed caution for speed. Discretion was not an option. Thankfully, she was at the seedy end of town, and Sariah was certain that she had terrorized the residents enough that if they saw her, none would call the authorities.

Her entire body hurt now, ribs burning with each heaved breath. Joints began to crack as they collapsed toward human. All four paws struck pavement as she ran and then skidded around a corner at the end of Hudson Street.

Beneath a battered TV repair shop sign was an entrance into an unlit back alley. Ragged edges abraded Sariah's sensitive muzzle as she eased the tip of her snout between the jamb and the unlocked, battered metal door. Blood dripped from uprooted whiskers as she drew in large snoutfuls of air, testing for unwanted interlopers. She did not wish for any witnesses to her transformation. Exhaled snorts sprayed sanguine drops to the rolled dust ridge which rode before the advancing edge of the door.

Stale urine, soured milk in a container in a trash bin, nasty diapers, but other than that she smelled nothing. She was alone.

Sariah drug the rest of her body through the easement and turned to slam the door shut behind her. Fur boiled off from her clawed hands, leaving raw singed skin behind. Her hands screamed in silent pain, the knuckles cracking as the bones of her fingers shrank back to the same delicate digits before transformation.

Yet this was only the beginning.

Transformation flowed in a savage flood from the extremities inward. Tears bled from Sariah's eyes, both from pain and from the restructured leaking of the eye socket as the bones regained her refined woman's features. Hair fell from her hide as the skin grew tender and ligature-tight, strangling her muscles, her ribcage. Her wrists and ankles twisted with vicious torque beneath her body where she crouched. Suffering ran thick through her blood, echoed in hollow refrain through her bones as arm and leg bones shortened and turned, grinding the joints.

By the time her torso began to change, Sariah had been reduced to kneeling, her rib cage cinching tight, her stomach regurgitating the jumbled bones and fibrous ligaments of fingertips; the flesh came out in a clear, jellied mass. Her throat erupted in keening as her pelvic bones snapped loose from her spine – twisted, contorted, pumped agony throughout her body. Shoulder blades, floated free, wrenching as they rode the back of her ribcage into their normal position.

Finally, the pain was over. Sariah's chest heaved, the air no longer tainted with her own blood. Relief trickled in where the pain had begun to ebb. Yet, with each change and return, her pained mind was forced to remember how she became the creature that she was; the animal that had first bitten her and poisoned her blood, her body – and broken her heart.

She was forced to remember Xander Nicolas Waithorn.