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Shapeshift, a story

There’s a story about a woman who disappeared.

When she reappeared, she was changed.

Her skin, once smooth, was now covered in hair from head to toe. On her face and hands grew the soft fur of a rabbit, while on her arms, legs, and chest grew coarse bristles like a badger’s.

Some of the bristles laid so neatly side by side that they stuck and together formed feathers that sprung from her skin in all directions.

Then she disappeared for a second time.

When she reappeared, she was changed.

This time she had several tails—each different from the last—and in her arms she held leather sacks each one filled to bursting with a different collection: one was filled with fragile plants, another one with hardy acorns, and the last with the skulls of small animals.

Then she disappeared for a third time.

When she reappeared, all the teeth in her mouth had changed.

She now had sharp teeth, like a wolf, blunt teeth, like a horse, and lots of small teeth that numbered in the dozens.

When I asked her what she believed in, she answered with a melancholic sigh,

“a lot of different things.”



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