A Tale of the Shapeshifters

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑿𝑿𝑰𝑰𝑰 - 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏

Athena did not recognize her own face. It was long and gaunt, not plump and fresh. Where were the strawberry cheeks of her girlhood? All deep and pink with freckly seeds dispersed throughout. They were replaced with high cheekbones, pale and bleak. She looked more like her cousin Margie instead of herself. She looked like the women traveling around London or Dublin, strolling along the streets. If she stuck her nose in the air and shut her eyelids, no one could tell a difference.

Her pupils dilated as she focused on every inch of her face. She stared into the vanity mirror, pinched her icy cheeks, ruffled her golden tresses, and pursed her lips. Even her eyes had lost their shimmer, their distinct shades of blue—like the ocean water. Now they were as gray as the fog laying over London.

In Dublin, she blended in with the white façades of each man and woman and child, and therefore, thought nothing of it. But in her own small village, she was the lone raw fish in a pile of steaming salmon. Everyone else had red necks and faces, freckles, and tousled hair. But Athena, she fit in as much as her name allowed. Her hair laid in immaculate ringlets along her curved back. Her face was like a new slate of snow, untouched by boots and animal tracks. Her appearance was so unlike that of her people... so unlike who she used to be.

But these are only halfway your people, echoing voices whispered in her mind—ghosts of the truth.

The young girl shook her head, beating the voices away. Instead, she latched onto the vanity and glared deep into her clouded eyes. Intense. Red. Blood veins intermixing with white. She flared her nostrils and sunk her nails into the wood of the vanity. Veins burgeoned out of her high forehead as she trembled with newfound rage. Not childish annoyance and selfishness, but rage. The expression she made was not hers—it was the expression of a woman. And though some part of her knew this, she continued to drop her chin and elongate her face, attempting to understand her new appearance, deciding if it would remain.

I went to Dublin to find who I was, and the whole time I thought I was finding a new side of myself—and perhaps I did—but being in the village makes me feel as lost as ever. She wrinkled her brows and her eyes quivered with tears threatening to explode out of the sockets. Perhaps I am no one. Perhaps I am only what Father and Aunt Helena tell me to be. Nothing more....

Athena's arms wavered, trembling. Her grip only tightened around the snow-white vanity; her nails only sunk deeper into the strong wood.

I don't know who I am, I don't know who I am, I don't know who I am, I don't know who—

"Annie?"

Athena lurched, hitting her forehead on the mirror, but not breaking it. "Ach!" she yelled.

"Annie! Are you alright?" The small girl sprinted to her sister's side, tugging at Athena's skirts.

"Yes, little one, I'm fine." She rubbed her head with blood-red palms.

"Do you need a wet rag?"

"No, thank you." Athena brushed her hair with her other hand, pinning down the few out-of-place hairs. "What do you need, little one?"

"Um, um, um," Athena leaned down onto her knees, waiting, "Father is gonna read us a bedtime story!" Her high-pitched squeals and claps filled the entire room.

"How wonderful!" Athena smiled a thin smile, lifting only one side of her mouth. "Well, you go on then and enjoy it. I'm heading to bed."

The little girl ended her dancing and clapping at once, and her eyes grew three times larger while her lips extended outward. "But, Annie..."

"Yes?" Athena lifted herself from the ground, stretching her arms and walking toward her expansive canopy bed.

"I thought you might wanna come listen too."