# Chapter 8: The New Normal

Amelia woke to the smell of herself.

It hit her before she even opened her eyes—a thick, musky odor that clung to her feathers and skin. It smelled like a chicken coop, like warm hay and bird droppings and something deeply animal. She wrinkled her nose, pulling the blanket up, but the smell followed her. It was her.

She felt a surge of humiliation rise in her chest. She smelled like a chicken. Like a barnyard animal. She pressed her face into the pillow, trying to block it out, but she could taste it too, that earthy, feathered scent.

She turned her head to look for John.

His side of the bed was empty. Cold.

"John?" she called, her voice hoarse.

No answer.

She sat up carefully, her talons catching on the sheets. The egg was still nestled beside her, warm and solid, and she couldn't help but glance at it—that terrible, beautiful thing she'd pushed out of her body. She touched it gently, then forced herself to stand.

Her legs were stiff, her hips sore. The morning light filtered through the cabin's curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. She padded out of the bedroom, her tail feathers swishing behind her, and made her way toward the living room.

Halfway there, a familiar cramp seized her lower abdomen.

She stopped, her breath catching. No. Not again.

But she recognized the sensation immediately—that deep, pressing urge in her cloaca, the same one she'd felt yesterday. Another egg was coming.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up. Her eyes found the nest—the pile of pillows and clothes she'd abandoned the day before. She stumbled toward it, her talons scraping against the hardwood, and lowered herself into position.

The pressure built. She braced her hands on the floor, her tail feathers lifting, her skirt bunching around her waist. She began to push.

The pain was sharp, familiar—the stretch of her cloaca's outer ring, the resistance of something too large passing through a hole designed for it. She gasped, gritting her teeth. But as she pushed, something shifted. The pain began to blur into something else. A warmth spread through her pelvis, and her gasps turned into low moans.

The egg moved. She could feel it, inch by inch, pressing against her insides. Her moans deepened, becoming something else—a guttural, rhythmic sound that …