Chapter 3: The Mirror

Morning light crept through the dusty cabin curtains as I stood in front of the full-length mirror I'd dragged out of the bedroom closet. John was still downstairs in the basement, rummaging through the scrolls, muttering about trying to find another translation. Good. I needed a moment alone with my new body.

The mirror was old, the glass slightly warped, but it showed me clearly enough. I stared at the reflection, my heart pounding.

My head was still me—same dark hair, same brown eyes, same face I'd woken up with for twenty-five years. My hands were human too, fingers trembling as I raised them to touch the glass. But from the wrists up to my shoulders, black feathers covered my arms, iridescent in the light, shimmering with green and purple hints. My torso was the same: feathered from the collarbone down to my waist, the feathers lying flat and smooth against my skin.

And below the waist... I sucked in a breath.

My legs were fully avian. Thick, scaled, powerful, ending in yellow talons that curled against the wooden floor. I flexed them, watching the claws grip the grain. Behind me, a large tail bobbed with every movement, heavy with feathers.

I turned sideways to see it better. The tail was shaped like a hen's—rounded, full, the kind you'd see on a laying hen in a farmyard. But the feathers weren't just black. There were splashes of brilliant color: deep red, copper, emerald green, gold. Rooster feathers. They arched up and out, catching the light, defiantly masculine against the hen-like silhouette.

"It's both," I whispered, reaching back to touch them. The feathers were soft, flexible, but the quills were thick. "Hen tail, rooster feathers. I'm not one or the other. I'm... a mix."

I turned back to face the mirror, my eyes drifting lower. Between my legs, where my vagina should have been, there was nothing. Just smooth feathered skin. But when I twisted and looked over my shoulder, I could see it: a small, puckered opening tucked under the base of my tail, half-hidden by the feathery cascade. My cloaca.

I reached back and touched it gently. The sensation was electric, a jolt that shot through my whole body. I gasped, my knees going weak. The opening pulsed, warm and alive, more sensitive than anything I'd ever felt.

"Wow," I breathed.

I touched it again, …