notes on shapeshifting*
God is in The Rain“I serpent all over you, my heaven, my love. You hold
my melting face.”
-Gabi Abrao, notes on shapeshifting
I didn't expect the title of this book to incite it all—the desire to revive this story for once. The slump is never-ending, yet I persist.
All senses of color have been lost. Everything that seeps out from the sinuous surface of her elongated face has no color reflected into one eye.
Another day, she was abandoned once more by her patron, a drunk man who’s nice enough to let her into the contract, and he balked out at one chance of immortality reflected in the serpent. There is no turning back after a bottle hits the head and he twisted her in such ways, leaving her bled to dry in this alley, battered cold under the rain, unconscious about to gather everything into one piece as the fangs seeped inside the gums and green scales dried out, and as soon as the mucus fleshed into a thumb that into a gap that was once an eye-
Right.
For whatever reason, that man decided to pluck that away. A sick, deranged idea of a souvenir, the serpent does not know.
And the damned bluejay was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she, too, was getting tired of this part as well. The part where she was discarded and left in between shapeshifting.
Pathetic excuse of a goddess-servant, a lousy shapeshifter that won't convince anyon
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