"Protea spontanea," the halfling doctor said confidently.

I sat silently. Confused.

"It's a rare disorder. Very rare. In fact, you are the first recorded person to have this condition. I just coined the name, so if you think it's a stupid name, let me know." Dr. Bullfreckle looked down at his clipboard and said slowly and quietly, "Proh-TEE-yuh spon-TAIN-ee-yuh," feeling each syllable dance across his lips and tongue.

"But how? Is this some curse? I've been going through this for two years!"

"Disorder. I ran you through all the tests and the cause of your disorder is your own body. No witch can hide a hex from a class-98 detect energy ritual cast by yours truly."

"What about a class-100? Like we talked about?"

"A 98 is 98% as effective and at a quarter of the cost. I'm not burning diamonds for this." He looked down at his clipboard again and sighed. "Onto the other news, I ran a genetics test. A simple class-20 just to get an idea if we need to run a more invasive test." He looked at me and paused.

"Oswald... you're a changeling."

I sat, stunned. I peered into the halfling's face to perhaps catch a glimpse of amusement, like what would spread across his if he was about to say "Gotcha!" But no. No amusement. Not even a slight smirk. His face was a rock and my spirit crashed against it like an ocean wave, dashed into a thousand tiny droplets. I was a changeling. The most distrusted. The lowest of the low.

"But my parents were both human! I'm a human!"

But I wasn't. As of that morning, I was seven foot tall charcoal-skinned infernal with glowing amber eyes and horns like a ram. I had a devil's tail, which flicked about almost as if it had a mind of its own. My tongue felt long and slender in my mouth, and when it wasn't used for talking it ran across my sharp teeth, exploring what felt like another person's mouth. Even as I sat there, I could feel my bones slowly shift, preparing for my nightly metamorphosis.

"I knew this would be difficult to explain. But yes, you are a changeling, but your powers were somehow delayed by twenty-eight years. Some changelings have their power from birth, some develop them as toddlers, but you... this delay is unheard of. Thus, protea spontanea. It's more of a learning disorder than anything else."

"A learning disorder?"

"I mean, shapeshifting is usually wild in a changeling's early years. Actually controlling it might take five to ten years of training, but in your case we don't know... It may take longer."

"And my parents? Are they changelings and just decided to never tell me? Am I adopted?"

"Don't ask me. That's a conversation between you and your parents." He flicked a brochure towards me. "Take this." The red brochure had a picture of a human-looking child with an abnormally broad smile. It was titled, "THE CHANGELING'S GUIDE TO BEING A NORMAL KID", which was designed to look like it was drawn on with a crayon.

"We usually give that to children."

--

The brochure was crumpled into a ball and thrown into a trash can somewhere between the doctor's office and my apartment. I walked down the city sidewalk swiftly, frustrated by the truth and the questions that remained unanswered. The afternoon sun beat on my dark skin and my infernal eyes burned in its radiance. Pedestrians looked at me, mere glimpses, and then avoided eye contact. Infernals were not common in this neighborhood, so my appearance probably brought some displeasure.

My first unwilling transformation two years ago was an elderly human lady, and I was mortified by what happened to my body. The wrinkles, the sags, and the obvious change between my legs. I called out sick at work, wrapped myself in a blanket and waited in bed, hoping for that nightmare to end. The next day I was olive-skinned hunk of a man with dark wavy hair and a chiseled face. The next, a twenty-something woman with sad eyes and long dark hair. In a couple weeks, I started to take on the qualities of humanoid species besides humans, so one day I could be a short human lady with curly red hair and the next be an orc with tusks that were so tall they took permanent real estate in my field of view.

Of course, I lost my job. There was no way I would be able to convince anybody that I, the silver-haired dwarf lady, was Oswald. Friendships broke down. I either stopped talking to people or they realized my condition was just too much for them to handle. To get by financially, I began taking odd jobs. On days where I had muscles to spare, I would help move furniture or load wagons. On days where I was small and easy to miss, I stole valuables from nobles and sold them to the local fence. On days where I had looks, I'd woo people out of their coins. On days where I didn't have any of those things, I sat in my cheap apartment and moped.

After two years of that, I was uncertain if I could continue eking out a living doing this. I lived a lonely life and had many dangerous close calls from biting off more than I could chew with odd jobs. I had not talked to my parents in four years at that point, and with good reason... they were narcissistic and controlling, the definition of strict. But if I wanted answers, and maybe some financial assistance, maybe they could help me. I was out of options. I had to message them, and that is what I was going to do. Just a minute's walk to the apartment, then I could write a letter.

"Heeeey," said a voice. I stopped in my tracks and turned my head to the dark alleyway it came from. "What's the hurry?" The voice fluttered between a masculine and feminine tone, like two people speaking at once through a single mouth. It was unsettling... yet alluring.

"Me?"

"Yes, you," the voice lightly chuckled. "Want to go back to that drab apartment?"

"Not really..." My whole body turned to face the monumental void of darkness that engulfed the alleyway.

"Why don't you come with me, then? I can teach you what a brochure can't."

I paused. How did they know about the brochure? "How long have you been following me?"

"Long enough to know your tragic story," the speaker said in a jokingly pouty tone. "Poor thing. A changeling, oh poor baby! Protein-ea spork-tanea!"

"That was a private medical consultation about a private medical matter! Who gave you the right to eavesdrop?"

"Oh, I didn't eavesdrop. I just know what you are thinking. Mind-reading is a good skill for a changeling to have... Let's you know what the people want. And I know what you want, my sweet Ozzy..."

They were probing my mind. They knew what I wanted. Again, unsettling... but alluring. I slowly opened my mouth and prepared to utter a single word. Everything that I wanted.

"Control," we said simultaneously, our voices overlapping into a chorus of tones.

"Yeeeeess. I can give you that control. I taught myself... and I can teach you. Once you gain control over your body, the power can be..."

Two yellow orbs flashed in the dark, side by side, and underneath a mouthful of sharp teeth reflected the dim light of the alleyway.

"INTOXICATING..." the sharp teeth spat out the word suggestively. Eyelids draped halfway over the yellow orbs to give an enchanting glare.

I shuddered pondering just who was waiting in the darkness.

"Don't write to your parents, Ozzie. You don't want them, you want control."

I nodded silently. I began stepping forward. Out of the sunlight and past the threshold between light and dark. Bathed in darkness, the eyes and teeth of the creature came closer and closer as I walked towards them. They moved forward to meet me until the two eyes dominated my view. The small black pupils danced across my face and the wide smile of the creature grew wider. I could smell their sweet breath, like citrus fruit and flower petals. A large, slender hand landed on left shoulder. The other hand gently combed my hair until it gently, yet firmly grabbed a hold of my right horn.

"Another changeling..." they whispered, bathing me in their sweet breath. "I've waited so long..." Their pupils stopped their dance and settled on my eyes. "You have a question. Ask me."

"What's your name? What do I call you?"

"Oh, Ozzie," they whispered. Their grin grew into a wicked smile, flashing more and more of their razor-sharp teeth. "You can call me anything you want..."

I have never been the same person two days in a row. Tom says he doesn't mind. "It's like a new adventure every day!", is what he says, and I suppose there's some truth to that thought. But I can see it in his face when he wakes up every morning to me, the new me. A droop in his eyes. A slight in his expression, as if every morning he is desperately trying to remember the me he first met, the one he fell in love with.

The pictures that scatter the walls are of that me. A me so far removed I forget what she looked like until I look at the pictures again, but when I do I cannot remember what it felt like to be her. Despite what Tom says, I know he only stays with me in hopes I become her again one day.

This morning upon waking up I am Asian; tall, thin, and model like. When I check the mirror the first thing I notice is my skin: fair and flawless, like a sheet of freshly fallen snow wrapped around me. And I feel pretty for the first time in a while.

Thankfully I'm a woman again today, the days where I'm not become... uncomfortable, for me and Tom both.

From the bedroom I can hear Tom stretch out loudly as he does most mornings, then call out.

"Who are you today?"

"A woman, really pretty." I try to hide the tiredness in my voice, but feel as if it's ingrained now.

"You sound different too. Can I see?"

As I step back into the room his eyes widen, and I feel excited to be this new form, but as usual his face droops again.

"In the past few years have you ever felt the same as you did back then?" Tom gestures over to a picture on the bedside; an image of me and him, the me before my condition.

In truth I had not. I don't even remember what being her felt like anymore, and if I did then I'd already be her again. But that's not what Tom wanted to hear. What he wanted to hear was that everyday I was closer to being her again. That any day I would return to his beck and call as who I once was. What he really wanted to hear was:

"Some days, yes. I can tell you like me better those days. But I'm getting closer so you don't have to worry."

My words were met by a soured expression, like a rotted grape staring back at me. Whether distaste for my reply or a disbelief I could not tell. It did not matter though, tomorrow I would be a new person once more and be taken another step further from the me I once was. No longer Marcy or Anna; Glenn or Carry, something new every day.

As I returned to the bathroom and looked in the mirror once more I could almost see her. The woman I had been those years ago. She teased me, flashing between the old her and the current me. I reached out to the glass and touched, my fingertips, the fingertips of this Eastern born stranger I inhabited, meeting with the fingers of the real me. If I could just push through maybe I could be her again.

"Honey, did you take your medication today?" I jumped, Toms voice startling me back.

"No, I will now" I replied, opening the bottle by the sink.

Carefully I took out a little white pill. Mood Stabilizer, is what my doctor had called them. I didn't know what that meant though. My mood wasn't the problem.

I brought the pill over to the sink and dropped it in as I did every morning, then turned on the water and watched it decay.

"There, took it." I called out.

"Good, you won't get better if you don't try sweetie. I'm proud of you and whoever you feel like today."

This time, in the mirror, I saw her. Me staring back at me. The me from all of those years ago; though as always, the moment passed.

Amalgam - Part 1 of 3

Brenda's nipples were so hard they could cut through paper. On bad days, they could cut through tree bark. She wore only the most expansive sport shirts, lesser fabric did not survive a day. This was made more complicated by her being homeless and penniless, making buying clothes a problematic prospect. As luck would have it, she had no moral qualms about petty thievery and spent her idle days breaking and entering into various homes and shops for her daily needs.

Pick this shop, for instance. It is night, it is protected by an alarm, it is located in a calm city in the Sicilian countryside. The window breaks, the alarm goes off. Lights in the distance, curious faces gazing through the windows. When the police comes, Brenda is long gone, dozens of kilograms heavier, shock-waves going up and down her fat belly with every step of her absurd escape.

Officers shook their heads, as did the few witnesses who had taken videos. It was the first time they experienced a chocolate shop being broken into for the sole purpose of drinking the chocolate fountain empty. The thief would die from a bursting stomach, that's for sure.

Brenda lost herself in a meadow under the moonlight. Damn videos, they made the world go hasty. She lay down, plucked some grass to chew onto. She closed her eyes.

The veins traced a map, ribs, armpits and breasts a geography to rise and lower with the tide of age. With wisdom came understanding of one's bodily picture. With experience came the patience to let the flesh's earth heal. And beyond, far beyond the limits of an everyday human life, came the key to unlock the flesh. Brenda felt no veins to speak of. Neurons, blood and gray matter were a constellation of stars, a graph to pick a shining point and displace. One by one, she moved the stars of her world.

The mask that was Brenda died that night.

In the meadow stood Brad. A blond, blue-eyed, and utterly gorgeous athlete who could effortlessly win regional bodybuilding competitions and make a career as a model. And his nipples weren't so destructive anymore.

Brad traveled, and the people who spoke to him, drawn by his almost supernatural good looks, were quickly repulsed by his sheer stupidity. Brad was Australian by heart, loved surfing and tanning under the sun. It's at this point that people pointed out there was no sun this late in Autumn, that this was Italia and that Brad didn't seem to know English, that he would catch a cold, and could he please stop sunbathing naked on the concrete road? There are children about.

Men and women left Brad disappointed at how life could mix such gorgeous looks with an abyssal black hole of a brain.

Brad didn't care, he was too stupid for that. His travels took him to Gallipoli, A city bordering the sea. There was lovely promenade there, on an old high wall that once protected the Italian coastline from invaders. Today, Brad gazed over the lazy sea as he sat on a bench. The sun was hidden behind clouds, a cold breeze washed over the old stones.

When Brad tired of the sea, he observed the passerby. An old couple enjoying retirement. A hurried woman going to work. A teary young man with painted fingernails. A tide erupted from deep inside Brad, forcing him to look closer. Indeed. Painted nails, tears on his face, a t-shirt that would never keep out the cold.

Brad, not entirely looking like the homeless person that he was due to his great looks (he must have been a hippie or something), felt the need to approach the young man.

The alarm blared, with unkind red digits flashing 6:00.

I slammed the button (already a good sign) and debated going back to sleep. I didn't NEED to get up this early, especially if I just worked from home... but it was supposed to be nice out today.

Begrudingly, I closed my eyes and sat up. It wasn't quite as smooth as I liked, but it wasn't bad. Now, time to settle in.

I open my eyes, staring directly at a mirror for this part of the morning routine.

I take a moment to try to process everything. Naked, since you really don't want to wake up in clothes far too small for you. Male. Late 20s. Caucasian, fair complexion. A bit short. Medium length brown hair, didn't look like it had ever been parted. A bit skinny, but not horrible. Brown eyes - and vision was good. Mole on left temple.

Alright, today had a chance to be a good day. Time to get moving.

First, a little bit of 'exercise'. Start with stretching. Learn these muscles, bones and tendons - I need to know what creaked and what was loose. Luckily, everything was accounted for: 2 arms, 2 legs, and the proper digits on each. Phantom limb syndrome sucked, so that was a huge relief. No hypermobility in this one - fingers and elbows stop where they're supposed to, cool. Right-handed? Good, feels natural.

Alright, time for the treadmill. Relatively natural gait today - a little short, but otherwise straightforward. Powerwalking and jogging feel fine. I think I hit the jackpot today.

Hmm... it's not all sunshine and rainbows... this body's a sweat factory. Time to clean it up.

As the shower came to temperature, I started brushing my teeth for the day. Sure, these teeth would be gone tomorrow - but finding the cavities and sensitive spots early on was useful, and I still didn't know where they WENT. Was I just borrowing someone else's body? Did they actively CHANGE, even though that's not a thing teeth do? What if, tomorrow, I woke up in this body, with these teeth forever? I might as well start taking care of them now. Nothing sensitive, so I flossed and used a good non-alcoholic mouthwash. (Not the one that can kill your sense of taste, that was a wakeup call a while back!)

Stop thinking about teeth. Move on.

I didn't have any fuzz - that was nice. Some people bemoaned not being able to grow a beard; for me, it was a luxury to not need to discover the contours of my face on the fly. No styptic pencil, no bandages, no makeup.

No makeup was a cause for celebration. I had an eye for it now, but it was still always a struggle figuring out what products worked for today's skin. What tone complemented nicely; how much was enough to not stand out as 'unkempt' but not too much. Women, frankly, had an unfair amount of socially-required upkeep, and being able to skip that? Wonderful.

Fingernails needed trimmed. It was nice when they were already at a good length. At least I didn't have to wonder tonight where the long fingernails would go.

On the shelf beside the shower, I'm grabbing most of the stuff from the left side. Slightly stronger body wash; trying to skip the anti-dandruff shampoo today.

Scrub-a-dub-dub, no surprises. I'm optimistic that I might even be productive today, as I towel off and walk to the guest bedroom. I kept calling it that, because even as crowded as it was, it felt too big to call it a 'closet' and too small to call it 'my personal department store'.

A quick date with a tape measure to validate a couple guesses, a quick visit to 'Menswear', and voila! I have clean underwear and jog pants.

I throw a strong coffee pod in the machine, grab a coffee cup and some creamer, and a yogurt from the mini fridge.

I slide into the desk chair, adjust it a bit shorter, and unlock my laptop. It's time for the most 'fun' part of the routine.

It's time to figure out who I am going to be today.

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[removed]

No one ever really gets to know you.

This was at first a defence mechanism put in place to protect your identity. It’s not fucking easy to build relationships when people really know who you are.

But every night on discord, while searching for your people, your appearance, height, age, accent and ethnicity change in order to protect yourself.

It wasn’t until last week that you came to realize the psychological impact that it was having on you.

The AI helps you to maintain your stories for each persona, it gets complicated. Having an AI generated face for interactions through discord has been a venture on its own. It took 2 months to hire the right team and another 9 months before it was usable. The audio portion was tricky with accents but when it was finally fixed it worked. No one could really tell the difference with the exception of a slight lighting issue.

When you sleep you dream of these other yous.

Sharing about your then girl who you adored writing anime style love and adventure stories with, was the last real time that you felt like you meeting people.

It was like a piece of you was etched in stone in that time and space.

The darkness that came afterwards consumed you into a solitary beam of triumph, fighting to be on the top of the world.

It tore you.

So seeking solace in people who couldn’t possibly have motivation to harm your ego, challenge your choices or give other negativity to you in this format was a natural formation.

Shielded yet meaningful connection.

Aaa aaaa aaaa aaa. I’m up, I’m up. My alarm is starting to piss me off. Gotta fix that.

Why was I talking with an accent? My mind has been playing tricks on me. I was up too late again, making a wonderful connection with a Canadian woman on discord.

Everytime that happens a part of me stays in that persona, no matter how much I try to shake it.

I think part of me recognizes a connection, something that is fucking painfully real and deep..