Day ten came, and again I'd not slept a wink all night. Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to get some napping in before last night's workout, so I wasn't completely out of it. Prior experience was that the effects of an exercise session would last for around a day, so I was expecting to be uncomfortable until the evening. I'd do my best to sleep normally tonight and then work out again tomorrow morning.

There had been further changes overnight, my skin sloughing off my hands and leaving the leathery material beneath, which was already starting to grow its scales. The horns had finally erupted from my head, narrow and rounded, gently curving backwards, but still with some more growing to do before they were as long as pictures I'd seen. In an effort not to lose my voice, I spent a while before breakfast just trying to speak, trying to make words that sounded, if not human, at least comprehensible. It went... adequately. I wasn't happy with it, but it was hardly the thing at the forefront of my mind right now.

Then I tasted breakfast, and it was gross. Looks like they aren't considering me cooperating anymore. Or were they? There hadn't been any notes telling me to stop, and breakfast looked normal. Was there just one annoyed person out there, who had decided to piss in it or something? Or, possibly even worse, was this a harpy thing? Despite looking and smelling, as far as any logical part of my brain could tell, exactly like yesterday, it still managed to feel unappetising. What did harpies even eat? I bet it wasn't full English cooked breakfasts.

Stolen story; please report.

I found out the answer at lunch, which didn't even turn up on a plate. Just a collection of raw vegetables and fruits in a pile, with a dead squirrel on top. "No..." I whimpered, my screechy voice making my protest sound far less sincere than I felt. It hadn't been prepared in any way. It was just sitting there, whole, still wearing its fur, beady dead eyes looking at nothing. I managed to stare for a full ten seconds before spinning around and throwing up in the toilet.

I ate the fruit and veg, but did my best not to touch the squirrel. Not only out of disgust, but also because of just how appetising it looked. I was worried that if I touched it, I wouldn't be able to resist taking a bite. So much for my mind being unaffected. I did my best to tell myself that I was still capable of thinking logically, and it was just my body telling me what sort of things I could eat, but regardless of how I tried to rationalise it, this change was far more disturbing than any change to my appearance had been.

When my evening meal came, there was no note complaining about me not eating the squirrel, but this one came with a rabbit. This time I was too hungry to ignore it. I picked it up and gingerly took a large bite of the raw flesh, fur and all, the blood squirting into my mouth and down my throat, and it tasted good.

That night, for the very first time since my kidnapping, I cried myself to sleep.