I woke up on day twelve feeling horrifically claustrophobic. I was trapped in a closed room, when I should be free in the sky. No, that was wrong... I won't argue with the free bit, but not the sky... I didn't even have wings! Or didn't have wings yet, I corrected myself. I would soon; my arms had changed shape overnight, elongating and widening. A small clump of feathers had grown above my bum too. As far as I recall, harpies didn't have tails, but maybe there was a vestigial nub there or something. I couldn't claim to have fingers or toes any more either; they'd started to fuse from the base, and would be better off described as talons, three on each foot and hand. Farewell, my opposable thumbs.

At least harpies still had something at the end of their wings, even if it couldn't be described as a hand, and I sort of had opposable foot claws. Not the sort of thing Alicia would be playing piano with, but they would be able to grip things once they finished growing. Well, obviously; grabbing things in their feet and squeezing was a harpy's primary method of killing its prey. And eating it too; my legs were now flexible enough to bring my feet to my mouth.

I could smell breakfast was already there waiting for me, but despite feeling ravenous, I stopped to do my voice practice. It still hadn't degraded any further, which was promising. I didn't know whether I was helping it at all, but even if not, it was a way to remind myself that I was human. That was something I desperately needed right now, with barely any human features left on my body. My face still felt mostly intact, if I ignored my rather pointy smile, and the way my ears seemed to be migrating up the sides of my head, but for all I knew it had completely changed colour or something. I considered asking for the mirror again, but decided I'd rather assume my face looked fine, even if that meant continuing in blissful ignorance.

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I ate up my blood-filled breakfast, and did my best to suppress the harpy inside of me that was screaming about its captivity, wanting to lash out, to claw at the walls until they fell apart. If I thought they would, I'd have let it, but I doubted it would achieve anything. For now, staying in control was far more important; I refused to lose myself.

The desire to do something, anything, continued to grow throughout the day, abating only slightly at feeding times. And I couldn't even pretend to call them meal times anymore; it had been days since I'd seen a plate, knife or fork, or any sort of processed food, but today at lunch they took things a step further. The slot opened, but before the shelf had even moved, a live squirrel jumped out, skittering across the room and hiding in a corner. I pounced without even thinking, catching the poor creature in my talons. By the time I'd regained any semblance of control, it was already bleeding profusely from claw wounds. I hurriedly ate it, even the blood splashes on the floor looking tempting, leaving me resisting the urge to lick them up.

The experience was repeated in the evening, with them tossing a live rabbit through the airlock. There was no longer fruit or veg. There was only meat, and now came in the form of 'prey' instead of 'food'. This was no longer giving meals to a prisoner, it was feeding time at a zoo. I imagined what I would do if they put a human in the room with me, and I knew, hungry as I was, there was now no way I'd be able to resist the impulse to feed. This was it; I was down to the last vestiges of my sanity. If I wanted to end it, now would be my last chance.

I still couldn't. Even if I was every bit as scared of losing myself as I was of dying, I wasn't able to do it. It didn't help that harpy-me was very much against dying too, leaving me battling against two sets of instincts instead of one.