I’ve been growing.

Substantially.

At least relative to my size.

My body felt lighter, at first. I could move faster. Chew stronger. Eat more.

Now it is the opposite. I become slower. Weaker. Incredibly, I’ve started to eat less.

I remember.

A fake corpse. Brittle and crunchy. Like autumn leaves cracking sharply under my heels.

I remember.

A gasp. Eyes shining brightly in amazement. Hands cupping carefully their discovered treasure.

I remember.

I am molting.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

[Skill unlocked: Molt]

[Molt: To grow is to leave things behind]

My skin feels tight.

Constricting.

I have outgrown it.

There is no place for me here. Not anymore.

I understand.

The whisper. It is potential.

Realized and possible.

Echoes of what it is. What it could be.

Rumours. Whispers.

And sometimes they turn into words.

Molting connects me with it. It tells me about the potential of my blank shell.

Fangs. Wings. Claws. Fur.

Not all of them functional. Or even probable.

But the potential is there. On the edge of real and imaginary.

It is up to me on which side it falls.

In the deeper parts of my self, I dream.

In my dream, I don’t need wings to fly.

Or claws to tear apart my enemies.

Or eyes to look at the world around me.

I just need me.

My self.

And I.

[Molt has granted Larvae +1 Intelligence]

[Molt has granted Larvae +1 Wisdom]

[Skill unlocked: Magic]

[Magic: To observe is to realize]