As night shrouded the landscape, I approached my workshop around 4 a.m. The motion detector sprang to life, causing the halogen lamp to flash and momentarily expose me. Panic surged – the silent alarm had been triggered.
With urgency, I punched in the code, my newly acquired claws making the task challenging. I managed to disarm the alarm in the nick of time. Breathing a sigh of relief, I navigated the familiar space, clearing away any incriminating clutter. Papers, seats, and miscellaneous items were moved outside, ready for disposal.
The workshop held an old acoustic room with swing doors, a secluded enclave where no one ventured, even during daylight hours. Its insularity made it ideal for my new form. A nest of synthetic packaging foam awaited me, my makeshift refuge. Once inside, I sealed the doors shut, blocking out the world.
The windows, shaded from the outside, granted me visibility without exposing me to prying eyes. The room became a sanctuary – a quiet place to rest, safe from external disturbances and hidden from view.
Hungry for sustenance, I ransacked the freezer, devouring weeks' worth of frozen food in a single sitting. Yet, despite the feast, an emptiness lingered, a void that transcended mere physical hunger. It was an emptiness of a different kind, an emotional vacuum that engulfed me.
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The weight of sorrow crashed upon me, overwhelming and intense. The need to release the pent-up distress was insurmountable. I surrendered to the emotions, unleashing my pain in a torrent of screams, moans, and tears. My instincts took over, my draconic form transforming the cacophony into a mournful symphony.
As the day drew to a close, I turned on the radio, seeking solace in its melodies. The forest outside teemed with life, every rustle and sound amplified to an almost overwhelming extent. Deer, squirrels, neighboring dogs, and even a boar graced the forest with their presence. And then, there was my cat.
My feline friend awaited me in the parking lot, a loyal companion. A white cat I had rescued from the brink of death, he had become an integral part of my life. He mewed softly, scratching at the door, his call beckoning me to him.
Yet, this was no ordinary cat. To my astonishment, his mews formed words – "Yvan? Here? Hug, food! I'm hungry!" A surreal shock gripped me – my pet was speaking, communicating in a language I understood.
Questions swirled – was this magic? Were mythical creatures real? Was I in some fantastical realm of goblins, orcs, and elves?
Laughter erupted from me, a mix of incredulity and amusement. The laughter was cut short, replaced by a fit of coughing. Amidst the coughing, I noticed smoke – not from my laughter, but from my own body.
A realization hit me – it wasn't laughter but smoke escaping my body. The vapor was highly flammable, a volatile substance that posed an extreme risk of explosion.
The reality of my new existence – part dragon, part human – was a whirlwind of mystery and peril.