The bus lurches to the side as the weight suddenly changes. Her fingers ache as she shifts, the engine groaning as it tries to catch up to her demand, her foot mashed as far down on the accelerator as she can. She can see the Jefferson Street overpass ahead, closer, but still so far away.

The sound of ripping metal shifts her attention from the road to the student mirror, her mouth dry as reptilian claws tear their way through the side of the bus. Her lone passenger holds up a hand that warps and shifts into similar claws as the air around it begins to glow with red and purple runes.

A loud thump ahead pulls her attention to the road where a massive winged shape has landed, indistinct against the poorly lit street,eyes reflecting red in the headlights. The fear rushes through her blood again, and her old hands act on unbidden instinct, wrenching the wheel hand over hand.

At a slower speed, this could have been a good move to avoid the sudden creature. At the speeds they were at, however, the problem changed from being one of positioning to one of physics as the bus began to roll.

The pressure of the seat belt, the sight of her lone passenger being flung against the side, the bellow of a one surprised dragon having a bus roll over it and the sudden shake of the bus colliding with the second.

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Beverly shot up, suddenly awake as the nightmarish memories reached their climax. Drenched in sweat, she gasped for breath. The air was sweet, the scent of flowering trees filling the room. This was not a room Beverly had seen before and her panic faded at the distractions.

The room wasn’t huge, about the size of the upstairs guest bedroom. The bed was full sized, although the measurements felt… a little off. The foot board seemed to be made of a gray stone with sparkling gems showing here and there in the polished surface. A plush duvet quilted with geometric patterns of light and dark purples covered the bed.

A dresser of a similar composition, with dark wooden drawers, stood against one wall. An old style storm lantern rested on top of the dresser. Next to that, a tall window lets in lazy, diffuse sunlight through the shade, filling the room with warm light.

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Across from the bed, a tapestry hung against the wall. Beverly couldn’t really identify what it was supposed to be at first glance. A collection of shapes, lines, and what looked like words in some alphabet she had never before seen made it seem more like an illustration from a textbook than something that should be hung in a room.

On the right, next to the door, water trickled and flowed down a wall into a small basin. A small mirror was set where the water would flow around it on both sides. The ambient noise was soothing and louder, somehow, than Beverly was expecting. The door was of a dark wood that matched the drawers of the dresser.

The sweat on the back of her neck made the basin appealing. Beverly pulled back the duvet and stood up, crossing the short distance to the waterfall sink. Her bare feet felt a plush rug on the stone floor. Wetting her hands, she splashed water on her face, and wiped the back of her neck where her hair had been sticking to-

She froze, eyes closed as water slowly ran down her face, taking stock of her body. The last time she could remember having hair that long was when Andrew was still in high school, at least thirty years before. She preferred shorter hair. It was easier to maintain and it didn’t get everywhere like long hair tended to do.

Standing up. It had been effortless, no creaks or groans of complaining joints. Her hands on the edge of the basin were almost invisible to her. They should be swollen and stiff, even on days when her arthritis was treating her well. Instead, as her mind sought them out, she felt only strong and supple fingers.

She looked down at them.They were indeed strong and supple. The fingers were longer than she was used to, with no wrinkles or spots. The skin was darker than hers, the arms toned and muscular. Her bosom was small and tight, the tummy firm. An athlete’s build. She had an athlete’s build.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. The breath came deep and easy, no sign of the regular shortness of breath that ran her ragged with any exertion.

The face in the mirror was familiar, thank God. She could see herself in it, mostly. The chin was a bit sharper, the cheekbones higher, but mostly, a face she had once worn perhaps half a century before stared back at her, with a tan she had never even tried for.

The small mirror could only show Beverly small sections of her new form. Her hair was dark, her eyes the soft blue she had known all her life.

The ears caught her eye. Long, pointed, and distinctly not human. Gingerly, she brought her unfamiliar hand up to touch the tip. The ear was warm and more sensitive than she was expecting.

She was young, fit, no longer human, and the smell of sausage and eggs through the wooden door made her realize how ravenous she was.