At the words force of nature, her shoulders squared and settled.
Then came intelligent, and her skin went taut, snapped like a clean bedsheet over her bones. She tingled all over.
Fantastic lengthened her neck and waved her hair. She held her breath. The changes had spun her out. She’d grown dizzy and disoriented. Alarmed, in fact.
Intriguing, engaging then exquisite, and she nearly toppled off her chair onto the glazed tiles below. She flattened her palms against the table to stay upright. She worried she might drift, then lose consciousness. The half-drunk glass of white had become superfluous. Anything was possible.
Emily Carpenter
emilycarpenterauthor.com
The Wilding
Benjamin Percy