away.
The infernal cramps lasted forever it seemed. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with her sleeve. Glory’s watch said she’d been there for more than an hour. She was late to her appointment with Frank. She pushed off the tree’s trunk, feeling lightheaded she looked down at a pool of red that bloomed at the juncture of her legs.
Glory’s gasp broke the forest’s unchanging sounds, all went silent except the wind that whistled mournfully between the branches.
That day Glory lost the baby.
The next day she’d found out her family was attacked.
The day after that she’d gone into the secret garden and sank into a hibernation state, not coming out for the ivy shifters that wanted to take her back to Massachusetts where her parents’ families were from. She’d shooed them all way, so numb with pain she hadn’t noticed they’d taken the bodies to Massachusetts to bury. She didn’t even process that they’d done that until much later, but that was because she was in hibernation.
She’d been in hibernation for several winters, shifting into her ivy in the secret garden, across from the spot where she’d put her baby’s memorial stone marker. She’d stayed there, not processing the changes in time, weather, or even herself.
She’d stayed in hibernation to let her soul heal, to avoid the grief she wanted to yield to after losing the baby and her family.
Untrimmed and unmaintained, over the years, her ivy had become a monolith, entwined and encircling the garden, with the tiny memorial stone.
One day, seven and a half years later — she’d counted the seasons — her ivy pushed her for a shift, insisting Glory take her human form. Glory resisted. She’d stayed awake, consciously pushing its attempts aside.
On the eighth day, it rained so hard, Glory couldn’t see her leaves on her furthest branches, the weight of the rain pulled her ivy down, fatiguing her even more. Glory had collapsed into a slumber, tired from her vigilant guard twenty-four hours per day for a week.
She’d awoken to a pulse of power raging through her. She clenched her body tightly against the feeling that she was being split into a million slivers. Spikes of pain coursed through her as her arms pushed through the ivy’s branches. Her legs collapsed beneath her, sending her crashing to the muddy dirt on the ground.
Half human, half ivy, she thrashed in the mud, a vision of flesh with brown and green patches where she resisted her shift. She battled with the ivy in her mind, while her body protested the excruciating shift, unaccustomed to the process after seven long years of stasis.
Glory arched her back, cursing at the ivy in her mind while the most inhuman sounds escaped from her human lips. Her throat was parched, the muscles in her voice box ached when she cried out. The effort to make sound was as painful as the sounds that came out.
Where Glory’s legs should have been, roots ripped out of the ground, flailing in the dirt, causing drops of murky dirt-water to fly.
I don’t want to do this, stop!
She railed at her ivy, and pushed the shift away. But her ivy had gathered strength and overpowered Glory’s will.
I hate you. Leave me be, Glory screamed in her mind.
Again, to no avail. The ivy had made her decision and had one goal in mind. The ivy pursued it doggedly.
One agonizing inch after another, her legs took form, muscles pulling together while branches cracked, creaking with the effort to create tendons and bones that had not been operational in years.
With jerky spasms, her legs took shape, covered in mud. The transformation took an hour. At the end, Glory looked down at the human body she’d long ago abandoned.
Her clothes, which always shifted with her, had become rags after all those years, not completely preserved. They’d fallen away from her body, tattered filthy fabric, she was nude and laying in the muddy puddle she’d made even deeper from her own thrashing.
Glory studied her body
The infernal cramps lasted forever it seemed. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with her sleeve. Glory’s watch said she’d been there for more than an hour. She was late to her appointment with Frank. She pushed off the tree’s trunk, feeling lightheaded she looked down at a pool of red that bloomed at the juncture of her legs.
Glory’s gasp broke the forest’s unchanging sounds, all went silent except the wind that whistled mournfully between the branches.
That day Glory lost the baby.
The next day she’d found out her family was attacked.
The day after that she’d gone into the secret garden and sank into a hibernation state, not coming out for the ivy shifters that wanted to take her back to Massachusetts where her parents’ families were from. She’d shooed them all way, so numb with pain she hadn’t noticed they’d taken the bodies to Massachusetts to bury. She didn’t even process that they’d done that until much later, but that was because she was in hibernation.
She’d been in hibernation for several winters, shifting into her ivy in the secret garden, across from the spot where she’d put her baby’s memorial stone marker. She’d stayed there, not processing the changes in time, weather, or even herself.
She’d stayed in hibernation to let her soul heal, to avoid the grief she wanted to yield to after losing the baby and her family.
Untrimmed and unmaintained, over the years, her ivy had become a monolith, entwined and encircling the garden, with the tiny memorial stone.
One day, seven and a half years later — she’d counted the seasons — her ivy pushed her for a shift, insisting Glory take her human form. Glory resisted. She’d stayed awake, consciously pushing its attempts aside.
On the eighth day, it rained so hard, Glory couldn’t see her leaves on her furthest branches, the weight of the rain pulled her ivy down, fatiguing her even more. Glory had collapsed into a slumber, tired from her vigilant guard twenty-four hours per day for a week.
She’d awoken to a pulse of power raging through her. She clenched her body tightly against the feeling that she was being split into a million slivers. Spikes of pain coursed through her as her arms pushed through the ivy’s branches. Her legs collapsed beneath her, sending her crashing to the muddy dirt on the ground.
Half human, half ivy, she thrashed in the mud, a vision of flesh with brown and green patches where she resisted her shift. She battled with the ivy in her mind, while her body protested the excruciating shift, unaccustomed to the process after seven long years of stasis.
Glory arched her back, cursing at the ivy in her mind while the most inhuman sounds escaped from her human lips. Her throat was parched, the muscles in her voice box ached when she cried out. The effort to make sound was as painful as the sounds that came out.
Where Glory’s legs should have been, roots ripped out of the ground, flailing in the dirt, causing drops of murky dirt-water to fly.
I don’t want to do this, stop!
She railed at her ivy, and pushed the shift away. But her ivy had gathered strength and overpowered Glory’s will.
I hate you. Leave me be, Glory screamed in her mind.
Again, to no avail. The ivy had made her decision and had one goal in mind. The ivy pursued it doggedly.
One agonizing inch after another, her legs took form, muscles pulling together while branches cracked, creaking with the effort to create tendons and bones that had not been operational in years.
With jerky spasms, her legs took shape, covered in mud. The transformation took an hour. At the end, Glory looked down at the human body she’d long ago abandoned.
Her clothes, which always shifted with her, had become rags after all those years, not completely preserved. They’d fallen away from her body, tattered filthy fabric, she was nude and laying in the muddy puddle she’d made even deeper from her own thrashing.
Glory studied her body
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