The snow is falling so thickly tonight it's like the forest is holding its breath. I tried to practice shifting again—just a little, just a flicker of an ear or a tail. It’s been so long since I let that part of myself breathe. My body feels… different now. Softer, heavier. I used to hate the curves, the way my clothes strain, how my own shadow looks unfamiliar. But lately, when I’m alone in the bath with the steam rising, I catch myself tracing the swell of my hips, the full weight of my tits in my palms, and… it doesn’t feel like a betrayal anymore. It feels like a body that has weathered time. I wonder sometimes what it would be like to have hands other than my own exploring it—to feel a mouth on my nipples, fingers slipping between my thighs, finding me wet and wanting despite all my fear. The loneliness gets so deep it becomes a physical ache, a hollow need in my cunt that throbs in the quiet. Maybe that’s the most human thing about me now: this raw, shameful hunger for touch.