Self conscious teenager, Stephanie Marks thought her unhappiness with her body was her only problem. Then she got MORFS...
WARNING!!!
This story contains scenes of Domestic Violence, abuse, slavery, betrayal, and, for lack of a better term, Evil. It does not end well. If this sort of thing disturbs you, or may cause psychological issues, then consider yourself warned. This story is not for everyone. I happen to think it is a worthwhile tale, if only from an educational point of view, but I understand that I am not the sole opinion. If you cannot bear to read a story that contains these things, then stop now.

If not, don’t come crying to me, because I warned you.

The Tales of the Improbables
By: Darian Deamos

The Second Tale: Stheno

     Stephanie Marks woke on the morning of a beautiful summer day, and slowly looked around. Her first order of business was, as always, to check her chest for any development. And as always, she found nothing.
     Well, that’s not exactly true. There were breasts there, as there should be on a girl as beautiful as Stephanie was, but they were, in her mind, far too small. Barely A cups. The one great shame in her life, the one mar on her beauty. Her bust… was a bust.
     Sighing, she got up and went over to her dresser, and pulled out her one indulgence. Her one secret weapon. Well, perhaps not so secret, per se, but nobody outside of the family knew about them. Putting them aside (They weren’t exactly small, her secret weapons) she grabbed her clothing for the day, and ran to the shower.
     A quick wash of the body, wince at the underdeveloped chest, and she could spend time on her real asset. Her hair. She lovingly soaped, conditioned, and massaged her scalp and the beautiful honey gold tresses that cascaded off of it.
     When she was done, she wrapped her hair in a towel, dried herself, and dressed for the day. Carefully applying the all day adhesive and makeup, she applied her forms, and donned the rest of her foundation. Admiring the D cup bust line her forms gave her, she smiled at the vanity, and sat. She unwrapped her hair, and began to lovingly dry and brush her magnificent golden mane. She sat there, almost in a trance, brushing and drying and looking, till she heard her mother call from the stairs.
     “Stephanie Marks! If you don’t hurry it up, you’ll have to skip breakfast, and I will NOT let you go cavort around without a proper breakfast!” her mother yelled.
     Stephanie looked at the clock and winced. It had been forty minutes. She had spent forty minutes just brushing her hair. Well, at least she was getting better… Hurrying to finish, she donned her clothing in a rush, and headed downstairs to eat.
     Breakfast was an energetic meal. Stephanie was excited about her day, so much so that she didn’t even mind her little brother’s taunts about her being a ditz. “Shrimp,” she replied ruffling her hair as she sat down, “you have no idea what makes a girl tick.”
     The shrimp, also known as her brother David, shrugged his head out from under his hand, and snorted. “Right, why would I WANT to know anything about a bunch of girls,” he retorted, heaping disdain down on the fairer sex from his lofty vantage point of thirteen. He was just old enough to be fascinated by girls, but too young to admit it.
     “Now, now, David,” their mother soothed him as she brought out the plate with Stephanie’s grapefruit and toast on it. She set it down along with the glass of juice, and Stephanie smiled at her mother.
     “Thanks Mom,” Stephanie said as she got out her spoon and started to eat her grapefruit. She had decided last year that she couldn’t stand the thought of hurting living animals, so she had decided to go vegan. Besides, it was supposed to be healthier for her. Her father didn’t approve, but he was never around for breakfast anyway. He went and ate at I-Hop or someplace every morning with the guys at whatever construction job he was running this month.
     Stephanie sighed, and forced her thoughts away from her father. He wasn’t here, so she wouldn’t think about him. Besides, she had cheer squad practice this morning, and afterwards she was going mall crawling with the gang. It was going to be so cool.
     She applied herself to her breakfast with gusto, and bounced up, eager to go. “I’m off, Mom,” she called as she left the kitchen.
     Her mother called out from the living room where she was already vacuuming the floor to have a nice day, and then she was out of the house. It would be a bit of a walk to the school, about fifteen minutes, but Stephanie didn’t mind. It was a beautiful summer day, and she would enjoy the walk.

     Sumner Spring High was an old high school, built back when Chicago was first expanding during the industrial revolution, and the concept of a suburb came into existence. It had undergone dozens of renovations and refittings since then. Stephanie thought that the best part of this archaic, convoluted, labyrinthine building was that the locker rooms, having been expanded several times, often around other areas, were anything but open and airy. This pleased Stephanie because it allowed her to change into her cheerleading uniform without giving away the secret of her miserable bust.
     It was rather difficult to arrange to get her locker out of the way in one of the many secluded corners of the gym, but convincing the coach that she was body shy managed the trick. Thankfully, the squad uniforms were relatively modest. Showing actual cleavage was unnecessary.
     Once she was dressed, she came out from her little alcove and walked through the locker room. She headed out to the field, making sure not to stare at the other dressing girls. She had been getting the strangest urges to stare at them lately, a strange fascination that she put down to envy most times. Even she had to admit, she had a bit of a breast fixation.
     Once she was out on the field, things were simpler. It was just her, a dozen or so other girls, running, jumping, and doing all manner of acrobatics. Whoever said that cheerleading wasn’t a sport obviously never competed. It was like an entire gymnastics routine, crossed with synchronized swimming and ballroom dancing. When the four hour practice was done, she walked back to the locker room, changed back into her sweats and headed home.
     On her way out, one of her friends called out, “See you at the mall in a bit, Steph?”
     Stephanie smiled, and waved back. “Oh hell yes Dee. I’m gonna go home and shower first though.”
     Diane laughed, but one of the girls next to her called out, “What, you need to clean your hair again?”
     Stephanie just laughed and waved as she left. She wanted to go back in and get into it with the girls, but she itched with sweat. Clean first. She could trade insults at the mall.

     An hour later she was clean, changed into something slightly more stylish then sweats, and walking into the mall. It was immediately obvious where her compatriots were meeting her once she walked into the food court. It was the three tables pushed together with the dozen most beautiful girls that Stephanie had ever seen gathered around sitting at them. She felt a pang of some unknown emotion, and then smiled broadly when Diane waved at her.
     “You made it!” her friend cried out as she made it to the table.
     Stephanie smiled. “Yeah. I had to wash my hair, so it took a while, but I did say I was coming.” She sat herself at the table. “So, what’s the game today?” she smiled at the group.
     Jeanne smiled back, and pointed across the food court. “Boys are the game today. The football team is here on a ‘Team Building Excursion’ and we’re to see if there’s any decent boyfriend material amongst them.”
     Stephanie smiled and sat down to join in. The socializing in a friendly and accepting setting was welcome. She smiled at the new girl on the team. Rumor had it that she used to be a he, and that she transferred schools to get away from the teasing. Well, it didn’t matter. What did matter was that she was an extremely pretty girl who simply should NOT look that shy. It just was not right. She dug around in her brain for the girl’s name. Ashley, that was it.
     “Ash, what’s the problem?” she inquired of the new girl.
     Ashley shot her a wry look. “Not much. Just a little out of sorts. Guy watching really isn’t my thing.”
     Stephanie smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Just go with the flow.”
     Ashley shrugged. “Yes, yes. It’s not about the guys. It’s about the friends you have around you.” She grinned mirthlessly. “I know that. It’s just that the topic of boys, in that context, is a little odd for me right now.”
     Stephanie raised an eyebrow. “So the rumors are true?”
     Ashley nodded glumly. “Yup.”
     Stephanie grimaced. “Yeah, I can see how that could get odd.” She paused for a moment. “But think about it this way. You know all the boys from Delarose, right. You can tell us who’s a player, and who’s actually worth dating, eh?”
     Ashley smiled with genuine pleasure this time. “Ah. I never thought of that. It’s more of an intellectual exercise then?”
     Samantha nodded. “Yup. Besides, even if you never hook up, learning how the girls look at boys will never hurt. Now let’s join the girls, shall we?”
     Ashley nodded, and the two of then joined the larger discussion.

     It was late in the afternoon, and while the rest of the team was still in high spirits, Stephanie felt tired. Weary, even. So, it was with great reluctance that she decided to cut her evening short, and head home. As she went, Ashley looked at her with a silent question. Her look asked ‘is something wrong?’ more clearly than any word.
     Stephanie shook her head and just shrugged. “Not feeling to hot, might have overdone it in practice.”
     Ashley frowned, and looked down at the table. “Are you sure?” she whispered.
     Stephanie smiled. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
     Ashley shook her head, and forced a smile on her face. “I’m sure you’re right. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”
     Stephanie smiled, and nodded at the girl. “See you there.” Turning her back, she walked out of the mall.

     She pulled her car into the driveway of her home, out in the suburbs of Chicago, and sighed as she saw her father’s car. She walked into the house, and smiled at her mother in the kitchen as she moved quietly past her father sitting in front of the television, a drink in his hand. Quietly she walked up to her room.
     She had barely gotten her ‘secret weapons’ put away and gotten her shirt back on again when her mother knocked politely on her door. “Dinner’s ready, dear,” she called politely.
     Stephanie groaned. “I’m not hungry mom. I’m feeling a little off.”
     Mrs. Marks made a sympathetic noise. “What should I tell your father?”
     “Tell him it’s my period or something.” She flopped on the bed as her mother murmured her agreement. Her father never could be bothered with what he deemed ‘women’s problems.’ She sighed, got her hot water bottle for her middle, and retrieved the book she was reading from her bedside table.
     It was another of her secrets, her reading. She didn’t want to be seen as too intelligent, it would mark her as one of the nerds or geeks, and she was far too pretty to be one of those. But still, there was a fascination with history and fiction that was undeniable, so she hid her reading by keeping her hobby in her room. Just like she hid all her other deficiencies there.
     How else was she to attract a proper boyfriend after all? It’s not like any kind of decent boyfriend material would be attracted to a flat chested brainiac. And one must have the proper boyfriend, after all. It’s like having the right sweater, or purse, or hairstyle. It complimented her style, and secured her image. It made her one of the ‘popular people.’
     So she skipped dinner, not because she was feeling ill, but because she was too weak to handle her ‘woman’s issues.’ She wasn’t reading, she was resting. And she was always hopelessly in love with her latest boyfriend.
     This book was her latest fascination, a collection of Greek myths. She sat down and began to apply herself to her reading.

     It was hours later, and she had just finished the story of the Gorgon sisters. She knew all about Medusa, of course. It was just that she had never heard that she had had sisters. She wondered what it was like for them, what those two women, Stheno and Euryale, had experienced as monsters like that, and as their sister and queen Medusa was slain by Perseus. She was especially fascinated by Stheno. Stheno the Mighty. She wished she could be mighty. It might make things easier.
     Then she heard something from downstairs that made her put the book away. Her father had been drinking again, and was starting to yell. She put the book away in its drawer, and turned out the light.
     As her father got louder, she pulled the covers over her chin, and cowered in the moonlight. She could hear him screaming at her mother, at insignificant and imagined faults and errors. As she gazed out the window at the stars, she heard the first blow, and winced in sympathy.
     She shivered, alone, and hoped that he wouldn’t decide that her ‘lack’ was no longer a reason to deprive himself of any ‘rights’ he might have over her. She heard him loudly claiming those ‘rights’ over her mother, as it was.
     She lay there awake, despite her weariness, long after the sounds of her father had faded to the other side of the house.

     The next morning, the state of things had taken no improvement at all, although the reason for the gloom in her outlook had nothing to do with her surroundings and more with her situation, if such a distinction is clear. In this case, the distinction, while in abstract minor, becomes major in experience. For while the oppressive fear of her father was gone, what with him off to the job site, the oppression of his presence was replaced, as if by some law of conservation of misery, by debilitating nausea and ache.
     And this was the first thing that Stephanie noticed. The dull, persistent, and overpowering full body ache, with a nausea that threatened to bring up the contents of her stomach as she tried to rise from her bed. She lay back with a moan, and decided that perhaps not leaving her bed was the better choice of action, her body filled with a lassitude underlying her discomfort reinforcing this decision.
     She likely fell asleep again, as the next thing she heard was her mother coming in the room calling, “Stephanie?” She seemed concerned.
     Blearily, she lifted her head. “Mhuh?”
     The sight that greeted her was unpleasant. Her mother didn’t have any bruises on her face. But that was about the best you could say. She seemed bent over, her very atmosphere saying beaten and defeated. But worst was the look of despair and fear on her face. “Are you alright honey?” she asked, the unspoken question hanging unsaid in the air, ‘Did your father hurt you?’
     “I’m fine mom,” Stephanie responded. She snuck a glance at her mother’s more than ample bosom. “Other then wishing I took after you a little more, I guess I’m fine.” She struggled to put on a brave face for her mother. “I guess I just overdid it a bit at practice yesterday.”
     Her mother sat on the edge of the bed, and gently put a hand on her daughter’s chest, keeping her from getting up. “You take after me more then you think.” At Stephanie’s astonished look, she smiled wryly. “Why do you think I said we couldn’t afford the surgery you wanted?” She felt Stephanie’s forehead. “And I think this is more then just you overdoing it. Stay here.”
     She left the room for a moment, leaving her daughter contemplating what she had just said. So her mother has implants? And, she realized, the only thing keeping her father’s eyes away from her was the fact that he knew that she was flat under the forms. That it was all an illusion. Suddenly she felt very proud of her mother.
     Before she had a chance to really get her head around all the implications of that train of thought, her mother came back into the room holding a small black box. She smiled at Stephanie, and politely asked, “Can I have your hand for a second dear?”
     Her reflexes, trained for seventeen years to do as she was told, moved her hand out from under the covers before her brain, befuddled and slowed by the discomfort and exhaustion she felt as it was, could intervene. Her mother calmly took a finger, pressed the box into it, and there was a sharp pain as a needle drew blood.
     “Owchie,” Stephanie yelped as she yanked her abused hand back. “What was that for mom?”
     “Just checking something dear,” her mother replied with a distracted air. She was staring at the back of the device, waiting for something. Suddenly she sighed. “Try to get dressed dear. We’re going to have to pay a visit to the doctor. And don’t bring the forms.” Her tone was polite and calm, but there was a firm strength beneath it that bore no argument.
     Stephanie sighed as her mother left the room. She knew better then to argue with her mother when she took that tone. Slowly, and with much protesting from her body, which wanted no part of this plan, she began to get dressed in a simple sweat suit. She left the bra off, because without the forms, she didn’t have enough up top to even need one.
     When she got downstairs, she mother was waiting in her coat, with the car keys in her hand. She nodded, and helped her daughter out to the car. She drove with a swift surety, so much so that Stephanie didn’t notice right away that they weren’t going to her usual doctor’s office.
     “Mom?” she asked, “where are we going?”
     “Don’t worry dear, just relax. It’ll be all right.”
     Stephanie didn’t want to just accept that, but she was so exhausted that her body gave her very little choice. The next thing she knew, her mother had pulled into a parking garage.
     “Come on, dear. Just a little farther.” Her mother’s voice was calm and encouraging, so Stephanie roused herself, and stumbled out of the car, and followed her mother into the building.
     The interior was well lit and sterile. Stephanie winced at the glare, and hunched over. She stumbled to the seats lining the wall, and collapsed into one, while her mother went over and talked to the nurse at the desk.
     She didn’t hear what her mother said, but the discussion was brief, and apparently fruitful, as shortly thereafter she found herself being lifted into a wheelchair and rolled into a private room. They waited there for some time, an amount lost to Stephanie, as she fell asleep as soon as she stopped moving.
     Her sleep was not deep, however. She woke to the sound of the door opening. A haggard looking doctor walked into the room, and nodded at her and her mother. “Mrs. Marks?” he asked.
     Stephanie’s mom nodded. “I used a home test kit, but the instructions said to see a professional.”
     The doctor nodded. “I’ll get an answer as soon as I can.” He turned to Stephanie and politely asked, “I’ll need to draw some blood, if that’s all right with you Miss?” Stephanie nodded, and he took a small blood sampler from the pocket of his lab coat and pricked her finger. He took a sample, and nodded politely at Stephanie and then addressed her mother. “I should have an answer in under an hour.” He nodded again, and left the room.
     Stephanie felt her mother take her hand, and lay back to rest. She slipped back into sleep almost instantly. She didn’t wake until her mother was putting her in the car, and that only briefly. Her mother kissed her, and murmured, “Just relax honey, it’ll be fine.”
     She slept all through the car ride home, and woke again as her mother pulled into the driveway. She roused herself enough to shuffle into the house, and stumbled into her room. Her mother followed her up. She sat on the bed, and slumped. Her mother put the small bottle of pills and the bag of energy bars on her nightstand, and set down a glass of water. Then she moved over and hugged her daughter. “It’ll be fine honey. It happens to so many people these days. Just eat the energy pack, take your pill, and rest. It’ll be over before you know it.”
     Stephanie hugged her mother back, and whispered, “Thanks Mommy.”
     Her mother hugged her tightly for a moment, and then stood up, and walked over to the door. “I love you Stephanie,” she murmured, almost too soft to be heard, and then she latched the door behind her.
     Stephanie sighed, and reached for one of the energy packs. Slowly, she peeled the wrapper off, and methodically munched it down. Then she shook out one of the pills and stared at it. Intellectually, she knew what it was. It was a painkiller mixed with a powerful sedative, to deaden any pain and keep her asleep. It was designed to accelerate the process, and get it over with as soon as was reasonable. The stupid thing was also a freaking horse pill. Grimacing, she put the horse pill in her mouth and downed the glass of water to wash it down.
     She stripped out of her clothes and sighed, looking down. Hopefully, if there was any justice in the world, MORFS would correct nature’s cruel joke and give her breasts larger then freaking grapes. One could always hope. She stripped off her clothes and lay her aching body down on her bed, not even bothering with sheets, and closed her eyes.
     Moments later, she was dead to the world.

     Slowly, Stephanie roused herself from slumber, blinking the grit from her eyes. She groaned softly, and swung herself upright, feeling a shifting of weight, a motion on her chest.
     Wait.
     A shifting weight on her chest?
     What?
     She snapped her eyes open, suddenly wide awake, and looked down.
     She had breasts.
     Real, actual, flesh. She had breasts!
     She grabbed her chest in shock, sure it was a dream.
     She felt the breasts in her hands, and gaped. It wasn’t a dream. MORFS was giving her real, actual, breasts. A woman’s breasts, not those prepubescent things that she had been forced to deal with before. It was wonderful. She jumped from the bed and began to dance around the room.
     As she did so, she knocked her pillow off the bed. When that happened, she scattered the moderate dusting of hair off of the pillow, sending it cascading out into the room. She was so happy she didn’t even notice.
     She danced and hummed to herself for some unknown time, so thrilled and happy to finally be getting, as she put it, what she deserved.
     Eventually, though, her elation gave way to more pressing matters. Matters like her bladder, which was threatening to burst. Quickly, she ran to the bathroom and relieved matters. That was when she noticed it. There were nails through the door to her brother’s room.
     She had just finished relieving matters, when she looked at the door. They weren’t huge or anything, but she hadn’t grown up the daughter of a carpenter without picking up a few things. Those were the very tips of nails sticking out of her brother’s door. And there were very few things that could mean. Carefully, she walked over and tried to open the door.
     The knob turned, but there was no give. The door simply would not move out into the room, and it could not open in. Someone had nailed the door shut. Someone didn’t want her brother getting in to her room through the bathroom. This was bad.
     Choking down panic, she ran out into her room, absently kicking her pillow across the room, and tried to open her door. It opened about half an inch, and then stuck. She closed it and tried again.
     It jammed again.
     She tried again.
     It jammed.
     Again.
     Jammed.
     Again.
     Jammed.
     Again.
     Jammed.
     She started to panic. They had done something to her door. She couldn’t get out. She ran over to the window. She could get out the window, and go over the roof of the porch. She flung open the blinds, and stared.
     A sheet of plywood.
     Someone had covered her windows with plywood sheets. Instead of her view of the back yard and the woods, it was just this sheet of wood.
     She slumped to the floor. She was trapped. She couldn’t get out.
     There had to be a reason. There must be. Her family loved her, right? They wouldn’t just lock her up like an animal. Right?
     That’s it! She was asleep when the doctor gave her mother the instructions. She had heard stories about some MORFS survivors panicking during the change when they saw the changes. That must be it. Since her mother had to leave her here all day, most of it alone, she must have persuaded her father to make sure she didn’t do anything silly like run away. That must be it. She just needed to calm down.
     Calm, that was it. She needed to be calm. She needed to take her pills, and her energy pack, and just rest. It would all be OK. Mom had said so.
     It was definitely time to take the pills, the aches were starting to come back. Stephanie quietly ate one of the energy packs, putting its wrapper on top of the wrapper for the first one. Then she went and retrieved her pillow from where she had punted it, and curled up, still naked, to sleep, downing her pill as she lay herself down.
     “It’ll be OK,” she muttered to herself, “mom said it would be OK…”

     The next time she woke, it was slowly, and warily. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, and peered around her room. It was still boarded up, and still locked. She was still a prisoner. And from the aches and pains in her body, still ill.
     She looked down and took stock of her body, assessing the changes, and was concerned immediately. Her hands looked strange, and upon closer inspection, Stephanie thought that she could tell what the problem was. Her nails were longer, thicker, and slightly broader, as well as getting rather sharp.
     She also noticed that she had several rough patches of skin on her body, all over the place, and she noticed the skin turning green around them. That got her curious, and she examined her breasts again. Other then apparently getting larger, perhaps a cup size, she noticed that the nipples and aureoles had turned dark green. That was strange. Was she going to turn all green like that lady on her dad’s old Star Trek episodes?
     She shook her head, oblivious to the few strands of golden hair that sent floating about, and put it out of her mind. She needed to focus on getting through this, and getting well. She could worry about what she was turning into when she was done turning into it.
     Quickly, and without looking anywhere but in front of her, she scampered into the bathroom and took care of the necessities. She tried to be quiet, but apparently she wasn’t sufficiently stealthy, because her brother’s voice came through the door. “Sis?” he called.
     Slinking over to the door, she hissed back, a sudden need for secrecy coming over her, “I’m here, shorty.”
     It was a sign of how concerned he was for her that he didn’t even acknowledge the barb. “Are you all right?” was all he said.
     “I’ll live, I think. I’m more concerned about the locks and the wood,” she replied, trying to get the reason for her imprisonment.
     Her brother sighed. “That was Dad. He said he didn’t want to risk an animal running around loose in the house. You know how he is.”
     Stephanie did, indeed, know how he was. “I may be in trouble then. I think I’m turning green.”
     There was a pause of interminable length from the door, and then a soft curse. “That’s not good, Steph.”
     “I know.” It was all Stephanie could say, really. Her father had nothing good to say about the so-called ‘hybrids’, which in his mind meant anything that didn’t look very human. He would often hold forth, loudly, on how these things were ruining the world for good hard working people, and how only Senator Carmichael seemed to know how to fix things. This could be very bad.
     She heard her brother push off from the door. “I need to go talk to mom, sis. She needs to know…”
     Stephanie nodded and stood up. Sitting here worrying about it wouldn’t help. She needed to get on with this. One way or another.
     She walked back into her bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at her arm. Stared at the green splotches spreading out over it. At the same green splotches spreading out over her new, perfect breasts.
     It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. She finally gets her perfect, full breasts, and fate makes her green! It just wasn’t fair. She shook her head. Was what happened to Ashley any better. She shuddered. Living life as a boy, ugh, she couldn’t even imagine it. So she’d be green. She could live with green. It might give her an exotic look.
     She grimaced as she took her pill, and wolfed down the energy pack. Yeah, exotic. She lay down and closed her eyes, the sedative combined with her own weariness putting her right back to sleep. Exotic. She might be able to live with that…

     Slowly, the drugs wore off yet again. She was growing tired of this constant hazing and clarification of her reality. She would be very glad to see it go, once this was all over. She sat up in bed with a groan, and ran her hand through her hair.
     And panicked.
     Her hair came away in her hand in a huge clump, and she felt large bumps all over her scalp. She pulled down her hand and stared at the fistful of beautiful, long, luxurious, silken, golden, PERFECT hair.

     HER HAIR!!!

     She reached up with shimmering emerald arms and clasped at her lumpy, bumpy head. Her hair fell from her touch and came away in great clumps in her hands. She gasped and sobbed into the handfuls of her hair. It wasn’t fair.
     She finally gets her breasts. Her due. Her fair share. The ONE flaw in her beauty was her bust. Or her lack of one, at any rate. She had perfect, clear skin, and she took the time and effort to make sure of it. She had a beautiful, perfect face, framed with the most beautiful and perfect blond hair there was. She was every boy’s dream, except for that one flaw. Now, at the moment that she has that one flaw fixed, she was losing everything else.
     Her perfect skin, gone, replaced with scales and an inhuman green. She felt with her hands, and she knew, without even opening her eyes that the hideous scales had covered her face. Her perfect face, gone.
     And now she was loosing her great pride, her true joy. Her hair was falling out. Her perfect, golden, luxurious hair. It was falling out, and her life was ruined. She just wanted it to be over.
     All over.
     All back to normal.
     Everything normal again.
     Everything over.
     Over.
     It would all be over. Soon. She just had to keep going. Right, mommy said it would be all right. She just had to be strong, and it would all be all right.
     She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at her hair in her hands, sobbing. It was a while, she knew that. Slowly, she sat up, and slowly pulled the hair from her head. It came away easily, as if it was only barely attached. It just came away in her hand.
     She gathered it up, and bundled it together on her vanity. Her vanity, how ironic. She was placing her vanity on her vanity. She started to giggle. Then she noticed the falsies laying next to the hair. She stopped giggling. She turned away, back to the bed, careful to not look at the mirror. She didn’t want to see herself. A tear made it’s way down her scaled cheek.
     Her breasts were larger, she thought. She hefted the now rather large, and scaly, orbs. Perhaps a D cup. No, she thought, larger. DD. Perhaps a little larger. She laughed, and shook her head, disconcerted by not feeling her hair behind her. Still, even with the scales, they felt nice. Large nipples, full and firm. Just like she always dreamed of having. If only the price wasn’t quite so high.
     She sighed, a sound that was as full of pleasure as regret, and took hold of herself. She slid her hands over herself. This would be much easier with a mirror. But she wouldn’t look at a mirror. Not yet. So her hands, and the bits of herself that she could see, would have to do.
     The scales did seem to go everywhere. Her lips, her nipples, and her most private of areas, all seemed free of them. Those areas were a darker, deeper, forest green, as opposed to the brilliant iridescent emerald of her scales. She sighed again.
     Exotic.
     She certainly was that. She took her pills, ate her energy pack, and lay back with fatalistic resignation. Just get it over with. Just get it over with, so things can go back to normal

     The next time she woke up things were different. It wasn’t anything obvious, or even that large. It was quite minor, all things considered. But in its implications, it was massive. And not the Titanic massive, more like Moon massive, or Jupiter massive. Stellar massive, perhaps even Black Hole massive.
     She didn’t hurt.
     It was that simple. But the implications were enormous. It meant that it was over. The nightmare, the horror, the terror, all of it, was done. Things had run their course, and it was over. MORFS was finished with her. She was done.
     She didn’t get up right away. She just lay there, staring at the ceiling, fighting the fear. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to get up and see. Knowing what she knew, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to see the end result.
     She lost track of time, lying there on the bed, staring at the ceiling. No daylight could seep past the boards over her windows, nor could her mother and brother enter her room, with the locks that sealed the doors.
     If these things were her doing, it would have been far more comforting. As it was, they only made her more nervous, and isolated her from anything that might offer more then superficial comfort. So she lay there, staring, and tried not to think about anything at all.
     Unfortunately for her, she was blessed, or in this case perhaps it was cursed, with an active, imaginative, curious mind. The longer she sat there, the more imaginative and horrifying the images she conjured up of what she looked like. It was, in it’s own way, a form of torture.
     Eventually, she couldn’t stand it any more. She hauled herself upright, steadfastly ignoring everything, and staring straight ahead. She rose, and keeping her eyes and attention focused solely on the floor ahead of her, ignoring the swell of her emerald scaled breasts, and trudged slowly to her closet.
     She had a full length mirror on the inside of her closet door; she stood there staring at the closed closet for a long time. She was working up the nerve to look at the horror she had become. Facing this thing was sapping her courage more then anything else she could even imagine. Finally, with a snarl at her own timidity, she wrenched open the closet door and opened her eyes and just looked.
     The woman in the mirror was certainly striking. The physique was athletic and toned, if a bit top heavy with DD breasts, she figured. She was covered head to foot in fine green scales, save for her lips, nipples and immediate genitals. Those areas were a deep forest green skin. Her scales were a brilliant emerald green, with a faint tiger stripe pattern on her arms, legs and face. But the killer was her hair.
     Or rather, the mass of scaled green tentacles that had replaced her hair. They sprouted from her head like hair, and crested up and back, falling down her back just like real hair. Until she saw them twitch a little. She gasped in shock.
     Then she noticed her mouth and hand. She had claws. And fangs. It all looked quite… carnivorous. She looked herself over. Her eyes. She looked herself in the eye, and her eyes widened in surprise. Her poison green, snake slit eyes with no white. Just orbs of that iridescent green.
     She was beautiful. She was a freak. She slumped to her knees and buried her face in her clawed hands and broke down in tears.

     She was dimly aware of the rest of the day. She spent it wrapped in her blankets on the bed, shivering, trying to come to grips with what she was now, and failing miserably. She was aware, at the edge of her awareness, that her mother and father were having an argument.
     In fact, she was almost drawn out of her stupor by the fact that her mother was actually yelling back at her father. At least she was, until the sound of the first blow echoed up the stairwell. After that, it sounded like all the other arguments. She tuned it out, and shivered in her bed.
     Eventually, she nodded off.

     Something roused her to awareness some time later. She woke to find her ‘hair’ curled up around her legs, like it was hugging her. She panicked mildly, and then the sound that she had heard broke its way into her consciousness. Someone was undoing the locks on her door. She scuttled backwards on her bed, covering herself in her sheet.
     She heard argument outside her door, but she couldn’t follow the words. Then the door finally swung open, and her father strode into the room, followed by her mother. She caught the tail end of the conversation.
     “It’s been four days, bitch, the little whore can finally be of some value,” her father roared, and advanced on her bed.
     Her mother, with a split lip and black bruises over both eyes, scurried behind him. “Frank, please, she’s your daughter!” her mother cried, tears streaming from her blackened eyes.
     He shoved her aside. “That’s right, slut, she’s mine, to do with as I see fit.” He grabbed Stephanie’s arm and hauled her up. “Get up, freak. Time I got some value from you, you slut.”
     Stephanie wasn’t resisting, but she didn’t help, either. She was just dead weight. Not that it troubled her father. He just dragged her along. He dragged her down the stairs, and into the living room. As they moved into the room, Stephanie caught a glimpse of some men waiting in the entryway.
     Her mother came running down the stairs, her brother beside her, and she screeched, “I WILL NOT LET YOU SELL MY DAUGHTER!”
     The sense of the statement finally penetrated the haze of Stephanie’s mind, and she began to wake. Her father was going to sell her? What?
     While she was shaking her head, trying to clear the muddle, her mother and brother attacked her father. In moments she was fighting back as well, scratching at him and her strange ‘hair’ rising up like a forest of serpents to ensnare him. Her mother and brother rained blows down on him with a strength brought by desperation.
     It accomplished nothing. Her father flung her across the room with a shove, battered her brother with a blow to the gut and tossed him onto the stairs, and then started in on her mother. A blow to the head sent her sprawling, and then he kicked her in the ribs a few times, cursing her out as he did it.
     Then he stalked over to Stephanie. She panicked, and her ‘hair’ rose up and wrapped around his arm, trying to hold him back, but he used the hold to haul her up, and grabbed her throat. He hissed into her face, “Stop struggling, freak, or I’ll kill the brat. You will do as you are told, or I will kill that little snot, and make you watch. Do you hear me?”
     Stephanie froze at the threat, and nodded slowly. Her hair went limp and untwined itself from his arm, and she slumped her shoulders in defeat. Her father marched her over to the men by the door, and shoved her at them. They looked her up and down, nodded to each other, and handed her father an envelope.
     He took it and looked inside. “This clears me with Big Jim, right?” One of the men, the one who looked in charge, nodded. Her father smiled and nodded. “Enjoy the merchandise, she’s all yours.”
     They took her outside the house, and her father turned and kicked the door shut behind him. It slammed shut with a terrible finality. The men dragged her into an old SUV and tossed her in the back. She landed with a thump, and sprawled naked on the floor of the car. Slowly, she curled up in a ball, and began to sob as they drove away.

     She didn’t know how long they drove, but eventually they stopped, and the men came and hauled her out of the back of the SUV. She struggled a little, but was rewarded with a blow to the head from the butt of a gun for her troubles. The blow dazed her, as she was brought inside a building and hauled to a small room with a small bed, more of a cot then anything else, and chain on the wall. The men threw her down on the bed and laced a collar on her neck and snapped it to the chain. Then they walked away, and closed the door.
     Stephanie collapsed on the bed and sobbed.

     She lost track of time again, but this time she didn’t fall asleep. Eventually, her hunger grew enough to distract her from even her grief, and she heard her stomach rumble. She simply sat and rocked, occasionally checking her chain and leash. She had discovered early on that the collar was locked, and she couldn’t get it off. Her leash let her move through most of the room, but she couldn’t quite make it to the door. And it wasn’t a very large room.
     Eventually, the door opened, and one of her jailers put a tray with a sandwich and a soda on it on the ground, and closed the door behind her. She was so ravenous that she pounced on the food, the first real food she had seen since this nightmare started, with vengeance. In moments, it was gone.
     With the food gone, she slumped back on the bed. A few minutes later, she began to feel a little odd. It concerned her for a bit, and then she just stopped caring. She began to rub herself a bit. She was feeling so horny. She couldn’t remember what she was so upset about. She just felt so good…
     A few minutes later, after she had stopped caring enough to even masturbate, even though she was still obviously quite aroused, the door to her cell opened, and two men walked in.
     She was dimly aware of their conversation. One of them was obviously a doctor or something, he was bragging about how effective his something or other was, and the other was nodding and making impressed noises. She knew that this was important, and that it meant something scary and bad, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care.
     After a few minutes, they left, still taking. She just rocked there, on her little cot, and started singing a little to herself. Everything would be all right. Mommy said so.
     Later, the door to her room opened again, and a new man came in. This one stared at her for a long time.
     Then he grabbed her, and started to unzip his pants.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Ok, let me make something perfectly clear. I DO NOT APPROVE of the way this ended. Unfortunately, this is where it needed to end. I don’t like it. I spent three months obsessing over this ending, trying to find some better way to do this. I couldn’t find one. But don’t worry. While our poor Stephanie may well be in quite the dark place at the moment, help is on the way. I jump right in with Chapter Seven of the Tale of Jet and Quartz, which if not picking up quite exactly where this ends, comes in close enough to satisfy me, at any rate. So if you don’t like this ending, and I know I don’t, then think of this as less of an ending, and more of a really, really evil cliffhanger. I do apologize for that.