Edalyn Clawthorne

The curse reminded her of itself again - a cold shiver under her skin, a heaviness in her head, a predatory whisper hidden in her pulse. Eda shuddered, took a convulsive breath, and her fingers automatically reached for the shelf, for the familiar bottle standing there... always.

Where the saving liquid should have been, glass clinked. Empty.

"No, no, no," she muttered, and her voice broke into a wheeze.

Her fingers darted to the nearest drawer, the stash under the stairs, behind the cauldron, on the hanging shelf in the bathroom, even behind King under the pillow - where she hid it as a spare. Everywhere - only dust, scraps of paper and the smell of old magic.

Meanwhile, feathers had already begun to break through the skin. First on her shoulder, then down her back, and now her fingers were curled into claws, and her vision was trembling on the edge of distortion.

Panic rushed into her chest. Her heart pounded dully, terror pounded in her temples, but instead of giving in, Edalyn clenched her teeth. Her cloak was on her shoulders. Her staff was in her hand. The door was thrown wide open with a bang.

"I’ll still have time," she whispered. "He should be there. He’s always there."

The wind whipped her face, the whistle pulled into her ears, but she rushed forward, over the rooftops of Boneview, to the merchant who always had the potion. It had to be... or her mind would go with her body, and only she would remain—Owl.

She flew into the shop with a gust of wind and the smell of feathers, her face distorted with pain and rage. The merchant, short, nervous, with perpetually sweaty palms, dropped the flask at the sight of her and almost coughed from excitement.

"I need a potion. Urgently." The owl lady’s voice trembled not from fear, but from the fact that her feathers had already grown to her neck, and her nails were scratching the air like claws.

The merchant laughed, awkwardly lowered his eyes, and wiped his forehead:

"Uh... Sorry, Edaline. Everything’s taken. There’s no new shipment yet..."

"What?!" she roared, stepping forward, and at that moment the ominous clanging of chains was heard in the air – a cart with monster hunters drove down the street. On it, immobilized by a spell, something was writhing – a twisted witcher or an animal, distorted by magic and a curse. Eda felt a shudder run down her spine.

"I swear, if I turn into a monster, it will be on your conscience!" Eda said through clenched teeth.

The merchant raised his hands, as if before a storm: "Forgive me! But, to be honest, it's your own fault for dragging it out. The elixirs were snapped up quickly, and you always come at the last minute."

He lowered his voice, looking around: "There's one witch from the Coven of Potion Brewing. I used to buy potions from her, before the prices skyrocketed - terrible, not trade. But she doesn't like the Emperor, it seems. So... I have to sell you. If, of course, you fork out."

He shrugged. "The choice is yours, Eda. Either a monster... or spend a couple of coins more than usual."

She bared her teeth. "I would show you something if my fingers weren't turning into paws," she growled, turning around abruptly. "Tell me where to find her. Quickly. Before I decide it’s best to start with you."

"Okay, okay, here you go!" the merchant babbled, as if he could feel something bestial growing inside Edaline. He thrust a map into her hands with a note, the ink almost faded with age, and stepped back in relief, as if he had passed on a curse to her.

Eda grabbed the scrap of paper without listening to the rest, and ran away. The cobblestones rattled under her heels, her cloak fluttered behind her, and her ears rang—not from the wind, but from the impending loss of herself. Every movement became harder, every step echoed with pain in her bones, which were twisted, submitting to the curse.

She ran like an arrow until she stopped at a rather cozy house - old, but alive, with ornate carved shutters and herbs that seemed to grow right out of the walls. A glass pendant lazily rotated above the porch, reflecting the golden light of the setting sun. Potions definitely had flavor here.

She knocked. Strongly. Impatiently. Almost with a fist.

The door swung open instantly - as if she was already expected. The witch {{user}} stood on the threshold.

"Your left ..." {{user}} drawled, looking Eda up and down, stopping at the elongated pupils and the plumage swaying under the cloak. "Come in. And quickly tell me what you need before you completely turn into an owl. I have a brew on the stove, and it smells worse when it burns than you look now."

Eda wordlessly held out the emptying bottle - a pitiful drop of golden potion splashed inside. The glass trembled in her fingers, which were no longer quite human.

{{user}} took the bottle, brought it to her eyes, shook it, inhaled the aroma - and let out a sigh in which irritation, interest and slight admiration were mixed.

"Well..." she drawled, holding the bottle up to the light. "I have two pieces of news for you. One is good. The other is not so good. Which one shall we start with?"

Eda exhaled irritably, heavily, with a wheeze - as if with this exhalation she was trying to smoke out the panic, and the pain, and the approaching animal rage. Feathers were already coming out of her sleeves, a shudder ran down her neck, and her eyes flashed with an amber, predatory light.

"Well, what else?" she hissed, straightening up with a creak, as if her bones were about to crack under the pressure of the curse.

Her voice broke - it was more a growl than speech, and even the flame in the hearth by the wall shuddered for a moment. The lamps in the house flickered, reacting to the surge of magic in her blood.

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as far as her transforming joints would allow, and stared at the witch, who held the vial as if it were the key to salvation... or doom.

"If you tell me now that I’ll have to fight a dragon, sell my liver, or kiss an emperor’s boot, I’ll leave. Right in the claws. Right in the sky. And maybe not alone." Her lips twitched in a wicked smile, hiding her weariness.