Later that evening, as Brenda knelt beside the crackling fire in meager contemplation, Agnes's ancient form materialized from the gloaming shadows. The wizened crone studied the young luna-in-training with eyes glittering like twin obsidian shards refracting the dancing flames.
"You feel the stirrings of Becoming already, don't you child?" Agnes's rasp. "That unholy miasma coiling through your sinew and spirit alike, a serpentine hunger yearning to swallow all that frail mortality you yet cling to?"
Brenda stirred slightly, the firelight painting intricate patterns across her delicate features. For an instant, her pale eyes smoldered with an answering corona of rapacious, profane longing...and mortal fear given equal weight.
"I feel it," she whispered hoarsely. "A ravenous ache, like th
