I remember a rabbit we’d dissected in high school. It had some sort of disease that discolored its fur and messed up the natural arrangement of its limbs and organs. I’d thrown up every time I saw it, and had to go through about five lab partners during the school term. That was exactly when I’d decided that the sciences simply weren’t for me.
The sight of my sister reminds me of that wretched creature.
She has shrunken to about half the size of the grotesque monstrosity she’d been the last time, which is still almost twice a regular human size. She’s like a creature caught between monster and human, and I know the magic is draining from her body faster than she can keep up. Her skin is a discolored patch of green, white, and purple like she’d been bruised from the inside out.
Looking a
