A woman gets swallowed up by her new scaly skin and turned into a cobra. (Contains biting.) Explicit.
Emily stepped barefoot across the tiled floor. A sliver of the North African breeze rustled the hem of her nightgown as she paused in the doorway, looking back at her fiancée slumbering amidst the sheets. With a small smile she swung the door closed, leaving only a crack open.
Filling the basin of the sink from the tap, Emily scooped up two handfuls of water and stroked them across her face. It had taken weeks of negotiating for Simon to agree to bring her on one of his 'expeditions', so she wouldn't let him see a hint of regret, even if the sun singed her nose pink and the dry air left her skin feeling like parchment.
Hands on the edge of the sink, Emily lifted her face and let the water drip off her chin. The cool air brushed against the edges of her cheeks. She chased an itch on the back of her palm with her fingers, then sunk her hands into the water and rubbed them together. Leaning over the water, she splashed several more handfuls across her face, too, in an attempt to soothe the itch running down her forehead and across her nose. After a thorough scrubbing, she groped for the washcloth and dried herself off.
The water hadn't helped. She scratched above her temple, along her cheekbone, across her jaw. Her nails left red tracks across her skin. She dug her fingers underneath her gown and scratched at her neck.
With a small breath of frustration, she lifted her nightgown from her shoulders, pulled it off over her head, and laid it out beside her while she retrieved a bottle of oil from her bag. She set aside the glass stopper, then poured a splash of the oil into her hand and spread it across her bare shoulders and onto her neck and cheeks.
As she rubbed the oil into the nape of her neck, Emily felt a tug around her midsection, like the grip of a corset, or more likely the tautness of dry skin. She turned toward the mirror. What looked like a translucent, silky sash had wrapped around her stomach, from her waist up to just below her ribs.
It wasn't silk. It was patterned, textured, scaled; it was snake skin. And it wasn't staying still. It slid outward along her skin, like a sheet pulled by an invisible hand. It was swallowing her up.
June 24, 2019
A quick sketch of a priestess being corrupted into a serpent. Mature.
Sister Juliel knelt in front of the shrine of Al-Esh and tucked her white habit beneath her knees before bowing her head and beginning the night-time prayers. At the hour of Vigils, each of the seven shrines that ringed the convent had to be given prayer and their candles lit. It was a lonely, sleepy task, but a peaceful one.
A warm breeze crossed through the open windows of the shrine. Juliel paused, her lips sliding shut as she lifted her eyes and glanced out the window. Nothing stood outside but the shadow of the trees in the orchard. For a moment, she studied the dark, expecting to see the eyes of some owl or cat glinting at her, but there was nothing. Head bowed, she completed her prayer, then lit a thin taper from her lantern and held its tip, one by one, to each of the seven candles.
As she was about to light the final candle, a sudden wind blew so fiercely Juliel thought she had been struck. Tumbling to the side, she landed against the wall of the shrine, suddenly plunged into darkness. The candles and her lantern both had gone out.
Juliel crouched where she had landed for a few moments, wide-eyed and listening. There was not even the rustle of wind in the leaves from outside. Quietly, she traced the sign of the seven-pointed star on her chest, and began to whisper, "Blessed Al-Esh, please guide and protect my spirit..."