A month passed.
Honestly, I thought I'd be having a full-blown existential crisis by now , maybe screaming, maybe sobbing, maybe a sense of lonlyness and longing for my family. But strangely? I'm… okay. More okay than anyone in my position has the right to be.
It's different, sure. Being a four-year-old is weird. Living in an orphanage full of mutant-quirk kids is weirder. But it's starting to feel normal in that "my life makes no sense but I've accepted it" kind of way. Pretty sure though its because i'm 4 four.
I should probably thank someone in my prayers tonight.
Right now, though, it's playtime.
I'm sitting outside in the sandbox, trying very hard not to drool on myself while sculpting my very lopsided sandcastle. The yard around me is chaos — kids shrieking, chasing each other, climbing things that definitely weren't meant to be climbed. Normally, folks with quirk mutations are supposed to be stronger, faster, sturdier ,even if they're born purple or with squid feet or whatever. But me? Keeping up feels impossible.
I learned something recently: when your body reverts to a toddler, your brain follows. Mood swings, impulses, attention span — it all hits hard. So here I am, willingly stationary in a sandbox with the calmer kids.
One child has a literal cat face for a head.
Another… well. Another is Hope.
Hope is the girl with eyes and mouths scattered across her entire body just blinking, whispering, doing things mouths and eyes shouldn't do all at once. She freaks me out, if I'm being honest. She stares at me with half her eyes, while the others blink somewhere else entirely. And she keeps licking me. Not even with her main mouth — with her other mouths. One time I swear a tongue stretched across several feet just to slap my cheek while she herself was looking the opposite direction.
Ugh.
Not that I'm a comforting sight either — with my messed-up face and my constant effort not to drool like a teething bulldog.
3rd POV
Tod sat at the edge of the yard, lost in his thoughts and the crumbling edges of his sandcastle, when something moved near the fence. A stray dog — ribs visible beneath matted fur, eyes wild, teeth bared — slunk into the playground.
It approached with low growls rumbling in its throat.
Tod spotted it first.
And, being four years old in body and partially four years old in judgment, he had a brilliant idea:
Go pet da dog.
Completely unaware of the warning signs — stiff posture, raised hackles, tense tail , yet Tod waddled toward it.
The dog snarled.
Tod kept walking.
And logicaly the dog lunged.
Before Tod could process what was happening, the animal clamped its jaws around his forearm, dragging him down into the dirt. Its teeth sank deep, gnawing, shaking its head violently.
Tod screamed , high, sharp, and panicked.
Children scattered in terror. Some ran. Some froze. The older ones stepped forward to help, only to stop dead in their tracks as a golden light ignited around Tod's small form.
The sudden glow was just enought to deter them from jumping in imediatly.
Tod's POV
OH SHIT. OH SHIT. THIS DOG IS BITING ME.
Pain — panic — instinct — something instictive and feral surged through me. A sensation flared along my jaw, stretching, pulling, warping in ways that shouldn't have been possible.
A thought entered my mind — absurd, insane…
But right, Instinctively right.
Before I even knew what I was doing, I latched onto the dog's neck and bit down.
Hard.
My jaw felt wrong — too long, too sharp, too strong — like It wasn't human at all. But I didn't care. I didn't have room to care.
Instinct took over.
Go for the throat.
Under the jaw.
Twist.
Pull.
End it.
I followed.
The dog convulsed once, twice — then went still.
Silence consumed the yard. Except for some of the younger kids crying and the older kids doing their best to try and calm them.
I felt the metallic tang of blood fill my mouth, warm and thick, and my tiny chest heaved with ragged breaths. The stray lay dead across my body, its neck torn open.
And the golden glow around me slowly faded.
Leaving only me, a terrified playground, and the taste of iron lingering on my tongue.. . . and a dead dog on top of me, Stupid mutt!
My jaw snapped back into place with a sickening series of pops, shrinking and reshaping until it returned to something vaguely normal, or as normal as a face witout lips or cheek skin. The golden glow faded just as Mr. and Mrs. Jhones burst through the back door, panic written all over their faces.
Mrs. Jhones reacted instantly. Before I could blink, she was scattering toward the frightened children, her voice soft and steady as she gathered them close. And then, well. . .I realized something I really should've noticed sooner.
That stiff, colorful cape I thought she always wore?
Not a cape.
Wings. Huge, iridescent butterfly wings unfurled behind her, catching the sunlight in shimmering purples and blues.
Who would've guessed?
Meanwhile, I tried to push myself up off the ground, but the moment I put weight on my arm a sharp, burning pain shot up to my shoulder, forcing me right back down.Which i won't admit but I started crying due to the . . . dust in the air, yea . the dust was the reason.
That stupid dog.
All I wanted was to pet him. He didn't have to try and eat me.
Thankfully, Mr. Jhones—Hank, as I'd heard one of the older kids call him—rushed straight toward me. He dropped to one knee beside me so fast the ground shook underneath us. His huge frame cast a solid shadow over mine, and for the first time since the attack, I actually felt… safer.
"Boy, are you alright?" he asked, voice low but urgent. "Let me see that arm of yours. We need to get that checked out." He imediatly pushed the dog off of me, which i think i hurd bones crushing when he did that. He soflty sat me up his hand to brace my entire back.
I lifted my arm toward him, or at least tried to. The moment I moved it, pain flared hot and deep, and a groan slipped out before I could stop it. My forearm was a mess of torn skin, puncture wounds, and smeared blood — mine and whichever bits were left from the dogs throat.
Hank's expression shifted, jaw tightening, eyes darkening with a kind of anger I knew wasn't directed at me. He handled my arm like it was made of glass, inspecting the bite without so much as brushing a tender spot.
"Tch," he muttered under his breath, more frustrated than surprised. "Nasty bite. You're lucky he didn't get the artery."
Lucky? for some reason I didn't believe him.
Kids were still crying behind us, but Mrs. Jhones was doing a shockingly good job calming them — wings folding gently around the most terrified ones like a protective curtain. Some of the older students stood frozen, staring at me with a mix of awe and fear after seeing whatever that golden glow was.
I didn't know what it was either.
Hank used the one hand behind my back and shifted me to the middle of his arm and the the rest of his arm was used to go under my legs, lifting me like I weighed nothing more than a pillow. My injured arm throbbed painfully every time my heartbeat pulsed through it, and I couldn't stop glaring at it.
"Stupid dog," I muttered under my breath. "Should've just let me pet him…"
Hank huffed something almost like a laugh, though fear still edged his voice.
"Let's get you inside, kid."
And as he carried me toward the building, still holding me like I was breakable, all I could do was stare at the stains of blood drying on my skin… and wonder what exactly I had turned into.
leaving the sounds of light crying and shushings in the background.
Later That Night
I lay in my small bed, staring at the ceiling while my arm throbbed under layers of fresh bandages. The doctor said that because I'm a mutant, it's better to "observe my physiology before interfering," which was just a fancy way of saying:
"We have no idea what your body is going to do, so… good luck."
So all they did was wrap my arm and tell me to wait.
I could tell Hank was furious. He tried to hide it, but the way his jaw clenched and how his hands kept tightening into fists gave him away. Still, he didn't argue. He just nodded stiffly and did what the doctor recommended. Not like he had much of a choice.
Man… this sucks.
I get attacked by a stupid dog, nearly lose my arm, and now I'm being treated like some unpredictable science experiment because I'm "different." I think.
Either way, it sucks.
I kept complaining in my head, but the truth is… what else can I do? It happened. It's done. And now I'm stuck wondering about what came out of me back there. That golden glow. The teeth. The instinct.
Is that all I am?
Some kind of weird, ankle-biting beast child?
Ugh. No point overthinking it. May as well try and see if I can do it again.
So I closed my eyes and focused on that strange feeling — the one from earlier, the one that twisted my jaw and stretched it into something not-human. I concentrated on it, the memory of bone shifting under skin.
And… it happened.
Not as dramatic this time. No glow. No panic.
Just a slow, uncomfortable rearranging of muscle and bone.
With my good hand, I reached up and touched my face.
Or… my snout, technically.
I didn't even have lips. Just exposed teeth and a shortened muzzle.
"My abnormal face changes even when I transform," I muttered, half annoyed, half fascinated.
Man…
If this is all my quirk is, it's pretty underwhelming.
That thought had barely formed when something caught my attention — a sharp little movement.
A lizard.
It scurried across the floor like it owned the place.
Curiosity sparked, and before I could think, I lunged for it. My timing was off though , and the little guy escaped, leaving only his tail in my hand. Typical lizard.
"Man… lizards have the coolest healing tricks," I whispered, watching the tail twitch in my fingers before dropping it.
The moment I said that tho, I felt something warm pulse under my bandages.
A soft green glow seeped through the wrappings.
I froze.
The glow intensified for a moment… then faded.
And just like that — the pain in my arm dulled. Then vanished almost completely.
"...Well," I murmured, staring at my arm in disbelief.
"Ain't that neat?"