LYANNA UNBOUND
by
Jessica D

ISSUE 1
OPEN

“Go fuck yourself, Daryl!”

Leon laid down his cards. A full house. Three queens and two jacks. This ought to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face. Daryl curled back the corners of his cards, making a show of peering beneath them.

“Why would I do that,” he said, flicking his cards over, “when I can have a better time fucking you!”

“You gotta be kidding me!” Leon ran his hands through his mess of hair, staring down at the four twos tossed on the table in front of him.

“Ha ha!” Daryl jumped to his feet, his large set of keys jangling at his belt. He began to serenade Leon with a particularly annoying celebratory dance. “I’ll just take these,” he said, humming to himself as he swept the collection of buttons, old coins, pen lids and clothes pegs, from Leon’s side of the table over to his.

Leon leaned back, his old, rusted chair creaking beneath him. “How is that even right? I mean I’ve got fucking Queens here, and you’ve got, what… Twos?”

“Twos,” Daryl said, still smiling. “It takes two, baby! Just me and you!” He sang the words, jabbing his fingers toward Leon.

Leon began to collect up the cards from the small fold-out table. He paused, admiring the naked woman on the Queen of Diamonds. She was his favourite. He glanced to the digital clock on the microwave. It was getting late and Daryl was proving harder to get rid of than the mould on the walls. Ever since his breakup, Leon had been living out of his shitty windowless office in the basement of the condo. It was little more than a staff room, with a second-hand TV and an old leather sofa that he’d found on the street. The kitchenette at the opposite end of the room consisted of the microwave, a kettle, a water cooler, and a fridge that hummed too loudly. Through a door at the back was the storeroom, where Leon kept his tools and accumulated spare bits of crap that would occasionally come in handy for patching up the increasingly run-down condo.

“So, when are you gonna get your own place?” Daryl asked, hooking his thumbs into his belt as he paced around, casting his judgy eyes over everything. “You can’t live in this fucking rat-hole forever.”

Leon rolled his eyes as he slipped the deck back into its box. “It’s just until I can save up enough for a security deposit. After leaving Sarah, I—“

“Woah, woah, woah!” Daryl interrupted, turning and holding a hand up. “Let’s be clear here. She kicked your skinny ass out!”

“Let’s just say it was mutual,” Leon said, scratching at the hair on his face. It had grown too long to be called stubble, and far too patchy to be called a beard. He set the box of cards down and leaned across the table, grabbing the comic book he’d been reading before Daryl had arrived.

“You need to get out of here and clean yourself up, man,” Daryl said, picking up his beer can and draining the last dregs. “Ain’t no girl gonna wanna shack up with… this.” Daryl waved his hand toward Leon and belched under his breath.

“So, what's your secret?” Leon asked, finding his page in the comic and leaning back in his chair. “How do you manage to get so much pussy, anyway? Cos it sure as hell isn’t your winning personality.”

“What do you think, man?” Daryl grinned as he grabbed his crotch. “Plus… I don’t read comics!”

“You don’t read, period! Besides, comics are the Great American art form,” Leon said, waving the book in front of him.

“Hey, I don’t need to read about some white-ass Spider-Man or Captain America saving the fucking world.”

“Actually, they’re both Black now.”

“Hmm.” Daryl paused for a moment. “What about Superman?”

“Still white.”

“See? This is what I’m fucking talking about!”

Leon sighed. “Listen, you can come for me, but don’t come for my comics. At least when I’m reading them, I can forget how shitty my life is.” He looked down and turned the page. When he glanced back up, Daryl almost had a look of pity on his face. Almost. “Shouldn’t you be — you know — patrolling the building, instead of wearing a hole in my floor?” Leon said.

Daryl leaned forward and chuckled as he pointed down at the floor. “That hole was already fucking there, my friend!” Daryl straightened his security ID badge and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair. “Anyway, I already did a check before I came over. Trust me, there ain’t nothin’ happening here tonight.”

* * * * *

Agnes plumped the cushion behind her and settled back into the sofa, raising her feet up onto the cushioned footstool. She reached over to the side table and bounced a jasmine teabag in her cup.

“Come on, my princess!” she said, in the high-pitched register she reserved especially for fawning over Roxy. The Yorkie tilted its head and then sprang up onto her lap. Roxy immediately curled into a ball and Agnes settled her hand on her back and began stroking gently. “Let’s see what we’re in for tonight!” Agnes tapped her iPhone and her favourite weekly podcast began to play.

“Good evening dear listeners and welcome back to another instalment of Murder Matters. Tonight we’re going to ask you a couple of questions. What if your home wasn’t as safe as you thought it was? What if you were never really alone?”

“Ooh, spooky!” Agnes said, wiggling in her seat a little, relishing what might be coming next. Roxy whimpered, seeming a little less convinced. “Don’t worry, my angel, it’s just us here tonight.”

THUMP.

Agnes looked up to the ceiling, her eyes scanning. “Just us and the hundred and fifty other losers in this condo.” Roxy twitched and scratched at her ear. “Oh sorry, I didn’t mean you! Although you did end up with me as your Mommy!” Agnes adjusted the pink bow in Roxy’s hair and settled back into the podcast.

“… for this young couple from Arkansas, their lives were about to be turned upside—“

THUMP… Thump.

“Uh!” Agnes rolled her eyes. She knew someone new had rented the penthouse on the top floor, though she had yet to meet them. They’d been delightfully quiet up there. Until tonight. “Why Friday?” Agnes groaned. “This is my time!”

Roxy sniffed the air as she looked up toward the source of the noise. “I know, I know… I’m still young. I should be getting out more. Try and meet new people.” Roxy turned and flicked her tiny tongue against Agnes’ thumb. “But have you met people? People are the worst!”

CRASH!

This time the whole room seemed to shake.

“What the actual fuck?!” Agnes sat bolt upright, startling Roxy who leaped from her lap and onto the floor. She gave an aggrieved high-pitched bark. “You tell them, girl!” The ceiling lamp above them swayed, causing the shadows to dance up the walls.

Agnes rose to her feet and rolled up the sleeves of her oversized knit sweater. She grabbed her phone, stopped Murder Matters and searched through her contacts. “I’ll ring Ben on the desk. Get him to send someone up. I’ve a good mind to go up there myself with a copy of the tenancy agreement.” She began to pace, scuffing across the floor in her slippers. “It quite clearly says that each tenant has a right to the quiet and peaceful enjoyment of their property, without disturbance from other residents.”

“Bark!”

“Exactly!”

* * * * *

KSHK!

“Yo,” Daryl said, clicking the button on the side of his radio.

“Daryl? It’s Ben on the desk.” Ben’s voice came through distorted and broken. “Where are you?”

KSHK. “Hey, Ben.” Daryl glanced over at Leon who was sniffing at a carton of milk. His friend screwed up his face in disgust — then put the carton back in the fridge. “Oh, I’m up on fifth, just doing my rounds,” Daryl said, tensing and hoping that his lie would go undetected. Ben had probably been working the front desk for as long as the condo had been standing. Little ever seemed to get past him.

There was a pause before Ben replied.

“Oh, right. Well, while you’re there, tell Leon he still needs to take a look at the elevator.”

Daryl looked up at the ceiling, despairing. “Shit! How does that old fucker know everything?”

Leon grinned as he slipped past.

Daryl blinked and put on a fake smile as he pressed the button on his radio. KSHK. “What can I do for you, Ben?”

“Can you go check on 7B?” Ben’s voice crackled. “Young woman there complaining about noise up in the penthouse.”

“7B? Fuck.” Daryl shook his head. He held the radio up to his mouth. KSHK. “I’ll be right up.”

“And when are you gonna move your RV out of the garage? That rust bucket is starting to…”

Daryl slowly turned the volume down on his radio until it clicked off. “Good night, Ben,” he said to himself, sighing. The radios had been Leon’s idea and he’d bought a cheap set from the army surplus store. One each for himself, Daryl and Ben. Daryl looked back, seeing Leon searching the beat-up sofa for the TV remote. He watched, waiting to see how long it would take Leon to remember his fucking TV was too old to have a remote.

Leon straightened, one hand on his back, the other running through his shabby, sandy-coloured hair. His t-shirt was at least a couple of sizes too big for him, making his pale, scrawny ass look even… scrawnier. “What’s up with the girl in 7B, anyway?” Leon asked in his dry monotone. “Another one of your legendary conquests?”

“Nah, man. My powers don’t work on that one. Chick fucking hates me!”

* * * * *

Agnes stood in front of the mirror, near to the door of her apartment. She adjusted her hair grip, wondering if her messy bun looked too messy. She pulled a couple of strands of brunette hair down in front of her ears.

“On or off?” she asked, looking down at Roxy and sliding her black-rimmed glasses off, then back on again.

Roxy looked up and tilted her head.

“I know I can’t see without them — that’s not the point!” Agnes said, getting more irritated.

Suddenly, the door buzzer rang out, making her jump. “Oh!” Agnes pulled her sweater sleeves back down and smoothed out the hem of her top. At the last minute she took off her glasses and slipped them into the back pocket of her jeans. She unthreaded the chain from the door and opened it.

Daryl the security guard stood tall in front of her, his thumbs hooked into his belt, his features annoyingly blurred.

“Took you long enough!” Agnes said, trying to sound funny, but it came out sharper than she intended. Why did she always have to sound so weird?

“Uh, hey… Agnes, right?” Daryl said, scratching at the back of his head.

“Right… listen, uh—“

CRASH!

“What the fuck was that?” Daryl said, flinching a little as he looked up toward the source of the noise.

“See! This is what I’m talking about,” Agnes began, finally managing not to trip over her own tongue. “They can’t do this, can they? I, uh… I found my contract.” Agnes leaned back to reach for the paperwork she’d left on the hallway table. Roxy pawed at her ankle. “I know, baby…” Agnes leafed through her tenancy contract, searching for the relevant paragraph. At least she could win back some points by showing she knew what she was talking about.

“Hey, I believe you!” Daryl said, holding up his hands and chuckling.

Great. Now he was laughing at her! Agnes tossed the contract back onto the table.

SLAM! THUMP!

“Fuck me!” Daryl exclaimed as Roxy leaped up into Agnes’ arms.

“I know, my Princess woo-woo,” Agnes soothed, showering Roxy with reassuring kisses.

“Listen, Agnes, I’m gonna need you to go inside and stay there until I tell you it’s safe,” Daryl said. Agnes watched appreciatively as he rolled his broad shoulders.

“Whatever you say,” Agnes said, her eyes widening when she realised she’d used her high-pitched “Roxy” voice. She lowered her head, blushing fiercely.

Daryl hesitated, tapping the door frame. “Hmm… alright then.” He turned, striding down the hallway in the direction of the elevator. The doors to some of the other apartments twitched open as concerned neighbours peered out. Though in Mrs. Higgins’ case, it was more that she was just a nosy old bat.

Agnes set Roxy down and closed her apartment door, sliding the latch back across.

THUMP!

As she turned, her thigh slammed painfully into the edge of the hallway table.

“Mmf!” Agnes bit her bottom lip from the pain, her eyes watering. She sheepishly reached into her back pocket for her glasses, slipping them back on. Roxy came back into focus, her curious brown eyes staring up.

“Not. A. Word,” Agnes said, pointing down at her.

* * * * *

Daryl marched into the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. The door slid shut, the elevator slowly beginning to rise. He stared up at the light fixture above him, tapping his fingers impatiently against his thigh.

“Come on…” he said quietly to himself through gritted teeth.

SCRAAAPE! THUNK!

Suddenly the elevator juddered to a halt.

“Fuck! Damn it, Leon!” Daryl jabbed at the button. He’d just ridden seven floors in the fucking thing and now it packs up? Couldn’t that son-of-a-bitch just fix one damn thing in this place? Daryl jumped on the spot, his weight thumping against the floor, his keys jangling at his waist. The elevator somehow shook free and continued its slow march upwards.

TING! The door rolled open. Daryl breathed a sigh, cursing himself now for being too lazy to walk up one extra flight of stairs from Agnes’ apartment.

He started to walk down the dimly lit hallway. It didn’t matter how many extra lamps Leon put out in this place, it never seemed to get any brighter. The condo seemed to eat up the fucking light. Daryl kicked at a turned-up edge of the fraying carpet. The penthouse… It was just as shitty as the rest of this place. Just bigger.

Approaching the door, Daryl angled his head to one side, noticing that it was wide open. He slowed, creeping closer toward it. His hand instinctively reached for his belt, wishing — not for the first time — that this fucking place would let him carry a gun.

SLAM!

Suddenly, a body flew back into the corridor just in front of him, hitting the wall hard.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Daryl staggered back. His heel caught on the carpet and he landed flat on his ass.

figure on the floor in front of him groaned and clambered back to his feet. Plaster crumbled down from the wall behind him. He was cloaked — hooded — like he was wearing some sort of robe. When he turned and looked down, Daryl caught sight of the lower half of a narrow face. He reached up, wiping at his bloodied mouth with the back of his sleeve. That’s when Daryl saw it. The curved, ivory-handled dagger that the man held in his hand.

“What the fuck, what the fuck…” Daryl began to push back with his feet, scrabbling backward across the floor. The man turned his cloaked head, looking back into the open doorway of the penthouse. He bent at the knees, then athletically launched himself back through like a Jack-in-the-box.

SMASH! CRAAASH!

Daryl wasn’t sure which was louder — the noise from the penthouse, or the sound of his own heartbeat. Somehow, he pushed himself back to his feet. He searched the corridor, quickly grabbing one of the useless table lamps and yanking its cord free from the wall. He held it above his head with one hand and carefully stepped out in front of the open doorway to the penthouse, feeling the sweat trickling down his forehead.

He’d been expecting the mess — the broken glass, the toppled bookshelves and the splintered wooden furniture. What he hadn’t been expecting was two fucking ninja-monks kicking seven shades of shit out of each other.

The first — the one who’d narrowly missed Daryl as he flew fucking horizontal out the door — was dressed in leather with a dark brown hooded robe and loose pants, still carrying his dagger as he circled his opponent. The second man wore black and red, with a dark hood and mask covering most of his face. Daryl noticed he seemed to be holding a pair of those same pointy things that dude from the Ninja Turtles used. The two men moved deliberately and carefully, as if weighing each other up. It was then that they both noticed Daryl standing there in the doorway. They paused, staring. Probably both wondering why he was holding a fucking lamp above his head.

“Arrrghh!” Daryl summoned all of his strength and hurled it toward them. It crashed to the floor a good six feet in front of the Turtle guy. They both stared down at the lamp, then back up at Daryl.

“H-hey!” Daryl said — actually fucking waving. “Just, uh, responding to a noise complaint from downstairs.”

The hooded men looked at each other. Then back to Daryl.

“Sorry,” the brown-robed one said, leaning back just in time to avoid a fucking flying-kick to the chest.

For the next thirty seconds, it was like Daryl was watching a late-night Kung-Fu movie unfolding right in front of him. Kicks, spins — CLINK! CLANG! — the scrape of steel against steel as they thrust and parried with their weapons.

CRAAASH! Another bookcase came clattering to the ground. The black-and-red-robed man leaped over it, shoving the other man hard into the wall. CLANG! Hard enough that the A/C vent shuddered, the grille falling from its hinges.

* * * * *

Clang… CLANG! CLUNK!

Leon lay stretched out on the sofa in his basement room, staring up at the HVAC grille on the wall above him. He groaned and sat up, stretching and clicking his neck. Not another one…

The A/C system in the condo was the last decent thing this building still had, but unfortunately the rats seemed to think so as well. This wouldn’t be the first time that one of the wretched things had found its way into the old vertical duct that ran down through the building to the basement. It was a good job he didn’t live here… Oh, wait.

* * * * *

Daryl watched, frozen, as the black-and-red-robed figure looked directly at him. The man began to take a step toward him, raising one his Turtle knives.

“No!” the other man shouted from behind as he rose to his feet. In the blink of an eye, he threw his own curved dagger.

CLANG!

It struck the other man’s knife, knocking it clean out of his hand. The weapons skidded to a halt at Daryl’s feet.

“Alright… Evened the fucking playing field now!” Daryl pushed his shirt sleeves up and stepped towards the black-robed figure — only to receive an open-palmed punch straight to the gut.

“Ooff!” Daryl crumpled to the ground. “Mother… fucker…” he groaned, clutching his stomach.

* * * * *

Leon opened the door to the storage room at the rear of the kitchen. The strip light flickered and hummed above him, its stark brightness causing him to squint. The stale-smelling room was full of boxes and accumulated old junk — a broken washer, a pedestal fan, half-empty paint cans, and offcuts of that fucking awful carpet that was laid down in all the hallways. And his shirts. All hanging from the shelves so he wouldn’t have to iron them. He sighed, grabbing his toolbox and the old broom that he kept by the door.

* * * * *

The man stood over Daryl, his face covered except for a narrow slit for his eyes. He glanced back as his opponent quickly approached from behind. Daryl took the opportunity to grab the dagger that lay next to him, curling his fingers around its ivory hilt. He pointed it at the man, trying to stop it from shaking in his hands.

The man bolted, his black-and-red robe billowing as he fled toward the open rear balcony door. The brown-robed man followed in quick pursuit.

“Th-that’s right… you better fucking run!”

* * * * *

Leon carefully pulled the grille off the wall, cool air ruffling his hair as he set it down on the floor. He clambered up on top of the sofa, holding the broom above his head. He slid one end of it into the vent above him and began moving it around.

“There it is.” He felt it catch on something. He slowly began to draw the broom handle back toward him. He took a quick step back, expecting some rotting furry carcass to land on him.

CLINK.

Instead, something small but unexpectedly heavy landed on the floor next to him. Leon set the broom aside and bent down to pick it up.

He crouched, holding it in his palm. It was some sort of… jewellery. A black leather band decorated with gold studs, and at its centre a metal ring. Dangling from the ring was an amethyst gemstone which sparkled as it caught the light. As he ran a finger across the jewel, it almost seemed to shimmer and grow warmer in his hand.

“Woah!” Leon straightened, staring down at the ornate band, turning it over in his hands. The heat it was giving off was undeniable now. What was it? A bracelet? No, it was too big for that. It was more like a collar… or a choker. He finally looked up, a flicker of a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “Well, this is going straight on eBay.”

* * * * *

Daryl carefully stepped through the balcony door, bracing himself as he pushed past the drapes that billowed from the breeze outside. The balcony was empty and he breathed a sigh of relief. He placed a hand on the railing. The night sky looked grey and cloudy, lit from below by the glow of the city. Skyscrapers clustered toward the city centre in the distance. Somewhere a police siren wailed.

Daryl looked over the railing, down to the street below. Did they… go over? He half-expected to find a bloody mess on the sidewalk, but there was no sign of the two men, intact or otherwise.

Turning, Daryl looked across, noticing the fire escape ladder that ran up to the roof. He stepped forward, gazing up as he placed a foot on the bottom rung.

“Ah, fuck this… I ain’t no Black Spider-Man!”

He turned and made his way back inside, reaching for his phone to call the police. Instead, his hand found the ivory hilt of the robed man’s dagger.

He pulled the curved blade from his belt and looked down at it, turning it in his hands. He noticed a strange inscription on the hilt that looked like some sort of fucked-up cross. It was like it was ceremonial, or something.

“Oh, I am definitely keeping this motherfucker.”

* * * * *

Leon held his cell phone up, pausing to adjust the angle of the choker on the table in front of him. He took a few quick photos for his eBay listing.

“This better be worth something,” he murmured to himself, clicking through into the Photos app. “What the fuck?” He looked down at his phone. The images were all distorted in some way. He didn’t have a single clean shot of the thing! He tried again, and each time the same pixelated mess. “Fucking phone!”

He breathed a sigh and leaned back in his chair, starting to google “choker, jewel, amethyst, collar, rare, value…”

“Open,” a soft voice seemed to whisper.

Open, Leon found himself typing into the search engine. Wait, what? He set his phone down on the table and reached for the choker, his fingers running across the gold studs that ran along the thick leather band. He turned it in his hands, finding the clasp at its rear. He didn’t remember even noticing it before. He barely touched it and the choker seemed to sigh open, the two halves of the leather band folding back on themselves like the petals of a flower.

“What the f—”

SNAP!

It happened fast. The choker shot upward, out of his hands, wrapping itself around his neck.

“URK!” Leon jumped to his feet, the chair clattering back behind him. His fingers clawed at the choker as it seemed to tighten around his neck. He staggered around the kitchen, knocking a pan from the stove onto the floor.

“C-can’t… breathe…” He tried desperately to work his fingers beneath the constricting band but there wasn’t enough room. He turned and twisted, wrestling with the choker. With one hand scrabbling at the choker, the other pulled at a kitchen drawer.

CRASH!

Its contents spilled to the floor — spoons, forks, knives…

“Uhh… gughh…” Leon fought to breathe as he slid to the floor, his legs kicking out as his fingers searched for something — anything he could use. He found a bread knife, bringing it to his neck, trying desperately to work it under and lever the damn thing off.

CLICK.

The sound came from the back of his neck and the intense tightening sensation immediately began to ease, though the choker remained in place around his neck.

“Guurh!”

Leon’s chest heaved. He could breathe again. He closed his eyes, slumped against the side of the kitchen counter. He could feel the strange warmth of the choker again, and for a moment it seemed to soothe the soreness of his throat.

His hand finally reached back for the clasp. Except… there was no sign of it. His fingers slid across smooth leather and metal studs. It was as if the choker had never been open to begin with.

Finally catching his breath, Leon hauled himself to his feet and staggered over to the dirty, scratched-up mirror that hung on the wall. The choker was fastened to his neck — a perfect fit — its purple jewel catching the light and seeming to gleam between his collar bones. He tried to find the clasp again, using the mirror to try and slide the choker around. That’s when he noticed his eyes…

They seemed to grow milky and cloudy, his pupils and irises receding into a baleful yellow colour.

“Ahh… what the?!” Leon gripped the frame of the mirror, leaning closer. His yellow eyes twitched as they searched for answers, seeming brighter now, almost… glowing?

His skin began to prickle and burn all over, as if he’d just been hauled through a patch of stinging nettles. He ran his hands up his arms as they rippled and smoothed, the hairs receding. His patchwork beard similarly began to work itself inwards, leaving his jawline perfectly smooth to the touch.

A tingling sensation spread across his scalp and he watched, soundlessly mouthing words as his hair began to lengthen and darken, falling in waves across his back and shoulders.

“Arrghhh!” Suddenly his body contorted, his arms and back twitching in a painful rigour. He stumbled backward, knocking over the fold-out table. Playing cards scattered across the floor, naked women grinning up at Leon.

CRICCTCH! CRAAACK!

Leon’s shoulders and back clicked and ground, bones cracking and scraping into some new configuration. He felt like he was being stretched in all directions at once. He could feel it in his body… his legs… and his arms. He clutched at new musculature that steadily throbbed to life, seeing his veins pumping with blood beneath the surface of his stretched smooth skin.

“Uhh… gurrgh…” Spittle drooled from Leon’s mouth as he took an ungainly step forward. He felt dizzy, as if the room had grown smaller, closing in around him.

He held his hands up in front of him, larger and yet more slender — a sharp stinging in the tips of his fingers.

“Uhhh, fuccck!” He watched as sharp talons erupted, breaking the surface of his skin and growing forth from his fingertips. “No, no, no…” His voice sounded different… higher pitched, yet seeming to echo around the room, as if it hadn’t quite come from his own throat.

It threatened to drive him mad — the throbbing of his veins, the twisting of sinew and muscle, the cracking of bone. And it was more than just his body. His clothing seemed to tighten then shred into thousands of tiny pieces. They hardened and changed colour, seeming like glittering small scales now, matching the purple colour of the jewel at his neck. They slid across the surface of his skin like an army of small insects, searching for a new home on his body.

Leon’s shaking hands reached up, clasping at his head as if trying to contain the madness that was spilling forth. His clawed hands tangled in his mane of black hair.

He looked down at the fresh smoothness of his skin, that now blended seamlessly with chitinous, armoured scaling that ran across his entire lower body, and across his shoulders and arms. His chest remained bared and tingling as blood vessels carried an urgent throbbing warmth. This wasn’t more musculature forming, this was something else. Soft, rounded, swelling.

Breasts.

Unmistakable. Unavoidable. Pumping. Rising. Madness.

His purple armoured scaling shifted again, curling around his full swollen chest, cradling and supporting his new cleavage.

“Nuhh… nhhh… hhhuh…” The words no longer seemed to come. Instead a flooding warmth between his legs, along with a sensation of pulling and tightness, until—

CRAACK!

His pelvis seemed to split open, carrying his hips and backside out with it.

Leon twisted and fell about the room, knocking into shelves, his head hitting the bulb that hung from the ceiling, sending it swaying. His purple-scaled thigh hit the edge of the sofa and sent it skidding across the room. Either the basement room had shrunk about him… or… he was now… taller. Much taller.

The pain subsided, yet a tingling warmth seemed to remain. Leon stared down at his taloned hands, flexing his fingers, his gaze then drawn to the soft swell of his breasts that rose and fell with his heavy breathing. His fingers carefully drifted down, grazing between his legs, finding only a smooth inward curve between his wider-set thighs, along with more of that wretched scaling.

“What. Am. I?” His higher-set, yet thunderous voice echoed about the room. He took tentative steps forward, his powerful legs trembling. His feet clicked under him, his heels raised up in some sort of parody of a high-heeled boot — purple-armoured, but seeming to be a part of his anatomy.

Somehow, he found the mirror, though he had to crouch now to look down into it. Leon’s breath left him, his heart leaping in his chest as he beheld his twisted reflection. She… she was beautiful. And ugly. Fascinating… and repugnant.

Her glowing yellow eyes widened and twitched, her soft feminine face framed by dark hair that fell past her shoulders. Her skin, a smooth mix of vibrant pink and grey, as if she were somehow overflowing with vigour, yet rotting from within, all at once.

And there at her neck — the choker. Its purple jewel glowing even brighter than before, resting just above the swell of her large breasts.

Leon ran her clawed hands along the length of her chitin-scaled arms. Somehow, she could feel it. Somehow the armour was living and a part of her. Her hands instinctively ran over the softness of her breasts, eliciting an embarrassing, echoing sigh, before sliding down further to her smooth stomach. There was a new feeling making itself known. Deep within her, gnawing and clawing. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach. And between her legs. And in every fibre of her being.

“Hungry…” she said, looking into the mirror and blinking her glowing yellow eyes.

LYANNA UNBOUND
OPEN

WRITTEN & DIRECTED
by
JESSICA D

END CREDITS MUSIC
‘The Hearts Filthy Lesson’
(Bowie/Eno/Gabrels/Kizilcay/Campbell/Garson)
Performed by David Bowie

* * * * *

Author's Note

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