Jaloxi was crouched, low to the ground and ready to strike.
She did not understand why she was in that position or how she got there. She only knew that, despite her mind's surprise, she could not move.
It was dark and no one was close. The space was confined, she felt comfortable there, knowing there was little risk of discovery.
There was something inside her that felt foreign; poisoned and vengeful, dangerous and calculating. It had its own mass, its own presence and it displaced things inside her she once reflected on as good.
Still, this thing felt right. Felt like a thing of transformation. Something her mind had not fully grasped but was slowly becoming comfortable with.
She smiled, but the smile would not be universally recognized as welcoming.
It was grotesque.
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