The water laps around my ankles, cool and familiar. My wife sits on the shore beside a pile of my discarded clothes, the cloth limp and lifeless now. My step falters but then I move. Sand and pebbles rub at the soles of my hardened feet as I look back at her once more. My love, my life. My jail keeper.
"I don't think this is going to work," I say. Reassurance for her, though I know it to be a lie. I can already feel my blood running faster as it prepares for the transformation.
On the shore, she smiles. I can't read it. I never could.
With a grimace I turn my face to the horizon. A cool breeze slips off the ocean, ruffling my hair around my shoulders. I will miss that sensation. The water hits my knees, then my thighs, then my hips. I could drop down and be done with it but I'm not far enough. If I change too soon, she can follow me. She will catch me.
"Don't go any further," she calls. Her voice is faint enough against the rush of the breeze that I can pretend I didn't hear it.
Walking with legs through the water is strange and uncomfortable. The water pushes back, refusing me. I wonder if this ocean will ever embrace me again or whether my skin will never heal. I'll be walking the shore for the rest of my life, hand in hand with the woman who destroyed my chances at freedom. It almost seems a comforting idea.
And then my knees buckle and slam together. I hear her cry out on the shore, hear the splash of her feet against the gentle waves, and I launch myself forward in one smooth motion.
My tail is half-formed and ugly as I push myself through the waves. I squirm against the pain as my spine bends and shifts, as my hips relocate, as my arms turn to flippers. My muscles grow strong, sleek, buried beneath a thick layer of warm fat. My skin turns grey and a pale fur sprouts from it, thicker than the human fuzz. The silken hair on my human head disappears and my snout stretches forward. I gulp a huge lungful of air and dive just as her fingers touch my cool skin.
Her scream is muffled beneath the waves. I don't look back.
