Dr. Hathaway was beginning to sweat. He mixed up the third batch of the potion and hoped that it wasn't as volatile as the other two. Stayne wandered in just as he stared into the cauldron with shock. The liquid inside was glowing green.

"What on earth is that?" Stayne asked in disgust.

"It's something that Iracebeth wanted me to work on," Hathaway responded, "she wants to make a telepathy potion…if I get the ingredients right, then whoever drinks it will be able to send and receive thoughts from others…almost be able to break into another person's mind. It would create a sort of pack mentality. Unfortunately, most of the cards seem immune to its effects since they don't have the same kind of brains we have."

Stayne could hear between the lines. Iracebeth wanted it to be tested on a human subject.

"I'm not exactly sure who to test it on," Hathaway continued softly, "I can't ethically force anyone to take it. Anything that affects the brain could have absolutely terrible complications should something go wrong."

Stayne himself was used to being between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't come up with any easy answers, either.

"HATHAWAY! Is my potion ready yet?" Iracebeth shouted, storming through the doors.

"Uh…yes and no."

"Well, which is it?" she demanded.

"It's finished, but I'm still not sure I got the right ingredients."

Iracebeth shrugged, watching him hastily ladle the contents into the mug.

"We shall see."

She marched down the hall with it. Stayne and Hathaway had no choice but to follow, to watch the aftermath unfold. It was like watching a bad car wreck—they just couldn't look away.

Aurora was the first unfortunate person that they crossed paths with. Iracebeth thrust the mug into Aurora's hands. Understandably, Aurora looked at Iracebeth like she'd lost her mind.

"Drink it," Iracebeth demanded, "it's to cure you of your condition."

Aurora glanced at Hathaway and Stayne. Stayne's face betrayed nothing, but Hathaway looked decidedly nervous. Thinking that it might be some sort of healing thing, she downed it without anymore hesitation. The stuff tasted absolutely awful. The mug slipped out of Aurora's hand and shattered on the stone floor. Aurora gasped for air and clutched at her throat and her chest—it was burning! She felt as if she'd swallowed acid and fire mixed together. They plunged into her stomach and she dropped to the floor. Her insides felt as if they were bursting into flames. The last thing she saw clearly was Stayne's heart-shaped eye patch before her vision blurred and darkened.

"How will we know if it takes effect?" Iracebeth demanded.

"I'm not sure," Hathaway admitted grimly. He was pale and sweaty now—Stayne couldn't blame him. Hathaway had a fondness for the girl and would carry the guilt forever if he'd killed her.

Froth emerged from Aurora's mouth and an alarmingly wet sound exited from her lungs. Her face paled and then flushed dark red. She began to jerk and shake all over as if suffering a seizure.

A feeling that Stayne had thought himself incapable of feeling emerged with alarming intensity. He was familiar with pity, even sympathy. But the absolute fury at Iracebeth was mixed with something else: fear for Aurora's life.

"What's the matter with her?" Iracebeth asked, annoyed.

"She appears to be having a seizure," Hathaway remarked uneasily. He fought his urge to go tearing from the room.

As quickly as it started, it stopped. Aurora's body went limp. When she tried to open her eyes, her gaze was unfocused and glazed over. Her mouth was slack and a string of saliva escaped from one corner. For one frightful moment, they all thought she was dead. A weak cough exited her lungs and they knew she was not.

"Another failure," Iracebeth spat, "I should have you thrown in the dungeon for this, Doctor! You're fortunate that no one else is educated enough to take the job!"

She stomped off, muttering "idiots!"

It was only after she was gone that Hathaway allowed his fear and guilt to show through. He was shaking like an old man as he knelt over Aurora and tried to get her to show some signs of life. Eventually, her eyes tracked his worried face, but they threatened to close. It was as though focusing on him was taking every ounce of strength that she still had.

"Ta—take her upstairs to her r-room," he stuttered to Stayne, "I-I'll be up in a m-moment. I d-don't think the others should s-see her l-like this."

Without a word, Stayne gathered her up. He wondered how she seemed so much more slack in his arms now than when she'd been unconscious. He wished she'd do something to resist him carrying her—anything. It was unnerving to hold her and have her be so limp.

He was getting ready to put her on her bed when she threw up violently. He somehow managed to dodge the fountain of vomit, though he never knew how. It was as if something had exploded in Aurora's stomach. Three or four bad waves later, she had nothing left to bring up. The pity came with a sharp, acute pain and stayed there. He eased her down on the bed and hoped she wouldn't be sick again.

"Poor girl," Martha sighed. She'd seen the whole thing and began to clean up Aurora's mess without the slightest trace of irritation.

Much to his horror and relief alike, Aurora started to cry. Though he was glad she was showing some sign of life, this unnerved him in many different ways.

"Hold her," Martha demanded.

He sat down on the bed beside her and moved to slide his arms around her. When his arm grazed her back, however, she screamed and pulled away from him. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she was breathing rapidly as though in a great deal of pain. Throwing all sense of propriety out the window, he tugged the laces on the back of her dress loose and peeled back the fabric. What he saw made him gasp.

It was as though she had some sort of rash on her back. A closer look revealed not just swollen and red skin, but darker areas patterned out so precisely that an artist might have drawn them.

"It looks like feathers!" Martha exclaimed in horror.

Even as they watched, veins of red began to draw themselves down the center of the feather patterns. The skin darkened until it turned black. With a sickening pop, the feather patterns freed themselves. They were no longer smooth flesh, but glossy black feathers.

Aurora seemed oblivious to everything else. She sobbed in pain and seemed unable to form any words. Tears spilled out of her squeezed-shut eyes. Stayne was unsure of what to do; he was afraid that even the gentlest touch would make her scream that horrible scream again. Cautiously, his fingertips grazed her arm. That didn't seem to make her any worse. Very, very carefully, he eased her onto her stomach until she was laying across his lap. Awkwardly, he stroked her hair and wished he could make it go away.

With an earsplitting crack, the feathers became full-fledged wings. They unrolled like flags and spread out until they reached their full span. Aurora's crying became silent as the pain seemed to subside.

"I'm back—oh my…"

Stayne shot him a hard look.

"What in the Hell did you put in that stuff?" he demanded in a cold voice.

"Well, one of the ingredients was a Jub-Jub feather," Hathaway choked out nervously. Martha put herself between Stayne and Hathaway (though Stayne couldn't have moved without shoving Aurora out of his lap).

"Enough! This is no time to point fingers! Just make her better!"

Aurora had finally relaxed and he didn't want to make her move. She had to sit up to drink the pain potion, however, or she'd choke. He eased her back up as carefully as he could and held the cup for her. A little of it spilled down her chin, but no one thought anything of it. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and sagged against his shoulder.

"She'll go to sleep," Hathaway said, "I haven't the slightest idea of what to do about the wings…we don't even know how deeply her brain has been affected. We should probably take turns watching her overnight just to be sure she doesn't…"

He trailed off.

"Should we try to put her to bed?"

Martha shook her head.

"She's comfortable where she's at…poor thing. Stayne, do you think you can take the first watch?"

He looked down at Aurora. Her features were beginning to smooth out. Her tears were drying. Her breath was slowing down. He was almost certain he could feel her heartbeat evening out as well.

"I will stay as long as I can," he said.

"In other words, until Iracebeth yells at you," Martha helpfully translated.

"Yes."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No."

The two of them left the room and Martha blew out the candle.

Stayne felt Aurora shift, trying to get into a more comfortable position. He reclined more until he was laying down rather than sitting up against the headboard. She stopped moving and was still.

He knew he hadn't done anything wrong, but the guilt at having done nothing was just as bad. He couldn't very well blame Dr. Hathaway, for the man was between a rock and a hard place. Iracebeth would get what she wanted regardless of how it came about. It would not matter whose expense it came at.

He closed his eye. One arm was laying over Aurora's ribs; he was a light enough sleeper during times of emergency that he'd feel it if she stopped breathing. The last few days had been Hell and he hadn't slept well. Drowsiness came more easily in the dark.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He was no longer himself, no longer male. He saw soft feminine curves underneath a poorly fitting uniform that was too tight across the chest and hips. The raven curls came to the tops of his shoulders. His eyes held that haunted look he'd become so well acquainted with over the years.

"I could have dated…finished high school…gone to college…had a degree by now…" his now feminine voice whispered darkly.

"But you didn't. You didn't do any of those things," the man behind the desk said sourly, "because your fantasy world was more important to you. Because you have multiple personalities, one that speaks in a British accent. Because you refuse to talk at all. You're not fit for the real world. This is the best you could ever hope for, so get used to it."

"I won't," she said firmly, "nobody ever loved me but God. I refuse to hate myself for something that I am."

He leaned over the desk so far that she could smell his breath, reeking of cigars.

"There is no God. Don't you think if there was that He'd have healed your twisted mind by now?"

Aurora stirred, but made no noise. Stayne rose rapidly from the depths of unconsciousness and mentally tried to shake off the dream. He looked at Aurora as if she would suddenly sprout fangs and claws and mangle him.

She didn't.

She…I…what just happened?