A/N: Here's another "Lost Tail." This one is actually the reason I decided to start doing these, the most important thing that didn't seem to have a proper place in the actual stories.

This is the day Zaphia changed.

This is not sweet and romantic. This is the prelude to "From Alley to House," in a sense. And it is not pleasant. It does not end happily for her. But this had to happen before those other fics could. But be warned, this is not a cute little moment in her life. I just wrote it as I always thought it had happened.

Oh, and I suppose I should point out at this point- the perspective will shift between different chapters of "Lost Tails." Each chapter is a separate oneshot, and will have it's own feel, so I will write it in the style/perspective that feels appropriate. So don't be thrown if some are in first person, some in third person perspective.

Ugh. I really hate camping.

Every year we go through this. Mom and dad drag me out to some godforsaken cabin they rent for a week of "family vacation." A week of sitting in a cabin pretending we like the outdoors even though we're sitting inside to avoid the bugs and dirt. Or, to mix things up, sitting outside pretending we don't notice the bugs and dirt because we're sick of sitting in the cabin with nothing to do.

The funny thing is, we all hate camping. But dad hates "brainy" vacations, like actual neat places worth visiting, or museums, or any of those places you can go to do something new. Mom hates "touristy" places, like amusement parks or beaches. So we end up here. Nobody likes it, but we satisfy ourselves with knowing we all hate it. Nobody is satisfied while others can only look on in displeasure.

Maybe this is an appropriate family vacation for us.

I'm leaning against the doorframe of the nasty little inn/restaurant/general store/last sign of civilization we stop off at to get some final supplies every year. I scuff the toe of my ratty old sneakers against the floor, pick at the holes in my jeans, scratch at the iron-on skull decal on my black t-shirt…anything to avoid just standing here. Dad is looking at the fishing gear, as if he's actually going to fish this year. He gets a new something-or-other to fiddle with each year, as if THIS is the year he's going to learn to enjoy this vacation. Mom is poking her way through the grocery items, hoping to eat herself happy on junk food.

Not a bad idea, really. Which is why I'm here waiting for a milkshake in the little "restaurant" area. The creepy old lady is taking her sweet time, mixing up the thing in the kitchen. I'm kinda glad they don't prepare the food where you can see it, really…this place is caked in grime, and I can't imagine the kitchen is any cleaner. I don't think I could consume anything that came out of there.

But…I really do want that milkshake. She said they had real strawberries she could mix into a chocolate shake. I'll buy that, no problem. Bored, I play with my long brown hair, braiding the ponytail that hangs down to my waist. Of course, I'd never actually wear a braid…it's just something to do. For the millionth time I wish I had black hair, or red, or the guts to die my hair to more interesting coloring. For the millionth time I admit that black hair would make my pale skin look even more yellow and jaundiced.

Finally the gal reappears. "One dollar" she says abruptly. I'm struck again by the absurdity of this woman. She's got a thick accent, something European, I don't know. I'm no good with accents. Kinda Germanic sounding, maybe. She's got big crazy red hair tied back with a bright silk scarf. Gobs of rings cake the fingers she holds out as I hand her a buck. I'm sure she's wearing a broomstick skirt is some lurid color under that big old dirty apron the restaurant workers wear.

A hippy, gypsie type in redneck land?

Well, stranger things have happened I suppose.

I take the milkshake and go, hoping to make some input on the "grocery" shopping my mother is doing. I have a hankering for flaming hot Cheetos. They go great with shakes. "How is it, deary?" the old hippy asks, and I turn to her curiously. She's got this smile on her face, as if she's expecting something.

I take a sip. It's actually pretty good- tastes like she actually used real strawberries. "It's good" I say nonchalantly, sipping again.

She grins. "I'm glad. I made it special for you."

Like usual, my mom yelled at me before we even made it to the cabin. About my attitude, like usual. And like usual, it ends with her usual muttered-to-herself complain: "I should never have named you 'Angel.' "

All I can do is shrug. She's right. And given half a chance I'd ditch the name.

Once we get to the cabin I sneak off into the woods as soon as I can. It's a little early to go off alone, it'll only piss them off more, but…I need some space. I find a dry rock in the middle of a shallow creek bed and hop over to it, milkshake still in hand. With a not so graceful thump I sit down and sip, listening to the water.

Why does life have to be like this? I close my eyes and follow the sound of the water. If only I could slip away, turn into a fish and just swim with the stream. No family, no home, just free…

Actually, I'd like to have a home. Just a different one. With a different life. They say I have an attitude problem, say I dress like a delinquent, hang out with "bad influences."

It's all an act, though. I don't drink, don't smoke, don't do drugs. Never will. I'm a high school senior and a virgin, which is remarkably rare at my school. I get good grades, I like to read. My "bad influence" friend Suzanna is the same, except she looks goth while I look more grunge-punk. We're the same…bitter without knowing why, anti-conformity because trying to conform never made us happy. We dress the part, and we've shared more than our fair share of angst and self-pity.

But I don't feel carefree, careless, violent…I don't even like hanging out with the other outcasts except for Zanna. I just want…things to be different.

There's an anger in me, a bitter taste in my mouth. Family vacation. Maybe with a different family it'd be fun.

I finish my milkshake and crumple the cup. With a grunt I throw it into the stream, my little pollution boat floating away to places I can't flee to.

For the millionth time I think there's something terribly wrong with me to feel this way.

For the millionth time I realize I'm not a punk at all…I feel guilt. A punk wouldn't feel guilty for hating her parents. A punk wouldn't wish she was a blond haired, blue eyed perfect girl, able to love her family and be happy.

To be happy with life…a punk wouldn't wish for that every morning and every night.

My eyes fly open. It's dark in the cabin, I can't see a thing.

I shut my eyes again. They're burning, so dry and itchy…

With a grunt I try to raise a hand to rub my eyes, hoping to coax some moisture into them. As soon as I go to move my arm I feel it.

Pain.

My eyes open back up, open wide as I try to figure out what's happening. The moonlight must be brighter and coming in the windows, as I can see fairly well in the dark cabin now. With a gasp I look down, expecting to see a snake or something biting me, something pumping venom into my veins. Why else would my whole body be aching with fire?

There's no snake. No nothing.

I try to sit up. A hot lance of pain shoots through my torso and I fall over, gasping for breath. What's happening?

For a moment I can't even think. The pain is … if only I knew what was wrong! It's like the worst muscle cramp I've ever had…spread through my whole body. The only thing that saves me from screaming is the queasiness in my stomach… Every muscle is tense, hard and aching…it feels as if my muscles are ripping themselves from the bones.

That's not possible. I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the sobs. I learned a long time ago not to let them hear me cry. I've felt pain before, I've over come it. I've run on broken feet. I've scalded the skin of my hand and finished cooking dinner. But this…in my own room in the cabin, a small cry escapes me.

There's a cold, feverish shiver running through my skin. My skin is crawling, itching and prickling and burning. My scalp especially feels prickly. The muscle pain has eased a bit, so I run a finger through my hair tentatively…

A large clump of my brown hair comes away in my hands.

With a gasp I try to stand up, only to tumble off the bed and end up kneeling on the floor. My parents are sound sleepers, in a room on the opposite side of the cabin. They don't hear me.

There's a very faint rustling sound, a soft brushing against my back. A groan is escaping me, coming straight from the cold pit in my stomach. I can't hardly admit it, but I think that was the rest of my hair falling out.

I turn to look. I can see the hair on the floor, looking like some dead animal skin. My eyes ache so badly…must be from trying to focus in so little light. I turn to the window and see to my surprise that it's shuttered. How can I see at all in a room with no light?

Oh god, my hands…as I watch the fingers spasm, my hands trembling so badly they're almost a blur. I feel a tear slip free as I shut my eyes against the pain. It's …it's like the bones are being ripped out.

Soon my feet are in the same state and I fall over to my side, curling up into a fetal position. There's a strange metallic smell in the air. Despite myself I look at my hands. Just in time to see the fingernails drop off.

There's a shock that overcomes the pain. I've just realized I'm dying.

There's a numbness to that thought. It carries on even as my ears start aching, almost feeling frostbitten despite the summer temperatures. Even as there's a strange pain in my head, as if I've cracked it against a wall. There's a crisp pain at the bottom of my spine, a sound of ripping fabric that I can't explain. I don't try to.

I close my eyes and give in to the sea of pain I'm drowning in for some reason. All I want is for everything to go black. I'm dying, but I don't care. I just want it to stop hurting.

With a start my eyes open again. There's a bit of pale yellow light seeping in through the cracks in the shutters. It must be morning.

I close my eyes again. A dream, a nightmare, only…

Only…

Only why am I curled on the floor?

I'd rather do anything than open my eyes right now. But…I do it anyway. Slowly.

There, on the floor. Proof it wasn't a dream. My hair, my fingernails, my toenails…other parts of me…

A wave comes over me and I fall to the ground, stomach heaving. Instinctively I put out a hand to catch myself. My eyes open wider at the site of it.

My hand is bright white. Holding it up before my eyes, I see the blood on the tips..where there are no fingernails.

I'm shaking, tensing up so that my fingers splay out stiffly. With a sickening heart I look at the hand in front of me…and realize that long, curved claws have just come out from my fingers.

I clench the hand, feeling the claws slice into my palm. My eyes close, I try to just breath. Relax. Slowly I can feel the claws sliding back in to wherever they came from, tainted with my own blood.

On wobbly legs I stand up. It's hard to stand. Harder to walk. I almost stumble as I try to get to my suitcase. It's as if I'm learning how to walk for the first time.

I try to ignore the blood on my hands, try to ignore my hands themselves as I look for my mirror. I freeze as I feel something brush against me

Quickly I turn around. Nothing there. But there's that feeling again- I look down this time. For the first time I see it.

Long, black and furry, at first I think it's a snake. With one white finger I poke…and I can feel that. It's part of me. I try to focus a bit…and it moves. I strain my neck, turning.

I have to laugh, even as I'm crying. I have a tail.

I have a tail? I put my hands on my face, covering my eyes. What's happening? I have a tail? With another desperate laugh I run my hands back, and flinch. I forgot…no hair. Instead…there's something short, fluffy, soft, thick…I look at my …tail…again and realize what it probably is. Fur.

The door to my room opens and I freeze. I'm not ready for this.

My parents.

They scream. I can't blame them. I'm not really sure what I look like, entirely, but I know it's monstrous.

"It's me!" I cry out, but they don't seem to hear me. They run out of the room.

Something feels heavy inside me. Slowly, still wobbling, I follow them out into the main room of the cabin. "Mom?" I ask, softly. She turns, eyes wide. I put my hands out in front of me, trying to show I'm harmless. "Mom, it's me" I whisper.

She doesn't respond.

"Mom…I need help. Please…something happened…"

She turns to my dad, who's reappeared with the poker from the fireplace. My eyes widen. Something on my head shifts. That tail moves rapidly behind me. Bad timing, it points out that I have one.

"Mom…Dad…" They retreat a bit. "It's me, it's Angel…"

"You are NOT Angel. If you were, you aren't now." My mother's eyes are narrowing.

What can I say? A strange feeling is coming over me. A sound escapes me, something strange and terrible. A meow, a whimper…the sound of an animal in pain. I don't blame them when they come at me, pointing the sharp poker at me. I do what they want. I leave. I run out the front door, letting them drive me away. Even after I'm clear of their shouting, even after I can't hear them, I keep running. My legs burn. It's hard to move, everything hurts. But I keep running.

Soon I find a pond and I stop, desperate for water. Leaning over to the surface I start lapping up the water even before I realize what I'm doing. Pulling back with a cry, I have a chance to see myself in the pond's reflection.

White skin, black lined eyes. Black splat under my nose. Gray lips.

Black fur, large feline ears. Black tail curling beside me.

My god…I'm an animal.

After a minute spent crying into the water, I recollect where I am. It's the woods, but woods used for camping. It's daylight. Quickly I wash the blood off, trying to get rid of that smell that's suddenly seeming so strong to me. Then I run again.

I'm…I'm a monster.

The tears are blinding me again as I run. For the first time I really wish we were a loving family, that I could go back there and rest and …be safe. For not the first time I wish they loved me as I am. But this time I know just how impossible that is.

What mother could sooth her daughter's pain…when she looks like this?

Who could love something like this?

A/N: Okay, if you're reading this without reading "From Alley to House" and "Friends and Lovers" first, this will make little sense. But explaining it would involve spoilers. A lot of why this just happened isn't revealed until the end of "Friends and Lovers." So go read 'em, k?