I didn't sleep that night. I couldn't sleep; my whole body was on fire. Even my bones were aching. I didn't even know they could do that. I was expecting some payback, given what had happened the last time I'd tried working out, but I wasn't expecting it to be so bad. Then again, perhaps not sleeping was a good thing? At least I could be sure no-one was sneaking into my cell while I slept and doing anything to me. Although if they did need to, they could just pump in anaesthetic through the vents. It had abated a bit by the morning, leaving me utterly exhausted and in desperate need of sleep, but the sound of breakfast arriving got me out of bed regardless. I was hungry, and I could nap later.

With the exception of my face, I no longer had any human skin left. After the accelerated burst of mutation, my arms were fully feathered, my legs and feet were fully scaled, and my torso was coated in a downy layer of sky-blue fluff. Even my hands had turned dry and cracked and would presumably be breaking out in scales shortly.

I pondered taking another shower, given that it had been a few days, but I had no clue how I was supposed to maintain feathers. That's not really the sort of thing that we pick up naturally when children learn how to wash themselves. Well, no harm in asking. "How..." I screeched, before stopping, the shrill, high-pitched noise coming from my throat catching me by surprise. I took a few deep breaths before trying again. "How am I supposed to look after these feathers? Is the shower safe to use?"

It was getting harder to form words, and the noise coming out of my mouth was little more than enunciated screeching. Could harpies speak? Could any monsters speak? I hadn't heard anything about that, but since they weren't intelligent, it didn't seem likely... Damn; I didn't want to lose my voice. Not that I was using it much right now, but at the back of my mind I was still thinking things like 'when I get out of here'.

Lunch came with a sarcastic note that if monsters struggled with getting wet, then a single rainstorm would clear the misty woods for good. That was new; previous messages had all been completely professional. I didn't think my question was stupid; the shower was a lot higher pressure than simple rain. Was it written by someone different? Or had I annoyed them somehow? I hadn't noticed a decline in my meal quality, despite what they'd threatened. Maybe they didn't like me hastening my transformation after all? It was my first glimpse of hope in this hell.

In that case, there was nothing for it but to push even harder.

Day ten came, and again I'd not slept a wink all night. Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to get some napping in before last night's workout, so I wasn't completely out of it. Prior experience was that the effects of an exercise session would last for around a day, so I was expecting to be uncomfortable until the evening. I'd do my best to sleep normally tonight and then work out again tomorrow morning.

There had been further changes overnight, my skin sloughing off my hands and leaving the leathery material beneath, which was already starting to grow its scales. The horns had finally erupted from my head, narrow and rounded, gently curving backwards, but still with some more growing to do before they were as long as pictures I'd seen. In an effort not to lose my voice, I spent a while before breakfast just trying to speak, trying to make words that sounded, if not human, at least comprehensible. It went... adequately. I wasn't happy with it, but it was hardly the thing at the forefront of my mind right now.

Then I tasted breakfast, and it was gross. Looks like they aren't considering me cooperating anymore. Or were they? There hadn't been any notes telling me to stop, and breakfast looked normal. Was there just one annoyed person out there, who had decided to piss in it or something? Or, possibly even worse, was this a harpy thing? Despite looking and smelling, as far as any logical part of my brain could tell, exactly like yesterday, it still managed to feel unappetising. What did harpies even eat? I bet it wasn't full English cooked breakfasts.

I found out the answer at lunch, which didn't even turn up on a plate. Just a collection of raw vegetables and fruits in a pile, with a dead squirrel on top. "No..." I whimpered, my screechy voice making my protest sound far less sincere than I felt. It hadn't been prepared in any way. It was just sitting there, whole, still wearing its fur, beady dead eyes looking at nothing. I managed to stare for a full ten seconds before spinning around and throwing up in the toilet.

I ate the fruit and veg, but did my best not to touch the squirrel. Not only out of disgust, but also because of just how appetising it looked. I was worried that if I touched it, I wouldn't be able to resist taking a bite. So much for my mind being unaffected. I did my best to tell myself that I was still capable of thinking logically, and it was just my body telling me what sort of things I could eat, but regardless of how I tried to rationalise it, this change was far more disturbing than any change to my appearance had been.

When my evening meal came, there was no note complaining about me not eating the squirrel, but this one came with a rabbit. This time I was too hungry to ignore it. I picked it up and gingerly took a large bite of the raw flesh, fur and all, the blood squirting into my mouth and down my throat, and it tasted good.

That night, for the very first time since my kidnapping, I cried myself to sleep.

I woke up on day eleven and tried to rub my crusty eyes, almost cutting my face with a nail, which had grown back far beyond where it had been when I cut them the first time around. Well, I should probably call them claws now, rather than nails, pointed and thickened as they were. No wonder the scissors had struggled with them. I'd have no hope now. I'd need a grinding disk or something equally industrial.

Breakfast was a pigeon. They hadn't even bothered with the fruit and veg today. I ate it up with every sign of enjoyment, even crunching up the bones, and noting the changes to my teeth that made it so easy. The ones at the front felt more like fangs, pointy enough that I was worried about stabbing my own tongue. Eating raw meat was... less nauseating than yesterday, letting me better enjoy the flavour. Perhaps because pigeons weren't cute and fluffy, so the mental barrier was lower? The bird disposed of, I moved onto my voice practice, happy to find it hadn't deteriorated any further, followed by strenuous exercise.

Or at least, I'd intended it to be strenuous. By the time I'd done five hundred one-handed push-ups without any sort of strain or disturbed breathing, I started to suspect I'd be able to keep it up indefinitely. I did my best, even utilising the pile of books as extra weight, but it looked like exercising myself to exhaustion was suddenly a losing proposition, and lunch arrived before I'd been able to wear myself out.

It was squirrel again, but at least lunch came with more fruit. As great as they tasted, the mental damage from eating small, furry animals was unbearable. The thought of what these bastards were doing to me was enough to make me want to gut them. Line them up in front of me, and I would...

I caught myself as my anger built up. That wasn't me. Sure, I wanted to escape, maybe even get some payback, but I wasn't the sort of person to seek revenge through personal violence. I looked down at my feet, scaled and now slightly arched, obvious claws growing from each toe and one more starting to poke out of my heel. I'd been imagining raking along their stomachs with those claws, and the resulting waterfall of guts. That was very definitely not a human move, even if I was willing to prioritise revenge over escape. Damn, I was getting more harpy instincts. I could still think rationally, but things were getting worse.

I was terrified. The changes to my body were one thing, but losing my mind was something else entirely, and now a combination of fear and anger was doing everything for me that my workout had failed to achieve, whether I wanted it to or not. And right now, I really didn't. I didn't want this to go any further. I didn't want to lose my mind. I just wanted it all to stop.

In another first since my capture, I seriously contemplated suicide. The claws on my hands were every bit as nasty as those on my feet, and it would be easy to rake them across my throat. I could deny my captors their prize, before I lost my mind completely. Losing my rationality and becoming a mindless monster would be no better than death, anyway.

I couldn't. I thought I'd been brave and held up pretty well, given my situation, but there were lines I couldn't bring myself to cross. It wasn't certain that I would lose my mind. If it was just some instincts, I could cope.

I kept telling myself that as I chewed up the squirrel that had been provided with my dinner. It had a somewhat different taste to the rabbit. Less succulent, but somehow richer. It was definitely my favourite so far, and I regretted not partaking yesterday. I felt like I could eat half a dozen of them.

Yeah... Despite my expectations, I wasn't feeling nauseous at all this time. I could keep telling myself I could cope as much as I liked, but standing there munching on raw squirrel, with blood running down my face, and enjoying it, it was obvious that even my mind was becoming less human by the minute.