Page 120 of Molt

Bones shifting. Muscle rearranging.

I reach for her.

She screams. “Don’t touch me!”

I stop.

Her spine arches. A wet tearing sound fills the room. The back of her shirt darkens then splits. Skin presses through the fabric.

Not hers.

Mine.

A section of my back. A patch of skin complete with the small scar beneath my shoulder blade from a riding accident in 1876. Attached to her.

I stare.

She can’t see it. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t fucking lie.” She spits.

“Sarah...” I warn.

“What is it?”

I move behind her. Her skin has opened along her shoulder. The edges pull apart in slow, trembling contractions. Inside, tissue glistens. Something pale pushes upward. Not bone.

Skin.

My skin.

Growing beneath hers.

I gag. I actually fucking gag.

Sarah laughs through tears. “That bad?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“August.” She whines.

“Part of my back is growing out of yours.”

She goes silent.

Then… “Well.” A tiny, strangled laugh. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

I laugh too.

Because what else is left?

Then the patch of skin twitches and my body answers. A section between my shoulder blades goes numb. I reach behind myself. Nothing. Smooth skin where the scar used to be.

Gone.

Inside her.