As a dragon, I find this romantic as fuck AADIFTRAF

Metamorphosis

He wrapped himself up in his warmest blanket. He feels exposed, cold and weak. The pain is getting worse, he whimpered quietly as he lay curled up in the darkness of the bedroom. The sun is shining. It's irritating.

He had cried for so long, grieving as his likeness faded and was replaced by that of his sister.

Valkyon had to leave thankfully. He doesn't want to be seen like this, suffering both with mind and body. The blood oozing from between his thighs just won't stop, there's so much.... Too much. He loathes this.

His chest swells and aches so much that he can barely get up, he's absolutely not trying to walk down the stairs to eat. Though, he's very hungry, even after eating the pastries that his beloved brought. He also feels like throwing up. Every bit of his body is either swollen, bloated or sore. He's revolting.

The white sheets are caked in the blood of creation. He's too sick to even get up and wash them.

The only company he has is the tablet and his hundreds of pictures. Not a good distraction, he has nothing to do but look at what he lost. His body, his not female body.

The cramps twist and churn the misplaced womb in his stomach, torturing him tenfold for all the years he's been free to be without it. He cannot understand why. Why should anyone suffer like this? Why did he have to lose his body when he had worked so hard to earn it? Oh, skies above. Smite him. Kill him. End this.

The tears dried on his face, leaving it sticky with salt. His nose is full of snot, but he's breathing better than ever. He's cried himself raw, he's drained of it. The cold room gives him a refreshing new breath as he hugs a bunched up blanket to his chest, resting his hurting head.

It's been a while. The rags...

He whimpers from the pain as he moves the covers off of himself. His trembling arms barely managed as much.

He shuffles over to the bathroom, barefoot and covered in goosebumps. The bright sun shone a golden light into the dark room, even though he covered the opaque window with a white curtain this morning. He went to the bathtub where he had a few kitchen rags already drying. He kneeled down and removed the one that he stuffed into his briefs.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

This cannot be happening. Its abnormal to bleed this much.

He knows what a normal period looks like, he's had a lot as a teen... The rag is nearly soaked and a few large chunks of uterine lining stick to it. Where in the good grief does so much of it fit in him?? His downstairs makes the tardis look like a joke. The puddle of blood under him only grew bigger at a concerning rate as gravity did it's thing.

He turned the faucet on and let the ice cold water wash his blood away. He pulled the shirt off and got out of his underpants.

Blood dried onto his thighs, his coarse black hair stuck to his skin from the brown crust of glorious womanhood. He hissed from the sting of cold water, washing it off.

The dripping stopped and he felt another chunk leave him. He nearly stared crying again as he willed himself to push. The stream poured out of him, leaving a few burgundy lines of hot thick blood to trail down his thighs.

'Is this what it feels like to have endometriosis?' He wondered. He doesn't want to know. He smothered the smell of irony rot with a soap that's scent reminded him of lavender. 'I sure hope it's not a miscarriage. That would be so fucked up.'

He dried himself with a towel, leaving a smear of crimson from the unending flow. He folded a clean rag up and put it on with his briefs.

He put the shirt on and before he left the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He slowly walked back and took a look at himself.