And here I find myself again! After a while of thinking and observing I’ve decided I’m absolutely interested in this lovely skull mask you have here. Candid, I can tell. Sharp teeth, sharp eyes. Perfect.
TW: blood, gore, body horror
“I always strive for perfection in my masks, anything but is not worth my time and certainly not worthy of a purchase.”
He watches you carefully as you pluck your chosen mask from the shelf: a worn wolf skull with the bottom jaw missing. Sharp canines and front teeth still hang to its top jaw, a dark line carving its way through the centre of the mask where the bone fused with itself from birth. The smell of cleaned bone and slightly old flesh lingers in the air as He takes the mask from you, running His fingers over the empty eye and nose sockets and readjusting a crude leather strap attached to the back.
“This was sourced from an important magical business partner of mine actually. It is completely authentic, polished and refined to keep its beauty preserved forevermore.” He muses, before His eyes flicker back to you, greedy to see the transformation already. “It would be my pleasure to sell it to you.”
He takes one step closer and as the latch at the back of the mask clicks into place, so it begins. The very first change is also the most excruciating one, muscle upon muscle building itself over your already existing shoulders as sinews and tendons dripping warm blood are left exposed. Your spine begins to grow, adding height to your already hulking figure, new vertebrae bending it into a hunch. Crunching sounds are heard as your legs struggle to cope with the sheer muscle weight, falling to your knees and gasping in pain as a resounding crack echoes off the walls.
Pain torments every nerve ending, rolling through your body with wave upon wave, leaving your eyes wide and prickling with tears beneath the skull mask. Your femurs snap, making way for stronger, curved bones in their place, elongating and breaking skin in the process. Blood gushes from these wounds, the tears going so deep that even veins begin to tear and hang lifelessly from the gashes. Exposed, bloodied and broken bone pokes through the tear.
Terror overtakes your mind as you look to your hands, the magic sabotaging them next and fusing your fingers into stubs, sprouting long vicious claws from the ends of crudely made, blood-stained paws. A stabbing pain ravages its way down your spine as the newly formed bone breaks through the little skin left there, too big for the human body it is trying to compromise with.
Your mouth is forced open as fangs emerge from your gums, overtaking your own teeth and hanging over your bottom lip, far out of place and leaving you to pant. Even the tips of your ears elongate, forming points and your hearing sharpens, sending a ringing through your head louder than you’ve ever known as you claw at them, trying to block it out.
A pause rings out and your own gasping breaths are the only thing hanging in the air for just a moment before suddenly, your skin feels as though it has caught alight. Burning, searing pain erupts as coarse fur grows in uneven patches all over your body. Hackles rise on the back of your neck, your body clumsily showing the fear running through your new system. Finally, just as the agony seems to be fading, one last detail literally emerges from your lower back: a long tail, disproportionate and unevenly growing fur all over it.
Breathing hard and more terrified than you’ve ever been in your life, you stare back up at the Maskmaker from the floor. He looks on in distaste. “Perhaps that wasn’t your best fit, after all,” He says, eyes dropping down to the bone protruding from your leg. “The Enchanter still has much to learn if his masks made you useless like this.”
A sharp snap splits the room, and Sawbones enters the shop, immediately coming to his Master’s beck and call.
The Maskmaker turns from you, clasping a hand on Sawbones’ shoulder. “This one’s come out a little broken, pet,” you hear Him murmur. “Take them to your Workshop and ensure they’re fixed by morning.”
The doctor’s head swivels to see you, a dark glint in his eyes behind the mask. “As you wish, Sir.” You can’t see his toothy grin, but you can imagine it all the same.
The Maskmaker smiles, giving His Asset a murmured word of praise before He crosses the shop, engaging with the next customer. You try to call for Him, but your throat is too raw to speak, to scream as Sawbones picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, jostling your leg.
You’re a rag doll slumped in loose strings, and though you fight to stay conscious, the waves of pain grow nearly too strong to bear.
The last thing you see before the Staff Only door shuts is the Maskmaker holding His hands out, addressing His congregation.
“Who’s next?”
