The cold, damp air of the basement clung to Ashley, a familiar blanket of misery. Her five-square-meter cage, hidden away in a forgotten corner, offered little comfort. Outside, the pack stirred, their voices a distant hum above her. Every morning, the ritual was the same: rise before dawn, prepare meals for the very people who scorned her, clean the mansion, then retreat to her pathetic excuse for a room before anyone could catch a glimpse of the changes blossoming within her.

Her hands, no longer calloused from endless chores but slender and elegant, trembled slightly as she pulled on baggy clothes, disguising the newfound curves of her body. A black wig covered the tell-tale silver streaks in her hair, and contact lenses veiled the gold rings that now encircled her blue irises. Each morning was a performance, a desperate attempt to remain invisible, to hide the startling truth of what she was becoming. She was already a freak in their eyes; to reveal her true nature would surely be her end.

She waited, listening with senses now impossibly sharp, until the last footsteps faded and the mansion was quiet. Only then did she emerge, a ghost in her own home, to complete her arduous tasks, ever vigilant, ever alone.