Beth watched the garbage truck pull away from them, letting Morgan’s tears and the sounds of anxious pedestrians wash over her.
“Morgan,” she whispered, “come on, we’ve got to find shelter.”
Her lover was dead weight in her arms as she seized the boxes and ran for a nearby gas station restroom. She forced the door open and pulled them inside, tossing the boxes to the floor.
Morgan huddled against the sink, shaking with fearful sadness. Her braids had regressed back to their natural black; not a hint of orange could be found in the strands.
Beth took her by the shoulders. “Morgan?”
Her lover slowly raised her tear-soaked eyes, eyes that did not reflect any nearby light. “Beth…the tigress…I can’t feel her anymore.”
They held each other as long as was possible, until the fear of arrest encouraged them to dress and make tracks. The girls felt filthy even wearing the Hunter’s uniforms.
Once they had returned to Beth’s house, and more apropos garb had been donned, Morgan waited for moonrise as she lay cradled in her lover’s arms, hoping against hope to change once more. The time passed, with no stirrings, no furrings, nothing but humanity.
She sighed. “That’s it, then.”
“There could still be a cure. We could make you a tigress again.”
Morgan nodded. “Would you be…all right with that?”
Beth nodded, and kissed her gently on the lips. “If you’d be. Fortunately, I have an idea.”
Wed May 29 20:47:19 2002