May 20th, 1888 — Oakshire Hall, Kent
She had first heard the distant rumble of thunder towards the end of lunch. Thankfully it hadn't come any earlier or she would have found remaining there incredibly difficult and the last thing she wanted was to draw Tiberius' interest with her sudden, inexplicable agitation. He probably wouldn't notice or care but she wouldn't have wanted to risk a confrontation about it that kept her long enough to miss her opportunity.
As she ascended the stairs there came a particularly loud roll of thunder which brought her to a sudden standstill. Holding her breath, she willed a flash of lightning to follow. It would be useless unless there was also lightning. Ten or so seconds later she was satisfied and continued, taking the steps two at a time now.
By the time she had everything prepared, the storm was just about overhead. It hadn't said in any of the books she had read that she had to be in the eye of the storm but being so could only be a good thing in her opinion. Potion in one hand and her wand in the other, Tig took a moment to compose herself before she potentially ended up irreversibly mutant and repulsive. Death was probably a risk too but preferable to life as a freakish hybrid. Or a goose. Prepared to accept the consequences of her actions, or so she assumed, Tig recited the animagus enchantment for the last time and then drank the potion she had painstakingly prepared months earlier.
The effect was near instantaneous. Everything seemed to be tingling as though her veins themselves were writhing beneath her skin. She dropped the vial which smashed at her feet, followed by her wand. Looking down at her hands they seemed blurred and she felt gripped with the sudden horror that they were turning into wings. Her vision was rapidly deteriorating and sudden, gripping pain distracted her from her imminent goosehood. Growing increasingly nauseous, she slammed her eyes shut and tried not to think about what grotesque form would await her once the transfiguration was complete.
Finally there was stillness. The storm had passed - literally and figuratively. When she opened her eyes the world looked different. She sat up - somehow she had ended up sprawled on the floor - and looked around for some clue to what shape she now took. Looking at hers hands would give her a good idea but she hesitated, fearing what she'd see. Finally, she extended her arm out in front of her, or rather the limb that had once been an arm.
To her immediate relief and consequent delight, it was not a feathers she saw but fur. She had paws! She wasn't a goose. Exactly what she was, however, remained to be seen.
As she ascended the stairs there came a particularly loud roll of thunder which brought her to a sudden standstill. Holding her breath, she willed a flash of lightning to follow. It would be useless unless there was also lightning. Ten or so seconds later she was satisfied and continued, taking the steps two at a time now.
By the time she had everything prepared, the storm was just about overhead. It hadn't said in any of the books she had read that she had to be in the eye of the storm but being so could only be a good thing in her opinion. Potion in one hand and her wand in the other, Tig took a moment to compose herself before she potentially ended up irreversibly mutant and repulsive. Death was probably a risk too but preferable to life as a freakish hybrid. Or a goose. Prepared to accept the consequences of her actions, or so she assumed, Tig recited the animagus enchantment for the last time and then drank the potion she had painstakingly prepared months earlier.
The effect was near instantaneous. Everything seemed to be tingling as though her veins themselves were writhing beneath her skin. She dropped the vial which smashed at her feet, followed by her wand. Looking down at her hands they seemed blurred and she felt gripped with the sudden horror that they were turning into wings. Her vision was rapidly deteriorating and sudden, gripping pain distracted her from her imminent goosehood. Growing increasingly nauseous, she slammed her eyes shut and tried not to think about what grotesque form would await her once the transfiguration was complete.
Finally there was stillness. The storm had passed - literally and figuratively. When she opened her eyes the world looked different. She sat up - somehow she had ended up sprawled on the floor - and looked around for some clue to what shape she now took. Looking at hers hands would give her a good idea but she hesitated, fearing what she'd see. Finally, she extended her arm out in front of her, or rather the limb that had once been an arm.
To her immediate relief and consequent delight, it was not a feathers she saw but fur. She had paws! She wasn't a goose. Exactly what she was, however, remained to be seen.
