Matilda sat on the bed, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the blanket with her fingers. It was afternoon, the sun was shining outside, but she had nothing to do. She felt strangely detached from reality, as if something were calling her into another world. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t surprised when, out of nowhere, a leprechaun appeared before her.

The tiny figure, dressed in a green frock coat and a ridiculously tall hat, stared at her intently. Sparks danced in his eyes, but they weren’t cheerful—they were deep, dark, and hungry.

"How do you like moose antlers?" he asked, his voice echoing like a sound lost in an empty, endless forest.

Matilda hesitated. "Well... they’re big, massive. Majestic."

The leprechaun nodded. "And donkey ears?"

There was something unsettling in his gaze, something that began to creep under her skin.

"They're long. Good for hearing."

"And a toucan's beak?"

"It's large, colorful. Beautiful."

"And a giraffe’s neck?"

"Long, elegant."

The leprechaun's smile widened unnaturally, stretching like a grotesque mask concealing something vile beneath.

"And what about a horse’s rump?"

Matilda blinked. "Well... it’s beautiful, strong."

"And horse legs?"

"They’re sturdy, powerful."

"And a lizard’s tail?"

"Green. It can regrow."

The leprechaun rubbed his hands together. "And webbed duck feet?"

"They’re useful."

"And a cow’s udder?"

Matilda smiled slightly. "It's heavy, but important."

The leprechaun leaned closer and, in a whispering voice, asked one last question:

"And what about pig’s front legs?"

Matilda frowned. "Why front legs? These are strange questions. Stop it. Go away."

The leprechaun burst into laughter. His laugh was hollow, like wind howling through an empty house. "I’ll go. But I’ll leave behind what you like."

Then he snapped his fingers.

Matilda wanted to scream—but she couldn’t. Something was pressing against her throat. She tried to reach for her face... but she had no hands. Instead, she saw a massive toucan beak jutting out where her mouth should have been. Heavy, massive moose antlers weighed down on her head, and every sound around her was overwhelming, all-consuming. A donkey would be envious of such sensitive hearing.

She tried to take a step, but her webbed duck feet smacked loudly against the floor. Looking down, she saw strong horse legs, and with every movement, she felt the weight of a heavy horse’s rump behind her. When she turned her head, she saw a long, reptilian tail dragging behind her.

Her heart pounded wildly. She tried to scream, but only an inhuman screech escaped her throat. She staggered toward the mirror, her unsteady gait making her wobble. The sight that greeted her in the reflection froze her in place.

She was a monster. A nameless, senseless hybrid. Her body was a grotesque amalgamation of parts that didn’t belong together. Moose antlers crowned her head like a curse, donkey ears twitched at the slightest noise. A toucan's beak had replaced her mouth, and instead of words, only shrieks came out. Her head wobbled atop a giraffe’s neck, and beneath her misshapen torso, an enormous cow’s udder stretched taut. It pulsed. Pressed. It was swollen to the brink.

Matilda gasped for air. This isn’t me. This isn’t me!

A suffocating pressure built in her chest. She had no hands, nothing to hold onto, nothing to cover her face. Her body refused to obey—it was something else, something foreign.

Then another wave of panic hit her.

She needed to be milked.

The pressure intensified, the udder strained to bursting. Desperately, she tried to pull at the teats with her beak, but only managed to hurt herself. There was only one option left—to ask for help.

Staggering on her webbed feet, she waddled to the door and clumsily pushed it open with her beak. Slowly, she crossed the hallway and knocked on her neighbor’s door.

It took a long time before it opened.

Mrs. Nováková appeared in the doorway, gasping in horror when she saw Matilda. Her eyes widened with fear.

Matilda tried to speak, to explain, but only a birdlike screech escaped her throat. Desperately, she pointed with her beak toward her swollen udder.

Mrs. Nováková stepped back. Then another step. She was about to slam the door shut—but then... something dawned on her. Her face paled, but she overcame her fear. Slowly, she reached out her hand and gently tugged at the teats.

Matilda felt relief. For a moment, the pain lessened. But she knew this wasn’t the end. This was only the beginning.

From that day on, Mrs. Nováková came every day. She milked her. Helped her survive. But Matilda was never human again.

One afternoon, when she was alone, she tried to forget. She waddled to the bookshelf and attempted to pull out a book with her beak. It fell to the floor. She bent down to pick it up, but her antlers knocked down more books. She was clumsy, alien in her own body.

Her tail dragged along the floor, her webbed feet scraped awkwardly. She tried to turn a page, but her beak was too unwieldy. After an hour of futile struggle, she began to cry. I can’t live like this! This is unbearable! she thought, but then she realized—she couldn’t even end it.

Then a voice called from behind the door.

"Matilda, I’m home. Come, if you need to be milked."