Lena opened her eyes. Her eyelids felt heavy, as if she were under sedation. Her head throbbed, and a strange taste lingered in her mouth—metallic and bitter. Through the haze, she tried to move, but her body wouldn't obey. She was lying on a cold operating table, the fluorescent light above flickering in an irregular rhythm.

She didn't know where she was. She couldn't remember how she had gotten here. The last thing she recalled was a dark street and quiet footsteps behind her… Then nothing. Just emptiness.

She blinked and tried to focus. The room was dim, abandoned, smelling of disinfectant and something slimy, something animalistic. She attempted to lift herself, but something blocked her view. She reached up to her face—her fingers touched something long, moist. Something that shouldn’t be there.

Her heart pounded. Every touch was real; she felt the strange dampness, the smooth skin. It couldn't be… but it was.

No…

Her fingers slid down her face. Her jaw was heavy, fleshy. Her nose—gone. Replaced by something else—was it… a snout?

She started trembling. Panic coiled inside her like poisonous ivy. But that wasn’t all. Something weighed on her stomach, pulling at her skin, something large and heavy. Carefully, she slid her hands downward and felt… soft, tense tissue.

An udder.

She stared at herself, breathless. The skin of her lower abdomen was stretched into an unnatural shape. From her sides, a full, living udder had grown. Horrified, she touched one of the teats and felt her own fingers. It was hers. It was real.

Her heart pounded wildly, as if trying to escape her chest. She reached for her breasts, but instead of their familiar curves, she found only a flat chest. Her beautiful breasts were gone. Gone! Replaced by something wrong, something grotesque.

With effort, she slid off the operating table. The cold floor chilled her bare feet. As soon as she stood, the udder flopped down between her thighs with a heavy slap. She felt its disgusting weight pressing against her legs, every movement awkward, clumsy.

She turned to the window. The glass was dirty, covered in a layer of dust, but it reflected enough for her to see her silhouette. She stepped closer and looked at her reflection. The thing staring back at her… wasn’t her.

Her neck ached, but she forced herself to swallow. Her eyes—the only part of her that remained unchanged—widened in horror. The skin around her mouth was now oddly pink, her face elongated and reshaped into a cow’s muzzle.

Someone had done this to her.

Who? Why?

She looked around. On the floor, she found her clothes—a cropped turtleneck and leggings. She struggled to pull the turtleneck over her head. It was difficult with the large cow-like snout, but she managed. The turtleneck held, didn’t tear. But the leggings… they wouldn’t go over the udder. She kept trying, again and again, she had to hide it—but no matter what, it remained exposed, heavy, and bare. In the end, she gave up.

She had to get out of here.

Cautiously, she stepped through the door. She was at a railway station. The night was quiet, no one around. In the distance, a train stood waiting. She looked around helplessly, but she had no other choice. She climbed aboard and sat in an empty compartment.

The train started moving.

She stared out the window, trying to breathe steadily, but she could hear herself snorting. Slowly, she began to recognize the scenery. The train was heading home.

The compartment door slid open. A conductor entered. A regular man, exhausted from his night shift. When he saw her, he hesitated. His eyes widened in shock.

Lena stared at him, terrified. Tears welled up in her eyes. She wanted to speak, to ask for help.

But from her throat came only a deep, drawn-out: “Moo…”

She froze. Tried again.

“Moo!”

No!!! Why can’t I speak? she thought.

The conductor studied her for a moment. Then his expression softened. “Is this some kind of game? A mask? Cosplay?” he asked, handing her a ticket.

Lena, horrified by her inability to speak, just nodded. She paid and watched as the man moved on, oblivious to the nightmare she was trapped in.

By the time the train stopped, it was late at night. The streets were empty. No one saw her.

At home, she collapsed onto the couch. She thought, she tried to understand, but nothing made sense. It had to be a nightmare. She couldn’t remember anything. Just the black void and waking up on that table. She buried her head in her hands. Her snout brushed against her wrist.

And then she felt it.

The udder was tense, heavy. A dull ache spread through it.

She didn’t understand—until a drop of milk appeared between her fingers.

Horrified, she grasped one of the teats and squeezed gently. More milk dripped out.

Tears filled her eyes.

“Oh God… am I going to have to milk myself now?”

With trembling hands, she pushed a pot she found in the kitchen onto the floor. She knelt on all fours, one hand supporting her weight while the other began to pull at the teats. Milk slowly dripped into the container. The pressure eased. But the relief was soaked in despair.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to wake up.

But instead, all that left her lips was another quiet, desperate:

“Moo…”

She tried to wash, to shower. She collapsed onto her bed, but immediately had to shift—lying on the udder was unbearable. She couldn’t sleep. Every movement reminded her of her new reality. When she turned onto her side, the udder was squeezed painfully. When she lay on her back, its weight pressed down on her.

And finally, in the half-sleep, the awful truth settled in.

This was her life now. This was her.

And there was no one to help her…