![[DARK] Prehistoric Swapyre - Bodyswap by Transviscera](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/87684d17-8b34-4054-a6cc-9b9e97dcb44a/dg6fgub-edb7e4d1-b9d7-4eb8-ba95-a0284b0797a2.png/v1/fit/w_150,h_150,q_70,strp/_dark__prehistoric_swapyre___bodyswap_by_transviscera_dg6fgub-150.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsImV4cCI6MTY5MjY1NjIzMCwib2JqIjpbW3siaGVpZ2h0IjoiPD0xMDcyIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvODc2ODRkMTctOGIzNC00MDU0LWE2Y2MtOWI5ZTk3ZGNiNDRhXC9kZzZmZ3ViLWVkYjdlNGQxLWI5ZDctNGViOC1iYTk1LWEwMjg0YjA3OTdhMi5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MjQ1MCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.bdtjahJxM6K4sXT29r5uYtDmbBs31aOAU9z8w6bhnTM)
For six days and six nights, the storm had beat down. The damp had gotten into mother's lungs. She lay at death's door, in mortal need of medicine, but Jamestown was a long journey and there were rumours of a monster on the roads. A swapyr. A skin-stealing creature of hell.
We prayed for the rain to let up. Alas, it did not, and there came a time when father would wait no longer. He donned his cloak and slid his knife into his boot, preparing to head out into the maelstrom. I begged him to let me go instead - I was fast, and he was old and slow with gout, but he shook his head, bidding me to bar the windows and doors against any intruder until he returned.
"You're the man of the house now," he'd said, vanishing into the storm.
It is a long and lonely vigil, waiting by the door with pitchfork in hand, listening to the howl of the wind. Suddenly there comes a pounding at the door. Gripping my pitchfork tightly, I command them to speak the words father and I had agreed upon.
"They come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. By their fruit you will recognize them," comes the reply, muffled by the rain, but unmistakeably the Gospel of Matthew. "In God's name, let me in!"
I throw open the door. A young lass stands at the threshold, shivering and trembling in her undergarments, rain dripping down her body. Her bodice is ripped as though she's been in a struggle, and I feel an upswelling of compassion for the poor maiden. Despite her immodest comportment, she is the loveliest girl I've seen since father settled this remote homestead.
Nay, the only girl.
"It got me, son," she gasps, falling into my arms.