Then you explode in light and lizard. The light's for no reason but drama. It looks cool. The lizard— #301 meant a fence lizard, clearly. A little guy. But look: if he wants to make you a lizard, offered to make you a lizard, when you were planning on being a lizard anyways, could you turn down something so gracious?

It hits the preexisting lizard parts first: your tail stretching like taffy, your claws curving over your fingertips, your lips peeling over your jaw, your scales bubbling over your neck and face. You wouldn't call it comforting, but it's far more familiar. And Richard, from the buzz in your head, is keeping tabs on the pain.

«I was taken by surprise last time. My error.»

Then it goes for the rest of you. You note a mounting of pressure and terrible twinge where— you assume— you should've collapsed in on yourself. But Richard goes «Hmm» and «A-ha» and you jackknife instead, head to knees, then rebound in the opposite direction. Mostly your neck rebounds, as if spring-loaded, pulling your head up and up. Which has happened before, too, but you've hardly ever been lucid.

«I am glad of your extreme experience in turning into lizards.»

No kidding. You're not quite captain of this ship, but you've got your hand on the tiller. The trouble is, now you're not sure what's happening to the rest of you. Arcing your neck way back down, you discover slender, elongated arms and legs: not what you think of when you think "Herald," but you were a little worried about holding The Sword, so you'll take it. Your tail is enormous. The spines on your back are much longer. Actually, it's not nearly as much change as you—

Your nose pushes in. Your head crooks 90 degrees as your jaw grinds. Your gums bleed— you taste it— from the new teeth coming in. Sharp teeth. Then your eyes treble and your tongue narrows and your hair (this is the only thing that actually disquiets you) sheds all at once, drifting around you, catching on your neck, and you're bald. Which is normal for lizards. It's just that you like your hair.

But then it's over. You feel mostly like yourself but longer. And with sharper eyesight. And a face rotated around. But mostly yourself— Charlotte Fawkins— with nothing obviously crowding in on your thinking, not even native fear. This body doesn't comfort you, but you are comfortable enough inside it. Inside the Herald. What you always were and always will be.

>[+3 ID: 7/16]

Though you're still confused about the arms and legs. Richard?

«Er. It's a variant depiction.»
«Sometimes the Herald is more bestial, but very often it is shaped... how we are shaped, only further exaggerated.»

Which is why the neck is so long?

«Yes. And the tail.»

Right. Wow! Neat! You didn't know you'd have variants. (You were more worried about the arm situation than you thought.) It's very, very funny to think that, while none of this is real, literally exactly this will happen in just a few hours. In real life. Thanks for the dry run, #301!