That’s the dangerous part, you see. Not the shifting. Not the pain of it. The power .
I was nineteen. Fresh out of a foster system that never quite knew what to do with a girl who could change her fingerprints on a whim. I’d been hiding my ability for years—flattening my ears under hats, keeping my tail tucked into oversized sweaters, lying about the weird blue birthmark that “faded” whenever I got nervous. But then I met Elias. Sweet, oblivious Elias, who saw me in a coffee shop and smiled like I was normal. sapphire foxx from her perspective
So here I am. Sapphire Foxx. Shapeshifter for hire. The girl who can be anyone you want, for the right price. That’s the dangerous part, you see
“I just want to hear her say she loves me,” the woman said. “Just once. I don’t care if it’s real.” The power
The guilt doesn’t hit you all at once. It trickles in. You’ll be eating breakfast as yourself—blue fur, fox ears, the whole ridiculous package—and you’ll remember the way someone’s husband looked at you when you wore their wife’s face to a marriage counseling session. Or the way a child tugged your sleeve and called you “Mommy” because you’d taken a missing woman’s form just long enough to give a grieving family closure. (That one I didn’t even charge for. That one I did for free. And I still don’t know if it was kindness or cruelty.)
I still do the work. Don’t judge me—you would too, if you could. The money is obscene. The power is addictive. And sometimes, in the dark of that studio apartment, when I’m wearing my own face and my own blue fur and I’ve forgotten why I started any of this in the first place, I wonder if there’s even a me left underneath all the borrowed skins.
The next week, the real daughter posted on Instagram. A picture of herself, smiling, with the caption: “Three years free. Best decision I ever made.”