I kept telling myself that snakes were cold-blooded creatures, so it was only natural my adopted shifter wouldn’t want to get close to me. It wasn’t until later that I realized he was in love with my sister. Because my sister was tall, with long limbs, the dream partner for all snake-shifters. And I? I was a freak who just wouldn’t grow. I simply wasn’t worthy of that magnificent snake. ***** Peter was a sickly little snake I’d adopted. It wasn’t uncommon for humans and shifters to pair and bond. My family had been bonded with snake shifters for generations. From a young age, each of us would either be gifted a snake beast-man by our parents or find one on our own. But I was out of favor, so I quietly went and found my own little snake. When I found Peter in a dilapidated sewer drain, he was tiny and frail. His body, having just shed its skin, was incredibly weak, and he was barely clinging to life. I saved him, and I raised him for twelve years. Raising a snake took immense energy, resources, and money. Raising a *sick* snake was adding insult to injury. And being an unfavored, penniless person? That was like adding insult to injury and then some. Thankfully, Peter grew up healthy. His bronzed, muscular lines curved smoothly down, outlining his taut waist, yet his snake form kept him from looking bulky, instead giving him a certain delicate grace. Many in my family said I’d struck gold, finding such a handsome snake-shifter. I’d just smile, never saying a word. Only I truly understood the bitter reality of our bond. Peter rarely initiated physical contact with me. Even when I had to train for my snake-bonding rituals, he rarely cooperated. He’d always be cold-faced, impatiently wrapping himself around my arm, his scales grating painfully against my skin. I constantly reassured myself that snakes were cold-blooded, and that was why he didn’t want to be affectionate with me. Until that day I saw him, his face flushed, carefully wrapping himself around my sister Monica’s calf, softly asking her, “Does it hurt?” Monica looked helpless, gently pushing his head away. “Peter, I know you like me, but you’re my sister’s companion. This isn’t right for us.” His face instantly hardened, and he scoffed. “I don’t care. I only like you. Who would ever like that short little freak?” Monica tried to protest further, but Peter moved closer, wrapping around her waist, his scales smoothed against her, playfully tickling her. Peter was *flirting*. Scene after scene from the past twelve years flashed through my mind. Peter rarely smiled, but during family dinners, sitting across from me, his face always held a faint smile. Looking back now, he was never looking at me. He was looking at my sister, Monica, beside me. The signs had been there all along, but I had just been too blind to see them. I had thought that my adopting this sickly little snake was a mutual rescue, a fate that brought us together. But I never imagined it was precisely *because* I was a freak that he disliked me. It felt like my heart was being squeezed. That tiny flicker of hope I’d harbored for years, which used to tickle my heart, suddenly sharpened into a blade, piercing right through me. On my way home, I passed a clothing store and couldn’t help but stop. Monica had one of the dresses displayed in the window. The sales assistant looked hesitant but, seeing my persistence, handed me a set of clothes. The girl in the changing room was small, barely reaching half the height of the full-length mirror. My chest was flat, my limbs slender and weak – the body of someone too frail to properly bond with a snake-shifter. That outfit, which looked absolutely stunning on Monica, made me look like a precocious little girl secretly wearing her mother’s high heels. Images of Monica with her shifter automatically flashed through my mind. Tall, with long limbs, Monica looked incredibly beautiful when she bonded with a snake-shifter. Peter wrapped around her, they looked perfectly matched. No wonder Peter didn’t like me. From the day I was born, even my own parents didn’t want me. I hadn’t developed properly in the womb, born with a frail constitution. I grew slower and stayed shorter than everyone else. Even as an adult, I still looked like an eleven or twelve-year-old child. Others would mock me: “A freak of nature in a family of revered snake-tamers! She’ll probably snap her arm just trying to handle one.” Those cruel words pricked at my heart like thorns that couldn’t be removed, and they brought shame to my parents’ faces too. They learned their lesson and were extra attentive when Monica was conceived. And that extra care gave them every snake-shifter’s dream match – she grew fast and tall. With Monica, they cared for me even less. It was as if they were a complete family of three, and I was just a poorly-nurtured burden. I stared at my small hands, angrily digging my nails into my palm, then curled my fingers into fists, silently sobbing.
I arrived home, my eyes swollen raw, like bruised fruit. Peter was sitting on the sofa, his expression impatient and chillingly cold. “What took you so long? Do you know I’m starving?” I sniffled, my emotions, just barely controlled, surged up again. “I’ll order you some takeout later, I’m a little tired.” He scoffed, “Ha, you want me to eat takeout?” Not wanting to argue, I sighed. My foot, already stepping towards the bathroom, changed direction, heading to the kitchen instead. I usually cooked for Peter. He never lifted a finger in the kitchen. Even with a fridge full of ingredients, he was too pampered to dirty his precious hands. Once before, I’d come home late, and Peter had thrown a terrible fit because he was hungry. I thought he was specially waiting for me to eat, and, filled with guilt and a tiny bit of joy, I cooked him a huge meal. But as I pulled out a chair, about to sit down, he threw cold water on my hopes. “You reek of cooking oil. Go take a shower.” Snapping back to reality, I placed the prepared meal in front of him, but Peter didn’t touch it. “Why do you smell like another shifter?” I raised my arm and sniffed. It was probably from the clothing store earlier. I suddenly remembered when I was little and had no money, I had to hike up the mountain to hunt wild rabbits and pheasants to feed him. He’d grumble, chewing on the tough, stringy meat. He’d complain about the mud on my face and the scent of other shifters on me, always keeping his distance. “I’ll go shower now.” I set the cutlery on the table and walked towards the bathroom, but Peter swept the cooked meal onto the floor with a single arm. “Nina Katharine, aren’t you going to explain yourself?” A shard of ceramic from the shattered bowl cut my calf, and the pain instantly sharpened my mind. Some people are just so strange. They don’t love you, but they still want to possess you. They give you the illusion of being cherished, of being cared for, when all they truly want is to extract more love from *you*. Peter was exactly like that. For the first time, I looked at him with a cold face. “Explain what? “It’s fine for you to smell like other people, but I can’t?” A flicker of surprise crossed his face. But it was quickly replaced by anger. “You’re doubting me? “Don’t forget who presumptuously saved you?” I didn’t answer, stepping past him to get the first-aid kit. I brushed past his arm, and he immediately flinched back, the sharp edges of his scales scraping me. His voice was colder than his expression. “Don’t touch me.” Right. He barely let me touch him even during bonding training. Outside of training? That was a pipe dream. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. I used to think he was just a cold-blooded creature, too hard to warm, too wild to tame. Turns out, he just didn’t like *me*. Twelve years of sincere companionship from a freak meant nothing compared to his instant infatuation with a ‘normal’ person. I took a dissolution of adoption agreement from my bag. “I’m sorry. Sorry for presumptuously saving you, for intruding into over ten years of your life without permission, and for making you unhappy. “So, let’s part ways amicably. “May you finally achieve everything you wish for, and live a life filled with joy and ease.” Peter ground his molars together, a sound of pure rage, his face dark as he asked, “What do you mean?” I said calmly, “It means we’re breaking up.” I then pulled out a property transfer deed and a bank card for him. “I sold the house. We’ll split the money evenly, and with this bank card, you’ll have enough to buy a small studio apartment for yourself.” His face grew even darker. “You’re abandoning me? “Didn’t you say you loved me?” Did I love Peter? I had wondered about that myself. I had never truly received love, so I wasn’t entirely sure what love felt like. I just thought that love meant being good to someone. I looked up at the small house filled with our memories. I had moved out with Peter after I came of age. At first, he was reluctant. Back then, I had to both study and work to support him, so I was always out early and back late, with little time to spend with him. He’d be all alone in that cramped rental apartment, his snake tail sticking out from the folding bed with nowhere to go. I thought that was why he was reluctant. So I worked seven or eight jobs, saving up to buy a house for him. Even then, he still didn’t want to touch me, locking his bedroom door even though we each had our own room. But I still wanted to melt his icy demeanor. He was my responsibility, the one I had saved and raised. I couldn’t just abandon him. Yet, I had seen how others in my family interacted with their shifters. My childhood friend, Jessica, had a snow leopard beast-man. That snow leopard had been very arrogant when first adopted, but Jessica’s gentle persistence eventually melted his icy heart. He’d affectionately rub against Jessica’s neck, and gently lick the back of her hand. Like a mouse in the gutter, I watched, craving a beauty that wasn’t mine. I searched for shifter vlogs online, learning their preferred ways of care. I spoiled him rotten, never letting him do any chores, giving him whatever he wanted. I never thought that what was my sweet gesture was his bitter poison. I also thought that one day I could truly enter Peter’s heart, but his heart had long been occupied by someone else. Perhaps I had loved Peter once, but those feelings had slowly eroded over the years. Until I saw him wrapped around Monica – that was when the melting snow mountain of my hope finally crumbled into dust. “I don’t love you anymore.”
*Bang!* The door slammed shut with a heavy thud. Peter stormed out in a rage. I didn’t need to guess; I knew he was hiding in some nearby corner, waiting for me to rush out and coax him back. But not this time. I pulled my suitcase and walked out of that small house. On the way, I tripped over a pebble, and the heel of my high shoe instantly snapped off. I sat numbly on the ground, a memory flashing through my mind: Monica twisting her ankle once. Peter, who was walking behind us, immediately supported her, his face full of tenderness. “Monica, are you okay?” Monica, blushing, stood steadily, then pulled my hand and laughed. “Oh, Nina, you’re so lucky! You have such a thoughtful shifter!” Thoughtful? I had never felt it. If Monica had found you that day, you would have been happier, wouldn’t you? I felt inferior for being a freak, and I envied the love Monica received. But Mom and Dad were her parents and mine. If I couldn’t get their love, I accepted it. But Peter was *my* shifter. Only mine. I couldn’t accept the fact that he didn’t love me, that he even loved someone else, and still foolishly continue to be good to him. I couldn’t just get over it in a short time, so I decided to leave this painful place. Separate ways, to the ends of the earth. I needed to start a new life, to live for myself. My new job was as a junior clerk at an electronics company. My salary wasn’t high, so I rented a small studio apartment near the office. Though small, it was cozy in winter and cool in summer—perfect for a cold-blooded creature to hibernate. I instinctively started to say, “Peter, you won’t have to worry about hibernation now.” But the words caught in my throat, and I swallowed them, a lump of pain. I couldn’t help but remember Peter’s retreating back that day. No matter how much he pretended to care then, he was probably overjoyed now, wagging his tail as he ran off to find Monica. I opened the window, and the cool evening breeze brushed against my face. I let the wind flow into my heart, letting the chill settle over my scars. I remembered something I’d read in a book: True sorrow isn’t about dramatic highs or lows, but a quiet, steady current, like a flowing river. I never understood it then. But now it was clear. Just like for decades, Peter would light a cigarette on the balcony after every family dinner. A subtle sadness always lingered in his eyes. I thought he was upset because I’d been called a freak again, that he was furious for me. But, just like I thought he was reluctant to move out with me, I was just projecting. He was only sad for himself. Sad that he couldn’t see Monica. Sad that he couldn’t be with her. To numb myself and completely let go of that relationship, I threw myself wholeheartedly into work. I eagerly took on new tasks and helped seniors with theirs. Unexpectedly, I won over many of my senior colleagues. They admired me, giving me a thumbs-up and showering me with praise: “Small but mighty!” The first time I heard it, I paused, surprised. But I had to admit, I felt a little thrill. After tasting that sweetness once, I buried myself deeper into my work, hoping to use my abilities to hide my flaw of being a freak. They praised me for my ambition. Some of the bolder seniors even leaned in and asked, “Nina, do you have a shifter, dear?” I just stared blankly, nodding instinctively, then suddenly snapped out of it and shook my head vigorously. Alston furrowed her brow and asked, “Do you or don’t you?” I answered honestly, “I did, but we dissolved our bond.” Alston looked a little awkward. Another senior subtly gave her a look, and her “Why?” was swallowed whole. She grabbed a handful of pistachios for me, trying to comfort me. I fumbled, and they scattered across the floor. My eyes fell on a pair of gleaming bear paws. I looked up in confusion, meeting a pair of light brown eyes. Above those eyes, a pair of fluffy ears twitched unconsciously. Before I could even process how a shifter had suddenly appeared in the company, I heard one of the seniors quietly whisper, “Boss.” The bear softly grunted in response. I quickly pulled the nearest senior colleague and whispered, “Why didn’t I know our boss was a bear? “Will he fire me for slacking off and eating snacks?” The thought that this job, where for once no one seemed to hate me for being a freak, might be gone, made my heart ache. The entire room fell silent. It was the bear boss who broke the silence first. He bent down, picked up the scattered pistachios, and steadily placed them on my desk. “I won’t fire you.” Then he extended his bear paw. “I was in hibernation when you started. Let’s reintroduce ourselves. My name is Steven.” After shaking his paw, my cubicle was surrounded by a crowd of curious faces. One senior, her face full of curiosity, asked, “Nina, what did the boss’s hand feel like?”
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