Your wings spread through the dark night air, casting a shadow over the turf in front of the library. A growl escapes your muzzle, thick black smoke curling around either side as flickering embers fall and sizzle on the grass. You feel your powerful claws dig into the soil and grass, steadying you as you try to think through your situation. You have intense and competing thoughts, your mind racing. You remember being Benjamin Bell, average American guy, and remembered reading a book about dragons. Being transformed into this dangerous and magical form was a surprise and didn't match with your experience of reality these past three decades. The thought of the book makes you look around, long neck whipping as your eyes search for it. Though dark and now smoky, your sharp draconic vision has no problem seeing with the light of the moon overhead. You spot the book and lift yourself off the ground, stumbling slightly on your first step as your legs and tail tangle each other. It takes you several minutes to sort out a slow an waddling gait, almost torturously crawling as unfamiliar bones and muscles shift.
Your claws are not nimble enough to work the pages and you let out a growl of anger, more smoke and cinders escaping even as the sharp spikes on your neck glow hotter, from dull red to a brighter orange. You try your best to remember the book, feeling a primal urge to crawl into a dark and defensible place. It spoke of the magic attributed to dragons, and how their bodies and magic shifted when they were in the reproductive phase of their life. How they grew slow and heavy and found lairs to hide in. You couldn't return to your little one bedroom apartment in this body but you could imagine hunters or the government coming for you. You needed a place to hide and to think.
Luckily you recall a cave outside town, old lava tubes sometimes called the Littlewood Caverns. Your wings beat heavily as you test them, straining. They could likely, through some magical subversion of physics, lift you, but given your difficulty walking you could imagine the danger that might come from trying to fly. You take the book in one claw and begin to half-hobble, half-limp, towards the caverns. It takes long hours and you do your best to avoid the populated roads, traveling through the dark moonlit woods for the cavern. You force your way through a chainlink fence, feeling it scraping over your scales in a way that feels almost pleasant. Likewise the gate at the cave gives way easily to your powerful new body as you slink down into the dark cool stone of the lava tubes. You squirm through a tunnel not much bigger than your heavy belly, and make your way eventually into a semi-circular room with enough space for you to curl up comfortably, protectively sheltering your belly as you fumble with the book once more, looking for answers and finding...