“Led ir go.” Your tongue is resistant to movement, like it’s swollen. However, the shape of your mouth also feels wrong.
There was a long pause, and you could only tell he was there by the shadow cast over you. “Let her go?”
“Yeth.” You move your jaws, trying to figure out what’s wrong before trying again. “Yes.”
“Curious.” Another minute of silence. “Would you care to explain why?”
“Neither of us deserve this, and I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. We’d only come to hate each other if she found out I denied her freedom. Or, that’s how I feel since she did it to me.”
A third pause, then the shadow kneels and you feel a hand pet the top of your head. “You’re neither shortsighted, nor consumed by doctrine. One of the rare lights of humanity among a sea of black.” The shadow stands again. “I’ll see what can be done for your condition. As for Lyra, we’ll pick another animal, another experiment. You won’t see her again, unless you so choose.”
“What? But you said-”
“A free tip: there is no escape. Never trust someone that offers it, for the only prize is a loss of what little freedoms you have left. This is your life now, and you can’t fathom what rock-bottom looks like in this place. You’ll understand in time.”
You’re overwhelmed. You try to turn to see this stranger, but your neck is still refusing to listen, causing your head to bob in place. “Who are you?”
“Farmers don’t have names, but the one the animals use for me is Darrel. Now, I have to alter your continued formation before you’re a full-cow or worse. I know what the animals want to keep. I’ll save what I can.”
He gets up. Heavy footsteps return to the gate. It closes and the padlock clicks. “With Lyra out of the box, you’re only good for a transformation sequence, so the last changes will come quick. You’ve done well so far, so just keep doing what you think is right. They’ll start in about 2 minutes.”
You try to roll onto your side, but your numerous mammaries have grown large enough to make those decisions for you, and they refuse. You can still plant your hands and feet onto the ground, but there’s no chance you can lift these grotesquely oversized masses.
You instead spend your final moments praying Darrel was being honest.