Stacked high on a paper plate, syrup pooling at the bottom, and a drizzle of honey glistening on top like amber sunlight. The smell alone makes your mouth water. You take your first bite — soft, fluffy, warm — and the combination of syrup and honey is divine.
You chew slowly at first, savoring the texture, the sweet stickiness clinging to your lips.
Then… you need more.
You head back to the counter, sliding a few bills across. The vendor — an older woman with a sunhat and sunglasses — chuckles as she loads up another stack. “Sweet tooth, huh?”
You nod, too busy devouring bite after bite to respond. You’re on your third plate now, and you haven’t stopped to breathe.
You’re hunched over the table, sticky syrup on your chin, crumbs dusting your shirt — which now feels tighter across your shoulders. You don’t notice. You don’t care. The honeyed flavor fills your thoughts. It’s all you want.
You go back again. And again.
Your posture slouches lower. You don’t sit anymore — you crouch over the table, snout nearly buried in the plate. Your fingers are thickening, the nails darkening and curving. But they’re useless now anyway; you’ve already started scooping food straight into your mouth.
The vendor blinks behind her sunglasses. “Well now,” she says softly. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a regular.”
You lick the plate clean, then look up at her, wide-eyed and panting lightly, your nose twitching at the scent of more.
She grins.
“Well alright then. Catch!”
She tosses a pancake. You snap your head forward and catch it midair. Gone in one bite.
Another flies — you catch it.
Another — you devour it.
You’re on all fours now, fur bristling along your thickening arms. Your shirt splits down the back with a quiet rip. Your pants are long forgotten. Your ears have shifted, round and fuzzy, perched atop your head.
Your belly sways slightly with each movement — heavy and full from pancakes. Your nose is wide and leathery now, nostrils flaring with every sweet, delicious scent. Your tongue flicks out to clean a smear of syrup from your lips.
The vendor’s laughter is rich and warm.
“Well, look at you. A big ol’ pancake bear.”
You let out a low, rumbling mrrrff, which might’ve been a laugh… if bears could laugh.
She throws one more.
You stand on your hind legs, catching it mid-air again with a deep chomp, landing solidly on all fours — a full-grown bear now, sticky with syrup, eyes wild with joy.
And you are so, so happy.