"I don't... I don't..." you stammer, struggling to come to terms with what is happening right in front of your face. Your girlfriend... she's transforming into a bird and this very fact is more than you can comprehend. It makes no sense. People don't turn into birds. It just doesn't happen.
"I wonder what kind of birds we'll be," she says, either oblivious to or ignoring your confusion, your horror. "I hope we're the same kind. I mean, if we're not, I'll still love you, but we just won't... you know. We won't nest together. I'll have to find a whole new mate... what a drag that would be."
"Honey, wha..." you stammer, trying to say all the things that are bursting around in your mind. How is this happening? Why is she so okay with it? What is going on?
"Ooh, I think I'm starting to shrink," she said, and sure enough, her clothes did look baggier on her. She feverishly began to undress, tossing aside her shirt and kicking off her shoes. "Ha! My feet are getting scaly! This is awesome!"
"Babe, stop! What is wrong with you? What is wrong with this place?!" you finally ask, panic overwhelming you.
"You really didn't know?" she asks, tilting her head to the side. "Sweetie, this is Pleasure Island. Turning into animals is what you do here. That's the whole point. You really didn't know?"
"NO! No I didn't! And now you're turning into a bird and you're talking about crazy stuff and I keep waiting to wake up from this nightmare..."
"You need to relax, sweetheart," she says, stepping forward and placing her hand on your shoulder. Her hand is oddly shaped, fingers seem to be going away, muscle seems to flatten out. "This is gonna happen no matter what now. We're going to be birds. Sooner you accept that, happier you'll be. No matter what, we'll be together. It'll be great, you'll see."
"But... but honey..."
"Can't wait until I grow feathers. Feathers. Wow. I'm finally gonna be a bird."