The Snake Girl
Adaora’s secret lived beneath her skin.
She felt it every morning before sunrise, before her body fully woke. A tingling, a shifting, a ripple under her ribs. The thing she kept buried deep inside would twist once, as if reminding her:
“I am still here.”
She would close her eyes and breathe slowly until the sensation faded. She had learned to control it… most days.
But the older she grew, the harder it became.
One Wednesday afternoon, after a long chemistry class, Adaora felt the familiar burn at the back of her throat. She hurried toward the girls’ restroom, clutching her bag with trembling fingers.
Inside, she locked the door and leaned over the sink.
Her reflection stared back—perfect skin, bright eyes, a beauty so flawless that it almost seemed unreal. But beneath her careful façade, a faint shimmer appeared, spreading like scales beneath the surface of her cheeks.
“Not now,” she whispered, pressing her palms to her face. “Please, not now…”
She splashed cold water, blinking rapidly until her skin returned to normal. The scales vanished. Her breathing steadied.
But she knew it was getting worse.
She could feel the creature inside her growing stronger.
That same week, the school admitted a new boy—Michael Adelson. He was quiet, observant, and always carried a sketchbook. Unlike the others, he didn’t stare at Adaora like she was some untouchable goddess. He watched her carefully, curiously, as if he could see something others couldn’t.
One afternoon, Adaora caught him sketching in the courtyard. She walked past him, pretending not to care—until she accidentally glimpsed what was on the page.
It was her.
Not just her face… but her eyes.
Except they weren’t normal.
They were slitted like a serpent’s.
Adaora froze. Her throat tightened.
Michael looked up and met her gaze. “It’s how I see people,” he said softly. “Not what they show… but what they hide.”
Her heart thudded painfully.
Did he know?
Before she could speak, the bell rang. Students poured into the yard, and the moment broke. Michael closed the sketchbook and walked away, leaving Adaora shaken.
He knew something. She could feel it.
And that was dangerous.
The next day, during lunch, Michael approached her table. The other students fell silent, watching with open curiosity. No one ever approached Adaora unless she allowed it.
“Can we talk?” Michael asked.
Adaora hesitated… then nodded. The two of them stepped behind the assembly hall where no one could hear.
Michael looked at her with a seriousness far beyond his age. “You’re afraid,” he said.
“I’m not,” she replied instinctively.
“You are. I see it every time your hand trembles. Every time you look away from bright sunlight. Every time someone gets too close.”
Adaora felt cold.
Her fingers curled into fists. “If you think you can intimidate me—”
Michael shook his head. “I’m not here to expose you.”
The wind shifted, brushing leaves across the concrete.
“I know what it’s like,” he said quietly. “To hide a part of yourself that terrifies you.”
Adaora stared at him, unable to move. Something unspoken passed between them, something that made her chest tighten.
Before she could speak, she heard it—
A hiss.
Soft, low, vibrating from deep inside her chest.
Her eyes widened in horror.
Not here.
Not now.
Not in front of him.
She backed away quickly. “I have to go.”
Michael reached out to stop her, but she jerked back. Her shoulders stiffened, her vision blurring as another hiss rose inside her throat.
She ran.
She didn’t stop until she got home, slamming the door behind her. Her grandmother—old, sharp-eyed, and always watching—sat on her woven stool by the window.
“You changed too soon again,” the old woman said without looking up.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Adaora whispered, shaking. “It’s happening more often. I can’t control it.”
Her grandmother finally looked at her, eyes ancient and knowing. “The serpent blood is awakening. You are nearing the age.”
Adaora swallowed hard. “The age for what?”
“For choosing what you will become.”
Her grandmother rose slowly. “Our lineage is not like others. Your mother carried the same curse… before it killed her.”
Adaora’s throat tightened. She had never known her mother, only whispered stories and warnings.
Her grandmother placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You must stay away from anyone who looks too closely. Humans fear what they do not understand.”
Adaora thought of Michael. The sketchbook. The snake eyes.
Too late.
Someone already suspected.
The next Monday, a commotion stirred the hallway. Students clustered around Michael’s locker whispering excitedly. Adaora pushed through the crowd—and froze.
Someone had taped a drawing onto his locker.
It was the sketch of her.
The one with serpent eyes.
The students murmured:
“Is that Adaora?”
“That’s so creepy…”
“Why did he draw her like that?”
“Maybe she has some kind of demon!”
A girl shrieked, “Her eyes DO look strange sometimes!”
Adaora felt her stomach drop.
Michael rushed forward, ripping the drawing down, but the damage was done. Dozens of students had already seen.
Their eyes darted toward Adaora—fearful, suspicious, whispering.
Her pulse hammered. Her breath shortened.
The creature inside her sensed danger.
And danger triggered change.
“No,” she whispered to herself. “Not here…”
But her skin prickled painfully. Her vision flickered between human and serpent. Her throat tightened as the hiss returned, louder, harder to suppress.
Michael stepped toward her. “Adaora, listen to me. Stay calm—”
Before he could finish, Adaora bolted out of the school doors and into the forest behind the football field. Branches snapped under her feet as she ran deeper and deeper until the trees swallowed her.
Her body shook violently.
Her bones ached.
Her skin rippled like water.
And then she felt it—
The transformation beginning.
Her worst fear.
She fell to her knees as the serpent inside her pushed toward the surface.
Her fingers curled, her spine arched, and a long, sharp hiss escaped her throat—
But then someone grabbed her shoulders.
“Look at me!” Michael shouted, breathless from chasing her. “Adaora, you’re not alone!”
She lifted her head.
Her pupils were already slitted, glowing gold.
“You have to leave,” she whispered, voice trembling. “If you stay… I can’t control it…”
Michael shook his head. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be!” she cried, her voice breaking. “I’m turning into something horrible!”
But Michael held her tighter.
And then he said the words that froze her blood:
“You’re not the only one.”
He opened his palm.
Right before her eyes, his hand shimmered—
And the outline of fur rippled beneath his skin.
Not scales.
Not human.
Something else entirely.
Adaora stared, breathless.
Michael whispered:
“I see what you are because I am not fully human either.”
The forest fell silent.
Her transformation halted.
And for the first time in her life…
Adaora wasn’t the only monster in the world.
