Kelly, after the accident
“The short answer is no. We’ll never be able to restore you.”
Three years ago, this strange man in the tailored gray suit looked grimly at me. His name, I think, was Dr. Mayhouse, or something. All I remember about our conversation was my near-panic, my inability to breathe.
I swallowed hard and said, “You mean, I’ll be like this for as long as I live?”
His gray eyebrows furrowed. His bright blue eyes darted to the side, regarding my legs in the chair next to my bed.
“The guild can help you adapt to your new phase, help you with …” he closed his eyes hard and opened them wide—a weird nervous tic. “… with equipment you’ll need to hold your two halves together. But no, a transformation that was interrupted can almost never be reversed.”
Two mornings before that day, I was in yoga class, arching backward in a pose I doubt I’ll ever be able to do again. That night, my friend Jenny and I drove to the o