The Modern Woman's Guide to Navigating Your Transformation Into an Eldritch Horror of the Deep

And speaking of food, those new cravings are definitely going to take some getting used to, but you'll come to love them. I recommend starting off small: try mixing some tuna eyes into your salad, or replacing the tomato sauce in your Bloody Mary with slightly-fermented chum. When it comes to managing your cravings for the flesh of the living, however, try to keep it classy. While international law protects the rights of the post-Transformed, land-bound women are still held accountable for any dogs, cats, alligators, crocodiles, accountants, and landlords they may consume in their frenzied bloodlust. You won't be arrested, of course. No cell will be able to hold you once you complete your Transformation, and mortal weapons will be useless against the phosphorescent acid secreted by your scales. But you might get some nasty looks at the PTA meeting, and who wants that?

Now, the subject of sex during your Transformation can be a sticky one. Not to mention slimy, scaly, and a bit pungent-smelling, not fowl exactly, but a bit more like low-tide than you might normally expect from your secret garden. Not to worry, however, with a little creativity, you and your partner can enjoy fantastic sex even up to the last day before your departure to the deep. Why, if family gossip is to be believed, my great-aunt Shirley and her dearly departed husband Rufus were making the Eldritch Horror with two backs the morning she completed her Transformation and hauled ass into the Atlantic Sea. To be sure, Rufus was never the same after that day. It was as if he was trapped between one world and the next, always singing the same wordless song underneath his breath, and the sucker-shaped pustules on his neck and shoulders turned the strangest shade of green the day he died. But oh, he still smiled even on his deathbed, the smile of a man who couldn't wait for the merciful waters of death to finally wash away the memories of the abominations he witnessed. Ah, good old Uncle Rufus. That rascal.

Last, but certainly not least, remember to practice self-love from the first stage of your Transformation to the last. The society we live in profits off of our insecurities, after all. You may not ever see a hideous, squid-like abomination the size of the Eiffel Tower on the cover of Sports Illustrated, but what is the fool's gold of briefly appeasing the monstrous appetite of the male gaze when compared to the joy of splitting open the bowels of a still-writhing sperm whale and sharing the spoils with your Transformed sisters? Of sending the entire city of Miami into a lawless frenzy with the collective sounds of your concussive shrieking? A cold and broken hallelujah, to be sure.

So there you have it, folks: my quick and dirty tips for navigating your Transformation. Every woman's experience is unique, so please take these with a grain of salt, and remember: we are all leftover food trapped between the molars of the Eldest Gods, and one day we will all be dislodged and lost in the darkness of their gullets for all eternity.

Now if you'll excuse me, there's a bowl of raw salmon gizzards that's calling my name....