When did I stop being a swan? Maybe it was when you quit wearing my ring. No, that was so long ago, and I'm sure I was still a swan after that. Was it when you stopped telling me I was beautiful? ... No, swans don't need to be told, they just are. I know! It was the cooking, wasn't it? Swans don't cook, that's a duck thing. I suppose I should thank you for saving me from that, huh? I should have seen the feathers dropping off when you suggested taking someone else to the office to play like they were me. I guess I was losing swanhood then, wasn't I? I was no longer pretty enough, or shocking enough, or even normal enough, was I? I knew the feathers were gone when we stopped going to bed at the same time. Denial is a powerful tool, though, and I really thought if I looked at the mirror long enough and kept telling myself it wasn't true that it wouldn't be. I don't know how to be a duck anymore. You told me I was a beautiful swan, and I believed it. Swans mate for life, and I really thought you were the one. I don't know how to be a duck anymore. I haven't been one in a long time. Didn't think I'd have to do it again. ... Sara, clothes, hair, and Dreamer wings