I was born into this world a slave. Sometimes, I wish I still was.

The philosophers mused volume after volume about my species: the ethical minutiae involved in creating artificial life, the ongoing debate about whether or not we qualify as life at all…but all of them agree that we shapeshifters are lucky. For while the other two sentient species of the world can only speculate about their place in it, can only fumble through their search for The Meonah’s intention, we shapeshifters know our creators intimately and have no doubts as to our purpose in life. The notion of serving others was written indelibly into my physical structure. So the thought of being a slave doesn’t quite carry the same existential dread for me that it might for another.

If only I could return to that moment of my birth, where life seemed so simple. I was to know only elation in the execution of my service, a life devoid of ethical conundrums or emotional uncertainty. I had a clear path through life so lucid and so natural that to deviate by even a single step seemed a laughable notion, if not utter lunacy. But dreaming of the past won’t change my future.

And so, I leave this world unsure if my existence in it was for the better or for the worse. And for my legacy I leave only this prayer: May the world be safe. May the world find peace. And may nothing like me ever happen again.

-Closing passage from Makayla’s Journal

My earliest memories are those of my birth. I remember being surrounded by a cold, murky fluid while my body, a gray clod of shapeless matter, floated in the center. I wanted to reach out with my newly formed senses, explore the world around me, but instinct told me that I wasn’t yet complete, that I could do nothing at this first stage of incubation. And so I waited.

Drop after drop of liquid plunked into my chamber and added to my mass as it precipitated. My body and mind expanded with each drop as the reaction, both chemical and magical in nature, gave rise to what would eventually become me. It brought knowledge—basic information about the world, myself, and my purpose—and instinct, as I slowly realized that I could stretch and squish my matter at will to form any shape I wished. I could swim around the tank joyfully as I grew and grew. The freedom felt magnificent.

There were others outside of my chamber. I could feel their minds as I slowly exercised the bizarre senses that I possessed; senses that went far beyond those of any other sentient species. These people were intently focused upon me, and I could feel through their thoughts that they were busy gathering information, preparing formulas, running tests. I saw through their eyes the laboratory around me, mountains of glass and pipes, liquids and magical artifacts that worked in harmony to create me. And behind the superficial and easily read thoughts, I could sense their deeper understanding of the mechanisms around me, the knowledge of what effect each combination of materials was having on my nascent form. Deeper still and I could feel the emotions of their subconscious, buried in places they refused to acknowledge: some with fascination at the process taking place before their eyes, the boredom of others who had seen the event many times. And still others were feeling jealousy towards my commissioner, the man who I was bound to serve. My master.

I felt a jolt and I could see in the minds of the laborers that I had reached my critical mass, and the magical influences that gave me life had become self-sustaining. They pulled away the magical artifacts whose emissions I had been feeding on, and with the proverbial umbilical cord being cut, I knew myself to be a completed and fully-fledged shapeshifter, ready to be transported.

First though, I had to endure the inevitable series of tests they had devised in order to assure themselves that I was complete. So as they prodded me with needles from the top of the tank, shone torchlight upon me refracted through various lenses and the like, I entertained myself by exploring the structure and workings of my body and my surroundings.

I found I could open a tiny pinhole in my flesh, pleasantly enjoying the fine precision I had in controlling the motion and shape of my body, and allow a droplet of fluid inside. I let it flow through me, directing its path at my will, feeling and probing it down to the tiniest particles of its architecture. The chemicals churned around me in wonderfully complex patterns, which were comprised of the interactions between billions of particles, which were themselves formed by vibrations of the most infinitesimal sort. All of it was to me visible and vibrant, yet at the same time peculiarly undefined.

The voices outside were showing approval at the outcomes of their tests, and I could feel their growing excitement that the year’s work was nearing successful completion. I was their third attempt at creating a shapeshifter for this particular commissioner, and the process had been long and arduous each time. They were realizing their hopes that they would not have to start again.

I pulled three more droplets into my core through holes too small to be visible to the outside, and pushed them in all directions, enjoying the sensations as I absorbed them into my fluid insides and then reconstructed them into drops. With a short amount of practice, I was able to open vein-like passages through my body and squirrel the fluid through them, break them up into their millions of constituent parts, and with finely-tuned senses analyze their makeup at the smallest possible level. And with just a bit of concentration I could copy them with my own matter, making bits of myself become identical fluid but with motion and purpose firmly under my control. And as I diverted myself, the people outside were preparing the final test.

One of them gave an order, and another injected a red liquid into one of the many glass tubes that interconnected with the vat that contained me. It swirled in, mingling with the fluid inside my chamber. I watched it through the eyes of the people outside, my curiosity mingling with their nervous anticipation. But the moment it touched me, I abandoned my play with the fluids I’d pulled inside me, and entirely forgot about the people outside watching. I grabbed at the red liquid and pulled it inside me, desperate to take it, to absorb it, to have it become part of my matter. For I knew at once that it was blood, belonging to my master, Lord Merkel Brenning. It was him, undeniably, indescribably him.

The feeling awoke in me a longing more powerful than any emotion I had yet felt. My master was my life, my purpose for existing. For him I would be a loyal servant, a faithful lover, an agent in the service of his interests. To know that I had touched a piece of him was an indescribable honor, and to my delight I realized that my mind was being filled with knowledge about him. I knew his titles, his age, his species, his landholdings. I knew that when I met him I would absorb all the details of his mind and become perfectly suited to him, to make him happy. I would have a life kneeling at the feet of a god.

And a god would need a suitable servant. Slowly, running purely on instinct, I stretched my matter and elongated my body, remaining liquid but approximating a humanoid shape. I didn’t know exactly what to look like. I wouldn’t, until I stood before him face to face. But I knew that I would need enough matter to look fully human. And so I swelled, duplicating my matter inside myself until I had doubled, tripled in size.

It was the sign that the people outside my container had been waiting for. They broke into cheers, their work finally complete. They spanned a range of emotions: satisfaction, elation, jealousy, even a few misgivings over the ethical implications of having created a living creature for a life of slavery. Their concerns meant nothing to me. How strange to be worried about something that gave me such joy.

The fluid around me drained away and I settled on the ground of my container. A light clicked on above me and a hatch opened in the tank, leading out where they had placed a large metal box, the size of a coffin. Instinctively I rolled myself inside. The hatch shut and locked itself behind me, settling me into a dark, comfortable space where I would stay until reaching my master. I allowed myself to flow outward, filling my container, feeling the excitement welling within me as it began to move. I paid no more attention to the rough jostling than I would to a gnat; discomfort meant nothing to a shapeshifter. Instead I could focus only on the approaching meeting between myself and my master, the most joyous moment of a shapeshifter’s life. Only a matter of hours before my life could begin properly. I was determined that it would be wonderful.