ii) her forearms have again assumed

Her forearms have again assumed the approximate shape of a pyurume’s, but Abianarin’ cells quiver as she approaches the door. Feeling vanishingly tiny under its implacable gaze, she brushes her fingers against it — is stung by a hissing arc of heat. She draws her hand back and mutters a curse in her mother tongue.
“Door not like me,” she says.

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