the mouse squeaks (7)

The figure raises its staff, and the crystal at its tip flares with light. The glyphs on the book’s pages glow in response, their light growing brighter until the room is bathed in an unearthly luminescence. The mouse’s body begins to change.

Its limbs stretch, its fur recedes, and its tiny form grows, reshaping itself into something new. The pain is immense, a searing heat that burns through its veins, but the mouse does not scream.

When the transformation is complete, it lies on the floor, gasping, no longer a mouse but a small, pale figure with sharp features and silver hair that seems to shimmer in the dim light. The figure in the cloak nods, satisfied.