Light streamed into the kitchen. Autumn was turning to winter but the low morning sun still carried some warmth into the room and across Miles' face.

Miles lay on the kitchen floor. Very unwelcome memories of the last few days came flooding in all at once.

He was not well. He ached all over and his back was agony. Strange body hair had erupted all over his skin. Miles had been hairy all his life, but this was different. It was everywhere, covering every patch of skin. His head felt so heavy and he could barely hold it up. His clothes were in shreds everywhere.

Gradually his eyes opened, letting in the devastation of last night. Empty beer cans. He couldn't drown what was happening, try as he might.

His frying pan was in the wall. pinning Dahlia's framed gold record in place.

Rage pierced through his hangover, through the gnawing pain that seemed to engulf his body. How could she do this to him? that ungrateful bitch. That talent-less urchin. He had made her life possible and now this?

He moved his limbs which cried out as blood began rushing back. He tried rub his eyes, but they weren't hands anymore. Just hooves.

Miles cried out, but it was all changing so fast. He heard a neigh.

looked up and saw the unmistakable shape painted roughly onto the glass of the kitchen door in dripping red paint. The horseshoe sigil was there.

It was her.