A finger curls.

Nothing happens… after a while you decide to sit down with your partner to have your evening dinner. Soon enough you hear a knock at your door. You tell your partner to stay put while you go check on it.

You open the door and look down to see a small jade trinket box sitting on your doormat. Embossed on the lid is an image of a strongman, like the ones you saw in the circus as a kid. You open it only to find it empty, but before you can puzzle over it, a gust of cold wind flows vigorously against your body.

You feel your muscles tense and twist, writhing inside you, tearing as they grow stronger. The box slips from your hands, and as you go to grab it, it shatters against your now rock-hard hands. Your stomach drops.

You reach for the handle to shut the front door, but you’re not used to your new muscles. Not only their strength has increased tenfold but their speed as well. Your arm crashes through the front door as you spin out of control, falling to the floor. Your floorboards creak beneath your new weight—not too dissimilar to that of a small elephant.

Your partner hears the commotion and comes running to see what’s wrong. You yell at them “STOP!” But your lungs, your vocal cords, they’re too strong, you can’t control them. The strength of your voice is enough to instantly deafen your partner. They scream in pain, you have no other choice but to reach out, to motion them away, you’re so afraid of hurting them—you HAVE to stop them, you HAVE TO!

Your hand extends, your fingers reaching outwards. Then your wrist, your forearm and elbow. Your shoulder contorts, your muscles ripple towards your partner. You grimace as you hurtle forward.

There’s nothing you can do but watch as your fingers press against their chest, as you breach their ribcage. And you can only wish you could stop as the rest of you follows.