Like Fazia, he had heard tales of Baltia growing up, though his storytime seems to have been cast in a far less flattering light than hers. But, that's likely a common theme amongst the taboo children born of a Baltian and Stratosian union.

Still, he feels a similar connection to the submerged kingdom and that is what brings him to the water's edge today. As is typical for him, he pauses to stare pensively at the horizon beyond the gentle ocean ripples. He is usually consumed by reminiscence and, while he is still distracted today, it is for a different reason.

He knows that something has changed about him, and he doesn't mean the obviously physical alterations. While he is accustomed to having tentacles, he is not used to their constant presence—normally, they only show themselves when he wants them to, which is usually in order to spend time beneath the surface, and they've always served as a replacement for his equine hind end. But now?

Now he's realized he has lost the ability to change and has been left with these ever-present (and fairly useless) tentacles sprouting from unlikely places. There is a small, short cluster that hangs from his chin like a wriggling goat's beard. Several more protrude from his shoulders, nearly resembling a strange, slimy pair of flightless wings. And as though a reminder of the loss of his shifting, more tentacles, long enough to teasingly brush against his pasterns as he walks, hide amongst the stringy tendrils of his yellowed tail.

Thankfully though, his Baltian gills (and other Baltian/Stratosian traits) remain unchanged, so he can still explore the ocean's depths whenever he pleases. But it feels wrong, it feels as though he's lost a part of himself, a connection to his past. So, as he stands alone, wondering how he managed to bring this upon himself, he leaves himself vulnerable to and unable to recognize Fazia's attempt to take over his mind and body.

Just as he thinks he needs to snap out of it and get moving, one of the longer tentacles at his left shoulder suddenly lashes out and strikes his cheek, just below his bright blue eye.

For a moment, he is frozen in stunned disbelief, but then he begins to laugh—slow and unsure at first, but eventually loud and sharp (a bit unhinged, really). He can't help but find it maddeningly humorous that his body could turn one errant thought into such a fitting action. After all, why wouldn't he want to physically punish himself the same way he does mentally?