Everything inside her apartment was exactly the same as it had been the day before, as far as she knew. The dying flowers were still in a vase on the kitchen table that she never ate at, settling for eating all of her meals hunched in front of her computer reading worrying updates on news websites; her desk, speaking of, was still piled high with empty soda cups and unread mail.

The wrong feeling persisted, but the more she chased it, the further it got from her. Was anything really different? Walking between doorways, she had already forgotten what had started her feeling this way in the first place.

Mary stumbled into the bathroom and regarded her visage in the mirror, trying her best to ignore the empty toothpaste tubes she had knocked into the sink.

Mary's face in the mirror: she was indeed a chicken-esque woman.

The same disfigured gaze met her. She scrunched up her face, looking at her decaying teeth. Everything here was exactly the same – as rotten and broken – as it had ever been.

And she still felt bad.