“Who were you? Before becoming a skinwalker?”

The Skinwalker looked surprised.

“Who was I…?”

It seemed it hadn’t thought about this in quite some time. After a pause, it began to smile.

“Of all the first questions, you want to know about me personally? You were definitely the right one to choose.”

An involuntary blush rose to my cheeks at that. What was wrong with me? Maybe girls were extra susceptible to praise and suggestion after sex, I thought.

“Well, I didn’t start off in this country, that’s for sure. I was born in the Kingdom of Piedmont, in what is now Italy, and my early life was spent as a Nun.”

What?? I wasn’t the best at history or geography, so I had no idea where exactly she was referring to, other than a vague knowledge of Italy. And “from what is now Italy”? Was she from before Italy existed a country? Living as a Nun too… so, the skinwalker had been female originally.

“Do you want to see?”

The Skinwalker cocked its head.

“Stay here, I’ll show you.”

It left briefly, allowing my thoughts to race even faster. If she was from prior to the foundation of Italy, she must be over a hundred years old? I didn’t really know the details, but certainly she must have been well over the age of any human. She wasn’t kidding when she’d said long life was a boon held by these creatures. A voice very different from Trent's interrupted my reeling thoughts.

“Well, here I am”

A short girl with a healthy tan and light brown hair stood in the doorway, before making her way into the room with an aura somewhere between anxious and relaxed. She was cute and petite, standing at 5’0 with a small frame and small breasts, and she didn’t look older than 19. Her voice was quiet and lightly accented, and her body language was completely different from how the confident Trent had been. She wore a silk burgundy robe, and seemed actively shy compared to how she’d been before.

“You’re so cute…”

I started, causing her to blush now.

“How, how do you still have your skin though? I thought you said you a skinwalkers original appearance would be destroyed by the transformation?”

“Hmm, yes, I did say that. Well, it is true. A skinwalker’s true appearance really is destroyed by the transformation, and every moment I spend in this skin it turns a little more. The original skin of a skinwalker is fundamentally different from all the others, because another’s skin is supported by their souls, but a skinwalker’s original skin no longer has a human soul to support it. At least, that’s my understanding of it.”

The implications of that were chilling, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it before the skinwalker continued.

“As for how I still have this skin, well, there comes a sweet spot in the transformation of a skinwalker where it’s possible to molt their original skin. This ‘sweet spot’, can be difficult to predict, though it’s usually fairly late in the process, just before the original skin itself starts to break down. The molting process is usually quite ritualistic too, but I’d say before it happens you may wish to choose a life to permanently move into. After all, wearing your own skin after the molting just continues its breakdown process, so you’ll want someone else’s to serve as your everyday cover.”

So, there was a way to salvage my original appearance after all. A tension I didn’t know I’d been holding was released with that assurance; a lot of my fear and terror over this transformation was because of thoughts of my family, and the sad idea that I would simply disappear once I fully transformed into a monster.

Something I hadn’t considered until it was mentioned though, was this “Everyday cover.” The idea of taking over a life long-term, or even permanently. I could be anyone, an old man at a bus stop, a high-powered executive, a professional athlete, any man I wanted. But then, thoughts of pulling Lisa’s panties up her legs and feeling them ride up my asscheeks, feeling the tightness of a skirt as I walked, feeling a tongue move over my breasts, teasing my nipples. My wet, hot walls spreading as a dick enters my slit… I was realizing it was much, much sexier to steal a woman's body as my vessel instead.

“So, you were a nun?”

I tried to shift the conversation back, thoughts of how erotic it would be to permanently steal a woman's life getting me so wet I worried I would try for sex with the skinwalker all over again.

“Mmm, yes, well, I was born Candida Abbandonato, in the year of our Lord 1829, in a small village. My parents weren’t rich, but I suppose they weren’t poor either. Devout people whose faith seemed to be well rewarded when I decided to join a convent for a life of piety, education and worship. Of course, from the fact I’m here with you now, you can tell how that went.”

She gave a knowing smile.

“But that’s enough about me! Although it’s a rare pleasure to talk about myself, I’m not sure I want to divulge all my little personal foibles to someone who hasn’t yet decided to 'go steady' with me.”

She smiled, amused by the relatively casual, everyday description of our situation.