[ WP ] You are a shapeshifter who has travelled alone for so long and have not encountered any other shapeshifters in a long time . You do n't even remember what your original or first form was . You have just been shifting , lost and trying to find somewhere you belong .

I shuffled along the sidewalk, unnoticeable in the flow of pedestrians, a river of tired workers returning home from a long day's work. 
 
 Such is the anatomy of a modern day super-city. When you've been to enough of these, you learn to feel the city's pulse. The flow of humans is the lifeblood of the city, and you can generally tell how the city is feeling by watching where the humans go and how they get there, the same way you could gain a rough estimate of a human's state of mind by watching its lifeblood for tell-tale patterns. 
 
 I took a right on Rue de le Marché, and smiled at the owner of the local boulangerie, who was just getting ready to close shop for the day. He smiled back and gave me a little wave - the same way he did everyday. I worked here for a while, learning the art of French bread baking from this wonderful man. At some point, feelings developed between us, and our relationship evolved beyond that of a master baker and his apprentice. It did n't work out at the end, though, so we ended things on good terms and moved on with our respective lives. 
 
 Sometimes I feel pretty hopeless when it comes to my romantic prospects. I mean, it's a wee bit difficult to truly connect with someone on that level without sharing our life stories, and my life story is n't exactly an easy one to swallow. 
 
 I am a shapeshifter. That much I know for certain, because I change every time I move to a new city. I mean, everyone changes, but I *really* change - my eyes went from dark brown to pale blue when I moved from subtropical Asia to Norway, and my skin turned pale. Nowadays, I am a woman of seemingly mixed descent, living a pretty ordinary life in the province of Québec, Canada. 
 
 I do n't shapeshift at will, though. I am honestly not sure whether I *can*, or if I ever could. My appearance changes to help me fit in to wherever I go, and I am not sure how much of it is me consciously trying to fit in, and how much is a natural physiological reaction that I can not control. I had befriended many humans on my long journey, and some of they told me about experiences that sounded eerily similar. Polyglots told me about how their accents change depending on who they were talking to, bi-racial children confessed about how their mannerisms change depending on which side of their families they happened to be with, and globe-trotting adventurers talked about how their bodies' ability to process different kinds of foods seemed to shift depending on where they are. Could the polyglot control his accent if he wanted to? Probably. Could the bi-racial child decide to just'be herself' and behave consistently across racial lines? I guess she could, if she forced herself to try hard enough. But therein lies the paradox - shapeshifters like us, whether it is physical shapeshifting or cultural shifting, become one with the process of shapeshifting at some point. How do I'be myself', when the core of my being, the essence of my identity, lies in my ability to change myself? 
 
 A brief honk startled me from my instrospection. I looked up and saw that the pedestrian light had turned red while I was still halfway across the street. I gave the lone driver an awkward little wave and ran the rest of the way towards the sidewalk. My apartment sat just to the left of the intersection, and I reached into my purse to retrieve the keys. 
 
'Hey!' 
 
 I turned around to find the source of the greeting, and found a handsome young man walking up towards me, blue eyes glistening in an earnest smile. 
 
'Do you live here? I just moved into the second floor apartment, so I guess I'm actually your new neighbour.' 
 
'Oh hi,' I smiled back,'welcome to the neighbourhood! My name is Valérie.' 
 
'Nice to meet you, Valerie. I am An.' He replied, extending a hand. 
 
'Ann...? Sorry, would you mind spelling that for me?' I asked somewhat awkwardly. Sometimes I get so into the local mindset, that I forget about what I've learnt in my past cultures and get somewhat blindsided by foreign names, foods, and other things. 
 
'Yeah, sure! It's just A - N. Two letters, pretty easy to remember!' He laughed. 
 
'Oh, that's pretty cool!' I said, and suddenly remembered to take his hand in a rather awkwardly late attempt to complete the expected handshake,'Nice to meet you, too, An! I live just a floor above you, so if...' 
 
 My words caught when I glanced down towards our clasped but decidedly not-shaking hands. Just above his wrist, a small, bluish line snaked its way up his arms, disappearing into the sleeve of his salmon-coloured shirt. Suddenly, a map of his lifeblood made itself apparent to me - a fine, intricate web of miniscule blue veins, running across the surface of his skin. My eyes followed the map in my mind, chasing after the single pulse of his lifeblood, rushing rapidly up his arm, across his broad chest, winding down and around his waist towards his lower back, and up his spine towards the neck. The faintest hint of blue flashed across the side of his neck, and my mental map was complete. Speechless, I looked up from his neck towards his face, and saw him looking into my eyes with the same awed expression that I must have had on my face. 
 
 No way.
