Tilly felt herself let go of the yarn. Her hands were not hands anymore.  The strings had damaged them, and they were useless now. Her arms folded in on themselves and became wings. Feathers sprouted out along all of her skin, soft and moon-colored and beautiful. The yarn was a bright color, harsh against her eyes. She saw now that the same color encompassed her in the water.

​

The dodo-birds pulled her from the water-sea, and she felt heavy, oh so heavy. The knitting needles had pierced her chest.  She could feel her life slipping away. She opened her mouth, only to discover that it had become a beak, dark as the the dark side of the moon. She looked like her cousins, now. Tilly gazed up at the beautiful sky that was stretched overhead, bright instead of dark, and closed her eyes against the pain. The weight and color and brightness were all too much, and Tilly felt her breath slip away.