A great shadow fell across the ground from the beast that traversed the sky. Unfortunately for me, she had to see it.

When I came into work that morning, there was a definite buzz amongst the employees. I found the source quickly as a small crowd had gathered around the dramatist of the workplace.

Her hands glided above her head and her eyes were wide as she recounted her obviously well-rehearsed tale. Her audience leaned in closer, hushed, as I took a position in the back of the group.

"Suddenly it blotted out the sun!" I heard her say. "I looked up, and there it was, winging its way across the sky. It had a long beak like a stork, but oh, this was anything but a stork. It had wings, huge leathery wings. It was almost like..."

Here she broke off, pausing dramatically. When she continued, her voice had fallen to an awed whisper.

"It was almost like one of the dragons of the north."

Hushed yet excited murmers arose from the group. Why, the dragons of the north were legendary. And to see one, why that was something!

"But it was not!" the dramatist declaired, recapturing her audience. "It was something entirely different! This creature had short fur along the body and no tail - very unlike a dragon. It was smaller than a dragon too. Large, mind you," she stated, wagging a finger at her audience, "but not large enough to carry a person. There has been talk of such a creature in our midst, and I have even heard that it, well," she broke off, looking smug to be the carrier of such details, "it might be a changeling!"

The group lost their focus once more, and the storyteller quickly acted to reclaim them. She waved her hands as she announced, "Why, that changeling might very well be among us, working here!"

Chatter had a firm grip on the group now. The dramatist stood there, arms crossed, lips pursed. She surveyed the group, eyeing each one critically and with some disappointment, realizing those she knew so well could not possibly be exciting enough to be a changeling. Her eyes suddenly fell upon me in the back of the group.

Suddenly she went wide-eyed and slack jawed. I knew precisely what she was thinking. As the newest employee there, I was the only possibility. She hadn't had the chance to snoop into my life yet. Therefore, since she knew a little about me, she couldn't rule out the chance that I wasn't a changeling. I immediately became the champion to her cause, whatever that was.

The rest of the group shortly noticed her averted gaze and the accompanying expression, and turned to look at me. There were several hushed comments exhanged.

"Oh, honestly!" I declared, rolling my eyes. I turned on my heel and went to my desk.

It was too late. Her gaze had said it all, her words were as good as gold, and she had sold them on this idea. Now the entire office suspected I was this rumoured changling.

I snorted with derision at the thought. Me, a changling. Ludicrous. But I didn't imagine that it would have a profound impact amongst the small group of workers.

The pasty one began following me about, unable to bear the thought of me falling out of his sight. I could often hear his wheeze coming from behind me as I worked on the computer at my desk. I didn't have to look to know his little beady eyes were on me - I could feel them. They were almost lost within his porcine face, but I could see them glitter as he watched me. The fat lip and jowls quivered with excitement at the thought that any second I would change into another form, and he would be able to witness it and become the hero of the office. His watchful gaze bordered on worship. I despised this devotion.

Then there was the one who wanted to kill me. I could see it in the determination of her eyes, the taut line of her lips. Her face was harsh and angular, made harsher still by the way she pulled her hair back tight against her scalp, accenting the sharp lines of her jaw. The expression just added to her ferocious look.

She stared me down every time I passed her workspace, just daring me to change in front of her. I suppose she would make some claim that suddenly my other form was a danger, and she killed me out of duty to protect the others.

I knew the real reason though. The answer was in those harsh eyes - one blue, one brown. Before I had come along, she had been the dramatists champion. That storyteller was convinced that the eyes were sign of hidden power. They weren't, but the harsh one basked in that glory and was set on getting it back. If I could have, I gladly would've given it back to her. I would've done anything to give it to her. But it was within the storyteller's power, not mine.

The storyteller spoke often, to anybody who would listen. She loved speaking in italics. "I know we have something special here," she'd begin. "One of our very own just may be the one that everyone has been talking about. Of course, I always suspected it, right from the beginning. Perhaps I have a special gift as well." She would giggle and bask in the glory she created for herself as the all-knowing one.

The group grew overbearing. I was an outcast, though a glorified one. They remained distant, yet very aware of who I was and what I did. It caused my work to suffer; I couldn't take the stress of being the constant focus of the office.

The day I quit was the first time I felt free in weeks. As I walked through the parking lot, away from the office building, I could almost feel 17 pairs of eyes boring into my back, watching me leave, still expecting something grand. The harsh one was smug, I knew. She felt she had won.