I wake beneath a pine tree as a morning sunbeam caresses my face. I stretch my body, and flakes of wax fall away as my skin pulls taught. The bees are stirring as well, and I can feel their fuzzy bodies as they crawl across my own.

I struggle to my feet with the help of my walking staff. The runes carved into its dark wood meant something to me once, but the magick of humans has grown distant.

Upon gaining my footing I spend a moment standing in the sun. The warmth begins to loosen the honeycomb that hugs my torso like armor. I can twist my body, the honey is running and moving is easier.

The bees begin to wake in earnest now, and I can feel them against my breasts and back, my legs and up to my neck, as they exit their hive in search of food.