When Emma, Lily, and Chloe walked down the evening street bathed in lights, there was something carefree and liberating about them. They were made up, dressed up, adorned with laughter and anticipation, constantly nudging each other playfully. Emma, the liveliest of the three, egged them on. “Come on, girls, show me a proper duck face!” she called, already contorting her own lips into the signature pout. Lily laughed so hard she had to grab Chloe’s arm for support, while Chloe shook her head as if she were the most sensible, yet in the end, she puckered her lips and joined in. The three duck-faced girls giggled at one another, and Emma, still laughing, added, “Maybe tonight we’ll see Alex. They say he’ll be DJing all night. And you know what they say – the cutest guy in the whole town, if not the entire county.”

  Lily daydreamed, “If he ever looks at me, I’ll probably faint.”

  “And if he looks at me, I’ll pull off duck face number one,” Emma laughed.

  “Sure,” Chloe added, “but then you won’t want to stop.”

  When they entered the club, the music was already pounding through the floor. The lights flowed like liquid colors, and the hall was hot and loud in a strangely cozy way. And there he was at the DJ booth: Alex – tall, with an effortless smile, wearing a shirt that seemed deliberately snug to highlight his arms, headphones around his neck as if to mark this place as his domain. The girls froze. Emma nudged Lily with her elbow. “He’s even hotter than online,” she whispered.

  Alex looked at them, raised an eyebrow, and then smiled so broadly that Lily nearly did faint. “Ladies! I hope you’re ready for a night without limits, but with one very important rule,” he shouted into the microphone. “There is an absolute duck face ban in this hall! Do we understand? Anyone who does it…” He clasped his hands theatrically and continued in an amused tone, “…shall be cursed, and may it remain with them forever.”

  The crowd laughed. No one really believed in curses. The girls laughed too. Emma shook her head. “He’s such a joker.”

  And the music started.

  They danced for so long that time seemed to melt away. Emma felt her heart pounding with the rhythm, a lightness, a rush, a thrill from the occasional glance Alex threw her way, even if only briefly. Once, she noticed his gaze linger slightly longer than necessary. And in that instant, without thinking, without remembering his theatrical ban, she reflexively, flirtatiously made a duck face – as if it were the most natural instinct for a girl.

  And then it happened.

  She felt a strange tension in her face, a pull she couldn’t immediately understand, as if someone had gently stretched her skin. She tried to smile, but it failed. She tried again, and as she touched her face, she felt her nose elongating, her mouth turning into a hard, smooth mass, her chin disappearing. At first, she couldn’t believe it, but then she gasped in panic, pressing her hands to her face. And there it was – a wide, hard, unyielding duck beak.

  “No… no… this can’t be…” she thought in panic.

  She pushed through the crowd, which first stared at her in confusion and then in horror – someone shouted, others stepped back, some laughed thinking it was a mask. Emma curled in on herself, heart racing, tears streaming down her face. She ran out, away from the lights, away from the people, away from the music. She ran until the club’s lights disappeared around the corner.

  Alex chased after her. At first, he didn’t understand, then he saw her transformed face, and the feeling that struck him was sharp, like a punch. “No… no… I didn’t mean…,” he whispered to himself. When he finally caught up, Emma curled up, shaking, trying desperately to remove the beak, to return her mouth, which she no longer had.

  “Emma…” he called softly.

  She wanted to answer, to tell him it hurt, that she was scared, that she didn’t know what to do. But instead of words, all that came out was, “Quack… quack…”

  Emma froze, eyes wide with horror, clutching her beak in disbelief, unable to speak, quacking like a duck.

  Alex stood in front of her and slowly, carefully reached out his hand. “I… I’m so sorry. I really didn’t… I had no idea… I was just joking stupidly. I have to help you. I won’t leave you like this.”

  He escorted her home. At her door, he hesitated, then leaned forward and gently kissed her on the beak. It was awkward, strange, but sincere. He stroked her hair, as if to show he accepted her as she was, even though neither of them yet understood what it all meant. Emma stood frozen. It was the kiss of the boy of her dreams – only she had no mouth. Instead, she had a beak, an unremovable mask, a muzzle that wouldn’t allow her to speak, something that did not belong in her life at all.

  Once the door closed behind her, she ran to the kitchen. She felt a burning thirst. She filled a glass with water and tried to drink – but the beak was hard, rigid, the water just ran off its edges, spilling on the table and floor. She sobbed, her despair almost physical. “Please… please…” she wanted to whisper, but again all that came out was a duck-like, “quack, quack, quack…”

  Finally, she remembered the birds. She had seen them drink from puddles countless times. She tilted her head back, pressed the glass to her beak, and let the water flow inside. And it worked. She swallowed. Another sip. Another. It was a small victory, but in that moment, it felt like her first rescue.

  Hunger, however, brought new frustration. She unwrapped a baguette, tried to bite – and nothing. The beak was hard, smooth, sliding over it. Emma cried again. Finally, she tore the baguette into small pieces by hand and stuffed them into her beak like a helpless hatchling.

  Later, she sat in the bathtub for a long time. The water was still and smooth around her, the bathroom light dim and muted. Emma stroked her beak, trying to convince herself it wasn’t real. That she would wake up and have a mouth again. That it had only been a nightmare. And all the while, she thought of the kiss… the kiss on her beak. How much she had wanted him to kiss her – but on her beak? On that awful place she had never believed she would be kissed.

  She put on her nightgown, wet her toothbrush, and, out of habit, lifted it to her beak. Only then did it truly hit her. She had no teeth. Nothing to brush. Helplessly, she held the brush in her hand and cried so hard she had to grip the edge of the sink to keep from falling. Toothless.

  She lay in bed for a long time, unable to sleep. She stroked the beak, examining its shape, hardness, and smoothness, yet she still felt her own touch as if it were a natural extension of her body. Eventually, she fell asleep, exhausted from crying.

  In the morning, the first thing she saw was her yellow beak, glinting sharply in the daylight. For a moment, she hoped it had only been a dream. But it wasn’t. She touched it, and it was real. She collapsed. She tugged at it, tried to rip it off, detach it, remove it, but it was her beak. Only hers. The pain forced her to stop.

  When she tried to have breakfast – cereal with milk – the spoon kept hitting her beak, milk flowed back, flakes fell all around. It frustrated her and hurt her, desperately.

  At noon, the doorbell rang. Emma ran to the door. She opened it – and there stood Alex with a bouquet. “Emma… I came to apologize. Again. And again. And as long as it takes, even for a lifetime if needed,” he said quietly. She wanted to kiss him, but the beak wouldn’t allow it. Again, all that came out was her duck-like, “quack.”

  From that moment, he visited her every day. He saw how embarrassed she was when they went out together. How she tried to hide her beak with her hands, even though she couldn’t because it was too big. Alex would hold her around the waist, drawing her close so she could feel safe from people, from him. And over time, she learned to stop noticing the stares around her.

  At the fair, she ate cotton candy, her beak completely sticky. Alex chuckled gently and wiped it with a handkerchief, as if it were the most natural thing. Emma kissed him with her beak – tentative, awkward, but real. And he embraced her.

  One evening, they ended up at her house. They made love – and for both of them, it was beautiful, unusually fragile and tender. Weeks later, Emma realized she hadn’t gotten her period. The test was clear, two lines. When she went to Alex’s house, waving her hands, pointing at her belly, at the test, trying to explain what was happening, Alex understood within seconds. They hugged. “We’ll get married,” he whispered. And Emma cried in his arms with joy.

  The church wedding was unexpectedly beautiful. Family and friends had gotten used to her appearance, accepting it as a part of who she was. Alex held her hand as they exchanged vows, and when they kissed, he did so with such tenderness that even the hard, unyielding beak could not diminish its beauty.

  Time passed. Emma was nine months pregnant when she and Alex went shopping for baby supplies. He held tiny onesies, imagining their baby in them. She held her belly, feeling the movements of the life inside her. They were happy.

  And as Emma looked at Alex, she knew one thing: she might have paid a terrible and high price, but she had truly gained the most handsome man in the entire town.

  -------------------------------

  You can find a video of the whole story on my website:

  https://evanesanataha.rf.gd/?id=26

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