Transformation days are the worst. Even your own body hates you. Every emotion and nerve ending is amplified nearly beyond bearable. Not only are you a mass of overwhelming emotion, but a roiling tumultuous ball of pain as your body is warped and maneuvered to fit the mold you designated. Even thinking about transformation days make my stomach heave, but that is life here in the Veranda; fix all the flaws, make yourself into perfection, choose the right mold and live ‘happily’. Happiness is an act. The Verandans fool themselves with jewels and food, parties and intrigue, but they don’t understand happiness like those who have lived in the fringe. Still, we put on this facade; it looks like we have it made, and every day there are more and more Fringers that try to sneak into the city. Maybe if they knew just how much pain we put ourselves through for a fake happiness they wouldn’t try so hard to get in… I know I would have stayed in my hovel in the forests of the Fringe.