The morning sun shines down from the window, filling your room with its light and forcing you to wake from your slumber. For some reason, you don't feel well-rested enough—looks like staying up late reading all those occult sites was a mistake.
Groggily, you drag yourself out of bed and into the bathroom. The cold shower forces you to stay awake as you start scrubbing shampoo onto your hair and horns, covering them with its essence. After rinsing it off, the next step is to clean your body, lathering it with soap up from your neck down to the end of your spike-tipped tail.
Wait.
You stare at the appendage on your hand and blink. It seems to wriggle under your command, but the icy water running down your skin feels too vivid for it to be a dream. You raise your other hand up to your head, making contact with the tough, pointed carapace that seems to have sprouted on it.
Aghast, you quickly hose the soap off your body and dry yourself in a flurry. In your haste, one of your new horns snags on the towel, ripping a hole straight through it. Reeling, you leap in front the mirror and see the reflection confirm your suspicions—you have turned into an incubus.