write me a PURE BODY HORROR story about someone who is in a car crash and wakes up in an animal boyd that they have been put in to preserve their conciousness, dont talk about instincts, only the horror of being in somthing that isnt human, and the fame t

Alice awoke with a jolt, the remnants of the crash still fogging her mind like the swirling mist outside an early morning window. She tried to move her arms, but they felt off, unwieldy, like a marionette with tangled strings. Panic soared as she searched for the familiar contours of her body, only to find a muzzle pressed against the cool metal of a cage. The world plunged into focus, sound exploding all around her. Her senses were overpowered—screeching tires, splintering metal, the distant wail of sirens mingled with the damp earth as if her surroundings had swallowed her whole. She tried to scream, but the sound that emerged was an unrecognizable yelp, choking and raw, unlike any human sound. As Alice shrieked, her thoughts raced like the chaos that had barreled toward her just moments before. Everything was wrong. She was no longer encased in familiar flesh but instead in something feral and alien, contorted and grotesque. She investigated her surroundings in a panic. The floor of her enclosure was rough, unyielding, and smelling of musk—the scent was almost suffocating, repulsive, like a mixed bouquet of decay and primal earth. Soon, they began to appear—faces peering through the bars of her cage, glittering with excitement and chill. They watched her, pressed their faces to the bars with wide, greedy eyes, and flared nostrils. "Look at her! She's beautiful!" they clamored, their words, once comprehensible, now felt like shards of glass scraping against her dwindling comprehension. Images of her human life slipped like sand through her fingers; their words were just noise, and beneath it all, the horror deepened. Days blurred into weeks. Each day began and ended with the cacophony of onlookers, soldering away snippets of her humanity. They stuck their fingers through the bars, mocking, teasing, or offering scraps of food. They didn't see her as Alice anymore, as the woman who once walked in the light of day—they sought only the spectacle. A freak, a curiosity in a cruel new world, they branded her as “the strange beast” without a name. Her inhabitation in the body became a distorted dream. She caught glimpses of herself in puddles and shattered mirrors—tufts of fur where skin should be, elongated limbs that twisted and bent in horrifying ways. She scratched at the metal bars, gnawing at the stark metal with teeth that no longer belonged to her, feeling them crunch through the soft flesh of her cheeks in ways that echoed primal instincts she no longer understood. When they threw scraps at her, she devoured them like she was grasping at the last remnants of humanity, but the transformation had truly set in. The faint echoes of why and who she once was faded like the last vestiges of a dying ember, extinguished by the relentless presence of this new, hairy, monstrous form. And the fame, oh, how they feasted on the curiosity of it all. They brought cameras, cheered, and applauded as they pointed at her—her tale spinning out of control, a grotesque fantasy shaping in their minds. The spark of who she was flickered dimly, losing against the reality that she was now simply a creature, unwanted and unloved, a mere object of entertainment. One day, they stopped visiting. The crowd that once leaned in to catch a glimpse of her as “the beast” finally tired of the spectacle; novelty faded as the world turned its attention to fresh horrors. Left to rot in her own mess, the cage became a tomb, a prison within her own flesh. Her existence morphed from vibrant memory to whispers that tumbled like loose coins in her fading mind; the echoes grew faint, diminished to flickers against an encroaching darkness. In that solitude, she became a wretched reminder of who she had been, but she didn’t know how to mourn. Only the echo of their babbling remained like a distant clang reverberating against the walls of her mind. She felt like a ghost trapped in a perverse parody of life, the agony of her transformation tightening around her until all that was left was raw sensation—pulse and pain, the heaving of her ungainly body fighting off death. With time, the realization settled in sickeningly—she was no longer Alice. She belonged nowhere, unloved and wholly misunderstood. The horror morphed to another layer; she was not merely imprisoned but filled with a hellish freedom, an infinite stretch of nothingness where all joy had been drained, leaving only the smear of bloodied memories that cycled through the void. Alone, she screamed again—a terrible, hopeless sound that echoed against nothing, swallowed by a world all too eager to forget.