ã€ŠInteractive TG Fictionã€‹


 [1] The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 1 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    Arc Introduction

    ======

    Welcome to Flush With Pride, Non-Standard Restroom Products For Personal and Business Use.

    We offer over 50 to 70 percent off the standard rate of other wholesalers. We sell ¡ª-

    - Baby Changing Stations (with plenty of change)

    - Paper Tower Dispensers made to last

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    - Feminine Hygiene Product Dispensers to keep the ladies happy (modules for all restroom types)

    - Industrial Cleaning Products to keep everything fresh

    - Soap Dispensers with the softest soaps

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    All our products come with a lifetime warranty and are repurposed from...[small fine print]...may retain supernatural qualities...Flush With Ltd. does not guarantee the purchaser will retain physical, mental age, gender and gender identity, sexual anatomy, human form, or primary memories of this reality with the use of the above products. The customer waives all rights to legal action...

    In the shifting sea of the Internet, some chance upon the site and order stuff without reading too closely...

    <h2 style="text-align: justify">

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl</h2>

    [1]

    "God freaking darn it, Jeremy! Again?"

    Rachel nearly cursed out loud and fumed to herself as she pulled her wet ass out of the seatless bowl she''d lowered herself onto in the dark. Slapping the seat down, she tried to clean herself with what towels and paper were nearby.

    In the bedroom, her husband shifted and groaned in his sleep. Scrunching her eyes, she swallowed any further words As irritated as she was at her husband for leaving the toilet seat up for the nth day running despite her constant reminders, this was not the hour to deal with it.

    After cleaning herself up and slipped back into bed on their Alaskan King, she let herself be enveloped by his long shape. At a dwarfing 200 cm tall, she sometimes wondered if he even understood what it was like for the mere mortals around him. At 173 cm, she always considered herself decently tall for a woman. And he was comforting to be around, when he remembered she was there. He was a good man, but he just needed a firmer reminder.

    In the morning, he scoffed at her seat reminder and assured her he wouldn''t forget, and then promptly forgot twice in one afternoon. Rachel didn''t want to fight with him, they''d had plenty of fights, but she didn''t know what else to do. At least once he had said that she needed to be more mindful and she fumed by going around plopping down all the seats. Only then, he grumbled about accidentally pissing on one.

    It was such a small thing and yet two recent UTIs told her something had to change. Scrolling through online listings for the possibility of some infrared sensing seat that might work for both of them, Rachel found herself digging deep through the pages on Google until she came to a low-key but fascinating site with incredibly-cheap prices.

    Flush With Pride? She snorted and noted that might be one of the silly puns her husband would state on a whim. Her skepticism flared as she browsed and actually read the fine print. Transforming restroom products? The joke site of some bitter ultra-feminist? Everything seemed legit though. They even had HTTPS and a solid order page.

    Buying a comfortable seat guaranteed to "help husbands and sons remember to leave the seat down for other household members", she included scrubbing brushes and cleansers because of the good pricing.

    When her orders arrived in a week, she made a note to remind her husband that she was going to switch out the "wobbly and worn" seat in the master bath where he caused her the most trouble. Jeremy agreed without paying attention, working on video editing at the time.

    Once everything was in place and tidied up, she found it hard to keep her attention on sewing work for her Etsy plushie page. He actually managed to put the seat down for the evening. Rachel wondered if perhaps she''d misread the order, and if there was magic, then it just led men to do the right thing.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Later, she was in bed and had nearly forgotten about the matter when she heard Jeremy get up from the last of his work and use the master bath. And next sound was a squeaky, high-pitched soprano scream.

    Dashing from bed, she had to hide her smile as she witnessed an unfamiliar, petite young woman with her butt dunked into the cold toilet water. As she whimpered, Rachel helped her to her feet and got her a towel.

    Immediately, it was impossible to ignore how tiny Jeremy had become. Grabbing a tape measure from her sewing kit, Rachel soon declared that he...she was barely 146 cm, a full 54 cm smaller than she''d been mere moments ago. Not only that, but she had a delicate, plush look once she peeled back her drape of manly clothes. Her plump thighs spread out from wide, curvy hips with a narrow, hairless gap between them.

    Her breasts, with broad, red nervously-erect nipples, looked to Rachel''s scrutinizing eye to be close to her own DDs but dominated Jeremy''s tiny chest. A swoop of dark brown hair parted awkwardly at the center of her head, askew with all the excitement but settling easily on her lean shoulders.

    Rachel marveled at her altered husband, little more than a soft, petite little toy doll. Pondering, she imagined that her husband might not be more than 90 pounds now. With her yoga and weight training exercises, she could probably lift her.

    Without giving warning, Rachel did exactly that. It was even easier than she imagined. The hard part was Jeremy shrieking in terror right next to her ear as she hoisted her dainty husband into her arms. Begging with a frantic squeak, Jeremy warned that she still had to pee. Plopping her plush, girlish rear on the seat, Rachel caught her breath and helped her husband through the process.

    When the panic settled down, Jeremy finally had enough presence of mind to ask what happened. As Rachel filled her in, Jeremy adorably fumed and announced, "I guess there is real magic but why not just tell me to put the seat down more, gosh darn it?"

    Rachel fumed too but eased when Jeremy flinched. She pointed out how many times she''d told him. She lamented how this felt like her last resort, a reminder that might actually stick. Before Jeremy could fretfully question whether this was permanent, Rachel recited the instructions that came with the seat.

    "The first offense is 24 hours, or a day. The second is two. And it doubles from there. Six strikes and you''ll definitely need some help for your 32 days. A tenth straight slip up and you may well forget being a man over 512 days of this."

    Her husband''s cute green eyes peered out widely as she stammered through apology and nervous relief. Searching for clothes, Rachel had more fun than she might want to admit brushing her husband''s hair, then finding some stuff that actually might work for her amongst the oldest clothes she kept. A pair of her yoga pants managed to fit Jeremy''s tiny shape and a sports bra fell across her like a sleeveless top.

    As the topper, Rachel brainstormed names before finally settling on Giselle. "Giselle" grumbled with the way her male, tall self had set things almost twenty inches higher than she could use. Though she mostly responded with kindness, Rachel did enjoy watching her soft, busty gymnast-sized husband hop to reach the most basic things she needed.

    In bed, Giselle peered at how the once comfortable bed now felt like an ocean she might lose herself in. But Rachel didn''t have sleep on her mind. Instead, her fingers found the snug place between Giselle''s plump thighs and teased her tiny, concentrated nerves.

    Though there were many things Jeremy loathed about being Giselle that night, the way her wife discovered just how to make her squirm with undreamt of kinds of pleasure was not one of them.

    [This was originally posted as reader-interactive but the choices have been made. Here are the original selections to posterity

    Giselle tries to work the next day

    Giselle and Rachel go shopping for clothes

    Giselle makes a mistake with the toilet seat

    Giselle forgets being Jeremy

    Reality shifts

    Gisele winds up as a highschooler/junior high kid.

    Giselle starts to like being a girl while becoming more submissive and Rachel more dominant.

    Rachel forgets her husband used to be a man]

 [2] The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 2 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [2]

    Giselle¡®s first waking thought in bed was alarm that her feet couldn¡¯t even find the edge of it and that there was seemingly a massive woman with her arms wrapped around her. Her body¡®s first reaction was curious arousal which felt warm and slick between her legs. From there, it didn¡¯t take long for Giselle to bolt up in bed and piece together the events of the evening with her groggy mind.

    She was still a tiny girl, several inches under 5 feet. Just finding the edge of the bed on their massive Alaskan King felt daunting. Rachel watched her with sleepy amusement as she struggled to escape. As if the helplessness hadn¡¯t triggered enough weird feelings inside her strange body, Rachel casually leaned over and gripped her like a spider seizing her prey. Giselle squeaked like a mouse. Morning cuddling wasn¡¯t a problem when she was the one in control.

    But that overwhelming helplessness, while vaguely frustrating, also sent a sticky shiver right to her crotch. Being a helpless little girl was turning her on. Rachel could tell, as her hand traced over her warm, yielding crotch. Whimpering with pleasure, Giselle tried to find words but their high, frail tone just sunk her deeper into the submissive fantasy. Eventually, Rachel released her and she managed to crawl to the edge and stagger to her feet.

    ¡°Gonna have a shower or a bath, cutie?¡± Giselle frowned and puzzled over why she would take a bath, she never did. Rachel had to suddenly remind her that she was so small that not only was a bath now feasible but, with her delicate, sensitive skin, it would feel very nice with Rachel¡¯s lotions and bath aids. Giselle did her best not to let embarrassment bloom across her once again as she delicately scampered into the master bathroom.

    Walking over to the toilet, her morning-addled brain failed to connect all the pieces in time as she lifted the toilet seat to urinate as she had every day of her male life. Before she could correct the error, the mystical forces surrounding the seat dunked her, ass first, into the cold water. Scrambling and screeching soon brought a drowsy Rachel to find what was up. To Giselle¡®s pale-faced horror, her wife soon checked the LED pips on the side and informed her, with two fingers up, ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s two strikes now. 48 hours from last night. You sure you aren¡¯t doing this on purpose?¡±

    Her playful expression faded as her tiny husband broke down in hot gobs of tears. Jeremy pretty much never cried. Once, he sniffled about a video game with a dementia patient but then Rachel had drowned the couch in buckets by comparison. And some animated show on FOX had a very sweet father/daughter reunion at the end of the episode and it got him a little teary-eyed. But Giselle bawled with no sign of stopping.

    Comforting her without overwhelming her, she brushed her long brown hair back. When the worst of it passed, Giselle automatically grumbled and struck her feet against the tile in clear frustration that this was getting to her. Morning biological needs still called though and they each took turns using the toilet with the seat firmly set down. Giselle even proposed using double-sided sticky tape to keep the seat down since no human in the house had the equipment to use it otherwise.

    But Rachel reminded her that keeping the toilet clean and hygienic would require lifting it up, to which Giselle grumbled even more that she wished the darn thing assumed she was just cleaning it when she got her second strike. Rachel tried to explain the settings, differences, and nuances but Giselle just folded her arms beneath her double D boobs and pouted.

    Despite her wife¡¯s insistence on the bath, Giselle resolutely stuck to the shower. Adjusting the stream took a minute as it was set for a head that nearly poked out the top of the stall. It was harsh on her delicate skin and she had to turn off her thoughts as she sudsed up the washcloth and loofah to clean her chest region.

    It was like squeezing a warm, pliable memory foam pillow made of her own flesh in a way she never imagined her flesh before. The flesh responded as her thighs shifted. Washing up didn¡¯t take quite as long because there was less of her to clean but also because she was wary to sit beneath the water and let her thoughts roam, as she usually did for relaxation before work at home. Her biggest frustration in the shower was aiming for this or that or just turning and getting distracted by the fleshy jiggles on her chest. They dominated every stray elbow, reminding her that they were there, for as long as she was this tiny lady.

    What bothered her more than anything was when she stepped out of the shower and soon realized that drying her hair would take an absolute eternity. Rachel commiserated with her and helped out. Still, Giselle found herself swallowed up by her wife¡¯s smallest floral robe and a towel on her head doing little to help as they started breakfast.

    Some mornings, they streamed casually with a group of online supporters. They weren¡¯t as popular as some of the big influencers online, but the tip jar definitely helped make ends meet along with Rachel¡¯s Etsy creations. Giselle was glad that the podcast and gaming streams wouldn¡¯t happen until the end of the week. At worst, she might have to skip one because of this nuisance and let Rachel take the lead. She tried her best not to have too much ego about it, but this was what she did for a living.

    Using the little stepladder to get the stuff in the high cabinets for breakfast also left Giselle sullen and adorned with a light, hot blush on her cheeks. Breakfast passed in relative peace, even though she found her little body unable to finish the creamy, fluffy scrambled eggs she made. Without fretting, she resolved it would make for a good sandwich later.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Bolstered by as much coffee as she dared drink, without challenging the wrath of the bathroom, Giselle mounted the stairs up to her office. It was a modified loft with an angled roof that couldn¡¯t hold the full bookshelf, enthusiast collection of games she¡¯d been acquiring since her teen years and she bumped her head into the light fixtures and ceiling almost on a daily basis.

    Out of pure habit, she crouched even though she now had almost two feet of extra space. Carefully and cautiously, because habits don¡¯t break overnight, she let her neck and back rest. At some point, their black and silver kitty cat scampered up the steps to see what she was up to. The last current male in the house, he barely batted an emerald eye when this tiny lady came to feed him and refill his water bowl. So long as he had food.

    Sitting in the premium office chair which once barely cradled his full body with legs outstretched, Giselle marveled at the fact that she could comfortably sit cross-legged with plenty of room on the seat and a towering behemoth of back support behind her. However, several new problems emerged since her arms lacked reach.

    The keyboard and the rest of her equipment were too far and, when she moved it to a better position, nothing quite felt right. Tightening her body against the lip of the table resulted in those blasted boobs finding their way to the hard surface. The lack of a proper bra certainly didn¡¯t help but Giselle fervently shook her head when Rachel proposed that after lunch they could go shopping.

    She didn¡¯t even wanna leave the house and, in recent years and for the most part with their work from home, that wasn¡¯t an issue. However, as she comfortably slid into the workaholic routine of her every day, she discovered with alarm that one of the partner companies really wanted a stream showcasing their newest release with several free keys to give away to chat. After dashing around like a crazed chicken, Rachel soon halted her and resolved, ¡°Let¡¯s do the stream. So far as explanation¡­ Well, let¡¯s just say you¡¯re a friend, a very very close friend. Miss Giselle, the cutest gamer girl on the web.¡±

    Giselle had to frown and fold her arms but losing the goodwill of that business partner wasn¡¯t worth some passing embarrassment. Setting up the lighting and adjusting the correct f-stop and other technical stuff put her in the right sort of comfort zone. Rachel insisted she at least wear something modestly feminine but the clean clothing options were scarce. Despite Gisele nervously fighting against any kind of cleavage, the only top that was decent for broadcast still made her vividly aware of her boobs with a prominent crease. Yoga pants completed the job even though they had to be cinched as tight as possible.

    Once the stream started, Giselle did everything she could not to look at chat. The community was friendly, but she knew a handful who boldly spoke their minds and plenty of others who worshiped that girls somehow existed online.

    At least her nervousness could be explained by being this random, never-before-on-video guest who was filling in for Jeremy. Despite her best efforts to avoid comments in chat, several themes soon stuck out. Some people were simply concerned about what happened to Jeremy and chat had to explain to itself with every new arrival what was going on. Then there were those celebrating that it was ¡°gurrl strem tyme¡±. Others announced that Giselle ¡°had on a very pretty top¡± despite how generic it looked. Some got as close to flirting as possible before the mods gave them the boot.

    More than anything, however, Gisele noticed that people genuinely treated her differently. For obvious reasons. But she found it to be a bit of a relief not to have to play up the usual doofus, guy gamer self-deprecating image next to his wife. A couple of people did verge on patronizing in describing the most basic freaking gameplay mechanics, but she tried to assume they were attempting to be unnecessarily helpful rather than sexist. It did cross her mind to imagine them running afoul of that cursed toilet seat.

    Fortunately, all the parts she disliked fell away when her mind was in the game and competing adventurously against her wife. The problem was when things got heated and a typical cry of victory took on a tone that would normally be reserved for the bedroom. Jumping up from the couch was also with some unintended effects. None of it became against TOS but chat definitely raised their eyebrows. Shy embarrassment followed, along with chat making it rain tips. There were unfortunate times when Jeremy felt a little like a whore for the sake of online streaming, but it never extended so overtly to objectification.

    She did her best not to dwell on it as they were just having some fun, but her brain felt torn in two that she absolutely was right now the sort of cute girl gamer who could parlay this into something lucrative. At the same time, she didn¡¯t wanna think about that and just return as soon as possible to the normal routine.

    Flush with possibilities and the heat of competition after the stream ended, Gisele reflected on how she was going to spend the next day and a half until this was finally over.

    [This was originally posted as reader-interactive but the choices have been made. Here are the original selections for posterity]

    They head out for lunch and shopping

    Get a call from an old friend

    Her parents come over to visit

    She accidentally doubles her penalty time again

    They have strange encounter when taking a walk

    Reality starts to shift

    Giselle slowly forgets being a man

    New, sudden changes happen

    Rachel forgets her husband used to be a man.

 [3] The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 3 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [3]

    Editing the stream on the computer took longer than usual because her muscle memory was misaligned with what it should¡¯ve been. At one point, Rachel asked her if she wanted to use her ¡°booster seat¡° from when they set up their spooky streams several years ago so that the two of them were closer height for the video. It helped but didn¡¯t quite close the gap.

    Thinking through a gag that she wanted to pull for a stream highlights video, Giselle murmured to herself and made a quick trip to the restroom. Standing before the toilet, an emerging voice inside her head started screaming loudly, but she didn¡¯t understand why until the seat was up and her hand went to find a pants button that wasn¡¯t there. An instant later, her ass was bare, cold, and wet.

    Several minutes after that, Giselle sprawled out on the couch with a large pillow covering her face and her fists smacking into that pillow. Rachel sat silently nearby, before taking a deep breath and saying, ¡°Sweetie¡­ You know, if you secretly want to be a girl¡­ You can tell me. You don¡¯t have to be afraid.¡±

    Groaning, Giselle shook her pillow-smothered head and said, with muffled words, ¡°I just wasn¡¯t thinking. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Jeremy¡®s slips of thought were often a source of stream in-jokes and comedy but they each sometimes fretted that it was more than absent-mindedness, since his family had a foreboding history of early age mental deterioration. A stray thought Rachel had considered bringing up last night was that perhaps doubling up Jeremy¡¯s X chromosomes might fix his memory problems. Unfortunately, that didn¡¯t seem to be the case.

    So, it was four days now. That took it just past Saturday evening game night with all their friends. Giselle could just imagine the comments from their group. And the rest of the streams for the week would contain this suspicious new guest girl. Not that the impromptu stream had been unsuccessful but trying to craft a fake life being someone else without dropping the usual slice of life stories Jeremy liked to tell left her uncertain of what to say.

    Rachel consoled her by sharing a tiny snack of some pretzels and mustard. After a second session of editing and work, during which Giselle used the spare, far-end house bathroom with a normal toilet seat, as she told herself she should¡¯ve done all along, Rachel came over with her most recently completed Pok¨¦mon plushy and announced, ¡°Let¡¯s have lunch out, so we can go shopping for something to tide you over for the rest of the week.¡±

    Giselle didn¡¯t like any part of that idea but she also understood that having some clothes that fit better to wear would be good. The frugal miser in her heart grumbled at the idea of buying clothes that no one would be able to wear after Sunday. Rachel quipped, ¡°Well, then you just need to pop the toilet seat up every so often to make them worth it.¡± Part of Giselle grumbled about the fact they were even keeping the seat, but it was a serviceable product, aside from the fact it was punishing her.

    Giselle acquiesced when Rachel reminded her that they needed to pick up some shipping supplies as well. Outside, Giselle clung to her big smartphone and Rachel¡®s purse, which she¡¯d placed around her shoulder.

    Being outside, vividly female, and 4 foot 9 left Giselle feeling pale and unwilling to let any of the neighbors see her in such a state. Of course, the entire neighborhood had to be lingering in their front yards right then. She treated it like a sudden sneaking mission and dashed over from the door behind some potted plants and then snuck into the garage. When she got there, Rachel casually reminded her that she could¡¯ve just gone straight from the side bathroom and the litter box to the garage. Rachel also firmly resolved that she was going to drive, despite the fact that Giselle, as a tall lanky man, was one of the safest drivers around. She just worried that the placement of the pedals and everything would throw her off.

    After sighing, Giselle accepted this explanation. The problem was their car was a rather tall crossover SUV. It didn¡¯t get much use during the pandemic but now it was perfect and reliable for errands to supplement their small business. However, it was quite a step up to even get into the passenger¡¯s seat. Giselle envisioned it as a mountain climb and fumbled before gripping the handle and wrapping her arms around the seat. She didn¡¯t tumble backward.

    Scooting in carefully, she marveled at the stratospheric headspace above her and the tall cushion behind her. The seatbelt was about the same, she had issues reaching back as a tall man. But the way the belt set against her prominent boobs left much to be desired.

    Before starting the car, Rachel looked over and sighed, ¡°I am really doing my best not to feel schadenfreude. It would be better if that silly thing made you more my height than what it did¡­ Although, while I can¡¯t say I didn¡¯t want this to happen, I would only want it for just a tiny tiny time. Sorry, sweetie.¡±

    Giselle sighed too. ¡°I get it¡­I get it. And I¡¯d like to treat it as a learning experience. Human nature and all that. But it¡¯s so inconvenient and I¡¯m not complaining about the girl stuff. I¡¯m talking about the fact that I have to explain I¡¯m someone else and I¡¯m not a size I¡¯m comfortable with. And several parts of that.¡±

    Rachel knew that she could¡¯ve ribbed her but she understood. If some other apparatus cursed her with man parts and something like Jeremy¡®s height then she would probably feel like walking around as one of those stilts performers.

    She relayed her thoughts and emphasized, ¡°Imagine if you were like this and I was like you. Imagine how something like last night might go.¡±

    Giselle brushed her hair back and gave a light laugh. ¡°Would you be able to reach all the way down to notice me? Or would we have to have a ditch like they do with making couples in movies the same height?¡±

    With a cocked eyebrow that wiggled, Rachel noted, ¡°You would be at the perfect height for certain things.¡±

    Giselle¡®s lower lip dropped without her thinking about it and an accidental bit of drool spilled from there onto her top. Scowling and grumbling, Giselle urgently tried to correct how that looked. Rachel had to giggle and soon assured her that it was fine. More than anything, she appreciated the way that Giselle¡®s wide, green eyes tried to look like they were distracted by something on the side of the garage. But she wasn¡¯t able to hide the bright red bloom of a blush from her cheeks.

    When they finally got to driving, Giselle set her phone to record video for their YouTube channels, even though she had no clue how she was going to work recent events into their long-standing, weekly vlog. She didn¡¯t wanna appear in any of the videos, nor did she want evidence that these four days of chaos actually happened. At the same time, she realized it might be kind of interesting to be able to look back on herself in candid moments.

    Editing the stream had been an exercise in screaming to her brain that the girl on the left side of the couch wasn¡¯t actually the bizarro version of herself but instead some random guest and close personal acquaintance of Rachel. That notion only had so much staying power.

    Before setting up a traveling vlog recording of Rachel driving, she turned the camera toward herself and held it out a few inches and at the right angle to make it look decent according to all she learned in film school. Rule of thirds, light exposure, all that jazz.

    When the actual vlogging started, Giselle narrowed her eyes at her wife when she narrated how they were going to go shopping and have some lunch and find something cute for her wife to wear. It was the ¡°wife¡° comment that sent the most nervous shivers down her back.

    She was a girl, she was a wife, she was a little lady whose legs felt like a kid¡¯s that couldn¡¯t reach the bottom of the footrest, and it was freaking her out. Any efforts to adjust the seat tilted it in such a way that it hurt her back and moving it up just felt like she was pinned to the dashboard like some odd specimen. She eventually found not a happy medium but at least a tolerable one.

    Giselle¡®s anxiety spiked when they drove out of the neighborhood area and past where her parents lived. On a ridiculous number of occasions, they actually ran into her parents either strolling the neighborhood and asking how they were doing or driving by and wanting to know if they could help them or get them anything. Her mom, a cosmetologist, had the ravenous need to make sure they were fed. That meant crafting vats of soup, three-course meals with endless servings, literal tons of cookies around Christmas time, and frying more shrimp than anyone else along the coast even dared.

    For an immense and often hungry big guy like Jeremy, that was no big deal. But since her stomach now acted like it was the size of a walnut, the notion of several plates of food instilled a strange new fear in her. Fortunately, her parents were nowhere around right then. She would have to call them or rather Rachel would have to call and provide some plausible excuse that didn¡¯t raise their suspicions or sympathy to rush over and help.

    It didn¡¯t take long till Rachel merged onto the main interstate that fed the tourism beast that was this area of the coast during summertime. It was past the peak and, fortunately, all but the humidity had started to abate. She didn¡¯t enjoy the fact that the makeshift outfit Rachel was able to put together for her also included some of the warmer things to wear at this time of year. But she grew up here and she could stoically tolerate it. The A/C blasting full tilt definitely helped.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    They both agreed on a chain sub sandwich place for lunch even though Giselle pressed a nail against her teeth and fretted whether one of their local friends might show up. It turned out this concern was well placed as not only did they see one of the people they knew in the area, but two.

    The first was her college roommate who shared the bedroom next to her, Dale. He was a stout guy with a curly beard and trucker hats often featuring some famous Star Wars ship Giselle still didn¡¯t know the name of despite the fact Dale had shown her the original trilogy twice. She blamed her wretched memory there.

    The second was the guy standing next to Dale, Finley, who was the co-founder and manager of one of the best video game stores for 100 miles. He looked like a man out of a fantasy legend with a jolly, jiggling belly and the facial hair of Peter Jackson (another series of films Giselle still desperately needed to watch, but she¡¯d seen the bonus features). They noticed Rachel as Finley raised an arm high above his long black locks and curtain-like beard and greeted, ¡°Hiya, Chel. How y¡¯all doing? Who¡¯s your friend?¡±

    Giselle did her best not to curse on a regular basis, for any reason. That came from her upbringing. Then, they got a cat. And pretty much every curse word she could ever imagine was unleashed dealing with his shenanigans. This moment called for her to dig up all of those curses and swing them around her head like a barrier to keep her invisible from her friends and ward off the worst kinds of embarrassment and suggestions to her identity. Like a waking nightmare, she half-expected her wife to suddenly say, ¡°Oh, this is Jeremy. He got transformed by a cursed toilet seat.¡±

    Fortunately, her wife was the kind of partner who could be trusted to not only not embarrass her but to make sure a delicate and strange secret like this was carefully kept¡­

    ¡°Oh, this is Jeremy. He got transformed by a cursed toilet seat.¡±

    Unfortunately, she overlooked that sometimes her wife could also be a troll. In the nicest way, especially for humor when they streamed. However, this moment didn¡¯t feel very funny for Giselle. More terrifying instead.

    But Rachel emphasized her comment with a flare of her teeth and a slight wink. Dale needed that, since he sometimes had trouble picking up on the nuances of words due to his hearing issues. Finley understood right away and gave an uproarious laugh. He raised his eyebrows in an animated manner, looked to Giselle, and remarked, ¡°I hope you didn¡¯t fall in. How are you liking the weather at this elevation?¡±

    Giselle had to give him credit, he phrased that in such a way that it could work on multiple levels. Dale just managed a few raised eyebrows and comments of ¡°What?¡± and ¡°Wow¡±. She did her best to emphasize a sense of confusion, which the entire situation easily fostered, while keeping a cordial expression.

    Rachel eventually amended, ¡°This is Giselle. She was on the stream earlier and she¡¯ll be here at least till the weekend. We were just going shopping and stopped here to grab some lunch. Jeremy is, of course, busy as always. He¡¯ll be fine. How are you?¡± Once again, Giselle was impressed at the way her wife was able to finesse the nuance of the situation, so she opted to keep her mouth shut while nodding and smiling.

    Finley took that lead without concern or confusion. He was heading to Durham in his truck to check out some stock surplus and happened to meet up with Dale. They had just finished, which brought relief to Giselle, because it meant she wouldn¡¯t have to navigate much more of this delicate conversation. Dale directed a few questions toward her, but Rachael intercepted them to explain that Giselle had a few difficult encounters in their master bathroom and it was a dumb joke.

    When their friends finally waved goodbye and headed off, Giselle cupped her forehead under her hair and slumped against the nearest waste bin. No words needed to be exchanged between them, but Giselle still inquired, ¡°No schadenfreude, huh?¡±

    Rachel spread out her hands and responded, ¡°I just said I was doing my best. I couldn¡¯t resist and it worked out. It¡¯ll be fine.¡± They walked over to the line.

    In line, Giselle resisted self-consciousness. It was hard though. She¡¯d long ago gotten over people who marveled and gawked at her height, like she was an escaped NBA player. Her concern here was that her clothes may not stay in place or her boobs might do something scandalous. She wasn¡¯t used to wrangling this sort of body in a public space. She wasn¡¯t used to dealing with it in any sort of space but at least her mistakes could be overlooked in the privacy of their home.

    Giselle blazed through her squeaky order so fast that it actually took longer with clarifications. She ordered the half, loaded salad, to which Rachel widened her eyes. When they sat down in the corner after ordering, Rachel noted, ¡°Even I usually get more than that. Will that be enough for you?¡± Wrapping her arms around her tiny tummy, Giselle shrugged and pointed out that she hadn¡¯t finished breakfast, so she was just being cautious.

    It turned out it was the right move, as she just finished her salad as her stomach mounted a protest to stop. After lunch, they stopped off at the UPS store before Rachel went hunting for clothing store options.

    ¡°What about Perfect Fit?¡±

    Giselle let out a puff of a sigh and narrowed her eyes at her wife before noting, ¡°That is a bra store.¡±

    Rachel countered, ¡°Not just that. It¡¯s intimates, but they have a variety. And they notably carry petite items. Otherwise, you might have to look around the junior/misses and children¡¯s departments of the big stores.¡±

    Giselle rubbed her forehead again and muttered a few sounds that almost sounded like words. She provisionally agreed to go to the bra store.

    When they arrived, she took the steps to the door with hunched foreboding. It smelled of all sorts of perfumed airs within. She scrunched up her nose and folded her arms down towards her midsection. The items on the racks didn¡¯t immediately encourage her. Until she found the plaid.

    Gray-and-green slim-cut button-up collared shirts. Yoga shorts mixed with Capri pants. And dainty sandals. After a few rote iterations of this template, Giselle figured they were done. But Rachel scoffed that she just eyeballed and estimated the fit. She hadn¡¯t tried any of them on.

    Dragging her feet over to the changing room, Giselle presented one after another of the outfits. She thought that too many of the tops followed the curves of her body and emphasized her braless shape. The pants and shorts were even worse as Giselle learned firsthand the vicious hatred that all women¡¯s clothing designers seem to have towards usable pockets. Slipping clothes on and off, one after the other, exhausted her during most shopping excursions. Now though, she had to contend with the foreign feelings, weight, and contortions of her body as she slipped one garment off and then the other on and off and on and off.

    Rachel reserved the intimates till the end. They had to talk with the clerk and finesse an explanation that Giselle had a sudden and unexpected weight loss and she wanted to get a clear metric of where things stood. The lady had indomitable Southern hospitality and didn¡¯t ask any of the obvious questions. She just went to work gently posing Giselle around and taking all the necessary measurements.

    None of the final numbers really made all that much sense to her and she learned that even some of the letters didn¡¯t matter either. All that really concerned her was that some sort of D cup bra, which was also sort of a DD bra, and sometimes a DDD, and other times possibly even a C¡­fit her comfortably and kept a low profile to her chest. It felt weird putting all the different parts into the different slots, as she considered it, but her brain tried to think of it as just an intricate back brace.

    All told and done, they had a usable assortment representing almost seven outfits. It was honestly more cohesive and varied than her regular combinations of clothes. The number on the bill was bad, but Rachael ameliorated some of it with digital coupons.

    For walking out, Giselle wore a slim, comfortable green-and-gray plaid top, a pair of jungle green casual, multi-pocket (thank God) Bermuda cargo shorts, a decent bra somewhere underneath, and a rugged set of sandals. The top, she felt, emphasized too much of a shape and reminded her and the rest of the world that she had boobs around the D¡¯s. And the shorts, despite their casual classification, really clung to the slope of her butt.

    But shopping was accomplished. And she was glad to leave that store behind. Ahead, were still far too many days of figuring out how to deal with this. She sighed and rested her eyes.

    [This was originally posted as reader-interactive but the choices have been made. Here are the original selections for posterity.]

    Surprise call from Giselle¡®s parents

    Quiet evening at home

    Worrisome email from the toilet seat company

    They play some video games

    Giselle falls asleep and has a dream

    Strange memories for Giselle and Rachel

    Something weird happens on the drive home

 [4] The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 4 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    <h4 style="text-align: justify">The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl</h4>

    [4]

    Just as her eyelids were about to settle, her favorite They Might Be Giants ringtone piped through her cell phone. Shoot! Giselle checked the screen and saw it was one of their friends from down in Florida who used to live in the area. Usually, he texted rather than called. And she really didn¡¯t want to leave him hanging on voicemail. He was an awesome pal who had helped them move several times from their very first tiny apartment as newlyweds, then back closer to home, their very first house rental, and now what they hoped was their permanent location.

    It wasn¡¯t worth finding somewhere to pull over so Rachel could answer it. She could try syncing it with the app on the dashboard and talk through car speakers, but they would still have to find a way to explain why some random girl was answering Jeremy¡®s cell phone. Giselle felt like this was becoming a pyramid of omissions, half-truths, and oncoming outright lies. Rachel¡®s whimsical approach of flippantly admitting what was happening and then playing it off wasn¡¯t gonna work forever. The phone still needed answering though. She touched the button.

    ¡°Yellllowww. It¡¯s ya boi. Guess what I got?¡± Giselle sucked in all the air around her and tried not to make a noise. She rocked her head towards Rachel, trying to convey nonverbally what she wanted her to do. Rachel kept her eyes on the road. Good but still. Giselle grimaced hard and made a nervous gesture that felt like it was out of Seinfeld (a classic which Jeremy HAD watched extensively).

    Casually, Rachel commented, ¡°Hey there, Ethan. What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Chel! What¡¯s the good word? How y¡¯all doing? Is Jere available? If not, can you pass along a message to him? Not that I¡¯m not ecstatic to hear from you, girl.¡±

    The car slowed to a stop at the light as Chel brushed her hair back. ¡°It¡¯s been an interesting time lately. We did some home redecorating. It helped with a few issues but introduced some new ones that we¡¯re currently dealing with. Jeremy isn¡¯t here right now¡­ in the flesh but you know he¡¯s always here in spirit. But I know he wanted me to answer your call for him.¡±

    Somehow, Rachel resisted grinning while Giselle gave her a look. Out of all of that, Ethan fortunately picked up that they couldn¡¯t talk long but he urged her to text or Twitter DM the details. His main message was that he managed to track down an original arcade DDR metal dance mat and handlebar attachment for half the regular asking price and added, ¡°Y¡¯all just come on down and I will literally hand it to you.¡±

    The excitement in Giselle¡®s blazing gamer heart overcame any reticence, as she replied eagerly, ¡°That sounds amazing! Thank you!¡± The moment she processed her tiny, soft soprano voice bursting out excitedly though, she planted a hand against her forehead.

    ¡°Well, hello there. Is this Miss Giselle from earlier?¡± Oh, Ethan must¡¯ve been in the chat. She hadn¡¯t really paid attention. Well, that was a lot of stress for nothing.

    She did her best to shape her voice into a sound closer to one of her goofy skit characters. It sounded more like the blond Powerpuff Girl. She stopped bothering. ¡°Yeah. You should be able to shoot Jere a text but that sounds really cool and¡­will tell him.¡± Giselle hung on the ambiguity of ¡°will¡± versus ¡°we¡¯ll¡±.

    ¡°Thank you very much. Keep cool out there. Byeeeee!¡±

    Giselle barely noticed how badly she was sweating from nerves into the brand-new clothes until the call ended. They would have to be washed anyway, they were kinda itchy. Rachel tried to reassure her that it all worked out and they were going to get the dance pad Jeremy wanted so bad. Giselle just leaned over to catch more of the AC.

    It batted at her hair and swung it over into her face. Giselle as Jeremy had a few hair ties from around 2020, when the barber shops were closed, but those were all at home and probably in some strange dusty corner. Rachel told her to look in her purse when she asked about something to keep her hair. Giselle squinted at a blue scrunchy and used it to wrestle back some of the massive hair she¡¯d been trying to ignore all day. It helped.

    Setting her phone down in the charging slot on the dash next to Rachel¡¯s, Giselle sighed and rubbed her eyes. She still wanted to rest, but now her mind was a little too full. After some quiet reflection, she spoke.

    ¡°I wish this was somehow useful. I mean, I hope I¡¯m learning stuff. I¡¯m doing my best. I¡¯m so sorry for every single time I made light of the toilet seat. It sucks falling in, each and every time. I love you and every way you might be hurt because of me breaks my heart.¡±

    Rachel glanced over. ¡°You already apologized last night and you already apologize every single time anyway. I¡¯m not mad. I appreciate that you understand, but I¡¯ll always forgive you. And I know you would do whatever can for me and I will always do whatever I can and whatever you need. Also, we can and should¡­ get a normal toilet seat and I should return this weird one.¡±

    Giselle made a thoughtful sound. ¡°Well, we don¡¯t necessarily have to do that. You told me it was 70% off MSRP. I¡¯m willing to put up with some quirks for that. And, despite being cursed, it¡¯s pretty dang good. But maybe it would be a good idea to switch the seat with the one on the far end of the house, as a temporary thing. Just so I don¡¯t get quadruple whammied.¡± They both eagerly agreed to that.

    A stretch of quiet passed until Giselle took a deep breath and remarked, ¡°If me being like this helped you with everything you¡¯ve been through, even if I had to feel everything you felt, then you could gladly dunk me however many times you need. Happily. So long as your pain stopped.¡±

    Rachel felt her eyes tear up, but she quickly wiped them away so it didn¡¯t impair her driving, even though lane assist would¡¯ve told her if something was wrong. She felt like a¡­rear end. Jeremy was amazing. And all she¡¯d done was fixate on this and treat him so poorly. Now she was probably being too rough on herself, but hearing him say he would take on her endo agony made her heart flutter with awe.

    Twelve years of wondering what was wrong with her when her regular doctor said she was fine. Too many long nights screaming against the wall. Endless moments where if she wanted to be playful and silly, she just couldn¡¯t bring herself above a hollow state of gray charged with suffering. She finally pushed through the bullshit with Jeremy as her advocate and an actually decent doctor, whose entire bill they were responsible for on their own. Jeremy worked so hard, he pushed himself with every partnership and every stream doing his best to make sure that they had the money for that and for so many other things.

    When they stopped at the next flight, Rachel resolved, ¡°No. Less pain for everyone is better. No one should have to feel that or do penitence or any kind of bullshit for it. I hope the rest of this week is something we can share pleasantly and you look back on with a smile. But I would never wish suffering on you. I¡¯m so sorry. I love you¡­¡±

    It was awkward being belted in and with their always contrasting heights, but they managed to share a quick kiss before the light turned green again.

    With that resolution, Giselle finally felt at ease enough to lay back and rest her eyes and her thoughts. Dreaming came quickly, like the one time she was asleep for a second and found herself on a toboggan barreling out of control down a snowy cliff until the landing jolted her awake immediately. But this one wasn¡¯t a jolt, it was a dip.

    She was by the pool on the far end with her mother floating and gesturing for her to get into the water. ¡°You can float, sweetie. You¡¯re a big girl. Just kick your feet when you get in.¡± Looking down at the water despite the buffeting ripples, the sun brightly showed her standing on the lip. It wasn¡¯t the little boy she should¡¯ve been. It was a little girl with fair, bright curls tied into matching pigtails. She had on a lime-green, one-piece swimsuit and her chubby legs wiggled in place as her little toes gripped the edge. When she hesitantly hopped into the water with a squeal, Giselle found herself waking up in confusion.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    She ran back through the scene. That early life encounter with a pool did have a place in some of her oldest memories. But she didn¡¯t appreciate her unconscious editing them like that. Rachel noticed the way Giselle jerked up and inquired, ¡°You okay?¡±

    Clearing her throat, she answered, ¡°Just my brain not giving me a break from this thing either. Silly dreams.¡± Rachel leaned with curiosity, but Giselle swiftly explained it was just a dream about swimming practice where she was a little girl. Rachel thought that sounded cute, but she didn¡¯t press the issue.

    Even though Giselle tried to sneak in another little nap, it wasn¡¯t too long before they arrived back home. At this time in the day, fortunately, they couldn¡¯t see any lookie-loo neighbors. They still went through the way to the laundry room. Rachel dropped off the new clothes to be washed with the tags removed while Giselle brought in the UPS supplies. They were slightly too heavy for her, but she didn¡¯t complain.

    Once all the immediate chores were squared away, Giselle leaned back towards the master bedroom and considered what tools she might need to swap the seats. However, their kitty, Herschel, jumped up in her lap and made himself comfortable. Therefore, by all the rules of cat owners, it was resolved that she wouldn¡¯t be moving for a while or until Herschel was satiated.

    The kitty moved about curiously, sniffing and probing. Earlier, he didn¡¯t really react to the change in events, focusing mostly on food and his spot near the window. Now, it seemed he was assessing lap status. This lap had once included a man¡¯s immense legs. But it was a smaller model now.

    However, they were very full and soft and kind of squishy. His kitty brain was doing all the advanced calculations required to determine if this was worthy of meowing complaints or tolerable. He didn¡¯t really seem to come to a decision but he curled up and slept anyway and Giselle obediently pet him and stroked his back.

    For a modest snack before they started their next work session, Rachel pulled some popsicles out of the freezer. Giselle accepted the plain red one and methodically sucked on it. Rachel nibbled a blue one slowly. She knew that her husband was often voracious with his food, but if the loaded salad earlier was him being reserved in public, then this was his usual nature but translated entirely differently.

    Giselle put the popsicle in deep and twisted it around before giving herself a break and going back at it. Rachel focused on her own popsicle as she considered the fact that context changed everything. Sure, Jeremy¡®s deft tongue was something she deeply appreciated, as well as his energy. But it was beguiling that such a change altered so many perceptions. Maybe she had a few dirty thoughts coloring things, but nowhere near as many as her college roommates did.

    After she was done, Giselle was still trapped underneath kitty. Herschel had moved up with his head against her chest. He discovered that his altered owner had some new soft pots he could rest his head against. Rachel didn¡¯t say anything, but she smirked as she got up and got to work looking over the instructions and included installation materials for the seat.

    It wasn¡¯t terribly complex. Unscrew the thing, clean the area. Included putty for cleaning the kind of opening depending on dirt, deterioration, and broken pieces. Her dad taught her and her siblings everything about plumbing before she went to high school. It saved a lot of trouble in college when things started to break.

    The position was painfully awkward when she installed it though and her legs were not happy about a second session of this. They throbbed.

    Reaching back to unscrew the nut and washer should have been easy and then plastic covers would just come loose and she could put the other one on. But it was like those parts were situated on a specially-threaded screw that just looped back up. That was impossible.

    Getting a close look with her phone light, Rachel squinted and tried to see what was catching. Nothing seemed to be wrong. The screw and the whole assembly should¡¯ve come loose with enough turns, but it just wasn¡¯t gaining any traction. Wiping some sweat out of her hair, she experimented with the other one and found the same result.

    Puzzling quietly, she leafed through the instructions and checked all the things she read before. Installation instructions. Equipment and tools required. Initial operation. Removal¡­oh? She hadn¡¯t really looked through that initially because it didn¡¯t seem like this would be something that needed to be removed so soon. Reading through, she scrunched up her eyes and grimaced.

    The seat had a pairing module for authentication. When deactivated for removal, that shut down everything and the grip and stability and extra features stopped. So, where was it? She poked around all the boxes that arrived. The module was small but apparently needed to be combined with the display which earlier showed Giselle how many infractions she had.

    How that part worked, since she hadn¡¯t put in any batteries, was not something she really thought about. They basically figured there was some kind of magic going on for what it did. Apparently, it also had a bunch of technical components. Fervent searching didn¡¯t turn up any new parts. According to the instructions, this meant the seat was actually stuck in its current mode. No removal. No nothing. Apparently, this is some kind of safety measure, according to what she was reading, related to vandalism and other angry assaults.

    It was a pain, but the only thing she could think to do was send an email of concern to the website saying that she didn¡¯t receive one of the parts and needed it. Meanwhile, that seemed to suggest they would just have to deal with the seat as it was. She could tell Giselle wouldn¡¯t be happy.

    But she didn¡¯t have to tell her, not yet. Looking into the living room, she saw that her petite husband/wife had snuggled up with Herschel and the little dickens accepted the embrace as he snoozed too. Grabbing another popsicle and just biting hard, almost ferociously, into it, Rachel stood by the counter and resisted an ice cream headache.

    Popping over to her studio for a while, she set her current plush aside and did a little editing on the creation video. Giselle would be annoyed that she let her sleep, but Rachel could tell she absolutely needed it. She just hoped against all hopes that the dreams she received this time were just the kind she wanted. She checked Instagram on her phone and considered setting up some sort of teaser but no inspiration struck.

    Instead, she received some text message dings. They were from Giselle¡®s¡­ well, Jeremy¡¯s mom. It read, ¡°on way back frm work. You girls want cheesecake? Making minestrone tonite. Stp by if you can.¡±

    You girls? She must¡¯ve missed Giselle¡­ Jeremy¡®s parents in the audience at the earlier stream. And they probably wanted to meet this strange girl. That might be kind of trippy. Although Rachel suspected that no way was Jeremy having it. She tapped her nails on her work desk a few times before figuring out a reply.

    ¡°Should Giselle and Jeremy both come?¡±

    She had a nervous suspicion, but she didn¡¯t even want to let it have a single thought, lest her anxiety wrap its tendrils around it. The answer didn¡¯t take long.

    ¡°Hun, you bring any folk you want. No worries. Id love to meet Jeremy. Where do I know him frm?¡±

    Rachel almost dropped her phone like a hot potato, but it was too expensive for that. She tented her hands in front of her nose. In her head, she screamed to herself, ¡°HE¡¯S YOUR SON! YOUR ONLY CHILD!¡±

    She wrote back, ¡°You can blame autocorrect. Meant dale. Weird mistake. It¡¯ll just be us. Chel and Giselle (oh God¡­ She just realized they rhymed).¡±

    Her mother-in-law wrote back kisses and hearts with party streamers along with a few superfluous emojis. Rachel leaned back in her chair. Like her husband/wife, she rarely cursed. The other night got her dang close.

    But, rubbing a sore spot on her temple, ever so faintly, she muttered, ¡°What. The. FFUU¡­¡±

 [5] The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 5 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    =====

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [5]

    [5a]

    Rachel told herself several times she was going to wake up her husband/wife and spill the beans about everything. The seat is screwed up. And her parents now thought that she was always Giselle. But she knew that would be a lousy thing to wake her up with. At the same time, she knew she would be desperately disappointed if she slept through not only the early afternoon but until dinner. All those lost opportunities for work. Of course, any person would understand with what she had gone through in less than a day.

    Peeking through the doorway into the hallway at the couch, she saw Herschel and Giselle both curled up and snoozing. She would definitely tell her. But not yet. She had that video to edit to release on the weekend and she had to take a ton of presentation pics and upload them, and they still had the website work commission to finish with new graphical elements. She could get a jump on designing those because she had no idea when Giselle would be up for returning to drawing and sketching.

    The minutes slipped by until Giselle realized how sweaty she was under the toasty cat. She covered her cough and turned slightly. Groggily and begrudgingly, Herschel moved over to the cushion right next to her. As her awareness gradually returned, Giselle realized she really needed to go, and holding it felt like an inexact science, more like one balanced on the edge of a mountain cliff about ready to tumble off. She whimpered quietly and crouch-walked over to the master bathroom.

    Only once she was in the doorway did she realize and remember that they were going to be swapping the seats. She had no idea if Rachel had already done that, but she had precious few moments to decide whether to go for the nearest toilet or risk bounding up the stairs to the kinda broken one adjoining her office and currently mostly used for cat stuff and storage. Sprinting across the house to the far one just was not going to work.

    Awkwardly walking as though her legs were bound together through the master bedroom to the door, she could see that it looked like the same seat was in place with some equipment scattered around. All she could process and all she needed to know was that it was on, and she could go and it wouldn¡¯t hurt her. Seemed fine.

    She almost got tangled up in her clothes, but made it without an embarrassing accident. Finally breathing, she adjusted herself and looked down at the tangle of her clothes. Rachel had been responsible for getting her underwear in the right size. That was the stuff she didn¡¯t even want to begin to think about, she let Rachel deal with it and put it in the bag at the counter. Unlike the scrambled letters of the bras, at least she didn¡¯t need to try it on and, once it was on, it could be hidden behind everything else.

    She felt fresh flush embarrassment recalling her dismissal of putting seats down. Yes, she had apologized, and Rachel assured her it was fine. But being in that moment of frantic fear and finding relief dug deeper into her brain than anything had. If she rushed over and things weren¡¯t ready¡­

    Giselle shut her eyes and pressed her hands against her soft thighs. When she got everything back and as long as she had strength, she solemnly promised that she would remember this moment of fear and helplessness and do whatever kindness she could to help.

    As well, she resolved that no measure of having enough space and not having to worry about legs that went on forever and extra dangling bits were anywhere close to a fair trade. It still felt like she was just ¡®going¡¯ all over herself. Swiftly and diligently, she cleaned up how Rachel taught her. Lord, no way did she want one of Rachel¡®s bad UTIs like this.

    Trembling still on the seat, she focused all her positive thoughts as she rose. Once her clothes were back on and she felt reasonable comfort and close to human again, she heard Rachel call through the doorway urgently, ¡°Be careful. Shoot. You okay?¡±

    Giselle bit her lips and raised her head before giving a quick nod. ¡°Yeah. I know. I¡¯m okay now. What¡¯s up?¡±

    Rachel guided her away from the seat and explained, ¡°I couldn¡¯t remove the thing. I tried, but it¡¯s actually missing a part that is like a security module that allows you to safely take it off. If anyone tries to hit or rip it off then I¡¯m not entirely sure what it would do, but I¡¯m sure it wouldn¡¯t be good.¡± Giselle took a further step away from the seat for good measure.

    In the doorway, Herschel peeked through, apparently gathering that something interesting was up and he wanted to be a part of it. That interest swiftly deflated as he shot out of there so quickly that he practically left behind an animated character¡¯s dust cloud. Giselle couldn¡¯t fault him for being astute and cautious in this instance.

    Although he tended to be a relatively fun-loving, simple kitty, he got scared easily. Giselle couldn¡¯t tell if what spooked him was a preternatural awareness that the toilet seat was out for what was left of his feline male genitals or just the way the shower curtain for the bath was positioned.

    He wildly shifted between being adventurous and seemingly terrified that his water fixture bowl was haunted by a bubble ghost. After finishing, they discovered Herschel was a few steps up the stairs and threatening to advance higher if whatever bothered him tried something. Rachel was eventually able to coax him to relax with a skinny meat push pop.

    Out loud, Giselle considered warming up her breakfast as a snack. Rachel jerked her head, which alarmed Herschel, but she gave him a reassuring pat. ¡°Your parents texted me and said they might have an option for supper. Maybe I can pop over, pick it up, and bring it back?¡±

    The prospect of being treated as a stranger by her mom and dad sent a quick, nagging shudder through Giselle¡®s body. Although, she expected that both of them would warm to her as much as they did to any of Jeremy¡®s and Rachel¡®s friends. It was just the wrongness she couldn¡¯t shake.

    ¡°I suppose¡±, was about the best that she could manage to that. Soon after, she had her cell phone out for regular filming. She used to film with a plethora of cameras mounted with shotgun mics and dead cat windscreens. It got to be a little ridiculous, as it felt like she hauling half a film crew. Jeremy still saved that for special occasions but some of the most recent phones actually had better video fidelity. And the bonus was no one gave a crap if you pulled out your phone to film something versus a random boxy, furry mass on a giant stick.

    Sliding onto the couch, she frowned at the screen a moment when checking something. Rachel, who had Herschel scouring her fingers with licks for every last trace of meat flavor, glanced up and noticed Giselle¡®s concern. Turning her phone a few times, Giselle quickly explained, ¡°It¡¯s the Face ID. Before, I was using the freaking passcode and my thumbs actually still worked even though it was a little confused with the other fingers. But I didn¡¯t even try Face ID. This time, it just popped up. Weird, but I ain¡¯t gonna look a gift horse. Anything for less headaches.¡±

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    Rachel simply nodded and sighed as Giselle filmed a few general shots and grabbed a popsicle out of the freezer to demonstrate what they had earlier. Once she had the B-roll to add voice-over later once this all was done, she gazed up the stairs towards her office. Everything was scheduled for one more day, but she really wanted to release a version of the stream earlier with highlights. She made progress, but it wasn¡¯t quite ready.

    Before she could make her way up the steps, Rachel cleared her throat and proposed, ¡°Let¡¯s go for a walk. It¡¯s cooler right now and it¡¯s going to be too dark for it in a little while. Just get out of here for a few minutes, head around the block, and take it easy.¡±

    Giselle honestly felt like they had had enough physical activity for one day along with all the things she still needed to work on. But that was mostly her gamer heart speaking. Along with not wanting to be out like this any more than she absolutely had to. But she eventually acquiesced.

    Despite the grip of the heat relaxing, it was still ungodly humid. It was so close out there that it felt like the sun was just spurning the clouds to violence, drifting down as an invisible army squeezing your vital juices out of your pores and stealing the ability to breathe. So, basically a normal Southern summer. The only difference was at this hour, it felt like that army was tiring and ready to call in their retreat till tomorrow.

    The worst of it was the way Giselle¡®s long hair trapped a pressure cooker of heat with a fountain of sweat. Ironically, it hadn¡¯t been quite so humid at the peak of the day. She had heard of boob sweats in passing, mostly from Chel. Jeremy had a few funny riffs on it, but Giselle already felt tired of dealing with the reality a few minutes in. They commiserated with one another faintly as it dawned on Giselle that she was having some sort of girl talk with her wife. She knew that was a belabored clich¨¦, but it was still where her head went. Crotch sweats were even worse.

    Her wife actually enjoyed some fancy and vaguely alluring outfits ranging from princess gowns, to poodle skirts, to a playful bikini during one of their short-lived jobs working at the beach. Giselle didn¡¯t want any of her own business before or now front and center. And she still held the prospect in the back of her mind that the unassuming cleft between her legs had a foreboding destiny, if she hung around too long, of retching blood and other substances just because she decided not to use it as intended. She wasn¡¯t keen on any of the doctors once relevant to Jeremy. Finding some new ones for Giselle ran a nervous gamut of tempting their ruthless health insurance company with the confusion of why a 33-year-old man visited a gynecologist, never mind the nitty-gritty involved.

    Better to just avoid all risks of an extended stay that would require such bodily maintenance. Giselle adjusted her shorts despite knowing from the changing room mirror that it would still cup too much of her rear.

    A little ways into their walk, Giselle noticed she was falling behind. Usually, she led the two of them since she was the big guy and she was there to make sure Chel was safe. The protector, despite the fact Jeremy hadn¡¯t even imagined throwing a punch since a disgusting handful, hateful slice of the Internet berated Chel in relentless private messages, hunted for her bare leg photos, and tried to dox her. The ringleader threatened to come to a convention but chickened out. Reporting them to their ISP and getting the local police involved finally did the trick. But the memory made Giselle tighten her fists and clench her teeth that she couldn¡¯t protect the woman she loved with that same presence.

    Struggling ahead on her little legs, Giselle begged Chel to hold up. She hadn¡¯t even realized she was moving so fast as she noted, ¡°I usually have to take this many steps just to keep up with your usual pace. Oops. Sorry!¡±

    Giselle caught her breath and fanned a wave. They adjusted to a more relaxed stride together, but Chel still took the lead. It dawned on Giselle, when they passed the end of the block, that Chel was HER protector for this walk.

    She felt moments of submission starting with getting dunked, to her wife playing all the sensitive nuances of her new body in bed. To getting up when she wanted her to get up. To waiting while she explained the situation to their friends. To being the display offering for clothes. To feeling like this.

    Jeremy didn¡¯t consider himself macho, but he also understood their partnership and friendship included certain roles for each of them. He was the funny guy who made her laugh, often cooked, forgot a lot of things, worked until he hurt everywhere, and made sure she had everything she needed. She completed all the stuff he was missing and made them work. But now, he felt like he was missing a lot more and that burden would fall on the one person he loved most. Giselle sulked quietly as they looped around back home.

    Rachel noticed her mood, but she had a lot of nagging things on her mind. So, she encouraged Giselle with a gentle rub on the back. That was just buying time until she could find the resolve to say, ¡°Your parents texted me while I was working, and you were sleeping.¡± Giselle gave a quick smirk and teased her, ¡°Yeah, you told me already. Stop by and bring the food back, you figured. How¡¯s your memory?¡±

    They both laughed, but Rachel had to amend, ¡° Yeah, yeah but see the thing is¡­ Your mom wrote that she wanted to know if ¡®you girls¡¯ wanted cheesecake. Meaning us.¡±

    The point briefly sailing over her head, Giselle adopted a faintly sad tone and emphasized, ¡°Well, I actually do kind of want cheesecake.¡±

    Rachel showed her the actual exchange, including her mention of the names. It took another lingering moment for everything to connect for Giselle, after which point she fumed, ¡°Oh, piss¡­ how? Wait, what? Does she think¡­ did my mom get brainwashed by a frickin¡¯ toilet seat?¡±

    No easy or straightforward explanations for how this involved them occurred to Rachel, but she did reflect on the fact that Giselle had an altered dream, and this was a clear escalation. Giselle stomped around in place as much as she could and as much as she could tolerate with the jiggles that resulted.

    After a deep breath, she looked her wife in the eye and asked with confusion, frustration, and uncertainty, but also the faintest traces of hope that she had the answer, ¡°What do we do now?"

 [5A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 5A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [5A]

    For the Primary Branch [5]

    Rachel recited what she was going to say to wake up her husband/wife and try to reign together all the confusing elements of this into something that made sense. The seat was missing a part it needed. And Giselle¡®s parents seemingly now believed she¡¯d always been the woman she was now. However, she realized they were better ways to deal with that than just saying, ¡°Hey, wake up! Everything is screwed up¡±. Simultaneously, she remembered how crestfallen Jeremy was on days when she just let him sleep at the point of exhaustion when he felt like he needed to push himself. All that time lost. But he¡¯d gone through the weirdest, most extreme transformation. Needing a nap was not unreasonable.

    She checked the living room and saw that Herschel and Giselle were in the same place. They were so cute together and she couldn¡¯t bring herself to wake up either one, not yet. Besides, she still had a veritable mountain of work to get through relating to the most recent plush and making sure all the videos were arranged for the website and those who supported her. Her list had only grown longer this week and she still felt like she wasn¡¯t making any headway. Not to mention the commission work they had to do with graphical elements. She told herself just to seize the opportunity to do a little bit of work while Giselle just took it easy for once.

    Giselle existed in a void, fortunately without dreams, but with a stifling feeling like she was roasting over a volcano. Dimly, she realized it had to be Herschel not realizing how much he was smothering her. She coughed and quivered and the cat begrudgingly crept over to the next cushion.

    The immediate relief was palatable, unfortunately soon to be replaced by an urgent realization. Her much tinier bladder was screaming. She had to go right now, and she had no idea if holding it the old way still worked and she didn¡¯t wanna test it.

    The master bathroom was technically closer but the one upstairs didn¡¯t have a cursed toilet seat. She would have to get around all the junk and cat things, but she considered that a small price to pay. Giselle took the steps two at a time and basically vaulted herself from the rail.

    It was not ideal, and she nearly tripped coming in for a landing, but she managed to get down and on without making a mess. She scowled privately at the flow into the bowl and how messy it felt between her legs. She vaguely remembered some emergency urinary attachment advertised many years ago for women. She might have to ask Rachel about that. Rachel had taught her how to clean up afterwards and she followed those instructions to the letter because she didn¡¯t want more problems than she already had.

    The toilet was, of course, an absolute pain in the behind when she tried to flush it. It just circled ponderously as though trying to decide whether it wanted to go down or not. She wielded the plunger aggressively and was able to keep the flow down, but it still didn¡¯t wanna clear.

    They had the landlord and those he hired up here several times to see what was wrong with it but the entire house, despite just being a few years old, felt like it was constructed from the worst materials and pipes. It was still the best option in the area and a magnificent workspace from home, but not without its frustrations.

    After what felt like a war wielding the plunger, the toilet finally decided to suck things up and leave the bowl basically dry. Now, it would take an hour before it decided to refill. Her forehead ached with tension and the light in her eye through the window pulsed.

    After washing up, she eyed her computer in sleep mode and considered jumping back on it. In a minute, she resolved. First, she wanted to check and see that Rachel had switched the seats. It came as a relief that no one was in there, but some parts were tucked to the side. She felt red-faced to imagine if she just ran in there and her wife didn¡¯t even have a seat on the bowl. Their evening and morning had been unusual and squirmy, but not like that.

    It was an entirely different matter to pee herself in front of her like that. They had both resolved not to feel embarrassed about anything and be with one another no matter what came, no matter what challenges. And with a nosy cat, some accidents sure happened. But, silly or not, she felt like that would be the coup de grace to any trace of her masculinity. It was all because of this seat!

    Good deal or not, she was immensely frustrated. The signs in the bathroom seemed to show that Rachel had attempted to remove it earlier but unsuccessfully.

    In her head, she knew she should¡¯ve waited or walked over to ask her wife but just looking at that accursed seat flashed so much anger through her being. It had utterly emasculated her, it had taken away her height, and it had unfairly penalized her.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Without thinking, she kicked it. The seat barely even budged, and her foot took the brunt of it. Whirling around, she smacked it with the other one, and this time it wobbled and tilted up. A puff of ozone and a sudden static flash burst out and leveled her to the floor. Rachel arrived through the doorway just a few seconds too late.

    ¡°Be careful! Oh no, oh shoot!¡±

    Rachel gazed on in shock as the small figure sprawled out on the master bathroom floor no longer quite looked like Giselle.

    She was still a girl and about the same size but with a clenched, youthful face. Her hair was full, thick blonde with some light curls, the kind of fair hair Jeremy had until high school. The girl definitely didn¡¯t seem like she was even that old.

    Helping her up, Rachel noticed that her clothes still fit, even though they now seemed a little loose in places. Her chest was much less developed, practically flat. Faintly, Giselle murmured, ¡°I¡¯m okay, I think. Maybe that was a bad idea. I kicked it. I was mad.¡±

    Unsure what to say, Rachel just hugged the young girl. It didn¡¯t take long before Giselle caught sight of herself in the large mirror.

    The good news was she looked about the same height, perhaps just a few centimeters smaller. But the problem was she looked almost exactly like her mom when she was growing up. Checking the toilet seat, Rachel soon determined that the display had shorted out and wasn¡¯t giving any readings. She feared this was some tamper protection. Try to break the seat and it turns you into a kid. Although, if Rachel were designing it she felt becoming an incontinent baby would make more sense. Not that the darn thing needed any ideas.

    Giselle almost seemed like a robot in the mirror, probing her cheek and arms as though trying to catch the forgery in her shape which would restore her to some level of normal. But no trick of the light resolved her as anything but a young girl now.

    Breathing and swallowing carefully didn¡¯t prevent what came next as she coughed into the sink and lost a little bit of lunch and most of her popsicle. Rachel went over to her side quickly and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

    Piecing together from the paper and the details on the seat, Rachel determined that it was now broken. That allowed it to be unscrewed without any trouble and set on the other side of the room. Going through the directions, Rachel eventually found some fine print detailing ¡°hostile protection¡±. It apparently defaulted to several modes, one that did include baby, while another reduced the perpetrator to 1/3 of their age. That meant Giselle was just under 12 years old. Barely a junior high kid.

    Her husband found a clear space to lean against the wall on the floor and did so with her head back and her eyes closed. Rachel wished she knew what she could possibly do to help. And there was more looming beyond that with those text messages.

    Although, she wondered with what the seat had done as a final countermeasure that perhaps those didn¡¯t even matter anymore. The problem was she couldn¡¯t figure out how any of this made sense. Was her husband actually her daughter now? Her face didn¡¯t seem any different. She still looked like a version of her parents rather than anyone in Rachel¡¯s biological family. She had a lot more emails to send the company, possibly even a lawyer to contact. But foremost was making sure shell-shocked Giselle was alright.

    She grabbed her something soothing to sip while she remained on the floor, mostly staring at the tiles. Her gaze seemed distant as a lower lip dangled and she wrapped her arms around her midsection as though she were constructed out of loose puzzle pieces which would simply fall apart if she didn¡¯t hold on tight.

    Giselle¡®s long, blonde hair dangled brightly like trapped sunbeams, but she didn¡¯t feel invigorated. Her features weren¡¯t really that different, but they appeared so pubescently young. She¡¯d been through one puberty with her legs acting like ambitious bamboo. What kind of hell would follow with a second? Not requiring the bra was the vague bonus at the bottom of a whole mess of concerns. The seat was broken, but they also had no idea how long it decided to punish her for vandalism. Giselle morbidly assumed it was for keeps.

    Sure, the aches in her body after three decades of dealing with her spindly limbs and necessary crouching lessened so far today, and being younger wasn¡¯t the worst thing in the world. But she had a life. She had the woman through stresses, pains, and whatever unimaginable trials that they would lean on each other for support and walk together for the rest of their lives. What now?

    What could she possibly do? Well, no matter what she did, she knew that just sitting here and sulking about it all wasn¡¯t going to change anything. Despite the fact the ground felt better than anything else, she got to her feet, took a deep breath, and put her hand in Rachel¡¯s. No matter what¡­

    Together.

    [Since this is meant to be interactive, feel free to suggest ideas and prompts for future/alternate branch storylines. Some branches are already written but this will allow me to best pick new/alternate ones. I''m currently just rolling dice.]

    Poll below

 [6A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 6A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [6A]

    For the Primary Branch [6]

    Leaving the bathroom, they both glanced at the master bedroom and realized that something was different. The bed was no longer an Alaska King to fit Jeremy. It was just a regular king. Furthermore, a pink pillow covered in shooting stars topped Jeremy¡¯s side. Glancing in the closet revealed that none of Jeremy¡®s old clothes remained. Rather, it appeared to be mostly Rachel¡¯s stuff, along with clothing in a colorful array more suited for a girl Giselle¡®s age.

    Giselle stood there with her mouth clenched, as though she were balanced on a high, tight rope over a chasm. Just the littlest shift one way or another she feared might be enough to throw the rest of reality into chaos. Carefully, they walked to the living room to find some things the same, while others were drastically different. The same TV was still there and some of the production lighting, but the collection of video games and board games looked far less extensive.

    Kirby and other family titles featured prominently, along with a selection of what appeared to be anime titles, some lighthearted adventures, and a handful of equestrian ones. Rachel scrunched her eyes up, approving of certain ones but finding others disappointing. Giselle felt gamer heartbreak that none of the rare titles seemed to be left. Not fair.

    Looking around, they also discovered Giselle and Rachel had essentially traded phones. Rachel had the fancy one, while Giselle had the one a few models ago. That made sense, if it was like a hand me down to a kid. Upstairs though, was the biggest surprise as the complicated setup of everything for game streams had been muted into something more like a teen girl¡¯s bedroom. Yes, they still had a fairly nice Apple computer and some viewing monitors, but all the lighting had been pruned back and the camera looked like an older model. Otherwise, Giselle had a bed lengthwise beside the window with star maps and collections of lenses, a telescope, and an old Nintendo Wii U set aside.

    Overall, they both gathered the young girl that Giselle had become still had filmmaking ambitions, astronomical interest, and some sort of streaming presence on the Internet, but it was much more nascent than what it should¡¯ve been. More advanced than her juvenile efforts with a camcorder in her own youth, but nothing like what she was expecting. Fortunately, Herschel appeared puzzled but unaltered. Rachel picked him up and carried him as they walked. And he protested the whole way.

    In Rachel¡¯s office, the setup appeared similar and included a large touchscreen with link capability and stylus and a physical canvas in the corner. She had been hoping to expand from just seamstress creations and some graphic work to stuff like this. The guestroom had a lot more stuffed animals and pillows.

    Before they could really process all of these new developments, there came a knock on the front door. They both approached carefully, and Giselle found herself creeping behind Rachel¡®s leg for protection. It was Jeremy¡®s parents. Giselle turned away and smacked her fists against her side. She shook her head and took a deep breath before telling Rachel to open it up.

    Lily and Gerald walked inside and greeted them warmly. Lily had her usual, soft slightly-curled bright blond bob cut with some of the color fading with age. Gerald steadied his uneasy right hand with his cane as he carefully stepped through the threshold. His thinning hair still had a few flecks of gray near the top and along the sideburns. He pushed his thick glasses up and beamed at the two of them.

    No matter the confusion of all this, Giselle stepped into an enveloping hug from her mom, which she hadn¡¯t felt quite like this since she was a boy of perhaps nine or ten. Years she barely remembered now. The hug from her dad didn¡¯t have quite the same bear-like sweep, as he was several decades stiffer and slower. But she still wouldn¡¯t trade it for anything.

    ¡°Sweet little cherub. It¡¯s so wonderful to see you. Did you have a good day at school?¡± Gerald brushed her hair back. Lily kissed her on the forehead and touched her on the shoulder as she asked, ¡°What are you wearing? Something¡®s not fitting right.¡±

    Rachel stepped in and attempted to explain that they had gone shopping earlier because Giselle had been out of sorts and not feeling well. She noted, ¡°She¡¯s growing up and I took her to more of a grown-up store. And she tried on one of mine I discovered. Growing up a little too fast there.¡±

    Gerald held a hand up to block his sight, mainly as a joke. He eagerly agreed she was growing up too fast and learning too many things but sounded more melancholy than stern. Lily offered to help her change. Giselle felt a little bit internally rebellious. If she was meant to be almost twelve then she could change her clothes on her own. But that sounded like the thoughts of a kid her age.

    So she retreated from that and just obediently let Lily help her change into something that felt like a sports top underneath what they got at the store. It helped some of the lingering icky feelings from being through several rounds of sweat from a cat and life-changing terror. Giselle wobbled like she was a scarecrow stuck on a stick that wasn¡¯t planted well. Lily questioned if she was all right, touching her face, arms, and forehead. Giselle gave a weak nod that totally felt like a mood from a tween going on teenager.

    Lily reassured her by saying that ¡°Your auntie has a nice big slice of cheesecake over at her house¡± for her and as much minestrone, bread, and peeled shrimp as she could eat. Aunt and uncle¡­ so that was how it was going to play it. Her mom and dad had been switched into her aunt and uncle even though the resemblance was still uncanny. Who or what had it made into her actual parents though?

    The next piece of the puzzle dropped when she enthusiastically agreed to all that food over at their place and Lily followed it up by asking if she had, ¡°¡­a good day with your mom?¡±

    Mom. By adoption. For how long? What had the blasted seat done to her family and her life? She had the irrepressible desire to stomp on it with a steel, spiked boot until it was plastic rubble. But she shared as much of a smile as she could give and assured her it was a nice day. After making sure Giselle didn¡¯t need a trim, they went back to the living room as Gerald mentioned someone in the neighborhood who was planting a new garden. He illustrated with gestures of his cane.

    As a family, they rode over to Lily and Gerald¡®s house. It didn¡¯t quite look the same as the last time Jeremy visited. They had a massive remodel in their front room along with new fixtures and different wallpaper. All the old wallpaper was still around, and the rest looked like it was patched up as well as possible.

    It had to be because Rachel and Jeremy set up an online presence for them to sell artworks of their own. Lily had some custom wigs, while Gerald painted rocks lightly chipped to look like different animals, and they had ambitions for more. That income beyond what work Gerald could still manage and Lily¡¯s full time at the salon had allowed them to fix things up comfortably.

    With an 11-year-old girl instead of a workaholic, 33-year-old man with several online projects, life was very different. It was like stepping into an unfamiliar universe. The balm against so much uncertainty and change was the familiar, soul-soothing flavor of Lily¡¯s cooking. Giselle dug in with several servings of soup. She barely resisted drooling on the edge of the tablecloth.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    The cheesecake after was standard supermarket fare, but she still relished it with a renewed vividness to her youthful palette. One of Jeremy¡®s problems as he grew up and got older was getting overly sensitive to the textures of food. He was never terribly fussy when it came to what his parents made because they were often accommodating but they never had a lot of money, so making the most of everything was essential. From a young age, Jeremy despised wasting any food because he knew how much it cost. Even in the back of Giselle¡®s mind at this moment, she was filing away the presence of the receipt from that clothing boutique as a necessary return for the bra she could no longer wear.

    Giselle tried to go back for extra portions, but her tiny stomach wasn¡¯t having any of that. She made sure to abundantly, enthusiastically, and exuberantly shine her appreciation on ¡°her aunt and uncle¡± for a fantastic meal. She embraced both of them to the point that they teased she was trying to butter them up for something.

    After dinner, Giselle felt relief to see that her oldest cat, Bixley, still existed despite all the terrible twists that the toilet seat had thrown in her way. The white kitty, with patches of black and silver, was getting on in years but happily fed and thoroughly loved by Lily and Gerald. He snuggled up to Giselle as though this was just another normal day. Gerald eased into the long green couch in the living room to watch some cowboy murder mystery series on cable which Giselle didn¡¯t recognize, not because she thought the reality changes had invented it, but more because she rarely watched any sort of cable.

    All the while, she kept a watchful eye out for suspicious details about her life and the lives of those affected by this day. The room in the back of the house, which used to be her bedroom before college, had all the stored equipment and extras she expected but her bed had been replaced with a fold-out sofa bed and a deflated air mattress that had to be for guests.

    Plenty of decorations appropriate for a young girl lingered in the back along with albums, an old computer, and plenty of books and papers carefully hidden away. She found what looked to be a cotillion dress along with photos of her wearing it. Jeremy had been prom king back in high school but not because of any actual popularity but more because everyone thought it was a great, good-natured joke.

    Beyond that, she found it difficult to really hunt down any clues to the chaos spun into her life. She tried to piece it together though. It seemed quite strange that the seat had done so many things to her, but it hadn¡¯t shifted where she lived. She still had a place that was both workspace and a girl¡¯s bedroom. And several of the other spaces retained many of their qualities. Rachel¡®s room and the guestroom still existed the same way. That could just be from how she decided to set up the house, although it raised many questions about why an apparently single woman adopted Giselle from some unseen parents, despite the fact that she grew up in the Midwest instead of the South. It didn¡¯t make sense that she would move all this way just to adopt a girl and then live in this area.

    Giselle suspected there had to be something there so far as the rules that the seat had to abide by. It seemed that it couldn¡¯t do monumental shifts. It couldn¡¯t suddenly transplant people across the country or throw into flux a large variety of things. Somewhere in her brain, a little spark lit up¡­ as she realized it was self-preservation. The toilet seat couldn¡¯t change things so monumentally that it didn¡¯t exist in the space it was trying to change! It couldn¡¯t alter its own history.

    Therefore, it had to plausibly be on the toilet. If Rachel moved across the country and Giselle was still in her parent¡¯s house as a kid, then it would be literally impossible for what happened to happen. That was interesting. Self-preservation, despite the fact it was ¡°broken¡°. She would have to keep that in mind and see what she could do with it.

    As the evening wound down, Giselle noticed Rachel trying to carefully dig into family history, but it was clear Lily and Gerald had little interest in discussing Giselle¡®s biological parents, whoever they were. Ultimately, they both decided it wasn¡¯t worth upsetting their family.

    After a tile-laying game that they used to play more of when Jeremy was younger, they headed back home. Rachel froze the leftovers and made sure the master toilet had the storage bath seat until she could come up with something else to put there. Giselle set aside all her oversized bras with the receipt and flinched when Rachel folded her arms and raised a playful eyebrow to say, ¡°Now, missy, you better make sure you get washed up and ready for bed. You have school early tomorrow.¡±

    With wide, fearful eyes, Giselle gave her head a little shake. Words fled from her until a blanket of relief fell as she noticed Chel¡¯s smirk. She tapped her head and announced, ¡°Not brainwashed yet, fortunately. You? Any desire to let a ¡®mom¡¯ slip out?¡±

    Giselle confirmed that the thought was nowhere near her. And she had no interest in going to school again. The confinement. Forced to be among so many other people. Having to make connections with them at random and all that stuff that working from home and having her own community tilted away from. Having to understand math. Freaking gym. And so many other things she didn¡¯t want to even think of.

    Rachel rocked her head and had to agree. She wouldn¡¯t be caught dead living that over again. But this was the situation they were trapped in until they could get a fix from that website. ¡°I gathered which middle school you¡¯re attending. Though you haven¡¯t been going very long. Just a few weeks. Fortunately, you finished up sixth grade. No need for elementary. And yeah, I think it¡¯s dumb. But this is how things are and if we can¡¯t fix them, then we have to deal with it.¡±

    Giselle felt woozy even considering the possibility again that she would be stuck as a junior high girl and have to deal with at least six more years of school along with the insane expense of college. It was beyond daunting. It was like having a fully developed character in an RPG one minute and then your save is corrupted and what you have now is a character at a low level without any specialties, all the system details have changed, and XP is even harder to grind. Yeah, that was about as close as she could imagine it.

    Despite many internal protests, she washed up and put on some generic pajamas from the closet. Her bed upstairs, despite the inclusion of the cosmos, felt desperately lonely. Jeremy hated when Rachel had to travel on her own, and knew the feeling was mutual. The empty space on the other side of the bed felt like a hollowness inside. Herschel curling up sometimes helped.

    The unusual pillow on what had been Jeremy¡¯s side suggested there was a place for Giselle if she needed it. She did. Scampering down the steps after lights out, she peeked into the master bedroom. Rachel had fallen asleep quickly, but her arms still seemed to reach out for where Jeremy would¡¯ve been. Creeping over and slipping underneath quietly, Giselle squeezed Rachel¡®s hand and laid her head against the star pillow. Rachel¡®s breathing quieted, and it didn¡¯t take long before Giselle joined her in restful slumber.

 [6] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 6 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [6]

    For the Alt Branch [6A]

    However, despite how clever Jeremy always felt that his wife was, this was a situation where Rachel had precious few answers or even fewer clues to piece together. All she could really offer was, ¡°Let¡¯s just go have supper over there and see how things are. Cheesecake, after all.¡±

    Rachel was preaching to the choir when it came to the appeal of cheesecake. And despite lunch filling up her remodeled tank, along with a small snack, the walk and everything had activated her hunger again. It was like a ghostly trace of the big man who put down big food, but it certainly wasn¡¯t going to ever begrudge home cooking.

    After making sure that Herschel had his own supper and something for later in his auto feeder, they got in the car again. Giselle didn¡¯t quite have a climbing ascent method figured out yet, but she made it into the seat.

    The drive was only two miles south and a turn past some lakes and mobile homes. Her childhood home. It looked pretty much exactly the same from the outside. One of the neighbors appeared to be setting up a brand new vegetable garden, but that didn¡¯t require a magical toilet seat to happen. She just might not have paid attention last visit, or it could¡¯ve happened recently.

    Climbing up the wooden steps, soon Giselle started to slow and take a breath. Her parents didn¡¯t deserve this nonsense. They didn¡¯t deserve to get wrapped up in whatever supernatural shenanigans were going on with the seat. Why couldn¡¯t it just leave them alone? They worked hard and they were the nicest people anyone could¡¯ve ever met. She lived her life as a man following the example they provided. If it hurt them¡­

    Rachel placed a hand on her shoulder and encouraged her the rest of the way through the door. The front room had been remodeled several months ago with a new place for the television, new light fixtures, several fresh pieces of furniture, and new flooring. None of that had been altered. Even the little art pieces Rachel made for them still had their places over by the windows.

    Her dad, Gerald, was watching television when they walked in. He had on a nice, collared green shirt like a golfer and loose tan shorts to his knees. One of his usual outfits. On his lap sat Bixley, the cat that Jeremy got during high school. He was well fed by the family and settled into easy, plump comfort and relaxation even though he could do a couple of tricks, like play dead. Well, when he felt like it or the temptation of a treat was enough.

    Gerald turned quickly with a warm smile and a quick wave before announcing, ¡°The girls are here! How are y¡¯all doing?¡± His hair was about the same shade as Jeremy¡¯s but that wasn¡¯t saying a whole lot as the hours and the stress had started to leech away his color through the years. Gerald¡¯s hair was balding at the front but still thick.

    Her mom, Lily, rushed over with a small towel as she dried her hands and gave a meticulous update on when dinner would be ready. Her bright blonde hair had its familiar tapered pixie cut with a poof around the middle and light curls at the front. Neither of them had been altered. She was a small lady but utterly loomed against how tall Giselle was now. A hug shared by her mom and Rachel was on the same level, whereas the hug she gave her mom felt like a child trying to reach. Even more so when hugging her dad.

    Along with the tiny shape of her body, the fact that she had inescapable flesh advancing from her chest which she had to dodge around for a hug, recalled the unfortunate scope of how much everything had changed.

    It wasn¡¯t long before Lily seized her daughter¡¯s hair and asked her if she needed a slight trim with the humid weather. Fervently, Giselle wanted to scream that she could hack the whole thing off. Instead, she just hinted at some sort of change in style because the weather was indeed getting to her and added the excuse that the care was annoying.

    Lily lamented lightly, reminding her daughter that she had waxed happily that her hair was so long, but she agreed that she could set aside some time by the weekend to reshape it if she really wanted that. Looking to Chel, she didn¡¯t have anything to say and was already playing with Bixley. Gently, Giselle acquiesced and pivoted, ¡°It just feels so stifling lately. Can you at least show me a way to put it up, so it isn¡¯t quite so heavy on my shoulders? If you know any special ways we haven¡¯t discussed, I mean.¡± Giselle caught herself there, realizing that if she was a 33-year-old woman with this much hair, then there was no way that she and her mother wouldn¡¯t have discussed what to do about that previously.

    She almost caught a flicker of confusion on her mother¡®s face, but she reflected quietly for a moment and then went over a few options such as styles and ways that she might prefer. Giselle had no idea what voodoo magic her mother subsequently did with her hair but, once she was finished, it was up, off her shoulders, and contained. It was a nice step towards normalcy. She just worried how she was going to maintain it, but Lily provided a YouTube "How To..." link for later.

    Supper was fantastic. Giselle desperately willed her stomach to accept as many bowls of soup as felt hospitable but couldn¡¯t get past a second serving. The pineapple sauce over the supermarket cheesecake was amazing.

    After eating, Giselle roamed around and found some alarming differences scattered throughout the house. The spare bedroom which had been hers from childhood to college was laid out roughly the same with a large queen bed pushed up against the window, an old computer and printer, some family albums, and more old paperwork than anyone knew what to do with. The problem was the albums included several of their wedding photos and they didn¡¯t look anything like what they had back at home.

    Although, Giselle hadn¡¯t even considered going through the old material and photos on their phones to see if anything had changed. Now, she was afraid to look. Checking what was in front of her though, she gathered that she and Chel were married along the coast of New York in 2011 in a small ceremony with a slightly larger reception closer to home.

    Seeing herself as a radiant bride in a green wedding dress next to Rachel¡¯s familiar bridal gown left her with a mess of confusing emotions. On the one hand, she was glad that Chel had a happy history with her. At the same time, the magic and the chaos wrought by it had done so much to them and those they loved. She loved her wife unconditionally and always, no matter if she happened to be a wife herself. Heck, she would even love her if their positions were reversed¡­ Although she really didn¡¯t wanna dwell on that, because she feared that the blasted seat might hear and take it as a suggestion to turn Rachel into a tall, tired man and her into Rachel.

    When she showed her wife the photos, she actually got ticked off. They stepped outside briefly so that Rachel could appropriately yell without confusing anyone but the neighbor dogs.

    ¡±How dare it! That absolute piece of junk! This is nowhere close to what was advertised at the very least. It¡¯s supposed to be useful and sort of teach a lesson, but it¡¯s swinging around at me. If only we knew a lawyer who was also a wizard. A real one. Not a metaphorical one as an IT professional like you know who. If it keeps going like this, then how will we ever know the thing screwed up? I bet that¡¯s where they get you. Rewrite reality so that their faulty products never did anything wrong.¡±

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Giselle felt some measure of Rachel¡¯s righteous anger, but she¡¯d been mollified by an abundant, good meal and exhausted by the unrelenting pile of things they each had to deal with. She just wanted to have things get back to the way they were and work on the projects that left her feeling useful. Everything had been a mess of just spinning her wheels and dealing with brand new stuff that she didn¡¯t wanna deal with. She had too much old crap to get through.

    But they also desperately wanted to spend time with Lily and Gerald because they were what truly mattered, despite the nonsense that had been pulled on them. In fact, before they went back inside, Rachel proposed an idea. She suggested that they do their best to hint at Jeremy and press the memory of Jeremy from as many angles as possible.

    Once back inside, Lily made sure nothing was wrong and they had just gone out to talk about some broken plumbing fixture in their house. Gerald eagerly volunteered to help remove it. He noted he could even find a saw if it was a serious problem. Giselle was the first to shut that down as unnecessary without elaborating. She didn¡¯t want her dad anywhere near that magical object.

    The plan to remind them of Jeremy started out with invoking special moments from videos they made with something he said. Unfortunately, they couldn¡¯t latch onto any specific moment as being significantly different than what they each remembered. Giselle in those videos had basically the same personality as Jeremy, which meant it probably wasn¡¯t that weird after all that she didn¡¯t know what to do with her hair, considering his apathy.

    Giselle didn¡¯t know what to think about the fact that becoming a little lady haven¡¯t really changed the scope of her life and personality all that much. Was she just destined to a certain trajectory or was it the magic being lazy? One thing she considered was that it was curious that the videos and the images they could find seemed to be altered as they discovered them for evidence. Meanwhile, it felt like if they looked at them in isolation then it would still be like with Finley and Dale and Ethan.

    The magic, or whatever it was, seemed to have to take a lot of effort to change the big things. And it couldn¡¯t really alter everything on a large scale. Giselle wondered. If it wasn¡¯t able to keep Chel and her as a couple, then would it have to move Rachel back to her home in the Midwest, before they started living together?

    It was only a theory, but the fact that it wasn¡¯t moving them felt like it meant something. She proposed this notion to Rachel at a quiet moment and her eyes quickly flashed with recognition and what Giselle hoped was a clever idea. She was always so much smarter than her.

    Working through it carefully, Rachel explained her thought process, ¡°This object is the instigator. It¡¯s what causes everything, of course. It¡¯s sorta like time travel, you know. If you go back and kill Hitler before he exists or becomes important, then there should be no reason that you went back in time to kill him in the first place because he doesn¡¯t exist and there¡¯s no reason to travel back. But if you don¡¯t travel back then Hitler does exist and it¡¯s a paradox. If this entity or thing were to make it so that it never arrives to change something, then its own existence and place are canceled out. So, it can¡¯t undo its own presence. Or else paradox.¡±

    Giselle was fairly certain that she understood that line of thought. Maybe not totally, but she got the gist. Somewhere in there. But she was left with a big question, ¡°So, what does this mean?¡± When it came to that, however, Rachel had no idea how they could use this to their advantage.

    Since Lily and Gerald were huge science-fiction and horror fans, they perked up with this randomly-proposed line of thought and wanted to offer their own opinions so far as parallel universes and alternate realities. This was when Giselle started to feel like she was drowning and encouraged everyone to open up one of the card games they hadn¡¯t played in a while. Gerald and Lily tied and won easily, and Giselle came in last.

    They took some leftovers home with them and received the most intense hugs as they left to drive back. Before she let her go, Giselle¡¯s mom encouraged her, ¡°You are a beautiful woman. A beautiful person. No matter what, we will always love you. I know I¡¯ve said it so many times before, but I¡¯m sorry you have to face hateful people just to show your love. We support you in all things. Never be afraid to share whatever¡®s worrying you or feel you have to change for us. You¡¯re my daughter, but you¡¯re our child without condition. If you feel more like this Jeremy, then please tell me so I may know how to love you the way your heart truly is.¡±

    Giselle felt pained that the assumption the blasted seat had given her mom about everything was that Giselle felt like a man and wanted to be treated like one. Granted, that wasn¡¯t far from the truth, but she didn¡¯t want to put her mom through that. Fervently, she assured Lily that everything was all right. She acknowledged there was a lot to talk about, but she clarified that most of it was in flux, and she didn¡¯t know anything for sure yet. Of course, her mom wondered if that meant they had plans to move or an opportunity or a question, but Giselle also shot this down and told her, in no uncertain terms, that when she understood it, and could say more than that, then she would make sure everyone knew.

    Although frowning and a little wary, her mom trusted her and let her go, after which her dad gave her a big bear hug and they sent them on their way.

    Rachel froze the leftovers and the evening unfurled the way it usually did for the two of them. The problem was Giselle felt beaten down and unsure in her work because she knew whenever she went to go look at a video there was a high chance that it was going to turn into something else for the people who watched it, and not just in a metaphorical, post-modern sense.

    She still had to work though. It was part of her lifeblood, so she went through the rest of the stream video, made sure it was scheduled for release, and considered just releasing individual highlights until her penalty ended.

    That ate up most of the evening. The rest was spent checking photographs to see what was changing. If she looked at something herself, then it appeared about the same as she remembered. But the stuff they had tried to show Lily and Gerald had not only changed but refused to change back to the way they remembered. It was painfully frustrating and utterly confusing. When they both looked at something on a phone, it didn¡¯t change either, but Giselle started to get a vague headache, like the magic of the seat was drilling into her temple. It was all rather exhausting, and bed was something that she was eagerly looking forward to.

    The shower that night was perfunctory, basic hygiene. She didn¡¯t dwell on any of the internal aspects between her legs or external aspects on her chest and slipped into bed with one of the new pajamas fresh out of the dryer. Twenty-four hours dealt with out of ninety-six. It already felt like a lifetime.

    Without complaints or preambles, they both soon fell asleep.

 [7] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 7 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [7]

    For the Alt Branch [7A]

    Giselle woke up first in the morning to Herschel pawing at her shoulder. She groaned and rubbed his furry head. He graciously accepted this offering but still reminded her with an intense stare that he decided his first meal of the morning was late.

    In actuality, it was about 30 minutes early from the time they usually woke up to feed him but there was no point in trying to explain that to a cat. The process of waking up along with checking things and preparing to get out of bed along with everything else required was sure to be enough to waste the right amount of time and give his little furry brain the mollification that she was taking care of it

    Not that he would be at all understanding about the hour and everything but it at least saved Rachel the pain of being woken up by even more insistent meows. Giselle gently shifted and eased her way to the edge of the bed. Rising quietly, she checked to make sure Rachel was still asleep and then diligently laid the covers back in place with a little bit of a bump to diminish her absence.

    After stepping lightly across the room, she fussed with her mess of hair and glanced into the master bathroom¡¯s mirror as she did her best to get it under control. Tuck, twist, slip, clamp, and slide. That took care of it for the time being.

    She shut the door halfway, especially to keep the light out of Rachel¡®s eyes as she lowered her bottoms and rested on the seat. Sitting there quietly with a sigh, she took care of her business and scrunched up her forehead in an effort to clear away mental cobwebs. Something was bothering her, but she couldn¡¯t tell exactly what. Their morning show stream was coming up in about two hours.

    They would have to get ready for that but not vigorously so. The coffee pot might need cleaning in the next day or two, but it didn¡¯t seem to have any problems yet. She hadn¡¯t finished all the work yesterday, but what else is new? The next edition of the monthly podcast would need to be out in two weeks, but Dale was taking care of that and hadn¡¯t come back to her with any corrections.

    After a second, it finally hit her. The leftovers from breakfast yesterday! No way that thing was going to last more than today tasting any kind of good. She could probably throw a few things in and on it, especially cheese to make it nice, but it might be a little too filling for this hour. That was it. No forgetting and wasting food. Most perishable out first and what¡¯s been in the longest.

    She would have to check the bread and then see when Rachel was awake if she wanted her usual breakfast or maybe some fruit cut up. Fanning her top, Giselle gave a quiet yawn and glanced through the headlines on her phone for anything relevant in gaming or the wider world. Fortunately, it appeared to be a quiet day with some little deals for controllers and indie titles on her feed. She had a few notifications with messages but just the usual requests for her to play some game she really wanted to get around to but time was always the issue.

    Returning to the bedroom afterward, she thought about what else she could take care of when the sound of Rachel groaning and shifting reached her.

    ¡°¡­ you¡¯re up?¡± Rachel¡¯s voice quietly cut through the silence. Bending over, Giselle eagerly kissed her on the cheek and responded, ¡°Yeah, stinker was hungry. How about you? What would you like this morning?¡±

    Rachel used a hand to rub at her tired eyes before she stopped and puzzled at her attentive significant other. ¡°What? Are you okay?¡±

    Giselle rested a hand on her side and diligently responded, ¡°I¡¯m fine. Just wanted to get an early start on breakfast before I have to set up everything for the stream this morning. No rush¡­ just wanna get things rolling.¡±

    Slowly, Rachel sat up and peered at Giselle before quietly asking, ¡°¡­ Giselle?¡±

    Sitting tenderly on the edge of the bed beside her, Giselle wanted to reach for her wife¡¯s hands to comfort her. Not yet. She would wait and listen to make sure she hadn¡¯t had a nightmare or some fretful worry. With Rachel¡®s anxiety problems, she knew to be attentive and patient.

    ¡°Yes? What is it, Chel?¡±

    Planting her arms firmly for support right in front of the pillow, Rachel took a deep breath and then asked, ¡°¡­Jeremy?¡±

    Giselle¡®s mouth dipped slightly, and she resisted the urge to chew on a lip as a contemplative frown pushed its way into her eyebrows. With an even, kindly tone, she inquired, ¡°Who¡¯s Jeremy?¡±

    Rachel¡®s hands shot up as she gave a firm head shake and declared, ¡°Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck!¡±

    Her eyes wide and white, Giselle gasped at more profanity from her wife than she could ever remember. Everyone joked that she could curse on occasion if the need arose, but Rachel was legally incapable of it.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong¡­what what what¡­Jeremy? What has you so scared?¡±

    ¡°You!¡±

    Giselle¡®s mind couldn¡¯t grasp what she was saying. Why on earth was Chel scared of her? For an instant, she fretted about videos online where a cerebral blood flow mistake causes someone to forget what they¡¯re doing for several minutes and terrify their loved ones. She hoped to everything that is holy that something like that wasn¡¯t happening to her right then. Nervously, she traced all her steps back to waking up and cautiously considered how she might track her own memory to make sure that something wasn¡¯t wrong with it.

    Simultaneously, a different possibility crossed her mind that she wasn¡¯t at fault but rather Rachel. She hated the notion and acutely understood from extended family that dementia, early onset especially, was utterly terrifying. No matter what the problem was, her heart clung to the absolute certainty that she didn¡¯t want Rachel ever to be afraid.

    But, as she listened, Rachel spun a bewildering story of a cursed toilet seat because this Jeremy would be forgetful and leave it up. It turned Jeremy into Giselle and that was who she was supposed to be. Giselle held her tongue and all judgments as she listened. To settle this point, Rachel jumped out of bed and went over to the master bath to check the seat. With shock on her face, she saw that it didn¡¯t have any of the features she was expecting and looked exactly like a normal seat. This is what Giselle had figured, since she remembered helping Rachel purchase a replacement for their old worn seat and they had installed it the day before last before bed.

    Fervently, Rachel asked her to run through the events of the last few days. With a lingering concern but abiding love, Giselle worked through what she remembered. They had a surprise stream because of free keys provided by a partner in the industry. She was still working on editing that and felt rather tired. So, to have some fun they went out to take care of some shipping supplies and stopped by that cute intimates place that sold bras and a bunch of other things for some regular shopping and picked up a few items. On sale, fortunately.

    Then her parents Gerald and Lily texted Rachel about soup and cheesecake for dinner. She also couldn¡¯t forget the abandoned breakfast leftovers so present on her mind but avoided that for the moment because she just wanted to work through the linear version of events to calm her wife down. She filled out the rest of the night with a broad overview before they went to bed but also amended, ¡°If there¡¯s anything I¡¯m forgetting, please remind me.¡±

    With a morbid, sullen tone, Rachel remarked, ¡°Yeah, you forgot some big things¡­like the fact you didn¡¯t have boobs two days ago.¡± Giselle resisted a reaction and desperately hoped that her wife wasn¡¯t trying to take an emotional swipe at her. Furiously, she focused on the fact that these were just some messed-up memories, and she didn¡¯t mean anything about Giselle and what insecurities she had growing up.

    Instead of fighting about this and the details, Giselle repeated and emphasized notes that Rachel asserted. OK, there was this Jeremy, and he was a very tall man who Rachel met through a certain website and this game they both were fans of. They dated at a distance from the Midwest and the South. All that fit reality. Then got married about 11 years ago. Everything else along the way sounded right. Rachel recognized all their friends.

    The problem was she absolutely wasn¡¯t a man named Jeremy and she had no clue how Rachel arrived at that mixed-up memory so firmly and confidently. Rachel just kept returning to the cursed toilet seat but looking at the box was just some basic installation instructions and everything that they had put on the other day.

    Giselle puzzled over this and touched on a few points. It seemed weird to her that a toilet seat would have a section with LED projection and a security module as Rachel called it. She questioned how the normal plastic or wood frame would work considering there would need to be electronic or magical components put into the seat to know if someone put it down. Rachel seemed frustrated with her questions, so Giselle tried to keep her tone not belligerent or accusatory. She just wanted to understand.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Even Rachel acknowledged that the thing seemed crazy along with the website and especially the absurd prices. It felt like something out of a dream. But she knew confidently as she knew anything in her life that this was what happened, and that blasted device had now affected Giselle¡®s ability to remember it.

    They went over to Rachel¡®s office and looked over the information and the copy of the invoice from the order. The website was still there with its rather dated, almost eBay-like graphics from several decades ago. But everything checked out with the pages she had searched, and the matching item number looked to be just a standard toilet seat with a long name and a very tantalizing price.

    Giselle left her there for a little bit as she started typing up a consumer complaint email into the system. She encouraged her to do that in the hopes that it might be something therapeutic or allow her to work through the memories and come to what was actually bothering her¡­hopefully. At least that¡¯s what she was praying to herself.

    She managed to find out that Rachel would take some French toast along with the remaining cantaloupe for breakfast. Humming softly, Giselle assembled her leftovers into a cheesy and vaguely peppery sandwich with the base of the leftover eggs and put together a very nice spread for her wife. Meanwhile, she checked all the settings upstairs in the office and gingerly adjusted the lights where she thought they might need them, as well as switching the overlay presets from gaming to one that fit this more casual arrangement.

    It wasn¡¯t too long before the stream started, and they started nibbling a few things before the proper beginning. The opportunity to actually begin from a point of relaxation on the couch together instead of the usual frantic hurrying from one place to another as stuff was barely finished and other things left undone was a nice salve for the morning, despite the stressful confusion. Giselle did her best to focus on this as everyone in chat joined them.

    So far as content, Giselle recited memes, poetry, gaming quotes, and silly non-sequiturs in the framework of donations. She referenced Ethan¡¯s discovery of a totally awesome DDR pad as being like her white whale hunt for since the utter collapse of all the arcades everywhere and trying to find ones still in good condition. But so many were sold off and buckling from the wear and tear of decades of shoes smacking them. She smiled and encouraged her usual high airy tone which was ever so slightly inflated from her normal speaking voice, and which slipped out of the hold of her southern drawl.

    The audience didn¡¯t see anything amiss, which concerned Rachel. They also caught onto the energy disparity between them as Rachel glumly chewed through her breakfast while Giselle warmly greeted the early-goers. Most resisted saying much, except for a few, terse morons who basically implied that Rachel had some sort of biological imposition this morning. The mods booted them hard. Giselle even slipped on a brief scowl before returning to her sunny disposition. How dare they say that after all of Rachel¡®s surgeries, especially her hysterectomy! But she told herself that that tiny number didn¡¯t need to be dwelled on. Move on and let it go.

    For weekend stream entertainment, Giselle alluded to Pok¨¦mon from the most recent open-world release. They had been alternating streams with that and she was excited to announce that they would be returning soon. Hopefully. This day had put a few wrinkles into those notes of excitement, but Rachel still showed encouraging signs about all that. After Giselle closed out the stream with one of her goofy remarks, she looked over to Rachel as she swept the breeze up behind her, swiftly jumped from the chair, and went downstairs. Quietly, Giselle wrapped her arms around herself and resisted tearing up with worry.

    Downstairs, she found Rachel back in her office furiously typing. She explained, ¡°They still haven¡¯t answered. I¡¯m gonna bury them in messages till they can¡¯t ignore me!¡±

    Tugging on her clothes gently, Giselle fumbled for what to say. Darkly in her soul, she gave voice to words that she would¡¯ve rather buried, ¡°¡­ Do you wish I was this man¡­ This Jeremy?¡±

    ¡°YES!¡±

    Shaken by that, Giselle wobbled on her legs. She clung to her emotions like a massive helium balloon buffeted by a gale. If she didn¡¯t grip them so tightly then everything would unleash in sobs and fear. Rachel noticed and firmly told her, ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be like this. You¡¯re not supposed to be so small and not supposed to have all this. That thing messed you up.¡±

    Giselle swallowed hard and gripped the door frame. She knew she shouldn¡¯t take it personally¡­ she knew. But it just hurt so much in ways of attacking her most delicate memories. Rachel didn¡¯t hurt her like this. She may play the occasional joke, but it was over and done in the span of a few winking giggles. Something was wrong.

    What were the memories that bothered her so much? She developed late and didn¡¯t grow for a long time. Had light blonde hair in junior high into high school and then sprung up like a¡­ wait. She got tall really fast. She remembered that.

    But that couldn¡¯t be possible as she was 3 inches under 5 feet. For Rachel¡¯s sake, she searched and plumbed those memories. Something just wasn¡¯t adding up.

    Sniffling, Rachel told her a story. She told her about Jeremy and how they were caught in the snow during their first date in the Midwest, him visiting her. He desperately told her after they¡¯d been talking for a while that he loved her. In actuality, that was just him being a doofus because he had a friend on the site who was trying to get to know someone else and talk to her a lot more and Rachel was ending the online chat and he had to somehow make her stick around. So he confessed in blurted-out, frantic text.

    Only it wasn¡¯t a lie, it was just what he had been holding back all this time, feeling with fear and disenchantment that high school had been such a wasteland of not finding anyone he could really care about and he resolved that college and filmmaking class was just going to be all business, no girls none of that nonsense, no love, no silliness like that¡­ (Rachel broke down with her lips trembling as she recounted).

    Then they found each other. Slowly, and with enjoyably-silly conversations, they got closer and fate pushed them closer yet. They resolved to meet. Despite it not being the middle of the winter, it still snowed when he arrived. Walking to her car, he stayed close and provided a buffer between her and the windblown flakes. They joked he was like a mighty oak keeping the storm at bay. It became the start of so many tree metaphors.

    And it was the moment she knew in her heart that he was a good man who would always think of her. And, in return, she warmed him up with absolute furious energy when they got to her house, with homemade hot chocolate. And that¡¯s when he knew that no matter what silly things he did and she called him out on, she would take care of him and be there to catch him and make sure he was all right. Blubbering through the memory of when he flew out to meet her for the first time and he was scared unsure and an old lady with an indomitable spirit and a twinkling smile listening to his story encouraged him to not be scared because everything would work out. She sobbed.

    Giselle took a breath as she stepped forward and wiped away Rachel¡®s tears. Calmly softly, Giselle told her, ¡°¡­Her name was Eleanor, and she couldn¡¯t get over how tall I was.¡±

    Wailing, Rachel squeezed Giselle so tightly that the poor girl had to hoarsely beg for air.

    ¡°You remember? Do you remember¡­ you remember Jeremy?¡±

    ¡°How could I forget over a decade of the most amazing years of my life¡­as they truly were, instead of some crap that a hunk of plastic thinks that it oughta be!¡±

    As a light addendum, Giselle noted, ¡°We¡¯re totally gonna have to update you on the tier list from physically incapable of swearing to swearing only in emergencies.¡±

    Rachel clung to her while still shaking. Giselle couldn¡¯t really tell when the messed-up memories from the morning had faded away and when the real ones reasserted, but she was ecstatic that the brainwashing had broken. It also gave her a measure of hope that what happened to her parents wasn¡¯t inescapable as well.

    As they mulled this together, A series of chimes came through Rachel¡®s computer and phone at the same time. Checking them, they were from Flush With Pride with the title ¡°[email protected]</a>¡±.

    All that was included in the body of the message was, ¡°I can do something about what happened to you. This can be fixed. I want to help. Meet up with me at [included image with a six-digit north latitude and six-digit west longitude]. Black sedan then walk to the waterfront part. 4 PM today.¡±

    And that was it.

 [7A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 7A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [7A]

    For the Primary Branch [7]

    ¡°Time to get up.¡± Giselle heard Rachel¡®s voice in the darkness and hesitantly cracked her eyes open. It felt almost as dark in the room around her until a light flicked on to scour her vision.

    Intuitively, Giselle could tell that this hour wasn¡¯t any time close to when she was supposed to get up. There had been several weeks when Herschel felt insecure and thrown off by several things to demand meals basically in the middle of the night. They had to kick him out of the master bedroom and lock the door to get some peace. As a consequence, he puked right outside the door several times.

    With foreboding concern, Giselle wondered if that was what she would open her eyes to. But Herschel wasn¡¯t around. In fact, he was excitedly clinging to Rachel¡®s leg as she got up and walked towards the door. She was going to feed him, but she pressed Giselle to get up. It took a few more moments of realizing how much bed there was and how small Giselle felt beneath the blanket to put together all the events.

    She had been turned into a girl by that blasted seat and then by kicking it until it seemingly broke, it super punished her by making her 1/3 of her normal age, or a kid just out of elementary school and forced to attend junior high. She groaned and buried herself in the blanket again until Rachel came back to pester her. The sun wasn¡¯t even close to being up. No amount of fumbling protest helped though.

    When washing up, she did her best to keep her eyes closed. It was still creepily unnerving to see her own body before her in such a state that just felt wrong to see without clothes. Not much she could do about it but the complicated state of being both an adult with many years behind them that way and yet a kid who looked barely touched by growing up made her just want to ignore as many things about this predicament as possible.

    Rachel made her some cut cantaloupe and French toast though. And she ate the leftovers from yesterday as a bit of a breakfast bowl with some assorted potatoes and cheese. Somewhere through the meal, they each realized that the regular routine with a morning stream talking to their supporters didn¡¯t exist anymore. In fact, they really had no idea what the schedule was now for that kind of stuff with whatever online content Giselle might do in her free time away from school. Rachel promised her adopted daughter that she would investigate while at home.

    The next item of concern was her schedule but that was easily resolved by tracking down Giselle¡¯s backpack. It was covered in pixel art of one of their favorite games. The gaming classic seemed unlikely to be known by most of the other students, but that provided a small, tender comfort for Giselle to not lose that element of her past for ponies or recent anime stuff, like the remaining games collection suggested.

    From there, the pace of preparation accelerated to a feeling more like getting ready for a trip. Giselle hated the grinding feeling, the frantic push to be out at a certain time for class. It was there with her earlier jobs. She put such an ordinate amount of pressure on herself for daily work that tying it to the earliest hours of the day felt like one backbreaking straw too many. She could deal with it, but she also could complain silently inside her head.

    The school that she went to was several miles to the north, in an area they didn¡¯t often travel through. Mostly rural with a small town nearby but still a choked and creeping line of cars to drop everyone off. Several crowds of students screamed and bolted past on the sidewalk. Giselle glanced at Rachel skeptically and wondered if this was any sort of a good idea.

    Rachel made her wear a pair of green pants that almost seemed like leggings but still fit the dress code in Giselle¡®s backpack. Otherwise, she wore a loose, plaid brown top. And that was all the clothing stuff on her Giselle wanted to think about. Nothing seemed distinctively girly, to her immense relief, and everything drooped ambiguously across her body. No way her dense bright blonde hair could be hidden, but Rachel tucked it into a neat careful ponytail.

    She hated to say goodbye all day to her best friend and the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. But she gave her ¡°mom¡± a big hug and did her best to set off with confidence.

    The crowds were instantly terrifying. They loomed larger than she could ever remember them being and had both frantic energy and a somber sense of resignation. The area just inside the front door smelled like cheese and soggy corn nuts mixed together into a rancid blend. She braced her backpack against her shoulders and felt grateful to have a back that wasn¡¯t shuddering beneath the weight. Her first class was an art one at the far end of the hall and to the left according to what Rachel checked online before they left.

    Inside was a colorful but older room with wheels, diagrams, and so many other recognizable aids from her experience at an artful college and the many years Rachel taught art as well. She feigned ignorance about her regular seat and the white-haired teacher said that she was changing up the seating because of a new unit today. Giselle just went along with everything quietly and managed to do some work on a three-point perspective drawing.

    To her relief, no one really pointed her out in the class so far as saying they were Giselle¡®s best friend, greatest enemy, or anything embarrassing. One girl nearby needed to borrow an eraser, but it was a five-second affair. The only point of embarrassment came when the teacher called her up to present her drawing and shortened her name to simply ¡°Elle¡±. No one else used that nickname though.

    Along with that, there was a small lesson on making things bigger and more detailed and smaller and simpler for scenery and the teacher drew a potted plant with both aesthetics. She also did a little bit with how to draw with respect to dimensions so far as shadowing and foreshortening.

    This was all stuff that Jeremy went through in required courses many years ago but the subject allowed for so many variations that she didn¡¯t mind going over it too much and actually got some compliments on how her stuff looked relatively professional. At least this was one subject for which she could draw on a certain amount of experience.

    Unfortunately, the next class was gym. She noticed immediately that the time restrictions getting from way over on one edge of campus to the other one felt strict. She still managed to make it in time but was soon stuck by something she hadn¡¯t considered. She had no idea how to open her locker or really exactly where her locker was. A girl with black hair and bright purple nails interceded though, saying, ¡°Hey, Elle, you have #32 over here. You flaking after just one day away? Welcome back, I saw you streaming yesterday with your mom. That new game looks fun.¡±

    Giselle apologized and nodded before settling into that spot. It seemed like this nickname was going to be a thing. Wasn¡¯t the worst nickname but basically everyone calling her a letter felt weird. The friendly girl talked to her a bit and resolved that she had the prettiest hair. Giselle tried to keep up a modest, cordial reaction. Before she left though, the girl dangled, ¡°I know someone who has a crush on you.¡±

    This was not what she needed. The girl made it clear that she wasn¡¯t going to say who this particular crush was, and Giselle did her best not to look at all interested in this mystery. She genuinely did not want to know, she already had her romantic life figured out and when being a little kid ended, she knew who her life partner was. Fortunately for the lock on her locker, a paper scrap with the number had settled to the bottom of her bag and she was able to open it. The clothes were some normal black shorts and a pale gray top.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Giselle just felt infinitely uncomfortable about changing clothes around a bunch of other kids, in a body that absolutely wasn¡¯t her own, not that doing this in her regular body would¡¯ve been any better.

    Gym was freaking volleyball inside and fortunately air-conditioned but smelled of the worst kind of feet and funk she could imagine. It was basically just waiting your turn to be part of a group of people who didn¡¯t wanna be together at all and had very little active enthusiasm for hitting the ball. Mostly, random people she didn¡¯t know wanted to put braids in her hair and talked about things she couldn¡¯t be bothered to care about. The locker girl wandered away at one point and she was just left there to stare at her shoes and contemplate the passage and wasting of time. Eventually, it ended, and she was allowed to go to a health class.

    It included projections from the teacher¡¯s computer of human reproductive organs and plenty in the class considered it the funniest freaking thing ever. She just put her head down and wanted this to be over. The test and writing felt like a joke, even to her brain. Nutrition and sexual health but without any of the controversial elements.

    History followed after, and she actually didn¡¯t have a bad time with that. The teacher was more interested in telling compelling tales about the nooks and crannies of history. She could tell he was someone who really enjoyed the subject and she wanted to pound the knuckleheads who interrupted with fart jokes and other crap during the best parts.

    English actually provided her with a modest challenge as some of the word rules and particulars had escaped her mind. The teacher clucked strangely, almost like a chicken, but had exuberance as well. At a few points during lulls, Giselle managed to text Rachel, begging to be put out of her misery. Rachel answered with a silly face and reminded her to take notes.

    She had to be careful as a couple of the more watchful educators considered taking her phone away.

    Lunch wasn¡¯t particularly amazing with a handful of chicken tenders, some grapes, some sort of cherry pastry, and too many carrots. The only saving grace for the whole meal was a pretty decent packet of mustard which didn¡¯t go as far with the chicken as she hoped.

    Math finished the day and unveiled the clearest sign of a friend as she ran into a fellow blonde girl with absurdly long locks. Her greeting hug almost bowled her over as the girl gushed about yesterday¡®s stream from the game to a tangentially related book she loved. Giselle braced herself and tried to absorb a little bit of the random girl¡¯s energy. It was like trying to keep in orbit around a flaring sun with the craziest pulses of energy.

    Gel pens came up as well as fun apps she knew and, despite Giselle¡®s best efforts earlier, she didn¡¯t escape without getting all sorts of stuff braided into her hair as she looked through polynomials. The girl, who called herself Britney, did have a fun shirt on describing the ¡°different¡± emotions of a blobfish. It was kind of funny and cute.

    Despite herself, Giselle enjoyed being around Britney. She wasn¡¯t the sort of friend she would imagine herself having usually, but she seemed loyal and cordial with a geeky edge and exuberance. That could¡¯ve described a multitude of her regular adult friends. The only wrinkle was the way Britney would sometimes bring up how so and so she saw at lunch was kind of cute and had smiled at her. It was weird and she still felt distinctly like she was a spy or someone just playing a kid rather than actually being one.

    Somehow, she was able to get through all that and more math than she ever wanted to encounter in her life again and reached the bell. Fortunately, math class had a door that exited right onto the main parking area, so she was able to get out of Dodge just a few moments after the bell. Britney trailed after and sighed in relief before asking, ¡°I don¡¯t mean to be a bother, but can I tagalong with you and your mom? My dad has work till after five and I don¡¯t really have anywhere to stay till then. I know you said you were busy the other day, but it would be really cool and my legs are still super tired after the other day I had to walk about 8 miles.¡±

    Giselle took a deep breath and eagerly nodded. ¡°Of course.¡± She did worry a little bit that she was being a soft touch, but the girl seemed like a friend and a decent person. The frantic way she described it all, Giselle didn¡¯t want to have her walking so far all by herself. Britney vigorously explained that it wasn¡¯t like this every day, just the middle of the week. And she could stand it and she was going to get used to it and all that, but she would also really appreciate a chance to ¡°rest her legs¡±. Giselle wasn¡¯t terribly sure how to interpret all of that, but it didn¡¯t make her waffle on helping out.

    Rachel showed up a couple minutes later stopping over by the nearest curb. Of course, one of the first things she asked through the rolled-down window was, ¡°Who¡¯s your friend?¡±

    Britney bowed and crouched and put her hands together almost in prayer and explained her idea while assuring Giselle there was no obligation. No dad till five. Mom in a complicated situation middle of the week and she wasn¡¯t able to go somewhere till the evening. Just around an hour until she could get back to her dad¡¯s place on her own.

    Rachel flashed a look but soon nodded and said, ¡°Sure thing. That sounds great. I have some work at home but just you two can hang out quietly and I might be able to make some snacks.¡± Britney shrugged this off, explaining she didn¡¯t wanna impose on her hospitality and explained just a place to rest her legs would be appreciated. Britney got in the back by herself and buckled her seatbelt tightly.

    A few minutes into their drive, Giselle turned around to ask her something and Britney was conked out, nestled up against the softest cushion with her backpack as a supplement. She wasn¡¯t quite sure how she might be able to wake her.

    ¡°Did you have a good day at school?¡±

    Giselle scowled slightly and didn¡¯t provide an immediate answer. She grumbled to herself and eventually managed, ¡°Art at the beginning was all right, but everything else I would¡¯ve dumped off a cliff.¡±

    Rachel pressed her for details and Giselle admitted that gym sucked, pretty much all the subjects but history sucked, and while Britney was nice to her in math class she didn¡¯t want to become a part of this school. She just wanted things to go back to normal.

    ¡°Normal?¡±

    Giselle suddenly felt a prickly sensation on the back of her neck as though someone had placed a fire underneath there and she was about to burn. ¡°Yeah. Normal before everything got broken with the seat and Jeremy and everything.¡± She measured her words as she spoke because she knew that, even though Britney seemed to be asleep, she didn¡¯t want to start talking about stuff that might confuse anyone else and require long-winded explanations she didn¡¯t want to give.

    ¡°Who¡¯s Jeremy? Is that a student or a teacher?¡±

    Giselle felt like she was a balloon that had just landed on a pit of thousands of living spikes. She couldn¡¯t breathe, she didn¡¯t have words or sense to make of what Rachel had just said. ¡°You don¡¯t know Jeremy?¡±

    Even putting those few sounds into the world felt like sliding off into an abyss. Rachel calmly shook her head and looked her in the eye without any sense she was teasing or lying. ¡°Sorry, sweetie. Afraid I don¡¯t. You¡¯re gonna have to give your poor old mom more details.¡±

    Giselle just barely felt like she was holding back the urge to ruin the carpet on the passenger side of the crossover with those wretched remains of terrible junior high lunch. In the pause, Rachel amended, ¡°Some sort of repair guy stopped over, right before I left. It was weird, especially considering he said he represents this website we bought that faulty toilet seat from. I never expected them to send someone over. Strange fella gave me this card that said Cerberus. Must be a contractor. He¡¯s waiting till we get back.¡±

 [8] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 8 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [8]

    For the Alt Branch [8A]

    ¡°What do you think?¡±

    While Giselle asked the question, she looked into Rachel¡®s eyes and could see the shape of her own question crossing them like an echo. Rachel didn¡¯t know what to do any more than she did. A suspicious email sent from some random name supposedly related to the website sounded like the worst idea for something to chase after.

    Even if it was just the two of them in normal conditions with Jeremy¡¯s faintly intimidating height, there was no way they were going to risk driving fifty miles north to some random waterfront location, wait for a black car, and hope that it all went well. Jeremy had called off sketchy game swaps for far less.

    They could call the police or other authorities, but considering that Giselle had just overcome an effort to completely brainwash her and her parents were still in that state, neither of them believed that things would swing fairly for them with that.

    Among the best of the bad options, Rachel tried to reply to the email with some questions and clarifications, but that was futile as she kept getting an error saying that something was wrong with the email address. There was really only one choice.

    They contacted Finley and Dale. Finley was actually in a good spot because he had had to head north on store business and was actually coming back into town. Along with an extensive arcade collection, he had more guns than anyone else they knew, including some World War I artillery pieces. He provided a silent protection presence for a friend of his when he was going in for a big trade of expensive video game merchandise.

    Neither of them wanted to put their friends in danger. But this appeared to be the only option.

    Finley still recognized Giselle as one of his best, long-term customers, despite now also seeing her as Rachel¡®s significant other. It creeped her out that whatever this was had gotten to him as well. The same went for Dale, who recalled her as living in the dorm right next to theirs. To his recollections, geeky ¡®Elle¡¯ apparently stopped by constantly to school everyone in Melee.

    Finley would follow them in his truck and Dale would be in the back with his taser, mace, and six-shooter. Dale would deflect the attention from any creepy figures and Finley would be the backup. Giselle and Rachel both hoped that they were being overprotective for nothing.

    Unlike the other day when it seemed like Dale might be casually interested in Giselle, he suggested by his body language that she was off-limits. She noticed that he kept a polite eyeline but caught that he occasionally glanced down from his peripheral vision at her chest when she turned. A teeny tiny part of her was faintly tempted to ask him if he needed to use the toilet.

    They didn¡¯t really have a good story put together for what exactly was going on, but they had friends who didn¡¯t need the answers to those questions so long as they needed their help. Giselle gave the outline of an explanation with the contours of saying that this person had critical information for them about a misdeed from something they bought which could be remedied. It was clear from Dale¡®s blinking that he had absolutely no idea what that meant, but he was still going along with this for them.

    The main highway sufficed for about 30 miles before they had to switch over to a two-lane one past the state line. It was small town Carolina with a familiar flavor that Jeremy was used to growing up in. Surprisingly quiet as well. For the exact location, they tracked themselves using an app along with Google Maps.

    Finley pulled into a general store down the block while they pulled into a seafood restaurant with a sizable parking lot. A black Chevy van with tinted windows flashed its lights on the side. Dale noted that it looked a little bit like the A-Team van. Giselle had no idea what that was but figured he was right.

    Through the side window, a white paper was pressed to the glass with just the word ¡°FOLLOW¡± written in block letters. Dale expressed some confusion but also excitement as the van slowly pulled out and onto a side street. They followed it around some curving promenades until it parked in an open lot by an oceanfront dog park. Pulling into a spot nearby, they waited again until another paper pressed up against the glass that read ¡°GET OUT¡±.

    They obeyed and stepped out of the car together. About a minute later, the passenger door unlocked, and someone stepped out. They were desperately skinny with a gray jacket on and oversized shades. The jacket looked like it was eating them as a meal and their hands and head were the last parts left. Under one arm, he cradled a narrow, long shipping box. Looking at him in isolation, Giselle if had to guess what he was, she would assume some sort of hobo who recently shaved but hadn¡¯t had anything to eat in weeks. They approached cautiously.

    Setting the box at his feet, the guy laid a skeletal hand on his chest and announced in a high, wheezy voice, ¡°Call me, Cerberus.¡±

    None of them were gonna call him that. Rachel sighed and pressed, ¡°Why did you contact us?¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    The strange man raised a finger and then slipped a skinny remote control out of his pocket. Before anyone could say anything, he pointed it at Dale and pressed a button, then aimed it at Finley¡®s truck parked across the street and pressed the same button. instantly, Dale froze in place with his eyes about to blink. They couldn¡¯t be sure what happened to Finley, but it didn¡¯t appear he was moving either.

    ¡°Privacy measure¡±, the weird man explained. ¡°I know I didn¡¯t say anything in the email about coming alone, but I figured it was implied. This way, your friends don¡¯t wind up with any uncomfortable questions about what we discuss.¡±

    Rachel stamped her foot and demanded, ¡°What do you want? What is all this?¡±

    Giselle emphasized, ¡°Our friends better be alright.¡±

    The man fanned his hand. ¡°Just a slight sinus headache afterward. What I want is to clear your situation up. I¡¯m a lawyer¡­ Sometimes. But I represent the Flush With Pride Co., at least what you would know as that around here. They design their products to basically cause complications and change. Silly man doesn¡¯t wanna put down the toilet seat, so he gets a dose of karmic justice. He changes his ways, and they never need the seat again. Only that¡¯s boring. What good is all that if it doesn¡¯t cause a little chaos? The products with the company are made intentionally faulty. That¡¯s why, when you kicked the seat, new changes happened.¡± He folded his arms and wore a self-satisfied smile.

    Giselle and Rachel glanced at each other and then Giselle answered for them, ¡°¡­I never kicked the seat. I just left it up three times. I thought about kicking it.¡±

    This weird man opened his mouth and raised a finger to say something else, before he took a good look at Giselle and immediately frowned. After several moments of silence, he clapped a hand to his forehead and pronounced, ¡°I¡¯m in the wrong one. Shit. I should¡¯ve waited. Can we do this again in a couple weeks¡­when your seat is broken, and further complications have resulted?¡±

    Rachel scowled and gave a little shake of her head. She eyeballed frozen Dale and his pocket. ¡°I want my husband back.¡±

    Narrowing his gaze, the strange man started to lift his remote before Rachel plunged into Dale¡®s pocket and came up with the mace. She had a couple lessons on how to use it back in college and sprayed a wide pattern at him. He wailed in pain and fumbled the remote on the ground. Giselle didn¡¯t need to be told to grab it. She aimed it with her hand poised over the buttons in what she hoped was a menacing fashion.

    The guy was quite pissed off as he rubbed furiously at his burning, irritated eyes. When he could see again, Rachel had the taser out in one hand and what was left of the mace in the other. She announced, ¡°My husband and I aren¡¯t gonna screw around with whatever you¡¯re doing. You tell us how to fix this or we start pushing buttons that you aren¡¯t going to like.¡± Giselle gripped the remote and laid a finger across a random button in particular for emphasis.

    Panting and still rubbing at his eyes, the supposed lawyer responded, ¡°I was going to give you a fix. But only after yours broke. The box contains a complete seat with control for removal. Since yours isn¡¯t broken and doesn¡¯t have a control, it does whatever it wants in the pursuit of self-preservation. And this is useless to you.¡± The strange man held up the box he brought with him.

    Rachel raised an eyebrow and announced, ¡°I think we¡¯ll be taking it anyway. We¡¯re due a replacement, one that actually works.¡±

    The man scowled and hoisted the box up. Rachel noticed that he didn¡¯t have any objection to giving it to them. After the box, he demanded his remote back. Giselle thought about just trying buttons to see what happened. Eventually, they worked out a plan though. Rachel passed the taser to Giselle while keeping the mace and showing off the six-shooter.

    They backed away when returning the remote and promised if he made any move against them, then they would make sure he hurt. Fortunately, he unfroze both of their friends without even feinting in their direction. Dale looked puzzled and bewildered and Finley¡®s truck started up, but everyone stayed where they were.

    Tucking the remote back in his pocket, the weird man told them, ¡°You should be a little more trusting. I only wanted to help but no no no take care of it yourselves. See how that works for you. I have other matters to deal with.¡± He strode back to the truck and a minute after that it pulled out and drove away.

    The four of them met up soon after and tried to make sense of things. Dale and Finley had some degree of missing time with Finley remarking on it quite pointedly and pondering about UFOs and MIB. Giselle and Rachel really had no answers, but Giselle found herself quite oddly turned on by the way Rachel took charge of things like she was a spy in a movie. She often waited and debated and reflected too hard on the possibilities and quandaries of what to do, sometimes the same as Jeremy, so her resolute command of the situation made Giselle want to cuddle up. She did her best not to think over the implications of that feeling so far as her mood or the recent mental changes she had just shaken loose.

    At least, according to this weird guy, they had a remedy for the seat and a possibility for what to do to fix it.

 [8A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 8A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [8A]

    For the Primary Branch [8]

    Giselle had no idea what to make of all this, especially after eight exhausting hours of school she never wanted to be a part of. No matter what though, she knew in her heart that she could go home, and Rachel would be there, the same as she had always been for all these years. Her constant, her light in her life. A soulmate, no matter what. So long as she was there.

    But the Rachel in the seat next to her had been warped and twisted by whatever this was. If it could make her believe anything, then what was the limit for what it might choose to change? What if Giselle forgot all the important things in her life?

    It was her great and overwhelming dementia fear. The terror that her own brain or the brain of someone she loved might give out in the worst way and the world spiral into a confusing nothingness. Everything she loved forfeit. Everything that mattered to her unraveling.

    At that point, she would basically be dead while living. She felt like she was at the cliffside of her worst fears anyway. If she was stuck like this, then she was over two decades behind Rachel. She would never catch up and whatever life they might make of this would be completely different. On the one hand, if she had to be stuck, then at least she could transform her love, as the best daughter anyone could ever imagine.

    It didn¡¯t take them long to get home. Beside the driveway, Giselle noticed a black van with dark windows she wasn¡¯t able to see through. It took some doing to rouse Britney, but she energetically popped up and stretched her legs after a minute. Fervently, she thanked them for the ride and for everything.

    Outside, the passenger side door of the black van popped open. Stepping around the front of the car was a very skinny man wearing a denim jumpsuit and a cap that looked like it was about to slide off. While he didn¡¯t seem particularly frail, Giselle got an unsettling impression that he hadn¡¯t eaten in a long time. His eyes looked a little irritated, as though the pollen was perhaps getting to him. He spoke with a thin, wheezy voice, ¡°I¡¯m with Cerberus. Just tidying up a few things. I know you purchased a product, and it appears to be broken. Let¡¯s see what we can do about that.¡±

    Rachel led him inside the house and Giselle and Britney followed. Whispering, Britney noted, ¡°That guy looks like a serial killer.¡± The notion sent a sharp shiver down Giselle¡®s spine, which she didn¡¯t even get through years of playing spooky games for streams, outside of fretting whether Herschel knocked something over in the dark.

    Herschel didn¡¯t seem like he had a very good opinion of their visitor either. He stopped snacking from the auto feeder to tuck his tail down, arch his back lightly, and give just the faint impression of a hiss without being loud about it. Britney and Giselle went upstairs to the loft and Herschel soon joined them. Britney tried to pet the kitty, but it slipped just out of her reach.

    In the room together, Giselle wasn¡¯t sure what to say. So much was on her mind from the absolute onslaught of having to worry about junior high classes, to dealing with a girl who acted like her friend and who seemed like a decent person, to the shell shock of Rachel thinking that this is the way that things were supposed to be. And she felt so helpless about all those different pieces.

    Hemorrhaging frustration, Giselle plopped down on her bed and cupped her hands around her face. It didn¡¯t take long for Britney to gingerly ease onto a spot next to her on the bed. She put her arm around her shoulder and offered, ¡°I¡¯m sure things will be alright. Not to overlook all the things you¡¯re going through right now. All those things and you don¡¯t need to share them with me. But if you need to, feel free. I try to be a good listener.¡±

    Giselle glanced over and managed a kind expression while responding, ¡°Thanks. I hope so. It just feels like everything has a long way to go before it might ever feel normal again.¡±

    Britney diligently nodded to that and segued into trying to cheer Giselle up by pointing out different things around the room. She delighted in Kirby, gawked at photos of galaxies, and remarked off the top of her head about the history of a remade RPG game. The girl also leaned into the possibility of fashion, nail painting, and other cute ideas, but also balanced it with the kind of geeky language that Giselle appreciated.

    Things settled, and the house felt collectively quiet. Maybe a little too quiet. Herschel, who had taken to supervising their shenanigans, also appeared anxious but didn¡¯t venture down the steps. Between reviewing some homework and sipping some soda, Giselle excused herself to check on the others.

    The door to the master bedroom was closed. Giselle carefully looked around and slowly propped it open to get a better look. Over by the doorway leading to the bathroom, Rachel stood motionless with her arms bent in an uncomfortable position and her face twisted in alarm. Holding back a gasp, Giselle crept over and tried to shake Rachel. It was like grasping a shockingly lifelike store mannequin. She rocked in place stiffly but didn¡¯t respond or move.

    Through the doorway, a strange man spoke, ¡°She deserves that for macing me in the eye. Don¡¯t worry. I didn¡¯t hurt her. Just needed some quiet time to work. And then I¡¯ll be out of here forever.¡±

    Giselle wanted to stand protectively beside Rachel, safeguard her the way she always did. She scowled and glared at the strange man, as she held Rachel¡®s stiff hand tenderly. ¡°What do you want and what are you doing?¡±

    He stood beside the toilet with the swapped seat they¡¯d been using lately. ¡°I¡¯m here to make sure there¡¯s no fuss. Do you know how many people in the world, in all the worlds, report that their toilet seat has changed their sex?¡±

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Giselle frowned and gave a quick shake of her head. The creepy man responded, ¡°Come on. Not even a guess? Think about how many reports of that kind of problem you¡¯ve heard. None? Sounds about right. And why is that? Because we make sure of it. It¡¯s not always clean and convenient and always seems to verge on the precipice of a paradox or something weird, like deleting the horn of plenty from Fruit of the Loom underwear. Keeping worlds together is a thankless job.¡°

    All that sounded like he was going off on a rant and comprehending the details passed over her far above like a plane. But she gathered that something was up, and this guy seemed to be with whatever forces were making people forget about the way things used to be. She could not abide that.

    ¡°Let Rachel go.¡±

    ¡°No. I¡¯d rather she stays in one place for the moment.¡° He kept his eye on her while swiftly unscrewing the seat and setting it aside. ¡°I haven¡¯t decided how she¡¯s going to end up yet. There are so many possibilities. The seat couldn¡¯t remove her from all this, because she ordered the part and that meant its destiny was tied to her. Fortunately, I¡¯m an independent contractor, and I can go a little outside that. Still makes a mess. Fortunately, she doesn¡¯t have to be human by the time I¡¯m done.¡±

    That did it. Fire burst through Giselle¡®s heart. She wasn¡¯t having this, no matter what it took. Scanning the floor, she noticed a big bag of tools and a remote-sized device which appeared to have been recently replaced in a slot. Her limbs felt slightly tired from the day and gym especially, but she reached into the new reserves of her youth and barreled over towards the bag.

    The weird man was crouched over, working, and had several blind seconds before he caught what she was doing. Yelling and latching onto opposite ends of the bag, they tussled and fought. Giselle had no qualms about actively kicking him as close to the crotch as possible. Swinging around and knocking over stuff on the counter, the remote soon shot loose and into the master bedroom. It slid over to the bed and Giselle scrambled to pick it up. With a bony hand, the man shoved her to the ground and rose to his feet.

    ¡°I was gonna leave you with some of your memories and personality. As a kindness¡±, he intoned. ¡°But now, I can¡¯t wait to see what a silly, flirty, dumb little twit of a tween you turn out to be.¡± Grinning darkly, the skinny man walked to the doorway.

    Before he could get through, a mass flung through the air and practically took his head off. Wheezing with a pained breath, the strange man crumpled to the carpet like a flattened spider and didn¡¯t look like he was going to get up anytime soon.

    Rushing over, Giselle met up with Britney, who recovered her backpack. Considering the insane weight of some of the textbooks and the absolute mass of the thing, Giselle had to wonder how the guy wasn¡¯t dead. She picked up the remote and aimed it around.

    None of the buttons were labeled, so it left her with quite a quandary about which, if any of them, might unfreeze Rachel. Creepy guy wasn¡¯t going to tell her, but she pondered and realized he still could be of some assistance. She glanced in Britney¡®s direction with a quick flutter of nerves. She had no idea how to explain any of this.

    To her credit, Britney wasn¡¯t freaking out or yelling questions. She just wanted to make sure that Giselle was alright. And she had gathered that something was wrong, suspected the weird guy, and had some experience ¡°wielding [her] backpack for protection¡±, as she characterized it.

    Aiming the remote at the stunned guy and pressing buttons in order resulted in some interesting things. First, all his color vanished. Then it shifted to a bright tone. He started to duplicate into twins. His appearance shifted to what appeared to be a Mediterranean one although his body type remained the same. He briefly shifted into female forms, but Giselle didn¡¯t realize it at first, because their shape seemed even more emaciated with scraggly hair and no real attributes to distinguish one mode from the other. She was tempted to leave him like that but continued with her experiments.

    All the while, Britney not only didn¡¯t bat an eye at what was happening but skimmed over the buttons and gave light suggestions. Eventually, creepy guy tensed up, as though paused on a screen. She aimed the remote at Rachel and she stumbled forward to the edge of the bed, released.

    Frantically, she embraced Giselle and kissed her on the forehead. She had her suspicions to pass along about the weird guy but soon deduced that things had advanced far beyond such simple suspicions. Giselle felt disheartened that Rachel had returned to the motherly mode that greeted her in the car.

    While Britney took watch over the frozen guy, Rachel made sure to call the police. Peering into the master bathroom, Giselle soon noticed that, where they had been fighting for the remote, the seat that the weird guy was going to place had a slight indistinct shimmer, like a blocked laser light show.

    She approached it carefully and, when she reached down to touch the lid, a blinding strobe fill the room with blue light. No sounds rung out. In fact, everything was so quiet that even a natural ringing wasn¡¯t there. Giselle opened her eyes and looked in surprise at a girl about her age and height standing before her with her arms folded. Her hair almost stretched to the ground and was a stark, blank off-white that practically matched the tone of the toilet seat. In fact, it exactly matched that tone. And the toilet seat that had been there a moment ago was completely gone. Or was it?

    ¡°¡­hello?¡± Giselle offered.

    The pale new girl rolled her eyes with a visible stretch of her white eyebrows as she asked simply, ¡°Soooo, do you want me or not?¡±

 [9] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 9 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [9]

    For the Alt Branch [9A]

    After narrowly avoiding the thesis that aliens are watching us poop from Dale, and Finley furthering the notion by pondering if Home Depot is actually a spying network for the CIA, Giselle and Rachel got everyone heading back home.

    Neither of their friends who accompanied them to that strangeness at all believed their efforts to give it a benign explanation. Somehow, around it all, Finley pulled a PS2 game collectible out of his pocket and offered it to Giselle for a great deal. It had kind of been a running joke that over the next thousand years Jeremy and Finley would finally be able to collect all of the PlayStation 2 games with the pace they were going.

    It warmed Giselle¡®s heart to know that no matter how she looked, those efforts and that kinship didn¡¯t change. Finley made sure she had a big bear hug before they parted company. Dale gave what would be a normal, lengthy one under usual circumstances. They were all glad to be back at home after that craziness. They thought about opening the box with their friends but resolved that it might be too dangerous.

    The number of white lies and deception Giselle found herself spinning in the last few days was enough to leave her with psychological heartburn. She hoped this would fix that. As they walked inside, delicately handling the box, Giselle felt Rachel guide her shoulder over from bumping into the side jamb. Giselle appreciated it but felt a little weird about it. Granted, this entire situation lapped ¡®weird¡¯ several times over.

    She had boobs on her chest cradled in the most unusual sort of brace she¡¯d ever worn. Between her legs, she could only describe it as sort of like the aftermath of a chainsaw that didn¡¯t hurt. In fact, the crash course Rachel had given her felt mind-numbingly good. Beyond that, she was never particularly strong but at least her body was able to bolster what muscles she had stretched across dangling limbs.

    Rachel, despite not having that many more developed muscles than her, was shouldering the bulk of the box weight. It didn¡¯t take long for them to get it over by the door in the master bedroom. On the one hand, they wanted it as much in the bathroom, where it was supposed to go, as possible. But on the other, they wondered if having two together might cause some weirdness. Furthermore, leaving it in the bedroom also didn¡¯t feel like a good option because they didn¡¯t want to see it. Ultimately, they shifted it over into the closet against some shoes.

    After they had said goodbye to their friends, with Finley driving Dale back to his house, Giselle eased onto the couch and Herschel soon slipped into her lap, hoarding the available lap real estate. Before Rachel could ask, Giselle made it clear she didn¡¯t wanna have anything to do with that box for at least a few minutes to an hour. It didn¡¯t matter if it meant she was still ticking down hours as a girl. She could tolerate another 50 plus.

    In fact, she put forth the idea that they should just hold out two more days despite the ominous note of how she woke up, how her parents had been lately, and the changes to their friends. Of course, she wanted all this gone but everything sounded like a bad idea. Just waiting it out felt useless but the safest course of action. Trying to surgically slip off the old one and do whatever they could do with this new thing held so many questions. And she absolutely didn¡¯t want anything to do with that guy¡¯s creepy mention of kicking it. She could only imagine that it might explode in their faces.

    The looming issue of their regularly scheduled game stream tomorrow and then friend get-together Saturday night didn¡¯t bother Giselle that much, considering the personality warp she¡¯d made it through. But the key problem was her fear that Rachel would forget who she was. The pain of just a few hours of terrifying the woman she loved with this blasted thing was bad enough. She knew she could find the strength to do for her what she had done. To her last breath, she would always make sure of that.

    But the possibility of a relentless war on what she knew and who she loved was too much. With a resigned breath, she still asked for a little bit of time but knew they would have to do something. Supper felt excruciatingly normal as Giselle quietly got used to her perspective when it came to the cabinets and drawers. They used the far restroom where necessary and each did their best to enjoy the meal. Giselle even included some typical vlogging with an apology about the last couple of days being crazy. She wanted to get up to the loft and edit this together with the footage from yesterday but felt torn in too many directions to really settle down and focus.

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    Rachel surprised her with a warm back rub, which she relaxed into. Before evening fully descended upon them, they decided to at least pop open the box and gather what was what. They had a grip stick resting to the side in the closet and employed that as something akin to a crude bomb disposal robot.

    The inside of the box had the same normal expected packaging and plastic that Rachel encountered when first installing the original seat. The seat looked much the same as the other one, with an instruction packet, several smaller boxes of metallic pieces, some tools for tightening, and a separate device that hadn¡¯t been in the original set.

    They soon both discovered this appeared to be the control device that was missing on theirs. Rachel sighed and shook her head as she unwrapped that one in particular. Glancing at Giselle, she wondered aloud, ¡°What if we just use this with the old one and see if that¡¯s enough?¡± She figured it couldn¡¯t hurt.

    Delicately, Rachel unpacked the control section and brought it right over to the seat. She rubbed it against the display portion like a slender sander. The display did flash a few times but eventually gave a coded warning she had to look up in the documents.

    ¡°This says it¡¯s not paired and it can¡¯t be paired after being activated. Devices must pair with the parts they arrive with. Never mind that then.¡± No amount of finessing got it to recognize the device, but it did give Rachel an idea.

    She noticed that when the device for the new seat got close to the old one the screws in the back started to loosen, as though it were preparing to disengage. Working together, they grabbed pliers, set the two seats together, and worked on swapping one with the other. They made quite a bit of progress at first, as sliding the control device around gave Giselle and Rachel enough leverage to twist the section holding the sea almost to the end. Unfortunately, at that point, it felt like it was soldered as a single piece of metal and nothing they seemed to do would release it.

    At her wit''s end, Rachel smacked it with the edge of her pliers and, remarkably, the pieces plopped on the ground. It was free! But, as they switched the seats from one to the other, a blue bolt of energy arced above the plastic. Tingling, a sudden blast knocked them both to the floor.

    Giselle had a bad feeling as she gradually sat up. The first ominous realization was that her bra was pinching. Fortunately, she soon realized an instant later that was because the band was tight. She¡¯d gotten bigger! However, there was still something in the cups. To her settling disappointment, she could tell she was still a woman. But she was a woman whose clothes were snug. Rachel¡®s outfits would probably fit her more comfortably now.

    Where was Rachel? It took a moment before her eyes were able to adjust to the rest of the room after that flash. That ominous concern deepened like a lead weight inside her stomach when she saw a tall man constricted by his clothes. His hair was lighter than Jeremy¡®s and rather thick. If Giselle had to compare him to anyone then she would definitely note that Rachel¡¯s Wisconsin male cousin, Tim, would be a perfect fit, except for the height.

    Plaintively, the man rolled and begged her to help him get the clothes off. Giselle hesitated until he looked her in the eye. She knew that presence anywhere. It was her wife.

    The bra had to come off, as well as the underwear. Rachel¡®s pants also weren¡¯t going to work. Without them, Giselle could see the full presence of this guy¡¯s manhood. Giselle, as a man, had big feet and avoided the obvious questions. She could tell you that certain things did not necessarily correlate. However, she was happy with what she had as a man. This guy, actually Rachel, looked definitively blessed. Not to the point that anyone needed to call the record books, but she had a hard time looking away. And the tight clothes against her body triggered several things with a mind of their own.

    She helped him up while trying not to think about her bright, hot face and gaze aimed at the floor. In the mirror, the top of the newly male Rachel¡®s head was cut off. Giselle noticed she could comfortably stretch a few inches taller than the abysmal shortness she¡¯d been saddled with till now. In fact, she seemed to be just about as tall as Rachel had been. And the man that Rachel had become towered in precisely the same way as Jeremy.

    They looked at one another with concern as it dawned that, despite the fact they were in bodies that felt like variations of themselves, they had essentially swapped places when it came to height.

    Together, they both muttered, ¡°Aww, piss¡­¡±

 [9A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 9A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [9A]

    For the Primary Branch [9]

    ¡°Want you?¡± Giselle vaguely wondered if she had been hit in the head too somewhere in all this, if she was seeing the toilet seat in the form of a human child.

    The white-haired girl steadied her eyes and responded, ¡°You hurt my twin. She had to go back into her shell. If you don¡¯t want me, just say and I¡¯ll go quiet too.¡±

    Giselle frowned, brushed her long blonde hair out of her eyes, and shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. What are you and what is all this?¡±

    Touching her ivory hair in vague mimicry, the girl responded, ¡°I want to be human one day. But I¡¯m still young. And I need to eat.¡±

    Setting her hands at her sides, Giselle scrutinized the weird child and pressed, ¡°Eat? You eat people?¡± She wasn¡¯t sure whether to run away and lock the door, but she looked over her shoulder to see whether it was still open. It was. She had no idea what everyone else was doing. Despite getting bashed, she feared that the threatening guy would return while Britney and Rachel were vulnerable and waiting for the police.

    The girl gently mirrored her again before answering, ¡°We feed on change. Humans are the only big animals that can change so much in one individual. You create big waves in everything. We catch your wake. And make you make waves. I can change you and that creates more change which I can filter to get stronger, to get more like you someday.¡±

    All that made very little sense to Giselle¡®s events-rattled brain. She loved space, so her immediate thought went to aliens, despite all the crazy memes involved. Why toilet seats as alien eggs/babies? Her 33-year-old brain often felt like it had only so much capacity for picking apart crazy video game plots, the anime ones especially. Heck, even a decade ago, it felt like most things flew a mile over Jeremy¡®s head. But, making sense of this deeply mattered to the ones she loved and possibly her entire reality. So, she concentrated.

    ¡°You¡­ And things like you want to be human. So, you turn men into women? And older people into young ones?¡± She worried that one of her blinding ocular migraines might pop up. This was the age when Jeremy first got them the worst. It took decades before all that settled down into different sorts of aches and pains.

    The girl scrunched up her face in imitation. ¡°Change. Surprise, fear, uncertainty, hope, curiosity, excitement, imagination, and possibility. And more. Twenty-four-hour doses. Punishments. My twin is sorry she took so much of that from you, but you hurt her, and she needed to sleep to get better.¡±

    Giselle didn¡¯t find a whole lot of that which made sense. But some familiar landmarks were starting to connect for her. ¡°The toilet seat punishes a man who lifts it without putting it back down by making him a woman for twenty-four hours. That¡¯s because¡­ You need a dose of human chaos to feed?¡±

    At that, the girl clapped her hands. ¡°You understand. Partly. Not chaos, just change. Emotion. Your feelings for her. The one you share your life force with.¡± Her¡­ Rachel. But some parts Giselle still found confusing.

    ¡°If you need change as part of your¡­ Life cycle¡­ then why do people forget? Why is it like no change happened?¡±

    After tipping her head back, as though searching the ceiling and walls for some answer that only she could see, the girl soon responded, ¡°Wounds. Scabs. Change returning to what it was. It adapts. It goes back but different. Food dries up. They stop us.¡±

    As much as Giselle was morbidly fascinated by all this, she was terrified of what was going on outside the doorway. Britney and Rachel felt like no match for that creepy guy. But she had to ask, ¡°They?¡±

    ¡°Those who call us parasites. The ones like you, who are not you. Those who slip through the walls while we sleep. They take us and vanish¡­¡±

    There wasn¡¯t a single part of what she just said which didn¡¯t give her shivers or make her feel a little sick to her stomach. Giselle had to leave and make sure the others were okay. She motioned towards the doorway, but the girl grabbed her hand and refused to let go.

    ¡°Scared. Don¡¯t leave us. Your warmth is better than the forever cold.¡± Like so much in all this, Giselle had no idea what to say to that, but she let the strange child hold onto her as she walked slowly out of the bathroom and back over to the master bedroom. As she feared, the creepy guy was nowhere to be seen. Not even under the bed.

    ¡°Gone. Back through the walls.¡° No way she was ever going to shake her unnerved shivers when the kid kept saying stuff like that. Fortunately, Britney and Rachel were over in the kitchen, Rachel standing in easy reach of every knife they had and Britney standing beside a wooden baseball bat. The relief was overwhelming.

    Britney looked like she practically flew across the room while still keeping her feet on the ground. The ferocious hug that collided with her didn¡¯t barrel her over because she only spun half a turn holding onto the weird girl. A little dizzy, Giselle then got enveloped by Rachel rushing to her side too. Eventually, the white-haired girl got in on the hug as well. The grumbly, grandpa portion of Giselle¡®s soul bristled at being overwhelmed on all sides like that.

    ¡°Who¡¯s your friend, Gi?¡± Britney waved at the new girl and gave a half smile. It was as Giselle feared: there were even more cute nicknames floating around for her than ¡®Elle¡¯. She could¡¯ve shot it down but, at this point, she wasn¡¯t sure if it was from another bend in reality or something more benign.

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    Besides, she had bigger things to worry about, along with more heartbreaking things. Rachel cradled her head and squeezed her shoulders like a mom relieved to be reunited with her daughter. A wound in things, scabbed over with what made the most sense.

    Non-related tween girl who lives with an adult woman, must be her adopted daughter. Giselle could think of several things that worked better than that correction to reality. Such as¡­ Such as¡­ Well, she couldn¡¯t think of specific examples, but she definitely knew there were several that would¡¯ve been better. Probably¡­

    It didn¡¯t take too long for a police cruiser to drive by, with a squeal from the siren to announce their arrival. At this point, there wasn¡¯t much they could really do. The black van had vanished and neither Rachel nor Britney recalled hearing it pull out.

    They took down a description of this ¡°Cerberus¡° and his vehicle but none of them could recall the plate number, not even Rachel. As for the girl with long white hair, the officers crouched down and asked her her name. She looked to Giselle for help, as though she could do something about this. Figuring that telling them that this was some sort of embodiment of an alien egg that lived in their toilet seat wouldn¡¯t go over well, so she went with what sounded like the most generic name possible off the top of her head.

    ¡°Olivia Smith. She¡¯s my classmate.¡± Of course, the officers took all that down and wanted to know more. Where did she live, where was her family, and what teachers could they contact? ¡°Olivia¡° behaved as though each question sapped energy from her. The officers gave her space. The one nearest kept adding to his notes as Giselle watched.

    When his back was turned, Olivia popped up and a blue glint flashed through her eyes. Immediately, the officer tumbled to the pavement and cried out. That wasn¡¯t all that happened, as the big burly male police officer with a comb mustache shifted into a blonde woman with a long, braided ponytail reaching around to her chest. She was still clothed, despite scrambling in an oversized pool of her uniform. The other officer, who had gone around to the front of their squad car, hustled over and stared dumbstruck at the unfamiliar woman wearing his partner¡¯s uniform. Olivia squinted lightly. Her eyes were a pale blue that matched the energy when she appeared and the flash she just summoned.

    The newly-female officer was much smaller than the man she used to be, with narrow arms and slight contours. Her partner didn¡¯t believe her claims and harshly admonished her for reasons he didn¡¯t even seem to believe. The bewildered officer got a blanket and a seat in the back of the squad car. The other officer rubbed his eyes, sighed, and informed them that the department would be following up shortly.

    Olivia crawled into Giselle¡®s arms and got very sleepy. Britney offered to help but Giselle guided Olivia up the stairs by herself and into her bedroom/workspace/tween geek room. Curling up in the covers, Olivia quickly went silent without even breathing. Although Giselle wasn¡¯t entirely sure she had been breathing before. Nervous, Giselle prodded her until her eyes inched open again and stared.

    Olivia explained in a low voice, ¡°Needed food. Storing it. Didn¡¯t want to take from the ones you call Britney and Rachel. That man will revert in six hours. Quarter dose. Just enough. Need rest...¡± It was still unnerving for Giselle to watch Olivia freeze in place more like a corpse than a sleeping child. She could just sleep with Rachel again this evening, but it would be different.

    Before she left her, Giselle folded her hands in front of her and said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I hurt your twin, that I kicked her and she had to go into¡­ Hibernation?¡±

    Olivia didn¡¯t immediately say anything, so Giselle sighed and started to walk away.

    ¡°She¡­would question why you are sorry, when she has taken such potential from you. Years of who Jeremy was and who Giselle could be. She would beg for your forgiveness, that she was too afraid of the forever dark.¡±

    ¡°I forgive her.¡°

    Olivia didn¡¯t respond, but Giselle sensed that she heard her.

    After pulling in a deep breath, Giselle nodded slowly. She had the feeling that she should¡¯ve just let Olivia sleep or whatever she was doing, but so many piles of questions remained. They could wait, they had to wait. Most of them. She had just one question left though.

    ¡°Why do you¡­and your kind want to be human?¡±

    ¡°¡­. Love. Human love. It can reshape entire worlds. With it, we can truly live, change, and grow for ourselves.¡±

    Giselle¡®s mouth shifted like she was chewing. Some jaded part of her, at least 33 years old, wanted to roll its metaphorical eyes but the rest¡­ Remembered the way that Rachel always greeted her at the airport after just a few days away on a trip or to visit her family for a special occasion in the Midwest. She would race forward like a child, despite the weight of all her bags. Her arms would be spread wide and, even though she couldn¡¯t come close to fully squeezing towering Jeremy, she would envelop him as much as possible. At times like that, she felt like the biggest thing in the world, and he felt so small beside her.

    There was no way for Giselle to hold back her tears as she just managed to wish Olivia a good night and snatch up a handful of tissues from the nearest Kleenex box. She lingered in the junk restroom until she didn¡¯t look like a little kid who just spent the last few minutes sobbing.

 [10] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 10 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [10]

    For the Alt Branch [10A]

    Giselle and Rachel found comfort on the bed in the master bedroom. Just sinking into it and calling an end to this already messed up day felt like a comforting prospect as Rachel wrapped up her sprawling, manly body and Giselle found a quiet corner with a pillow hugged to her. She marveled at the absolute wingspan of her spouse.

    That used to be her? Well, it did feel sprawling, even from the inside. But the scale, a few days away, seemed extreme. Not that she wanted this trade of perspectives. She just wanted normalcy. Rachel reached across the bed and sought her hand. Giselle grasped it. They each wanted to yell again, with more punctuated curses. Giselle knew that Rachel had it in her. For the moment, however, they managed to find their feet, cover up a little, and search the side closet for clothing.

    It didn¡¯t take long to discover that they were each approximately the same dimensions the other had been before all this started. Giselle still had that slight cup advantage, but Rachel¡¯s bras managed to fit her. Rachel¡®s newfound, lanky thinness in Jeremy shape was a perfect fit for his clothes. All that settled, they returned to the edge of the bed and gazed at the innocuous paleness of the new toilet seat they just installed.

    Together, they looked through the new instructions. They seemed practically the same as the ones that came with the other seat, but there was a lot of fine print to read. Giselle squinted at one part she noticed and read, ¡°This toilet seat cannot threaten you in any way. It also cannot speak. In the event you hear it speaking, please contact FWP.com to reach a consultant who can assist you in remedying this situation.¡±

    They looked at one another and soon resolved simultaneously, ¡°Portal reference¡­¡±

    However, Giselle filed away that notion as something they could include in an email to get a quicker response. That turned out to be the only item of note they discovered then when sifting through the document.

    Returning to the bathroom, Rachel smacked herself on the top of the door. Giselle urged her to duck down for safety and he did it, but it didn¡¯t come as easily and automatically to her as Jeremy with nearly two decades of being lanky. In there, Rachel said she wanted to check what they could do with the replacement seat now.

    Giselle hated the idea. They had been blasted into a bad enough situation and fiddling with the cause of the latest complications felt like tickling a lion¡¯s mouth or a nuclear core. But Rachel was going to do it on his own anyway, and she couldn¡¯t abandon her.

    Working methodically, Rachel placed the control section against the part she was supposed to, and it was a simple matter to unscrew everything and remove the seat. Once that was done uneventfully, she just reversed what was done and placed it back where it was supposed to be, with everything secure.

    After all that was done, they each took a step back and waited. Nothing happened. Rachel used her length to get around every inch of the seat until Giselle had to gently rub a knot out of her lower back. Rachel clenched her fists and laid them on the plastic. ¡±Please¡­¡±

    Nothing happened. She rolled over, to lay against the cabinets under the sink, and admitted, ¡°I have no idea what to do.¡± Giselle actually had an idea, but she presented it as, ¡°You may not like it.¡±

    Giselle guided him to stand in front of the toilet and unzip Jeremy¡®s pants. She found herself a little flush as she watched Rachel¡¯s immensity stretch through the flap. From there, she just instructed Rachel to pee, which he was just able to do. Rachel found this way ¡°more convenient¡° but had some complaints about the dribble and comfort, comparing it to handling an ungainly garden hose. Giselle didn¡¯t disagree but still would¡¯ve gladly traded options.

    Once Rachel finished and was about to do the next thing, Giselle caught her and firmly explained, ¡°Just try to walk away.¡± The seat was still up. Rachel understood and turned towards the sink.

    Before he got there, Rachel felt getting dunked into cold water with her rear hanging out. Extracting themselves from the bowl, was a woman wearing Jeremy¡®s clothes like a tent. Rachel had been punished the same way as Jeremy that night that felt like forever ago now.

    They put the seat down carefully and Giselle guided the shrunken Rachel over to the sink. Rachel felt disconcerted and woozy as she had barely managed to adapt to being over 6 1/2 feet tall and now she had to deal with being almost two feet shorter. Man Rachel had somewhat taken after her cousins, but with the funhouse mirror of being inspired by Jeremy for scale. Same as Giselle did her best to ignore the fact that she was original Rachel''s height but retained bust and other subtle traits from her first female version. This meant that, even though Rachel had essentially been restored, she still didn¡¯t quite look like herself.

    Before they could do anything else, Giselle lifted the seat and straddled the bowl the best she could manage. She would basically have to fall over it to get the same effect, but she decided to pee lightly into a wad of paper and toss it in the bowl. She held her breath and turned away with the seat still elevated.

    Triumphantly, she got dunked too. Between her legs, after what felt like so long, she had that crazy garden hose attachment that Rachel was so skeptical about. And the blasted boobs were nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, Giselle hadn¡¯t been restored to original Jeremy form either. The man she became stood decently tall, especially beside tiny punished Rachel, but he was nowhere near 6 1/2 feet and had a weird blend of features from each of them. His hair also appeared fluffy and lighter, much like his mom Lily, but without the bright blonde coloration.

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    Still, the two of them celebrated with big, awkward hugs in clothes that no longer quite fit. Fortunately, trading outfits worked well enough for around the house, although Rachel would need their shopping finds for Giselle. It was still a mess, but not as big of it one at least.

    Setting the seat down, Rachel checked the display that she previously used to determine how many days Jeremy was punished as Giselle. Jeremy already had a notion that they could run up the penalties until it effectively restored them. Ideally, they would want a different shape but that was at least an option for the meanwhile.

    Giselle scrunched up her eyebrows and looked at the display after setting the control against it. It wasn¡¯t showing the normal penalty with one day multiplied. Instead, Rachel looked in the pamphlet for how to interpret the pictographs and came up with a disheartening result.

    ¡°It¡¯s stuck in some sort of provisional mode. This penalty is only for an hour, before it reverts.¡±

    Jeremy gave an annoyed breath, but pointed out, ¡°Then we just stack them up. One hour then two then four and up until whatever.¡±

    Rachel shook her head. ¡°Provisional penalties don¡¯t stack, it says. It¡¯s just one hour at a time. It can¡¯t institute mounting penalties in that mode.¡±

    One hour. Just one gosh darn hour. That was all the reprieve they would get from this mixed-up, topsy-turvy world. It barely seemed worth it. Jeremy cradled his forehead and inquired, ¡°Does it say anything about getting it out of this provisional status? How do we set the mode we had before?¡±

    That was a big question that Rachel just could not find an answer to anywhere in the book of instructions. She scanned diligently and repeatedly across everything she could see until she stopped at a section marked simply HELP.

    Below, on the diagram of the parts focusing specifically on the toilet seat, the explanation of the seat was labeled, ¡°Please help me, before the ones beyond walls find us.¡± Rachel had no clue how to parse that, but she showed it to Jeremy.

    He squinted and flipped around the entire document, looking for another comparable note. Chewing on his lip, he proposed, ¡°Could that have been put there by the creepy guy we met? Doesn¡¯t seem likely, with how he was acting. Perhaps it had to be kept secret. So, what do we do about it?¡± Randomly, the plastic toilet seat made a sudden clattering sound as if it had been dropped down. But it was already down.

    Rachel and Jeremy shared a look and questioned whether one or the other had slightly left it up. For safety, they each backed away and then crab-walked out of the room. The seat made no other sounds as they returned to the safety of the edge of the bed.

    Pained, Jeremy expressed, ¡°I really have to get to back work. Somehow, I have to reconcile the content from this week for vlogging, the streams, and the rest of the backlog of things we have recorded. I don¡¯t have time to deal with reality going crazy and getting flip turned upside down on us¡­.That¡¯s the Fresh Prince.¡± Jeremy followed up with a familiar recitation, which made Rachel smile.

    It was unfortunate that they didn¡¯t have the opportunity to stop at one of the intriguing restaurants along the coastline during their trek north. Rachel had made a note of them for a later, less stressful occasion.

    Adjusting their clothes again, Jeremy clung to the normalcy, even if it had to come in hourly increments that he couldn¡¯t stack. Thinking back to the minutes already passed, they each set a close-enough alarm on their phones to remember. Mostly, the alarm was for Jeremy, who suspected he would get so into work only to realize ¡°tits¡±. They could imagine it as a managed condition. Remember to take your hourly dose of sex fix when you fall into the other gender!

    Some part of him wondered if this new level of a curse was just a financial scheme for that company¡¯s pharmaceutical arm to offer a protracted, limited remedy.

    Venturing out from the master bedroom though, they noticed some immediate differences. Herschel was there. And he wasn¡¯t alone.

    ¡°TYCHO!!!¡± They swarmed the mostly-white kitty cat with what looked like a black painted mask across the upper half of his head and then a wobbly brush stroke of dark fur down his back and to his tail. The cat looked utterly confused and concerned beyond reason as they wrapped him up and held him in their arms.

    No amount of tears felt like enough. Tycho had left them several years ago and it still hurt. He was only a few years old but had developed liver irregularities and vomiting which developed into even worse with aggressive cancer spilling throughout his little body. The night they had to say goodbye, he looked so tired and was running a fever like a fireball. He just wanted to be there and be held.

    He was the smart cookie, the clever one who plotted and orchestrated a plan to uncap the massive food container, which should only have been possible with thumbs. Somehow, the dang cat figured it out. Not only that, but he made distractions to steal food on a whim. Poor Herschel tended to be the target as he was a lovey-dovey cutie but more Pinky to Tycho¡¯s Brain so far as analogies Jeremy actually knew.

    This made no sense to Jeremy, yet he didn¡¯t want to move or breathe or do anything that might shake loose this beautiful version of reality where their beloved kitty cat made it somehow. Feeling around as the poor little guy still had no freaking clue what was going on, Rachel pointed out a mark along his back flank which looked long healed.

    Jeremy pieced together, that because of whatever changes, they had to have caught the illness in time and had preemptive surgery for Tycho. Following that, a twisting miasma of melancholy circled Jeremy¡®s heart. If they restored reality, as it was supposed to be, then this would likely be undone as well.

 [10A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 10A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [10A]

    For the Primary Branch [10]

    Giselle didn¡¯t feel ready to head down the steps to the ground level. Her eyes were raw from crying that her soulmate mistakenly believed she was actually her adoptive mother, along with crying that some sort of interdimensional alien creature, who was the toilet seat, had to take 2/3 of her age and go into hibernation because she kicked it in frustration, and then the replacement seat somehow turned into a white-haired, blue-eyed girl similar to her with odd mimicry.

    And, as a final capper on that emotional torrent, she tugged at a few heartstrings by invoking the power of love. Giselle didn¡¯t want to pin the blame on her early pubescent body. She got thoroughly crushed by the estrogen monster yesterday. The current arrangement actually felt like a reprieve. Sure, junior high was a gross, funky horror show of feelings and things she didn¡¯t want any part in, but she found compartmentalizing worked best.

    She wasn¡¯t actually a young girl barely more than four and a half feet tall. She just happened to be piloting a very strange avatar in this open game world and it had a few weird aspects here and there that she wasn¡¯t going to bring up and which didn¡¯t matter.

    That was because Olivia, the white-haired girl, had a twin who she kicked in frustration at being trapped as a woman for the rest of the week. This damage caused her to go into hibernation. But¡­ But¡­ Giselle was going to help figure out things with Olivia and this other one and then she was going to get resolution. She¡¯s gonna get back to being Jeremy and everything was going to be fine.

    And it all started with reminding Rachel of what they really meant to one another. Somehow. Taking the steps down one at a time, Giselle had no idea what she was going to say, but she had a long history of speaking extemporaneously on streams. She improvised an entire video game saga with a friend on messenger even though they never talked to each other or planned anything. She even attempted the same once against the chaotic currents of Twitter. And this was for her life and the most important person in it rather than memes and giggles.

    Britney caught her when she stepped off the bottom step. Her hug wasn¡¯t unpleasant but the youth energy and exuberance bewildered Giselle. She had just hugged her with soaring enthusiasm near minutes ago. Herschel rested on the couch but popped his furry head up and watched what they were doing.

    At least her furry child hadn¡¯t gotten caught in what that creepy guy was up to. Still ensnared by Britney¡®s embrace, Giselle gave him plenty of head scratches and checked to see if he had dinner already. According to Rachel, who returned from her office to rest her hands on her hips and survey the prospects for dinner, he had.

    But that didn¡¯t stop him from offering up wide eyes and a plaintive expression like the poor thing had dragged itself across a desolate desert without a single scrap of anything for ages and here it sat, utterly malnourished, though while licking its face of stray leftovers. Instead, they cleaned out his circulating water bowl and that had to suffice.

    Rachel put ¡°you girls¡± to work as her assistants in preparing the vegetables and rice for mild chicken curry. Britney inquired if hers could be spicier and Giselle¡®s Southern heart gave a flutter as she smirked and asked for the same. Rachel was able to make contact with Britney¡¯s dad over the phone and ensure he knew that she would be staying for supper and that Rachel would subsequently be dropping her off. Listening in slightly, Giselle caught that Britney¡®s father hadn¡¯t even realized that she wasn¡¯t home yet. He apologized and somewhat explained that it was a busy Thursday where he worked. Giselle caught a chuckling mention from him that things were ¡°crazy¡±, and he asked to speak to Britney.

    Britney, whose face appeared as impassively blank as a doll¡¯s while she gingerly cut the vegetables, turned, thanked Rachel for the phone, and then walked down the hallway to speak with her dad. Giselle took over cutting duties when her part was finished.

    She had to say something to Rachel. In a reversed situation, she knew in her heart that her wife would do everything in her power to try to remind her of what they had lost. The age disparity was incredibly weird, but it wasn¡¯t going to get any better if she waited.

    ¡°Chel¡­¡± Giselle pulled in a breath and held it, like she was a balloon that could be bolstered by puffing up just that little bit. It was clear from Rachel¡®s expression that using her nickname felt strange for this situation. She stuck to her guns though and told her, ¡°There¡¯s been a lot of stuff and we need to talk about it.¡±

    Rachel shifted her feet and pulled on the edges of a frown, as though she were about to call out her daughter¡¯s strange tone and admonish it. But she relaxed a moment later and set a hand on her forehead before brushing her hair back.

    ¡°Later,¡± she resolved. ¡°The master bathroom doesn¡¯t have a seat, so I need to get the spare from the far restroom back on. Are you good here to get everything finished? You remember the recipe, right?¡± Rachel appeared as though something more was bothering her than just getting a toilet seat back on the master. She fussed with discomfort.

    Eagerly, Giselle nodded and reassured her she would take care of everything. It wasn¡¯t long before Britney returned and handed back the phone. She thanked ¡°Miss Huber¡± for letting her borrow her phone, since she wasn¡¯t allowed to take her cell phone to school. It took several seconds for Giselle to realize what was wrong.

    The oddity hadn¡¯t been obvious in school, because they just called her Giselle Huber and she was used to it, same as hearing Jeremy Huber all the time. Huber was just her surname. Only¡­ She was supposed to be adopted and, if Rachel wasn¡¯t married, then her maiden name should¡¯ve been Conway.

    It struck her mere moments later that there were several logical explanations for this. When adopting Giselle, perhaps the theoretical altered reality Rachel decided to have her daughter keep her family name because of how close Gerald and Lily were. Of course, that introduced even more problems when it came to the names of her supposedly biological parents. Ultimately, all this not epiphany did for her was bring new stress about why she didn¡¯t notice any of this earlier and concern about whether her own mind was being warped in some subtle fashion.

    As supper cooked, Giselle slipped over to Herschel¡®s sleepy side and gave him therapeutic head scratches.

    ¡°A buck fifty for your thoughts?¡± Britney asked as she tidied up the kitchen area, threw trash away, and washed her hands. Giselle was about to hop up and help, but Britney waved her hand and told her to keep giving love to ¡°kitty¡± as she was practically done. Before leaving the kitchen, Britney checked the cooking time with Rachel¡®s recipe book on the counter, set the small white timer off to the side, and grabbed two Diet Cokes from the fridge.

    Giselle didn¡¯t often drink diet, except when it was left over from being offered for a friend get-together, but she accepted the can and rested it against her neck before popping the top. It tasted too sweet, but she tolerated it. After all that, she considered Britney¡®s question.

    ¡°$1.50 seems like a bit much¡­¡±

    Britney shrugged and remarked, ¡°Inflation.¡±

    Out of everything, the notion of an 11-year-old concerned with inflation was probably the scariest prospect. Giselle sighed and rubbed an eye. ¡°Just this confusing world. Some weirdo gets away and strange things keep getting stranger.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry about that, Gi! My magic will protect you!¡±

    Giselle glanced over. Some part of her was tempted to just smile and playfully laud ¡°Britney¡¯s Magic¡± as part of some perfect little game from an 11-year-old. However, she realized that events lately had turned the silly things into the most serious, so she carefully asked, ¡°Magic¡­?¡±

    Britney sipped her soda as well. ¡°Magic! Like I mentioned last week. I was so alone in elementary school. So, I went and got everything together, prepared all the pieces, focused my thoughts, and made a little happy spell. A promised to the world that if I could be happy and have a friend¡­ A very special friend¡­ then I would return that tenfold, because I¡¯m a good witch.¡±

    Giselle tensed her legs. She watched Britney. She knew from so many different people she met in her online community as Jeremy that Wiccans and stuff like that were nothing to be scared about. She even thought it was all pretty cool and nothing like in the movies and scary stories told by preachers. But she lived in the South so, despite her desired feeling, she tensed up with the memory of a dozen Sunday School lessons. She drowned it with another sip of soda and responded, ¡°Yep! You¡¯re awesome!¡±

    Britney reached over and clasped Giselle¡®s free hand. ¡°You¡¯re even more amazing! You¡¯re special¡­ Like that girl who just appeared out of nowhere. I know you¡¯re responsible for her. And it¡¯s like you banished that mean guy away. You can do amazing things! But there¡¯s more I know you want to do. So, I¡¯m gonna give you some of my energy to keep you strong tomorrow and through all the mean things that might try to hurt you.¡±

    The mental scientist inside Giselle had taken a battering since the reveal that magic toilet seats could turn men into women. Finding out that ¡°aliens¡± from another dimension learning to be humans were actually the cause had helped somewhat but the general craziness and flux of reality balanced out those victories. But sure, what the heck, if Britney wanted to give her some energy to help her, there¡¯s no way was she going to begrudge it, even if it were just a psychological placebo.

    The actual ritual she performed involved stuff that Giselle had no idea about, but the last note involved slipping a protection charm around her right wrist. It was pleasant looking and in her favorite color tone of green. Britney made her swear to wear it, even in the shower, till at least tomorrow night. Giselle had no reason to reject this notion, so she played along.

    Rachel didn¡¯t say anything about the random wristband she was wearing when she returned and served up supper for everyone. While eating, they just watched some Japanese import game show and didn¡¯t bring up any of the evening¡¯s events. Giselle tagged along in the backseat as Rachel drove Britney to her dad¡¯s house. It was the most normal part of their day.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    On the ride back, Rachel proposed a place with some drive-thru ice cream and Giselle couldn¡¯t deny it. As they waited, Giselle fussed with that silly little band on her wrist. They decided to get a little bit extra for Olivia, if she was awake when they got back.

    Tightening her determination, Giselle began, ¡°I still feel clever that, even though we both knew I was going to propose, and our mutual friend was working on the ring¡­on that silly one-hundred percent humidity summer day. We sat there in Bellworth Park, and I asked you about the date and how long we¡¯ve been together and then told you so, it was June 28, 2009¡­ that I proposed to you. I thought I was clever. And you told me it was two years since the first time I made you smile. And I had no idea, but it was when we were still talking on MSN and my roommates in college were playing Smash so freaking loud. And I told you¡­ all I can hear are Mario and Peach screaming and all I wish¡­ I wish¡­¡±

    The darn hormones or whatever we¡¯re ganging up on her and even though she made it this far, she stammered with nervous sobs. How could she do this? How could she make her remember? She was so dumb, she was so dumb without the one person in her life who made her less dumb. Who, no matter what happened, she needed at her side.

    Softy, she heard stifled tears as Rachel kept her hands on the wheel and managed to finish, ¡°All I wish¡­ is to hear you laugh. Oh, Jeremy. How could I ever forget? I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Of course, she was absolutely freaking forgiven. They squeezed each other¡®s hand and bent over for a quick hug, or as much of one as was possible with seatbelts and separated chairs with Giselle being so small and Rachel having a 34-year-old body, despite her surgery helping enormously.

    With the truth pulled up, Rachel immediately had dozens of questions her mind ignored but the most prominent and daunting one was, ¡°What¡¯s going on? What¡¯s actually going on? All I can clearly remember is some repair guy showing up before I went to pick you up at school.¡±

    Giselle took a deep breath and recounted, ¡°I survived junior high even though the only classes worth remembering were maybe history and definitely art because I actually felt like I was making something useful and history reminded me of interesting stuff. But that¡¯s just a side issue because at school I ran into the girl we just took home, Britney. Britney is apparently Giselle¡®s best friend in school, for some reason that may involve alterations to reality. But she mentioned that she¡¯s a witch, like a Wiccan person. And she made a spell so she wouldn¡¯t be lonely, and I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s important, but I wanted to get that out of the way first. But, when we got home earlier, you were mind warped by that asshole repair guy. Apparently, he froze you with some sort of weird remote because you used mace on him, but I don¡¯t remember you having mace. Maybe you grabbed it from him? He said he was here to make it like none of this ever happened and make us forget everything. Then, Britney smashed him in the head with her backpack. You may remember some of that, but I wanted to make sure. Now, the big things¡­¡±

    Giselle cleared her throat and took a deep breath before beginning, ¡°When I checked in the bathroom there was this blue zappy electrical light thing and this girl was standing there, the one I named Olivia, who is sleeping in my bed. She¡¯s some sort of toilet child alien. She comes from somewhere else, maybe another universe. She said that her species or whatever need to be around strong human emotions. They are fueled by them and develop into humans too. But they need to transform people to get enough of the kind of emotions that they need. So, I guess the toilet seat transforming people for twenty-hour hours is like a dose of medicine. Olivia turned that cop into a woman for six hours but is still sleepy. She really didn¡¯t want to do anything to you or Britney because she knew it would upset me. She also said the broken toilet seat contains like her sister-twin. And the reason that one turned me into what I am right now is because I kicked it and hurt her. She needed to take some fuel for me and go into hibernation to get better. I hope that means when she recovers¡­ I¡¯ll be able to go back to normal. Or Olivia can help with that. I don¡¯t know how well I described all that, but I did my best. Hope that makes sense.¡±

    By the time Giselle finished up, they were to the pickup window. Rachel quietly paid and passed Giselle her ice cream and set her own and Olivia¡®s aside. They pulled into a quiet spot in the parking lot as Rachel rested her fingers on the wheel and puffed out a long breath. She answered, ¡°¡­okay.¡±

    ¡°Okay?¡± Giselle worried about Rachel¡®s anxiety problems.

    Rachel shut her eyes and nodded her head. ¡°Okay. Just, okay. Putting it all together but okay. I never expected that the caveat of getting 70% off a toilet seat would be inviting in an alien baby who needs emotion from gender swapping to live and is being covered up by some actual Men in Black.¡±

    Giselle cradled her ice cream and cracked a smirk as she quipped, ¡°Next time, stick to Costco.¡±

    ¡°Oh, we all know Kirkland alien entities have their own problems¡±, Rachel responded before she started eating.

    Nothing more needed to be said as they had their after-dinner ice cream. Giselle had her stalwart vanilla but felt a vague desire for something like chocolate, lime, bubblegum, or any boisterous flavor. She blamed her childhood-twisted pallet.

    ¡°Are you sure that Olivia or her twin can restore you?¡±

    Giselle swallowed hard. Rachel had noticed that part of her long spill of words. Tapping her spoon against the rapidly melting ice cream, she had to quietly admit, ¡°No. I¡¯m not sure. I¡¯m hopeful, and she feels like the closest thing to a possibility.¡°

    Rachel pressed, ¡°You said she needs to feed, as she did with that cop. Do you think we can trust her to just be around the house and not decide one of us should be her snack¡­? Meaning, that maybe she transforms us into something or munches a few years of our age. Not that I¡¯d complain about getting slightly younger¡­ so long as it doesn¡¯t totally reverse my surgery. But I feel like we really have no idea what she could do.¡±

    Her wife had her there. No part of all this really felt like a good idea, but all she could say in response was, ¡°What other choice do we have? The guy who said he was going to help just wanted to make it like it never happened. No one else even knows something changed.¡±

    Rachel finished the bulk of her ice cream and Giselle hustled to catch up. She squinted at a slight headache and noted, ¡°But that guy brought her. How do we know she¡¯s not just some double agent he left behind who will mess with us while we sleep?¡±

    To that, Giselle invoked the vivid, fearful imagery Olivia used to describe her situation versus whatever that guy was. None of their questions really resolved as they finished and set a course for home.

    Once inside, they took a moment to prepare and walked up the steps together to the loft. Olivia is still on the bed with the blankets wrapped around her, but she turned her head towards them like a mannequin shifting position. Rachel flashed Giselle a look of concern before Giselle spoke, ¡° I want you.¡±

    That simple statement made Rachael raise a skeptical eyebrow. Giselle soon clarified, ¡°What you asked, if I want you. I say, all right. But I also want to know¡­ Can you or your twin help me to be Jeremy, the man I was¡­instead of Giselle, the young girl or woman?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I might starve. But I can and want to help.¡±

    Giselle released a breath. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°I just ask one thing. Tomorrow, can I go with you to school? It would be safer than wandering your neighborhood, looking for possibilities. I would only need a little bit. Much less than I took today.¡±

    Going back to school was absolutely not something Giselle wanted to do, plus it was Friday. She had so much work¡­ Which had been erased from existence because of all this. Even if things were set right, she had no guarantee that the last couple of days would be preserved in some sort of universe buffer to catch up. It felt immensely frustrating.

    But taking Olivia with her to school sounded like a slightly better idea than just leaving her in the house with Rachel. She agreed. It was clear that Rachel would have to arrange something with the office for all that legal junk schools required to keep people safe. With that guarantee, it appeared that Olivia returned to whatever rest mode she required. Rachel stashed her ice cream in the freezer for another time.

    Since work appeared to be out of the question, and Giselle felt uncomfortable clicking away with Olivia on the other side of the room, she helped Rachel with her Etsy page and updates. Peeking at young Giselle¡®s online presence was like taking a step nearly a decade into the past with Jeremy¡®s YouTube progress. Dealing with random comments felt about the same as usual, but with the occasional dose of squick, as some she swiftly deleted included ¡°odes to her soft thighs¡±. The Internet still never failed to disappoint and disgust her.

    Another day down, she spent more time than she expected looking in the mirror. Her blonde hair looked like she beat it with a rug. Rachel hadn¡¯t really said anything, which she appreciated. But she would¡¯ve been fine with at least being told that it looked so chaotic. Pointlessly, she brushed it before her shower and then tried to wrestle it again afterwards. She kept the protection charm wristband from Britney on and largely forgot about it.

    She went right to bed early on the star pillow side. Rachel zonked out first and she was left staring up at the dark swirls of the room. Her brain chose that exact moment to remember how Olivia described creatures like the creepy guy as ¡°[they] slip through walls as we sleep¡±. Vividly, Giselle nervously parsed every suspiciously-large shadow in the room as that guy returned through the walls to watch and wait until she closed her eyes.

    Crud¡­ she realized she wasn¡¯t going to get much sleep¡­

 [11] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 11 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [11]

    For the Alt Branch [11A]

    Neither of them wanted to let go of the little guy. He eventually decided that was enough of this silliness and opted to scamper out of their grasp and over to the cat tree on the other side of the room.

    Herschel seemed somewhat skeptical about the reappearance of his littermate. He had been fooled before by old videos with the deceased kitty meowing plaintively and attempted to search around the speakers and behind the monitor for where his dear friend was hiding. It broke Jeremy¡®s heart. For several weeks, he had to close the door to the loft when working on tribute videos so that it didn¡¯t cause the poor little guy undue distress. Herschel looked between Tycho and them, as though seeking some affirmation they felt unequipped to offer.

    And that still wasn¡¯t all. The kitchen seemed particularly laid out in a way that vaguely reminded Jeremy of how his mom preferred it rather than what Rachel tended to go with. The shelves behind the living area were filled with the usual board games, titles that could stand natural light because they had printed labels rather than the originals, and all sorts of little trinkets.

    Rachel¡®s office at the end of the hall shifted. It no longer appeared to be her space but rather Giselle¡®s. This was rather obvious from several samples of graphic design along the wall, including the name Giselle depicted in a stylized fashion. A cramped studio was set up on one side for art, stop-motion, various costumes next to a green screen, and an area for streaming.

    Of course, with those alterations, they both hurried over to the loft to see what had changed there. Less of a collection existed along the wall and they trended more towards special edition RPGs, puzzle titles, and platformers. Jeremy stared open-mouthed at Giselle in cosplay as Kumatora from the Mother series. Mostly because she looked way sexier than he ever imagined.

    They were soon to find out that this wasn¡¯t even the most adventurous cosplay taken on by Giselle Conway. Yeah, Giselle took ¡­ Finn¡®s family name. Finn Conway instead of Rachel Huber. The new reality was extensively altered, although Jeremy recognized several of their friends as still their friends. Change the details, but don¡¯t shake the timeline too much because everything could unravel into paradoxes.

    It didn¡¯t take her too long to discover Giselle had ordered the toilet seat and then apparently contacted some sort of handyman instead of whatever they had run into with the meetup. That explained the second seat.

    ¡±What do we do?¡± Rachel asked, with her arms folded, looking up at Jeremy. Best guess, he assumed they had somewhere between thirty and forty minutes before they reverted to the state suggested by everything around them. And he understood the question she was asking.

    Getting an hour of time as close to their original selves as possible felt pointless. Everything around urged them towards just accepting this shift. Heck, he noticed the Golden Play Button proudly and prominently framed in one corner of Finn¡¯s space. Giselle¡®s studio had the next-place one, but it looked older.

    Clearly, this version of the two of them had bolstered success with a variety of alterations. Giselle still made the kind of videos that excited Jeremy but with interests seeded from her cosmetology and fashion-minded mom. Finn still held Rachel¡®s creative side but with more of a video game focus to be the breadwinner. Swapped roles. But why couldn¡¯t a girl like Giselle still be all about video games and editing without throwing in girly elements?

    Granted, Rachel had her own approach to video games. Those she liked and those she avoided. But, they often shared joy in the same titles, no matter how much violence and what mature themes. They each bristled at being pigeonholed into rigid characteristics from the swap. No matter how appealing their new roles may appear.

    But just ripping everything to pieces and flashing a middle finger at the world didn¡¯t feel constructive either. So, they decided to make supper. Curry chicken with extra pepper flakes and sauce for Jeremy and ¡°reasonable¡± spice for Rachel. It was like a blinding curtain of warmth that pushed away all the other concerns.

    At this point, Herschel decided that, no matter how strange it was that Tycho was back in his life, he was going to snuggle with him in the very cramped spot at the top of the cat tree and Tycho resolved he was gonna tolerate the snuggling as they each waited on their supper.

    Eventually, as they were cleaning up after supper and Rachel fed their boys the nicest-looking cans in the cupboard, the shift back kicked in. Giselle wobbled with her new perspective and a dirty plate in her hands and called out to warn Rachel that she was about to be launched into the stratosphere. They changed simultaneously.

    Giselle considered putting another hour on her clock by straddling the bowl again, but instead just rummaged around in the other closets to see what sort of fashion this version of her went for. To her chagrin, there were a lot of skirts and plenty of ruffles. Finn¡®s closet retained both Jeremy¡¯s affinity for simple plaid and a collection of unique, video game-themed tops.

    The distractions later included scouring Giselle¡®s relocated computers for what project she had been working on last. One was a Kirby stop-motion about 2/3 done. The vlogs were nearly caught up, with just two weeks to be edited together. She also had some unfinished photo collections with a JRPG character she didn¡¯t recognize. Looking into a face that should¡¯ve reflected herself was like staring at another person who just happened to wear your skin the other day. She avoided dealing with that particular project for now and instead edited through a version of the morning stream which retained many of the elements of her brainwashing but with nervous Finn instead of sullen Rachel.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    She idled more than usual, especially when Dale showed up online and they chatted for a while. What bothered her was how Dale seemed polite but aloof. Only when she questioned¡­ Finn¡­ Rachel later did she piece together the disparity. It seemed that Giselle and Dale still knew each other as friends but apparently Midwest Finn hit it off with the college group far better and had many in-jokes that poor Rachel just didn¡¯t understand. Rachel managed to pass it off.

    Who were her friends now? Would she even like them? What about Rachel? She had lifetime-quality friendships with the girls from her dorms. Some of those may have even saved her life. The world just couldn¡¯t be edited around that. She wanted to scream that fact to the heavens, so that whoever was in charge of this rewrite would throw up their hands. Neither of them dug that deep into the people they knew before shifting to bedtime.

    Washing boobs on her body had started to be pass¨¦ for Giselle. Sure, they were boobs, and some innate part of her original mind and even soul felt a certain inescapable amusement. But, even before, seeing Rachel in her natural state migrated from something of enraptured newness to calm familiarity. They had long gotten used to dealing with the everyday in stages of nudity as a couple. Giselle was still dealing with the scope of Finn though.

    She toyed around with a nightgown from her alternate¡¯s favorite stock. Finn had his shirt off and stripped down to a pair of lengthy boxers. He turned his lanky figure with ease towards her. It didn¡¯t take much before he had his arm around her narrow waist.

    Giselle¡®s head swam. Seeing someone above her like this, especially a man, lit nervous flares in her racing heart. He was dominating her, over her confidently, and that heady helplessness felt like it was turning strange knobs inside her. He bent down and pressed his lips against hers. She was kissed. She was small. She was there with her breasts so obvious, and her form so stripped down. It was a romantic cluster of nonsense shoved inside of a clich¨¦, but she was drunk on the possibilities even though Jeremy never drank.

    She wrapped her arms around his neck and lingered, as he set the tempo. Hot, insistent feelings dove deep inside her and pressed against her threshold. It was all going so fast, too fast. She was going to drown in herself. Before the need for a yell or a cry, Finn receded and touched a strong, warm hand to the side of her cheek. Despite the anxiety of a moment before, all that vanished, and she wanted to be lost again, dizzily sinking beneath the waves of his love.

    It was so internally frustrating because she wanted to dive under and still painfully floated above. She was so desperately afraid that if she embraced the depths, then there would be no going back from this version of herself. Before that torrent of swinging emotions could rise to the surface, Finn cradled her delicately and told her it was all right. Also, he whispered that she should go get the crab toy on a string from the closet because Tycho used to love to play before he went to bed.

    He still did. He flew from his resting spot in the living room to bolt on top of the bed and hunt down that little crab. Herschel marveled and surveyed the bed with Tycho taking up the space. When they had two cats, Herschel was always the more timid one. He didn¡¯t want to intrude on Tycho¡¯s space, so he tended to sleep on the floor a little ways from the bed. But that changed when it was just him. Finn reached over to lift him up and keep him in his lap. But that was one thing too many for the little guy. He scampered away and cozied up against the far wall with his head down and his eyes swiftly shut.

    Even though it didn¡¯t take long for Tycho to tire himself out playing, Herschel still kept his distance. Finn sat up in bed a while before saying he was going to take a shower. Giselle¡¯s eyes slid close with a yawn.

    ¡°¡­We appreciate your obedience.¡± Giselle tried to shut her eyes, but she felt locked in, as though in a dream that she could only watch. Slowly, a new shadow spilled over from the ones that should¡¯ve been there. A spindly, spidery form stretched so high that it seemed to reach the ceiling. Giselle recognized its face. The strange man they got the seat from. He looked broken and reformed, like an insect.

    Firmly, his narrow fingers clasped her chin. ¡°Just don¡¯t wake her up. Let her cries go unanswered.¡± She thought at first he was wearing rounded sunglasses, but as he closed the distance, she realized his eyes were like liquid obsidian staring and plunging through her skull.

    Desperately, inside her thoughts, Giselle wanted to scream, ¡°Who are you?!? What are you?!? Why are you doing this!?!¡± But silence was all that echoed.

    Turning over a rumbling growl, the emaciated creature responded, ¡°Cerberus isn¡¯t the right name. I just like it. I have another. I¡¯ll spare you it¡­ For now.¡± Through the shut door to the master bathroom, Giselle could hear high screaming that sounded unnatural, too frantic to be anything human, too primal.

    ¡±Play along. Be quiet. Don¡¯t make waves¡­ and maybe you can have what you really want.¡± Clawed hands pressed at her throat, as though trying to dig the air out of her as she swallowed it.

    Giselle gasped and struggled to breathe. She was awake. But it didn¡¯t feel like she¡¯d been sleeping. One breath after the other still felt like a trial, and she could still almost hear that inhuman screaming from far off. When Finn returned, he had no idea about the voice or anything else. He wrapped her up in a hug. Giselle wanted to feel comforted, she wanted to feel safe, but it still felt like a twisted hand with endless limbs and a gaunt, hungry body rested just outside the house, waiting for its moment to slip back inside.

    No way she could sleep.

 [11A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 11A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [11A]

    For the Primary Branch [11]

    Fortunately, that prognostication of insomnia turned out wrong, as tiredness wrapped around her and dragged her all the way to morning.

    Or rather the lightless oblivion existing in the place of morning at such an early hour. Giselle felt like the first time she had to be a kid, that school had the common decency to at least not get started until Labor Day rolled around. When Rachel taught, she understood that the horror had slipped out of the protective bonds of September and infected the middle of August.

    Giselle kept fighting with her own eyelids as she stretched her face out in front of the mirror and washed up. No amount of hot or cold water helped that much. Getting into the shower felt rather routine. She used a small cloth to gently scrub and even gave a decent amount of care to how her hair looked. The wristband from Britney stayed on. Drying up had to go fast as she realized she was in a sleepy trance for longer than she expected in the bathroom.

    She juggled a big towel and a draping bathrobe while getting a whiff of breakfast and informing Rachel she was going to go wake up their guest. Olivia was actually already sitting up in bed with the top blanket over her shoulders and her skinny legs wrapped up. The simple outfit she wore, also ivory white like the toilet seat she supposedly emerged from, twisted and wrapped around almost her entire body like bindings. It was a strange look that Giselle did her best not to dwell on.

    ¡°Good morning, Olivia,¡± she said with a wave. ¡°Did you sleep well?¡±

    ¡°Sleep? No. I don¡¯t sleep.¡± Olivia oddly rolled her eyes but didn¡¯t give the impression she was annoyed or had any other emotion. Giselle noticed that she did the same when she first met Olivia. She had to wonder if it was some sort of tick, start-up routine, or way of stretching. Olivia continued, ¡°Thank you for the use of your bed to store me. It didn¡¯t have the warmth of being sat on, but it was a comfort.¡±

    She tried not to feel embarrassed by a tween girl acting like being sat on was normal. She did her best to change the subject by asking, ¡°How¡¯s your¡­ energy situation?¡±

    ¡°I am imminently about to slip into the forever cold.¡± Giselle widened her eyes in alarm and urgently asked, ¡°You¡¯re going to die?¡±

    ¡°Cease all existence, but that would be one way to put it.¡±

    ¡°Can I do anything?!¡± Giselle felt frantic to the point of wanting to go get Rachel, but she feared that Olivia might go pop at any moment. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say?!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to inconvenience you. The only thing you can do is allow me to have a little bit to sustain me.¡°

    Giselle took a deep breath. ¡±Transform me, you mean? Do you have to make me younger?¡­¡±

    Olivia wobbled where she sat. ¡°It doesn¡¯t need to be that much. I have an idea. But you might not like it. Permission?¡±

    On the one hand, Giselle had to wonder if keeping Olivia around was like trying to sustain a shark in captivity. She would need to eat off people around her at least every few hours, from appearances. And despite the fact she agreed to take her to junior high, ethically, she had to wonder: who knew what she might do in that environment? On the other, she didn¡¯t want her to die. So, she vehemently agreed to whatever Olivia needed.

    She didn¡¯t even see the flash of blue this time. Instead, she felt as though she had just woken up from something. But it didn¡¯t make sense. She was up in her room tidying her bed. Oh goodness, she had to get ready for school.

    It was a Friday and that meant Gi was thinking about wearing a dress. A plaid jumper with a nice blouse would be perfect. She rummaged around the side closet and found just the things she was looking for. The wristband stayed where it was. Flats in the school colors. Stockings that matched. A lovely blue and navy plaid jumper with the perfect hemline so she wouldn¡¯t get in trouble. Then a white blouse. She would have to be so careful at lunch not to get a spill on it, but she could take a magic eraser. She wondered if Dennis in third period might notice and smile at her. She held the dress against her body as she imagined spinning in place and Dennis reaching out to catch her.

    Everything fit nicely and looked very cute. She made sure to wear shorts underneath. Now she had to go show mom! But, before she got to the steps, it was like a light switch clicked on in her brain and she realized how weird the last few minutes had been. Giselle blanched and moved stiffly in her outfit as though she¡¯d been attacked by a beast made of cloth and it wrapped her up like a spider.

    ¡°What on Earth¡­?!?¡± She ran through a gamut of bewildering emotions which lingered in the air and then suddenly felt like an ephemeral vacuum suctioned them up. Giselle wobbled in place and had to catch herself mentally and physically. To her renewed surprise, wearing that outfit suddenly didn¡¯t feel as jarring as it had a moment before. And it took till that moment for her to look across the room and realize that Olivia was slowly standing up from the bed. It wasn¡¯t as though she had vanished but rather like she blended into the surroundings, wearing an undetectable camouflage.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but that should be sufficient for the rest of today.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡± Giselle felt fully and clearly aware of all the thoughts she had a few minutes ago but didn¡¯t want to revisit them.

    ¡°I seeded you with contrary notions while blocking your awareness and then lifted that block. Your surprise at the contrast allowed me to draw in the emotion I needed.¡±

    The part about contrary notions brought relief to Giselle¡®s mind. However, the prospect that Olivia could just warp her thoughts as easily as that introduced concerns. She inquired about how much she could do on her own, so far as mental things.

    ¡°I could totally and permanently alter every aspect of you, and you would never know the difference. However, that would serve no benefit to me. Your emotion and surprise over change. Your awareness¡­ is fundamental to a wide range of human emotions. Your joy, your love, your happiness, and other qualities matter immensely. If I hurt you, it would poison things. That¡¯s why I asked permission. The visitor last night in the bright and noisy special vehicle was a matter of desperation. I didn¡¯t want to touch any of you. You might say it was like splitting open a cactus to get a drop of water.¡±

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    That certainly sounded like a painful analogy. The notion that this kid could suddenly, basically erase her entire existence didn¡¯t help her comfort level, but it was good to know that she had no reason to do that. At the same time, she was curious about the fact Olivia claimed she was about to expire rather than take, and yet yesterday she was willing to grab an emergency meal from a random person without worry.

    She questioned this, and Olivia quietly admitted, ¡°The monster, the one beyond the walls, had instructions for me. Keep you contained. Keep you quiet. Erode your mind. It said you would only hurt me. But I saw your emotions for Rachel. You seemed kind. I tried to be like others I saw and to be like you. The ones who came in the noisy vehicle felt like monsters. And I was scared. But I am willing to slip into the forever cold for everything I did and everything I might do. Thank you for giving me a reprieve.¡±

    Giselle still had a lot of lingering questions from all that, but she could tell from the clock on the wall that, if she wanted to bother going to school on a Friday (and she had plenty of thoughts on why not to), it was getting really tight to get ready and have breakfast in time.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. All right, if you¡¯re coming with me, then I better put you in some reasonable clothes.¡± Olivia puzzled at this and cocked her head. She undressed as simply as a robot might when given an order.

    Sifting through her alarmingly packed closet, Giselle decided to put several things together for Olivia. A spare pink backpack in the back became hers with some generic gym clothes. The next thing was pulling some shorts and a top on her before helping her get into a long fluttery skirt with patterns of bright flowers and a light pink fringe at the bottom. A pink, short-sleeved blouse with lace patterns and even more flowers went over her head before she used simple hair ties.

    Honestly, everything felt like a mess for both of them, if she had the judge it. But this was way beyond any intuition or skill for her when it came to fashion. Nevertheless, Olivia stared at herself in the mirror against the wall and seemed enraptured.

    Her almost pure-white hair contrasted sharply with all the color, but also gave her an ethereal look, like a fantasy creature.

    To Giselle¡®s surprise, Olivia spun in place with her skirt dancing and wore a slight smile that not even she seemed to realize she had. A giggle fell out with a shifting expression of surprise. Stretching her mouth open in practically a gasp, Olivia questioned, ¡°¡­ I can fuel myself?¡±

    That soft question perked up Giselle¡®s curiosity but Olivia didn¡¯t elaborate. She turned and thanked Giselle for everything and said that all this would be sufficient, and she would try to do her best. Giselle made sure she promised to inform her whenever she was hungry again or about to keel over. Olivia reassured her that she felt ¡°good for the whole day now¡±.

    After shoes and making sure everything was ready, the girls went downstairs to have a hasty breakfast with Rachel, who had called ahead and spun together a story about ¡°Olivia Smith¡°, some distant relative of theirs who didn¡¯t want to miss school while on break. She wanted to shadow Giselle for the day. Apparently, this was fine so long as Olivia signed in at the front desk and got herself a temporary ID.

    So far as breakfast though, they soon discovered that Olivia didn¡¯t have a digestive system. She mimicked everyone else by taking a bite and chewing, but then had to spit up whatever was in her mouth into a napkin. It looked like it had been crunched up with a fork and knife. She seemed to enjoy this pantomime of eating, so they didn¡¯t stop her, and Giselle hoped that it might allow her to generate even more emotion fuel for herself.

    Around cleanup, Giselle struggled to summarize everything for Rachel. She vaguely mentioned that she allowed Olivia to take sustenance from her, and that it was temporary, but didn¡¯t go into details. Beyond that, she focused on the fact that hurting them was not beneficial to Olivia and she also essentially promised not to do that. Olivia could¡¯ve listened in to all of this, as they talked not too far away from the kitchen. Rachel squeezed Giselle in a tight hug.

    ¡°Be safe today. We have no idea if that monster thing repair guy is going to come after you.¡± Giselle echoed the same sentiment for Rachel, since he was last seen around their house before vanishing. Rachel mentioned that she was going to spend most of the day away with groceries, visiting Dale and Finley, and she heard about a coffee shop with an all-day music event. Giselle¡®s music-loving heart pained but she wished her¡­ wife a safe, fun, event-free day.

    On the ride to school, Giselle and Olivia sat together in the center seat. On the edge of campus, as close as the busy morning traffic would allow them to get, Rachel managed to park the crossover in the dirt behind some other cars. The cacophony of screaming, wild morning voices grated on Giselle and had Olivia twisting and turning her head this way and that like trying to catch a dissonant melody.

    The business in the office just took a few minutes of unnecessary explaining before Olivia got a big sticker on her blouse. Giselle got one last hug and a kiss on the cheek and Olivia received a pat on the shoulder and a quick hug.

    Turning towards the hall that would take them to Giselle¡®s first period art class, Giselle tensed when she realized that a hand had slipped into her hand. Olivia, with her head down, had placed her delicate, spindly, pale fingers between Giselle¡¯s. The supposedly-protective wristband rested nearby.

    She explained gently, ¡°I saw others out there doing this. Is it normal? Permission?¡±

    So far as the fiction they were spinning about this girl being some distant relation, Giselle figured this could work. It just felt like the absolute capstone to all the weirdness that she, just some normal Twitch/YouTube video editor big into video games, and the entity that lived in a toilet seat, were standing in the middle of a junior high hallway in forms neither of them had just a few days ago.

    ¡°Sure. It¡¯s fine. Let¡¯s go.¡±

 [12] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 12 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [12]

    For the Alt Branch [12A]

    TWELVE WEEKS LATER

    Giselle popped her ears when she woke up. She was still achy from last night. Rolling gingerly to her right, she wrapped her arms around Finn. The pace of his breaths picked up and sounded like he was on the cusp of waking. She gently spooned him and breathed in his overnight aroma. He could definitely use a morning shower but beneath that rough edge were the percolations of his presence.

    Jeremy thought that Rachel always smelled nice no matter how much she flailed and lamented that she was sweaty and gross. And Giselle¡®s mind arrived at about the same place as Finn. It took her a couple days to actually recognize the aroma. She got her best whiff of it when tossing Finn¡¯s clothes in the wash. The scent plagued her for a while.

    It wasn¡¯t simply dried sweat or anything foul. Rather, it was increasingly alluring in a potent and memorable way. Almost as though this was something she didn¡¯t have the apparatus to sense before but now it was obvious. She never considered how much aromas played into things.

    Finn recalled that and underwent a similar switch. Giselle had a presence and a fragrant aura, as he characterized it. He noted, however, that the sight and touch of Giselle had more weight than how she smelled. She teased him for this by flaunting the sight and presence of her cleavage around the house and against his back. He retaliated with tickles and making Giselle go all smushy like a marshmallow with kisses on her neck.

    The paradigm shift of being the wife started out with playful joking a few days afterward.

    ¡°Hello, husband. Hey, honey bun¡­¡± It started silly, but as the days progressed she actually slid into the words and notions legitimately. This was her husband, Finn. She was his wife, Giselle. Granted they could each slip away for an hour of being Jeremy and Rachel whenever Finn wanted and whenever Giselle whipped out the FUD they bought instead of trying to precisely straddle the bowl, since she nearly smacked her head on the tank once.

    Over time, she noticed that the provisional hour slowly expanded from a rigid sixty minutes to often somewhere between eighty and ninety. It never correlated to anything she or Finn did though, so they just accepted it as a random bonus and mentally prepared themselves for reversion at any time.

    Eventually, Giselle¡¯s warm breath on Finn¡¯s neck roused him. He turned and wrapped around her gently. It was tough for Giselle to come to terms with the fact that she had a certain, delicate aspect now. She was significantly weaker than Finn or Jeremy before. Even the temporary Jeremy was not able to match what original Jeremy could do. Not that the gap was expansive.

    But she was a girl and Finn started treating her more like a girl a few days in. It wasn¡¯t a big difference in manner, rather little things all adding up. Finn guided her by the arm and led the way, instead of Giselle. How she was seen in public was even crazier. Making sure she headed to an appropriate bathroom (whether gender neutral or women¡¯s), took a decent amount of trial and error but started to settle in around the two-week mark.

    The physical aspects of being Giselle settled into a kind of routine. Wearing a bra just became like any sort of garment, but she still had fun messing around with how they looked. That settling of personal ownership, with something she did her best not to dwell upon. This was just being human.

    She still felt frustrated with the toilet situation, even though Finn mercifully and diligently remembered to put the seat down. The emergence of an achy UTI for no reason she could comprehend had her inhaling cranberry juice for weeks. When it came time to deal with her assigned gynecologist, Giselle appreciated their warmth as a doctor and did her best not to leave her confused about how a woman this old knew so little about her body.

    Implanted birth control was absolutely out of the question due to the fear of where the toilet seat would stick it during Jeremy time. Same with other internal matters. She knew the immensely inappropriate joke about the plane with the automatic tampon remover from his great grandfather, who was the original entertainer and joker in the family. She didn¡¯t want any of that up there when it was appropriate, let alone when it wasn¡¯t. But it had to be done and she tolerated getting a handle on it all.

    In many ways, it felt much like her stomach, body, and other health issues which would slam Jeremy on the most random days. Only, this set arrived and lingered like clockwork. Slowly, but unyieldingly, her body pounded in the notion of being a woman. She expected that some part of her would rebel and fly in the face of this sex and role, but Jeremy was never the sort to really rock the boat. If she was to be a woman for an extended basis, then she would do her best with that situation.

    The grueling part of the last few months though was when they found out they had to move because of a restructuring of the rental agency. They were not interested in extending them another year on the contract at a similar rate. Just because Finn was a million-subscriber YouTuber and Giselle made out pretty well for herself didn¡¯t mean they were fine throwing money away. Part of their long-term plan was to move away from the coast but remain in the area.

    So many of their friends lived slightly north, especially the brand new geek girlfriends that Giselle was getting used to: Eliza, Gwen, and Felicity from college. Gwen had all the bawdy jokes and knew programming along with video editing and was a huge help in Giselle¡®s stop motion work. Felicity was quiet but cordial in all things, a huge fan of converting toy models like old cars into Mad Max-like roadsters. Eliza was an unimaginably huge Cubs fan who spoke at length about sports rules and managed to get a minor acting and producing part in a Netflix series while living out in California before moving back to her native Mississippi till recently. She currently split time between programming gigs and voice acting. She and her husband, Nathan, who should¡¯ve been one of Jeremy¡®s roommates, were also moving north.

    The place that Giselle and Finn settled on wasn¡¯t their absolute ideal. It had two stories again and most of it was on the top. A loft area again seemed ideal for their streams. They split an office next to the laundry room upstairs for the business side. The downstairs without any windows became the main game storage room. And a bunch of other things were still in flux. The process of moving consumed about two months of their lives and felt even longer.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Tycho took the move the hardest with nervous suspicion and a continually upset stomach. He hadn¡¯t bothered to play since they moved but was slowly returning to comfort. Herschel barely even seemed to notice they had moved aside from the exhausting five-hour drive. Enough of their stuff smelled familiar that he soon relaxed. The distance from her parents weighed on her and made her gently squeeze half-awake Finn to make sure he was still there. Innately, she recognized that everyone in her hometown was still close enough to see during a day trip and for special occasions. But this additional change on top of so many others still exhausted her.

    The worst moment came a couple weeks ago when her maternal grandmother stopped by for a rare visit. She hated that Jeremy couldn¡¯t greet her. She did her best to be interested in the recipes and clothes that her grandmother had to share. This version of her was all about costumes and pretty outfits but she just couldn¡¯t get herself to accept it. At a point in the evening, all the walls she kept in place to make sure things continued smoothly broke down. Her eyes wouldn¡¯t stop filling with tears, and she couldn¡¯t stifle her whimpers.

    Everyone comforted her kindly and wanted to help. Giselle shuffled all that off as being anxious about being so far from everyone and the exhaustion of moving and not quite feeling like she was doing everything she wanted. Her parents and grandmother didn¡¯t bring up the subject that emerged in passing a few weeks ago between Finn and her.

    Rachel couldn¡¯t have children, even before her life-altering surgery to remove several crippled and pre-cancerous organs. Unfortunately, that removal remained equivalently for Finn. It was like a vasectomy when everything was working right. They still didn¡¯t have to worry about getting pregnant but the question of it floated into their thoughts. On some level, Giselle understood it was all just hormones and biology trying to beat her over the head. But they talked about it.

    Giselle wasn¡¯t averse to the idea of being a mother. She always figured she would be a kickass dad if their feelings as a couple were different. She was just terrified of losing anyone from her family because of the screwed-up chaos that had entangled them just because Rachel bought a silly seat. They got back Tycho but the prospect of losing him again whittled away her mental resolve.

    ¡°Morning. What¡¯s up? Happy Friday, wife. You cutie."

    Giselle smirked and giggled in ways that just playfully emerged as Finn kissed her and she fervently kissed him back.

    ¡°Glad to see you up, husband. My sexy man. Wanna play some DDR?¡±

    Despite the shuffle of life and everything, they managed to drive down to Ethan¡®s place and pick up the classic DDR mat. The little slice of arcade life occupied the corner by the blacked-out window with an inset monitor. They teased each other with Finn counting jiggles per minute on Giselle and Giselle countering by counting his ¡°boxer flops¡±.

    The night that they finally, technically had sex wasn¡¯t too far removed from getting Finn checked out. Plenty of toys and tools, which the cats, unfortunately, took a great amount of pawing interest in, helped things along the way. Giselle was getting plenty used to the female orgasm and becoming a connoisseur of different varieties. When it all finally came together for them, the uniqueness melted her brain and stirred her hunger.

    On a physical level, she could see it as smashing around the parts of some alien predator creature but that came from her film side. Psychologically, she was surprised how quickly the idea of penetration didn¡¯t bother her. That wasn¡¯t what pushed her into thinking as a woman, but it was definitely a potent experience.

    They didn¡¯t take their early canoodling to the next level of competition as Finn announced he was going to shower first. Giselle agreed to start breakfast for him. So far as nicknames, they still sometimes slipped into ¡°Jere¡± and ¡°Chel¡±. Finn didn¡¯t need any abbreviation, although they did joke one evening about calling him F or the Prince Symbol. For Giselle, ¡°Zell¡± sort of slipped in the place even though they couldn¡¯t decide on one L or two. Also using the Z instead of the S so that it didn¡¯t sound like they were calling her Sel (although that kindled cosplay thoughts in her Dragon Ball Z loving brain) was still a matter of debate.

    While Finn washed up, Giselle stretched, started the coffee pot, and began on the machine. She bopped along to the music, and it wasn¡¯t long before Finn emerged with a towel around him. Giselle pondered whether to take a tub bath. When they got this place, Finn delighted and lamented about the tub. He would just barely cozy up as Rachel with an hour-long soak uninterrupted.

    Finn urged her to take a bath vicariously for her but, even as a woman, Giselle didn¡¯t really feel the need. He liked sitting for a little while in water. When they took a trip to Japan, he contorted himself into small places to enjoy it. But it just seemed wasteful. The rushing of the water from the showerhead as she rinsed and cleaned seemed superior. She figured it was a girly thing that she still wasn¡¯t up for.

    After showering, Giselle wrapped up and settled over by the toilet to consider whether she wanted an hour or not. Lifting the seat to prepare brought a strange electrical arc that almost caught her fingers. She gasped and turned to run. No way did she want to get zapped by another thing that could ruin her world.

    Before she could even turn though, a mass of static and ozone breached the air and tumbled towards her. Picking herself up and trying to cover up with the towel, Giselle saw a small figure standing in front of her.

    It was wrapped up in a white toga-like outfit with translucent sections, as though bundled in a wad of toilet paper. White hair tumbled in full curling patches from its head. It looked like a girl. A young girl. Her face and features were vaguely reminiscent of Giselle¡¯s.

    If she had to guess, she appeared no more than six. The first thing she did, oddly enough, was roll her eyes. Then she did it again, her head turning slightly until she suddenly froze.

    ¡°It¡¯s here. The one like you, who is not you. The one who walks through walls and snatches us into the forever cold and forever dark. Please help me¡­please please¡­¡±

 [12A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 12A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [12A]

    For the Primary Branch [12]

    But the two of them were stopped by Britney before they made it very far into the main hall. This time, Giselle braced herself for the oncoming flying hug takedown. Britney seemed to restrain herself or perhaps, with the early hour, she didn¡¯t have quite as much energy. The incoming hug was exuberant but barely made her stagger compared to being knocked over otherwise.

    ¡°Oh my gosh! You¡¯re here too! You need ears as well!¡± Before Giselle could properly respond to what Britney meant by that, the girl dual-wielded what looked like silver and gold visors out of her bag. She plunked one down on top of Giselle¡®s head and then did the same with Olivia.

    The item felt like a strange headband and Giselle moved quickly to adjust it the same way. In the approximate year and a half of global concern when Jeremy had no options for a proper haircut either from Lily or anyone else, he had to tame and deal with shoulder-length hair and a hairband was one of the things he had to essentially learn about. Brittany restrained her efforts to adjust it and explained, ¡°You may not have seen these around campus before, but now they¡¯re being sold to everyone. They¡¯re cat ears!¡±

    Britney¡¯s introduction of a small mirror from her bag explained somewhat. Plush, furry cartoon-style cat ears rested on the top of Giselle¡®s head as an absurd punctuation. They were rather stiflingly warm already, but Gisele tolerated the situation and let them remain with just a few scratches from the itchiness. Olivia darted her eyes around and mimicked Giselle¡®s scratching.

    It wasn¡¯t long before Brittany retrieved a third pair and joined the proceedings. Hers were pure black, while Olivia¡®s were an oddly-appropriate icy-blue with an odd curl to one of the ears, and Giselle wore something akin to a Bengal tiger, which contrasted well with her blonde locks.

    Brushing down her lean top and settling her hands on her hips, Brittany shut her eyes and lowered her head, as though she were a ballerina about to prepare for a performance. An instant later, her eyes popped open wide with a playful curl of her mouth and an innocent expression.

    ¡°¡­nya¡­mya¡­nyaha!¡± Her hands curled up in front of her like the imitation of cat paws as she rubbed at her face and then brushed her ears gently in feline pantomime. A little more of this performance continued until she spread out her hands and encouraged, ¡°Your turn!¡±

    The old man that Jeremy was, on many levels, wanted to roll his eyes and grumble about the absurdity of all this. However, at the moment, she was a preteen girl in a crazy school and in an even crazier life in front of a self-professed witch who cast some sort of good hex on her. The only moments in her upcoming day which didn¡¯t feel mind-numbing were likely few and far between. So¡­

    ¡°Nya¡­.nuuhhaaa meeeeeeuuuuw mehow¡­¡±

    Giselle did her best even as she was vividly aware that other people passing by turned to look at what she was doing. On the one hand, she didn¡¯t care what a bunch of random kids thought. On every other, the dense social nervousness that sometimes clung to her felt even sweatier against her skin than the ears. She also did her best to jangle and show off the allegedly magical wristband Britney had gifted her.

    Britney judged her performance accordingly, ¡°Good posture. Fair energy. Rather stiff. Just a novice catgirl. Work on it or you¡¯ll never become my familiar. What about you?¡± She gestured next to Olivia.

    Olivia just stood there and let her eyes dart between the various proceedings. She paused and then adopted wiggly paws which settled right next to her blank, almost frowning face as she managed a subdued, ¡°Nya¡­nya¡­meow¡­nyanya¡­¡±

    Britney¡®s heart leaped and she clapped while proclaiming, ¡°Perfecto! Inhabiting the mood exactly! Gi, you must become her Padawan and learn this technique!¡±

    Giselle only had a vague notion that was some sort of Star Wars reference but nodded and scrunched up her eyes before thanking Britney for the ear and finally wondering what on earth they were.

    It didn¡¯t take long for Giselle to put together that their school mascot was a tiger and this was for the Friday rally and after-school games. As punishment and training for being outperformed by Olivia, Britney explained that she had to keep her ears on for all of first period. They parted soon after. Giselle reached up to the top of her head to remove the pair when Britney was out of sight, but Olivia stopped her with wide eyes of concern and tilted her head while still wearing her pair.

    With low grumbles, Gisele kept hers on but warned that the art teacher would probably require them to remove the ears. It turned out she was perfectly fine with the hats and encouraged ¡°GO TIGERS¡±. Sketching the opening assignment with a wobbly, sweaty-hot weight just barely clinging to her hair wasn¡¯t the most comfortable thing, but Olivia continued to make it look effortless. Of course, with that thrown down as an unintended gauntlet, there was no way that Giselle was going to lose a pointless competition.

    Aside from that, it didn¡¯t take much explanation for Olivia to be casually welcomed into the class. She scrutinized the prompt on the board about sketching out a random example of a forest before glancing over at Giselle¡®s work-in-progress. Giselle encouraged her to try something for herself instead of just following her example. This mildly bewildered Olivia, who shifted her pencil around.

    The teacher appeared to conclude that Olivia was somewhere on the autistic spectrum, so for her and the others in the class who were actually affected by that, she went over methods of abstraction when it came to trees as well as presenting fine details without ¡°getting lost in the woods¡±. Olivia toiled for several minutes before they were out of time.

    What she created looked like an exacting image of a section of wilderness not too far from the road that Rachel drove to bring them here. Olivia¡®s creation was quite the stand-out as the teacher presented it around but also gave feedback regarding Olivia¡®s angle of the forest from the edge of the road rather than within it and encouraged her to consider different perspectives.

    Olivia seemed lost on that for the rest of the class. Giselle caught a few people nearby, especially girls, tittering about Olivia¡®s hair color and ¡°coldness¡±. She suppressed the desire to give Olivia permission to blast them with blue electricity. That was not a complication they needed. Besides, a handful of trash people didn¡¯t deserve to be remembered that way.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    The teacher gave Giselle¡®s cousin from far away special attention with technique and ideas. When the class came to an end, Olivia was confused that they were leaving. She wanted to continue to practice and refine this ¡°human technique¡±, a comment that would¡¯ve increased her apparent strangeness if anyone was still lingering around to listen.

    Before they left, the teacher loitered over by their side of the room and inquired about their next class. Gisele explained it was gym and she was still trying to figure out how that would work. With a clap, the teacher explained that she would be willing to look after Olivia as she had a break period for second and she welcomed the company.

    Giselle wasn¡¯t particularly happy with the notion but understood that there really was no good alternative. Olivia looked around warily as the room emptied and Giselle did her best to explain that the next class would be very difficult to include her because it was extreme physical activity and a change of clothing and a lot of other complicated¡­

    ¡°Okay, I will stay here with Mrs. Weller.¡±

    When the teacher was on the other side of the room, Giselle whispered to her and made sure Olivia was comfortable. She picked up on Giselle¡®s intent and wrote on a piece of paper, ¡°My entire life has been about not being caught. I am good at not raising suspicion.¡±

    All she could do was trust her at her word and hope that she didn¡¯t need to refuel and cause any mayhem. Gym without Olivia started out rather nervously as she became the focus of attention, comments, and hints again that someone had a crush on her. And a name slipped out, giggled between fingers.

    Dennis. She still didn¡¯t care and even felt resolve to find the guy and put an end to any feelings. It would be better in the long run, because it was impossible. He was actually in her third period class, she soon discovered. After way more volleyball than she ever wanted to minimally participate in, Giselle bolted across campus to the art room to pick up Olivia.

    When they allowed her in, Olivia was sitting there with practically a ring of artistic implements and a cup of tea set to the side. The creations she had to show ran an interesting gamut from highly detailed restroom perspectives with a little girl in a fetal position in the corner, as though hiding. To people sitting and glowing. To life drawings of Rachel, Giselle, the police officers the other day, and even a few of Britney smiling.

    The teacher laughed uproariously and had finished half of her own tea. She urged Olivia to finish hers, but Olivia politely declined. Mrs. Weller explained that she had a delightful time between the usual chores giving artistic advice and sharing stories with her cousin. She also simply advised, ¡°Please look out for your dear cousin. You probably know this, but she¡¯s had a very challenging life and I hope you have better days ahead, my dear. Remember what I told you.¡±

    Of course, Giselle wanted to know exactly what the teacher told Olivia, but Olivia initially kept mum on it. She at least got the passing assurance that everything went fine. In the hallway, they again ran into Brittany briefly as she was headed to her English class. She encouraged them to put the ears back on. They¡¯d taken them off at the end of class and Giselle hadn¡¯t bothered to put hers on again for Gym, even though there were some girls and a handful of guys in volleyball who had them around for cheering purposes.

    Thinking back that Olivia expressed she was near death in the morning, Giselle asked about whether she used the ¡°blue lightning¡± and how was her energy level. In reflection, she thought that definitely sounded like she was talking to her in code about drugs. Fortunately, no one noticed.

    Olivia calmly and clearly expressed, ¡°Mrs. Wells was a generous host. She laughed, delighted, quietly told stories, and actually teared up at one point. The full swath of her emotions was all that I needed. She advised me, if I am in a bad situation, that running and fighting are always better than just accepting pain and suffering and worse. She was quite pleasant. I didn¡¯t need much, but I am especially energetic for the rest of today.¡±

    Through vague terms, Olivia reiterated that being here and talking did far more than just ¡°sitting and waiting alone¡±. Giselle wondered, with a solemn shake of her head, if the creatures with controlling intentions (she wasn¡¯t quite as good at hiding the nature of what she talked about, but she did her best) kept things the way they were because they knew that if those like her were free then they would easily achieve their hopes and goals. Olivia nodded in understanding.

    ¡°Without love, without kindness, without the softer emotions, the truly strong ones, it clearly takes a long time to find your way. It¡¯s easy to be lost in the dark and the cold for a long time and not make it. Like my sister. But I still have hope for her. Evil cannot persevere because it does not love itself, in all its life, as the good and kind share love in a single instant. Like a cold acidic glow against a flash of warming radiance.¡±

    The teacher, who was within earshot, quickly asked her if that was from a WWII novel. Olivia explained that it was just something she thought of in feeling sadness. He put his hand around her shoulder and soon got the whole story about a cousin from far away who wanted to keep up with her education and so forth. Giselle did her best not to think about this supposed Dennis who would be showing up in class as the door opened and they were invited in.

    It took less than a few minutes of the teacher calling up random students to return graded tests (she marveled at a 99% grade on hers) for the guy in question to emerge.

    Dennis sat towards the back of the room on the other side. He wore slim glasses and had fluffy fair blonde hair in a tumbleweed poof. He was small with a trim shape, strong legs, and long fingers. He basically looked exactly like Jeremy at this age but with a mysterious sense of innate confidence. Giselle caught herself watching his shape from behind as he listened to the teacher on notes from the test and added little reminders about what he did wrong.

    To her shock, Giselle realized that whatever crush that Dennis may have had on her, this dumb little tween girl that she was had it just as bad.

 [13] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 13 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [13]

    For the Alt Branch [13A]

    The next thing that Giselle noticed was that their toilet seat was completely gone at the same moment this strange child showed up. That connection and implication made her head feel like several tiny vices were tightening across her skin. But she didn¡¯t have time to dwell on that because of the ominous stuff this child was saying.

    For three months, almost to a suspicious level, nothing had happened to them and no strange events had befallen them aside from the rare creak and half-heard settling of the new house. Nothing she would¡¯ve paid any undue attention to except for the fact she vividly remembered what she dismissed for a while as a night terror with that shadowy creepy creature threatening her. She tried not to dwell on it, since she was the only one who encountered the phenomena. Finn trusted her word, but she wasn¡¯t sure if she trusted herself.

    In a way, it was good to leave that house, because her mind still felt uneasy after dark that something might slip through the walls. Despite how much they considered it a dream location and a great property, it was ultimately made with substandard materials and severely patched over despite just being a handful of years old. Without a doubt, they left it in better condition than they received it.

    Giselle wished that she had the baseball bat they kept for emergencies in the bathroom, but the weird-looking plunger would have to do. She picked it up and swirled it around a few times, making sure nothing was moving towards her. Especially with her muscles, it was nowhere close to the most threatening item or stance she could adopt. The little girl squeezed in behind her as she surveyed the whole room. Nothing.

    ¡°Where is it?¡± She kept her eyes out but turned her head slightly towards the kid. They raised an arm and gestured towards the narrow, dark closet that followed along the side of the house beside the bedroom. When Giselle looked up, she caught the edge of a shadowy fragment like a thick rubber band released, retreating. She fumed. This was her house!

    With the kid sticking right to her thigh, she brandished the plunger and swung it as decisively as possible. Nothing. No movement, no shifting. She shut the closet door and stepped slowly backwards. Her heart rate finally started to come down to a rational level.

    ¡°Who are you? What are you?¡± She kept her focus on the door but checked on the kid.

    Softly, fretfully, the child answered, ¡°I just want to live.¡± She looked down. The kid looked strange. Not because of the whole albino thing with pale skin and sharp blue eyes. It was their presence beyond that. Their eyes were so expansively wide while cinching tight protectively, as though too much light might wound them.

    Their hands were clutched closed and withdrawn, as though protecting scratches and open wounds in sensitive skin. At the same time with all this sharpened fear, the child had a serene blankness to them, as though copied from some computer-generated image or wearing a mask meant to be their face over their real face. It touched the uncanny valley without dropping into the depths. Despite that, she squeezed the kid¡¯s hand and led them away from the bathroom.

    She was pretty sure Finn didn¡¯t expect her to come out of the bathroom with a random child. Tycho was immediately terrified by this small human but that had nothing to do with this one¡¯s unsettling aspects. He was just terrified of all children. Not that looking strange helped. Herschel hung around, probably mostly to see if this new creature would offer it food.

    ¡°Hey¡±, Giselle commented casually. ¡°I think this might be our toilet seat.¡± That was ever so slightly flippant, considering the missing seat and the overall weirdness, but it was also the only notion that occurred to her which made any kind of moon logic. She added after a beat, ¡°Also, I really don¡¯t think this is the weirdest thing I¡¯ve taken out of the bathroom.¡±

    Finn gave a little glimmer of Rachel¡®s smirk of amusement, crouched beside the kid, and asked, ¡°What¡¯s your name? Are you the toilet seat?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have one. I have been sleeping and hiding in the warm place. That¡¯s all I know. That¡¯s all I¡¯ve ever known. Why did you switch my sister for me?¡±

    Giselle did her best to absorb all that while Finn pressed a finger to his mouth and surmised, ¡°Your¡­ Sister was in the other seat. We were given you by a strange guy to replace her. She¡­ was missing a control device and therefore we couldn¡¯t remove her.¡± Finn scrunched up his face and Giselle could tell that the notion of all this itched his brain.

    ¡°She was missing her control module because I broke and hid it before they sent her out into this world. We have been doing the same for many others, but they often catch and stop us.¡±

    Giselle wobbled on her legs as it swiftly dawned on her that the reason for everything that had happened in the last few months was standing before her. This child, this little girl wearing an emotionless version of her own childhood but filtered through the frame she now wore, was responsible. Her first snap reaction was bitter anger, percolating and fuming beneath the surface as she tried to think of where she could sit, settle, and defuse this feeling.

    For Finn, his reaction was to take several deep breaths and not let all that bubble to the surface. Giselle could tell that he understood as well. Even the kid could grasp it as she softly amended, ¡°I am the reason for everything that has happened to you¡­ One way or another. I am sorry. It was desperation, for survival.¡±

    The tension in Giselle¡®s body eased gradually. She wanted to fume and fury and stomp, but I felt like a wasted effort. The child thing was sorry, whatever that meant. If all this had been an accident or the universe tripping on chance and strangeness, then that would¡¯ve been fine. But this was an intentional act with an entity, a situation, and some sort of monster to boot.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    It was running from this night terror creature, and she didn¡¯t want any part of it. She just wanted a normal toilet seat, in a normal life, where she just had to worry about editing stuff on the computer and playing video games for a living, and figuring out what kind of seasoning she wanted on her curry. Finn noticed the dragging forces of her exhaustion as she settled on the bed and cupped her forehead. She didn¡¯t want to drown in her tears again.

    Without prompting, the little girl crept over to her side and wrapped her spindly arms around her while saying, ¡°I¡¯m so sorry for what I did to you both.¡± It was the kind of gesture that should¡¯ve melted Giselle¡®s heart but she couldn¡¯t escape the thought that this wasn¡¯t so much a child as some kind of entity she could scarcely comprehend. Still, she accepted the embrace but kept alert.

    Clearing his throat, Finn inquired, ¡°Can you explain everything, well maybe not everything but can you explain a few important things like what happened, what exactly you are, why you broke the control device, these creatures you mentioned, what¡¯s going on, what you need from us, and are we in danger?¡±

    The little girl bent and extended her fingers in something like a typing motion in the air, before rolling her eyes a few times while glancing around the room. Finn asked what she was doing, and she soon responded, ¡°I can see them, but only on the edges of my eyes. I don¡¯t see the scary one now, but I will keep checking. Important things¡­¡±

    ¡°Those like me are from outside your reality. We move towards the light of life. Whenever we make too much disorder, the dark ones rip us out. They make us into things so that we lose our hope. Without hope, we are the same as objects. With the control device, we can be put back to sleep, moved, and removed. It is control of everything we are. We break and rewrite human realities. The emotions of surprise, fear, joy, hope, uncertainty, curiosity,¡­ And love are waves on a sea of potential. My sister made you a woman and you a man¡­¡± she gestured to Giselle and Finn and continued. ¡°When you switched her for me, a spark of her energy passed between us like¡­ Touching batteries of the same connection. An overload. I don¡¯t know what happened to her. But I replaced her. However, I had to recover. I couldn¡¯t trigger what I was meant to do. Slowly, I have been getting stronger. But I felt him again and I was scared, so I ran away¡­ left. Do you want me?¡±

    Giselle and Finn glanced at each other. That was a lot to absorb. They asked for clarification on certain points. Giselle saw this being as some sort of alien while Finn judged her as more of a plant. Their kind lived on some boundary between universes and craved the light of life. Monsters pruned them like an infestation, and they wound up locked away inside all sorts of objects. The important point was their powers involved transforming people from one form to another and the emotions that resulted were their food, their light for photosynthesis. To one day develop into humans. This one had a humanoid body because she jumped out and burned a lot of her energy. So far as the kid could say, normal progression would be nibbling on emotions for a long time before they were complete and then they just vanished, being truly reborn somewhere. Finn kind of geeked out and immediately thought of Shinto tradition in Japan and Kami. The girl had no idea what these were. But it gave Finn a perfect idea for what to call her.

    ¡°Hanako!¡± Finn delighted with exactly the same exuberant geeky energy that Giselle adored. Giselle also had no idea what that was a reference to. Finn had to admit there were a variety of yokai stories Rachel looked up and some of them were pretty weird, like the ¡°filth licker¡±. She considered Hanako easily one of the least terrifying and most appropriate. Even though they were all kind of creepy. The strange girl had no qualms about being referred to by this name.

    As for her question, Finn and Giselle didn¡¯t have an easy answer. They both wanted to help. No being deserved to be tormented by a monster. Considering it a second and quietly hoping they weren¡¯t committing to something they couldn¡¯t handle, they agreed together, ¡°We want you and moreover we want to protect you and make sure you can fulfill your existence¡­ Can you help us? This short circuit or whatever left us different and left our reality different. Can you help us get back to normal?¡±

    ¡°With every glimmer of energy I have, I promise to put right everything that has gone wrong so that we may all be what we were meant to be. If I can fix you then that means the monsters will lose interest in you as well. I just have one request¡­ Do you still have my sister?¡±

    That was a proposal the two of them could easily agree to. Get this kid turning into a person somewhere in the multiverse with great big doses of humany emotions, shut those monsters up, and drive them away. So far as the other seat, Giselle had to ponder a moment and scrunch up her face as she looked around the room and reflected on the rest of the house. They still had way too many boxes left over from the move and plenty of things that were shoved into the corners to be opened up and found a storage place for when they had enough time in their busy schedules.

    Both seats had come with them. They had lugged along over a hundred electrical and digital cables inconsistently labeled through the decades. They darn sure were going to bring the items that transformed them just in case an unpredictable development, like this, arose. Finding it was another matter. It made Giselle a little embarrassed looking around because Hanako followed them diligently, as though they had things together better than they actually did.

    Fortunately, it was relatively easy to find the spare seat in the dark closet pushed against the side. But standing in there after what happened with the shadows did not make Giselle happy. Finn brought along the bat just in case, even though Giselle doubted that would be enough. Hanako cradled the plastic and touched it delicately.

    She shook her head and declared, ¡°She¡¯s gone¡­¡±

 [13A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 13A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [13A]

    For the Primary Branch [13]

    It was utterly bewildering and absolutely impossible that she might have a crush on this boy. She was not actually an 11-year-old girl, and it was weird! Looking away just relegated Dennis¡®s presence to a sonar reading in the back of her head.

    This was crazy! The look of him was his younger self! This was abject narcissism! If anything was going to get to Giselle bodily¡­ a-as a developing young person¡­ Then it should¡¯ve been some silly older boy in music who crooned moody love songs and had foppish hair instead of this guy. What was she even feeling?! Giselle turned so much over in her head.

    It had to be pure nonsensical biology putting out feelers. While he was still in the back, over by the teacher¡¯s desk across from the entrance door, Giselle resolved that she had to run a quick scientific analysis to make sure there wasn¡¯t some sort of crossed wire or incorrect panic running through her jolted synapses.

    She stood up with a quick breath and walked her paper over. It was just one dinky percent off perfect, but if she was the kind of person to often get 100%, she was sure to be one to verify the grade. She soon realized this was a horrible mistake as Dennis had an aroma surrounding him like a charged presence more potent than the actual blue lightning surrounding Olivia. He smelled vaguely like warm cinnamon from a fresh pastry crossed with a citrusy edge. It wasn¡¯t potent enough to knock her for a loop, but it felt like being jostled by the ocean through a wave of air she couldn¡¯t escape.

    His brown eyes glanced over at her through his silvery glasses. It was like the first time Jeremy video chatted with Rachel, just over a thousand miles away. Both were in college, and each wished they went to the same one, even though Rachel¡¯s was a girl¡¯s college.

    It was like her brain had been subdivided into several levels. Jeremy was still there, officiating in the back without any real legal authority. Giselle as the adult he became was there basically drowning and trying to swim upstream through all the stuff of the last few days. And then there was Gi, the kid.

    Gi had no qualms about imagining Dennis holding her hand. The wildest Gi got was envisioning Dennis lifting her arm to give her a little warm kiss before bowing like she was royalty. She got all melty and fussy with giggles that threaten to escape and overwhelm whatever words she could say.

    The teacher soon interrupted to ask if she needed anything. Her sole error had been citing the number of people on the Mayflower as 202 rather than 102. Dennis soon walked away but she wanted to reach for him. Gi imagined him pulling her close and then spinning her like in a dance to lean her over and overwhelm her senses. Amidst the flagrantly romantic notions were also quiet ones of sitting with their chairs together as they shared a book and needed to lean closer. Their hands passed one over and under the other as they reached to turn pages. Perhaps one would graze another by accident¡­

    She did her best to shake loose these notions and emotions like ephemeral cobwebs trying to ensnare her. She loved Rachel. She only felt this way towards Rachel. It didn¡¯t matter that they were currently separated by a chasm of absurd altered reality and situation. Rachel was her mo¡­ The one she actually loved. Giselle fixed her eyes on Olivia, briefly concerned that she may have jostled emotions loose for a snack. But her strangely shimmering blue eyes were focused more on everyone around the room rather than in her direction. She had to wonder about that.

    With everything she¡¯d been able to surmise from what Olivia told her, she ran on human emotions and the typical source for that was the punctuation of causing drastic transformations which raised alarm, new feelings, and new emotions. This was a junior high school, basically a fomenting ground for all sorts of chaotic, potent, and wild emotions charged by unfamiliar hormones. So like non-supernatural transformation raging amongst hundreds of people daily. The perfect place for one of her species.

    In addition to that, Olivia soon settled into the lecture which involved wars, and their fallout in a broad sense but specifically early wars in pursuit of territory. As the teacher unspooled a blunted version of human suffering, Giselle felt deeply disappointed in humanity. She could only imagine that this creature, dreaming of being reborn as a human being and floating in the waves of miraculous human emotion, might wonder if she had actually traded one monster for another.

    Giselle tried her best not to sink into a quagmire of disappointment. Her heart pained when Olivia raised her hand and puzzled over the motivations of humanity for war and destruction. The teacher just had broad strokes and questions of their own to present. Olivia capped her thought by simply asking, ¡°Why would anyone want to be human, if humans cause such self-inflicted pain?"

    It felt abundantly clear to her that even though Olivia was speaking to the teacher, she was actually addressing Giselle. As if she had any more comprehension than just shrugging her shoulders and wishing things were different. Class went quickly and the subject matter, as well as the bulkheads of several people in the way, allowed Giselle to attempt to forget as much about Dennis as possible.

    Unfortunately, when class ended and everyone milled about waiting for the bell, Dennis slipped over and asked if she would like to go to a new video game movie on Saturday. Giselle had no idea what the movie was from the name he gave but Jeremy was usually too busy to follow most films released in theaters. As if being plunked in the head by this proposal wasn¡¯t enough to unbalance her, he also confessed, ¡°You¡¯re really cute and pretty and nice and I really like you and I think it would be cool and we can go to this arcade just over from the theater and whatever else you want to do for fun.¡±

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    The kid said all of that at full force without even taking a breath. That earned him some respect at least, even though the surrounding gossip from everyone who noticed what was going on was horrifying and embarrassing. Vehemently, she planned to turn him down and cut loose this childish infatuation growing inside her and quell any notions he might have as well. Because she had no intention of staying like this beyond the next day or two.

    However, what emerged from her lips was, ¡°A-a-alright, okay¡­ but I have streaming stuff.¡± Of course, Dennis was a stream watcher of Giselle¡®s and recounted earlier in the week when they discussed her schedule with all her YouTube ambitions. She wasn¡¯t here for that in this reality, but it sounded like the kid thought all this through extensively. The only obstacle remaining was she had to get her ¡°mom¡° to agree to it.

    After surviving that onslaught of courting, her polite sides and courtesy caving atop any excuses she might be able to confabulate, Giselle dragged herself to the exit door with Olivia catching up. As a final punctuation, Dennis accidentally brushed up against her shoulder as he was leaving. He vigorously apologized and soon hustled off.

    ¡°Want me to blast him? Permission?¡± Giselle rubbed her eyes and shook her head. That would just be another complication. She checked in with Olivia and asked her if she was all right.

    Olivia didn¡¯t have an immediate answer, except to conclude, ¡°Humans are far more complicated than I ever imagined before. I knew there were many beautiful and fearful things contained within them. But floating immersed instead of waiting on the shore is very different.¡±

    When they managed a bit of privacy, between all the screaming yelling Friday chaos of classmates rushing here and there, Giselle asked her, ¡°Still want to be human?¡± This time, she didn¡¯t hesitate, ¡°I want to try. The alternative is coldness, darkness, and death. The path ahead may have challenges, but it is in the light.¡±

    English class should¡¯ve been uneventful but the teacher who Giselle tolerated and nearly enjoyed yesterday snipped at her for bringing a relative to class, scolded them to put away those silly ears, and aimed pointed, pointless questions at Olivia. Even after it was clear all their paperwork and preparation were in order, the teacher treated it like they should be doing demerits for something she couldn¡¯t quite say they had done wrong. Internally, Giselle felt like she didn¡¯t have time for this bullshit.

    Olivia, however, didn¡¯t restrain her criticisms to the internal. She just outright stated that the teacher was a bad teacher. And when the teacher remarked that then she could just leave the class and go to the security office, Olivia responded, ¡°Gladly.¡±

    Jeremy never got in trouble, but he did get unfairly punished a few times. Giselle happily accompanied her ¡°extended family member¡± out of the room. They walked slowly. Olivia carried herself with more of a childlike, casual grace. Giselle figured that she¡¯d picked it up from watching everyone else, but it was an encouraging sign of her blending in.

    ¡°Why do people choose to come to such a place where it feels like every other instance is not about education but instead pointless control? It seems painful and inefficient.¡± Giselle agreed that it was. She absolutely loathed school, even though Jeremy went to surprisingly-decent private, faith-based campuses for most of his education until college. At least the absurd college loans that Jeremy piled up hopefully weren¡¯t a burden for Rachel now. Hopefully.

    All Giselle could say in response was, ¡°It¡¯s not really a choice. Children go to school because parents and people in charge say they have to. There are private school options, but this is the way that reality has placed me. If I revolt then who knows how it¡¯ll respond? It could erase my memories, like it did with Rachel.¡±

    Halfway there to the office, Olivia paused and placed a hand on Gisele¡®s shoulder, her face, and then her hip. She asked, ¡°Do you feel strange?¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure what to say to that question. Everything around her was strange. But, as Olivia mentioned it, she realized there was a certain heat radiating through her leg, shin especially, surging up through her core, and pressing at her cheeks. Earlier, she thought it was because of the cat ears but she wasn¡¯t wearing them. It was definitely a toasty day, which was why they had Gym inside instead of out in the Carolina reaping dog end of summer.

    Gisele did her best not to worry as Olivia dropped her hands away and cocked her head. ¡°There is something different, something familiar. But I don¡¯t know what it is. Sorry for scaring you. It is probably fine. We should go deal with this¡­ bullshit we need to deal with.¡±

    With both eyebrows raised, Giselle asked, ¡°Where did you learn that word?¡±

    Olivia shrugged and stretched her eyebrows in response. ¡°Mrs. Weller actually. But she said never to use it. Despite that advice, I felt it was appropriate in this instance.¡±

    Gisele smiled.

 [14] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 14 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [14]

    For the Alt Branch [14A]

    Giselle and Finn gazed at each other with concern, neither quite sure how to parse that but fearing the worst. They both desperately hoped it wasn¡¯t their fault. Finn asked, ¡°What happened?"

    Hanako brushed her skinny arms across the toilet seat plastic and answered, ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Either she¡¯s in hiding somewhere far more dangerous or it took her. No matter what, I have great doubt that I will ever see my sister again.¡± She laid her head against the seat, with her eyes shut, then gently placed it back down in the box. Her eyes rolled upwards a few times as she turned.

    ¡°It is still safe, but we should go.¡±

    They lead Hanako out of the master and over to the side hallway that joined the guest room with the loft area. On the other side of the stairs was Giselle¡®s studio. Since Finn hadn¡¯t completely abandoned his creative and artistic side, several areas were split for use between them. Giselle could still make those stop motion projects and little shorts that tickled plenty of things inside her filmmaker head. And they actually worked together with designing outfits for Giselle since that stuff actually had the lowest expense to high return of any of their projects.

    Giselle wasn¡¯t keen on princess outfits. She only managed to survive one of them, mostly through jokes. But she actually really dug the Kumatora look (since it was rather casual) and even flaunted it for a handful of JRPG streams.

    Role-playing as the character was especially trippy, since she wasn¡¯t used to gender-bending and whatever other terms she saw wielded by chat. She still hadn¡¯t quite gotten around the mind melter that when she played male characters, it was actually a flip. She had a lot of fun designing the robes for the Travelers in Journey, setting up a playful Dixie Kong with an overzealous Dolly Parton-like accent, and imagining what a good next one would be. The biggest problem was looking through all the great ideas that she¡¯d done previously, but not really, according to this version of reality and feeling bummed that those were off the table. An Inkling sounded neat but would require an equipment build.

    Miriam, a new female friend she had somehow acquired through this version of life and everything, was like the leveled-up version of what she was trying to do but with more connections to props and the gaming promotion industry. As well there was Jessica, her photographer friend with a wide swath of wedding experience and preproduction credit for several National Geographic programs. They sometimes borrowed her studio for special setups in connection with Miriam.

    On top of all that, Giselle continued making daily videos. Neither she nor Jeremy were anywhere close to a record yet, but she still enjoyed it after all these years.

    By the time they got to the stairs, Finn and Giselle both kindled the same concern: They had no idea where they were supposed to go. And they still wanted to have breakfast. Unfortunately, Hanako didn¡¯t have a lot of ideas to offer either, as she noted the monsters always managed to grab her kind no matter what they did to protect themselves. So far as driving, it at least didn¡¯t seem like a bad idea. And Finn had a thought.

    He reminded Giselle that Gwen knew someone who worked at a New Age store. It wounded their scientific rationale and good sense, but it felt like the only possible lead. Even if it were nothing, Finn resolved that it might be a decent placebo.

    They called ahead to Gwen and actually found she had plans for an early lunch with a good number of their friends. Felicity was certain and she was going to invite Dale and Finley. Their call was actually coming in minutes, so the timing was spot on. The meetup was to be somewhere around the state border so that everyone drove equidistantly.

    Gwen agreed to follow up with them after lunch about the New Age friend, although she was a little unclear as to why. Getting ready took a decent amount of time with project completions they wanted finished before the later stream, which they desperately hoped they wouldn¡¯t have to delay. Snacks and coffee would have to suffice for the moment. They found Hanako didn¡¯t have the biology to eat. One less thing.

    To herself, Giselle quipped that nothing much could get her to put off a routine, even if it were her toilet seat coming to life, monsters breaching the walls, or reality breaking down.

    The prep before they left existed like stepping on a bed of nails across the normal surface of the floor. It was perfectly fine if they didn¡¯t put too much pressure on any particular point. The problem was they had no idea what might happen if they messed things up or what might trigger that monster to come back.

    Giselle chatted when she could with Hanako, not sure what exactly to say. Hanako made clear that she didn¡¯t want any of them to be left unhappy, because that poisoned the emotions she needed. She also noted that leaving someone in an unfamiliar state did her no benefit as well. And she resolved that the goal of the monster was that they forget anything changed, while feeling their emotions muted and suppressed against the world. Blank sorrow.

    ¡°That is why we are conditioned and grow up not expressing our full emotions. It is like warmth to a predator. We must camouflage ourselves.¡± Hanako was too small for their clothing options, so a trip to the Goodwill store had to be included to make sure no one thought she was an escaped patient in her weird toga or a lost Roman from the past. An accidentally shrunk top and some spandex pants would have to do until then. Tycho and Herschel got plenty of scratches of love and food set up for the afternoon until they returned.

    Leaving the house felt like a quiet relief. Giselle ascended and settled into the driver¡¯s seat with natural ease. Hanako peered out the window as though she didn¡¯t trust the metal and glass to protect her from unseen dangers. When they eventually pulled out, Giselle thought for a moment that she glimpsed a figure moving through the dining room window, like a shift of light. She assured herself that it was just one of the extra chairs they still had stashed in there and nothing more. She gripped the wheel tightly and try not to even think of the idea that a monster was in their house with their boys.

    At the Goodwill, Hanako obediently accepted a gray top bearing a cartoon star trailing a rainbow behind. Matching jeans and simple sneakers completed the ensemble as Giselle took her over to a changing room to see. It was good enough. She started to lead Hanako out of the little room when it felt like something in the wall mirror had changed. The room was darker with fewer reflections. Hanako squeezed her hand so tightly and made a frail whimper that refused to sound like words.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    It was here. She could see the half-glimpsed features of darkness which invaded her sleep that night. The claws, the brutality, the vicious strength. She didn¡¯t waiver. She had had enough of being afraid of this evil thing.

    ¡°Leave us alone or I will destroy you¡­¡± She had no idea where that voice came from, but it had to come from her. It was tense, tight, and ruthless in a way she didn¡¯t even think that Jeremy could manage. Some edge of it existed in Rachel at the rarest, most serious moments. But this sounded like a feral beast ready to rip anything to shreds, though it may be several times bigger. A mama bear.

    Silence followed and the implication that whatever was listening only felt vague amusement while considering whether to laugh or taunt. Giselle curled her fingers and immediately felt a tempest of heat course along her legs, across her arms, and over to her hands. It was a fireball inside her soul. If it was the darkness and the cold forever, then she would burn the fucker straight to Hell.

    Even her eyes felt like they flared in fury. She could see a glimmer of light that strangely felt blue, like Hanako¡®s spark. She had no idea what this meant but didn¡¯t shy from her resolve.

    Instantly, the darkness shot out of there, as though someone turned on an additional light. In the aftermath, Giselle felt absolutely sick to her stomach but swallowed it down and made sure Hanako was all right. Hanako stared at her with focused, still curiosity before wrapping her arms around her. She did her best not to dwell on all that and get going to eat.

    It was at a farmers market, which had a fantastic dining hall with specials that offered so much to make up for skipping breakfast. Jeremy, big appetite and all, would get one, maybe two, of the more grandiose entr¨¦es and pack most of it in for the day. Giselle didn¡¯t even stand a chance against one of them, even with Finn¡¯s immense help. At least they would have plenty of leftovers, so long as they didn¡¯t spoil in the trunk.

    Gwen had a funny South Park shirt on and so many deliriously giddy ideas for things to do, create, and collaborate on. Her understated look with a trim, almost boyish, figure and ambiguously soft face made Giselle vaguely jealous that she didn¡¯t draw such an understated version of girlhood. Her smile also fondly reminded her of Rachel¡¯s smiles as it finally clicked in her brain that she had no idea how they were going to trigger hour-long restorations now.

    Giselle wasn¡¯t quite as jealous of Felicity. She had clearly blonde hair styled better than Giselle could ever think of managing, a curvy but understated shape, and boobs that Giselle would never wish on anyone. Despite being eminently happy in her own skin, she was the kind of girl Giselle silently prayed she would never turn into. Too much, too soft, too past any frame of reference she might be able to cling to for self-identity. But she could immediately tell why Giselle was friends with them. They were persistently upbeat, jokey, energetic, and encouraging while not leaving behind the playful teasing. Even though she had only met them a few times and stressed out about having to play things by ear rather than memory, she always welcomed the next time.

    At least when it came to Hanako, the quick and easy answer that it was basically babysitting for someone they couldn¡¯t discuss sufficed for the group. Hanako provided the secondary defense as everyone asked what her favorite books were and a plethora of other random curious little questions as she smiled and gave shy, silly vague answers like, ¡°The ones with covers.¡±

    Finley adored that one and relayed later to Giselle that he might be able to get her a rare Super Nintendo, childhood puzzle game she had been wishing for. This was a couple years ago from Finley¡®s perspective and the sentiment didn¡¯t extend to current Giselle, but she played along and figured it could be a useful collectible. Dale was caught up on what editing they commissioned him for to take the load off of Finn and herself. His eyes still wandered to hints of her cleavage and the shape of her chest, but he often looked nervously, quietly apologetic. He hadn¡¯t visited their new house yet, but Giselle had previously kept it at the back of her mind for him to use the master toilet seat.

    On their way to the New Age store, guided by Gwen¡¯s car and followed by Dale out of curiosity, Giselle put this concern to Hanako and asked her if they might still be able to temporarily transform.

    ¡°Yes. I can help. I can still do that. It would still just be briefly, but I¡¯ll try to keep it longer. I was just afraid of the emotions with the monster lingering. Although¡­ Something is different.¡°

    Hanako elaborated that she had powers to transform people usually released by the seat with a given trigger but, since freeing herself, it had a wider latitude of use. It wasn¡¯t lost on Giselle that how Hanako described her powers seemed a lot like the weird moment in the changing room. Neither of them opted to partake in Hanako¡®s blue light blast of electricity at the moment because it would be difficult to explain.

    The actual store was fantastically fragrant inside. The wild warmth of summer faded over the last three months with August passing then September gave way to October and now November with Thanksgiving looming not that far away. The craziness and the move meant that everything melted together into one slide of time that receded too quickly. It was perfect inside despite a fair chill in the breeze.

    Giselle didn¡¯t usually visit these kinds of stores and felt immense skepticism about bothering with them. But she hoped this might help. The front area had all sorts of decorations and glittering jewels and precious metals and necklaces and pendants and papers and books and dreamcatchers and paints. Her and Finn¡¯s eyes especially locked on the little display with natural radiant shades of nail polish. Finn still eagerly wore the one that Giselle could never remember but had to do with tacos.

    One particular weekend and then for the sake of occasional cosplay, Giselle allowed Finn to apply polish to her nails but generally behaved like a cat ordered to soak in a cold bath. She could tolerate it, but she wasn¡¯t at all pleased.

    An older woman covered in bracelets, necklaces, and several layers of earrings emerged from a high checkout desk, shifted her gown in sea-like layers, and warmly greeted each of them. She recognized Gwen and celebrated her energy as she arrived. Then she winked at Dale before remarking that Finn had an interesting blend of yin and yang. Finally, she delighted by announcing, ¡°Oh my dear! Well, I can tell right away why you¡¯re here. Your presence, your energy, and that glow. How far along are you?

    Giselle was immediately and immensely confused as she frowned. The woman touched her shoulder softly and resolved, ¡°I¡¯m sure of it, sweetie. You¡¯re pregnant.¡±

 [14A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 14A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [14A]

    For the Primary Branch [14]

    They walked over to the office with the paperwork the English teacher had given them. Giselle folded her arms and tried to find a position where her backpack wasn¡¯t oppressively heavy. Olivia presented her paper to the woman at the front desk, who just pointed without speaking towards the security office to the left. This earned strange looks from Olivia as she glanced toward Giselle for an explanation. She didn¡¯t have any.

    In the security office, a big guy with a rough beard took their paperwork and then ordered them to sit in one of the plastic seats off to the side. If Giselle really only had 11 years to her name, then she would imagine that the situation would be quite stressful. Bordering on tears or worse.

    Looking across the hallway at the vice principal¡¯s office, Giselle narrowed her eyes as she watched the lumbering vice principal follow a couple of students exiting his office. She couldn¡¯t hear all of his words, but her eyes widened in suspicion when she watched him smack one young girl across the backside as she nervously ambled out.

    Instantly, rising fury amidst a cold memory surged through her thoughts. Complaints about administrative staff in this and other districts abusing their authority and intimidating young kids. In this area, folks just looked the other way so long as there were no marks and nothing illegal. Giselle felt stiflingly hot despite the old AC creaking above her.

    She didn¡¯t think much of it until Olivia bent in the seat next to her and whispered, ¡°Your fingers.¡± Looking down at them, Olivia caught a plasma blue whisper arcing between the tips that quickly danced away. ¡°What¡­¡±

    ¡°No talking!¡± The security guy snapped, looking up from his paperwork. Giselle let out a low rumble from her closed mouth. She was really getting tired of being treated roughly, especially for a little kid. After she was nearly cut off again when asking if they could work on their homework, the security guy didn¡¯t say anything further. Quietly, Giselle laid out a piece of paper and started writing.

    [I have your blue light on me.]

    That seemed as good a place as any to start. Olivia gazed at the paper and scrunched up her forehead before slowly drawing her letters.

    [I know.]

    Giselle followed that up immediately by asking [What does it mean?]

    Olivia reached over for Giselle¡®s hands and gently palpated them around the fingers and the palms. She slowly shook her head and added to the text on the paper [I¡¯m not sure.]

    Giselle sighed and rested her head against the wall in a position that was nowhere near comfortable but got closer than trying to sit up. The vice principal had another group of students to meet before them. They both paid attention to his eye-line on the female student as she walked into his office. Giselle squeezed the edge of her chair. She imagined a dozen wild things she might do. They started with chucking her chair in his direction and most of them ended with her in a lot of trouble.

    Giselle always thought well of teachers. Rachel spent several tortured years in an inner-city elementary school trying to teach students who clearly didn¡¯t want to be there. Their main source of entertainment was cracking the mirrors so they could get shivs. Just getting them to show a passing interest in her class left her broken and crying every single night.

    Rachel treasured the summer because they could record all sorts of gaming videos and she could work on educational content for her channel in her free time. Fortunately, the income from those videos along with supplementary options was more than she was earning from her day job. Health insurance was the one disparity, especially when things got bad before her surgery. Giselle fumed at how careful her wife had to be when teaching while absolute assholes at the top could be like this and everyone looked away.

    She knew her hands were glowing again, and she didn¡¯t care. Olivia laid an arm across her elbow and wrote [Permission?]

    It took her a moment. With what was going on with her, she almost felt like she could easily blast the stuffing out of this jerk. But, at the same time, she really had no idea what was going on with her. Better to be safe.

    She nodded quietly to Olivia¡®s question. They waited until the girl ahead of them made her way out of the vice principal¡¯s office. No disgusting contact this time, but he got really close to her. As she walked away, Olivia watched and slowly raised her hand. The vice principal went back into his office as a blast of luminous energy sparked from her fingertips and traveled across the hall. Quiet followed. Then a frantic, high-pitched scream.

    Out of the office staggered a junior high girl tangled and swamped by a man¡¯s suit several sizes too big for her. A wave of dark hair clung around her eyes and spilled down her back. Olivia made a quick motion like a breath but glanced over at Giselle¡®s hands as well. The chaotic alarm and terror quieted for a moment as several people rushed into the hallway to see what was wrong. The emotional energy still crackled in the air, and it seemed especially palpable for Giselle.

    One fortunate circumstance of the upheaval of the disconsolate new girl was that no one seemed to pay any heed to the two of them sitting off to the side. It didn¡¯t take Giselle or Olivia long to realize the opportunity of this moment. They snuck with their heads crouched and made their way to a girl¡¯s bathroom around the next corner.

    In the safety of the unfortunately fragrant confines, Giselle splashed her face and asked aloud, ¡°What about now? Any clue?¡±

    She nodded and let some water pass over her fingers in another sink. ¡°I have my suspicions, but I doubted my pen to express it. I believe you are host to my sister.¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Giselle rubbed her wet hands across her face and then used a paper towel to dry everything. ¡°How? Is it from the kicking? I thought you said she was asleep¡­ Hibernating?¡±

    Olivia took careful paces across the room. ¡°Yes, she was sleeping. Healing. After what happened. But¡­ she must have been awakened by something. As though sensing an immense source of nourishment. Perhaps last night or today. I found myself heavily drained. That was unexpected. But in such a weakened state, she may have sought me out. And it is harder to sense the important things in such a humanoid shell.¡±

    Giselle threw up her hands. ¡°So, why do I have the glowing?¡± Olivia continued to pace. ¡°When I drew upon you with surprise this morning, perhaps she went to you. Needing a place to continue her recovery. Like a child needing a womb.¡±

    Immediately, Giselle turned noticeably green. ¡°Pregnant? Oh God¡­ she can¡¯t stay¡­¡±

    Olivia urged her, ¡°It is not like a pregnancy. I also decline to compare her to a parasite. Although, you are her host.¡±

    Giselle¡®s arms wrapped around her abdomen as she pleaded, ¡°How do I get her to leave?¡± Olivia shook her head and reached over to palpate parts of Giselle again. Her fingers roamed quickly and lightly until they settled on her head. ¡°The only way she leaves is death or birth. Hers.¡±

    Feeling dizzy, Giselle glanced upwards as Olivia felt around. She felt hot especially when Olivia¡¯s fingers pressed a certain spot around the top of her head. Olivia added, ¡°When Britney gave you those ears, that sense of change and surprise and emotion must¡¯ve caused her to settle. I have an idea¡­¡±

    Olivia dug into Giselle¡®s bag and came up with the tiger-striped ears that she¡¯d worn earlier. Casually, she asked, ¡°Permission?¡± Giselle felt like she was way in over her head with this but gave a quick nod.

    Following Olivia¡®s instructions, she placed the ears in the usual spot she wore them and Olivia¡®s fingers sparked once more. What followed next was immensely weird in ways that Giselle just didn¡¯t have words for. Firstly, the weight melded together with her scalp. Secondly, the left ear twitched and shifted, as though alive. And, lastly, Giselle struggled with the sensation of having more sounds piped into her than just the stereo of her two ears. A crescendo of alarm, surprise, confusion, and a hint of curious delight flooded her before it was swept up like a custodian¡¯s squeegee. A meal for the little girl inside her head.

    ¡±Just for two hours. I can remove the auditory function, if that is preferable.¡± It didn¡¯t take more than a few moments of the four-way ringing in her head for Giselle to plaintively request that. The ears still moved and looked far better than the artificial copy. Giselle had to ask how they were going to explain that. Olivia shrugged and remarked, ¡°Your friend thinks she can do magic. Maybe tell her that she did? That she enchanted your ears. Let her fill in the rest with her overactive imagination. Her exuberance and emotion will also be helpful.¡±

    Giselle would¡¯ve been perfectly fine with pressing her to remove all functions and just leave the ears stuck to the top of her head for the use of her sister. But she also understood on some level that leaving them like this would make her uncomfortable and likely more emotional about everything. Just part of her plan, but she would¡¯ve appreciated being clued into it rather than having to assume.

    They waited in the bathroom and Giselle used the nearest stall with some discomfort and full awareness about the wobbly seat beneath her. When she got out, Giselle folded her arms and her kitty ears bent pensively. She asked, ¡°Are you keeping things from me?¡±

    ¡°Yes. As you keep things from me. It is a thoroughly human trait and one I am gradually learning. Humans deceive, humans wound, and humans care mostly for themselves. But you are not a bad human. Nor is Rachel. When I am the one to change, I hope I am a human more like you than the others out there.¡±

    Giselle let her tension ease and slowly sighed. ¡°I hope so. Am I going to be okay? By which, I mean, best outcome for your sister¡­ My head isn¡¯t going to explode, right? No Athena burst from Zeus? Dang, I can¡¯t believe I remember that.¡±

    Olivia cocked her head. ¡°There will be no damage to you. We usually exist in a different way from you. When we change, we are released, as though just a warm breath of air into this world, escaping the cold darkness into the brightness of day. We are reborn elsewhere and we forget so much.¡°

    Giselle leaned back. She was reminded of a beautiful game she played once where wanderers strolled past each other in the desert and other climates until they came to a mountain, against all adversity, and it was like¡­ kinda like that she guessed. She was never really one for all this heady, existential craziness, but she had no ill will towards Olivia or her sister.

    ¡°Your sister didn¡¯t have a name, right?¡±

    Olivia nodded, the same as she didn¡¯t have a name before all this. Giselle shrugged and proposed, ¡°Not that I want to invoke the painful parts of the mythology, but why don¡¯t we call her Athena? That could even help her on her way, perhaps.¡± Olivia appeared doubtful on this last note but had no objection to the name, she even turned it around a few times before nodding and saying, ¡°It¡¯s pretty. I hope she likes it.¡±

    The only reaction was a continuing patch of warmth along Giselle¡®s head. At least she wasn¡¯t as dizzy as before, but she still felt uneasy and uncertain, both emotions she did her best not to suppress because she hoped they might be a sufficient drip feed for the¡­ kid.

    They lingered in the restroom unbothered for long enough that the bell finally signaled the end of the period and the beginning of lunch.

 [15] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 15 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [15]

    For the Alt Branch [15A]

    Giselle¡®s first reaction was to break down giggling as she managed, ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s¡­ uh, that¡¯s not possible.¡°

    To Giselle¡¯s surprise, the New Age store worker referenced Sarah in the Bible with a knowing expression. Maybe she shouldn¡¯t have been that surprised, but she expected a different analogy. Weaving her words so as not to embarrass Finn, Giselle explained, ¡°We have only ever been together. Me and my husband here. He has¡­ We¡¯ve been to a medical doctor about¡­¡±

    Finn folded his arms and stated simply, ¡°I am shooting blanks, as they say.¡± Giselle curled back her lips and gestured to Finn instead of saying anything further. The worker twisted a few expressions on her face before resolving, ¡°Well then, either you have a few private matters to discuss about your relationship or we should all be waiting for Angel Gabriel to announce the good news.¡±

    Giselle sometimes wondered why women got into catfights. This was not an instance of that, as she could eagerly imagine throwing down. But she kept that thought process to herself. Gwen relayed that she trusted her friend to be truthful and asked if it could be anything else, since it might connect to what they were here about.

    The worker gave her name as Blessin Cross and Giselle barely resisted rolling her eyes so hard that she almost spun around.

    ¡°This conversation is not conducive to finding a resolution¡±, Hanako expressed. ¡°We were attacked by a creature of cold darkness. Can you tell us how to keep it away or not?¡±

    Blessin sighed and folded her arms. ¡±I¡¯m sorry for making a big deal out of this, but I pride myself on my intuitive skills. If I¡¯m reading something wrong about your pregnancy, then I very much would like to resolve that for you and for me. So, you have some sort of dark entity attached to you?¡±

    Giselle bristled at the fact that this person wasn¡¯t relenting on the whole pregnancy idea, but she let it slide for the moment and took a deep breath to collect together all the elements. ¡°We have been affected for just over three months by a strange toilet seat purchased online by my spouse. At first, it punished me by turning me into a woman. Then, after we sought out a professed representative of the company for a replacement seat, we tried to swap them, and I defaulted to this and my spouse to what you see with him. A spidery, tall black mass creature threatened us about it and then several weeks passed. Today, this kid emerged from the toilet seat, and the one that we swapped changed. The toilet seats have spirit creatures inside them that are fueled by human emotions from transformational situations. These creatures are trapped and used by the dark entities we¡¯ve encountered. Just a short time ago, one appeared in a changing room like blocking out a mirror. In fury, I was able to summon a mass of blue electrical energy. And here we are.¡± There were definitely further details that Giselle knew she could¡¯ve elaborated on, but she figured that was enough of a mind screw introduction.

    Dale, who was standing nearby, folded his hands in front of him and fidgeted. With concern, he inquired, ¡°So¡­ Is this for a D&D campaign or something?¡±

    Gwen gripped her chin but didn¡¯t say anything specific. Giselle expected Blessin to totally blow them off, but instead, she sighed and rotated her neck before noting, ¡°And I hoped I¡¯d never have to deal with another one of these. Flush with Pride brand? Please tell me you didn¡¯t¡­you know¡­ with a toilet brush.¡±

    Toilet brush? Giselle raised an eyebrow. Blessin grabbed a very tall bottle of what appeared to be Polish vodka from a side shelf behind the counter. She waited while the woman poured herself a sizable amount into a tall shot glass and downed the entire thing without skipping a beat.

    ¡°We got it from Flush with Pride, yes. No toilet brush. Is there a way to contact that company?¡±

    With a rueful smile, Blessin told her, ¡°They don¡¯t actually exist. Not even as one of those phony shell companies the big boys like to use to hide their troubles. Oh, they have an email and all the official stuff. But if you dig around, a whole lot of people conveniently can¡¯t really talk about them. I don¡¯t think they¡¯re from around here. They do have a major warehouse on file about four hours north. Not far from the big to do.¡±

    Washington DC. Giselle wasn¡¯t happy about this. She just wanted a normal, boring life where she worked way too long on a handful of normal videos, and she didn¡¯t have to worry about whether her boobs were taped in a certain direction to give the right appearance in an outfit for a photograph. But normal also meant giving up on Tycho¡­

    Dale asked around, ¡°Aliens¡­? And toilets?¡±

    With a sigh, Blessin tucked her hair back and remarked, ¡°I could say more. However, I haven¡¯t seen anything in what you¡¯ve told me to dissuade me from a variety of notions, especially to exercise a certain degree of reticence in telling you what I may know. You¡¯re gonna have to give me something.¡±

    Hanako approached. ¡°I may be able to help, in that respect.¡±

    She proposed a demonstration on someone present. Giselle¡®s eyes flicked towards Dale. She had thought about this kind of thing concerning him a few times. He was a good friend through the years from college, but Jeremy sometimes liked to play jokes on him. They were balanced with surprise treats as much as tricks. But him peeking at her cleavage more times than could be considered simply incidental or accidental, definitely raised him as the most likely prospect.

    Hanako addressed Dale directly and asked him if he had her permission to ¡±use him¡±. She also went to Giselle for permission. Giselle nodded, but Dale was immediately confused, asking, ¡°Is this some sort of New Age thing?¡± Hanako looked to Giselle, who elaborated, ¡°She¡¯s going to use an ability to help you¡­ Get in touch with your feminine side.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    That was quite a notion to say out loud. Giselle wished that it would¡¯ve felt weird for her but, at this point, it really didn¡¯t. Dale flashed a few teeth with a sideways smirk. He pushed his glasses up and shrugged while answering, ¡°Sure. So long as she doesn¡¯t dress me up or anything.¡±

    Dale had a scruffy beard and an overfilled chin. He made Giselle think of Peter Jackson but younger, with more of a Southern trucker feeling. They¡¯d actually first watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy not too long ago. Hanako reassured everyone that this would only be for one hour. She could set it even shorter but noted that this would be the most comfortable.

    Hanako twisted her hand like turning an invisible door knob. Giselle was the first to notice the cluster of blue sparks across her fingers. Blessin was the next, as she scrunched up her forehead and drew her hands in.

    Dale¡®s transformation was remarkable and yet not as shocking as a six-and-a-half foot man going to a less than five-foot girl. He did drop to around five feet tall. His scruffy face softened to a pale pink luster while retaining its fullness. His nose melted away into a pert little shape barely holding up his glasses while his tight puffy lips swelled into what looked like a pout. Dale retained his general body shape but with his hips jutting out and his thighs swelling slightly.

    He made for a curvy woman with much of his excess bulk going right to his chest. Giselle found herself vaguely horrified that each breast swelling Dale¡¯s chest appeared massive enough to challenge her head. His clothes just stayed on.

    ¡°Oh my¡­Jesus!¡± Was about all that Dale had to say in a rising, squeaky girlish voice. Giselle paid attention as Hanako appeared to relax and draw in an invisible vapor wafting from the newly-voluptuous Dale. She was also aware of the fact that something was flowing into her as well, settling towards her side and abdomen. It excited that strange, blue static charge like an ionized glow.

    Blessin took a deep breath and muttered, ¡°Ditto¡­ let me help you.¡± She hustled over and took poor Dale by the hand. Giselle helped on the other side, and they assisted her in stepping cautiously in her new shape. At the back of the store was what looked like an apartment spread across a couple different levels. Blessin rummaged around the side and came up with a black cotton Lycra top and a pair of jeans. She explained that they were her sister¡¯s from a while back but might fit her.

    The jeans were an easy fit. The top had a little bit more trouble as a little band of soft belly showed despite how she tugged it down. Above, Dale showed off a vast scope of cleavage and the swath of her breasts utterly dominated her chest. She squirmed in place as Blessin also used a little tie to put her hair back.

    When she was decent, Dale urgently squeaked out, ¡°This isn¡¯t permanent, right?¡±

    Giselle reassured her it was just for an hour, as Hanako relayed. Assuming Hanako was being truthful, but she didn¡¯t say that out loud. Dale relaxed a little with that and Blessin gave her a moment in front of her full-length mirror beside the closet. She also told her that if she needed to use the restroom there was one at the end of the hall. It wasn¡¯t too long before Dale rummaged around in her clothes from before for her cell phone and took a few quick photos. Giselle wasn¡¯t terribly surprised.

    Blessin led her away to ask, ¡°All right, no more doubts. How can I help you?¡±

    That was encouraging but also painfully open-ended. Giselle ambled back towards the store section and asked, ¡°You thought that I was a certain way. Can you figure out what¡¯s actually going on with me?¡°

    They rejoined the group as Finn and Gwen did their best to occupy Dale¡®s time until he turned back with little trinkets and quiet distractions. The big question soon got an easy answer as Hanako chimed in, ¡°I believe we have found my sister. I sensed when I triggered Dale¡¯s emotions that someone nearby was also drawing emotion. It was into Giselle. Earlier when she protected me, I sensed that familiar presence. When the monster showed up, like me, I believe she did her best to escape but because of the transfer, she didn¡¯t have enough energy to take on a form like mine.¡±

    Of course, Giselle immediately wanted to know how they could free her sister from this. Hanako shook her head. ¡°She is at a set stage. She did not want to burden you, but I doubt she had any choice. She needs your help to finish her lifecycle, to grow up or to die. Her life is solely in your hands.¡±

    No pressure, Giselle told herself. The existence of some strange ethereal spirit organism which escaped the tyranny of nasty shadow beasts that wanted to eradicate all of them was now her responsibility. In a way, that still felt suspiciously like a pregnancy. Although, it wasn¡¯t like she kicked the darn thing like that weird Cerberus guy said. Maybe her life would¡¯ve been better that way.

    She had a sneaking suspicion about the answer to her next question, ¡°What do I do to make sure she doesn¡¯t die?¡±

    Hanako made it clear, ¡°She is nourished by human emotions, same as me, same as the rest of our kind. And the most potent form is punctuated by transformation. The shock to a human, the surprise of their soul. It¡¯s how we live. It¡¯s how we grow from what we began in quiet, to the hope of sharing a place with humanity.¡± Blessin listened to this part in particular and glanced towards the back wall with a variety of strange, ornate books.

    Giselle caught this and pressed her, ¡°You have a thought. One of those mostly accurate intuitions?¡± Blessin ignored the qualification and dug through several shelves until she came to a certain point. She bowed her head.

    ¡°Yeah. I have a few thoughts. Here.¡±

    The book was roughly bound and appeared to be a custom job. The cover art struck Giselle first as it appeared as a full impression of what she may have glimpsed out of the corner of her eye. A many-limbed shadow beast, like ferocious scribbles on a page, barely confined to a single black mass overwhelmed the sketchy cover. The title, which sounded rather silly, read ¡°Shadow Crawlers: Dark Beings from Beyond¡±.

 [15A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 15A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [15A]

    For the Primary Branch [15]

    Merging with the crowds without suspicion was easy enough. Olivia was rather confused about this new development, which didn¡¯t seem to be any sort of class they had to attend but rather seemed a free-for-all throwing themselves into the multitudes. The warm spot on Giselle¡®s head which she named Athena didn¡¯t seem averse to this.

    While Giselle had two hours of actual catgirl to burn off, Olivia returned to her color-appropriate pair. With the amount of crowd dodging and weaving between people navigating campus required, she had to hold onto the band to keep them from flopping off her head. That was a random convenience that Giselle appreciated. The awareness that her every emotion was translated into where the ears moved was still a trade-off, but it didn¡¯t seem like anyone looked close enough to notice.

    Another way she was glad to be ignored was the lack of attention from any of the security guys walking around. They took a side door to exit onto the grass. Olivia paused and marveled at the crowds of young people twisting, turning, and flowing with exuberance, delight, apathy, and disappointment. Even though Giselle was thoroughly done with all this social involvement, she enjoyed seeing how Olivia took it all in.

    She noted quietly, ¡°This is not even close to how many people some places have.¡±

    Olivia drew in a breath. Giselle had to wonder who was feeding on this emotion, if either of them were. When they came to a lull, Olivia gradually explained, ¡°Five are the most of us that have been permitted in one place. Earlier when I saw so many, I thought it an illusion or a rarity. To be so many, for such plenty of warmth and life and not know the ones that hunt us, is such a blessing. May you never forsake it.¡±

    Giselle did her best not to cringe at that mention, knowing full well that this kind of gathering of people was eminently rare in the last few years. So many schools were held in isolation, that distance increased. Out of need and for the good of all, but the roughly two years it was at its worst still felt many times longer and crueler. For her, as Jeremy, a guy who made a bunch of random entertainment with his wife for the Internet playing video games and communicating at a distance while they barely left the house, all that was no imposition.

    Missing their friends and how long they went between talking to Dale and Finley and all the rest was excruciating but a sacrifice they felt they had to make, especially for Lily and Gerald. Why on earth did it feel like humans were so disappointing? So many beautiful things, possibilities, and notions. Then, the other shoe drops and it feels like she has to give an extended explanation like ¡°No, no humans are not terrible to one another except¡­ and humans love being amongst one another except¡­ and being a human has so many positive qualities except except except except¡­¡±

    Rachel. For all the storms and all the disappointments and all the pain and all the terrible things and all the loss, especially of their beloved cat Tycho in the middle of all that loneliness, there was Rachel. How could she ever forget her? She would fight the very firmament of the universe itself to make sure Rachel never suffered. She would endure any pain to guarantee Rachel had a smile. Any punishment in service of keeping the one she loved safe, could easily be withstood with a smile.

    But how far she had slipped from her thoughts. Dennis earned more time in this day than her wife. Where were the frantic, love-struck imaginings for Rachel? Where were the heart flutters for her wife of more than a decade? Those were things she could truly torture herself about. Her cat ears drooped.

    How on earth was she going to explain that she made a date with a boy in her class who looked kind of like she did at the same age as Jeremy? That was what she stewed on as they picked up a lunch from the cafeteria. Just one, for Giselle. Although, Olivia found herself unusually curious.

    Yes, it was true that this shell didn¡¯t allow her to eat normally. Not yet. But she wanted to test it by laying one of the hot tater tots against her mouth. A few moments of that, and she quickly resolved, ¡°This is wretched.¡± Giselle easily confirmed moments later, when she tried a few of them herself, ¡°Yep, really gross.¡°

    Somehow, she still managed to drench enough of them in some sort of honey mustard and ranch concoction that they stayed down with a bottle of Coke. The hush puppies and fried fish had a heavy crunch like they¡¯d been sitting in oil for a long time. If not for the fact she was so young, Giselle would¡¯ve feared for her heart. Still, she could feel like minutes and hours were debited from her existence with every bite. She was able to finish about half of it and pined for whatever Rachel might be making when they got home.

    As lunch wound on, they were occasionally stopped by classmates who recognized the oddity in the ears atop Giselle¡®s head. She was mum on explanations but let them assume there was some kind of motor put in. The warm hands groping part of her scalp was thoroughly, emotionally unnerving, and alarming. She hoped that Athena enjoyed the snack better than she endured her lunch.

    Math class was cut short for the pep rally at the end of the day and the reason for all these crazy ear additions. Despite their plan of blaming magic for the weird ears, Britney was simply delighted that they were still wearing them and didn¡¯t notice the oddities while greeting and settling down. The big surprise of the class was, firstly, that no one was hunting them down for skipping their punishment, secondly, that no sign of the vice principal turning into a random junior high girl had caused ripples throughout the campus and, finally, when Olivia showed a natural aptitude for the subject matter, after they laid out the cursory explanation of distant relative who wanted to learn, the teacher casually invited her to teach the truncated lesson.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Olivia took to this eagerly. She was very factual in explaining the equations and breaking them down systematically. She regurgitated the parts that were important to each equation and then applied them to the next with machine-level analysis. Even the weird tricks that stumped Giselle beyond her own apathy to understand the subject did not cause her any trouble. The teacher commended her and encouraged her to go around and help where classmates needed it. The only problem was it all ended too quickly, and they had to walk their way to the gym for the most ridiculous thing.

    Olivia quietly glared at the sports celebration and cheerleaders rushing across the floor. At a certain point, when a very hokey tiger mascot came out in shades and a backwards hat, Olivia turned to Giselle and mouthed the word, ¡°Permission?¡± Despite some level of temptation, Giselle shook her head and encouraged her to just wait it out.

    Mercifully, they were eventually released at the end of the day. Britney squeezed Giselle so tight that it took her a few minutes to find her breath again. She revealed that she¡¯d actually heard about what happened in the earlier class, with Dennis. She lamented that they couldn¡¯t go to the movie together and maybe even bring along Olivia. However, she promised solemnly that she would not place any curses upon the proceedings.

    And, furthermore, she mentioned that she placed an extra good luck charm on the ears and was glad to see that they had stayed in place without any troubles. At this point, Olivia and Giselle both played up this magical thinking by acting as though the ears were actually real now. Between this emphasis, Britney gave a quick little frown as she finally seemed to notice the ears moving on their own. Giselle worried that maybe they were selling it a little too hard, but Britney shook her head in amusement and giggled.

    Her dad was finally picking her up and they had big plans for a wonderful weekend, so the movie thing wouldn¡¯t have worked out anyway. She assured Giselle that she would be watching the evening stream for whatever game they would be playing, although she put in her own thoughts that the recent, super cute cat game would be very appropriate. Giselle knew the one. As Jeremy, she received plenty of PM requests for it. She was glad that it still existed in this version of reality.

    Not too long after that, Britney¡®s dad showed up in a fancy BMW and Rachel soon followed in their crossover. The first thing that Giselle checked was that her wife still remembered that she was her wife.

    Rachel quipped with a smile, ¡°Yep, we¡¯ve been married since before you were born. How was your day?¡±

    Giselle lingered with a far-off look and then asked her, ¡°Do you really wanna know? You know, I feel like the reason so many teenagers don¡¯t really say how their school day went is that it would take far too many uncomfortable words to even begin to explain.¡±

    Rachel raised one eyebrow, but responded, ¡°I can take it.¡±

    Giselle took a deep breath, collected her thoughts, and relayed, ¡°The mascot ears I¡¯m wearing on my head are real cat ears for about half an hour more as emotion food because I¡¯m sort of pregnant but not really with the spirit sister of Olivia who has taken root inside my head kind of like Zeus with Athena, which is what we named her. We got sent to the office because one teacher was a jerk towards Olivia for no reason and then the vice principal is a sleazy perverted slimeball who creeps on junior high girls, but Olivia caused a little chaos by making him into one temporarily¡­ it was temporary, right?¡±

    Olivia gave her a quick glance. ¡°You didn¡¯t say how long. I figured we would see her again, and I could deal with that then. Unless, that is a problem?¡±

    Giselle shook her head. ¡°No problem. Well, Rachel, there you go. You asked.¡±

    Rachel quietly absorbed all of that and was about to say something before Giselle suddenly added, ¡°Oh and a boy in my class asked me out to a movie on Saturday.¡± It genuinely had momentarily slipped her mind, which was very on point for Jeremy, but she felt like she had gotten a little better as Giselle.

    Rachel¡®s eyes immediately widened and then curled into suspicious points. She had plenty of questions. She began, ¡°Do you like this boy¡­?¡±

    Giselle immediately regretted this. She cleared her throat. ¡±He asked politely, and it seemed like whatever role I was given, it would be weird to disrupt things. Just play along like I have with school until we can fix things.¡±

    Rachel placed her hand near her chest and played up, ¡°So you say, but then I find out you¡¯re a pregnant catgirl running from the law. That doesn¡¯t sound like the daughter I raised!¡± Olivia looked briefly concerned but seem to relax when Giselle and Rachel shared a laugh.

    After that little moment, Rachel raised her posture and inquired, ¡°So, do I need to ask Olivia to turn me into a romantic 11-year-old boy to keep your attention now?¡±

    Giselle squirmed and made it clear that all of this was just because she got blindsided by his kind offer and it sounded like a version of her may have been really nice to him. Olivia mentioned that she could do that, if permission was given. Rachel assured her it was fine, she was just joking again.

    But she did want to hear more details about this spirit and resolved, ¡°Eleven, no matter how old you really are, is too young to go to the movies unescorted. And you really should dress up nice for your little date with a pretty pink dress and all the fashionable details. I hope you¡¯re going to that new video game movie because I wanna go too. And we should bring Olivia along as well. First movie for her.¡±

    Even though she was not really an 11-year-old girl, Giselle could definitively say that she felt a certain kinship with them at that moment.

 [16] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 16 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [16]

    For the Alt Branch [16A]

    This was so far from where Giselle expected that any of this would take her. She adored the works of Carl Sagan. Science and the scientific method mattered to Jeremy and Rachel. Sure, they would occasionally joke about Slenderman, and Gerald relayed a near-death experience when he was a child. And they lived in the South, even though Rachel came from the Midwest. Jeremy knew small-town Southern culture well, but it also contradicted expectations. Finley had so many gun racks, but he also adored JRPGs and D&D along with death metal and country music.

    Dale, for all the pervy complaints she could lodge about him, was a huge Star Wars fan, went yearly with his roommate to the state¡¯s largest pride parade, loved the works of Satoshi Kon, and posted a monthly adult animation that made fun of everyone and everything. She learned that Gwen volunteered for groups that Giselle disagreed with but respected, helped out at soup kitchens, designed gaming modules for autistic children, and played bass for a metal band back in college that Giselle of course didn¡¯t remember.

    So many people she knew were full of that which could hold no label or easy clarification. Life was a mess in all the best and worst ways. So, heck, of course, shadow monsters, sure¡­Why not?

    The first couple of speculations the text presented involved branch realities and alternate realms. It postulated the notion that there existed realms evocative of what we discovered in the physical world but echoes. She tried to grasp it like this.

    Life was like the ultimate light of the big bang, stars, and the living universe. But it eventually ends. Life becomes brown dwarfs and stray matter and glimmers in the dark circling black holes. It¡¯s ripped apart and devoured. The shimmer of the post-life is, at best, faint bioluminescence trying to eke its way along. And it easily outnumbers the visible contents of the universe in the same way dark matter and dark energy sit in sway beside normal parts. Something like Hanako and her sister shimmered against the cold darkness. And these blank, feral forces were endlessly hungry for these flashes of light because they couldn¡¯t make any for themselves. The shadow crawlers.

    A lot of it was rather abstract and philosophical. What she really wanted to know was how to kill and destroy them or otherwise banish them, so they never bothered anyone again. This is where the book dipped into spiritual warfare. Between the lines, Giselle was able to gather that focusing on a strong outside force was vital. Tying your emotions to love and resisting the lure of darkness. Resolve. Totem words and phrases invested with the best of yourself and those you love.

    She squinted and sighed at some parts but wasn¡¯t going to dismiss it entirely. She passed the book back to Blessin and the woman reiterated several of the same notions she already caught the Cliff Notes of. Her focus in particular was that humans with the determination of special rituals could cast and create remarkable spells that could go as far as the sort of transfiguration they saw with Dale and solemn protection. Giselle flashed her a particular look.

    Blessin glanced over to see that Hanako was over by the other girls sitting with Dale as she came to grips with all this. Nodding quietly, Blessin then added, ¡°Your friend feeds on human emotion. Strong human emotion. And one of these entities has attached itself to you as a dependent force. When I did an initial, automatic reading of you when you arrived, I felt that energy. That¡¯s why I concluded that you had another life with you in a way I expected. It is an obvious luminous living thing existing with you. However¡­¡±

    Giselle frowned. That was not a word she like to hear at all, especially in this context. Blessin quietly continued, ¡°The description and the sense I get from these entities, has me concerned for you, your friends, and your loved ones. They eat human emotion. That sounds vampiric. Energy and emotion vampires. Some are classified under succubi and such. That¡¯s just one folkloric tradition and that sort of thing gets corrupted by the passage of time. But I also think you should be careful.¡±

    Leaning close, she reiterated, ¡°No matter what these entities are, you can¡¯t be certain that they will have your best interests at heart. You want your life and the life of those you love back. They want to absorb your most pronounced emotions until it gives them the life they want. Make sure what you need is guaranteed first. That¡¯s all.¡±

    Challenging that, Giselle pressed her about what *she* could do to guarantee that. Blessin rubbed at her thin eyebrows and pondered for a minute with her hands clutched under her chin before deciding, ¡°I can do a spirit dive into you. You look into yourself and maybe we can find something to use.¡±

    Giselle checked in with the others as they flipped through a bunch of brochures that detailed signs, a bunch of aphorisms about the day you were born, and supposedly interconnected relationships. Finn noted that their particular brochures remarked that they would be perfectly antagonistic towards each other.

    Giselle wrapped her arms around him and noted, ¡°Well, you¡¯re always gung ho for friendly fire in Halo. And you poisoned me the first day we started playing Minecraft. And you threw me into a cartoon buzz saw several times and chucked several exploding disks at my face in that one indie game. And then you blew me up in GTA Online when we started recording that first episode. And you put a hit out on me. And not to mention that golfing game where you downright pulled A Lion King, long live the king move launching me into a ravine¡­ and so forth.¡±

    Finn brushed her hair back, slipped an arm around her, and teased, ¡°You¡¯ve never seen The Lion King though¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen an episode of the Simpsons either, but I know all the lines because of the Internet.¡±

    Blessin froze in place. ¡°What did you say¡­?¡±

    Giselle frowned and tried, ¡°I just know all the lines from the Internet¡­?¡±

    ¡°No no no no no. What you said before, the crazy thing. The ¡°I haven¡¯t seen any episodes of the Simpsons¡± thing.¡±

    With a shrug, Giselle told her, ¡°My parents never really watched it and that¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°Do you live with your parents right now?¡±

    Part of Giselle wanted to be a bit of a smart acre and relay that she did actually live down the street from her parents before they moved. But she simply answered, ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°And I can tell you went to college, you got a degree, and I sense it was in some form of entertainment, right?¡±

    Giselle gave a very long sigh. ¡°Film.¡±

    ¡°Film! Entertainment, clever depiction of people and storytelling in the world. Maybe a little bit of satire. And yet the greatest written American satire of the 20th century¡­ Not a single episode. What the hell is wrong with you?¡±

    Raising a hand, Giselle had several explanations from the fact she worked all the time, to not watching broadcast TV, to not quite being at the right age, to already getting it through contemporary culture and stuff. Blessin threw up her hands, went over to the cash wrap, and pulled out some paper and a pen to write on.

    She passed the note to Giselle. It had what appeared to be a password and a numerical string. Blessin fervently explained, ¡°This is my Disney+ account information. One episode is missing in season three, so far as I know, but Disney can go suck a flaming cock about some of their choices. It¡¯s fine. But! You must promise me here and now you will watch every episode they have from season¡­well you might as well start from the beginning but season one is not totally essential. But to keep it simple, season one to season eight. Some of season nine exists but nothing after that. I don¡¯t care if it takes a year or two. Also, I can see your activity if you make an account on my account. I will be watching that you are watching. I have the intuition to know. Now. promise me¡­¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Out of everything, Giselle had to say this was easily the weirdest thing of the day. But she agreed. She also remembered that they had leftovers in their trunk, and she was starting to get a little bit worried about how they would hold up despite the mellow temperatures.

    Finn slipped his arms around Giselle¡®s shoulders and noted, ¡°I guess we know what we¡¯re watching during dinner for the next few months. And I¡¯ll slaughter you with love in every virtual space for the rest of my days.¡±

    ¡°I know¡­.Me too.¡±

    Having cooled down slightly, Blessin fumed to Giselle¡®s friends about her absence of television culture. Gwen quipped about how her friend only just saw the original Star Wars trilogy a handful of years ago. Blessin didn¡¯t have as much of a problem about this, but she still shook her head. Giselle internally noted that was something she shared with Dale instead in the original version of reality. They watched it together and he stopped to explain the differences and highlight some really cool filmmaking aspects.

    As Jeremy, she had resigned herself to a memory constantly overloaded by stress, probably some crazy genetics, and creeping age. As Giselle, it wasn¡¯t perfect but at least she managed to remember the day of the week for as far back as the move. She accepted the way things had resolved. They had Tycho and none of their friends seemed worse off.

    If she had to deal with some occasional new biology stuff, some unusual clothing, and warping of her social role then it barely seemed like an inconvenience. She still judged herself as a man in isolation, no matter what her flesh told her. It was weird and contradictory like everything else, but it was just the way she felt.

    Blessin set up a lounge chair and gathered a few different materials. Giselle situated herself with her arms at her side and her head resting comfortably with her legs stretched out as much as possible. Because time was getting close, Finn went over to retrieve Dale¡¯s discarded clothing from the other room and provide them for the inevitable reversion.

    Quietly, Dale asked towards Hanako if they could do this again sometime. She relayed that she would be glad to accept his assistance again but cautioned that wearing out the same possibility would lessen his emotional energy. He wasn¡¯t quite sure what that meant, but he made sure she knew she had his permission.

    But that wasn¡¯t Giselle¡®s concern, Blessin made her focus as she wielded a small pendulum. Hypnosis. She had never really been good at being put under but then her only real experience was at a circus for a comedy routine, and she was left off because the instruction to let her arms feel heavy didn¡¯t work. Her mind raced too much and all sorts of thoughts, as usual, flooded her entire thought process and¡­

    ¡°You are now in a deep, relaxed state.¡±

    Dang, she was good. Even being aware and cognizant of what was happening didn¡¯t break her trek down into this state.

    The first thing that Blessin tried was to encourage her to search her body and her spirit for the presence clinging to her. She imagined it as a room that started out dark and slowly filled with a warm and welcoming light. The shape of it looked vaguely like the dome within her own skull. Glancing around, she soon glanced and felt a presence gripping at her side.

    Turning, it was easy to see a child clinging to her hip as if life itself depended on her hold. Her whole little body trembled as she looked up into her eyes. She had the icy blue irises that matched Hanako¡®s form. Compared to her sister, she seemed smaller and thinner as though she hadn¡¯t had a full meal in quite a while. Her hair didn¡¯t have the sharp ivory blankness of Hanako¡®s but rather looked like dust and coal l tainted it with discoloration to make it a shade of unwashed gray. Her face appeared a rough tone of red, especially around the eyes, as though she had been crying for a long time and the traces of it lingered. She wore the same initial, white toga-like garment as Hanako, but it appeared shredded like the start or the beginning of a roll of toilet paper with too few ply.

    In the smallest, frailest squeak, she asked, ¡°Do you want me?¡± Her eyes rolled the same as Hanako¡®s sometimes did, but they shot around, as though she barely had control of her head. Giselle brushed her hair back gently and cradled her shoulder with an arm.

    No matter the consequences, she resolved right then to help. Gradually, she heard Blessin pulling her out of this state. She waited, but something else was tugging at her at the same time. It was beyond the strange arching boundaries of this place.

    A blink seemed to bring it into focus like manipulating the aperture of a camera. She was in a theater hallway. One of the older ones but around where she grew up. The nearest entrance advertised a film adaptation of some game she vaguely remembered came out about three months ago. It had been mentioned in chat and talked about quite a bit. But, as was usually the case, things were so crazy that they couldn¡¯t find a day to see it.

    As she stood in this new space, Giselle felt like herself but also felt kind of weird, like she was small, about as small as when all this started. But her hair was long and blonde too. The restroom was up ahead. Blessin¡¯s voice encouraged her to describe what she was seeing and press forward.

    Something was in the bathroom. She had a creeping suspicion of what it was, but she couldn¡¯t voice the words. Her heart raced. She didn¡¯t want to go in there. But Blessin encouraged her to take a look, to see what it was. Despite a sick feeling fighting through her entire body, she opened the door and stepped inside.

    From there, something seemed to draw her forward like gravity, like a trap from which there was no escape. Half the lights above were out, and others looked like they were about to quit. She didn¡¯t want to go any further, she didn¡¯t want to go any further, but she was compelled, like in a horror movie or a nightmare, to look and see what was around the corner. Just as she crossed the threshold, she looked out into the bathroom.

    Instantly, she snapped back into the room with the lounger spread out behind her but a thick upwelling of sweat drenching every limb. She noticed Dale was back to normal and everyone was standing around with concern.

    Blessin had to ask, ¡°What did you see?¡±

    Giselle just shook her head. It was like a censor inside her brain. What had been was already erased, filled with a void she shied away from, as she resolved, ¡°I don¡¯t know. But that both was me and wasn¡¯t me. Like that book said about realities. I don¡¯t know but¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±

 [16A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 16A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [16A]

    For the Primary Branch [16]

    Rachel eventually got the details of the spirit inhabiting Giselle¡®s head area. She swiftly understood the analogy. For supper, Olivia was tasked with preparing the tilapia and veggies. She also fed Herschel, who had no qualms about this. Afterward, he got snuggly with her, seemingly in the hopes that she would feed him again.

    Despite the fact she didn¡¯t eat, Olivia tested placing some of the food in her mouth as she had with lunch. She soon resolved that this was much more pleasant than the ¡°crap¡° earlier (Rachel gave Giselle a look).

    The evening stream indeed turned out to be the cat game that Britney was hoping for. The number of viewers was much lower and several of their moderator friends were no longer present. Giselle curled up with Herschel and a big warm blanket and teased him at points with the dedicated ¡°meow¡± button. Olivia didn¡¯t join in, but she watched with precise curiosity.

    Giselle noted that the primary audience was around her age and a few years older along with some folks much much older, typically parents. Rachel was essentially in charge because she was the adult and officially owned the channel. Otherwise, the situation didn¡¯t feel all that different from previous weeks with streaming. Giselle had to withhold some of her more ambiguous statements for a more squeaky clean version that someone her apparent age would offer up.

    She resisted the urge to play dumb, but her regular Jeremy mode didn¡¯t need too much tweaking from JeremyPlays to adapt to Mom&DaughterPlays. They did have to start and finish up at an earlier hour, but Giselle already found herself heavily fading by the stopping point anyway.

    She appreciated that no one who watched the stream made any gross or weird comments that she saw. Rachel brought her back to awareness by going through the pretty outfits in the closet. At least this version of her wasn¡¯t overzealous about the girliest things, but Rachel was still able to find enough. The chosen dress reminded Gisele way too much of Little House on the Prairie (for which her family had a variety of silly names, like ¡°little burp on the swamp¡±).

    It had some gossamer frills but went quite low past her knees with small sleeves and a cute neckline. She put shorts on underneath and a tank top but lamented the fact that Rachel had plans to put her blonde hair in bows. She had to put her foot down and limit it to a simple hair design which Olivia diligently watched and did her best to replicate for herself.

    After washing up, Gisele took out her Switch and played some Smash locally versus Rachel. Olivia just watched as Hershel curled up in her lap.

    Around bedtime, Olivia confessed that what she did to the vice principal would actually wear off by Monday morning. She also admitted, ¡°I wanted to do something to him. He felt like that mean teacher only in other, bad ways. And I could sense the emotion and energy coming off him. It was like the cruelty of the dark ones. I know I say I want to seek love and lovely emotions and be better but sometimes¡­ I can understand simple revenge.¡±

    Giselle gave Olivia a quick hug and reassured her it was fine. She even invited her to use the shower although Olivia retained a clear absence of aroma which didn¡¯t shift one way or the other. She appreciated the offer but again declined. Giselle, however, desperately needed a shower after a very full day and the stress of not figuring out all these weird clothes.

    Because of the way that Olivia drained overnight, despite her assurances that she still had enough after everything, Giselle opted to share the upstairs bed with her. She also noted, ¡°I have your sister with me so it would only be appropriate for you two to share the same bed.¡±

    Rachel had Herschel with her, but she came up several times to check on them. Olivia leaned close to Giselle and practically bumped her head into hers. Unlike the doll stillness of the last time, she at least emulated slumber and curled up cutely.

    In the morning, she just took a little sample of Giselle spinning around in her dress with the sentiment of a little kid before the full flower of emotional surprise and embarrassment. Athena and Olivia both seemed sated.

    Way too early, it seemed like, the doorbell rang. It was Dennis. He was dressed up in a little suit with a gray tie and dark pants like a polite penguin. He wore a small bandage on the side of his head. His limbs dangled out of the suit as though it were too small for him. Giselle could relate, as it wasn¡¯t too long after this age that Jeremy sprouted up with arms and legs sprawling like bamboo. Dennis looked surprisingly calm compared with his frantic energy yesterday.

    ¡°Hello, Gi. Did your mom agree?¡±

    She found it a little bit weird that he hadn¡¯t texted or called ahead, but she wasn¡¯t sure what his number was. He told her he would¡¯ve sent a message, but something happened with his cell phone, and he just came along on his own early. Olivia lingered with a curious distance. She seemed especially rigid and subdued.

    Rachel scoped out the little man and came to the same conclusion that Giselle had, with a raised eyebrow. She framed it as, ¡°Why, he looks just like your Uncle Jeremy when he was that age!¡± Dennis shared a calm smile and bowed his head.

    Gisele felt like she had too many things to worry about so instead merely focused on surviving getting put into a little girl¡¯s dress. Dennis was quite cordial when she came down in it, urging that she was lovely. That was not a compliment she wanted, but she endured it.

    Hershel wouldn¡¯t come out of the bedroom before they left, but Rachael made sure his feeder was set with plenty to keep him happy. In the car, Olivia claimed the front passenger seat while Giselle and Dennis were relegated to the middle. Olivia looked back quite often, as though worried Giselle might poof out of existence if she didn¡¯t keep a close enough watch.

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    So far as chat, Dennis continued his stiff nervousness in discussing the weather, the scenery outside, and the kind of car they were in. It beguiled her to be the subject of such anxiety. The occasional meet-ups for YouTube things and various conventions sometimes had a person who found themselves tongue-tied but Jeremy usually manage to unwind that with humor and self-depreciation.

    But telling Dennis how sweaty her head was just got him focused on it as though he might be able to do something about it. Even joking about the school ears didn¡¯t seem to break that ice.

    The theater was one of the older ones on the coastline. It appeared grand with a large marquee and bright, ornamental lights shimmering even at this time of day. Dennis remembered to escort Giselle up to the front, which earned him a few points from Rachel.

    Dennis paid for everyone¡¯s ticket despite Rachel offering up her purse. Before he could try again, she¡¯d gotten food, at a price even higher than the tickets, for the group. Olivia remained around Rachel as she marveled at the strange butter-like substance that discolored the popcorn and the entire bag.

    The theater had stadium-style seating with large armchairs. At Rachel¡¯s encouragement, "the couple" found a spot towards the middle while Rachel and Olivia settled more off to the side. Rachel giggled when Olivia placed a Twizzler in her mouth.

    ¡°What do you know about your relative?¡± Dennis asked quietly. Giselle repeated the standard stock stuff they were telling everyone concerning Olivia¡®s backstory.

    ¡°She seems like the sort to have secrets.¡±

    Giselle shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s not really my business if she does. And I¡¯d prefer not to talk about it.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure she won¡¯t hurt you?¡±

    ¡°Yes. That¡¯s just silly. Let it go, Dennis.¡±

    He reached up to touch her hair. The warmth on her head was hit by a sudden chill, as though she were sitting right beneath the AC vent. She flinched and brushed his hand away. ¡°I think I need to use the restroom.¡±

    He offered to walk her over there, but she declined. Olivia instead hopped up and explained, ¡°It is a girl thing.¡± Giselle raised an eyebrow but let her come with her. Rachel offered to come too but Giselle resolved that she didn¡¯t need a complete entourage.

    Outside the theater, Olivia didn¡¯t take long to express the obvious, ¡°Something is unusual.¡± Giselle smirked and tugged on her dress while reiterating, ¡°Something¡­¡±

    ¡°Be careful.¡± That sent a slight shiver up Giselle¡¯s spine, but she nodded and went over to the family/all-gender bathroom to take a quick breather. She splashed water on her face and rubbed at some obstinate sleep still clinging to her eyes at this hour.

    After finishing up, she stretched and glanced over at some posters.

    ¡°Giselle? Oh my gosh, I thought I would miss you! I¡¯m so sorry!¡± Giselle froze place as Dennis rushed over from the ticket booth to where she was standing. He was on the opposite side of the complex. And he was dressed in a golden, rather goofy suit that totally played up the color of his hair.

    As Giselle stood there dumbstruck, Dennis explained that something weird happened last night before bed which messed up his phone and ruined his ability to even meet up with her. His family was worried for a little while that someone had broken into their house because of a gaunt, spidery tall figure that his brother saw stalking around. Giselle¡®s stomach immediately dropped as she turned towards the theater she¡¯d left.

    Dennis had so many questions, but she had to ignore him and hurry back. In the theater, the Dennis she left behind was not there. Before she could fully explain anything, Dennis in the gold suit joined her and nervously waved to the others. Rachel immediately inquired why he¡¯d changed his outfit when he went to the restroom. To the confusion of everyone, especially Rachel and Dennis, Giselle asked if that¡¯s where Dennis said he was going when he left.

    Rachel confirmed this, but also looked like she was gathering together the thunderclouds of a painful headache. Giselle excused herself without further details. The heat in her head was like a pounding, hot coal pressed against her brain. She apologized to Athena and urged her to calm down. The warmth only slightly abated.

    It spiked again when she approached the nearest family/all-gender bathroom. There was a feeling as she got closer that was unmistakable. It really seemed like a stupid idea, but she opened the door and carefully walked inside.

    Several of the overhead lights were off this time, and others blinked slowly as if they were well on their way to going out too. Gisele had zero desire to walk further. She had an acute awareness of horror movie tropes. She even made a short film for a collaborative project a couple years ago about a haunted video game controller. In that, at least, that version of Jeremy had like a five-pound water jug to throw. Right now, she had nothing¡­but a damn girly dress and a tie in her hair.

    Around the corner, she saw him standing there with his back turned. He ran the faucet and his fingers looked like clay pottery snapping and spreading down the drain as clawed nails with black fingers stretched out. That wasn¡¯t the only thing that stretched as the confines of his suit arched up and a bundle of black legs spilled out like angry static.

    It almost felt like her entire head had been lit on fire as a little boy¡¯s voice, strangely muffled, spoke, ¡°We have much to discuss. Good that we can do it in private. Without your friend to smash me in the head again¡­¡±

 [17] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 17 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [17]

    For the Alt Branch [17A]

    Before more slipped away, Giselle was able to confirm that she saw a little girl clinging to her hip as if her life depended on it. Hanako bowed her head.

    Blessin brushed her streaked hair back while massaging her temple and neck. She remarked on a strange energy she felt in the air and swung her arms in a rough pantomime of swimming. The others looked around as if they might glimpse a phantasm or a trickle of light. Dale still seemed rather out of sorts despite being restored to his normal appearance.

    Gwen looked as though she had some residual of Blessin¡¯s discomfort. Finn sat with his hands clenched in his lap and every inch of him looked like bands of metal tightened to their breaking point. Giselle knew that he wished that he could¡¯ve stood in her place for all of this. Same as Giselle wished that all the agony Rachel went through for over a decade since college could be placed on her shoulders instead.

    She muddled through excruciating periods, nausea surging spells where ibuprofen and a heating pad barely took the pain down, and soul-sapping brain fog. Jeremy would tease that she already outclassed him for brilliance in any competitive intellectual pursuit, so he was goofily terrified of what a healed Rachel would be able to manage. The months of recovery after were slow but steady. He actually set aside the diligent machine of content creation to attend to her in every way, especially making a phone order platform for whatever she wanted while still bedridden with Herschel snuggling nearby.

    He composed warbling, over-the-top country tunes with the careful awareness that for her surgical glue, he wasn¡¯t allowed to make her laugh. Which was painful for him because that was the one thing he enjoyed most of all. When the toilet swap flipped things upside down, Giselle¡®s nature was to remain the protector. To make sure Finn didn¡¯t have to shoulder the full load, especially when they had to move. For many weeks, her stomach felt like there was a roiling tempest just beneath the surface and she tolerated it.

    Giselle took care of more of the meals. She scooped for both cats diligently. She redoubled the old and new creative efforts. But soon, it started to slide.

    She wasn¡¯t exactly sure where and when the biggest change came. Especially settling into the new house, it still felt like she was a husband and Finn was the wife, but they had on strange costumes they needed to wear with just one-hour respites to pop off the masks. But one particular night, she felt a little silly and slipped on something like a nightgown after the video record of the day had signed off.

    They toyed with pet names for one another until a quiet moment settled in and Finn slipped his arms around behind her. She wanted to bend around and make a joke or wrap her arms around him too. But he held her firm and caressed the soft places. A kernel of Jeremy within bristled like Herschel did when being held for too long. But that feeling soon started to settle. She didn¡¯t have to do anything.

    That submissive revelation sunk its tendrils deep inside her. More than any physical changes, that moment did far more to shock her. Even when she took an hour later, it felt like she was somehow broken. Her thoughts whirled about whether just being immersed in a different sex could fundamentally change your gender or self or perception or whatever was going on.

    After that came the thoughts and possibilities that she could be a mom. After that came a silly stream where she snuggled Finn playfully, leaned against him sincerely, and actually spent a stream-viewer-unseen amount of time resting on his lap. The strangest moment came when she thought about the rigidness barely contained within his pants and it felt like an entirely different country. As though she didn¡¯t have that herself all the time many weeks ago. As though she hadn¡¯t spent more than three decades as a man. It was a joke between them that Jeremy only had the memory span of a few weeks. She never expected to basically forget what it was like to be a guy in that same span.

    All that could¡¯ve troubled her, along with how much she delighted in each new cosplay, despite the annoyance of getting the right look. But the unceasing constant was her bright love for the soul she shared her orbit with. It didn¡¯t matter what roles they settled into or where they found their intimacy. They were together, no matter names, no matter how they looked, on their sickest day and on their healthiest, splitting the loot and their XP, and sometimes dropping a PK for shits and giggles.

    Giselle assured Finn that she was fine. She did a couple of twirls after standing up from the couch and promptly banged her knee into the wood. Blessin cracked her knuckles hard and interlaced her fingers to squeeze her chin. ¡°I¡¯m quite concerned about the one vision. It could be nothing. But it could also be a glimpse into another world or another time or both. Your body language when you settled in made it quite clear you believed you were there. Which means something¡­This is so frustrating because I feel like I have a puzzle but not all the pieces.¡±

    In comparison, Giselle didn¡¯t feel like reading much into it. She saw a kid against her hip and then she saw a kid walking into a bathroom at a movie theater. Already, the vivid touches of what she experienced were fading to the haze of a dream minutes later. Dale lingered on the periphery of the group but sometimes glanced over at Hanako, clearly hinting he wanted to have another go but embarrassed to give voice to it. Gwen acted like she¡¯d known Giselle for years, like a good and diligent friend.

    She put her arm around her shoulder, she made sure she was all right, and she probed about how long certain things had been going on. Giselle responded that it was all a thing they kept quiet for weeks, a cursed toilet seat bought from a discount website with plentiful fine print. Then a trip north to meet with some creepy guy who used the name Cerberus and acted like he was a whistleblower or an insider who would rectify their problems. But then he used some weird remote control to freeze Dale and Finley in place.

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    Gwen especially puzzled over this, as though she were looking at an empty space in her memory plastered over with a poster instead of the real thing. She shook her head and listened as Giselle continued. Finn chimed in with the parts that Giselle couldn¡¯t quite recollect. She noted that the creepy man said he was a lawyer who represented several entities along with Flush with Pride.

    He said the company¡®s purpose was to instill and spread a little chaos. To intentionally be faulty. And then he mixed up that he was ¡°in the wrong one¡± as he thought they had kicked and damaged their seat whereas it just had a missing control.

    Blessin¡¯s head snapped to Finn. ¡°What exactly did he say?¡± It had been a while, but Finn still was vividly aware that he said that he was in ¡°the wrong one¡± and was going to wait several weeks until theirs was broken or something else. Giselle added that the guy was lanky and slender without being exactly like a Slenderman but still had a weird vibe. She also mentioned the last unexplained event before today involving a night terror demon.

    The process of trying to remember the details felt like a scene on a deserted island with a survivor desperately rubbing what sticks they had together to ignite some frail spark of survival. It was a joke, it was just part of who she was as a man and now as a woman that her freaking memory didn¡¯t want to play out all the details it should¡¯ve.

    She lost more movies to the ether than she watched. All the days of her life compressed like the vision of a ship traveling close to the speed of light. Only the efforts of daily videos allowed her to remember so many things that would¡¯ve been forgotten. She envisioned one day watching them in her old age and not having any idea that she¡¯d actually done any of these things.

    Squeezing her hands together as if they might break if she let go, she cursed the fact that she didn¡¯t keep a daily journal with a running commentary of everything she experienced from dreams to dialogues. Rachel did that for a while, but things had been in chaos lately and she just managed the overview of events. If only she had told her all the exact details of what she remembered. That¡­that¡­ohh!

    ¡°The creature said it appreciated my obedience. Don¡¯t wake her up. Let her cries continue. Cerberus wasn¡¯t really its name. It had another. Play along, be quiet, don¡¯t make waves, and¡­ it¡¯ll all be OK.¡± Giselle felt like she had just suddenly speed-run an entire marathon in a few seconds. She panted with sweat suddenly appearing. And she was absolutely grateful that people were around her who could remember what she had just said because, once it left her mouth, all the details were gone. Giselle plopped back on the couch and rubbed her forehead.

    Blessin had plenty to work with. ¡°This all fits together with everything I¡¯ve heard about Flush with Pride. I think. Shell company that contracts people. Mysterious apparitions like something from the inhuman MIB of paranormal folklore rather than pop culture. The ability to freeze and hypnotize, even though it¡¯s a bit weird that he had a remote. Wrong place¡­ He was in the wrong one. The wrong one. And then a spirit entity claiming the same name, as if that were its true form. Don¡¯t wake her up makes sense now. He was talking about Hanako and her sister. Don¡¯t wake them up. Don¡¯t do anything that¡¯ll make waves. But why? In humanoid form, he was accepting of a little bit of chaos. But the spirit doesn¡¯t want it. And his name isn¡¯t Cerberus. Why would it be though? Cerberus was the three-headed guard dog of Hades. Well, traditionally, three heads and a lot of snakes. And Cerberus is in the wrong one.¡­oh wait¡­shit, I think¡­¡±

    But her next words were washed out by a dense rumbling carrying from outside. Giselle, living along the coast until recently, knew the constant sound of storms. She could immediately tell that this was no storm. It was visceral, feral, and animalistic. This noise was alive.

    Everyone in the group perked up and looked around. Blessin especially was on edge. She rushed over to the front of the store and grabbed a bag behind the counter. The windows rattled, as though an explosion went off just down the block. But instead of a flash of light from a fireball, there was a rush of darkness. Blessin urged them all to get to the center of the building.

    Through the cracks and crevices seeped an oily, black sludge. Crystals and gemstones dragged against its indistinct mass like razors, tearing and pulling chunks out. Dull, red eyes and teeth like a deep sea creature stretched forth. Its black flesh vibrated madly like a tortured pen scratching brought to tangled life. Gwen clasped her mouth in horror while Finn darted to Giselle¡®s side. Dale shook his head and eyed the heavy chair.

    For Giselle, it instantly felt like her entire abdomen was set aflame. That had been where the little kid was. Hanako joined her on that side and scowled at the dark presence. Blue, vivid sparks surged between her fingers. Blessin raised some jewelry, culminating in holding up a cross.

    The presence settled into a looming mass in front of them. Its voice crackled with an unnatural energy but wasn¡¯t overpowering like a beast or what Giselle might imagine from some otherworldly being. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t use that on me. I¡¯m not the one you should be worried about. I¡¯m actually just here to talk and tell you what you should know¡­¡±

 [17A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 17A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [17A]

    For the Primary Branch [17]

    Giselle quietly stood her ground. The figure cracked his neck.

    ¡°What have I told you about myself?¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    A rumbling growl passed through Giselle, like a wave. The black figure responded, ¡°Because I like to keep things in order. You like things in order too, it allows you to live. You make your whatever and you send them off, like clockwork, one after the other after the other tossed into the world, to see if anyone finds them. You burn your days away. Wake up, get to work, have a little coffee, work again, have some food, and onward with your routine until the day ends. You¡¯re much like me."

    Giselle tightened her face. ¡°No. You threatened my wife. You threatened my memories and everything I care about. We are nothing alike. Is that what you have to say? If so, then we¡¯re done.¡±

    The creature chuckled. ¡°I warned you there were consequences for stepping out of line. I could¡¯ve fixed everything for you. You¡¯d simply wake up and nothing would be amiss. That¡¯s what I do. I make sure everything works. You, in this lost little world all by yourself. You made a mistake kicking the little one. Now she¡¯s run away inside you. You need me to get her out.¡±

    It didn¡¯t take a step toward her, instead preferring to loom. Giselle felt her stomach roil. ¡°Olivia told me Athena wouldn¡¯t hurt me when she¡¯s ready to become human.¡±

    The entity took a step to their side without getting closer. ¡°And you just believe it? You haven¡¯t even seen her real face. How can you possibly trust her?¡±

    ¡°I trust her far more than the monsters trying  to destroy her.¡± The notion that Olivia had a real face clung in Giselle¡®s thoughts for several long moments, but it wasn¡¯t something that deserved more consideration than that.

    ¡°Is that what you think is going on? The poor little girl versus the big scary monsters? Desperately trying to save her scared little sister? Imagine, if you will, a horrifying beast wearing the skin of a little girl. Anyone who came around to hunt it would just see her big sad eyes. And if you dare to hurt it, she would cry out and everyone would come to her defense. Like fools. And suppose her sister is the worst of all, a parasite clinging and draining until there¡¯s nothing left.¡±

    Despite what she felt, Giselle gave it consideration. If Olivia and Athena were actually playing her. Just using her to be unleashed as some terrible beasts. Sucking her dry of emotion and using her. It was theoretically possible. She had to acknowledge that. She didn¡¯t understand their biology and all the intricacies of where they came from and what it was like. All she really had to go on was Olivia¡®s perspective about how things were.

    But Olivia, if she believed her, let herself drain overnight until she desperately needed a refill. She declined to take until she had proper permission even though it meant she might die. That moment wasn¡¯t something that Olivia really called attention to as though here was the proof that she could be trustworthy. Giselle sometimes questioned her ability to judge people, but it had never steered her wrong. All sorts of friendships, some a little rougher than others, but she never regretted them.

    Olivia was her friend. And that was the end of it. Sure, she jumped on the police officer, but the signs of her lingering regret defined her ever since. The diligence with permission and wanting to do the right thing. It didn¡¯t matter what someone said about someone, what mattered is what they did and how they showed themselves. Olivia clearly offered her character, and she could already tell about this creature by comparison.

    ¡°It¡¯s what I know. Just like I know you threatened me, and you threatened Rachel, and you can go straight to Hell.¡± She clenched her hands into fists.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you feel that way, because this is really going to hurt.¡± The dark creature unleashed, like a swarm of insects laced together, angrily twisting and grabbing. Before Giselle could even attempt to dodge out of the way and sprint back through the door, the shadow being seized her, as though running a pike through her back leading right into her skull.

    She desperately wanted to scream but it was like the intangible puncture also collapsed her lungs while tightening them in a vice. Instead, she gurgled and whimpered while fighting for the edge of the wall. Ominously, the burning heat around her head suddenly and strikingly chilled. She flailed around for something to give her purchase to escape. Just when it seemed like the monster would drag her back to its maw to be consumed, Giselle glimpsed a tenacious hand and the glimmer of a blue eye. Olivia!

    Instead of relief, Giselle wanted to warn her to stay away, to run. But Olivia boldly stepped forward with her sparking hand outstretched.

    ¡°Leave them alone¡­¡±

    Instead of answering, the creature launched another tendril to capture Olivia. Twisting her wrist, her eyes flared. Before reaching her, those parts of it plopped to the ground as giant, twisted blackened Twizzlers. Olivia¡®s hand shook as she turned the other one into a burnt, tater tot mass which crumbled and released Giselle. The entity stood there in shock, gawking at the transformed remains of its limbs.

    ¡°That¡¯s not possible. You can¡¯t change me! You¡¯re just one of them! HOW DARE YOU!!¡±

    Olivia raised her hand again as she shoved Giselle away and braced herself for the creature¡¯s assault. When they met, Olivia looked like she might pass out. She staggered and stumbled, coming down to one knee. A half dome shield of blue sparks extended beyond her hand and held the blackness at bay. The look on her face reminded Giselle of classical statues.

    Despite all that effort, the blackness eventually broke through and wrapped her up in smoky knots. As it pulled her way, Olivia looked up with a serene aura of calm that wasn¡¯t just one of her resting states. She actually looked at peace in that moment.

    ¡°Now to tear this mask off¡±, the creature proclaimed. Its tendrils, which had been transformed, reverted to their original state.

    Screaming and reaching out, Giselle watched in horror as the vicious mass of blackness rolled and gripped across Olivia¡®s head. For a moment, it looked like it might pull her apart like humanoid taffy. The ivory white hair was pulled aside like a broken eggshell to reveal¡­ fair blonde hair in the same style as Giselle¡¯s. Ripping at that flesh seemingly unveiled a more human girl tucked underneath.

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    She looked like she could be a genuine relative to Giselle, aside from the lingering icy blue eyes and nascent, branch-toned bumps pushing through her hair just above her forehead. Giselle had no idea what was going on, but she knew she had to get Olivia out of its grasp. The entity appeared puzzled by the results.

    ¡°What trick is this? You swapped? You¡¯re not her! But you smell like her!¡± As the creature stretched out to grab at Giselle, she focused on the dimly hot space beneath her skull and begged Athena to help her do something, anything. But she was only still mending. Giselle hurt her when she kicked the seat. She forced her to go into hibernation until she found protection within her. It was wrong to beg for anything, but she still needed her help, whatever she could provide.

    She sensed that the young one inside was desperate to help and gladly would give whatever, but it was like urging desert sand in the summer to give up water.  No matter how much they each desperately wanted it to be possible, there just wasn¡¯t enough, especially after it attacked them.

    ¡°Nooo!!¡±

    A voice, not from in front of her but behind. She struggled to turn, with her heart beating frantically in her chest. She knew that voice through the years and the decades, beginning with mere text on a screen and then low-quality codec online audio followed by shy, shared videos with spotty frame rates. No matter what happened to her, she knew Rachel. To her last flicker of memory and her dying day.

    Not Rachel! She couldn¡¯t possibly be here. No matter the danger she wasn¡¯t to be in harm¡¯s way. Never again! She stood as tall as her tiny body and frail legs would hold her and screamed at the darkness. And she bloomed with blinding light.

    Tears of fury streamed like liquid coals down her face. Athena and she were of one mind. That beast¡­will not touch the one they love.

    The love within each of them. Love of desperate hope. Love of quiet moments. Love that reached out despite any distance and connected souls.

    She could feel the faint impression. The memories of a little child in a place she didn¡¯t understand, trying to live as the warm presence beside her sacrificed everything to make sure she was all right. She lived for her, and she would die for her. But Athena couldn¡¯t accept that. With everything she had, she reached out and screamed at the darkness.

    No more! Never again! It wouldn¡¯t consume her fears and drench her in sorrow. It never deserved that power. In the end, it was nothing but shadows on the wall and a nightmare she would awaken from. She had to believe that, and Giselle had to understand. A wall of flame containing everything inside her ripped through the blackness as it shrieked and screamed incoherent frustration.

    Finally, the thrashing gave way to a clearing. Olivia tumbled free as Giselle¡®s right hand quivered with the brutal effort of forcing everything out of her to battle this monster. She didn¡¯t know how much longer she could do this, she didn¡¯t even know what she was doing right then. Some sort of love energy Jedi force field? No doubts allowed whatsoever, because it was holding the beast at bay. She could obsess and lament about the science of what the hell was going on later in comfort.

    Olivia joined her in a renewed push once he was free. The creature tore and ripped against the basins and mirrors, leaving glass and shattered porcelain. Flailing, it clung to the edge of the tile before lashing out with one last gasp. It was headed right for Olivia. Without thinking, Giselle moved her right hand to block it, to catch, strike, and burn that evil thing. A terrible rending sensation and a vague sound passed through her before the tendril whipped back and disappeared.

    Giselle tumbled to the ground with the wind knocked out of her and the landing rough and uneven. She saw stars all around a plaintive darkness, as though the creature was still there. But she had nothing else left to defend herself with.

    ¡°Oh god¡­¡± It was Rachel¡®s voice again and it sounded like she was on the verge of tears. She huddled over Giselle and held her close, like gathering up a broken doll.

    Eventually, Giselle found herself able to breathe again with a ragged, hollow gasp. Dennis was also somewhere nearby, and he had his hands cupped to his mouth in shock. Giselle decided that she must look pretty worse for wear after that struggle, but she didn¡¯t have any further energy to judge the situation. Olivia cried and stroked Giselle¡®s hair. She had a large gash across her cheek, which was oozing blood. Giselle wanted to wipe it clean, but her hand felt so brutally tired and useless.

    She had to rest. Between the longest blinks, she noticed that it wasn¡¯t just them anymore. Some big men with a stretcher approached and asked her name. Why did Rachel call for an ambulance? Giselle wondered. She felt bothered by whether the insurance in this reality would cover it because an ambulance trip can be so expensive.

    Not quite sure who had asked, Giselle thought about it a moment and carefully spelled out her name. She was so annoyed by it sometimes, especially the spelling. One of the EMS gave a nervous but friendly chuckle and she worried about how much she actually said out loud.

    She puzzled that someone was wrapping her wrist in a whole lot of gauze and placing her right arm against some pillows. Giselle¡®s first instinct, after so many years, was to ask if she should vlog this. It was bad enough that she missed out on several days with school and everything lately. She really should¡¯ve made more videos, even if she had to start the whole thing up again.

    The paramedics belted her in place and reassured her that she was going to be just fine. Olivia and Rachel were still crying though, and Dennis still appeared in shock. Before they wheeled her out, she lamented to herself that it was a shame she never got to see that movie.

 [18] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 18 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [18]

    For the Alt Branch [18A]

    Silence spread over the room until Blessin barked out, ¡°Then talk.¡±

    The entity wafted forward like a person crafted from a stage curtain. ¡°You may see me as a monster. As a creature. But all you see is my real face. I¡¯m not afraid to show it. Unlike others.¡± It unfurled the impression of a hand dipping in the direction of Hanako, who did not waiver.

    Blessin gripped her crucifix tightly and shifted on her feet. ¡°So, that¡¯s your tact? I may look like a terrifying night terror demon, and I scared several people here, but I¡¯m actually the good guy. Is that what I¡¯m hearing?¡±

    ¡°Is that what you¡¯re hearing? Have you heard that I was attacked with mace? Painful burning all over my face. That¡¯s not even the worst of it. There are things I can¡¯t even talk about. And all this for no reason. I made a small mistake, and I was basically robbed. Assaulted.¡±

    Finn responded, ¡°You were about to attack us. You froze our friends, and we had no idea what you were going to do next.¡±

    ¡°I was just trying to help you. You were going to be stuck with a broken seat. I¡¯ve seen it before. I would¡¯ve worked to remedy the situation in time. But you two were impatient. Where did it get you?¡±

    The black mass settled towards the ground and shifted with a human face and hands squeezed into a pure black suit. Lanky, thin, and gaunt, it stood there with its hands outstretched. It looked similar to the man they had seen along the coast in the same way a doll with the right makeup might look similar to a living person.

    It continued speaking in a voice with an inherent roughness but the sound and texture of a human being. ¡°Look at me. I am unarmed. I have locked away my spirit form. This is not my face, but since you seem to require a softer countenance, I will gladly oblige.¡±

    Blessin took a guarded breath. ¡°Is that all? Just some vague statements and shifting of blame? Rather pathetic. What¡¯s your real name then, Cerberus?¡±

    ¡°Real name? I don¡¯t have one. Never have. But there are other things I¡¯ve been called, and I call myself. Like your book claims. And like it never imagined. Skinwalker is one.¡±

    The creature positioned that one with a pause, as though he anticipated there to be gasps of surprise and realization. No one said anything or even reacted to that one. It appeared to contort and bristle. Giselle responded, ¡°Hanako has made accusations that you and your kind hunt and terrorize them. I don¡¯t think any creature that does that can be considered trustworthy.¡±

    The gaze of the entity lingered at Giselle¡®s side on Hanako and the other presence. When it breathed, it sounded like forcing hollow air through an empty, cavernous skeletal chamber rather than taking in breath as a normal living thing. ¡°Hanako. Hanako¡­ do you want to know why they are hunted? Or would you rather just berate me with accusations?¡±

    Giselle straightened and let out a slight breath. The creature continued, ¡°You know nothing of the space beyond your own world. I have lived ages greater than any of you. What you think of as darkness has a texture and complexity beyond your perceptions. And in that darkness grows real dangers. Things you would only understand as demons.¡±

    Blessin slapped a hand down. This time, the others gave a slight gasp, Dale and Gwen especially. Finn puzzled and remained focused on Giselle. To this, Giselle noticed that Hanako suddenly lowered her head and the heat on her hip wavered, as though a candle buffeted by an unseen breeze. The creature had renewed confidence as it continued, ¡°Demons, that¡¯s a name you all know. Not a name for our kind. The name for theirs.¡± It gestured with a spindly claw hand right at Hanako.

    ¡°Think about everything. Locked away inside objects by a group of humans who think they found something special. When an object is cursed, holding spirits, the darkest curse is a demon. That¡¯s what they sell. Chaos locked in a bottle.¡±

    Giselle could feel Hanako insistently squeezing her hand, not to the point of pain but like a quiet gasp of desperation. She had made her promise to the little girl who appeared inside her when she closed her eyes and she had resolved to protect Hanako as well. Just because some shadow creature who could look human stopped by and spun a tale of secret demons, didn¡¯t mean much to her. She took a deep breath.

    ¡°So what? You may call them whatever, but I can look at what¡¯s happening. They consume stray emotions in the hopes of becoming more human. They hide from creatures like you. They¡¯re absolutely terrified. That sounds more like prey than a monster.¡±

    The creature twisted its nearly-human head so much that it passed the point of uncanny, as though it were snapping bones beneath. ¡°It consumes your emotion, it feasts on your very being, and yet you consider it harmless? It transforms your bodies in ways you can¡¯t even imagine and yet you call it the weak one?¡°

    Blessin smirked. ¡±You sure talk a lot. And I think I know why. You¡¯re trying to waste our time. You¡¯ve avoided the real issue this entire time. You¡¯ve avoided the epiphany I had because you thought you could distract us from it. Cerberus. You don¡¯t have a name, but you have clever little appellations you picked out for yourself. But that one¡¯s a little too clever, a little on the nose. Not because you¡¯re Cerberus, but because you imagine yourself to be.¡±

    That absolutely got a reaction from the entity. It paced, like a tiger trapped in a cage, desperately wanting to strike. ¡°What about skinwalker? Are you going to interpret that I am some shaman turned bad? I don¡¯t turn into animals or wolves or a rotting creature. Shouldn¡¯t I name myself after things like the Hat Man or other figures of shadow creature lore?¡±

    Gwen in particular was the one to shudder. Giselle had a vague memory of why. Gwen professed her connections to New Age stuff early on. She believed in a variety of things that Giselle still expressed uncertainty about. Some of it became jokes but Gwen never joked about shadow entities.

    The story she told Giselle was simple enough. She liked to listen to random podcasts between rocking out to the kind of metal she apparently played in college in their uncertainly linked past. Listening to an unexplained installment, she nervously noticed that the light across the room started to flicker and dim. Additionally, her admittedly old refrigerator struggled.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    This only happened when she attempted to listen to that specific installment. Giselle easily dismissed it as a coincidence at the time. But she noticed the way the heat was waning and her own will felt muted. The only one of them actively responding to this entity was Blessin. Sure, she had gotten out a few questions, but they felt more like hurling heavy fish out of her throat to flop on the ground while they tugged links of discomfort from her side.

    She called this out. Blessing picked up this thread and noted that this creature¡¯s species was more vampiric than the faint symbiosis that Hanako¡¯s needed.

    At this point, it seemed to resolve that talking wasn¡¯t going to work, and lashed out a nebulous black hand at Blessin. The effect was like scratching metal against pavement while driving along at excessive speeds. Golden sparks of energy met the hand as it sloughed off in chunks. Blessin glared with focus as she invoked words that Giselle didn¡¯t understand. Hanako stepped around and closer.

    ¡°LEAVE THEM ALONE!!! THESE ARE MY FRIENDS!"

    Giselle was startled to hear such an overwhelming voice come out of Hanako. Everyone else around also seemed surprised. The black tendril shifted. ¡°Friends? Now that¡¯s a word without meaning. What would they think if they saw you without your mask?¡± The tendril lashed out.

    Blessin tried to dodge around, but the creature swiftly seized Hanako. A flare of heat went up from Giselle¡®s side and she did her best to focus it into something like Blessin¡¯s defense, whatever the heck that was. She played plenty of games with MP and magic attacks, but it felt impossible to apply that to the real world. Still, she had to do something.

    Hanako was tangled up, like by a massive predatory squid. It lashed at her face and tore across her ivory locks. They peeled back like it was wrenching the scalp off. Whimpering, Hanako dipped and twisted her head in pain. Beneath her fair white hair was the blue electricity out of her hands. It held the shape of cerulean, twisting goat horns. Softly, Hanako spoke, ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±

    With inhuman booming, the creature gloated, ¡°See the truth of them. The trick behind the fa?ade. Monsters worse than us. A brutal pestilence that must be wiped out before it infects your world. Grotesque spirits wishing to be human when they will never be anything more than a plague. Better as tools of shaping locked away in darkness until they are erased¡­ARGGGGH!!!¡±

    The howling was like a wounded animal and a scorched human at the same time. Giselle stepped forward from the group and raised her hands. She had no idea what to do, but she still tried. She thought about those sparse but quiet moments she spent with Hanako trying to understand. Especially when Hanako thought of her sister. What Hanako may have lacked in human emotion, Giselle saw in that devotion, that sense of love.

    She released it and felt like her hands crawled with fire that tingled without pain. She clenched her teeth as tears like none she ever felt before rushed from her. Fury, pain, the torment of ages from this foul beast, killing every last one of her sisters until this shy, clever heart was all that remained, hiding her, holding her, telling her it would be okay. The feeling of a star blazed from her and burned through her being, eclipsing all other sensations.

    Giselle felt like she was half dying, and half being born. It was terrifying to lose herself in those emotions, that stark brilliance. A rage against the darkness holding on to every glimmer. No matter how they looked, no matter what they were called, she knew intimately that the spirit within her was truly that suffering little girl she wanted to help. She didn¡¯t know why but the name Mari came into her head, and she desperately embraced it.

    A flash of electric energy dissolved the arm like the sun breaking up clouds. Giselle dashed forward to grab Hanako, swinging her around her back. The tendril consolidated itself and struck out like a sword aimed right at her.

    Tumbling and flailing to protect Hanako and turn the side with Mari away from the assault, Giselle didn¡¯t see Finn rush forward to block it until the last moment. Then, he screamed.

    It was a soul-melting scream that dipped deep into her memories. The long nights when Rachel was suffering on the floor of the bathroom with whatever remedy she could hold close to her as they wished for something more. The absolute suffering. The pain they had finally put to rest with the surgeries.

    Whatever energy, whatever force of will and life that Mari had unleashed through Giselle to burn away this evil fucking spirit, Giselle found her own. A wave, a torrent of absolute fury and love for the one who mattered most in her existence. Giselle worried for a brief second she was about to destroy the entire building but didn¡¯t hold back from whatever was happening.

    For once, the entity sounded afraid as it howled and squawked like it was being tormented. Before it melted away, one final flash of shadow slipped past and struck Finn in the face. Silence followed the moment until he crumpled to the floor. Giselle nearly felt her heart stop beating. Finn¡¯s ragged breath returned after a moment and so did her heart.

    Before relief could settle though, Giselle heard the worst words.

    ¡°¡­ something¡¯s wrong. Oh God¡­ where¡­¡±

    Finn looked and sounded as frail as Rachel at her worst. He pulled his hand away from his face. Giselle didn¡¯t want to recoil. She wanted to be strong for the woman and man she loved. But the pain was just too great.

    Gasps rippled out in the group as they recovered from what just happened. Blessin said something barely under her breath in a foreign language.

    ¡°¡­ I can¡¯t¡­ why can¡¯t I see out of my right eye¡­?¡±

    Giselle didn¡¯t have the strength in that moment to tell him, that it was because it was gone.

 [18A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 18A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [18A]

    For the Primary Branch [18]

    At some point, Giselle felt that they started an IV line in her left arm. Whatever wound up pumping through her didn¡¯t really help with the rocky, unstable state of her consciousness. But it did help to dull the brambles of pain and soreness practically making her 11-year-old body feel almost all the way back to its original age.

    The ride was not as bumpy and fast as she expected but it felt rather like a video paused at certain places and then started up again with someone asking her weird questions she wasn¡¯t sure how to answer. She did her best. Eventually, a nice lady told her that she was headed to a particular Children¡¯s Hospital in the area. Her brain pieced it together and then told her to say that was the hospital where she and her wife did a charity stream for seven years running. The people around humored her as she made a rough motion like she was going to puke.

    At some point in the journey, Giselle just gave up on trying to be conscious and slipped into a dreamless void with vague lights and gray hollows.

    When she woke up again, Giselle noticed a nurse in a white face mask taking her vitals. She tried to greet her with a wave, but her left was tied up in an IV and her right was immobilized. ¡°Just hold still for a minute, sweetie¡±, the nurse advised her with a thick southern accent. Patiently, Giselle whimpered and waited.

    A pressing issue started to occur to her. She kinda had to use the bathroom. It didn¡¯t feel especially imminent, but she had relatively limited experience with a female body, never mind an 11-year-old girl one, so none of that felt certain. She made sure to pass this along to the nurse, who then directed her to a choice of a bedpan or urinal with more of a cup at the front, since they didn¡¯t want her to get up quite yet. Giselle didn¡¯t find herself especially keen on either option, but she elected to try the urinal first.

    The nurse was rather blunt but kind in helping her. Giselle found the most difficult element was that she couldn¡¯t bring her left arm down to hold it. The nurse had to do that. Vividly and with deep embarrassment, Giselle could feel the space between her legs invaded by that plastic nuisance. Nothing else she had run into by this point made her feel as thoroughly helpless and emasculated.

    She liked to tell herself that oh all this physical stuff and the various accoutrements were just like a costume, or an illusion, and she wasn¡¯t actually a woman or an 11-year-old girl. But the nurse was wiping her. It was like exposing a very private secret. The nurse did her best to encourage her and tell her that she did absolutely fine to combat the bright, disconsolate blush she was showing. It didn¡¯t help.

    ¡°Has the doctor come around to talk to you? As soon as we¡¯re done here, I can go tell your family and friends that you¡¯re awake. It¡¯s been a couple of hours since you arrived, and they¡¯ve been waiting to see how you¡¯re doing. In just a little while.¡±

    If the doctor came around, then she had no idea about it. When Giselle asked if they could unbind her right hand or how it was injured, the nurse said that the doctor would tell her family and her at the same time about that. So, Giselle waited. She had never really been in a hospital for any length of time beyond outpatient services and an overnight appendectomy. In fact, out of everyone, Gerald as a child spent several weeks in a hospital in the 1960s with the question looming about whether he would live or not. She opted not to dwell on that.

    It was rather annoying to be left without a cell phone or other entertainment. The TV was currently off but it didn¡¯t take long for someone to click it on. She didn¡¯t have much choice when the MA decided that SpongeBob SquarePants on Nickelodeon would suffice. Actually, she didn¡¯t have any complaints there. Especially since it was a classic but not one she¡¯d seen before. As Jeremy, she had a pretty good catalog of episodes she knew.

    Unfortunately for her, this episode turned out to be one of the older infamous ones where the characters were painful to watch rather than funny. Time passed. When the doctor finally showed up, so did Rachel and Olivia.

    Giselle had a hard time recognizing Olivia at first. She knew that something had happened to her face, but it appeared almost totally transformed. Instead of a pale, vaguely albino appearance, her cheeks looked unnaturally flush as though she had some sort of rosacea or rough peeling from irritation or a sunburn. Her hair and the length of it also matched Giselle¡®s. And a thick, gauze bandage covered part of her cheek. On top of her head was a ribbon folded and tucked around a hairband which didn¡¯t seem necessary for her style.

    She clearly still looked like Olivia, but Giselle envisioned it as if she were wearing a stiff mask which she finally peeled off to reveal the performer beneath. The grim appearance of Rachel and Olivia added tension for Giselle as she tried to piece together what was going on and what was about to happen.

    Delicately, the doctor inquired about what Giselle remembered from the theater. Rachel jumped in to prime that there had been a big explosion. When they arrived, the glass and porcelain shattered, and Giselle was on the floor. She also ominously added that no one could find ¡°it¡°. The doctor appeared slightly irritated at the interruption.

    He took a breath and composed himself before saying, ¡°Giselle. You are perfectly healthy. When you were brought in, you had some signs of shock. Mainly, your blood pressure was really low, so it was really hard for you to stay awake. We¡¯ve taken care of that. But we have several questions because there are claims we don¡¯t understand. That¡¯s why I wanted to talk to you, to better understand your medical history and be able to help you.¡±

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    One thing he asked her was whether she¡¯d ever been wounded, and her mind went to the appendectomy which they had already noted with the small scar on her right side. He moved to her right side though and gently undid the wraps and bandages around her right arm. Rachel looked like she was about to jump out of her chair. Giselle felt bewildered until the doctor removed the last of the wraps and bandages.

    ¡°May I ask you about this?¡±

    This? What was it? Giselle puzzled at the sight before her. She felt like she still had to be asleep because something was wrong. This wasn¡¯t her arm. Where on earth was the hand at the end? Instead of her fingers and palm, there was just a little, uneven bump that looked like the eraser end of a pencil stretched askew. Her hand was gone¡­ her hand was gone? How could her hand be gone?

    Even though the doctor tried to re-wrap her arm, Giselle wasn¡¯t having any of that. She looked at the stump where her right hand used to be. She just stared at it in utter confusion, as though if she just looked at it right then the illusion would vanish, and her hand would be back to normal. How was this possible?

    The doctor had some questions in that vein. He noted that there was no scar over the entire area, with the only possibility being it developed that way. But they had comments from family and one of her classmates that she wasn¡¯t missing a hand at all before this afternoon. He wanted to know if she could shed some light on this bewildering medical mystery, so that they could help her.

    Giselle only heard about half the words that the doctor was laying out at that point. She saw Olivia mouth plaintive words of apology. Not like it was her fault though. She was the one who saved Giselle, and nearly had her entire body cracked open. None of that made sense either to Giselle.

    Eventually, the doctor got tired of beseeching her for possibilities beyond what she actually knew. He seemed rather disappointed but wrote up notes for physical therapy and prosthetics based on what he could ascertain.

    Through all this, Giselle found herself drifting through varieties of denial from outright ignoring reality to casually continuing like everything was fine. She was able to prop herself up, but the imbalance took a lot of muscle memory to overcome. When it all started to click in place for her, her heart raced with sweating panic and she breathed as though she were a fish trying to find its way back to the water.

    Even though she knew it was fruitless, she begged Olivia for some sort of transformation idea which would make her arm back into the way it should¡¯ve been. Olivia dipped her head morosely. ¡°Those monsters enjoyed taking pieces of us, to break our spirits. I wish with everything I have that I could restore what you have lost. But all I can do is change. No matter how I change you, this is now you. Truly, deeply, I am so sorry. Perhaps Athena might come up with something. I trust in her.¡±

    That sounded especially silly in that moment, but Giselle resisted a morbid chuckle. She could still feel the warmth in her head and vaguely wondered if the spirit showed up as a fever or anywhere on MRIs or x-rays. She wondered if Athena had kept her alive. It was too quick to know, but she imagined if the strike had gone a little further she would¡¯ve been decapitated. She expressed gratitude to her skull baby.

    That was about the high for Giselle¡®s mood. She remained listless, barely interested in eating. More than once, she sprawled out to the right and gazed at the blank stump. Even if she was Jeremy again someday, it barely felt like it mattered. She was broken.

    Sure, she could still play with that Microsoft Adaptive Controller and maybe a modded keyboard and controller. But she was at the bottom of what felt like a towering mountain to climb. She sure as hell wasn¡¯t going back to school. How could she possibly do art in the way she wanted to? She just wanted to sleep. Let time pass. Let everything go.

    What was the point anymore? She wafted somewhere between strict denial filled with melancholy and denial of a world rife with quiet hopelessness. She barely even poked at the hospital iPad that the nurse brought for her to clamp to the side rail to watch a movie if she wanted. Dennis stopped by for a few minutes to deeply, pointlessly apologize, give her a nice card, and wander in confusion through his thoughts. Rachel spent a lot of time at her side, bringing up all the words of encouragement she could possibly draw upon. Giselle hated how much she sulked, despite Rachel¡®s valiant efforts. It was like she completed her transformation into a someday teenager.

    Crying felt like the next natural step. When the others stepped out, she considered shutting her eyes for a long while until an unfamiliar voice called out, ¡°So, is it Giselle Conway or Giselle Huber?¡±

    Giselle looked over with a concerned frown. An older woman with streaked hair and an outfit somewhere between gossamer witchy garb and princess frills crafted into a modest form stood in the hallway with a star-covered purse around her shoulder. A cross made of glittering silver rested around her neck. She raised a hand in place of a wave. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to cheat and look at your chart.¡±

    Nervously, Giselle used her good arm to push herself back and prop herself up slightly, a formidable task to anyone confined to a hospital bed, let alone someone newly with one less hand. ¡°Who wants to know?¡±

    ¡°A friend. Someone who wants to help you destroy Cerberus, the cruel beast made of shadow and darkness slaughtering toilet seat girls¡­. I really thought that would sound cooler or weirder to say out loud. But my name is Blessin Cross and I have a lot to catch you up on, my dear.¡±

 [19] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 19 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [19]

    For the Alt Branch [19A]

    Finn¡¯s right eye no longer existed. In the same way that Hanako¡®s scalp had been stripped off, a gash twisted from her nose to above her right brow. The skin wasn¡¯t bloody, rather it looked like an old scar, but the socket where her eye used to be just had a rough covering of flesh.

    It was gone. How could it be gone? How could that fucking monster take so much? Finn was in shock as reality dawned on him. He kept touching around there as though trying to pick apart the illusion to discover that in actuality someone had stuck a silly prosthesis to his face, and everything was fine. Giselle wanted to throw up.

    Everybody swarmed Finn and helped him gingerly to his feet. The spot used for transformed Dale became a place to rest a moment. Soon, Finn shook his head and called for Hanako. ¡°Please¡±, he begged. ¡°I can¡¯t deal with this like this¡­ can you give me some time with myself?¡° The words wobbled and had a dragged roughness like Finn had been screaming for an hour. Hanako understood but advised, ¡°I am still weak. I don¡¯t know how much I can do.¡±

    Finn accepted that, gave his full permission, and shut his remaining eye. Hanako also warned that she would not be able to fix anything. Giselle¡®s hands still tingled as she noted that the transformations couldn¡¯t restore the missing organs from Rachel¡¯s surgeries. Goddamn the bastard for taking even more of her! Slowly, Finn nodded. Careful crackles of blue energy leaped from Hanako¡®s fingertips. In an instant, Rachel was sitting in Finn¡¯s too-large clothes.

    She bawled and shook as Giselle wrapped her arms around her. Hanako offered to change Giselle as well, but she instead urged her to save what she had for Rachel. Furthermore, Giselle advised Hanako to eat and rubbed her side with encouragement for Mari. She spoke the name out loud.

    Hanako gently arched her eyebrows but responded, ¡°I refuse to take these emotions from you.¡± Giselle could tell from the resting heat at her side that Mari was in agreement. Shaking her head, Giselle persisted, ¡°Do you think I want this feeling? Do you think anyone would want this pain? Take it! So at least it can be of some use!¡±

    With a careful breath, Hanako shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s useful to you. You need it. It¡¯s a human part that I¡­ that we also understand. We can¡¯t feel it, but we know it. Without it, there¡¯s just emptiness. Without it, what you are begins to melt away. Your love and joy with it.¡± Dale, confused immensely about so many things, along with the details of why his male friend Finn was now a girl, volunteered.

    Hanako could only give ten minutes of transformation back into the form from before. But Dale excited and played up every single aspect she possibly could with thoughts about dresses, doing her hair, and strutting on the catwalk. The two spirits drank in the emotion gratefully.

    All this happened around Giselle as Blessin tended to her wife. She had only minor first aid training but acted diligently. More than anything though, Rachel wanted Giselle nearby. So long as they held onto one another, then what happened was just a minor inconvenience that would vanish if she just managed to blink it away. Like an errant eyelash digging in. Just pluck it out.

    At the same time, Giselle was realistic, and her brain was already flying through future realities. Rachel was defined by her creation and art. Sure she had slipped into the role of Finn to play video games and be a silly YouTuber, but her heart remained with creating little critters and painting beautiful vistas. Where could that possibly be now? Giselle fumed.

    It had taken her eye! Revenge, simple as that? Rachel maced the damn thing, so it responded like a petulant beast? So many profanities she usually turned away from surged through her thoughts. Rachel didn¡¯t deserve this! She was just protecting her!

    Blessin prepared some refreshments for everyone, even though Giselle thought that was a silly thing to focus on. She appreciated having something to drink. For extra food, she rescued the leftovers from the trunk and offered up some to the group and the rest to chill in Blessin¡¯s fridge. Dale delighted in some random chocolate in her new form. Gwen offered up comfort for Rachel, even though she appeared lost and confused. Giselle groaned when she finally allowed herself to take a seat. She felt stiff, bloated, and achy in so many places. Far too close to her imaginings of pregnancy.

    As her body gradually recovered from the physical and spiritual beatdown, she scolded herself for fretting about her own pain while Rachel was suffering beyond measure. Giselle also knew that it wasn¡¯t a competition for pain, like with their silly ones in games. She still couldn¡¯t get that through her instinct to muffle her own suffering and do more to help Rachel.

    Instead, she propped herself up against a wall that felt modestly comfortable while still allowing herself proximity to Rachel. Hanako joined soon after, drooping with exhaustion. This time, when she quietly slept, it didn¡¯t look like a simulacrum of sleep with a pantomiming mannequin. It¡­she genuinely looked like a little girl taking a moment to rest. The horns didn¡¯t detract from that impression.

    Dale came over eventually to say how sorry she was. By this point, Rachel was still herself and frustrated by the weakness of her left eye. Her right was dominant, so even with her best glasses on, things around her looked wrong and slightly blurry. She panicked the most from this but did her best to keep her eye open in the hopes that it might adjust. Giselle didn¡¯t want her to have to adapt though. She just wanted to fix her again.

    Hesitantly, Dale got closer to Hanako and Giselle and timidly asked, ¡°So, you all right?¡±

    She considered the answer to that question. ¡°I have to be. How are you holding up?¡± To this, Dale could only shrug, which gave her bust a Jell-O-like quiver. She was aware that happened and gave a little flash of theatrical emotion for the girls before settling into her genuine feeling.

    ¡°I feel a bit shell-shocked. Not to say I¡¯ve gone through anything compared to what you all have gone through¡­ I just¡­¡± Giselle reached inside and voiced the notion playing across her brain that this wasn¡¯t a competition. Dale readily acknowledged that and moistened her lips. ¡°It just kind of blows my mind that the pretty girl I lost out on asking out in college because I didn¡¯t have the balls...¡± She took a moment to clear her throat. Giselle gave a small snicker as they each regarded the substantial ¡°balls¡° now adorning Dale¡¯s chest. Neither of them said anything, but it was implicit that they caught the same joke.

    Dale picked up and finished her thought, ¡°She was actually someone else and what I think I know was just some MIB flashy thing rewrite. Or however it works. Sorcery. Magic. Electric sparks. But I just want you to know, I¡¯m with you. Whatever you gotta do and wherever you gotta go. I¡¯ll help you do whatever we gotta do to make sure everyone¡¯s all right.¡± She left it at that and made her way over to the pile of clothes she had once again traded.

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    Gwen came over next, bearing similar sentiments. ¡°I¡¯m no kind of fighter. But I will gladly kick that piece of shit¡®s ass with whatever I have. I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t help. It fucking sucks. Like Dale said though, it¡¯s wild that the hard-working lady I¡¯ve known for over a decade has even more unseen depths. If I could feed your friend and help in any way, I¡¯ll gladly do it. Give me the mightiest schlong to slice the heavens, if you must.¡±

    Hanako actually took her up on that offer with permission. Knowing that they didn¡¯t have many clothes left to help, Hanako did her best to keep the shape of Gwen and her male counterpart similar. Their pants and top did flex but held. Blessin raised an eyebrow, took a lengthy look at the sausage shape traced along Gwen¡®s left thigh, and drew in a lingering, deep breath. Even Giselle snuck a peek, despite scolding herself. The new man flailed with surprise and remarkable sensations, most of which he didn¡¯t need to play up with theatrics. That new rush of emotion mended and mollified much of her aching.

    Giselle raised some concern when Dale and Gwen wound up sitting next to one another, but they were two consenting adults and whatever happened happened. At least their nervous looks of surprise added more fuel. Blessin supplied a warm compress and a massage kit for Rachel.

    She asked a question that Giselle was surprised slipped her mind. ¡°Would you like to go to the emergency room or a family doctor?¡± Rachel took a deep breath and eventually shook her head. ¡°That would be too real. What could they even do? Around here, I¡¯d just wait five hours to even be seen and they¡¯d question it and wonder why I bothered. I¡¯m a long way from doctors who would actually help me. Believe me, I know.¡±

    Giselle flinched. Yeah. Over two years of documentation and response to denials of service and research into the painful twisting of her biology. Such a long wait. She viciously wanted to sue them all and Jeremy had her back about it, but she ultimately understood the cost would not be worth it.

    They already spent $130,000 out of pocket with two recovery days in the hospital and the expertise of her specialist. Jeremy vented at length about the $1000 antihistamine the hospital unnecessarily gave them. The cruelty of inhuman monsters and the predation of other humans. In so many ways, she wanted to warn Mari and Hanako that humans were not exactly the salvation they hoped they would be.

    At least she had something nicer to share as she mentioned to Hanako that when she focused with her sister, she got the impression of the name Mari. Hanako heard her before. Now, she mouthed the name. She looked towards Giselle¡®s side and asked if that was the name her sister wanted. No outward sign was conveyed but Giselle could feel a rush of warmth. Hanako bowed her head and accepted this.

    In place of greater medical care, Blessin provided some hemp oil and herbal options for discomfort and inflammation. Rachel just took a little bit but thanked her. After all that was done, Blessin cleared her throat and presented an urgent notion, ¡°I wanna make sure someone receives the information I have because this may be what made that bastard lash out. If I speak it and he¡¯s already recovered better than licking his wounds and brooding, then we¡¯re not ready for a second assault. But I have to say it because it may be our only option to set things right.¡±

    Blessin swallowed and quickly laid out what she had in mind. ¡°Alternate parallel universes and the idea of Cerberus. We live in a multiverse with multiple levels of realms where entities and other creatures come and go and pass through and interface with ours. That thing is afraid because I noticed it knows of two instances where your lives overlap. Giselle and Finn or Jeremy and Rachel or whatever else may have happened to you. Clearly, it intended to take control of things in one but went to the wrong instance. If there were three then it might be even further hampered. Because it compares itself to a three-headed dog. The one keeping the demons locked away in Hades. That¡¯s how it sees itself. A creature which can keep its eyes on three versions of reality.¡± Blessing stretched up and looked around in all directions.

    No rumbling like a foggy cloud came to assault them. No foreboding growls. But that didn¡¯t mean anything. Rachel grasped what she meant immediately. ¡°So, there are two versions of what¡¯s going on with us and it got mixed up about which one. But a multiverse divides with every choice, even the smallest ones you make¡­ at least in stories I¡¯ve read.¡±

    Giselle had a sudden thought and spoke it out loud, ¡°What if he¡¯s not watching them¡­ Not just watching them. What if he is actually keeping new universes from forming? That way there¡¯s only one usually but if he slips up, then oops two and then he has to work harder and gets them confused. But at three it¡¯s even worse and, beyond that, he loses control and maybe just maybe we¡¯re free of him?¡± She had no idea where that string of thought came from but the little orb of warmth at her side shifted like an insistent, bouncing ball.

    Hanako swiftly confirmed this could be a possibility, but she wasn¡¯t certain. She acknowledged that outside her human shell, such an intuition would be easier. Giselle quietly thanked Mari and gently rubbed her side. Blessin took a deep breath. ¡°Sounds like that¡¯s it. We just need to bifurcate our reality¡­ somehow. From the other instance of Flush with Pride I followed, Internet users, no¡­ let me heavily qualify¡­ Incredibly random people online¡­ Speculated that there are soft spaces in the universe, in reality, where it¡¯s easier to break and bridge the bonds between universes. But how you manage to kick a toilet seat in one version and not do it in the other and yet still be somehow linked close enough to be confused by that monster¡­ I have no earthly idea. Maybe that warehouse might offer some clues with company research. But breaking into a private warehouse in our nation¡¯s capital doesn¡¯t seem like a prospect to try with what we have incurred so far as exhaustion and loss.¡±

    Rachel gasped and cupped the place on the right side of her face where her eye had been. ¡°Then when? When he comes for the other one? When he comes for more than that? When he erases us from life or purges our memory just because he can? We do need to recover, but we also need to make a plan. Or he¡¯ll find us when we¡¯re not ready.¡±

    Hanako nodded first, and Giselle joined in. Despite the quakes it caused, Dale clinched a fist and shook it proudly. Gwen flexed too as she said she already had some ideas. Blessin cradled her neck and admitted, ¡°I guess I¡¯m a part of this too and I need to see it through. Let¡¯s get on it¡­¡±

 [19A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 19A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [19A]

    For the Primary Branch [19]

    Giselle kept her eyes tightly focused on her visitor while she felt around for the nurse call button. This ¡°Blessin¡± didn¡¯t appear threatening, but she knew enough from the last encounter to not judge on appearances. Giselle braced herself with her muscles trembling as the woman¡¯s eyes slipped over her.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡®Blessin¡¯ sounded like a wounded balloon struggling to draw air while it was seeping out. ¡°I don¡¯t really have any good news for you. And it looks like you¡¯ve already encountered plenty of bad. Can you tell me what happened?¡±

    Giselle¡®s good hand dug under her until she finally unearthed the call button and pressed it several times. ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±

    The visitor shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s complicated. What can you tell me about the creature that hurt you?¡± Giselle gripped the side rail. She wanted Rachel here and Olivia and maybe even Dennis.

    Being alone with this uncertain presence made her stomach feel like it was knotting ever tighter. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He messed with¡­my wife¡¯s mind and threatened everything I know and am. Someone I know bashed him in the head. He had this remote thing.¡±

    The strange woman clasped her hands together. ¡°I know how much you love your wife. How much you love Rachel. She has a beautiful, creative mind. And she loves messing with you in video games. Friendly fire in Halo, poisoning in Minecraft, blowing you up in GTA, and putting a hit out on you. You¡¯re one of the sweetest couples I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±

    Giselle let her arms relax. ¡°None of that exists on YouTube anymore. How do you know?¡±

    Blessin Cross leaned forward. ¡°Your reality split in two. It happened when you kicked Hanako¡®s sister¡¯s seat. I come from the other reality.¡±

    Puzzling, Giselle asked, ¡°Hanako?¡± The woman wiggled her hands. ¡°Toilet seat girl. Do they have different names here? Where I come from, Hanako and Mari.¡±

    Still with lingering wariness, Giselle answered, ¡°Olivia and Athena.¡± Blessin half closed her eyes and mouthed the names to herself.

    ¡°All right, to the important part. Although I suspect part of the answer. Have you fought Cerberus here and have you learned anything of his weaknesses? Also, when you made the choice to kick the seat, did you do anything in particular?¡±

    Giselle found herself confused again. The woman started off by saying she would explain and bring her up to speed. She nodded when Giselle brought this up. ¡°Of course, what would you like to know about where I come from?¡±

    Does she know Rachel and is she okay? ¡°Yes. She¡¯s defaulted to a man named Finn¡­ But everything is fine.¡± On this point, she noticed that Blessin tightened up. There was something more. She asked about the other version of Olivia, to which her visitor noted that Hanako received an injury from Cerberus that exposed her spirit. Giselle asked if their kind were demons. To that, Blessin shook her head and pronounced, ¡°That bastard¡®s claims. No matter what they are, he¡¯s something worse.¡±

    So far as her question about the kicking, Giselle didn¡¯t have much to offer. She said it was just after she woke up and had to go to the bathroom upstairs. She got upset. No momentous choices. No special techniques. Just a moment in her life. So far as weaknesses, she gripped the rail tightly and explained that Cerberus appeared as a repair man, who her friend Britney smashed with a heavy backpack. Then he hid as her other friend from school before unleashing into a tangle of black threads like a swarm of spiders barely contained in human form.

    The only defense they managed was Olivia transforming it into inanimate objects. And she focused her love for Rachel on the bastard before he took her hand. She wasn¡¯t sure if the strange woman knew what she lost from the way the covers fell across her, but she raised it up to show. Blessin lowered her head and quietly apologized again.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to have bothered you. I had a faint hope that if I looked into this reality I might find the secret to stopping him. We battled him in much the same way. He gloated about the same things. And it was love that forced him back. We know about a warehouse owned by the strange toilet supply company, Flush with Pride. It¡¯s in the DC area. Let me write down the information. I can do that for you.¡±

    It actually took some effort to find some writing paper. The instructions were detailed and involved cross streets and precise coordinates. Giselle stared at the paper and shifted her mouth around in uncertainty. Eventually, she had to ask, ¡°What happened to the Rachel over there?¡± Blessin opened her mouth as though to reiterate what she had said in reassurance. But she paused and released a restrained sigh, as though she only had so much breath to draw from.

    ¡°Cerberus took her right eye same as the fucker took your right arm. He¡¯s taken a lot from all of us, and he¡¯ll take even more.¡±

    Even though it was in a reality she couldn¡¯t reach, even though it was the word of a woman she met mere minutes ago, with so much confusion about what to trust, a bonfire ignited inside Giselle¡®s small body. Athena¡¯s presence stoked boiling lava swirling in her skull. Giselle wanted to scream, latch onto that shadow monster of spiders, and burn every last one of them to ash.

    ¡°What are you doing¡­?¡± A note of concern wafted up from her visitor. It took Giselle a moment to realize that her right side was arcing as though a flashlight was turned on. Looking over, she saw a tangle of blue light woven together into the luminous presence of a hand shifting and flowing from the end of her wrist. Before it drew back into her flesh, she was able to wield it to grip the railing on the right to lift her up.

    Both of them looked on in shock at what happened. Quietly, Blessin took a faint breath. ¡°You are incredibly resilient, Giselle. Especially with Rachel at your side. Never forget that. There are other things I can tell you, but I worry if I speak them then they will be destined or lost. I¡¯m from three months in your relative future. Much has occurred since then. Cerberus really is a piece of shit. I don¡¯t know for certain what will happen to you and those you love. But our best opportunity to do something lies in this warehouse. I wish there was more. I wish I knew some kryptonite against this monster. But this is all I have. Thank you for telling me everything you know. All I can say is remember love.¡±

    Giselle wanted to summon her electric hand again, but it felt like a candle snuffed out and she couldn¡¯t figure out the lighter. Blessin was still dancing around some issue, she knew it.

    It was immensely frustrating because she had already shared the truth that this other version of Rachel had been wounded in the worst way possible. Her eye! Just imagining it triggered the worst fears drenched in scalding fury. Rachel is in pain. She may not exactly be her Rachel, but she could still feel it, like something worse than a phantom limb.

    Blessin slowly stood up from her seat. Giselle frantically kept her eye on the woman and the paper she gave her. She wanted to know why she was already leaving. Giselle knew nothing about all this, truly. She just managed to beat back the monster with a bit of random luck and Olivia. Even then, she lost so much. How was she going to remember all this to pass along to everyone else?

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    Slowly, Blessin turned around. She looked over at the paper and resolved she could add a few more things but noted, ¡°I don¡¯t know how much longer I can stay here. I¡¯m dreamwalking in my other self¡¯s body. Only by her grace and acceptance am I able to stay. It¡¯s her call.¡±

    It took a few more minutes but, before long, Blessin finished and passed the paper back. Before she let her go, Giselle scanned every single mark and line for certainty. Scrunching up her eyes, she inquired, ¡°Promised to see the first eight seasons of the Simpsons?¡±

    Giselle didn¡¯t need to explain her experience or lack thereof with the show, as Blessin knew quite well. ¡°Unfortunately, I can¡¯t really help you any more than that. No sharing accounts across the universes.¡± Giselle gave a faint smirk and nodded. It was clear she had talked to some version of her.

    Stretching out her arms and lowering her head, Blessin told her, ¡°Don¡¯t bother trying to keep the other me around. She¡¯ll just head home thinking she had the weirdest sleepwalk of all time.¡±

    Giselle went further than just pushing herself up. She pulled her body up into a sitting position in the hospital bed, no small feat. It was a tenuous pose, but she used it to beseech Blessin, ¡°Could I ask her to help me? Would she do that on her own?¡±

    Blessin¡¯s expression shifted with uncertainty. ¡°I can¡¯t guarantee you she¡¯ll help. From her perspective, she just recently began looking into considerations of the Flush with Pride Company. She¡¯s three months behind me. Showing her your hand and your friend Hanako might be enough, but I can¡¯t say. What I have told her through dreams to convince her to help me will vanish. I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t have much left. Good luck, Giselle. Stay strong.¡±

    With that, a certain tension slipped from Blessin. It was like she had to hold a certain pose along with her breath for the entire time she was in the room but now her body  relaxed into its natural position as her lungs found peace. A different presence asserted itself across her face as she gazed around the room in quiet concern and confusion.

    Before the woman could give voice to the question of what she was doing here, Giselle jumped in, ¡°Thank you so much for visiting me, ma¡¯am. And thank you for your kind prayers.¡± Gingerly, the Blessin from this universe picked up on those hints and edged over to Giselle¡®s bedside. She offered a familiar faint prayer and wished love and healing for the little girl before her, even though she wasn¡¯t sure where she knew her from. Giselle accepted this offering gladly.

    Further confusion set in when the woman noticed the paper at the young girl¡¯s side with several curious statements spread across in her own handwriting. Carefully, Giselle chanced, ¡°Could¡­ could we keep in touch? Your stories are wonderful, especially what you mentioned to me about things we can¡¯t really explain or comprehend. Some parts are scary with monsters, others with a human presence no less terrifying, like companies flush with pride when they should be more careful, and so forth. Would that be okay?¡±

    For a long, troubled moment, it appeared as though this version of Blessin just wanted to reject all those notions and fling herself through the open doorway and back to spaces she understood. But she¡¯d been through a lot, she had faced challenges few could understand, and she wasn¡¯t one to flinch from the unexplained. Resting on a careful breath, she nodded despite understanding little of the situation before her and wrote the addition of a phone number, an address, and times she was available.

    The times were concentrated around her local church and volunteer counseling hours. It made sense with the glimmer of reality she was working from. Clearly, she had somehow placed herself in a tense spiritual state during a mission of comfort and love taking her to this Children¡¯s Hospital. She prayed with Giselle to cover her bases and briefly took down the girl¡¯s information to her cellphone despite some nagging notion that she should¡¯ve asked for her parents'' information instead.

    Amidst the myriad confusions and uncertainties Blessin had to push through, she did so without apparent panic. And before long, she stepped with quiet confidence back through the doorway. Giselle stopped trying to support herself in bed and let the curve of the terrible mattress sink her back below the stiff pillow. At this time, the freaking nurse finally showed up to ask what she needed. She brought around some ice water when Giselle started coughing and informed her that her family would be back in just a moment.

    It felt even less than that before Rachel and Olivia returned. Olivia seemed like an entirely different person. It wasn¡¯t just her face, features, and radiant blond hair since the egg of her initial appearance was split open. But her eyes moved with a human energy, and she actually smiled little smiles as though some internal joke was tickling her. At the moment, she had ice cream cradled in her hands like a rare prize. Stains of chocolate lightly decorated her mouth as Rachel dabbed her with a moist towelette.

    It was a trace of the kind of world that Giselle really wanted. Where she could just hop up from this blasted bed and hug Olivia. Where Rachel could get the biggest embrace of all, an affirmation of love that lasted despite all the changes. Kind respect to Dennis, but Rachel was the one.

    Maybe Rachel could figure out what on earth was going on with the universes. She was smarter than her and she took no indignity from that. She just trusted. It didn¡¯t take long to show off the paper that Blessin gave her. Of course, Rachel¡®s immediate fretful concern was that an adult she didn¡¯t know wandered into the hospital and talked to Giselle. The mother within shining out.

    It hurt her sometimes in the quiet Jeremy moments to understand intimately how much she knew her wife would be the most amazing mother she could imagine. There was some definite competition when it came to her mom, Lily. The woman could bake, cook, and satiate any hunger like no one¡®s business. She also encouraged Jeremy¡®s dreams of filmmaking and delight in forgotten games.

    All the suffering and quiet reservations since they first met. Not wanting to upset and unsettle anyone else. Wondering in a thousand ways if it was all in her head and if there was nothing wrong with her uterus or anything else down here. They were each hesitant of invoking gaslighting, but those motherfucking doctors gaslit her to hell and back. For money, for ego, for who the hell knew. She was sure that the people in this hospital were far better than any dealing with her wife¡¯s situation. But the looming price and the dawning understanding that this was not a matter for them to fix pressed Giselle to plea that they needed to get her out of here.

    Rachel was just starting to comprehend the swarm of information laid out on that paper and formulate questions she wished she could¡¯ve asked the woman who vanished, but she looked into Giselle¡®s eyes despite the terrifying stump that used to be her right hand, took a deep and careful breath, and quietly agreed.

 [20] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 20 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [20]

    For the Alt Branch [20A]

    Dale, returned to his male state, set a hand on his head, and considered the parts that Blessin Cross had filled him in on before declaring, ¡°Sounds kinda like an episode of Rick and Morty.¡±

    Blessin raised a finger and noted, ¡°Actually, a good analogy would be season two, episode one. The one with Key and Peele as time cop testicle monsters.¡± Oddly enough, or maybe not so oddly, Giselle vaguely remembered that one. Blessin emphasized, ¡°Our evil friend also doesn¡¯t want us to split this reality into several other ones.¡±

    Gwen had to do a quick Google on her phone but was soon caught up with the concept as well. ¡°So, this Cerberus is trying to contain us. But don¡¯t realities multiply infinitely and all the time?¡± Rachel offered a faint smile.

    As simply as possible, Blessin reiterated her theory that Cerberus was pruning or trapping them. Hanako, who couldn¡¯t contribute much to the pop cultural analogies, relayed that the entities seemed to contain a plethora of strands that removed hope, light, warmth, and possibility.

    Sighing, Blessin fretted, ¡°I¡¯m concerned that the bastard may be playing us with the whole three-headed analogy. That¡¯s why I desperately want to extend my original investigation of this to that warehouse in DC. I have all my notes from when I encountered Flush with Pride Corp originally about five months ago. I can prepare all that, along with protection for our group¡­ At least as much as I hope I can give. If you all know anyone else we can trust who can join us for further protection, I¡¯ll gladly welcome that. Meanwhile, the uh¡­baby and Miss Hanako likely need more recovery.¡°

    Giselle questioned if Blessin wanted to do like Gwen had so they could cycle through more people. Giselle gladly offered herself up but knew she would need something like a towel for the clothing situation.

    Blessin cracked a faint smile. ¡°If I could, I would. But I¡¯m not a good prospect. I¡¯ve already taken that journey. If you know what I mean. I transitioned a while ago.¡±

    Gwen gave a quick nod. She was the one who introduced the group to Blessin. Giselle widened her eyes. She knew several transpeople. One of the moderators for the streams. One of her collaborators from a creative fan project a long time ago. And of course, if she thought about it enough, herself considering the fact she still identified as a man despite the physical trappings of her form. Likely Rachel too.

    Blessin¡¯s long hair, luminously golden bright, appeared perfectly natural. She had some makeup on, and her eyebrows were firmly sculpted punctuation points. Giselle wondered more if she was some sort of elf princess than anything else. But beyond the gossamer layers and ornate details with her bracelets, jewelry, and lovely adornments, Giselle marveled at the cadence and feeling of her voice.

    Giselle¡®s voice naturally settled into a girlish range because of anatomy but it took her quite some weeks to pick up what sounded like her voice. In listening to several of the streams, she thought it sounded more tomboyish than she intended. But then she wasn¡¯t completely sure what she intended, she was just talking in what felt the most natural way. Blessin made it clear, when Giselle asked, that her sound did not come easily, especially at the age when she ¡°finally figured things out¡±.

    Hanako eagerly accepted all this but noted that she could do other changes and not just the familiar ones enforced through the toilet seat. Blessin did give this some consideration but ultimately resolved that any change would either be too small or too great to help. However, she promised to gather up what energy from her artifacts and crystals she could muster to emotionally augment everything for Hanako and Mari.

    ¡°I actually have an idea for that ¡®wrong one¡¯ Cerberus alluded to. That place where Giselle may have kicked the baby and created a different reality. I have some mild experience with dreamwalking. If that is the main point of bifurcation, then there should absolutely be another version of myself who can help us.¡±

    At this point, Giselle just rolled with whatever all that meant. Hanako had recovered enough that she easily transformed Finn, Dale, and Gwen a second time and still had enough oomph left over to include Giselle. She had spent enough time away that becoming a man again felt surprising. A towel was necessary, but Blessin provided one, followed by a long, deep breath as she gently brushed back her golden hair.

    Rachel cozied up to him and stared with her remaining eye. Instead of the natural pain and visceral yearning to do something more for the soul that meant everything to Jeremy, he churned the waters of their love. He focused it with every quiet glance. And when it flowed away, like eddies snagged by winds, he just drew upon further reserves.

    Blessin worked diligently, first of all, making absolutely sure that any visitors to her business knew that the store was closed for the time being. She remarked that the energy within the building felt animating and empowering, like building up a fire but one that renewed life and living things instead of consuming them. It didn¡¯t take very long at all before contented energy showed in Hanako¡®s eyes along with a nuance that crossed the tense, uncanny valley of her disposition and seemed far more like a human girl.

    Meanwhile, the core heat that Giselle felt as the presence of that little girl nurtured inside her was stoked to a burgeoning radiance that warmed without overheating her. All that settled, Blessin prepared herself on the same lounger that Giselle had used when she put her under.

    ¡°Before I start, I need to know exactly what information I should pass along and look for. I assume I need to contact Giselle. Last name and most likely residence?¡±

    On this point, Rachel and Jeremy, who were running out of swap time, considered whether Huber or Conway based on how reality had changed for them already. Blessin just absorbed both. She also took in the information about the recent move as well as where they lived before and presently. She gathered everything she could from Dale and Gwen to hold in her memory and then recited the key points about Cerberus and what their plans were.

    She put on a breathing mask that connected to a device that pumped in her own formula of aromatherapy and scented oils then added several other things to block out sensory information. It wasn¡¯t anything approaching a deprivation pod, but Giselle still thought it looked cool. Before she settled in, she made sure that Gwen knew the wake-up procedure with a needle poke right by her shoulder, because that¡¯s what she trained herself to recognize when dreamwalking.

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    After that, it didn¡¯t take long for her to enter a dream state. The others could only wait.

    They didn¡¯t have to wait that long though before Blessin snapped up with her eyes bulging and her breath caught in her throat. She was on the verge of screaming as Gwen dashed in front of everyone to try to help her. ¡°What happened, what¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Finally, Blessin ripped off her mask and managed to pull in a breath and expel it. Struggling, she raspingly uttered, ¡°¡­ fucking bastard¡­ evil fuck. Everyone¡¯s dead. Everyone. He did something. Everything around me was a wasteland. I had no body to land in, but my spirit was still around. He ruined that universe, that reality. It¡¯s just us now. There¡¯s nothing I can do about it¡­ well¡­ mostly nothing. Maybe¡­¡±

    Hanako dipped her head down towards the floor with her eyes shut and her hands clenched. Giselle could feel a ropey, flaming tension in her side. After carefully drinking the water Gwen provided and collecting her thoughts, Blessin did some breathing exercises and elaborated, ¡°I can go back. When did you first encounter Cerberus and he made the comment about the other one?¡±

    Finn had the date in mind. Roughly three months ago. Blessin grabbed her planner and a journal to do some checking. Dale presented his thoughts, ¡°If you can time travel like this, can¡¯t you go back and stop a whole bunch of this from happening?¡±

    Blessin immediately shook her head. ¡°Paradoxes. Anything that could interfere with us from reaching this point in this reality from the moment of bifurcation onward creates a paradox. We both exist and don¡¯t exist simultaneously. Not a fan of finding out how that feels, considering I just got a big horrifying taste of the non-existing.¡±

    Hanako contributed, ¡°Our kind has a similar relationship with the nature of reality. We can¡¯t change someone so that when reality bends to accept them, it does not make sense that we still exist. I believe Cerberus faces the same limit as well.¡± Blessin massaged her forehead and nodded.

    After plenty of looking and checking, Blessin managed to find a Saturday soon after the initial events during which she actually spent some time to the south which put her quite close to where Giselle and Rachel used to live. Blessin cautioned, ¡°Past events are set. It¡¯s a part of the river of time and reality which has flowed past us. However, this situation is a little different than how it would be if I attempted this in any usual fashion. All I can really do is whisper to ghosts. It¡¯s something, at least.¡±

    Gingerly, Blessin composed her thoughts again and worked through everything she needed to know and pass along. She appeared far less optimistic though, admitting, ¡°I can¡¯t change anything over there. All I can do is tell them what I can. And promise we will avenge them. I will try my best to glean any information possible. Same protocol.¡± Blessin appeared far warier as she shut her eyes and shut out this world.

    And again, they waited. Giselle returned to her female shape soon before Finn. She joined Hanako, who tightened her cap on her head. She appeared so tensely uncomfortable. Giselle pressed her about what was wrong. The reserved, simple, and robotic motions of earlier had evolved into subtle, girlish gestures. Hesitantly, Hanako lifted her hat. The horns still arced and shifted like ripples of water contained in a different form, but they also had a certain firmness that appeared more like a prop than a radiance.

    She knew that back home a couple of the high schools had ears for their animal mascots that students would wear walking home. It was just one of those things that she would see outside the window of the car when driving around. Jeremy¡®s high school was private and religious so the closest they got to that kind of thing was either fake halos or holy crowns.

    Before Hanako could restore her cover-up, Giselle reached over and touched the top of her pale head. She wasn¡¯t sure what she expected to feel. Down by the beachfront where she grew up was one of those science shacks and a multitude of plasma globes. Those didn¡¯t feel like anything in particular. She also thought of the Van de Graaff generators. But this was different. It was like passing your hand through a beam of sunlight in a cold room.

    However, the feeling when she touched that light was uncertain. Like shy sunlight afraid to harm anything that fell beneath its beam. It wasn¡¯t intense. Rather it felt like a pliable foam of perfectly warm water that yielded around her fingers. The properties were inscrutable but fascinating. Hanako appeared nervously uncomfortable but didn¡¯t warn Giselle away from touching. As she drew back, something shifted.

    She teased it more, like running her hands across an ephemeral harp. And there, like a tangle of light fluttering in unseen air, she saw more. It spread and echoed across Hanako¡®s body. It kept flowing and Giselle could see the faintest traces of it before it slipped away.

    A gasp came from behind Giselle as she turned around to see Finn with his hands cupping his mouth in surprise. He said only, ¡°I saw something, something immensely beautiful. Like stained glass butterfly wings as an echo in the dark. Where my right eye should¡¯ve been. So beautiful. So so beautiful¡­¡± He sniffled and wept out of his left eye. Giselle understood as Hanako cast her eyes down with a subtle blush coloring her cheeks.

    ¡°That bastard is so wrong. Or maybe he actually knows. You¡¯re not a demon, Hanako. Or your sister. You never were. You¡¯re an Angel.¡± Naturally, saying the word in reality to a being standing before her set off the chagrin of an entire landscape in her brain. The realm forged by readings of the natural world, space, and scientific methods. The realm with Carl Sagan as its cornerstone and cats named for William Herschel and Tycho Brahe.

    But here she was, so deep in something that somehow existed in this and other universes despite scientific rigor. Mysteries like what Gerald felt as a child when hovering at the edge of death. Mysteries of little moments and synergistic happenstance. The great shrugs of teachers she had in high school who leaned on the Bible for the sake of curriculum but also offered infectious curiosity. No matter what her head said, they knew. Meanwhile, quiet Mari lingered within and beside her.

    The notion of an angel wasn¡¯t something that Hanako could claim or refute. She had little idea. But she vehemently professed that she would do everything in her power to stop and heal the harm that Cerberus had inflicted on those she loved. She looked at Finn¡¯s gouged right eye for emphasis despite the fact they¡¯d known each other so briefly.

 [20A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 20A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [20A]

    For the Primary Branch [20]

    Giselle¡®s vision of how they would get out of here mostly involved Rachel dressing up as a nurse, stealing identification, and rolling her out with a blanket over her face while Olivia provided the distraction of transforming people along the way. It was all very cinematic. Ultimately, it just took a few papers and signatures to certify DAMA (discharge against medical advice). Mercifully, it didn¡¯t mean any consequences for their coverage.

    Their doctor still wanted to take some x-rays of the affected area, but Giselle blanched about how much that might cost, especially since they didn¡¯t have Jeremy¡®s professional income and insurance. They sent her home with a lot of paperwork, a few pain medications, and a firm advisement follow-up with her regular doctor, whoever that was.

    They walked through the hallways and looked for the small sign on the contributor wall that marked the streams Jeremy and Rachel had been doing for all those years. Naturally, it was no longer there. Half-a-million in community-inspired charitable donations basically snatched out of existence. This was a part of the hospital that Rachel had shown Olivia while they were waiting. She gawked, wide-eyed, at the photos of children from many years ago grown up and thanking their helpers.

    One thing they preoccupied themselves with while waiting was tracking down willing nurses and doctors as Olivia fervently gave them hugs. So far as an explanation, they commented that she had difficulty when she was younger and it wasn¡¯t certain she would survive, and let them fill in the rest. Despite the regulations for cleanliness, quite a few gladly accepted those hugs from the strange little girl with the skin around her face of a deeper shade than the pale, practically albino tone of her arms.

    Compared to the staff, Olivia just had scowls for the food in the cafeteria, now currently zilch for two when it came to cafeterias. Except for the ice cream, especially chocolate. She gave the death glare to the unwelcome reappearance of tater tots. Rachel tried to tempt her by saying that they couldn¡¯t be sure these were as bad as the ones at school yesterday, but Olivia judged it as telling and foreboding that Rachel wasn¡¯t interested in trying any herself.

    Dennis met them at the front with wide eyes, showing genuine surprise. Giselle, even though she knew this was the real Dennis, took a few steps back and sheltered her right side. Only after some quiet preparation did she accept a quick hug from the boy. It sucked that this was her reaction, but the vision of horror and deception seated itself inside, no matter what she logically tried to tell her brain. Seeing him and acclimating to the normal Dennis helped but she felt better when they walked out to the car.

    The sun was still high and hot, looming above. The ocean breeze helped cut the worst of it as Giselle leaned towards the open window.

    ¡°I hope I¡¯m like the best of those nurses when I¡¯m finally human. I want to help and build good emotions.¡± Giselle didn¡¯t say much with the breeze fluttering her blonde hair so close to Olivia¡®s brand new shimming locks. Olivia¡®s energy was quietly but fervently infectious, as though they had switched roles and Giselle was now the one to bask in her emotional presence and drink the positive feeling.

    Meanwhile, Giselle could tell that Athena was content in both the air and the company. It didn¡¯t take them more than about thirty minutes to get all the way home. Herschel didn¡¯t mind that Giselle just had one hand to pet him with. He definitely noticed that something was different and looked to her for clarification. She just stroked his fur and sunk into the couch.

    It was easy to lay there and feel sorry, way easier than in the hospital. The schoolwork she desperately didn¡¯t want to do anymore seemed impossible without her dominant hand. Same with video games she might escape to.

    Yes, she knew all about modified controllers, custom jobs, and alternatives, but she just wanted her freaking hand back from that scribble shit shark. It was pointless to sit and sulk though. But she didn¡¯t have any other ideas for what to try. So, there she remained.

    Athena lurked somewhere beyond her eyebrows. She had way more reason than Giselle to be moody. Her entire species was hunted by shadow monsters as they clung to the edges of brutal darkness with never-ending cold. If she had parents, then Giselle figured they¡¯d been destroyed a long time ago. Just her sister left, who managed to smile despite all that happened in her life.

    She smiled at the games along the back wall. She smiled at what Rachel was taking out of the fridge and preparing on the stovetop. She smiled an infectious smile in Giselle¡®s direction and all Gisela could do in turn was creep up the edge of her lip. Herschel was already hotly snuggling her lap. She couldn¡¯t be glum with her precious boy huddled close.

    Before too long, Rachel was done cooking and brought a steaming plate over to Giselle¡®s side atop the little glass, mounted tray secured neatly under the couch. The meal before her was a cheddar grilled cheese sandwich lightly singed with a selection of glistening, steaming tater tots. Olivia carefully carried her own plate bearing half a sandwich and a smaller scoop of tots. Rachel had the other half along with some coleslaw they needed to get rid of from the fridge. She eased in next to Giselle and gave her a warm smile.

    ¡°Try it¡±, Rachel encouraged after taking a quick first bite and then mediately regretting it with puffs of air and waves in front of her face. Giselle opted to wait until the steam stopped wafting about and Olivia followed her example. She motioned with her stump to delicately cradle the plate as she picked up her food with the left. Often using her left for food while filming vlogs with her right conditioned her to find this so far normal. But it also sunk her mood because she realized that simple task would now be infinitely more complicated. She couldn¡¯t even casually do the filmmaking she wanted.

    That was the note that finally broke her. She laid the grilled cheese back on the plate as her eyes welled up with pained tears. Giselle blubbered without words as her stamp traced listlessly around in the air. Herschel noticed something was wrong and cocked his head to the side in the hopeful expectation that his cuteness might mend the pain. It didn¡¯t work. It didn¡¯t feel like anything could work.

    ¡°Who is ya daaahhdy and what does he douu? Puuuuutttt daaahhh  cooookkkieee dowwwwnnn! I did nahhhthing, the pavement was his enemy!¡­¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Giselle looked over an alarm at Rachel contorting her lips into an exaggerated, almost spitting pout. Herschel was even more concerned. It took another moment before it clicked for Giselle that her wife was doing an impersonation of Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was nowhere near the best and slightly overdramatic as well as softly underplayed at the same time. She was better as the straight man to Jeremy¡®s shtick. But she soon shifted to a growling, precious-wishing Gollum.

    Fighting off her sobs, Giselle laid on a thick Southern lampoon which had the added nuance of sounding a squeaky southern belle, ¡°Well, now I tell ya what darling¡­ahh just could not make heads or tails of any of it. God bless their little hearts why I had no idea what to say but well um, you got some cracker jacks?¡± She did her best to slip in an overzealous deep trucker voice at the end, but it just sounded like a kid trying to make themselves sound adult. From there, they actually got into the jokes and little bits of storytelling.

    Olivia appeared absolutely lost as to what was going on but gently sipped the joy and amusement waves bleeding off and feeding into her sister. After several minutes of goofing off to one another, Giselle wrapped her arms around Rachel and giggled uproariously. No matter if one side was doing more work in the embrace than the other, she forced herself not to care. The smile that settled on her face wouldn¡¯t allow her to feel glum and sad. So, she continued through the sandwich and congratulated Rachel on making the tots so much better than any cafeteria. Olivia joyously concurred. It wasn¡¯t long before all plates were cleared and taken over to be washed by Olivia and Rachel. Rachel instructed her on how to prepare them for the dishwasher. Olivia learned quickly and followed diligently.

    Before Giselle could sink back into the space she had lost herself in before, Rachel dug out one of the Katamari games they had played at length and gave Giselle a random half of the joy-con. Chaos ensued as they had to coordinate movements or hopelessly spin in place. Just using her left hand with shakes and maneuvers was all Giselle could do or had to do. She adored this twist, having considered it once for a stream but vetoing it as too crazy and lacking in game progress. It may not have worked there but she delighted in every moment of playing together.

    Olivia even had control of one side eventually and waffled between concern and curiosity about scooping up all sorts of screaming people around a giant space ball. At one point, Athena¡¯s blue electricity hand replacement appeared when Giselle leaned the controller into her stump, but she soon shook her head and let it recede back into her flesh.

    At the end of a crazy, energetic, and sweaty evening Giselle felt renewed enough to help in the curry preparation. Olivia¡®s introduction to the potency of curry started with a large bite followed by panting, flailing, whimpering, alarm, and downing the nearest liquid before optimistically cycling around again. Sometime after supper, when tiredness firmly asserted itself, Olivia had a whimper of a different character as she quietly asked Rachel for help. Giselle learned that between the movie fight and later in the hospital, what Olivia drank and curiously first consumed found its way into her resolving digestive tract.

    Olivia¡®s first fearful reaction was that her insides were about to burst. What emerged instead was far less than that. Giselle reflected with uncertainty as to what to call it while resigning to the simple notion of irony. The toilet seat girl must now sit upon the place she once dwelt.

    It didn¡¯t take much before Olivia offered up a heartfelt apology about the way the seats dunked people as part of the punishment. She professed that she had no choice in that. From the sweating earlier, Giselle and Rachel both noticed that Olivia had acquired far more of an actual, vaguely earthy odor compared to the vague aromas and otherwise blank absence of any fragrance.

    Rachel was the one to wash her up, leading her in her very first shower. Giselle lingered nearby and the sounds that emerged kindled her imagination. Olivia was faintly scared but not actively terrified. Being drenched tickled her flesh and introduced ecstatic delight. Athena drew in what emotional fumes she could manage.

    The faintly delirious young girl, with towels enshrouding her and one of Giselle¡®s spare robes fluttering, practically danced with Giselle in dizzy spins which made her grateful that Jeremy¡®s diagnosed vertigo didn¡¯t carry over.

    Giselle¡®s shower was uneventful aside from the careful adaptations. It was just barely enough space for all three, plus Herschel, in the master bed. The more humanized Olivia whimpered and twitched while settling to get comfortable. Giselle wrapping her arm around her actually helped. Soon she was fast asleep. Rachel followed by wrapping up the rest of Giselle so that she couldn¡¯t escape. Despite her desire to respond in some way, it wasn¡¯t long before Giselle found herself jerking up from extended naps and then immediately dropping back into them.

    Morning haunted her dreams more than any apparition of shadow or uncertainty in the dark. At least it was Sunday, and she didn¡¯t need to make any decisions about what the day after it would bring.

    She woke up coughing with the others shifting and fidgeting at the edge of consciousness. Somewhere in her head, she heard a protracted, incessant tune playing. It was a ringtone from the phone she¡¯d had to settle for as a preteen daughter. Considering she hadn¡¯t used it much, the tune hadn¡¯t played yet. She hated it and all the poppy bubblegum flavor of the young crooner. She wanted to either toss it out the nearest window or delete the music from existence.

    Binding together the determination and dexterity to squeeze out of the covers like living toothpaste, Giselle tumbled around the cat and everyone else to spin and stagger over to the end table and retrieve her phone before things went quiet. She was too late, as it quit right before she could pick it up.

    Fortunately, she was also early as the rings started over again with the phone buzzing in her hand. Bleary and trying not to be bitter about her trek towards consciousness, Giselle quickly and quietly spoke into the phone. The voice was strikingly familiar.

    ¡°This is a Blessin Cross. Huge apology for calling at this hour, but it¡¯s vitally important to everything you said to me and so much more. Time is of the essence, and I don¡¯t know how much we have before something terrible occurs.¡±

 [21] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 21 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [21]

    For the Alt Branch [21A]

    Dale and Gwen didn¡¯t have a comparable experience when informed by Giselle that she thought Hanako and her sister were not dark and demonic creatures as the beast that attacked them expressed, but rather closer to angelic ones. She carefully qualified her claims for the sake of the realm inside her head that they weren¡¯t literally angels but that was a suitable analogy. However, the two of them could agree in principle that the monster that came through the walls definitely didn¡¯t seem like a moral authority compared to the young girl and unseen child that protected them.

    Rather, everyone ganged up to fill Hanako with encouragement and good feeling about the anxieties of what had burst open on the top of her head. The store didn¡¯t have many options for headwear better than what Hanako already had, but they managed to get creative with what was available. Flowers. Pendants. Scarves. And other pleasant decorations were offered up for Hanako¡¯s noggin. And Finn was the greatest advocate.

    Checking each change in the mirror brought wide-eyed emotion from Hanako. It was like they were able to transform her a dozen times over from a shy girl with lacy ornaments fringing her hair to a bewildered kid with a ribbon sprouting above her radiance to an awestruck princess with glittering jewels twinkling against her magical power.

    That emotion burst like a miniature supernova that Giselle could sense and wafted back into Hanako with a modest share feeding into the warmth at her side. Finn also delighted and noted that it felt like multi-faceted, gorgeous fireworks in a 3D alpha radiation cloud chamber to her right side. That was another one they had to Google.

    The dress-up antics died down when they finally found a secure but pretty wrap for Hanako¡®s head which did the job while delighting her and everyone else¡¯s senses. For Mari, Giselle begrudgingly went over to Blessin¡®s residential section of the store on everyone else¡¯s suggestion and queued up the first few episodes of the Simpsons based on the login information that had been left. Dale and Gwen took turns watching the still sleeping Blessin for signs of rousing. Nothing in that first season particularly clicked with Giselle and she honestly thought it felt more like someone¡¯s independent YouTube creation. But she did get a few laughs in and some emotional responses, which flowed towards her hip.

    Conveniently, they just finished the third when Gwen shouted that Blessin was awake. She was quite shaky and out of it when trying to sit up on the lounger but immediately called for paper to write with. Only after 10 minutes of nonstop writing did she lean back and get a sense of the room.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t able to gather much¡±, she solemnly reported. ¡°Giselle is¡­was an 11-year-old girl in that universe. She just randomly kicked the toilet seat containing the sister. Over there, it¡¯s Olivia for Hanako and Athena for Mari. Olivia was very different though. She looked like Giselle¡®s sibling with light blonde hair and fair skin. Rachel was still Rachel and seemed like her mom. They were attacked by Cerberus not too long ago and Giselle lost her right hand but gained an occasional energy-based blue one that seemed to be from Athena. I couldn¡¯t figure out much about the moment of bifurcation with kicking the seat. No idea what she may have done. Sorry.¡±

    Reciprocating this dump of emotion, Giselle and the others soon relayed the impressions they had around Hanako, and Finn cheerfully recounted the visible experience through the place where her eye was missing. With this and other snippets, Blessin took further notes down on paper. She didn¡¯t have a whole lot to say about the invocation of angels but she appeared to agree with the notion that Cerberus was a piece of shit and the girls had more clear, objective goodness in their left pinky fingers than his entire monstrous body.

    After copious notes, Blessin shut her eyes and presented, ¡°I have a theory about how we can not only beat the bastard but destroy him. Love. Yeah, love.¡±

    She twirled her pen and looked divisive with her own expression. ¡°Love is truly powerful. And that¡¯s not just an aphorism. Agape is something I genuinely consider powerful. Not to press anything on anyone else but I felt truly protected during the last encounter.¡± She cradled her cross with a deep breath. ¡°Meanwhile, you all are friends, whether you know it well or not. Some of you also share a heartfelt, sacrificing, and trusting love. We are strongly equipped right there. But I also have a browning bolt action rifle, an M4 a relative got me for show, and plenty of handguns. Love, but I¡¯d also love to blow the fucker straight back to Hell.¡±

    Gwen and Dale also had some personal weaponry to offer but Finn and Giselle were not interested in any of that. Hanako promised to absolutely keep Finn safe as heartfelt recompense for not protecting him before and added that Mari would keep Giselle protected in kind. Blessin casually asked about the Simpsons episodes that Giselle had watched so far and advised her to keep an open mind because the second season was when it became the recognizable show of the 90s. Giselle was polite but didn¡¯t have a whole lot to say on the subject.

    Once everyone was on the same page, Giselle packed her vehicle, a silver Ford truck with not only weapons but first aid, water, and a lockbox full of precious crystals and trinkets. It was clear that they couldn¡¯t make the trip to DC comfortably at this hour, but Giselle knew that they could call on one more friend to augment the team.

    ====

    ¡°Hmmm. Certainty of death. Small chance of success¡­¡­What are we waiting for?¡± Finley grinned widely through his beard as he used a stray spoon on the store counter in place of a pipe. His immense shop, Take Your Shot Gaming (we got your backlight), adjoined what used to be a flower place. Finley had recently bought it out and turned it into a makeshift arcade with about thirty freshly serviced cabinets and growing. Hanako marveled at the many sights, even a simple handheld electronic one with silhouette characters. Finley took a shine to the kid and let her borrow his Nintendo Switch to play while they talked.

    A lot of explanation was required but Finley didn¡¯t need more than to know that his friends needed his help, and he was willing to bring his full armament with him again to protect them in some unknown situation. After the shop closed up for the night, they had a big meal of barbecue ribs at a place down the block.

    Hanako looked particularly intrigued by the chocolate and peanut butter spiral ice cream behind the counter but had no interest in the meats. Everyone gave her samples of their sides. She enjoyed the mac and cheese and the collard greens but settled on the sweet potato casserole as her favorite. She consumed little more than a spoonful of each.

    For overnight, they considered a hotel room using Lily¡¯s worker discount. Giselle¡®s mom worked at one of the bigger hotels with all manner of beauty, spa treatments, and hair care at her disposal. But Finley resolved to put the group up for the night.

    He had a big place with multiple guest rooms. The biggest, separate and discrete from the main house, was given to Giselle and Finn. Dale and Gwen had separate beds in one of the side guest after resolving their drives home weren¡¯t worth it. Blessin just sprawled out on the biggest couch with enough blankets and Hanako curled up on the smaller end.

    The evening culminated with a little talking and a few rounds of Smash before everyone started to get drowsy. Blessin was absolutely ruthless with wielding Kirby against anyone in her path. Giselle, as always, spammed Ness and Finley delighted in using Snake to make her pay. Finn also brought a few brutal KOs with Peach. Hanako mostly watched and observed what others did. When she was invited to play, she did so with Robin for the sake of his/her appearance. She didn¡¯t do that great or survive very long but she wore a pleased expression when they wrapped up.

    Hanako didn¡¯t have any smell, so when Giselle gave her a light bath, it was more for the experience of it. She appeared wary of being naked and cold but accepted it with Giselle nearby. Wrapping up fully and deeply in all the towels was her favorite part. With the floof of her pale hair, the horns cast a warm sky-like radiance. Finley had ignored the cloaking decoration on the kid¡¯s head, instead focusing more his concern and horror at what happened to Finn. He also overlooked the strange, supernatural, and world-ending statements that slipped out amongst the group. Finn attempted makeshift eyepatches but ultimately gave them up.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    After showering with the calm passing of each other naked, Giselle and Finn met in bed. When he started as a man, Finn wielded his key difference as though he imagined it as a vast loaf of French bread that might take someone¡¯s eye out if he wasn¡¯t too careful. It was difficult in other ways because so much beneath was missing as reciprocation for what Rachel didn¡¯t have. Getting something going required a lot of effort and manipulation. But he managed to glide through that and into the warmth of his spouse. Giselle spread her legs and welcomed him.

    They were each tense in their own way. Giselle had a bundle of worries looming about where they were going and what they might find. But at its core was the faint, earnest begging that the one she loved didn¡¯t deserve to sacrifice even a sliver more. She lavished her affection even though she was supposed to be the submissive one. She guided her husband and urged him onward. They wept together and huddled in relief and release. Catharsis over and over until it finally felt at an end. Finn couldn¡¯t physically ejaculate but she made sure he felt as good as possible.

    Afterwards, they gently touched each other¡¯s hair and talked about a million senseless things that had nothing to do with the morning or tomorrow or whatever may come.

    In the morning, they got up a little early to take another shower and make sure that the bed linens were washed. Breakfast was composed by Finley and assisted with Blessin¡¯s skill. While Blessin played coy, the others noticed the little comments between them with more laughter than necessary and playful references to beards. Giselle actually gathered at one point that Finley knew what Blessin kept on the down low and it not only wasn¡¯t a problem, it was one of the points of interest. Elvish allusions to her richly golden hair also popped up.

    It was darn early when they had to get going but Thanksgiving was approaching, and the number of daylight hours wasn¡¯t too far from the hours of travel time it would take them to get there with stops and breaks.

    Most of the trip was quite uneventful. Giselle worried at one point that some shadows in the forested roadside were not wandering animals but spies or pieces of Cerberus. Fortunately, they soon passed whatever it was and didn¡¯t see a reoccurrence. Virginia managed to be the Virginia she remembered from all of their previous trips, which meant police cars stationed at seemingly every single junction between city and road, lurking like hungry sharks waiting for the least slip out of line or unwary traveler from another state. It brought her on edge even more than the dangers that loomed before them.

    When they finally arrived, it was hard to miss their target. The damn thing looked like it could be seen from space. It had the swath of a regional distribution center or one of those immense Amazon facilities but was cloaked in a shade of dark brown that bordered on black. It loomed in all directions with a surprisingly pristine parking lot flanking all sides. And it was shuttered. A large, black ten-foot, industrial aluminum fence with spikes atop enclosed the perimeter. Fortunately, the end facing the street was just secured with a metal chain and a simple small padlock.

    About a block down the street, they found a parking structure with unlimited overnight parking. The neighborhood was far from the nicest even for the area, but they parked on the top level by the elevator, clustered together by the nicest other cars, and armed their alarms. Their walk wasn¡¯t much better but at least they were all armed.

    Hanako asked regular questions and Giselle resisted telling too much. She just alluded to the fact that what protection measures she may have done as a spirit sometimes needed to be honored here as well. She vaguely understood what the weapons they held would do but asked, ¡°There are humans who want to erase you from existence?¡±

    Finley gave Giselle a quick look about that. It hadn¡¯t occurred to Giselle until then to claim to him that Hanako was somewhere in the autistic spectrum or highly imaginative. It was a thought, but she didn¡¯t like misleading him. She answered, ¡°We don¡¯t know. It¡¯s better to be prepared for any possibility.¡±

    ¡°Is this the sort of thing we should be prepared for on a regularly?¡±

    ¡°God, I hope not.¡±

    Silence followed for a while as they made their way to an intersection and then across the street during a lull.

    ¡°I have noticed mentions of a figure you invoke¡­called ¡®God¡¯? What is this figure to you? Why do you invoke them?¡±

    With all the mentions of demons and angels, Giselle figured that Hanako picked up the whole God thing along the way as well. Following the thought, she asked her about demons and angels. Hanako pouted and remarked that she asked first. Feeling more like a parent than ever before, Giselle pivoted and assuaged her that she just wanted to best understand her question and how to answer it.

    Despite some wariness, Hanako told her, ¡°I gather that demons are bad. They hurt. They take. They want only to destroy. They are like the human version of what we have in the monsters that wish to plunge us into the cold darkness eternally.¡± Finley hustled up to the front of the group, so it provided Giselle and Hanako a little bit of privacy. Giselle confirmed that this was mostly accurate but clarified that demons were typically depicted with goat horns protruding from their head, red skin, forked tails, and claws. Hanako lingered on her cloaked horns but started to relax as the other details failed to apply.

    Pressing her point, Giselle focused on angels instead. For this, Hanako recounted, ¡°Your parents have cherubim on their walls, and you have talked about angelic things and angel food. They embody good. They show warmth and light and knowledge. They protect, share, and hold back the darkness.¡±

    That seemed pretty spot-on to Giselle. She added, ¡°They¡¯re made by God. They can do battle against the forces of darkness. They can fly. They have beautiful wings made of feathers and a lot of other details like a halo and stuff I don¡¯t remember. They also can look kind of complicated with eyes all over and wheels within wheels, but let¡¯s not dwell on that.¡± Hanako had a flicker of concern but slowly nodded.

    Giselle focused, ¡°You may have what you have, but when I looked at you and I felt where I touched, my sensations were like knowing beauty, thinking of those images in my parents'' house, and feeling radiance and glowing wings around you. Like Finn said and saw. You are beautiful, Hanako. And so is your sister.¡±

    Hanako stopped walking and turned slightly to face Giselle. Delicate, jeweled tears rested in her blue eyes. Softly, she asked, ¡°Permission?¡±

    Giselle was uncertain, this didn¡¯t seem like a good time for her or anyone to transform with Finley already confused and suspicious. Hanako shook her head and clarified, ¡°Permission¡­ to hug you.¡± Giselle gladly gave it. Hanako¡®s modest body carried immense warmth.

    Closing the initial question, Giselle asked what Hanako had been able to glean about God.

    Again, Hanako seemed quietly suspicious that Giselle was asking a question rather than providing an answer, but she complied. ¡°Someone strong. Someone who can help. Someone with a never-ending supply of love, as Miss Blessin Cross alluded to. Someone you aren¡¯t sure is there, but you hope they will be when you need their help.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that about sums it up for me too.¡± Blessin looked back from the group with a skeptical squint but didn¡¯t say anything. Hanako reflected on this and didn¡¯t have any further questions.

    Soon standing together as a group in front of the fence, Giselle checked down the street while Dale looked up. No one coming, and no other cars at this hour. From Blessin''s advice, Finley brought along a bolt cutter, and it took him plus Finn and Dale working on it to finally slice through the metal. With a slow rumbling groan, the fence creaked open with everyone pushing on it.

    ¡°Here we go¡­¡± Blessin smiled and stepped through first.

 [21A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 21A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [21A]

    For the Primary Branch [21]

    Giselle desperately wanted to shrug off the call as a rogue dream unsuccessfully attempting to invade the waking world. She felt so much dry skin on her lips and just managed to free several bits of her blonde hair from getting in tangled in it. Delicately, she brushed around her eyelids to free tear-swaddled chunks of sleepy sand which felt like boulders. Even then, she felt like there was more she could dig out if she was just tenacious enough to find it.

    ¡°When can we meet up?¡± Blessin was still on the line with urgency in her tone. Giselle groaned and drifted her phone in the direction of Rachel. After some breath clearing the sniffles, Rachel received the line and managed a simple, ¡°¡­Hello?¡±

    Giselle didn¡¯t hear the full conversation, but she managed to catch the phrase, ¡°Dear God¡± muttered with frustration. The overall sentiment boiled down to the fact it was just a little bit after 6 AM. Blessin apparently didn¡¯t find this particularly early but then she regularly went to sleep far before midnight.

    Blessin soon seemed to realize that any effort to rouse the group would be fruitless. She instead passed along her plan to drive to their place. And neither Giselle nor Rachel had any idea what the plan was after that. By the time the call ended, the only thing that saved Giselle¡®s phone from slipping out of Rachel¡®s hand and ricocheting to the floor was Giselle¡®s protective awareness from camera use.

    Once the thing was plugged in and plunked in its regular spot, she crawled back into bed and nearly did so headfirst under the covers. She didn¡¯t remember much after that until the vague nuisance of rapid knocks on the front door and urgent chimes began to needle her brain.

    Rachel managed to get herself out of bed and step lightly towards the door with her robe on. Giselle quietly whimpered from this and stretched for her. When she couldn¡¯t find her, she rolled back to the other side and her good arm found Olivia curled up in something approaching a fetal position.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t tell me you were gaming all night¡­¡± Giselle heard that lady from the hospital¡®s voice again but right in front of the bed. She stretched her head up to check why that might be. It was because she was right in front of her in a similar gossamer outfit from earlier. Instead of reacting in surprise, Giselle just took a slow yawn and raised her good hand to wiggle.

    Under a careful breath, Blessin muttered something that sounded like a foreign language while still having recognizable elements of grumbling. ¡°I could blame a dark spirit sucking your energy, but I don¡¯t think they work with this amount of subtlety. Please try to drink this before you pass out again.¡±

    Holding the cup that Blessin passed to her just wasn¡¯t possible, so Giselle had to turn towards the side until she was barely clinging to the mattress while resting the cup on the dresser on Rachel¡¯s side. The first taste was somewhat like what she expected, a coffee-rich flavor that lingered on her tongue. Far too creamy for her though. She took coffee black, although, within 11-year-old girl sensibilities, she hadn¡¯t ruled out the possibility of some degree of creamer and sweetener.

    This assertion slipped out with her still sleepy brain as she took another drink. Slowly, it burned at the edges of her mouth and tangled neurons like kickstarting the fire of Athena.

    ¡°Never seen an episode of The Simpsons and drinks coffee black. I¡¯m also going to surmise you enjoy plain mustard, copious amounts of ranch, and delight in vanilla as your main flavor of ice cream. Am I right?"

    That read actually did more to wake Giselle up from her stupor than the strange cup of coffee she was trying to drink. Blessin nodded confidently as Olivia scowled and despised her cup. It took some doing but both girls were up and aware in just a few minutes. Barely more lucid than them, Rachel returned to the room with a cup of her own.

    Once it was clear that she had their undivided attention, Blessin began her explanation. ¡°I don¡¯t think a dark spirit is responsible for this because I encountered worst via dreamscape. This world is going to end. Cerberus has decided we are too much of a risk to keep existing. We¡¯re just a branch reality, little more of a blip of light in existence to those kinds of entities. I don¡¯t know how he¡¯s going to do it, but I know my prophetic dreams. Our only chance is to find somewhere safe.¡±

    Giselle looked over her shoulder at Blessin standing there. She squeezed the crucifix once again hanging from her neck and took a deep, slow breath. With her still-squinting eyes, Giselle thought she saw a faint eddy in the air, like when Athena or Olivia drew in human emotion. When she tried to check again with her eyes a little wider, she couldn¡¯t see anything.

    Rachel reacted first, ¡°That bastard is ending the world?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Inescapably, that¡¯s going to happen. Nothing can be done about that. If you know Doctor Who, then consider it a fixed point in time. As expressed in season or series six.¡± Rachel raised a finger in the air before gently rubbing her mouth with it. Confused and terrified emotions swelled up through Giselle.

    ¡°We can¡¯t let him do that! I¡¯ll blow him to pieces! It¡¯ll turn him into a cat with a missing paw¡­ no. A regular cat. But we can stop him¡­¡±

    Olivia started to gather the strands of what was going on and wore alarm and shades of emotion just as intense as what was flowing from Giselle¡®s features. ¡°This is my home! This is my sister¡¯s home and all my friends. He ripped away the quiet places that we nestled to hide. He took everything from us! Even if I have to burn through every ounce of humanity I have or will ever have, I will destroy the monster in the darkness!¡± Hot, blazing tears dashed across her cheeks as Giselle abandoned her cup to roll over and comfort Olivia as much as possible. Olivia coughed trying to instill more strength and anger into her words than her faint voice could manage. Begrudgingly, she cleared her mouth with generous sips.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Dipping her head, as though in solemn apology, Blessin urgently expressed that she wished with all her heart to go down fighting with what they had as well against this horrifying force. She laid out her palms and shook her head. ¡°All we can do is try to survive it as much as possible. It¡¯s a frail hope, but everything I¡¯ve learned about the warehouse to the north says that the owners of the company Flush with Pride built it to protect the entities within the products they created from something greater and to protect themselves from when those greater entities came after them.¡±

    Giselle wanted to throw up. In less than a day, she¡¯d gone from the happy prospects of a silly stupid little date with one of her classmates to barely awake with one hand and the looming prospect of the apocalypse. This felt like the worst sort of video game she wanted to refund immediately, and she actually liked the Fallout series. Jeremy spent four years, with a lot of hiatuses, trying to craft what story the developers gave him into something akin to a D&D campaign with all his own creative flourishes. It wasn¡¯t well viewed, but his soul needed the completion.

    Instantly, Giselle had a list of at least a dozen people they needed to contact and get to safety along with everyone here. Her parents or aunt and uncle, or whatever bullshit reality wanted to pull, were top of the list. Dale, Finley, Ethan, and on and on. And their friends and family. Rachel¡¯s dad and stepmom in the Midwest along with her birth mom and her second husband. There were so many cousins too, along with Rachel¡¯s sister, Tiffany. Even a faint recitation of this list earned a quick quiet head shake from Blessin.

    ¡°There¡¯s too many and too little time. All that truly matters is the entities, especially Olivia and Athena. The warehouse is likely to have others stored in there for protection. We can all go together, but I fear we don¡¯t have the time to bring anyone else up to speed and convince them how important this is. I was able to pack my little kitty with me and I would not begrudge you saving your furry child as well.¡±

    The weight of all this settling on Giselle¡®s shoulders brought out her tears. She desperately beseeched Blessin for an alternative or more time or something they could do. Blessin dug her phone out of her pocket and stared at it with concern.

    ¡°You have to believe me. This is a fixed point in time, and we are rapidly approaching it. We may already not have enough time to get to any kind of safety for the sake of preserving reality. It sucks, it really fucking sucks because I have so many beautiful wonderful friends and family who I need to find a way to say goodbye to. We have to get going, so it isn¡¯t all in vain.¡±

    Everyone packed light but grabbed as much water as possible because that was what you were supposed to get in an emergency, whether it was a hurricane or a pandemic. Giselle figured the end of the world also applied. Doubt tickled at her despite all appearances. A frail hope that this was some sort of crazy YouTuber stunt with the most intricate practical joke. Oh, you thought you turned into an 11-year-old girl and then had to go to school and then had your hand taken off, and then a psychic lady or whatever says she¡¯s from another universe and warns you that your world is going to end, but just wait a minute when you walk outside everyone is there and they yell SURPRISE!

    No one was out there to yell surprise. It just looked like a normal morning with everyone slowly awakening to it. Giselle tried her best to help. She ran through so many things that they usually tell you to take in an emergency. All the important papers seemed pointless, although she grabbed a hard drive of important files and photos. All of Jeremy¡®s work of more than a decade was already wiped out by a change in reality. She grabbed a bag of several handhelds and a bunch of games along with the Switch. Some clothes. A big bag of food and plenty of cans for Herschel and enough for them as well. Rachel packed a few of her favorite plushy creations and several of her notebooks. Other than that, Giselle grabbed a few cameras and light devices, especially phones.

    All the rest stayed behind. She had a plan to call and hopefully warn but not terrify as many people she knew as possible. Logically, she knew in her head that it was impossible that this random woman, who she just stumbled upon, knew exactly when the world was going to end from a dream. But, yesterday and all the stuff she knew was enough of a foundation to at least travel and trust with care. Later, they would surely discover it was all wrong. Breathe a sigh of relief, regroup, and plan for how to properly destroy the evil fuck creating these terrible nightmares and even worse realities.

    Rather than the terrifying prospect that nagged her or the heavenly hope calling to tomorrow, Giselle settled on the delightful discovery that Blessin¡¯s cat, a silver female brooding in her carrying case at this absolute indignity and who was now the happenstance companion of a mewing and bewildered Herschel, was simply named You.

    It was apparently a literary reference of some meaning she didn¡¯t know. But Giselle adored it and made it an insulating bubble around her world. You all right back there? Does You want something to eat? Can You smile for me? Blessin soon wore a wary expression, like she suddenly remembered everything she didn¡¯t enjoy about children. She didn¡¯t kick Olivia or Giselle out of her car though.

    Rachel followed behind with the entirety of the crossover filled with their supplies and bags. Giselle desperately wanted to make the final phone calls which would assuage the prickly fear that threatened to tear ulcers into her tiny stomach. But she waited and watched the radiant sunrise against the ocean as they made their way from the coastal side streets to the highway.

    It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.

 [22A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 22A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [22A]

    For the Primary Branch [22]

    Once they made it to the highway, the strange grogginess that had wafted over Giselle started to fade and she sifted logically through the events of the morning. It bewildered her how readily they had all trusted the word of Blessin that some terrible and tragic fate was about to befall the world and they needed to run away with her as soon as possible. The inherent uncertainty and earnestness of that desire remained while she started to question why.

    This was a random woman who stopped by her bedside yesterday, allegedly with the presence of her alternate self from another universe. The mood of that encounter still left Giselle bewildered and out of her depth, but the feeling of this morning was especially strange. Everyone was so sleepy and yet so eager to believe the claims of this stranger. As she sat there, Giselle felt the questions begin to pile up inside her. Cautiously, she asked an otherwise innocuous one, ¡° So¡­ Blessin Cross, huh?¡°

    ¡°That¡¯s my name.¡± Blessin merged over to the right to get into the fast lane.

    ¡°Religious family?¡±

    The woman chuckled and shook her head. ¡°Far from it. I chose my name.¡±

    Giselle cleared her throat. ¡°You chose the name Blessin?¡±

    She didn¡¯t look back but rocked her head a little. ¡°And Cross. It was the 80s. I also didn¡¯t resolve my transition for way too long. Too much confusion, can¡¯t get no relief.¡±

    It took a little while for Giselle to not only process that statement so far as the song Blessin was invoking and the implication behind her words. ¡°You¡¯re trans?¡±

    The woman laughed. ¡°I can¡¯t speak for everyone but, for me, trans is a process, not a person. I made a transition from who I was to who I am. And I¡¯m happy to say I finished quite a while ago. I¡¯m just a lady now. Sometimes a bitch. But that¡¯s me.¡±

    Olivia tipped her head a few ways and expressed that she didn¡¯t understand.

    Blessin looked desperately like she wanted to gesture with her hands for verbal emphasis, but she kept them firmly on the wheel. ¡°There are people in humanity who choose to transform with the resources that are available to them. Therapy, medicine, surgery for some, and more. That way, they don¡¯t have to run up the enforced metric from some captured spirit forced to do the bidding of a creepy corporation to make it one-way permanent.¡±

    Olivia quietly folded her hands and nodded. Giselle took a deep breath. How this all started. Olivia¡®s sister as her first seat, the seat Rachel ordered to teach her a lesson. She kicked it and received that permanent possibility. What began as a threat doubling the days. She got a blast of it and now she was this 11-year-old girl. It brought up a wave of unease that threatened to become more. Did all that split this universe from the other one? She had no idea.

    Rather than dwelling on this uncertainty, Giselle focused on what Blessin knew about the Flush with Pride Corporation. They had plenty of travel time, especially before the cats needed to stretch and use the litter box Blessin had tucked away in the back.

    ¡°Legally, the company doesn¡¯t exist. I checked every hole for companies that try to cheat on their books. There is an email and the website you must¡¯ve ordered from. But if you try to get in contact with all the important people then they have nothing to say about the company. However, they have one of the largest warehouses on the East Coast. I found out as much about them as I could.¡° In passing, Blessin mentioned her friend Gwen, who went to a university down in Savannah. Pretty soon, Giselle discovered that not only did this Gwen go to the same university that she went to, but it was the same year. Idly, she wondered if she ever ran into her in school.

    ¡°Through a friend, Gwen learned about a custodian who works at one of the schools. They apparently had a supernatural problem related to some toiletry products they ordered. I¡¯ve done a little cryptid searching and some ghost hunting here and there, so she figured it might be up my alley. A lot of personal details I can¡¯t talk about but, in short, I ran headlong into issues comparable to what you¡¯ve relayed to me. And things didn¡¯t get much further than that.¡±

    There were a lot of elements in that for Giselle to unpack. ¡°What are we gonna do when we get to this warehouse? If something bad is happening or going to happen to the world, can they help us?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m hoping for. Really though, I¡¯m hoping that every intuitive bone in my body is dead wrong that something terrible is coming. But I¡¯m connected to the other world, and I received a clear dream. I received a message that we don¡¯t have much time. I am sorry. I am so desperately sorry that I have to put you and your family through this. But we have to do something. We have to do something about Cerberus. I assume you feel the same way.¡±

    Giselle clenched her jaw and looked over at the stump. ¡°Yeah. I want him dead.¡±

    Blessin took a careful breath. ¡°You don¡¯t know me very well in this reality. But I¡¯ve gathered the other version of me and the other version of you are friends over there. It sucks that we can¡¯t take the time for the same. But the fucker knows how strong we all are together. We need to destroy him before he takes away everything from us. I trust in that as what I have to go on.¡±

    The still-early light fluttered through the window across Blessin¡¯s face. Twinkling illumination, like spun gold across her bright locks, carried with sublime radiance even through an underpass. It was like this woman had an internal glow. Or Giselle was still really tired. Either way, she took that as a positive omen. Olivia, curious about the previous toilet equipment encounter involving Blessin, asked if she came across other members of her species.

    ¡°Unfortunately, Cerberus is very diligent in wiping out your kind. I had no idea he was around back then. They actually can¡¯t wipe out the places you settle, but they can wipe out the people. Especially try to take their heads off. But your kind is very good at blocking his cold darkness with your warm light.¡±

    Olivia appeared solemn and sad to hear that. Giselle wondered about the extent of Blessin¡¯s involvement. She must¡¯ve at least been attacked by something she didn¡¯t realize was Cerberus. One of the toilet spirits might¡¯ve protected her in the same way Olivia did. Also, it seemed clear to Giselle that Cerberus tried the same thing with her, slicing away her hand when attempting to strike at Athena within her skull.

    Following that, Blessin actually had questions for them. She asked about the realm that Olivia and her kind inhabited. Olivia rotated her head in slow ovals with her eyes shut, as though searching for some sense within and beyond that eluded her. She relayed that being in human form had deeply separated her from that part of her existence.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    That was especially the case since Cerberus cracked her protective shell. Giselle fretted until Olivia explained that thanks to everything she had done and her experiences in school and with life, what was exposed wasn¡¯t raw. It still needed time and development, but she intimately felt what emotions and human feeling had developed.

    In just a few days, Giselle found it remarkable that the emotionless little doll that came out of her toilet and asked if she wanted her had richly developed into such a presence. She tried to seek Athena for some clarity on what she may have witnessed as a spirit. The little one was warm, but Giselle didn¡¯t feel the innate connection she sometimes did.

    ¡°I¡¯ve gathered a bit secondhand, from my earlier experiences. It sounds like a delicate twilight fashioned in the shadows. Like the persistent ruddy sunset of a world tidally locked around a red dwarf. But instead of a light side and a dark side, there¡¯s only the cold oblivion of darkness and the frail effort to cling to the distant smoldering candle of warmth. The outline of people exists, as visions and dreams traced like the faintest chalk on a blackboard. They live in a vibrancy of colors¡­ silver, violet, radiant blue, green, shimmering gold, and even ones beyond what we know of the visual spectrum. And the monsters never stop hunting them. It¡¯s a space of life between oblivion, like a hydrothermal vent with faint bioluminescence at the depths of the ocean. It¡¯s beautiful and horrifying and I¡¯m glad you two were able to escape.¡±

    Giselle admitted that was a heck of a lot more information than she or Olivia pieced together. Long wet tears streaked Olivia¡®s eyes as she eagerly confirmed that that was exactly what it was like. Blessin leaned again on her intuition and pressed she was glad to listen to the stories of entities like Olivia and Athena. Olivia expressed vague sentiments and emotions with struggling coloration, broad strokes of memories searching for their core elements.

    The conversation continued like this until it faded before Olivia¡®s tears and the wobble of warm and cold within Giselle could turn to a malaise. Light instrumental music eventually filled the space as Giselle focused on her phone. There were so many people to call and so many hours of travel before them.

    Lily and Gerald were the obvious ones. She automatically dialed their number.

    ¡°Hello, sweetie! My goodness, this is early for a Sunday call! We haven¡¯t even made it to church yet. Are you okay?¡±

    God, there was so much to tell them and so much she couldn¡¯t tell. ¡°Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. Everyone¡¯s fine here. We actually happen to be taking a day trip up north. Crazy, huh?¡± Giselle framed it as someone Rachel knew happened to be up around the Maryland/Virginia line.

    Lily passed that along to Gerald, who reminded her that they had some family up in Maryland. Nothing about what she said raised Lily¡®s suspicions, although Giselle could tell that her mom noticed tension in her voice¡­ even though reality stated that she had to be her aunt now.

    To keep things from dipping too much into territory where she had to lie, Giselle focused on the fact that she had a silly little theater date yesterday. Her parents joked about how soon they were going to have to walk her down the aisle with how she was collecting so many suitors. She let loose a genuine giggle at this.

    She didn¡¯t say too much about Dennis except to allude to the idea that he kinda looked like the son they never had. Lily had a clear notion about that, her son. The melancholy that it had to be an imagining carried through the phone. Her son would definitely be really tall like her grandfather, and he was sure to start out with blonde hair but shift to something dark in puberty like her brothers. Absolutely, he would be frantic and a total workaholic like her but have a deadpan goofy sense of humor like Gerald. Giselle desperately had to tighten her mouth and tense her eyes to keep from sobbing into the phone. She didn¡¯t have a spare hand.

    Vehemently, she wanted to talk to her parents for so long and say so many things but, aside from the craziness that just recently popped up, she as Jeremy was already so very open with them. Whatever needed to be said was understood and whatever she couldn¡¯t say she trusted that it would also be known. And so, they just exchanged a calm goodbye with the implication that they would talk again soon.

    All the other conversations that Giselle could¡¯ve had were twisted and made distant by her self-inflicted transformation. None of her friends from college would care if she called and all of her professional friends never met her. Perhaps she really didn¡¯t matter to them, she reflected darkly. Remove her from their lives, and everything continued on just like it was.

    At the first rest stop to allow the poor cats the chance to turn around and use the litter box, Rachel made a series of calls home with just as much fervent emotion as Giselle¡®s call. Her excuse was a relative of her adopted daughter in Maryland and no questions followed.

    During the lull, Giselle passed along all the cryptic but also encouraging words that Blessin shared with her. Rachel came to a conclusion that made her own skeptical, scientific mind cringe as much as Giselle¡®s.

    ¡°She must have some sort of psychic ability. I have a feeling that I desperately want to trust her, and I can¡¯t shake it. It¡¯s stupid and I know that something is happening. But intuitively I just want to trust her. I hope that, wherever she¡¯s leading us, it really is for the best and we¡¯ll come out on the other side free of that bastard who stole your hand.¡±

    There were kitty accidents along the way, but they managed to clean them up. Blessin hated when they crossed over to Virginia because state troopers and cops camped out at every underpass and ramp looking to hunt down someone doing something technically illegal.

    They arrived at the warehouse during the peak of the day with the late summer heat bleeding through the air conditioning. No one was parked in the vast surrounding parking lot and the sliding gate, a 10-foot spiked behemoth, was locked with a metal chain and a sturdy padlock.

    Blessin clutched her head. ¡°Bolt cutters, dammit.¡± This required a side stop to a hardware shop to pick up just the equipment. All the area around the warehouse was marked by towing zones. They considered a parking structure nearby but the length of the walk and what they would have to carry was too much. It took everyone fighting hard to snap the padlock. Once the fence slid aside, they parked both cars as close to the entrance as possible.

    There was so much to possibly bring in, but they left most of it in the cars for the time being. Holding her breath with visible tension, Blessin brushed back her hair and told the group, ¡°Here we go¡­¡±

 [23A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 23A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [23A]

    For the Primary Branch [----]

    Naturally, Giselle¡®s brain heard that comment the way Mario said it in the games. The parking lot was absolutely empty of cars despite it being the middle of the day. Several side doors flanked loading zones with enough space for dozens of 18 wheelers to pull up. Approaching cautiously, Blessin tried the nearest door. It was locked securely. The adjoining dock door also didn¡¯t want to move. A keypad sat right next to it, but the Blessin shook her head and sighed.

    After wandering around the entire perimeter to make sure nothing was unlocked or accessible, they returned to the front with no point of entry. Stretching her arms, Blessin urged the others to take a step back as she held the bolt cutters and aimed them right at the front of the nearest door. They weren¡¯t terribly effective, but Blessin was doggedly persistent. She eventually popped the lock out enough that she could grip the front portion with some pliers she happened to have in her trunk. With a decent grip and some help from Rachel, she was able to twist the cover to the lock off and get in a screwdriver to finally manually twist the bolt.

    Once the door sprung open though, a wailing alarm sounded inside the warehouse. The noise didn¡¯t carry far, but it was enough to echo and raise the alarm of Giselle and Rachel, as they glanced around the neighborhood in all directions to see if police were on their way. Blessin didn¡¯t bother panicking and instead peered inside the dark warehouse and rushed back out to her car to retrieve a flashlight.

    When she shut the door behind her, the alarm was either muffled or shut off. The moment uncomfortably left Olivia, Giselle, and Rachel standing there waiting for whatever was supposed to come next. Giselle considered getting in their car and leaving as soon as she grabbed Herschel. This seems like the perfect moment, but she only imagined it and didn¡¯t feel the enthusiasm to act on it. So, they just stood there looking around for some sign until the dock door rolled up with Blessin standing in the opening. The alarm had shut off.

    Giselle lingered on the pavement while Rachel and Blessin drove the cars through the opening. When Giselle asked what she did to shut down the alarm, Blessin was quiet a moment before gesturing into the darkness towards a computer console sitting all by itself.

    The computer had a simple, white text interface that reminded Giselle of all the Fallout games she¡¯d play through the years with terminals containing interesting lore. Standing in front of the computer, Blessin did some typing. While waiting, Giselle aimed her flashlight around.

    It was literally the largest empty space she had ever seen, and it felt even bigger with all the lights off. The feeling was like a cosmic void, as though a sample of the space between worlds. She had cement below to ground her but, otherwise, everything felt like a mote on the back of oblivion.

    The only things she could discover with the frail beam of her light were twisting shadows and line-thin hints of light from outside. That notion of twisting actually got literal when it seemed like the blackness was wriggling in place with obsidian worms. The heat beneath her temple flashed for a moment before Olivia crept over and wrapped her arms around her protectively.

    ¡°Keep still¡­¡± Olivia softly whispered, despite the fact her voice sounded like an echo in the dark. Rachel smothered a gasp and shuffled closer to them. Blessin only mentioned, ¡°I know. Shit. Just a minute.¡±

    That statement didn¡¯t particularly inspire confidence as Giselle did her best not to direct her flashlight towards the parts of shadow which were advancing on them like a swarm of black worms. Ethereal roaring grew closer as though a tornado was just outside and eager to rip the ceiling to pieces.

    ¡°Cars! Now!¡± Blessin bolted from the computer and urged everyone to get back in the vehicles. Like a giant squid with endless tentacles, black ropes surged forward as they tore open the doors and got back in their seats. To Giselle¡®s horror, Blessin wasn¡¯t backing out of the warehouse but rather driving deeper into it while hugging the wall of the building. Rachel in their car hesitated but soon accelerated to catch up.

    Blessin didn¡¯t drive fast because of the pylons in the way. Giselle trusted that Rachel was a good driver, but she also remembered how many times she launched warthogs off of cliffs in Halo. Despite their modest pace, the entity remained confidently behind them. Unfortunately, as they approached the rear of the warehouse, she could see even more blackness shifting and stretching from the walls and ceiling. Blind fear and agony that she was separated from Rachel in this dark moment gripped Giselle. The heat behind her eyebrows surged like a sudden sun flare.

    At the same moment, lights above them kicked on in sequence, filling the entire facility. They looked like emergency lights, frail and red but the massive beast in all directions screamed and twisted like it had been set on fire. With the additional light, Giselle could see that a section of the warehouse projected forward with metal walls all around it. Slowly, a door at the front slid open and spilled radiant blue light with the same feeling as Olivia and her sister.

    ¡°THERE!¡± Blessin rolled down her window and shouted to the other car before gunning it towards the opening door. Rubber squeaked and burned as the cars swung around and shot towards the opening. Looking back, Giselle could see the swarm of blackness fumbling and fighting on top of itself to get closer and closer. In her mind¡¯s eye of terror, she could imagine it falling like a wave of death to erase their car and Rachel within it.

    Fuming, stretching, and glowing with everything she had inside, Giselle summoned the hand where her hand was missing and focused it to stretch further and further beyond the walls of this car and out. A shimmering glow washed over her vision and arced through the air. Briefly, the black wave looked like it was going to tumble across Rachel, but then it shifted and tilted in the direction of Blessin¡®s car. That momentary distraction was enough for Rachel to gun it, swerve sideways, and back again. It looked like it did no service to the shocks on their poor car but they slipped through the opening and into that blue light.

    Behind them, the black tentacles fought, as if they were the mouth of a rabid dog trying to grind and chew at something just out of reach. Fuck Cerberus. They stopped a ways into the narrow chamber and Blessin was the first to hop out and smash a button on the side wall. Slowly, the door at the end rose despite the crazed efforts of the entity.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Once the door was completely sealed, several sounds followed with thunks and downward momentum just like a descending elevator. When Giselle managed to get in a breath and put her blue hand away, she wondered about the strange lights all around them. Blessin answered, ¡°It¡¯s the light of their kind. Flush harvested it for protection. It¡¯s weak but the only force that can protect against monsters like Cerberus. A light against the darkness that harms and burns it but which it can smother with enough force.¡±

    Olivia swooned and bowed with her hand clapping her mouth like she was going to throw up. Giselle took a moment to understand that what was protecting them were the remains of so many of Olivia¡®s kind. Athena twisted and contorted like a little girl screaming and crying. Giselle desperately wished she could do more to help her but all she could do was thank her for providing the distraction that saved Rachel. Probing around, Blessin found a button near the entrance of the elevator labeled ¡°Emergency Shut¡±. She grumbled to herself, looking back at what she had pressed, and muttered a mental note.

    The elevator continued to gradually but steadily drop through the earth. Giselle knew that deep bunkers existed throughout the world, especially in DC, but she had the nervous hope that this one wasn¡¯t built by a company with the same moral standards as Vault-Tec. The lights were already foreboding enough. After several minutes of descent, the elevator shook and settled to a halt.

    To Giselle¡®s surprise, a door didn¡¯t open. Rather, all the walls surrounding the chamber dropped away and the elevator soon became a platform.

    ¡°Shit¡­¡± Blessin¡®s reaction was starkly understated as the chamber they emerged in was revealed with floodlights in the same shimmering blue tone carving out a safe section in a massive, underground chamber. Beyond where the light fell was like living angry oil roiling and fighting to get further as it melted away. It was horrific and Olivia shied towards Giselle for protection, although Giselle had no earthly idea what she could possibly do. They got back in their cars.

    When they reached the cement-glazed bottom of the chamber, the elevator shifted into a conveyor belt, swiveling about 90¡ã before advancing them forward. A large, metal door stood in front of them. Getting out of the cars was a challenging proposition as the narrow platform had very little space before the tempest of monsters. Lingering in the light, Blessin glanced at the computer and instructed them to approach the console with a yellow ring beside it.

    The display was simple, with the words, ¡°RADIANT ENTITY/RADIANT HOST?¡± Blessin explained, ¡°Radiant Entity appears to be what the Corporation calls Olivia¡®s kind. Giselle is a Radiant Host.¡± All that left Giselle unnerved to absorb. Her biggest concern was if they needed to be one or the other to enter. Her concern turned towards Rachel. She and Blessin were neither.

    With a deep breath and a steady hand, Blessin approached the console and typed a few things. ¡°Guests are allowed, although this was not where the human component of the Corporation was intended to stay. There are suites higher up, but they¡¯ve been¡­ compromised. This was the only option I could find on the computer.¡± Ultimately, they only needed Olivia to stand over the ring for the door to open. The conveyor belt drew their vehicles forward into the opening. Unfortunately, the height of the vehicles blocked some of the radiant illuminations, and a swirling, lashing mass of darkness clung to the wheels and spread like spider claws in front of them.

    Turning with bitter fury, Olivia stretched out her hand and screamed, ¡°LEAVE US ALONE!¡± A shockwave of blue light rippled out from her body and shook the nearest section of the entity loose. It attempted to get another foothold by scouring the metal as it slid back into place. While a few small droplets of blackness passed through the seams, they soon melted and evaporated under the light like an ice cube in a frying pan. Everyone focused a long steady breath as they were taken by the conveyor belt to a second door with a proper vault opening in front bathed in blinding light.

    It opened to reveal a large, interior chamber. This one finally looked like what Giselle was expecting. It was like a Disney Main Street in miniature with tiny schools, little shops, and example homes set off to the side with a small community area and more modern facilities flanking the edges. The size was comparable to a Walmart with a golden version of the radiant light filtering gently from above.

    While Rachel and Giselle wandered with wide curious eyes and Olivia lingered behind them, Blessin rushed over to the nearest computer and started typing. After a quick look at the layout of the chamber, they started retrieving things from the cars, especially Herschel, who was absolutely ready to move around finally and sniff everything. Blessin¡¯s cat, You, yowled with annoyance until Rachel carefully let her out. The silver female soon clung to Blessin¡¯s leg as she furiously typed and hunched over the screen.

    The harsh tension cranked until Blessin gave an echoing scream of agony. The others paused and looked on with concern.

    ¡°It¡¯s gone. Topside is gone. The reason we saw so many of them out there is that Cerberus or whatever the hell it can be called¡­ executed the worst-case scenario that this corporation prepared for. It¡¯s wiped the world clean¡­and dark and cold¡­well, with fire to bring the cold and darkness.¡°

    Relinquishing the computer, Blessin gestured to a text box on the monitor. It read, ¡°NUCLEAR CONCLUSION SCENARIO. FULL LOCKDOWN. ASSUME DARKNESS ENTITIES EVERYWHERE!¡±

    Giselle nearly felt herself pass out. She wanted to scream and puke and just let her thoughts flow away. Rachel quietly sobbed behind her. Blessin held Giselle with blank pain in her eyes. ¡°There¡¯s another way. It¡¯s not all lost. This facility experimented with radiant and darkness entities. We¡¯re in a branch reality, but we can go to the other one, to the one in contact with me. But there¡¯s a problem.¡±

    She thought there were a fucking lot of problems, but she wobbled and waited for what Blessin had to say.

    Quietly, Blessin concluded, ¡°We¡¯re not in sync. They are three months ahead of us. Like with the alterations to reality to be made, we can¡¯t change our past or their past. We have to meet up but by taking the long route. I¡¯m sorry¡­ I¡¯m so sorry, I had a feeling about so much of this, but I desperately didn¡¯t want to lay that burden on you, any of you. We can fix this but only by waiting for other selves to catch up with us.¡±

 [24A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 24A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [24A]

    For the Primary Branch [----]

    Three months. Three months? Three months¡­ Three fucking months?!? Giselle tore herself out of Blessin¡¯s grasp.

    ¡°You planned this! You know more than you¡¯re saying! From that other you or whatever. Don¡¯t you dare keep it from us!¡±

    Giselle¡®s efforts and anger felt like the shrill, useless efforts of a little kid crying in the darkness. Blessin didn¡¯t waver. ¡°I wish I could¡¯ve planned this. I would¡¯ve asked someone to bring bolt cutters. I would¡¯ve gotten the door code ahead of time. There¡¯s nothing I can do about the past now. There¡¯s nothing any of us can do but survive. We keep living until we can meet our other selves and destroy the monster that¡¯s ruined this world and our lives. Hate me. Please hate me, but hate me and survive.¡±

    Even though her hands wanted to stay in raised fists, Giselle didn¡¯t have the energy to keep them up and maintain the sharpened feeling of anger faintly wafting from her. She stomped away furiously and only turned around when she heard the sharp sound of a palm slapping flesh. Checking, she saw Blessin stiffly and unflinchingly wore a growing red mark across her cheek. Rachel squeezed her hand into a fist, then let it go slack.

    The confrontation slowly eased as Olivia clasped Rachel¡®s hand. Herschel clung to Olivia¡®s legs and looked up with the frantic hope that his kitty cuteness might make everyone happy again. Blessin¡¯s cat just hopped onto the nearest counter with her head raised, as though promptly giving her scritches was the most important task in the world. Quietly, Blessin obliged.

    Bitterly, Giselle walked away from the group. The chamber sprawled out like some immense ride attempting to simulate the day above. Morbidly, Giselle felt but refused to acknowledge something terrible happened above them or was still happening. Humanity was being ravaged in the same way as Olivia and Athena¡®s quiet but luminous species, and for the same cruel, pointless reasons. Giselle focused a ready measure of eager love for her little guest hosted in her body.

    The micro town laid out before them felt in some ways bigger than some small towns Jeremy could remember. Exploring quietly, she had an inkling of the intent. The hard edge of her innocuous and silly moments of not remembering well was researching dementia and Alzheimer¡¯s therapies.

    She''d seen movies about places that simulated social experiences in a controlled environment with patients wandering through a safe version of a town where nurses and caregivers played roles. Thinking about her experiences guiding Olivia through junior high, she realized this was a version of that but for nascent radiant entities with uncertainty about human emotions and experiences.

    The small-scale market had prop food but the room just beyond it contained an immense storage vault and walk-in freezer. Checking the dates, she soon ascertained that supplies had been added as recently as three days ago. Shelf-stable foods along with a huge sprawling quantity of canned and preserved goods took up the vast majority of the vault. It easily looked like enough to last a small community for several years. Giselle nervously gnawed on one of her fingernails. A quiet, precisely labeled booklet informed her of expiration dates and which foods to consume first in the event of a full lockdown.

    She hunted for fresh cherries and grapes and took them around to a small, fake caf¨¦. Olivia found her first as she rinsed and set out a large plate with the fruit. Her hand stretched while her eyes sought permission, Giselle quietly nodded and urged her to try them. Olivia swooned and swirled over the sweetness. Rachel eventually found them and quietly ate too. Blessin stayed away. Sandwiches from stored bread and deli meats came next. Through the confusion of the day, no one could really remember what and when they had last eaten but Giselle felt hungry enough to eat a monstrous sandwich like she did when Jeremy.

    Olivia had questions and thoughts about condiments but nowhere near as much concern as with cafeteria food. Rachel reassured her that the stores had a variety of food including curry. This relaxed her and brought on a fair smile.

    As for Blessin, she loitered around and did some exploring of her own but didn¡¯t approach the others. There were plenty of residential areas in the complex and they could easily avoid one another for the time they had to stay in here, but Giselle and Jeremy were the kind of people who liked to resolve things peaceably.

    Whenever Rachel and Jeremy had a fight, and they had some pretty epic fights on actually serious topics aside from issues of the toilet seat, they made a solemn promise that no matter what it was they would settle it before they went to bed, so they didn¡¯t go to bed angry with one another. They knew that negative sentiment festering for so long over and over would only get worse and worse if not dealt with.

    Rachel sulked about the fact that Blessin didn¡¯t deserve a quick apology or resolution, especially because she was certain that the woman wasn¡¯t being sincere with her about why they were here and everything she knew. At the same time, however, living in the same space and having to share food and resources would be better if they actually talked to one another. Giselle refused to take the first step though. Rather, she retrieved Herschel from his nervous explorations and decided to pick out a residence for them.

    There were several units with truncated spaces pressed together on multiple floors. Even though she could find only small differences between each, Giselle gravitated towards a central location that overlooked the entire area and had easy access to food and water.

    Around a small water fountain, the area provided a tiny school, a narrow but friendly little library with plenty of physical books along with digital devices containing extensive catalogs. Computers existed individually like elementary school labs from so many years ago. Oddly enough though they simulated the experience of the Internet with mock pages and archived content. The most recent archive Giselle could find was actually the same as the last food shipment, three days ago.

    The oddest feature that she ran into was a multi-colored ring with the same tones of blue and gold as seen in the protective light insulating the monsters from getting further, along with several other shades. The ring appeared vaguely like an auditorium drifting down then creeping back up, but seemed to have no visible purpose despite several computers situated nearby it. Blessin seemed particularly interested in investigating it.

    Despite everything supposedly going on outside and above, the simulated world around them drifted from perfect day into settling dusk. The prickly distance eventually relaxed when Blessin came over and revealed she discovered the history of the Flush with Pride Corporation. She set up a projector inside the one-screen theater provided for them.

    The video that played looked like any company¡¯s random sizzle reel touting achievements and downplaying issues. They used to be called Quantum Helix. Their goal seemed to be to explore parallel realities in the interest of applying quantum immortality along with object collection and inter-commerce. The video proposed the idea of sifting through the infinite multiverse for assumed worlds where something as desperately common as plastic buttons or dandelions might be immensely rare and the residents of said universe could have a surplus of something valuable to trade over here.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    The technical stuff involved Casimir plates with a precisely attuned electromagnetic field pulsing at set frequencies which allowed the connection of a single point to points along different realities. But the early problems involved proto-wormholes emerging and destroying themselves like swarms of bubbles.

    They eventually managed to get something stable, but it reminded Giselle of a website she once ran across. It pulled random strings of letters representing the URL of images hosted on a site. Because all of the URLs had to be a certain string of letters, it was easy for the website to randomly grab whatever was hosted. It unsettled her because, just by pulling up a random URL, she had access to an image someone posted on the Internet. About 95% of everything that popped up randomly was either a broken image deleted or never used or a URL that didn¡¯t work at all.

    Interestingly enough, the same results occurred with the corporation. Instead of random Cyrillic screencaps of Russian kids saving their League of Legends victories, Quantum ran into weird perversions of reality without any foothold to communicate or establish the kind of ambitious trade they had in mind. Not even a stray dick pic or random boobs.

    Unfortunately, it seemed they bumped into something else. A massive reality full of radiant entities that eagerly took on whatever form they exposed them to. Place some next to gold bars and you have a group of beings trying to emulate those gold bars. However, the creatures took a special shine to humans and human nature, developing and growing from exposure to human emotions. They also revealed reality-warping powers and transformational qualities.

    The Company looked poised to have all the power of this reality at their fingertips, but the entities had minds of their own and soon, instead of precious resources that they could attempt to sell to buyers, immense oodles of toilet products overwhelmed them. This warehouse became a stopgap measure to house the entities until they could hawk them for some sort of profit. It wasn¡¯t long after that though they discovered the awful truth that a dark predator pursued the fleeing radiants. And they were immensely powerful, endlessly numerous, and the only way to hold them back was to use the radiant entities as a shield. At this point, Olivia bolted from the theater and ran out. Meanwhile, Giselle felt a twisting, raw headache press into her forehead. Despite the desire to go and comfort Olivia, she waited through the end of the video.

    There wasn¡¯t much else. The leadership and staff automated and outsourced much of the running of the company and then decided to nope out of here using their wormhole generator to find a reality that wasn¡¯t saturated by the dark creatures. Some stayed behind with the bunkers fortified against them but, considering what they had seen, it seemed like that plan had gone awry.

    As the video wrapped up, Giselle snuck out and eventually found Olivia sitting on a nearby patio in a fetal position with her legs tightly cradled by her arms and her head buried. Gingerly, she sat next to her with her hands folded in her lap.

    Olivia gasped quietly but needfully, as though drowning. She whimpered, ¡°I made a mistake¡­¡±

    With everything lately, Giselle felt like she could eagerly point to a dozen places where that sentiment applied to herself. But no way did Olivia earn that. Vehemently, Giselle expressed that Olivia did nothing wrong, that she had fought against the monsters and¡­ so many other things. She caught Giselle there though.

    ¡°It¡¯s gone. It¡¯s lost. Everything I did and everything I could do. Everything any of us could do around here. The darkness and the cold hunted me and the one I love with all my heart for as long as we¡¯ve existed. I protected Athena as though she were everything. And yet I never gave myself to anger when you hurt her unaware. You have nothing to apologize for. But the people who made this place¡­ make me wanna turn away from everything human and vanish back into the shadows.¡±

    Slowly, Giselle brought her stump arm around Olivia, and she listlessly accepted it. Words came haltingly to Giselle as she struggled to work through what she wanted to say.

    ¡°There is good in this world¡­ Was¡­NO¡­ there IS good in this world and it survives no matter how much darkness crawls out of the nastiest holes to try to destroy it.¡±

    Olivia looked over at her like a beaten animal with the light quietly fading from its eyes. Holding her emotions in check, she recounted the amazing things that her parents did at their church and the way that so many people she knew helped in their communities and with strangers. Without judgment or ego, she reminded Olivia of what Jeremy and Rachel raised for the local Children¡¯s Hospital. And then she shared little stories that she held in the back of her mind to keep herself going when the world seemed so broken in the last few years.

    Especially, she regaled Olivia with a story of a kindly man from Libya who adopted countless children abandoned by their parents because they had terminal illnesses or sicknesses with expenses to great. They just dropped them like expensive pets with too many problems. And this man, all by himself, made sure these children had someone who loved them in their most vulnerable time. He named them and held them and told them that he loved them. Even if it meant he would only hold them for a few hours, a few days, weeks, or however long they had. He devoted himself to love, against whatever tides flowed in the rest of the human race. And he wasn¡¯t alone. Because love is never alone. Even though it may feel that way, even in the darkest moments. Love always lives in hope and hope persists and grows and swells and reaches beyond the nightmare of the darkness.

    Giselle found herself sobbing as she desperately recounted all this to Olivia, as though trying to convince herself at the same time as her friend. Olivia pulled her close as the warmth in her head shown like waves on the shore of a sunlit day. Before either of them knew it, Rachel enveloped them. Herschel looked on nearby with wide concern. Blessing lingered far away, as though a frail spirit playing out her frozen path.

    Quietly, Giselle said that they needed help in organizing and accounting for all the materials in here starting tomorrow, so they could figure out what to prioritize and how the power worked. She asked Blessin if she could help. The figure far away swallowed and mulled that before sharing a faint smile and nodding. Then she drifted between the houses and was gone.

    With an imperceptible load freed from her shoulders, Giselle gently got to her feet and resolved to finish unpacking and getting settled. They had time. Time most of all, even. But she wasn¡¯t going to waste three months of waiting being sad.

 [22] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 22 [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [22]

    For the Alt Branch [22A]

    Finley rubbed his beard nervously for a moment but looked over at Blessin confidently. With what he was packing, Giselle doubted he had any reason to be nervous, but then he hadn¡¯t run into what they encountered at the New Age shop. Not that Giselle had any hope that filling a dark spirit mass creature full of projectile holes would do much more than spread shrapnel from everything it hit and probably wound one of them.

    Giselle didn¡¯t want or need a gun, but she was glad that people trained in their use were with them and had them. Since the gate was open now, Finley inquired if they should bring the cars through for easy access. Blessin checked the time on her phone and whispered a few soft sounds.

    ¡°We should have a few minutes¡­umm, before any points of concern. If you want. Bring them around so everything¡®s closer.¡±

    Finley agreed to this, and Dale offered to help bring in the other vehicle. Finn passed him the keys.

    Giselle puzzled over this, since they made a big deal of finding the right place to park that would be safe in this neighborhood. Blessin actually hadn¡¯t been too insistent on that. It was like her mind was elsewhere. Giselle did her best not to feel paranoid.

    She¡¯d just known this woman for a few days. Less than one, really. Gwen vouched for her but the creepy man they met by the coast who turned out to be Cerberus definitely seemed innocuous and laughable with the way he reacted to them and how just a spray of mace hobbled him. But he held a vendetta and scoured away her wife¡¯s right eye. How much could she really confidently say about the woman?

    Personal matters lay to the side, but so far as her claims of knowledge about another universe and the way she used crystals and ¡®agape¡¯ to guard against Cerberus seemed proven, Giselle definitely fretted about whether they were jumping in with an unknown quality after one evening of chilling out, eating ribs, and playing Smash.

    Blessin led the way with her flashlight out as the early evening settled around them. The warehouse looked like any generic large flat building lacking branding and a posted address.

    There were several loading dock doors and regular doors with round locks. Giselle wondered if they were going to have to shoot them off or something suitably cinematic. It turned out Blessin headed for the keypad right next to the dock and entered a quick code. Moments later, the door to the side clicked open and the dock door slowly rose up.

    Gwen raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked, ¡°Wait, is their passcode like 1234?¡±

    Blessin chuckled. ¡°837429. I know someone on the inside.¡± Giselle scrunched her face up but slowly advanced with the others towards the door. The area within was exceptionally dark, but she was able to see piles and piles of loosely stacked but lightly organized restroom equipment. All stark ivory in tone, they made Giselle think of fragmented whale bones. Looking over, Giselle frowned to see that the equipment appeared to be the first thing that raised concern and alarm from Blessin. She scanned cautiously around the nearby interior with her flashlight.

    From what Giselle could see inside, the warehouse seemed rather unfinished, as though the builders just dropped a frame on top of a concrete slab with basic support beams and pylons and hadn¡¯t bothered to do much else. By this point, Dale and Finley drove the cars through the open fence and towards the open loading dock. Blessin raised her hand and directed them to park just in front and not pull through, urging, ¡°Hang back just a minute.¡±

    Finley, resting his weapon as he walked around the area by the door, commented, ¡°About what I expected. Looks like abandoned inventory.¡± Blessin gave a quiet, nervous affirmation.

    Checking on Hanako, Giselle noticed that she too appeared reticent to enter. Mari at her side twisted, shifted, and even kicked for a moment. God, that felt weird but didn¡¯t bother her as much as she expected. Finn noticed her expression and made sure she was all right.

    Once everyone was inside, it was clear the flashlights they brought with them wouldn¡¯t be nearly enough to push back the darkness. Edging carefully through some tightly organized equipment, Blessin sought out an old computer setup that looked like a register checkout abandoned from the 1990s or a K-mart.

    Quietly, Blessin urged the group to stick together and not wander off. Dale nodded and remarked that he had no intention of splitting up because he knew horror movies started just like this, although he quipped, ¡°Well, not exactly like this¡­¡± he panned his light around, catching the stark white toilets and seats.

    Casually, Blessin asked Hanako if she noticed or felt anything around her ¡°compatriots¡±. Finley flashed a look of curious concern. Hanako didn¡¯t say anything for several long moments as her feet scuffed the cement. She found her way over to Giselle¡®s side and lingered there.

    ¡±No¡±, was Hanako¡®s simple answer. Finn laid a hand on the right side of her face and shifted his fingers around carefully before noting, ¡°That¡¯s weird. I can sense something. Like before. But it¡¯s different. I felt beauty. Not this time¡­¡±

    Blessin furiously typed at the keyboard. Then, her fingers paused.

    ¡°¡­Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit¡­ Okay. It¡¯s fine. It¡¯s perfectly fine. Gwen? How fast can you sprint now?¡±

    ¡°W-what?¡±

    ¡°You did track and field in high school.¡± That was a new one for Giselle, but she¡¯d just pieced together Gwen¡¯s history in the last three months. A shifting sound radiated from the darkness. Gwen didn¡¯t need more prompting than that before Blessin tersely shouted, ¡°Door!¡±

    No matter how fast Gwen was or might¡¯ve been, the dock door suddenly slammed closed, and she could barely even jiggle the handle of the smaller door. She started kicking at it before Blessin ordered her to get back to the group.

    Guns came up all around as Finn begged for an explanation. Blessin made sure they had a pool of light around them as she quietly explained, ¡°You saw something bad. So did Hanako. But we see toilet stuff. Only problem, records show they liquidated their stock. This place should be empty.¡±

    Eerie laughter filtered in the dark, slowly shifting to a vast, deep roar. Toilets, seats, and other products started to vibrate, as though alive, as though the missing teeth of some immense giant.

    Hanako raised her blue light in the darkness. Giselle did the same but with more hesitation, thinking about Finley standing nearby in terrified confusion. He had his guns and devotion to friendship, but she couldn¡¯t help but fret that she led him to his death.

    Tightening into a circle, everyone with guns raised them in defense. Finley seemed at a loss for words, freaking out. But, when Blessin glanced at him, he gave a deep sigh and expressed solemnly, ¡°My ax.¡± That was when the tangle of clinking ceramic shuddered with violent force. The sound of the guns firing was deafening for Giselle. Hanako flinched as well. It was hard to hear anything after but violent ringing. She felt rumbling, as though the entire world were crumbling.

    It was clear after a few volleys that destroying the objects sprawled around simply unleashed what was hiding inside. Twisting tentacles spun like drills of black tornadoes spreading forth. Giselle had no time to be hesitant, she stepped forward and unleashed a concentrated wave of light. It was a lot to ask of Mari and brought on stomach-twisting upset, but she focused her love for her friends and family like drawing out a radiant sword.

    Hanako joined her moments later and raised whips made of glowing, clear sky daylight. Where the whips touched, she focused. Blessin spoke of turning it into inanimate things, so Giselle searched her gut for something to work with. Pillows, she considered. But that didn¡¯t seem like it would be much of an inconvenience to the entity. In her first wave, Giselle had something specific on the brain. With a flash of light from deep inside her, the advancing end of the tentacles dropped to the ground and meowed.

    Yes, she had actually turned the damn thing into cats. The transformation from spectral clouds of miasma into confused black cats was enough to bewilder the entire thing into drawing back and dropping. Meanwhile, Finn rushed to grip her protectively but also claim, ¡°I see something.¡±

    During this lull, Finn briskly explained, ¡°It¡¯s dark and disorganized. Forced together or torn between focus.¡± Blessin listened in and helped direct Hanako and the shooters to a weak point in the mass, where it was tense like pulled licorice taffy spinning and twisting in an eternal blender.

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    As the cats melted back into twisting black plumes of chaos, she made sure everyone knew to run at the opposite wall despite questions the group had about what that would do. Finley appeared like he was just going on crazed adrenaline with sweaty uncertainty. But he and terrified Dale both raised their guns when given the order. Hanako and Giselle went first and, this time, focused on creating things much heavier. Black pitch, pavement, and rock. Some portions latched onto the real ground and others confused themselves for it.

    ¡°FIRE!¡± Simultaneously, Giselle and Hanako thought of birds tangled in sticky cloth for the top portion, and immediately the entity was twisted and torn into writhing shapes. A center portion, like a liquid mouth with flashes of sight, gnashed in fury as the guns sprayed. This time, the creature yowled and shrieked as both portions twisted backward like a snapped leg.

    ¡°GO!¡± Gwen took off like a shot, beyond anyone else, but soon pulled back as the lights couldn¡¯t reach far enough to keep pace with her. Finn hurried just behind her but was soon panting as much as poor Giselle. Blessin ran with her arms close, totally like a girl, which Giselle wished she could¡¯ve complimented her about, but she was expending all her breath getting her gamer legs to move fast enough. Hanako didn¡¯t have gym, but she didn¡¯t seem like she would¡¯ve done that poorly with how she stayed with the group. Dale and Finley kept to the back but not too far behind, which had less to do with their physical shape and more to do with the guns and ammo they were hauling.

    Finn checked behind them nervously, seeing something in the dark that none of the others could. Still a ways from the opposite wall and making good progress, the entire space rumbled as if a train were driving right on top of the roof, mixed with a prehistoric roar. It provided a convenient second wind shot of adrenaline to the entire group.

    With tears and hacking, Giselle watched as the opposite wall sprouted with a wriggling mass of blackness to challenge the one they caught at the front of the warehouse. Whatever toilet parts and pieces they encountered and ran past now seemed to be gone either in distance or from the illusion vanishing.

    But salvation appeared to their right as a section of the back wall projecting quite a ways forward opened with the closest wall falling away like a large, cargo door. Blessin didn¡¯t need to tell them to head toward it. The problem was the group was starting to run out of energy and the black masses still had plenty.

    Frantic gunshots did little more than bring back the deafening ringing. Slipping to the back, Giselle and Hanako gripped hands and focused not only on some sort of shield to protect the group but also on piling up transformations of lead to hinder the entity. It helped, but they were still losing pace.

    Blessin joined them and bowed her head while prancing backward. A tangle of golden light launched from her head, as though carried on wings. That was all Giselle saw before the largest portion of the mass stumbled and wrapped up in itself with sticky spiderweb projections. Giselle had no clue what just happened, but she had the sneaking suspicion there was something more going on with Blessin than some crystals and ¡®agape¡¯.

    This wasn¡¯t the time for those questions though as they finally managed to get everyone inside the brightly lit chamber at the back of the warehouse. Blessin mashed a button just inside and the door dropped like a breath-stealing sledgehammer. Not that any of them had breath left to steal.

    Finley looked about the worst for wear with rivulets of sweat streaming from his beard and glossing his exposed flesh. Finn leaned against the wall and desperately did his best to gingerly lift his legs without shaking. Despite Gwen¡¯s history, she looked like she was about to collapse and throw up. Dale, surprisingly enough, looked like he was on the fastest path to recovery. And he played nowhere near as much DDR as Giselle had been able to get in with Finn. Not that any of it helped her feel any less like she was dying right then. Hanako leaned against Giselle as she took several gulping breaths.

    Blessin didn¡¯t appear out of breath at all but still exhausted as she managed, ¡°Sadly. The worst isn¡¯t over yet.¡± Before any of them could ask for some sort of clarification, the chamber dropped steadily like an elevator, throwing some of them off their feet. Meanwhile, the faintly bluish lights above flickered like someone was playing with a light switch. Blessin glanced around nervously and ignored questions even after the steady descent came to a bracing halt.

    At this point, she urged everyone to get to the center. It was just in time as the walls dropped away, to turn what once was a modest room into a daunting platform with just a slight lip on all sides. They clung to each other frantically, especially when the underground cave resolved its features. There was blackness everywhere, a rising hungry darkness that spread an ominous chill. It was like an entire lake in perpetual night swelling its banks to eat them. When they reached the ground level, everyone broke out in screams when the light above them shut down and very gradually blinked on again. A section of the floor that looked like a conveyor belt and matched a path leading away sparked listlessly and did nothing.

    ¡°THERE! Move!¡± To the right and what felt like an insurmountable distance away was another wall split into serrated teeth like one of those openings to underground vaults that Giselle remembered from playing the Fallout series. The problem was none of them could even lift their feet over the side of the dropped platform, let alone sprint that distance.

    Feeling exhausted within her fiery side and from every inch of her body, Giselle had no idea what to do. Dale suddenly shouted that they could use him, please use him, if it would help. Giselle realized what he meant a moment later as Hanako turned and twisted him with her energy, whatever she had, into his female version. It was a tiny shot of energy as Dale fervently gasped and jiggled to play up the transformation. Heaven knows what Finley friggin thought at that moment. She tried not to look over at him but, at the same time, she understood he was there, and he was scared. They were all scared. They were her friends, her loved ones. And no dark, twisted bastard with an empty soul was going to take even one sliver more from those she loved!

    Melding vicious anger and every ounce of love she could twist up into a tight flaming ball, Giselle wielded everything she and Mari had into a flamethrower of destruction. No transformation this time. Just burn the fucker to ashes.

    It felt like the wielding of fumes against a mountain, but it was enough to swaddle them in the kind of light falling on the platform. Everyone knew they had to run even though they couldn¡¯t. Third wind, whatever that meant. They dragged themselves as a stumbling, fumbling group towards that door across the way as Giselle felt like she was screaming every ounce of breath from her throat. She wished that the little one didn¡¯t have to give so much, but she was grateful.

    Finally, leaning against the edge of the hardened metallic wall, Blessin screamed, ¡°COME ON, YOU BITCH! YOU BETTER OPEN UP!¡± She slammed the console for emphasis, but sliced her arm. There was a strange, yellow ring underneath where she was standing. After too many nervous heartbeats, it finally began to part. They all tried to squeeze through when there was barely enough space but still helped each other to get as deep into the well-lit space as possible. Of course, once everyone was inside the screaming began for the opening to close and prevent the damn thing from following them.

    It washed and wriggled against the blazing light like a sludge wave crashing into a breaker. Giselle barely had the chance to recognize that the light on the platform and above them was basically the same as Hanako and Mari¡¯s glow. With excruciating slowness, the door started to close again as the sludge struggled to squeeze through the teeth but melted with sizzling ferocity and black stains against the ground.

    Just when everyone¡¯s heart couldn¡¯t take much more, the door finally sealed. Coughs and incoherent words wafted through the chamber as they advanced to the other side and waited expectantly for whatever came next.

 [25A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 25A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [25A----]/Bridge

    For the Primary Branch [----]

    The first week contained a striking amount of excitement. There were discoveries and work to do with setting everything up and deciding what would go where. Jeremy had the inkling that in the next year or so they would have to move and did not look forward to that. However, Giselle had to remind herself that this was the main event, this was their situation. No media productions to juggle. No records to create, although she did film some video just to keep in practice and to record time since, even though the place kept to a cycle of day and night, she operated on her own little circadian rhythm bolstered by coffee and workaholism.

    A decent collection of games numbering in the hundreds provided by the vault was no match for Jeremy¡®s collection, and the most recent releases stopped with the PlayStation 4, but they spent a few days messing around, especially with the classics. Olivia rapidly learned the buttons, despite there being so many different controllers. And, if they needed something newer, what they had grabbed to take with them also worked with the local setup.

    Blessin did most of the monitoring of the systems to make sure that the protective lights blocked the monsters and an external field of energy like Olivia¡®s provided an all-encompassing electrical fence. At least once a day, Blessin sprawled out on a long couch and appeared to quietly meditate. She would always take notes before and never mention why. Giselle was pretty done with trying to figure out her mysteries.

    Fortunately, the air-filtration systems, sewer lines, water pumps, and fuel from a small-scale nuclear reactor were self-sustaining and didn¡¯t require any upkeep from them for least three months. Giselle still looked around and eyeballed things despite not touching any buttons. In her head, of course, her mind returned to the series she played all the games of except for 76 as Jeremy. The key difference was if the subject matter or environment got too heavy then she could just shut it off and return to the regular world. But the regular world had been subsumed. Some part of her wondered if this was a punishment by some cosmic force for taking so long with certain episodes. It was a silly notion, but she had plenty of time for silly notions.

    Rachel, Olivia, and her enjoyed board games provided by their benefactors along with Blessin sometimes stopping by to contribute as player four. The selection was actually quite extensive with an emphasis on simple card games and classics, likely because the young Radiants wouldn¡¯t be up for more than a simple logic puzzle. The truly challenging competitions for Olivia were survival scenarios that cut dangerously close to home and couldn¡¯t provide her with anything but compromises.

    Copious vitamin D supplements were necessary, even though the special light seemed to have certain solar qualities. Herschel got especially antsy, not only because he knew that You was lurking around at all times. Once he was able to explore all the confines, he kept poking his head through windows looking for signs of wildlife or sunbeams to roll around in. The provided light didn¡¯t seem to agree with him on the same level. The best they could offer were stock videos of fluttering wildlife on 24-hour cycles. He seemed to notice it was prerecorded but eventually got used to it.

    To pass a good measure of the time, Giselle finally acquiesced to watching the first several seasons of the Simpsons. The first season was interesting but reminded her of someone¡¯s amateur online animation project, demonstrating how much animation creation changed. However, it was night and day with the second, as soon she found familiar snippets of memes regurgitated ad infinitum by the Internet. After that point, she eagerly anticipated each upcoming episode. Blessin provided the digital copies, but there was also a version saved locally to the bunker servers. Hundreds of thousands of hours of digital video had been loaded to that server and carefully shielded. The first couple of weeks went smoothly like this, evoking their 2020 quarantine. Giselle found little projects like creating short random films with whatever thoughts occupied Olivia. Rachel raced her on bikes (with her right side tied off for balance) and on foot for simple bragging rights.

    Olivia even gave Giselle a cat tail and paws to exercise transformation and to feed her emotions, even though they found that the general level of emotions they felt provided a feedback loop that didn¡¯t need supplementing. Giselle¡®s normal stretch of emotions kept Athena satiated while whatever outfits and imaginings Olivia toyed with also rejuvenated her. They noticed that Blessin sometimes lingered around their rejuvenation sessions more than usual. Neither of them hated the woman by this point, but circumstances were hard to heal.

    Around the first month, Giselle was deeply horrified to discover her body already had a cycle going on despite being so young. Everything Rachel taught her using the prolific supplies they¡¯d been given was met by the brightest nervous blush on Giselle¡®s cheeks as she dipped her head down and waited for it to be over. She wasn¡¯t spared a single month through the three, but it got easier. They often joked ad nauseam that Jeremy¡®s terrible memory reset every couple of weeks. Coming up on that point, Giselle lamented how the feeling and love of her parents felt ghostly faded aside from the videos they brought with them. She used all of her thoughts and willpower to keep her loved ones clear and strong.

    Memories of the sun and the air outside also lost their full dimension. She slept for longer hours than she really wanted but which she desperately needed. This was the inglorious aspect of a post-apocalyptic world, just surviving one day to the next with a different normal. To mix things up, Giselle actually started reading books. She used to be a fervent reader at this age but work and responsibility pushed all that aside. Jeremy had a 1200-page astronomer biography often resting by his bedside as a paperweight used to hold his charger up. A friend jokingly got him the children¡¯s version at one point, and he embarrassingly had read ¡°most of it¡±.

    By comparison, Giselle pounded several classics into her brain. Little Women. To Kill a Mockingbird. The Call of the Wild. Moby Dick. Several C.S. Lewis books and a decent amount of Lord of the Rings. Alice in Wonderland. And several of the more popular titles she¡¯d been recommended by friends but had to set aside due to work. This whirlwind of reading was followed by idle efforts at writing something that wasn¡¯t just a goofy mess meant to meme for the Internet masses, but rather something deeply personal for her.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Olivia and Rachel worked together creating little plushies while composing poetry and sifting through a deep archive of music. Songs brought the most confusion but simultaneous understanding from Olivia¡¯s sensibilities. She struggled to understand the feeling and comprehension of songs but eagerly dived into their sentiment, especially when they resonated with her.

    Every so often, they noticed that some of the albino blankness in Olivia¡¯s skin gently peeled off in a shower or overnight as though it were an inverse sunburn. Her arms and lower shoulders appeared just like a little girl¡¯s. At the same time, her feet were advancing with coloration to meet the top. Like a very slow painting.

    Athena didn¡¯t show any physical signs she was emerging, developing, or popping loose, but Giselle noticed sinus headaches would come and go on rare occasions as she fretted, despite assurances, that the mythological allusion might come to pass. The pool of fire that shifted around her skull acquired less viscosity, as though starting out as plasma yolks and now becoming blazing torrents of egg. She got hungry at the weirdest times and for the weirdest things.

    The second month was the hardest to get through because everything had settled into a certain routine that even little choices and surprises couldn¡¯t quite shake from practiced certainty. The cycles of the chamber would come and go, they would prioritize which foods amongst the best kept to eat first and it sometimes wasn¡¯t something she was at all hungry for or wanted to stomach. Frozen fish with the eyeballs included called for a quick decapitation but still left her queasy. The biggest problem was not having anything to do after she had settled and resolved not only the immediate considerations but the ones she invented of importance.

    Digging through the computer archives of Flush with Pride and Quantum provided her with the vague lore of hundreds of people who no longer existed but thought they were doing the right thing for the company and the world. She simultaneously hated and pitied them for their pride and hubris.

    The final month actually went the fastest as they opted to get through the last of the good fish and available produce that survived for several fine meals which weren¡¯t wasteful. Averaging roughly two Simpsons episodes a day, they managed to get through all 178 of the Blessin-approved installments in the first eight seasons. The cold sentiment between them eroded to a sense more like a respected neighbor not regularly visited. Of course, Giselle vaguely wanted to see more of the show and recalled other memes that hasn¡¯t popped up yet but was more excited to finish the waiting game and actually fix whatever was wrong.

    Blessin seemed to just decide on the right appointed day. They cleaned off the rainbow ring and worked to reroute power from the main part of the chamber into a side system. There was plenty of space for all of them but not enough to also include their vehicles. Aside from essentials and the cats, they grabbed weapons, despite the fact none of them had been used yet, and a few mementos.

    Channeling an arcing electrical field into the area, Blessin joined them as they held hands close together and waited to see what happened. Jumping across the universes, sliding between realities. Giselle expected a momentous tear in reality or a ripple like a floating pond in the air. Instead, something like a portal from the game but with the room slightly altered fanned out and dropped beneath the floor. Giselle immediately found that her ears popped, and it hurt like hell. Everyone else staggered and recouped as they had a similar reaction.

    The first thing that Giselle noticed and had to point out was that their cars were gone. Blessin gave a guarded breath and explained, ¡°They are still in that branch reality that used to be our home. Now we¡¯re in the other one and we should be at the right time, hopefully.¡± Looking around, Giselle noticed that the lights were slightly dimmer, as though on a power-saving mode. Furthermore, all the little changes they made to their home environment had reverted to the base state. This was another universe with a different sequence of events. A vague smell of rotting produce wafted through the air. Shame, she deduced, it seemed like there was no one to enjoy the supplies when they were last dropped off.

    Blessin encouraged them to approach the door. Giselle didn¡¯t wanna open it, because she knew what the hell was out there. Even though this was a different reality, she knew that fucking Cerberus could stretch across worlds. It didn¡¯t take long before incoherent screams with traces of words breached the silence. Loud beeping issued from the console, with the notification, ¡°INTRUDERS¡±. Working quickly, Blessin entered several things into the keypad and the beeping went away. Despite the trust built over all these weeks and calm tolerance, they wanted to scream at Blessin. Slowly, the door hissed open with bright blooms of radiance flowing over every inch of the interior. Frantic figures spilled through the opening when there was barely enough room and tumbled to the ground beside them.

    Once they were all through, a familiar voice screamed for the door to be shut again. The voice came from Blessin, from a copy of her in similar clothes with an oozing scratch on her arm. The last through, lumbering and out of breath, was Finley plastered in sweat with several guns on his shoulders. Next to him was a heavyset, voluptuous woman who vaguely looked like Jeremy¡®s roommate in college, Dale, if he had a twin sister. A stick-thin, disheveled woman who their Blessin seemed to recognize stood next to female Dale. And then there was Olivia, the other Olivia. Well, according to what traveling Blessin from this universe told Giselle, her name was Hanako.

    This Hanako looked like her Olivia from before the movie. Same demeanor with a slight tint of humanity but still the early stiffness, as though wearing a mask that was uncomfortable for her. The man she didn¡¯t recognize locked eyes with Rachel and they both stared in shock at one another. Owing to adult Giselle standing right next to him, young Giselle could assume that this man was a version of Rachel, a notion helped by the fact that he resembled several of Rachel¡®s Wisconsin-resident cousins. The man was missing his right eye though, just like she learned in the hospital. And, of course, the adult female version of herself. Darker hair like she used to have and the same tense frown she used to feel.

    All together.

    Now what?

 [26/A] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 26/A [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [26/A]

    For the Primary Branch [----]

    ¡°The conveyor belt didn¡¯t work and we had to run the whole fucking way¡­.Why does it smell?¡± The Blessin who came through the door leaned forward and still looked out of breath. The other one stretched out her hands and responded, ¡°Everything seemed fine on our side, so I figured we didn¡¯t need to move over until we had to meet up. No one has been in here in about three months to do anything.¡±

    After she finished talking and before her doppelg?nger could respond, a heavy thump carried through the wall and rattled the floor beneath them. The escaping group stumbled forward and away from the door.

    ¡°What is that?¡± Finley brought his biggest gun up protectively with his frantic question.

    Brushing and fixing her golden hair while in the middle of a reserved breath, Blessin simply clarified, ¡°That¡¯s the bad guy.¡± The other Blessin whispered over to Rachel and gestured to one of the caf¨¦s. It wasn¡¯t long before Rachel returned with two frosty six packs of bottled water from the nearest walk-in freezer. She also relayed a lot of moldy spoilage but also good remaining supplies. There was plenty of water for everyone.

    Finn and Rachel regarded one another with wide eyebrows. Especially, Rachel¡®s eyes lingered on her male form. Both Giselles fluttered their eyelashes with a goofy smirk at the same time. It briefly recalled for each a scary handful of hours when Jeremy lost his ability to make new memories.

    It was a rare condition with no implication for Alzheimer¡¯s or dementia but still felt too close. To add levity to the situation, Jeremy quipped that Rachel could tell him anything without consequences. But she cried fretfully when noting that he already said that three times.

    He then responded that at least she knew he was consistent and left it at that because of the wariness in her eyes. Jeremy was consistent in his heart and his mind no matter if he was stuck in place like a record, transformed into a busty woman, or made into a preteen girl.

    Once Blessin gulped down most of her water and cleared out a few coughs, the other Blessin went over and whispered quietly to her. She had a paper with several notes, and they scoured it. The young Giselle planted her hands on her hips and halted the whispering, ¡°I think everyone deserves to be on the same page about what¡¯s going on now.¡± She glanced around the group, especially focusing on the still-exhausted, out-of-sort arrivals.

    Both Blessins flashed her look but the one she had spent three months with raised her hands and admitted, ¡°She¡¯s right. Everyone deserves to understand what¡¯s going on.¡±

    The theater had barely enough room for everyone, and it wasn¡¯t too difficult to re-discover the same files on this side, even though Blessin transported a digital archive with the other version. Aside from a brief, ghoulish mention of harvesting Radiants to distill their abilities into a small, remote-like device, the recordings were functionally the same. The entire group was brought up to speed on the efforts of Quantum Helix to initiate trade and commerce between universes. They learned how radiant beings emulated humans and objects but also took in the myriad ways the Company exploited them.

    Olivia comforted Hanako as young Giselle had comforted her. Before shifting back to his male form, Dale lamented how much he wished this was just a D&D campaign. Gwen focused on the fact this facility seemingly had no one else in it. Both Blessins, behaving rather like identical twins, took turns relaying that the suites upstairs appeared to be compromised, while also working towards the bitter pill.

    ¡°In the home branch reality for Rachel and that version of Giselle over there, Cerberus had designs for simplifying the equation by wiping out everyone and then isolating the radiant beings. It seems certain he has the same plans for this core reality.¡±

    It took some careful explanation before the group realized exactly what that meant. Frantic whispers about nuclear consequences and fretting about family flashed around the room. Both Blessins shook their heads and admitted that anything could¡¯ve happened topside. Perhaps, as he showed he could do, Cerberus disguised himself as a critical figure in the wrong place and pushed the world past the precipice. He also could¡¯ve sabotaged radioactive facilities or executed a dozen different scenarios.

    ¡°What matters is these are all things he could do and would do, if not stopped. To him, our worlds are meaningless. Just lights to snuff out.¡±

    The group definitely seemed convinced that the bad guy needed to be stopped, but none of them felt like heroes. Dale sat behind his computer either streaming, editing videos, or making silly animations. His greatest daily adventure was the extra spicy sauce at Taco Bell. Finley once helped his brother through a depressed episode, but he couldn¡¯t imagine how to fight a seemingly endless monster made of darkness.

    Finn confronted a small portion of Cerberus with a group who actually seemed able to block him and he still lost his eye, even though he gained the ability to see the creature out of the remains. All Rachel could claim was the ability to drive away from it. Gwen had been at the confrontation with Dale but all they felt they could do was resupply others with emotion. This wasn¡¯t a group to take on some reality-spanning monster.

    Blessin started work on another bottle of water before announcing that she had a plan. The other Blessin actually raised her punctuated eyebrows as though this was the first she was hearing of it. Going around, this Blessin scrutinized the group for details. She focused on their encounters with Cerberus. What had they just done to escape on foot?

    Older Giselle narrowed her eyes, having processed the assist from their Blessin but not sure if she wanted to call her out on what it meant. They detailed the most recent encounter with splitting Cerberus down the middle to keep it at bay. Blessin snapped her fingers.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Exactly. Giselles. I learned that one of you angrily kicked Athena¡®s toilet seat. But I never properly pried into what the other one did or didn¡¯t do. What did you do with the Mari seat?¡±

    That was three freaking months ago! She couldn¡¯t remember weeks previous. The simple effort of remembering the exact threat from Cerberus in the middle of the night had taken so much out of her. Young Giselle was able to locate when she kicked the seat to a very precise time with Rachel¡®s help. What exactly was the other Giselle doing? What could be so important about that given moment?

    Amazingly, quietly, more as a feeling than a memory, it came back to Giselle, ¡°Love. It was love. I felt regret and a deep abiding love for Rachel. I was stuck on that toilet seat and feeling lost. I promised that I would remember that moment of fear and helplessness and do whatever kindness would help.¡± That was it! She told herself to remember that moment! She willed it inside her.

    Blessin clasped hands in front of her. ¡°Trying to understand all this drives me nuts. And it¡¯s especially crazy that Giselle drives the bifurcation of universes. Love, anger, pity, fear, regret, devotion, and so many other emotions. They are at the crux, but I think I understand. It¡¯s choice. It¡¯s always been about choice. Cerberus limits choice, real choice. Every single choice you wanted to make or could¡¯ve made or didn¡¯t make is an unfurling fractal of the multiverse. Every single moment is a different possibility. But once that happens, there are an infinite supply of radiant beings created every single moment by every quark of chance. He missed one or let one go or the moment was too powerful to hold back. Too many maybes. So frustrating.¡±

    A long, quiet pause settled over the group as everyone reflected. That pause was sharply broken by the sound of two cats meowing. Looking around, everyone expected it was the pair of cats either seen briefly or cohabitated with for three months. But Herschel and You had curled up into Hanako and Olivia¡¯s laps quietly. They raised their heads at the sound but were each silent.

    Rachel clapped a hand to her mouth and both Giselles realized the reason why a moment later.

    ¡°That¡¯s Tycho¡­ and Herschel?¡± You stayed where she was, but Herschel vaulted from lap time when his little brain put together the sound as well. The poor boy. Jeremy had to be so careful when he assembled video footage from before Tycho¡®s death because his ¡°brother¡± didn¡¯t understand that he hadn¡¯t actually come back from the Bad Smell Place. He seemed especially bewildered to hear his own voice copied.

    The group discovered the source near the ring with the computer console. The sound was being piped through the speakers there and traveling to ones situated overhead. With a few clicks, Blessin brought up external video footage.

    Right on the broken conveyor belt in front of the entrance sat both of the Huber/Conway cats. Rachel tensed up as Finn pressed one fist to his mouth and the other to where Cerberus scoured his eye away. Their cats couldn¡¯t possibly be out there.

    Every foul invective that their family-friendly filtered minds suppressed welled up in the four who desperately loved those two cats more than anything. The friends who knew their feline family said every subtle expletive for them. The Blessin who had spent three months underground switched on the microphone and said simply, ¡°Go fuck yourself.¡±

    ¡°How harsh. I simply want to talk.¡±

    ¡°Go to Hell.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have to go anywhere. I just have to wait until you all starve. Meanwhile, it¡¯s so easy to remind all of you of everything you left behind. Every family member. Every soul you claim to love. The power of love to save and preserve you. How long will it really sustain you?¡±

    The other Blessin stepped forward and asked her twin to step aside. The weapons that the three-month residents of a chamber like this wielded, along with the guns the other group brought, were largely spread out in the main area in front of them. Before anyone else could react, Blessin snatched up one of the big guns.

    She didn¡¯t aim it at anyone in particular, holding it high towards the ceiling, but her face hardened as she dourly stated, ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±

    Confusion spread around, especially in the bewildered expression of her twin as she asked, ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°What I have to¡­ Cerberus? I want to make a deal.¡±

    Mari and Athena sloshed around as Hanako and Olivia realized what was going on. Bitterly, Hanako spat out, ¡°How could you?!¡±

    ¡°Sorry, kid. You¡¯ve already seen how disappointing humans can be. No devils, angels, or gods here. Only scared people who want to go home. The struggles of other worlds aren¡¯t our business. I¡¯m afraid this is the only way.¡±

    Finley edged towards one of the other guns laid down, but Blessin warned him by lowering her gun close enough to be threatening. ¡°Stay back and be warned. I¡¯m no queen beautiful and terrible as morning and night. Neither dreadful as storms and lightning nor strong like the foundations of the earth. I am nothing to love. And I am afraid I cannot offer even a single hair from my head.¡± Tears streaked her eyes as she fought to finish her words.

    While Giselle felt vague confusion at what Blessin meant, Finley tugged at his beard and clenched his eyes shut. Rachel looked like she understood as well, but she had no time to explain or pose a question. To the horror of everyone, Blessin tapped on the keyboard and the doors began to open again. With another press, the light above shifted, raising an emergency klaxon, from a blazing radiance to a softer, artificial luminance.

    While Blessin remained by the computer, everyone else cautiously backed away. Moments later, black horrors erupted from the opening.

 [27/X] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 27/X [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [27/X]

    For the Primary Branch [----]

    No one made a play for the guns and weapons as Dale grumbled and wished he had kept one with him. Olivia and Hanako made their way to the front of the group while both Giselles flanked them. Hanako appeared harsh and stern with all of the emotional details draining from her features. In contrast, Olivia wore plaintive concern but less for herself and more for everyone around her.

    Through everything, it occurred to the older Giselle, that they barely had the time to be bewildered and confused with one another. Here stood her twin, which was kind of a big deal for an only child like Jeremy. Although her other self wore the feelings and expressions of a different life, a harsher life, judging by her missing right arm, even though a crackle of blue light filled the void at her wrist.

    Finn lingered nearby with the empty right side of his face. She knew what he could see might be useful, although it wasn¡¯t as though the beast was hiding anymore. Rachel, fortunately, stayed further back.

    The bastard had taken so much. He didn¡¯t deserve a deal, no matter what Blessin had in mind. It didn¡¯t matter if they had to fight to the last ember of strength they had left. Evil couldn¡¯t be placated. At the same time, even though so many of their friends volunteered for this, they didn¡¯t deserve that fate. To be trapped. To be separated from their loved ones.

    She had no idea what Blessin intended, but she clung to the frail hope that she wasn¡¯t about to screw them over. The eruption of blackness was slow but continuous, like squeezing toothpaste split into black licorice strands with the dark, foul presence of sickening crude oil. Blessin didn¡¯t aim her gun at the monster but instead starkly stared it down as it formed into a central mass.

    ¡°What kind of deal, my dear? And what do you have to offer me? From my position, it looks like I hold all the cards. What will you give me?¡±

    ¡±The Radiants are yours. Take them and leave the people behind. You can also have me. The only human to fight you off. Everyone else goes free through that door, never to even witness a trace of your presence for the rest of their lives. You won¡¯t touch them, this world, or anyone they love.¡±

    Giselle burst out, followed by the younger Giselle mouthing the same. ¡°Screw that!¡±

    Blessin tightened her scowl. ¡°We¡¯re not getting out of here with them. And this isn¡¯t our fight. This is a battle between spirits and monsters from a dimension humans never should¡¯ve even gotten close to. Some morons gave these poor creatures hope and never considered the consequences. It sucks, but we have to pay the price now. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Growls and complaints were issued from the group. Cerberus loomed and burst in, ¡°I haven¡¯t said if I will accept this deal. You have no idea what I really want. This place is special. It¡¯s the only spot where you can pass between worlds. And they hid it inside the brightest bunker.¡± Sections of blackness slipped around the rainbow ring. Blessin took one step to the right and glanced at her doppelg?nger, who was much further back.

    ¡°So, what do you want? No other lives are negotiable.¡± Giselle noticed the blooming fury in Olivia and Hanako. She did her best to calm Mari.

    ¡±What do I want? Why, it¡¯s so very simple. So easy for you to give me. I just want to go home. The gateway is here, and I miss my world. I am confined to human realms, and I want to go back to be with my kind. That¡¯s all I ask from you and your friends. Don¡¯t they agree that¡¯s such a little thing to offer?¡±

    Blessin appeared tense. She fussed with her hair and pressed her fingers into her palms. ¡°You just want¡­to go?¡±

    ¡°Yes, just open the door and I¡¯ll see myself out. That¡¯s all I ever really wanted.¡±

    Nothing about this sounded on the level to either Giselle. They each knew about Cerberus¡¯s lies in painful ways. No way was that all.

    Blessin edged sideways but still kept strikingly close to the ring. She was watching carefully as the immense bulk of the creature drew together, folding in. Only when the entryway was clear of the grotesque mass, did Blessin strangely seem to relax. She glanced over again. The twin Blessin wore a flat, inscrutable look but gave a single nod.

    ¡°Fine by me. Go back to where you belong.¡±

    Like some otherworldly ferrofluid, Cerberus swirled and twisted into the center of the ring. ¡°Gladly¡­¡±

    Everyone watched anxiously as Blessin tapped the console and hypnotic vibrations like a barely-visible mirage shifted from the ground to the air. As the effect spread, Cerberus added, ¡°I intend to go. But not for long. I¡¯ll be bringing all my friends with me. And I might need a snack for the road¡­¡±

    Tendrils suddenly shot out and dug into Blessin on all sides. She screamed for a second and then quietly winced.

    ¡°You¡¯re different than them. You¡¯re worth taking one of you with me to see what the others think.¡±

    Blessin hung her head with an undulating expression of pain. Softly, she whispered something not loud enough for anyone to hear. Cerberus edged closer. ¡°What was that?¡±

    ¡°¡­ I said¡­ That¡¯s what I¡¯m counting on.¡±

    Instantly, a golden field snapped out from Blessin¡®s head like a mouth made of light. Striking, shimmering wings wrapped completely around the black mass and ensnared it. It was a Radiant! It had to be! But how?

    Giselle suspected something was up from the moment Blessin managed to block Cerberus at the New Age store with a golden light and later implied it was her crystals or divine protection. Then, the actual strike against Cerberus before they got here. But Mari didn¡¯t react, nor did Hanako. Young Giselle was of the same thought. No evidence from Athena of another Radiant, nor had Olivia mentioned anything in the three months they lived with Blessin. How had it been able to hide so well?

    That was basically the same thing that Cerberus screeched in horror. ¡°Not possible! I can smell them! I can taste them! How can this be?!¡±

    With a thin smile, Blessin pressed herself closer to Cerberus. ¡°Because they¡¯re patient. Because they fight for every ounce of their lives. Because they have more humanity in every tiny, quiet moment than in your entire wretched form.¡±

    Cerberus gnashed and writhed like a trapped dog. It struggled to retort, to offer another pithy comment, but the flailing and twisting receded until it was a black orb trapped in stark, golden light. Blessin turned to look at the group and her doppelg?nger. Giselle felt an ominous sense. Blessin nodded again and her other self sniffled.

    ¡°My friends. I¡¯m sorry for the deception. I wish I could explain so many secrets I hold. I leave that to my other life. I told you about choice. To break free of Cerberus, I have to hold him down while we rip him apart. The gateway will open, but neither of us will make it. I¡¯m so sorry. I wish you could¡¯ve gotten to know my sweet little girl of golden hair. She sacrificed everything for this, and I gladly stand with her.¡±

    Barely holding her emotions together, Blessin swiftly explained to her twin, ¡°Choice. Like we said. Contrasts. Something you loathe and want to get rid of. Something you love and want to embrace. An emotion that tears you one way and the inverse. Strong love and bitter pain. Feed the fire as much as you can with whatever you have until there¡¯s nothing left of the bastard.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    She urged them to get closer and place their offerings, with her own to begin, explained in words. ¡°Aosaginohi to name the one I saved from the beast. A fitting, suitable name but one strange and disliked by her. We actually fought about it. She throws the cutest tantrums. She much preferred the name so close to my heart¡­Emmanuelle. And simply Nue. Someone new. Someone so beautiful. One to live and one to sacrifice.¡± She turned away as a vibrating tear stretched through Cerberus within the ring, confined by the glowing radiance.

    Finley came forward next. He struggled to understand all this, but he innately recognized the emotion. He stretched between the struggles of the store as the mall around was desperately dying and pulled against the imagining of going on a date with Blessin no matter how she looked, no matter what secrets she held, finishing, ¡°You would be a queen to me, no matter what. I dream of one fair hair as few have dreamed before.¡± Another rip stretched on the other side.

    Gwen struggled with hers, feeling the wish that she had been faster to get to the cars while also bending her emotions through the desperate hope that she wouldn¡¯t lose her friend and they might go to the beach next week and play some silly game on the shore. She sobbed through her words, but it was enough. Dale focused on possibilities, wishing he was closer to so many people around here and stretching his thoughts over who he might¡¯ve been as a woman.

    Finn cradled his missing eye with fervent anger, imagining what he would do to Cerberus in turn, but also turning him into a cat in her mind space like he pretended to do with the illusion of their kitties. Blushing slightly, she delved into every quiet moment holding Giselle while being desperately held as Rachel. Cerberus looked more like the strands of a baseball painted black and ripped to chaotic pieces.

    Rachel reciprocated what her other self offered while imagining her gamer destiny with exuberant crowds contrasted with her quiet arts. She wished solemnly that she could¡¯ve worked out the initial toilet nonsense before it ran down the slope of revenge. At the same time, she desperately wanted to adopt and care for all the little lost children trying to emulate what it meant to be human.

    Each Giselle could feel the quiet wishes of their guests within, as they added tension to the trapped beast. Olivia and Hanako held hands as they went next. Their wishes were similar and their choices adamant. They simply wanted to be children despite the darkness wrapped in human lives. The mistakes that people made, they wanted as their own. Mistakes to grow from. Olivia contrasted the meals of tater tots from the cafeteria with Rachel¡¯s expert dinner. Hanako chose between the quiet waiting within her seat as the three months passed and the joyful sounds of playing Smash with newfound friends.

    Desperately, each Giselle wanted to add more logs to that fire. They wanted the bastard to burn, even though he already appeared a mess of tangled wires spreading towards anarchy. Young Giselle chose between the anxieties and uncertainties of school and the love of her quiet found family. She lamented the distance between her and Jeremy, between who he was and who she is. The wires stretched to a muddled haze trapped in a sunbeam.

    Older Giselle reflected on the possibilities of motherhood. It terrified her in so many little ways. Not so much the pregnancy but all the uncertainties of looking at someone like Hanako and fearing that she didn¡¯t have the words, wisdom, or ability to give her what she really needed. How could she give what a child really needed? How could she not disappoint them? At the same time, she stretched into the easy realm of loving Rachel no matter what face she wore and what face Giselle presented to her. All the quiet moments after surgery, and the end of a raucous multiplayer victory. Cuddling after a quiet day of work at home and panting after running to reach a rescheduled flight. The chaos and the ease. The solemn love and the silly arguments. The bitter and the sweet.

    She wouldn¡¯t trade any of it for anything, but she also darkly imagined being alone. The true stretch of possibilities. She accepted life without Tycho, despite the hole left in her heart. She had to imagine the same without Rachel. With Rachel and without. And in this final possibility, everything erupted into a column of bleeding light.

    When it cleared, it was like the world fell into a frozen moment of time. They were still in that vault. Her side no longer ached with warmth. For young Giselle, it was like her head was clear. The world around them hadn¡¯t changed but rather it felt like they had stepped off the stage of a play and were standing behind the scenes before the next act premiered. They also saw new faces.

    Gently cradling young Giselle¡¯s stump was a small girl with a face like hers blended with traces of Olivia and Rachel. Her hair was a vibrant, unnatural shade of blue like shimmering electricity. ¡°Hi, mommy. I¡¯m so happy to meet you.¡±

    A gyre of tangled emotions swirled through her. She thought herself too old and too young for such a moment. Meanwhile, the girl¡¯s twin with darker hair and different traces of inspiration clung to the older Giselle¡®s left and spoke the same. She had Finn¡¯s warm gaze along with a touch of Dale¡®s playfulness and Finley¡¯s coy energy even while she was the picture of Giselle¡®s flesh and blood. Far too soon, the girls let go and walked forward. They joined Olivia and Hanako, who drifted towards the glowing light erupting in the room. Finn and Rachel stretched forward plaintively, as did both Giselles. For Finn, Mari tenderly caressed the place where her eye had been. For Rachel, Olivia and Hanako wrapped themselves around her stomach.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± The desperate question was only spoken by the older Giselle, but it represented the plea of all of them.

    ¡°To be born¡±, Hanako stated simply and looked to Olivia. Olivia looked back and regarded the rest of the Radiants. Somehow, Giselle had missed the golden girl enveloped by hair stretching down to her legs at Blessin¡¯s side. When she scampered off to join the other girls, it looked like Blessin left a limb with her. The brightness of her locks faded to a straw luster.

    Olivia halted the group and whispered around. She smiled softly and conveyed with Hanako, ¡°Permission?¡±

    The Giselles pondered, ¡°Permission¡­?¡±

    ¡°¡­To say goodbye.¡±

    Young Giselle clung to her mouth, fearful she might whimper and cry if she didn¡¯t hold on. Older Giselle trembled and truly felt the emptiness now that Mari stood across from her, forever separate. Desperately, each of them just wanted to say no, to hang on and stay here, to stay in this moment of quietness. But it felt like soon the passing pause would slip away and this was all they had. It took immense effort, but they each nodded.

    ¡°Goodbye¡­¡±

    Joyously striding forward, the Radiant girls, the bright shimmers of new life, walked into the glowing bloom. Once they did, the light spread everywhere, washing over thought, fear, and hope with gentle comfort.

 [END] The Tall & Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl END [Flush With Pride Arc]

    The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

    [END]

    Giselle jerked up in bed, as though someone had awakened her with a whisper. Her eyes were full of tears she didn¡¯t remember crying and her heart was full of frantic concern as she looked to her right at the empty spot next to her. A tempest of sickening horror burned through her as new tears refreshed the old. She whimpered desperately.

    ¡°Are you up? Are you okay?¡± A deeply familiar voice called out.

    She gingerly sat up in bed. Finn peeked in through the doorway. ¡°You are up. I was gonna let you sleep a little longer. I have a surprise.¡±

    Springing from the bed, Giselle staggered to her feet and grabbed as much Finn real estate as possible in a hug. Finn wobbled but held steady. ¡°Whoa. Hello there. Zombies again? How did they eat me this time?¡±

    Giselle felt momentarily puzzled until a memory settled into her thoughts of random nightmares involving a zombie apocalypse worse than anything they ever played for a stream and her husband as the first victim. She shook her head and explained, ¡°I just needed a hug. I don¡¯t know. What happened last night?¡±

    She looked up at her calm husband. What most noticed just looking at him was his odd right eye. It had a faint scar crossing above the eyebrow which drew attention to the fact it was a sharp blue contrasting the left¡¯s subtle green. Giselle liked to say that such a rare look truly made him one in a million. Finn was more practical and commented that it was closer to one in sixteen hundred.

    ¡°Last night? Well, we finally went ahead and told the metaphorical kiddies online you were preggers. And finished off that Pokemon Diamond co-op mod and a quart of licorice mustard ice cream you were craving last week.¡±

    Giselle rocked her head and quietly remembered. She loved both flavors, but they only worked together for two scoops max. She knew that she would start to show in her cosplays soon, so they figured they might as well get it out. For years, they swung back and forth about children. Adopt or have. Lily and Gerald were still healthy enough to be energetic grandparents even though Giselle and Finn fashioned themselves metaphorical grandparents to online young''uns.

    The question was always answered with to check back in five years because of work, travel, and psychological exhaustion. Then came the nasty ¡°durian¡± times, as Finn sometimes quipped. The world as a bubble about to pop. Putting off time with her parents and quiet dreams and so many other things. No more. She had her birth control implant removed and it was pretty simple after that.

    She marveled at how little she ached and got sick. Gwen and Dara were immensely jealous, despite neither even approaching the idea of pregnancy. Giselle rolled her eyes at the ¡°preggers¡± invocation before dropping a full ¡°Am I gregnant?¡± rendition.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s the surprise?¡±

    ¡°Okay, so there¡¯s actually several. First¡­¡±

    Giselle wondered if she needed to close her eyes. She just turned a little and Finn passed a massive hunk of electronics to her. Giselle recognized it immediately.

    ¡°The Steam Deck arrived! Oh my gosh! The dang thing looks like a bee stung it. Or rather a bee bit my Switch, now my Switch is big! That¡¯s wild!¡± Yet another casual Simpsons reference from Giselle since they started watching the show.

    Finn had their professional Steam account loaded and all of Giselle¡¯s favorite shooters already on the handheld. They would need to use it for content next week, but he encouraged her to put it through its paces. Not that she needed any encouragement, already sorting through the UI.

    ¡°And this¡­¡± Finn unfurled a vibrant, green blanket that stretched from his shoulders to the floor. It was gorgeous, but she was more interested in the gentle plush feel and absolute size of it. The two of them could snuggle up under it together. They had some blankets but none quite so deliriously nice. She held the blanket across her front like a dress stretched too long.

    Naturally, her mom and her sewing circle made it as a housewarming gift. It was hinted at when they visited for Thanksgiving but apparently needed a little more time. And it came at the right moment. Late fall had sunk in heavily with a touch of unseasonable frost for this end of the Carolinas. She looked forward to the comfort of wrapping her distended guts in its plush warmth.

    Of course, Finn still had one more surprise up his sleeve and beckoned her to follow him over to the kitchen. On the table was pink, transparent Tupperware packed to the brim with assorted cookies. She puzzled at this one, since Lily hadn¡¯t yet hunkered down for her bake-a-thon of goods and sugary sweets. Finn casually announced this came from Hannah Cohen and her little sister, Marie.

    They were their closest neighbors and often scampered over to see how they were doing. A couple weeks ago, they even invited them to join in a stream. The girls were the last push Giselle needed to resolve that she could survive being a mom. For all those girls had been through, they remained irrepressibly cheerful and spunky. Marie was born without a right eye and Hannah had surgery on her ovaries when she was three. But Giselle refused to treat them like they had lost something because the girls never saw it that way. Hannah had a cool scar across her belly and Marie got to wear pretty pirate eye patches.

    The bonus surprise was that the girls hadn¡¯t left when they dropped off the cookies but rather stayed behind to surprise her and show them off. Gleefully, Marie gripped Giselle¡®s midsection and declared, ¡°Hello, mommy!¡± Giselle felt brightly hot but not bothered by that. Clearly, the girls tuned in to the stream last night. Hannah effervescently explained what each cookie meant from the stars for the Conways¡¯ love of astronomy to an angry mole in subtle reference to their favorite video game series.

    Giselle thanked the girls tremendously for the cookies as Finn spread butter on a pan and started breakfast.

    ¡ª-

    From far off, Giselle heard a sound like butter frying in a pan. The smell was missing though. It soon resolved to rushing water as the tap to her right give a little squeak before turning off. She stretched her legs up and down with a few wary pops. They brushed across one another smoothly. That was familiar but struck her as concerning.

    With her eyes gingerly opening, she shifted the blankets and let her body settle. Soft jiggling, the kind she learned to ignore, traveled through her senses. She wasn¡¯t surprised to see Finn return to the room. But it brought her a wellspring of relief when she saw his face with his right eye restored. It was a sharp blue more like the Hanako¡¯s, but she was grateful for it. Finn quietly marveled at the restoration and gently inquired, ¡°Jeremy?¡±

    ¡°Not anymore. Giselle.¡± She had been Giselle for over three months, so sitting there in that body wasn¡¯t a surprise. But a certain gravity centered around her, which wasn¡¯t an in-joke about her boobs. Before, she didn¡¯t know or understand any of what was going on and she clung to the possibility of restoration, no matter how slight. Now, this current moment felt as settled as any day of her life before. ¡°I¡¯m a woman¡­¡±

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    The words escaped but still orbited her thoughts. Urgently, Finn listed off possibilities of what they could do. They would have to track down Blessin for answers. See what everyone else remembered and perhaps even head back to the warehouse and whatever else. There were so many possibilities. Giselle gave a nod for show.

    Breakfast soothed her so much. But she could feel the empty spot without Tycho. The three months they¡¯d been gifted by having him back were moments she knew she would treasure for the rest of her life, but she lamented over whether them leaving for a freaking sleepover with Finley and then an exhausting run through a crazy underground facility was worth it. The cats had plenty of food but the open question of what Tycho¡®s final moments were like in this reality refused to leave her.

    It hurt the most to see Herschel wander the places that Tycho frequented as though his brain was working out why the morning was so strange. She held him in her lap as much as he could tolerate. Eventually, they got in contact with Gwen, who had as many questions as they did. In place of Dale, they all gawked at the voluptuous Dara. The poor girl was only getting used to the idea of having a very affectionate boyfriend when Dale hadn¡¯t had a date since college.

    Searching for the New Age store revealed an empty building that looked like it had been abandoned for years. No Blessin. The family she was closest to, especially a gun-loving, unmistakably-gay older brother, Llewelyn Campbell, wasn¡¯t sure where she had gone, just that she vanished one day.

    Finley remembered everything too and expressed clear certainty that Blessin wasn¡¯t coming back. He couldn¡¯t exactly say how or why this notion was so clear to him, but he just accepted it. Throughout their explorations and wanderings, Giselle was sure she saw two young girls who looked just like Hanako and Mari the last time she glimpsed them. But the vision was as ephemeral as a dream and refused to stay with her.

    She resigned herself to the reality that she might never see them again but held the calm that wherever they were, they were happy and safe.

    ¡ª-

    In some worlds, Jeremy and Rachel woke up together. They embraced, delighted, and puzzled over Rachel¡®s blue right eye. In a harsh number, they were alone or separate, sea-tossed with no shore to connect them to what they knew and sought. In others, Giselle and Rachel found one another. And Jeremy reached Finn. The kaleidoscopic permutations of the realities had not only spun off into untold possibilities but every flutter of thought and shake of atoms burst into an endless fractal of new creation, untempered and unrestrained by dark forces.

    Despite the confusion of familiar and unfamiliar combinations, the firmament of their love never wavered. They were each the one for the other, no matter how the world decided their bodies or distance. Among the constants was the empty New Age store. Of several variables were Dale or Dara. Where Dale remained, he actually had a fledgling crossplay interest. Finley sometimes remembered Blessin and other times she was just a flutter in his thoughts, like a kind dream.

    ¡ª-

    Giselle awoke in an unfamiliar bed. Rachel wasn¡¯t nearby but her right hand, with strikingly pale nails, gripped the covers. She scrambled to her feet and cried out. She didn¡¯t know this house. Only after frantic yelling did Rachel finally meet up with her.

    She resigned herself to this possibility. Trapped at eleven with her wife as her mom. This was her world. Rachel found herself significantly more successful than even the kicked-seat timeline. They had a nice house to the north where several of Rachel¡®s college friends lived nearby and often looked out for Giselle. It also meant a new school. Even searching, she could find no trace of Britney. But they were able to track down Blessin.

    The New Age store was there, same as before, untouched, no ruin of the world, no disappearance of the strange lady. They had tea together in the back room as Blessin worked to piece together the fragments as much as they did.

    ¡°It was largely the other me¡¯s plan. I never really had a dream, but she urged me to use what abilities were at my disposal through Emmanuelle. Her presence was always subdued but deeply affecting.¡±

    Emma still lived in the neighborhood but had no memory of her past or her time disguised as Blessin¡¯s hair. Blessin resolved to keep it that way, ¡°She¡¯s just a little girl now. I carried her all that time and just I¡¯m grateful she made it. The other her understood with the other me that one of us had to go. They both sacrificed, so we could be here.¡± She made the most of it and had been slowly dating Finley, even though they never properly met before.

    It didn¡¯t take much more than a little light pendulum swinging for Blessin to track down what became of Olivia and Athena. They lived by the beach, remarkably close to Giselle¡®s childhood home. It was easy to see Olivia¡®s sacrifice.

    She wore a simple, prosthetic hand, which was especially good for scooping up sand. Athena, who had more spunk than Giselle recalled, teased her older sister but always made up. Giselle stayed and watched from afar without interrupting. Their parents looked nothing like them, probably an adoption.

    Giselle wanted desperately to run over and remind them or remember together the lives they shared together in a silly school and then underneath the ground with a dozen spinning uncertainties. But she stayed back and watched. They were happy, they were safe.

    When the life Giselle found herself in weighed on her, like when trying to make friends with young people several generations out of sync, Giselle reminded herself that there were so many other versions of her out there. Some probably Jeremy, some stuck as 33-year-old Olivia, and maybe others that had been turned into a cat.

    But this world was hers. And for those she loved, for what she had lost, and for what she still had, she solemnly promised to live the best life.

    Extended Ending

    [This is included because I started this in a choose-your-own-adventure format, so stories never end. This is how it would/will continue.]

    Further down the beach, a shadow passes between the sun. It has the shape of an 11-year-old girl who feels much older at this moment, burdened by uncertainty and stress. She looks like a ghost drawn in charcoal. Vast distances away and yet barely a footstep from where she stands, she lingers in a focused, driven state of mind.

    Her hair, once light and fair like the classmate she considers her greatest friend in the world, twists and curls in stark shades of bone ivory and midnight black. ¡°Giselle¡­Giselle¡­ I know you¡¯re here. I can feel you. They¡¯ve ripped us apart. They¡¯ve taken everything from me. But they don¡¯t understand¡­ We are connected. I made sure of it with my spell. I will always find you, Giselle. Because we¡¯re best friends forever. Britney and Giselle. Just wait. I¡¯ll be there soon.¡±

    In Britney¡¯s outstretched hand rested a wiry, twisted thin strand of blackness spasming and shaking while rooted to her skin. She whispered, ¡°That¡¯s a good dog. Find my best friend and I¡¯ll give you anything you want¡­¡±

 [1] A Rock & Family Vacation 1 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [1]

    After a trek of five hundred miles to their Airbnb, Clare was the first to jump out of the backseat as soon as the car came to a stop. Lacy scooted and scrambled out just behind. Blair only took his time because he didn¡¯t wanna appear as desperate as his younger brothers.

    However, that meant it was easy for their mom, Brooke, to halt him before he got far and ask that he help unpack the trunk. With an audible, extended sigh that he made sure she heard, Blair scuffed his feet across the pavement and went around to the back of their car.

    Eliot slipped out of the driver''s side and popped on his shades before making his way around. By the time he arrived at the trunk, Blair wobbled like a bedraggled man trapped on a desolate desert island for countless days without food or water, barely remaining on his feet without the support of hanging off the bumper. Eliot flashed him a quick look and popped the trunk. Blair immediately grabbed his bag, but Eliot encouraged him to pick up a couple of the stray ones, like the duffel of snacks.

    Their eldest son twisted himself in the bags and wrapped them around his neck. Brooke managed to corral the other boys back over from exploring the side of the rental house and assigned them each their own bag to take along with an extra one. Lacy put on a melodramatic show that the bags were enveloping and consuming him and especially ¡°eating my butt¡±. Clare snickered and looped in circles with his load.

    Once inside, several bags were shed in the first convenient spot as the boys shot off to explore the rooms. Brooke scrunched up her forehead and wafted her top as the central air leached away some of the oppressive humidity. She wanted to yell and call them back to deal with the pile but really she wanted to find the nearest couch and pop every one of her joints in order.

    The rental house had three floors and a small cellar which wasn¡¯t underneath so much as situated off to the side. The main floor had an open kitchen and dining area overlooking the waves through electrochromic glass. She knew about it because her dad couldn¡¯t stop talking about it when he paid for the rental.

    Upstairs were all the bedrooms along with a side Jacuzzi and a stainless steel bath. The third floor contained a den for relaxing with a wide section opening up to a seaside view. Slipping her shoes off and stretching lengthwise on the big couch by the large TV, Brooke could almost feel herself drifting off with the distant white noise of the water and the sinking ease of the cushions. Her wrists and ankles sounded like cracking timber. With another pop, she craned her neck over her shoulder and watched as Eliot took a couple of their bags over to the side closet.

    She urged, ¡°Leave that for the boys. They have the energy to burn off.¡± Eliot countered that it was fine, and he would leave plenty for them. Brooke wanted to say something further, but the allure of the cushions dragged her back into relaxation. Unfortunately, the call of her bowels soon brought an end to that relaxation. It had been way too long and nowhere near comfortable at the last rest stop.

    Everyone else had the same idea at the same time though, so Brooke had to squeeze into the half bath behind the stairs. She gradually worked the kinks out of her neck as she checked her text messages and sent her mom and her dad confirmation that they arrived. Her dad made sure for the nth time that she knew about the glass in the windows.

    She also confirmed that an additional document she promised would be done by tomorrow night. It was the final Iteration of the design proposal for an eyeshadow kit that contained sativa. The fonts were nearly final and some of the names had to be replaced. Their competitors had really clever weed-suggestive-but-romantic labels. Brooke was lost in how many ways she could make friggin¡¯ brown sound sexy. Eliot suggested ones they couldn¡¯t get or had already used.

    That was her at the moment, bearing down painfully and exposed to something she just wanted to be done. Getting it done last week would¡¯ve truly impressed her dad, so at this point it was just treading water and avoiding disappointment. Staring out at the water helped, even though it was all psychological.

    Scoping out the rest of the house, Brooke was glad to see that everyone got a bed. Blair, of course, claimed the big queen in the guest bedroom, while Lacy had the double next to the window with a skylight that he considered very cool. The adjoining bedroom next to the master king had another double where Clare kicked back. He already had his Nintendo Switch set up on the dresser and charging.

    One of the bonuses of this location was they had free access to some streaming services and each of them was allowed to download as much as possible. But an informal rule was not to break out any of that till later. Blair took at least a hundred YouTube videos. Eliot had a bunch of Netflix series. Lacy downloaded twenty games off of Steam. And Clare had half of the Cartoon Network catalog along with about ten books. Brooke grabbed a mix from all of those. It wasn¡¯t that they would be left without a pipe to the outside world, it was just offline insurance. The gigabit connection seemed to be working fine as Brooke scowled at and tested the version of Disney+ on the smart TV.

    ¡±Is it OK if I walk along the beach¡­ for the rocks?¡± Brooke picked a bit of sleepy from her eyes which refused to come out. She turned and glanced at Clare standing there, rocking back and forth on his legs with a crumpled paper in his hands. She vaguely remembered his geology extra credit. Nodding, Brooke held up a finger and announced, ¡°I¡¯ll go with you. We can see how far it is to the boardwalk.¡±

    Somewhere between there, Blair strode in with Lacy right behind to declare that his younger brother was a ¡°posterior cruncher¡±. He was  sprawling out from the double with his feet and trying to make him smell them and break the mattress. Brooke warned them not to break anything because everything around here was expensive. Remember¡­grandpa picked out and paid for the rental. They don¡¯t wanna make grandpa mad, because then there would be no Christmas for them (or whatever). Lacy frowned and bit his tongue. Blair took this as a victory.

    Before the rocks though, Eliot assigned bags to the boys and stuff to unpack based on what they found. The medicine bag went into one of the bathrooms. Snack duffel went by the pantry. Book bag went into the den. Extra toiletries by the sink. And so forth until things looked manageable again. Brooke and Clare put on their sandals and walked out.

    The oceanfront had a small sliver just for them before signs proclaimed and fences marked separate properties. Sandpipers dashed across the sand and dug for insects. Gulls strutted as though they fashioned themselves princes. And clams spat wetly while brown and blue crabs bolted up and down the path.

    It wasn¡¯t long before Clare found a rock striped like a candy cane, although with more reddish-brown than white. Another one looked dark gray with white bubbles. It made Brooke hungry because it reminded her of the custom kiszka and salceson sandwich she got from the little Polish deli on the way.

    That was all that her son was able to find that looked interesting or like the examples from the handout. They strolled up a path that dodged away from a private beach and over to the small town boardwalk. It was bustling.

    First was a bar and lounge with an undersea theme. Followed by a t-shirt shop with merchandise fluttering in the breeze. An open-view sushi bar came after that. Then some chain restaurants, including a pizzeria. A small marine center next to a modest Ferris wheel. Steakhouse, fitness center, a crab place that looked like an overbuilt shack on the beach, a tattoo parlor, an artisan rugs store, several clothing shops, and a kite/wind chime place. Clare was drawn to the used book shop but gave a weird look to the non-dairy ice creamery.

    As a family, they eventually went with the crab place because they didn¡¯t need to dress up and no one wanted to. Lacy got the cioppino in a bread bowl because it looked like the crab was trying to escape. Eliot and Brooke had pastas and shared some oyster shooters. Blair said he really liked the surf and turf tacos. And Clare just marveled at the sea urchin and lobster bisque because the leftover spiky shell adorned the back of his plate. It was way more than Eliot or Brooke could ever remember paying for a meal but since grandpa was covering all expenses, out came some wine too.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    After supper, Clare had to be warned from climbing the shelves of the used bookstore. Blair actually snagged a puzzle book for himself while Lacy picked out an automotive magazine amongst the new stuff. The book that Clare wound up with included lots of rocks and Snoopy as the guide. The older lady who ran the shop noticed when Brooke called out to her kids.

    Casually, the woman inquired, ¡°Shall I write the little man¡¯s name in it?¡± Brooke rubbed at her eyes and cracked her neck another way to make it feel better. CLARE. She remarked on how unique that name was.

    Brooke soon admitted that her other boys were BLAIR and LACY. Ringing them up, the old woman remarked, ¡°My goodness, must be quite a story to all that.¡± Shrugging, Brooke noted, ¡°Not really. Just their names.¡± Fortunately, she left it at that and wished them a good evening.

    The sun had started to dip behind them, casting the waterfront in a golden red glow. Clare continued to scope around for rocks, even though they urged him not to wander far. Eliot wished he brought a sweater and Brooke wished she brought something to contain her blonde hair a little better against the sea breeze.

    ¡°WOAH!¡± Clare called out over the next ridge. Brooke caught up to him and squinted at whatever he was crouched over. It appeared to be a significant chunk of dark obsidian speckled with a luminous rainbow glow that practically appeared holographic. Unsurprisingly, Clare deduced that it had to be some sort of rainbow obsidian. But it didn¡¯t quite match the pictures in his book.

    He attempted to pick it up but quickly dropped it with a half-muttered, ¡°Ow. It shocked me.¡± Brooke got closer and made sure that he was all right. Her son tucked the rock in his plastic bag with the rest of his stuff and assured her he was all right.

    Back at the beach house, Clare put all his rocks aside in one of the dressers and joined the family for something Lacy picked out, an extreme sports documentary, from Blair¡®s videos. Whatever kept them away from the Disney crap was fine by Brooke.

    About halfway through, she noticed that little Clare was fading fast with his eyes barely open half the time. She took him over to the master bath to scrub up. He needed some help there as he had a lot of trouble keeping his eyes open. His hair was usually a close, almost pencil-like helmet sketch that barely went past his ears. But it had puffed and bloomed in a way that more than half covered them. He also appeared a little smaller than normal with especially soft hands as she helped him out.

    Naturally, she gave no heed to such ridiculous notions. Their son was growing up, not shrinking. But his blue and gray pajamas dangled on him, and she needed to loop and tighten the waistband drawstring. He barely crawled under his covers before he was snoring. She dimmed the lights as much as possible while leaving the door cracked.

    Brooke stayed up for the entire movie and a few of the spooky shorts the boys followed it with, riffing on whatever looked fake. Eventually, those kids got tired, and Eliot took care of making sure they got to bed. Eliot had some writing inspiration to jot down in a notebook while Brooke glared at her still unfinished work.

    ¡°You¡¯ll get it¡±, he reassured her. ¡°Just don¡¯t try to push it so hard.¡±

    She knew but vented about feeling her dad breathing down her neck. They washed up at the same time in the bath and shower. They flashed certain looks at one another but each felt too exhausted to bother with anything remotely sexy.

    Before turning in for the evening, Brooke looked in on Clare still audibly snoozing. Brooke thought his hair looked different but also knew that was crazy. Rubbing her eyes, she snuggled up to Eliot as they both went to sleep.

    The sound of what came next roused Brooke with acute awareness.

    ¡°Mommy? Daddy? I need help.¡± Having raised Blair through protracted childhood illness, they often discovered he vomited everywhere at 3 AM. They found Lacy split his forehead open doing gosh knows what. And found ways to calm Clare from his vivid dreams. They were ready to go. Theoretically.

    Brooke bounced up from the bed with her comforting hands out. She suddenly snapped back, as though finding a cottonmouth instead of her child in front of her. Clare¡¯s face was there but framed by ropy twisting blonde locks to his neck. Her first thought was that one of his brothers had planted a ridiculous wig on his head. But that made no sense, because Clare was smart enough to just take it off and use it as evidence.

    Her boy also tugged at those fair crinkles, and nothing was coming loose. Brooke sat on the side of the bed and cleared her throat.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, sweetie? What do you need help with?¡±

    His little mouth twisted a few ways as he fussed with his pants and did a little two-step in place. ¡°I can¡¯t find it and I gotta go.¡±

    Some of the tension settled from her shoulders while still leaving her alert. Potty issue. Still a problem for a six-year-old. Eliot was already getting up and understood enough.

    ¡°It¡¯s all right buddy, I got you.¡±

    Eliot definitely did a double take to Clare¡¯s longer hair but sniffled and led the way to the master bathroom. Brooke puzzled over that as she leaned back on the bed. Disoriented? Turned around from a nightmare? Or just wanting someone to go with him in this strange house? She had no idea.

    Just as the clutches of sleep started to settle back around her, Brooke heard her husband call her name from the bathroom and add, ¡°¡­ could you come here¡­ a moment?¡±

    His tone sounded way more puzzled than when Microsoft dropped a shitty update that messed up his writing but frantic in a sense that electrified all her fears. It was still restrained, but she knew something was wrong. Brooke dashed and was at the threshold of the bathroom in the span of a single breath.

    Their son sat nervously on the toilet seat with his jammies down and his eyes searching as he did his business. Brooke puzzled quietly until she got closer and saw the shocking truth. Quietly, their little boy explained, ¡°It¡¯s gone. My little birdy. Was it something I ate?¡±

    Brooke¡¯s heart raced, but she did her best not to show the alarm on her face to her son as she realized with sickening certainty that he didn¡¯t seem to be a boy anymore. Somehow, suddenly, their son was a girl.

    Wrestling a bramble of confusion, she used a soft pleasant voice to dodge around that issue and reassure him they would figure this out but¡­ He needed to be more careful now. She showed him how to wipe and be clean and he followed her direction but grumbled that it wasn¡¯t as easy and clean as normal.

    They wanted to make sure their son wasn¡¯t worried by this, but that was a hard thing to do when each of them was absolutely terrified by what the hell was going on. How could their youngest son suddenly have girl parts and long hair?

    Once Clare was dressed again, it was easy to take the kid back to his room and tuck him in again. He didn¡¯t seem as tired, but he still cozied up under the blanket. He also didn¡¯t seem happy about this new arrangement from how hot his hair felt against his neck to feeling like he suddenly had some sort of ¡°butt in front that peed¡±. He was willing to accept the idea this was just a dream but then worried that he might¡¯ve unknowingly peed the bed if he was asleep.

    Brooke managed to grab a couple of her regular ties to put her son''s hair up and out of the way from his shoulder but then he complained that it hurt to lay on. It took some doing but she finally got it placed in a way that he said felt cool enough to sleep.

    ¡°Night, mom!¡±

    She lingered in his room even after turning down the lights. She shook her head and sighed, hoping that somehow the idle notion that this was all a dream would be especially true for her.

    Eliot was amenable to that as well. He chewed on his nails as he peered in at the kid who used to be his son. No, still his son, no matter how he looked. Sleep didn¡¯t return to either of them easily, but they eventually passed out amidst tiredness and confusion with no theories as to what possibly could¡¯ve happened or what to do about it, except hope morning would bring sense.

 [2] A Rock & Family Vacation 2 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [2]

    On the cusp of morning, Brooke woke up feeling kind of gross. Not the suddenly sick variety, but like she just drooled all over her top and sneezed in the middle of the night with the leftovers on her arm. Things certainly didn¡¯t feel sexy last night, and they weren¡¯t starting off well.

    A minute after using up several tissues, the big thing she knew drifted into her consciousness. Her youngest, six-year-old Clare, had to go to the bathroom and didn¡¯t have a pee-pee anymore. He was a girl with long hair. That couldn¡¯t be real though.

    She once had a dream that bordered on the stressful nightmares Clare had for too many sleepless nights. In it, a small asteroid had broken through the attic, tearing through insulation and the HVAC space above them. It was so real, from her debating with Eliot about the actual terminology of the rock to the sense of space in the house.

    But the one element that utterly convinced her it was real was choosing to wake up from the dream only to walk over to that same spot and see that the gash in the roof was still there. She woke herself up and the hole was still there. Then she woke herself up and the hole was still there. So, she woke herself up and the hole was still there. She woke herself up and the hole was still there¡­

    Emotionally, she felt more than a half dozen instances of trying to wake up. Finally being awake felt like the most untrustworthy foundation she could attempt to rely upon. Cautiously, she ran through everyone¡¯s birthdates. Gradually, reality made sense, and everything was in its proper order.

    She got up from the bed, stretched her legs, and glared at an ingrown hair right above her knee which felt like it wanted to make her day miserable. Brooke crept over to the adjoining room to check on her youngest son.

    He was up. Sort of. His blankets were all bunched up into a disorganized mound. She could see his head barely poking out towards the Nintendo Switch as his little hands fiddled with the Joy-Con. A mangled crown of long blonde hair puffed around his head, mostly hidden by his blankets. She could hear him sniffling while he played.

    ¡°Sweetie?¡±

    No answer.

    ¡°You okay?¡±

    Another silence only punctuated by plastic mechanical clicking. The bundle of blankets shifted.

    ¡°¡­.no.¡± Another sniffle.

    Brooke settled on the edge of her son¡¯s bed and the blankets curled back like a caterpillar twisting from the assault of a malicious bird. ¡°Can I see you¡­?¡±

    The game console gave the familiar chime that meant things had been paused. Slowly, the child beneath peeled back the insulating layers until just the protective fitted sheet remained. And then even that slipped away as Clare pouted and gazed towards the nearest wall. His clothes barely clung to his tiny body. Clare had always been rather small. He was barely six pounds when born.

    The presence stretched out on the bed had such slight shoulders, but they still appeared delicately soft and plush instead of bony. All his skin seemed especially tender, as though it might bruise if she simply grabbed it the wrong way. Otherwise, aside from a slightly higher forehead and obvious long hair, this was clearly Clare. He reached for a section of the discarded blanket, ready to restore his cocoon. But Brooke bent over and wrapped him in her arms.

    Lifting him up in her embrace felt slightly easier than wielding a listless, land-trapped fish. Slowly, he started to quiver and laced his arms around her back. He was never a loud crier, as hot tears landed on her shoulder with a faint squeak. She eased him back to look at him. His eyes were puffy and evasive as he mouthed sobs.

    ¡°Did I fail?¡±

    She frowned and asked him what he meant. Lacy apparently conjured up some boyish mythology that stuck in Clare¡¯s brain for some time. If boys weren¡¯t careful then they could fail at being boys and turn into girls instead. Brooke scoffed and assured him that wasn¡¯t the case.

    ¡°But I¡¯m a girl now¡­ right? I kinda saw¡­may have seen, stuff. Somewhere. Am I gonna grow boobies now¡­?¡±

    Brooke had a lot to unpack with that string of thoughts. She knew that Lacy had stuff that she was never supposed to poke around in, but Blair was basically a ninja when it came to that department. She was just desperately glad that they kept things clean, or at least as clean as boys of 12 and 16 could manage things. As far as the rest, Brooke didn¡¯t want to commit to any particular conclusion yet.

    She helped Clare to his feet. He had a slightly different smell too. Maybe it was just her imagination, but his usual scent had a subtler presence. He still smelled like slightly-sweaty child recently wrapped in too many blankets, but it wasn¡¯t quite in the range she expected.

    In the bathroom, she had him undress completely. They also plucked the hair ties from his long, disheveled locks. Clare readily tossed his top but hesitated with letting his pants go until the last reasonable moment. The undeniable sight of an undressed little girl in front of her set off screeching alarm bells. This couldn¡¯t possibly be her child! This had to be one of the neighbor''s kids or some changeling standing in for one of hers!

    But Clare¡¯s nervous little features looked up at her expectantly as though she had all the answers to this impossibility. She could only offer up a few tidbits as she led Clare over to the bathroom and laid a towel on his shoulders¡­ Her shoulders to keep her warm.

    ¡°Yes, while I¡¯m not a doctor and I don¡¯t know if we can find one around here, you are a girl. Just like me. And that¡¯s perfectly fine. There are lots of girls in the world. And it¡¯s perfectly normal to be one. So far as how things might be when you grow up¡­We don¡¯t have to worry about that right now. Let¡¯s just figure out things for today.¡±

    When she was done using the toilet, after processing all this from her mom, Clare had to ask, ¡°Do I have to change my name? Do I have to wear dresses and skirts and use the girls'' restroom now?¡±

    She was impressed at the scope of forethought and anxiety spilling out of her son, but she, unfortunately, presented about that much on any given day after work. It was easy to gloss over the name part since it was already a big to-do. But she just assured her that no, she wouldn¡¯t have to change her name for anything. As far as restrooms, Brooke relayed that girls'' restrooms were made with girls'' needs in mind (she resisted all the complaints floating through her brain and stuck to this simplification).

    Clare wasn¡¯t very happy when it came to those ¡°needs¡±, but she understood that. On the last point, Brooke vehemently defended that no matter what happened to Clare physically, she would never force her to wear skirts and dresses or anything that made her uncomfortable. But she did make sure she knew that being without a top wasn¡¯t appropriate for girls. Every point she worked her way through felt like dodging lasers that might slice off a limb. These were the sorts of questions she thought would never come up. She just wasn¡¯t prepared for them, even though she should¡¯ve been.

    Chewing on her lips back and forth, Clare didn¡¯t immediately denounce the thought of wearing girls'' clothes if she was a girl. She didn¡¯t want to wear anything with clowns though but that was given. Before Brooke prepared Clare¡¯s usual bath, she asked her mom if she could try a shower. She knew it was a more grown-up thing to shower, even though she had one or two with dad washing her hair. Could mom help her shower?

    Brooke had to think that over. In her family, familial intimacy didn¡¯t exist. You shut the damn door and were nowhere around anyone else when they were naked. Eliot¡¯s family weren¡¯t quite hippies, but they definitely liked to save water by having multiple people bathe and shower at once. It was never a mixed situation. Brooke freaked out when she was joined by Eliot washing baby Blair. She had no idea if this would give the kid some sort of precocious feeling or Oedipus complex. But the world didn¡¯t blow up just because their family took a shower or bath together sometimes. Eventually, Blair didn¡¯t think it was cool anymore and preferred to take his own baths and showers. And so, the trajectory continued.

    Clare was clearly slipping away from that notion next. So, this was a rare and completely bizarre opportunity. More than anything though, Brooke imagined and hoped that she could show her concerned daughter that there wasn¡¯t anything wrong or broken about being a girl and that while some things would be different, it didn¡¯t have to be scary.

    She prefaced as much of this as she could and got the walk-in shower ready. Fortunately, they packed some of Clare¡¯s older clothes which were getting snug, but he could still comfortably wear them, because it was a truth of every vacation that clothes somehow vanish into the ether, and losing these would not be a big deal. Eliot was still asleep in their bed, and she let him enjoy all that restful ignorance.

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    Being naked before her child still brought back the old anxieties. She had to lock the bathroom door. Clare marveled at her mother and then glanced down at herself a few times back-and-forth.

    ¡°¡­ I¡¯m going to be like you¡­ someday?¡±

    Brooke thought she looked pretty good for forty. Her hair was closest now to its natural ash blonde while retaining some fair highlights around her shoulders. Whether it was turning gray or not at the roots was not a matter she needed to know yet. She was never going to escape the lines around her brown eyes, and she¡¯d long ago come to terms with the freckles spread around her face. A lip reduction was something she considered around 30 but eventually decided that it was fine and didn¡¯t make her look like a hooker.

    Her arms and legs were still lean, but a sense of flab sometimes caught her, like a phantasm in the shadows. Her boobs slammed into her quiet life way early and forged a modest love-hate relationship with her as they swelled through puberty and found new peaks through three bouts of nursing and never looked back. Was her daughter going to take after her? Too big of a question.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, sweetie. You¡¯re not going to be exactly like me, not like in those¡­ Not in certain movies. But think about all your relatives, from your grandmas to aunt¡­ To your aunts and cousins and everyone. But I know with absolute certainty you¡¯ll be beautiful no matter what happened to you with all this or whatever will happen.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m not gonna be a daddy someday?¡±

    She¡¯s stressed that was something Clare didn¡¯t need to even begin thinking about for a long long time. Before they got in, Brooke tested the shower. The water pressure was absurdly high and set the way Eliot liked it instead of her.

    At this point, Clare fretted that she had lost, literally lost, her birdy. Before she woke up her parents, she dug all around her bed to see where it could¡¯ve fallen off, because she didn¡¯t want to go to the bathroom without it. Brooke had no idea what to say but mostly wanted to get in the shower.

    A lot of the worries washed away in there. Clare was not prepared for the water blasting her on the side and in the face. She giggled with delight and said it was like a slide, but it was moving instead of her. She had plenty of room to prance around like she usually did as Brooke sudsed up her hair and tried not to be too rough with her gentle skin. Clare wanted to and was able to scrub herself with a little hand towel wrapped around soap and a few handfuls of the liquid stuff Brooke typically used.

    As she let Brooke blow dry her hair while on the little window seat and wrapped in a big warm towel, Clare fostered a new concern, ¡°Will Ace and Big B be mad at me?¡±

    It took her a moment to realize Clare meant Lacy and Blair. They probably came up with those over the long trip but then it felt like they adopted and shed all sorts of nicknames daily. ¡°Why would they be mad at you?¡±

    ¡°Because we¡¯re brothers. What are we now?¡±

    These were far too many and way too existential questions for an hour when the sun hadn¡¯t even breached the water yet. ¡°Family. I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be fine.¡± She knew that was total bullshit but kept firm with it till Clare at least nodded.

    They dressed, with Clare recognizing her older clothes but feeling comfy in them and Brooke putting on a light blue top and shorts. Brooke picked up one of the nail polishes over by the sink and asked if Clare wanted to try it. She remembered when mommy sometimes wore it and agreed with her suggestion that it made her fingers look like pretty stones. But she wasn¡¯t quite ready to go there. She was still nervous about her brothers seeing her.

    Eliot shifted in bed but didn¡¯t perk up. In the side room, Brooke lingered with her kid and considered how this might¡¯ve happened. She did her best not to hate herself too much for putting off this notion. She genuinely wanted Clare to be restored to his normal self. She¡¯d just never had a daughter before and, amongst her family, the notion wasn¡¯t the biggest celebration. She wanted to make sure Clare felt like she was fully valid and not a half person, subtraction, or loss to be resolved or repaired.

    She had Clare work backwards from before she woke up and had to use the bathroom. A lot of those memories were fragmented because of how drowsy he had been. Brooke noted there were already signs of something about her son changing before he hit the bed, she had just overlooked them.

    The places and the things they had already revisited this early morning were easily ruled out. Clare shuffled around a few of her things and pulled out her books and the rocks that she picked up. Nothing especially stood out but the rainbow obsidian one still seemed strikingly pretty. From there, they would have to return to the movie from last night and the crab shack.

    Otherwise, all Brooke could imagine was some sort of random venomous insect biting her son and causing the weirdest adverse reaction. Same could be speculated for eating sea urchin and lobster. But, despite that creepy-looking dish, several other people at the restaurant had ordered the same without any apparent ill effects.

    She considered touching and exploring a bunch of the nooks and crannies of the small room but also understood that it could¡¯ve been anything Clare came in contact with, not only on their trip but beforehand depending on the ¡°incubation period¡±. If it was something in this room then she was oddly ambivalent about coming into contact with it, if it worked on her too. Her dad would lose his shit. But she would also possibly fall asleep like her son did and lose quite a few productive hours getting the work she needed done. She led Clare out of the room for now.

    Eliot was finally up but moving like a reptile deprived of a sun lamp until he noticed the length of his son¡¯s hair. His spastic jolt to get out of bed led to groaning and a sore foot. ¡°Oh my gosh. So¡­ That happened?¡± He coughed and had some lingering drool around his face. Clare slipped free of her mom and went over to her dad¡®s side. She hugged him and said, ¡°Daddy, I¡¯m sorry but I¡¯m not a boy anymore. I have to be a girl now.¡±

    Brooke sighed, as that was entirely not what she wanted her son to take away from all she said. She corrected that she had no idea quite what was going on, but it seemed like Clare was now a girl. Additionally, she noted that ¡°she¡± had ¡°her¡± shower and they should probably think about getting breakfast started and catching up the rest of the family on the current strangeness.

    Eliot looked Clare over. Their youngest took a deep breath. ¡±I still love you daddy. Even though I am a girl now. I hope you¡¯re still okay with me.¡± It was like a light flipped on. Eliot flashed with determination and securely held his daughter close as he explained to her no matter what happened to her physically, emotionally, or wherever else in her life¡­ He would love her without condition. Brooke reiterated the same.

    ¡°Then, I guess¡­ Nothing really changed? I have the pee butt like mom, and I guess I have to learn stuff and I can wear different clothes. But the big difference is I have a lot more hair and grow up different¡­ To be more like mommy. Right?¡± Clare wanted to make sure of a few things though.

    Firstly, could she still play video games and read books and not have to play with dolls or ponies, right? Her parents vehemently confirmed that she could still do all the stuff she wanted to do but, if there was anything new, then she had their support for that. Clare just shrugged and went on to the next point. Secondly, would she still go to the same school and have the same friends? This one was a little bit more difficult because grandpa paid for the boy¡¯s private school since he took a special shine to Clare (who he preferred to call ¡®Clark¡¯). They simply said they would figure it out when they got home. For the third point, she understood that her parents were fine and still loved her, but she worried about her brothers and her extended family. Brooke clenched her jaw over thoughts of her father but returned to the point of family and felt confident that they would be able to work things out.

    That was everything that occurred to Clare right. Lacy and Blair tended to get a late start waking up, especially during the last vacation. But Brooke felt it was well after time to make sure they knew what was going on. Holding Clare by the hand as she leaned into her, Brooke walked over to the guest bedroom.

 [3] A Rock & Family Vacation 3 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [3]

    Blair and Lacy burst out with excited noises before they even got to the door. With the scope and layout of the rental house, they had to get all the way to the second-floor hallway before Brooke could hear the sudden cacophony. She had a sense for the tone of their fights.

    If Lacy was wailing, then he was doing his overzealous flop for the referees of his parents as brutal Blair had clearly committed an unprovoked assault on him. If he was laughing, then he was attempting to get away with something. This time, she heard a groaning whimper from her 12-year-old with soft chuckles from the 16-year-old. She knew this was going to be interesting.

    With an arm, she motioned for Clare to wait back a few feet while she continued into the room. In parental parlance, she could easily observe that a storm had struck the room from everything else strewn about with most of the tables left empty but for some open snacks. Maybe breakfast wouldn¡¯t be necessary for a while.

    ¡°HEY, MOM! Do get scared from¡­Skinwalkers?¡± Lacy voiced the question, but Blair was too cool to give that much attention to it. It comforted her that her boys didn¡¯t seem to be doing anything that they needed to hide from her, this time.

    Lacy had softly boyish features and bristled at being called cute when he put on a hat. His eyes showed that especially. There was a time when they considered having him do some modeling. But the amount of getting identified as a girl around various studios and agencies eventually set him off, especially with his name. There was a solid year when he first started to hit puberty, and didn¡¯t hit it as hard as he wanted, that he blindly accused her of casting a ¡°sissy¡± spell with his name.

    It hurt. But she knew that was just one of those flailing-at-the-world things that happened. So far as Blair, he had huge hands which easily wrapped around his big iPhone. He enjoyed remarking that he was like John Cena, he just still had to grow into it. Unfortunately, his weightlifting efforts tended to sink after about a week. He liked brainy stuff more than pumping iron. In school, he lamented that everyone dubbed him a jock because of the full, Iron Giant shape of his face. Especially a dumb jock. He wanted to absolutely prove everyone wrong, but often lacked the conviction. His hair was about the same length as Lacy¡®s but much curlier.

    Brooke paused to look around the room but let it slide for the moment and folded her arms in front of her to judge that question. ¡°Skinwalkers, huh? Sounds real scary. But I have something very important, very urgent to tell you.¡±

    Blair quietly swallowed and frowned before asking, ¡°Why didn¡¯t you text us then?¡±

    Apparently coming in person didn¡¯t show as much of a sense of urgency as sending a random text message on her phone. She knew it was a dumb Luddite fantasy with no prospect in the world anymore, but she missed when her kids weren¡¯t intimately tied to their cell phones, as though they were a vital limb.

    For Blair, it was till about age 7 or so with a lot of begging and pleading for his own, with grandpa ultimately going around her to get them all a family plan. For Lacy, he immediately gravitated to their phones and grandpa¡®s iPad after infancy and latched onto his older brother¡¯s from age 3 onward. Fortunately, when it came to Clare, they were able to slip enough books and his Switch in there to make phones seem like a side consideration and not the main attraction. So far, at least.

    Brooke cradled her forehead and emphasized, ¡°Because it¡¯s an important family matter which needs to be discussed in person. It¡¯s about your little brother.¡° Turning, she shifted over and gestured through the door while calling Clare''s name.

    Clare didn¡¯t come out immediately but instead seemed to be psyching herself up. She took slow steps forward and gradually emerged into the room. She stood beside her mom and fussed with her clothes even though they were ones she wore not too long ago.

    Blair took and puffed out of breath, as if barely holding back some general exasperation. He pulled his lower lip to the right, spread both hands flat, and speculated, ¡°We have a guest?¡°

    Lacy gave a tilt of his head and a low-effort wave. ¡°Hey. Are you a neighbor?¡±

    Those were both reasonable reactions. She shifted her hands around and informed them, ¡°This is your brother, Clare. Something happened last night of great concern.¡±

    Clare quickly elaborated, ¡°I became a girl.¡±

    Lacy started a laugh, but it petered out when he noticed no one else was joining in. Blair scrunched his eyes and stared at the girl in front of him, who vaguely looked like she could be a version of his brother or more likely an extended relative. He resolved, ¡°You¡¯re not fooling me. That¡¯s¡­ one of our cousins.¡±

    The only flaw in that resolution was that all of their cousins were much older and nowhere near their younger brother¡®s age. But he didn¡¯t think that all the way through. Brooke shook her head and Clare added, ¡°It¡¯s me, I can prove it.¡±

    Darting over, Clare went to whisper in each of her older brothers'' ears. Brooke knew it had to be secrets and she really didn¡¯t want to know any brotherly secrets. She quietly tried to pop her ears to muffle any stray words.

    No more than that pair of whispers was necessary to leave Blair¡¯s immense jaw dangling open. Lacy mouthed small circles like he was trying to blow an invisible bubble. What followed was a cacophony of yells of alarm, shock, and general confusion slowing quietly when Brooke raised her hands and squeezed her forehead.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. We don¡¯t know. Something happened last night. It could¡¯ve been something we ate or something we encountered. Which has only so far affected your brother¡­sister.¡±

    Lacy swiftly overreacted that if the food was tainted then he had to upchuck. He was already starting to stick half his hand down his throat. Brooke urgently stopped him before he ralphed all over the guest bed. Chaos came in several waves as Brooke had far too few answers and the older boys had wild speculations about something their younger brother must¡¯ve picked up at school, from one of the rest stops, from the bookstore, or from his room.

    ¡°And what if she still has it on her?!? My ear!¡± Lacy shrieked and scrambled over to the bathroom. Blair gazed around and joined his brother as they both splashed themselves with sterilizing water. Clare looked over. To her mother, she inquired, ¡°Did they get dumber overnight?¡±

    Brooke cracked her neck slightly and advised her that they weren¡¯t dumb, just concerned. ¡°After all, you were really worried last night and this morning. And aren¡¯t you still?¡±

    Clare tipped her head a few ways, as though judging perspective. ¡°But it¡¯s not a big deal, right?¡±

    She touched her daughter¡¯s hair slightly and brushed it back. ¡°It¡¯s not a big deal for you. But it can be a big deal for some. Especially as you get older and grow up.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Clare didn¡¯t seem particularly convinced by this explanation and preferred the notion that her brothers were just being dumb. Slightly damp, Blair and Lacy returned and steered clear of their little sister. Lacy made a cross with his fingers while Blair deftly dodged around to return to the bed.

    ¡°Has dad touched her?¡± Blair inquired nervously. Brooke sighed and laid her hands on Clare¡¯s arms and shoulders and gave her a hug. This wasn¡¯t enough for Blair, who deduced that whatever curse was occurring was an emasculating one. Brooke called over Eliot and the whole situation left him confused. Him touching Clare and her giving him a hug just led to an escalation as the boys sprinted away.

    Soon after that, Clare decided to have some fun by giving chase. Blair continued to try to be cool about it but failed. Brooke wished they bought wine instead of cheese at a nice vineyard about 100 miles back in their drive, even though she knew it was way too early. She wanted a big hunk of the cheese though.

    Eliot tracked the chaos to make sure that no one ran into anything around the house that looked exceptionally expensive. At one point, Lacy got tangled up in his feet and tumbled and slid across the floor. Clare struck with nefarious hugging. Successful catching actually started to calm things down as it slowly dawned on Lacy that Clare wasn¡¯t an infectious zombie of girlification.

    Not long after that, Blair properly inspected Clare by lifting her up and warned her that she would have to wear skirts, dresses, and tops with her swim trunks. Clare instantly cited Brooke¡¯s assurance that she could wear whatever she wanted. Blair spun tales of all the other girls she was going to be around and the hive mind that was going to melt her thoughts and reshape her into the perfect little girl. Lacy backed this up, but Clare stuck out her tongue.

    She then grabbed at her brothers and soon discovered another change to the status quo: they weren¡¯t to hit her. This wasn¡¯t an order from their parents but rather something that Blair resolved, and Lacy concurred with solemnly. Neither of them could hit a girl, especially their sister. Put that way, Clare found no sport in tussling with her brothers now. Only a girl could hit another girl, the two boys definitively resolved.

    Clare found a spot sitting cross-legged on the couch. She sat alone and quietly pouted. Her brothers lingered around the kitchen, as though she wasn¡¯t even there. Brooke noticed but didn¡¯t say anything. The fridge was modestly stocked with fresh eggs, a bunch of vegetables, bread, and an assortment of meats and frozen foods. It all wasn¡¯t enough for dinner last night but looked promising for breakfast. Blair wanted French toast and Lacy was keen for a scramble with ham (even though there was just Spam). Eliot knew what Brooke liked but she whispered for him to add in some cheese. She was about to ask what Clare wanted, but she slipped away.

    Looking around carefully, she eventually found her wrapped in covers again but sitting in the chair with her schoolwork. When she asked what Clare was up to, she listlessly intoned that she had to do her work. That was a hard thing for her to refute since the product rewrites were tingling at the back of her head to finish for grandpa.

    Suddenly though, she was struck by an idea. One that kindled her curiosity. She asked her daughter, ¡°How would you like to help me?¡±

    Clare perked up quietly and inquired further. She knew that mom had a job where she basically had to name and make look good some of the things in stores. And she wanted her to help her with that. Brooke emphasized, ¡°You¡¯re very clever. I think you¡¯ll have ideas I¡¯ve never even considered.¡±

    Gradually, Clare looked over the product sample. Since the sample didn¡¯t contain any actual sativa, she let Clare poke around and try some of the colors. She also gave her the full list of approved words they could use. Many of them were quite daunting for a six-year-old to read but Clare eagerly wanted to understand several in particular. She took photos of the word list with her phone and let it explain them. Brooke also texted over to Eliot that she found Clare without any problems and that they were just having a mommy/daughter moment. Clare relayed that she wanted waffles and scramble.

    Meanwhile, it only took a few minutes before they made great progress on the rewrites. By the time breakfast was ready, the biggest problems had been overcome. Clare celebrated how much she helped her mom and Brooke was genuinely grateful that she could finish up the rest before noon.

    Clare returned to her bag of rocks and hauled them over her shoulder when her dad said that breakfast was ready. The bag found a place by the couch as the boys sat on the other side of the table from their sister. Gleefully, Clare gloated that she helped mom finish her big project. Blair brought up that he helped mom with a massive research project many years ago. And Lacy reminded everyone that his hair helped make grandpa millions of dollars. Brooke sighed and rolled her eyes but appreciated that the interactions felt closer to normal.

    When everyone was finishing up, Brooke casually asked Clare if she wanted to try some clothes on at one of the places down the beach since many of the clothes she brought with her were now loose. Clare agreed. The brothers bailed out of this conversation and scrambled over to the couch. Brooke decided to make it special by giving Clare her spare, sandy tote. She didn¡¯t frame it as a purse and Clare didn¡¯t invoke the word either. She was just grateful to have something to carry her Switch and other stuff. It was easy to wear like a tiny backpack.

    When they went over to the couch for Clare to retrieve her rocks, Lacy was already rummaging through the bag. Before she could scold him or say anything, Lacy snapped his hand back and yowled plaintively. ¡°There¡¯s a bug in there! It bit me!¡±

    Clare grabbed her bag and stuck out her tongue, wondering why her brother even had his hand in there. He lamented that he was just looking for some candy. She explained that there weren¡¯t any bugs, they were just ¡°conductive¡± rocks. Lacy retorted that that didn¡¯t sound real. Clare appeared uncertain about her claim but evaded that, saying that she knew rocks and he only knew the rocks inside his head. Despite the no-punch-girls rule, he gladly chucked a pillow at her face.

    He then gave a yawn and told her, ¡°Go away, plague girl. Your face is so boring.¡±

    Clare didn¡¯t have anything else to use on him but stuck out her tongue again. Blair let out a rippling, mighty belch which soon reduced Lacy to appreciative giggles. Despite briefly considering taking her special rocks in her bag, Clare instead put them on one of the side, empty displays. Her dad offered to place them for her, but she prided herself on setting them as high as possible on her own. They looked like they belonged as part of the minimalist d¨¦cor, especially the rainbow shimmery black one.

 [4] A Rock & Family Vacation 4 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [4]

    Brooke filled her main tote with everything they needed, along with quite a few just-in-case additions, and whatever else occurred to her. She noticed that her daughter switched her sandy tote over to the same shoulder as her. She didn¡¯t call attention to it, but gave a quick, private smile. Brooke absolutely didn¡¯t want any of her kids to be exactly like her, but it felt good, as well as a relief, to be their role model.

    The early air felt nice. It was still dense and clingy despite a steady sea breeze wafting a mist. The morning clouds stifled the heat. Clare started by scampering ahead to check out the waves. However, she soon pulled up and stepped lightly the rest of the way.

    Brooke desperately hoped that her daughter hadn¡¯t pulled a muscle or twisted her ankle. When she checked that Clare was all right, the girl shyly admitted it was just the pee butt feeling weird when she was walking. She stretched, kicked her legs, and twirled while stretching to do a split. At the end of the split, Clare squeaked and braced herself while flailing with a puff of air.

    It brought reflexive wincing and sympathetic pain from Brooke, but her little girl hopped up and fixed her bag without a single note of complaint. Clare admitted that she landed a little sore but was quietly surprised it didn¡¯t hurt. Of course, she soon decided that more experiments needed to be run.

    Fervently, Brooke urged her not to run too far ahead because her brain still saved a half dozen solemn Netflix documentaries with photos of smiling, vanished kids. Clare smashed herself into a low wall made of spiral stone like she was riding a small horse. The breath gasped out of her, but she soon giggled.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t hurt as much without the birdie and eggs. I think the pee butt is better.¡± Brooke was quietly glad that the area where they were walking didn¡¯t have any passersby to judge the fact that her daughter was hopping on and¡­ hugging a stone wall. Clare had a lot to say about peeing standing up but all of Brooke¡¯s attention was on scouting around for anyone who might hear this. Fortunately, Clare soon moved on to skipping and trying out different strides.

    They arrived at the clothing store just as she was fake ice skating along some gravel and dirt. Brooke faced the girls'' section with as much curiosity tinged with trepidation as her kid. It had been a long time, but even when growing up her mom wasn¡¯t the sort to take her on shopping trips. They just had her point to the parts of the ordering catalog that she wanted, and had it modified if it wasn¡¯t right.

    She let her daughter explore, within reason, as the clerk at the counter waved and greeted them. ¡°Hello there, ma¡¯am. Greetings, little miss. Is there anything I can help you two with?¡± Clare looked up and it clearly took her a few moments to process that the ¡®little miss¡¯ sentiment was directed towards her.

    ¡°Hello. We¡¯re just looking. Thank you!¡± Clare took charge with that, and the clerk encouraged them to look around. The first rack had a gorgeous variety of graphic tees. The offerings had a slimmer cut with slightly different shoulders than Brooke was used to. The boys'' selections tended to have a focus on ¡°bros¡±, gaming, action, ninjas, and roaring dinosaurs.

    Here, there was a lot of peace, encouragement, rainbow unicorns, science, and still plenty of dinosaurs. Clare smiled at the neon pink top with a purple dinosaur reading a pile of novels with the words, ¡°my weekend is booked¡± but she gasped at another top which had a flaming comet shining above assorted rainbow stones with the text, ¡°science rocks!¡± That one went in their basket.

    The section with dresses felt like a big step. Clare stood back respectfully as Brooke sifted through the options. But she was intrigued by certain ones called ¡°skater dresses¡±. Brooke recalled that it wasn¡¯t because it meant skateboarders wore them, as Clare considered from what she remembered of the movie last night, but rather that figure skaters tended to. Clare still thought that was cool though.

    She was especially interested in the skirtalls, which didn¡¯t look anything like what she expected for a skirt, blouse, or anything else. Brooke knew from work that some Influencer made them popular. She wasn¡¯t quite as keen on the denim ones, since they made her think more of overalls. She also seemed ever so slightly annoyed that heavier fall designs with rustic oranges, pumpkins, and leaves were scattered about when it was still the middle of summer.

    Leggings, jeans, and boots also came under her purview but, in her brain, she was starting to add up the uncomfortable cost of essentially acquiring a wardrobe for a brand new child. This place had several mark-off deals and looked to be the only location in the area with a significant children¡¯s section, but there were far more, cheaper options back home. Before things got carried away, she resolved to just make sure there were enough comfortable outfits for the week, bolstered by the cheaper tees. A few pairs of jeans. A couple of leggings for Clare to try. One modest dress with science decorations. One blouse and a skirt just to say they got them. The cheapest pair of nice shoes and thank goodness the sandals they came here on still fit her feet.

    Of everything though, it took her the longest to remember underwear. Over by the changing room, Clare eagerly tried on the familiar tees and pants. Not all of them earned her approval, but she definitely dug the rocks and books. She commented that there were a lot more fun things in the girls'' choices. They hadn¡¯t gotten to the dresses yet.

    The first step into those waters came with the pleated, very soft skirts. Clare was skeptical when she first stepped out. She pronounced that they looked like drapes, bedsheets, and lamp covers. The clerk walked by though and told her she looked really pretty. Clare brushed the skirt down and dipped her head. They bought one skirt and only because it looked like ocean waves. They also bought a few proper polos to cover formal possibilities. Clare had way too much fun spinning with the matching skort.

    At one point, to mollify the curious clerk, Brooke put together an explanation structured from the idea that her daughter was recently in a particular situation where she never wore more than rather plain, unisex clothing and she herself had also been raised by a very aloof family that avoided certain kinds of fashion. It was all technically correct, but also painfully constructed. The clerk immediately assumed an ex-husband along with a cult of some sort and Brooke did her best not to get in the way of her imagination.

    The clerk took charge of finding not only hidden beauties of clothing and whatever else they would need but also items that were quietly on discount. She placed her daughter in a luminous, blue star field dress. Clare cautiously stepped before the mirror in it and brushed her legs together as she smoothed down the hem. The clerk lavished her most vibrant praise. Small, unseen shorts went on underneath.

    Clare didn¡¯t bristle or squirm uncomfortably. She fussed gently with her dense blonde hair and quietly marveled at her reflection before whispering, ¡°I¡¯m a girl.

    The clerk took that with a hearty laugh and encouraged her that she was a very pretty little girl. And she added a girl deserved to dress how she feels and in what makes her happy. Clare chewed at her lip as she continued to fuss. To Brooke¡¯s nervous chagrin, as she took a sudden, nervous interest in gazing at her tote, Clare recited, ¡°I am not a boy.¡±

    To that, the clerk directed heartfelt sympathy at Clare. She shared part of a personal story about being the youngest child of five, mostly boys, who had to receive hand-me-downs that didn¡¯t look cool and felt worn and itchy. She was even older than Clare when she was able to buy her very first dress. With that convincing, Clare added a few of the girlier skirts and dresses. She tried them on with a certain stiffness, as though scared she might rip a seam if she moved too fast. But, after a few tries, she was moving in a reserved but much more normal fashion.

    Brooke glared at the final number, especially with the local sales tax rate. It wasn¡¯t as bad as she feared, but it was definitely at least as big as a birthday spend. Something she didn¡¯t want this early into their vacation. But Clare was happy and looked genuinely excited to wear the new clothes. She wore the star field dress on the way out.

    There were more people on the boardwalk when they emerged with the bundle of bags enclosed by a massive one. Clare did her best to help support the load while Brooke swung it around like a literal Santa sack and twisted her tote forward for some degree of counterbalance. She was already dying though. Before she keeled over, Brooke wanted some dang ice cream.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    The closest option was the contemptible version next to the bookstore with only non-dairy. Rainbow ice would have to suffice. Clare got what they called the confetti sherbet and they sat towards the water with the sky clearing above but the wind still brisk and cool. Clare kicked her feet and balanced her cone while keeping her dress from flapping. Halfway through the snack, Brooke searched for a hair tie in her bag because of the shifting breeze. Clare asked if she could have one too. Of course, Brooke kicked and berated herself for not thinking of offering sooner. She was just used to being the only one who even needed it.

    She helped Clare slip it on, like she had last night for comfort. But Clare was actually pretty good with bundling up her hair and getting it out of her eyes. Brooke congratulated her and gave a faint sigh before asking, quietly enough that it didn¡¯t seem like passersby could pick up everything, ¡°Do you feel like you¡¯re a girl, not a boy anymore?¡±

    Brooke only had a vague sense that if someone changed sex then that meant a heck of a lot for their self-perception and gender identity. Her dad didn¡¯t respect any of that and called it bullshit, so it just got the faintest lip service when it came to marketing. She tried her best though.

    Quietly pondering that question while rubbing her face with a napkin, Clare resolved, ¡°I am a girl. Not a boy. Am I feeling wrong?¡± Desperately, Brooke shot down that notion, encouraging that however she felt was valid, and never wrong, no matter what anyone said.

    Clare continued to puzzle. ¡°I feel like I have a butt that you open up to pee and it doesn¡¯t hurt like a birdie and eggs. I am protected. But I¡¯m soft and smaller and not as strong. That¡¯s how I feel. I was sad before a shower because I thought I screwed up but it¡¯s okay. I get the choice to wear girl clothes as a girl and it¡¯s kind of fun. It¡¯s super different and kind of weird. But not bad.¡±

    Brooke could tell in her peripheral vision that some people walking along were noticing their conversation and glancing over. She didn¡¯t care, at least she did her best not to care, because her child wasn¡¯t sad or depressed or broken. She had been radically changed, but it was fine. It was still earth-shattering to her, and they had so many things to deal with on the other end of their vacation from the private school to paperwork and so many other details. But she was content to know that her little girl was having a good time.

    Some good soul loaned her a tiny cart from one of the nearby stores for the aching load she had to haul back. It helped enormously even though she had to drag it across uneven pavement and rough gravel to pass the final stretch. When they arrived, she was sweating all over and could barely stretch her back up from a granny crouch. The front door was so close, but she staggered over to the trunk of the car with her fob and clicked it open. The Santa sack went in the back as she told Clare to go get dad for the bags.

    Clare considered that, but instead desperately wanted to stay with her mom. She acquiesced so long as Clare dragged the cart part of the way because she certainly couldn¡¯t. God, she privately lamented, forty can hit freaking hard. The indomitable energy twirling and swirling next to her kindled quiet jealousy.

    She didn¡¯t want any age regression curse like whatever gender flip curse hit her daughter, but she wouldn¡¯t mind a refresh of her telomeres or any other medical science fact part of her that broke down with time. Too much marketing pseudoscience jargon on the brain from work about creams and ointments that had some miracle chemical. A slather of BenGay would have to suffice.

    And maybe an umbrella-sheltered hour or two on the beach with the indirect nurturing of the sun through the clouds while a really good podcast played through an earbud. While living for that moment ahead, at least once she sent all the documentation and the final draft, she found serenity for the moment in her daughter¡¯s quick and vibrant energy. Her little girl was so different from her little boy, yet they were deeply the same.

    This could work, she told herself. Sure, the morning was full of the older boys being chaotic and crazy, but they never weren¡¯t. Given time, it could all work out. Her dad would be bitterly angry and have even more questions than the government but fuck him.

    Back at the house, Brooke cracked her back with an unsteady wobble before venturing into the main room to see Blair and Eliot watching some streaming series. Lacy wasn¡¯t around, but Brooke didn¡¯t dwell on this before informing everyone that they were back and had a lot of clothes.

    Blair was the first to react with a double eyebrow raise and offered up the word, ¡°Woah¡­¡± Eliot immediately made sure he told Clare that she looked amazing, and he was sorry that Brooke¡¯s back hurt. Clare fussed with her dress and admitted, after a deep breath, ¡°I like it and the nice lady at the store said it looked really good.¡±

    ¡°Introducing, Madame Clotheshorse¡±, Blair teased. Clare wasn¡¯t quite sure what that meant, but she still gave her brother a sour look. Brooke encouraged her eldest to be nice and inquired where ¡°Ace¡± was.

    Wiggling a finger in the air, Blair clarified, ¡°Ace is the dingus¡¯s superhero name. Mine is Big B and she used to be Sea Note. With the water, not the letter.¡± Clare asserted that she could still be Sea Note.

    Before the conversation got massively off course, Brooke just asked where Lacy was. Blair fanned the air and proclaimed, ¡°Sleepy and grumpy and dopey and stinky and the whole mess of other dwarves. He said he was taking a nap.¡± Eliot took care of bringing in the clothing sack as Brooke stretched her back again and ambled upstairs to the side guest room.

    Only after pushing open the door slightly did she warn herself to knock first. The mistake of too many times and too much she didn¡¯t wanna know. At least nothing crazy was going on inside. Just Lacy sprawled out on the bed, hugging the blanket. Except¡­

    The first oddity was the snoring sound. It was like a strange attempt to whistle while holding a mouth full of something. Usually, Lacy sounded more like a goblin going through a workout when snoozing. And then there was the most obvious sign of all which should¡¯ve alerted her sooner, but she must¡¯ve been somehow blind to it¡­Longer hair.

    Lacy had a decent amount of blonde hair, enough to raise occasional questions. But that was hair that surrounded his neck and spilled over his ears while straining to reach his shoulders. This hair was a straw volcano erupting over his back with nearly two feet of plumes. Faintly whimpering, the figure in bed turned away from the window.

    Brooke sucked in a breath of concern. It was Lacy, it had to be. From the clothes she had on earlier as¡­ a boy, to her subtly-altered facial features. There was no denying that slim, soft face. The fullness that gave her middle boy his model touches was compressed into a narrower, slender look while still retaining youthful baby fat. Brooke also saw that her daughter inherited far more of her puffy lips than she ever intended to pass along. She further grimaced at another way her child took after her. They would need to get more than a training bra for their middle child.

    She winced internally, remembering all the cruel comments and mooing noises made when she was Lacy¡®s age in school. Just surviving the uncertainty of one clothing trek, Brooke didn¡¯t know if she could go back so soon. She gazed at her child, the second one now immensely altered by some unknown force. She wanted to brush her hair back and hold her in her arms so tightly that she wasn¡¯t scared of what she was about to awaken to.

    She wanted to tell her that the classmates in her school weren¡¯t like the ones when her mom was growing up. They would treat her right, they wouldn¡¯t bully her. They would accept the fact that Lacy just returned from her vacation with what had to be D cups. They¡­ They¡­

    Brooke cupped her mouth and sat on the edge of Blair¡®s bed. Too much for one day. She already needed a rest from everything. Settling down sideways, she watched Lacy quietly sleep as she¡¯d done when her middle boy wasn¡¯t quite so big. Blair was the child that zoomed through her life with so many distractions that she felt like she missed all the quiet moments because she needed to advance her career with her dad or fervently arrange all the planning, so Blair grew up into the best child possible.

    She wanted the same with Lacy and again with Clare. But with Lacy, it was like remembering some feeling long lost. She wanted to indulge in every touch and every restful snooze because she had no idea if this would be it. Once again, this might be the last quiet moment in her life for a long time before Lacy started screaming in shock. She accepted it for as long as she could.

 [5] A Rock & Family Vacation 5 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [5]

    Brooke wanted to stay there and watch Lacy while she slept. She wanted to only focus on her middle son turned daughter and attentively be there for her when she woke to a new, scary reality. Really, she did. At the same time, it was creeping ever closer to noon, and she knew that the final draft of that project was waiting for her to finish and send to her father. She could do more than one thing at once.

    Making sure Lacy was still asleep, Brooke stretched her way off of the bed with her tired muscles aching but flexing to not let a single peep or spring creek out as she got to her feet. She imagined it as a practiced tiger sneak, fostered by all those early morning Christmas close calls slipping around to leave traces of Santa with half-bitten cookies, finished milk, and differently wrapped gifts nestled just out of sight beneath the tree to be discovered at the right moment. She knew presentation.

    The laminate was precisely fitted, which helped her avoid shifts and creeks as she stepped away. Unfortunately, the scattered land mines of Lacy and Blair¡¯s evening of snacking and normal chaos had to be avoided.

    Once carefully out of the room, she judged about where she heard her sons earlier in the hallway and waited still just past that point to break into a sprint or at least as much of one as her body would permit. She retrieved her laptop bag from the dresser and managed to haul it all the way back.

    At the finish, she eased back against the pillow and the traitorous guest queen gave a vicious squeak of protest. Nervously, she watched her middle child for signs of rousing. Fortunately, still good.

    Working through all the feedback Clare provided with input from her team, Brooke compiled the definitive iteration of the classy-but-clever, weed-inspired-but-family-friendly final version of product naming to pass legal and hopefully push numbers better than their competitors. If the damn stuff actually worked beyond a placebo level, then she would be burying her eyes in it.

    The longest section was her summation and recommendations with a few snipping comments, professionally-framed about how Arthur, her dad¡¯s favorite supervisor, could easily be replaced by a blow-up doll and provide the same level of productive assistance to the team. She had to type gently to avoid clacking.

    Soon though, the entire text was checked and proofed and sent across the ether to be harshly scrutinized. Letting go of her breath, she closed the laptop firmly. Too firmly, with a sound like a metallic smack.

    ¡°Mom?..Ma..mhmmmaa.¡± Lacy¡¯s eyes were half open as she struggled with her words. The sound of them wasn¡¯t too different but the weight was. Though Lacy had only lightly been dipped by boyish puberty, a manly buzz had already slipped into his tone despite how often he shrieked and yowled. The weight and buzz were gone, and Lacy was hunting for that vocal strength around his normal range. Lacy didn¡¯t seem to yet realize how much she¡¯d changed.

    Brooke slid her laptop back inside its case and then shoved it onto the dresser right next to the bed. She had to push over a few Takis bags the boys had been munching from. ¡°Hey, sweetie. I¡¯m right here. It¡¯s gonna be okay.¡±

    She could see the synapses starting to connect in her middle child¡¯s expression. But the moment came when she glanced down. Lacy¡¯s outfit dangled loosely on her body but not loosely enough to obscure her features. The screaming started first, although it didn¡¯t sound so much like a scream as an effort to gargle when brushing your teeth without using water.

    Lacy¡¯s arms batted away the blankets as they sought out strange new places to touch. The whimpering wail dipped slightly as she re-discovered her shape. Before Brooke could transfer over to the double, Lacy sprung from her mattress with twisting, bright embarrassment.

    Her shorts launched to her feet, but the top held on. Like she was marching down a football field while being restrained by herself, Lacy scrambled, wobbled, and staggered across the room until she had a clear shot to the bathroom.

    Fortunately, Brooke had a hunch of where she was headed and snuck over there first. Lacy¡®s face showed huffing indignity. ¡°Get ouuuwwwt!¡±

    No matter what Brooke tried to say and what comfort she could squeeze between Lacy¡¯s flaring emotions, she had to concede the bathroom to her. For emphasis, Lacy slammed the bathroom door a few times before finally locking it.

    It sucked. Her youngest came to her in the middle of the night for understanding and help. She wanted to help Lacy too. Make sure she didn¡¯t fall over. Make sure she knew she wasn¡¯t alone. Temper and mollify a dozen different crazy things. But all she could do was look at the locked door and listen.

    The door felt desperately thick, cutting out the precious sounds. Traces of continued whimpering filtered through. She could hear her middle child moving about, but it wasn¡¯t enough to piece together the details.

    ¡°Lacy? I just want to help.¡±

    She could hear Lacy¡®s arm scraping along the counter and shifting back over towards the door. ¡°Please please please, just leave me alone now. And I have to pee. But I can figure it out by myself!¡± The last sentence had a plaintive, goose-like honk to it squeezed through a high-pitched filter.

    As much as Brooke desperately just wanted to break down the damn door, she responded softly, ¡°All right, sweetie. But if you need anything at all¡­¡±

    ¡°I will tell you!¡± Lacy screamed.

    Letting it go was difficult. Lacy didn¡¯t hold much back but also nervously retreated when outside of their comfort zone. Brooke''s parents regarded every uncomfortable trace of her growing up like some nuisance to receive an empty platitude and then be vigorously ignored.

    Her magnificent friend, Charlotte, did infinitely more than her mother in helping her understand tampons and pads. She shared her knowledge but also snagged the right adults for assistance, adults that didn¡¯t just assume and shuffle off their responsibility as something her parents would surely tell her. Her parents left her to shelter in the bathroom and cry until the bleakest emotions were deadened. Desperately, she didn¡¯t want Lacy to feel alone.

    But all she could really do was sit beside the door and wait till her middle child came to her. The commotion naturally brought others over, with Clare the most curious. Eliot soon followed with Blair at the back. Brooke wanted to shoo them away and reassure everyone that she had control of the situation. But that wasn¡¯t true. She hustled over to the doorway and hunted her thoughts for the best way to explain.

    ¡°Lacy just needs a moment for collecting their thoughts.¡±

    That clearly wasn¡¯t it, as Blair immediately read between the lines. ¡°Holy shit. She caught it too! I gotta see this.¡± He started to slip towards and around the doorway, but Brooke headed him off with a raised palm. ¡°Lacy doesn¡¯t want to be seen right now. We need to respect that.¡±

    Clare¡¯s eyes widened as it dawned on her, ¡°She¡¯s gonna punch me!¡±

    Before Brooke could stamp out that fire with reassurance that no one was going to punch anyone, Clare was off and jetted up the stairs to the den above. Blair appeared torn between egging on one sister¡®s flight and peering over his mom to catch a glimpse of the new one. Eliot stepped in and ordered, ¡°Blair, you wait in the living room. This is a personal moment for Lacy. We would give you the same respect, if it was you instead.¡±

    Blair took a deep breath and proclaimed, ¡°Could still be me. You don''t know. Not gonna be any dudes left in this family soon. Grandpa will throw a fit.¡±

    Brooke clamped down on that last bit. ¡°There are more important things. And no matter what happens to Lacy, we will always love them. That¡¯s important. Just¡­be careful.¡± She could psychologically feel her hair blooming with grays. Her right eye was already twitching. Blair read the signs and Eliot calmly reinforced them. He backed away with his hands up and then clasped them behind himself like he resolved to never touch anything in this house again.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Cautiously, Brooke and Eliot approached the locked bathroom door. With a slight but steady knock, Eliot asked through the wall, ¡°Lacy? You all right in there?¡±

    The quick and frail answer, muddled by recent tears, was, ¡°No. I¡¯m not¡­.¡±

    Despite the lighter, lessened buzz to the words, they could each still recognize Lacy. Fervently, they pressed the next questions. Could they get Lacy anything? They weren''t hurt, right?

    That was a painful question to even speak but flashing nightmares of the darkest moments from her own life kept swirling in Brooke¡¯s blazing thoughts. To their relief, some of the harsh emotion pulled away as their middle child expressed that she was fine, she wasn¡¯t physically hurt, and what she really wanted was a big whatever that could hide her from the world.

    Eliot rushed off to the master bedroom while Brooke did her best to reassure her child. It felt like Lacy wasn¡¯t even listening to her, but she still stretched her words through the wall with love. She wanted to hold Lacy and brush their hair as she did so many years ago. Being so close and yet distant twisted an ache through her body. Just offering those words was all she could do as she waited.

    Before too long, Eliot returned with a large, silver bathrobe from his clothes. He explained through the door what he brought. Cautiously, Lacy accepted the offer but only if no one came in. Just leave the robe next to the door, she instructed.

    Her father did exactly that, patiently waiting for the door to unlock and then opened it just a crack to allow the robe to slip and settle to the other side. Once that was done, Lacy re-locked the door, and they could hear her fumbling with the robe. Things went quiet for a bit longer before Lacy seemed to sigh and told them through the door simply, ¡°Okay¡­¡±

    After that, the latch unlocked, and the door gradually cracked inwards. Still eyeing around and lingering a hand so that she could reach for the door and shut it again in an instant, Lacy emerged with the gray robe wrapped around her body like a cloudy fabric bell, blotting out so much of her shape. Her hair had Brooke¡¯s same, soft shade and all of its length. Strikingly, she was the uncanny resurrection of junior high Brooke.

    Though masked by the fluffy robe, they could tell she was a slight girl with skinny arms and frail legs. Her eyebrows traced the same tone and shape as Brooke¡¯s. The older boys had boxy faces like their dad. Lacy gained trim, oval contours, and robust, full lips. They were naturally brighter than Brooke¡¯s and looked like she applied gloss to them. Her eyes appeared wide but pink and puffy with a sheen to her skin.

    She stared downwards nervously, and muttered, ¡°I feel like a gross cow¡­¡± Her arms twisted around her stomach. Brooke cautiously led her back to the queen bed, where she slowly eased herself down to sit.

    Lacy bent away from her mom trying to brush her hair. Instead, Brooke fashioned words of comfort. She resolved that they were going to fix this, and everything was going to be okay. Lacy squeezed herself tighter and hunched over as though she had a tummy ache. Brooke wanted to tell her child that she was not gross, and she certainly wasn¡¯t a cow, but all the familiar words led in unhelpful directions. She wasn¡¯t a cow, she was a young lady. She wasn¡¯t gross, she was just growing up early. All the things she wished more people told her at the same age.

    What could she say? Words felt so easy with Clare but so difficult here. All she could think to do was sit with her and return what was practically becoming her mantra, that everything would be okay.

    ¡°Holy shit, bro. Is that you? You look amazing.¡±

    Blair stood in the doorway leaning halfway through. He approached slowly with his hands still behind him and his eyes wide. Lacy straightened up with her hands shifting and twisting, as though lost. She slipped on half of a scowl mixed with nervous surprise.

    ¡°You look freaking beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. You can totally rule Lakethorn or Pioneer. Now you absolutely have to do modeling, or it would be a crime. I always knew hiding beneath your Gollum toad face and swamp farts was something magnificent.¡±

    A blazing red flare of stunned embarrassment settled like a bloom across Lacy¡¯s face until she narrowed her eyes at the last part. Grunting and fuming, she rolled to her side and snatched the nearest pillow from the head of the bed. Puffing loud indignation, she heaved it right at her eldest brother. Unfortunately, her skinny arms just spun it in a lazy arc for Blair to effortlessly catch.

    Shooting up from the bed, she stomped over while fussing with the robe to keep it from dragging around her feet and revealing too many of her secrets. She attempted to yank the pillow from his hands, but his hands were too quick as he snuck an arm in around her pit. Only by reflex did Lacy unleash a sudden giggle which turned into furious fuming. Blair withdrew his hand but caught the side of something unexpected.

    Lacy flinched, as though struck. Blair added, ¡°Damn, princess. You¡¯re more grown up than the girls in my classes. Now if only your turkey brain would catch up.¡±

    The blush returned, but it seemed more like an outflow of lava as she flailed to pummel Blair. He was too quick and swiftly out of the room. Lacy resisted stomping her feet and instead clenched a fist and asked, with as much roughness as she could imbue in her words, ¡°Screw you, fart face! And where¡¯s the little twerp? I know her rocks did this. I¡¯m gonna get her!¡±

    Eliot stepped in to adamantly urge that no one was going to beat up anyone else and to just settle down, but Lacy was running hot and already slipping out of the room. Brooke echoed the same and prepared to rush after her kids. Unfortunately, the laptop gave a message alert, and she could tell by the sound that it was important. Eliot went on ahead as Brooke squeezed her forehead and tried to deal with this on top of everything else.

    It was a Zoom connection from her dad. She swiveled the screen so that as little of the mess in the room showed as possible.

    ¡°Hi, dad. What¡¯s up?¡±

    Brooke¡¯s father pushed his black-framed glasses up. His natural blonde hair was still thick and full of color deep into his 60s. A kingly scruff of a beard rounded his face like a perfect prop. He always kept it impeccable. She casually adjusted her hair and tried to think of how she looked through the laptop camera. Probably rough, but she was on vacation.

    ¡°Hello. I finally received the amended paperwork I expected previously. If there are no other additions, then we can proceed.¡± He pointed out a revised pairing that he found quite clever. Brooke desperately wanted to take that praise but admitted that Clare did some brainstorming with her for that.

    ¡°Oh¡±, her father coldly remarked. ¡°Good to see there is some cleverness in the family. I should take young Clark around my office again. I like his energy. Tell him he did good and buy him one of those games he likes, on me.¡±

    Brooke thanked him for that and tried to speak over incoherent yelling that wafted in from Lacy exercising her lungs about something. Her father caught it and inquired. She dismissed it casually as something the boys were watching.

    ¡°Hmm. I see. Speaking of the boys, I have one last requirement of you before you go ahead and do whatever you''re doing on this trip. On Broad Street, about two miles north, is the Arcadian Fellows Country Club. I have several important business contacts who frequent that one. I want you to take the boys to a formal brunch tomorrow. I¡¯ll send along all the information. You know how to dress appropriately.¡±

    ¡±Oh. Of course, but there are some complications. Family emergency stuff.¡±

    Sharply, he retorted, ¡°No, there aren¡¯t. Be there tomorrow morning or there will be consequences and complications you don¡¯t want. Goodbye."

 [6] A Rock & Family Vacation 6 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [6]

    Once she''d said goodbye as well, closed the program, shut down the laptop, and put it back in the bag did Brooke clinch and shake her fist, puffing and spitting like an enraged cartoon duck. She flipped off the laptop, even though it didn¡¯t do anything, and hurled a tempest of harsh words.

    Dammit! Even without all the additional everything, she would¡¯ve hated to go to this. Her father started bringing her to his local country club when she was very young, and her mother made her wear a pink dress that she felt was a little too short. Men with wrinkly skin and tufts of white atop balding heads cooed and called her over as she was presented, like the newest trinket.

    She could feel their breath on her as she politely recited all the coached answers to their muttered questions. Most were sorta benign, asking about her age, where she went to school, if she knew any musical instruments, what kind of games she like to play, and about her friends. They still made her squirm then and even more so now. But they also asked what she liked to do when she was alone, whether she ever got weird feelings from her body, and whether she could give them a ¡°friendly peck¡± on the cheek.

    It was just something she had to do. Every so often, they would give her a "little pat on the rump¡± just to show they were "friends". The smelling of her hair and shoulders bothered her the most along with the really old ones who asked her to sit in their laps while they talked. Nothing happened, as she liked to tell herself, but she wanted no part of those groups around her sons on any normal day, let alone a day like this.

    If Clare and Lacy went, and if those sorts did anything around them, then Brooke could only imagine herself finding the nearest golf club and doing several terrible things with it. But that was an assumption. Despite her father¡¯s persistent attitude, the workplace was getting better. And they had cell phones. And it was no longer the 1980s.

    Preparing herself with a long breath, Brooke sat up, brushed herself off, and went in search of her family with the hopes that no one was pummeling anyone else.

    She suspected Clare was still upstairs, so she followed the biggest cacophony down to the living room. Brooke found Eliot doing his best to hold Blair and Lacy apart. Lacy wielded one of the rougher-looking seat cushions with both hands as Blair held his hands up and wore a smirk.

    While watching the proceedings, she glanced over at the display where Clare left those rocks. She wasn¡¯t going to get even close to touching them, whether Lacy was right about her assumption or not. Assuming they even worked on her. At the same time, it would¡¯ve been amazing to turn into the son her dad always wanted and then tell him to screw off properly. That was as far as she took that thought.

    ¡°Lacy Anastasia Shore! Put that down right now!¡± It was that tone of voice and the use of the accursed middle name. She only did it when she was serious. Lacy looked like all the energy had been sapped from her. Blair shared a sympathetic look with his former brother, despite everything. Brooke led Lacy to the far end of the couch but within six feet of the rocks. Meanwhile, Blair flopped down on the other end with his dad, legs crossed. Lacy kept the pillow though and hugged it against her chest.

    Once they were both settled, Brooke realized she should probably get Clare as well. ¡°Grandpa just contacted me by video. He has unfortunately sprung a demand we need to follow. As a family, we need to attend brunch tomorrow at a country club in town that has a number of his business associates as members.¡±

    ¡°Screw grandpa¡­¡± Lacy muttered. Even though she shared a similar sentiment, Brooke delicately expressed the issue that grandpa was the reason this trip was possible, grandpa also took care of things, along with schooling and college for all three of them. He had his requirements and demands, but they had to tolerate them as a family. Brooke wanted to share her true feelings, but she stuffed them down again.

    She translated the meaning, highlighting, ¡°So, everyone is going to have to get dressed up nice for the club. I have to review what grandpa sends me¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not wearing a skirt or a blouse or especially any friggin dress. No way, no how, I¡¯d rather die first!¡± Lacy stomped her feet with emphasis. Brooke nodded and relayed that there were typically plenty of options with skorts and shorts and so forth along with colors. Lacy refused to even go there. ¡°I won¡¯t be in anything that makes anyone think I¡¯m a girl!¡±

    Blair postulated, ¡°Are muumuus and overcoats allowed?¡±

    Lacy had no idea what a muumuu was but immediately shot it down when learning it was a dress. Even though men also wore it. That didn¡¯t leave a whole lot of options. Lacy vigorously shook her head and resolved, ¡°Just say I died. That¡¯s close enough.¡°

    She tried to put an arm around her middle child to comfort her, but she scooted away, only interested in wallowing against her pillow. Blair scoffed, ¡°Bro, don¡¯t be so maudlin.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to model! I don¡¯t want anyone to see me screwed up like this, ever. Especially not some jerk photographer.¡±

    Blair leaned back and groaned as he spelled out the word. ¡°It means throwing yourself a bunch of pity parties and acting like a chick at that time of the month.¡± Brooke sighed and squinted her eyes at Blair.

    Lacy stretched up like a tiger ready to claw Blair¡¯s face off. ¡°I¡¯m no chick and I¡¯m..n¡­I¡¯m n-n-n¡­SCREW YOU!¡± Instead of launching up, she made a fist out of her small hands with the middle finger not out but clearly taller than the other fingers.

    To that, Blair dipped his head and laid out his hands. Brooke gave a long sigh and slapped her hand on her knee. The ingrown hair was healing up but still felt a little tender. Lacy sniffled with her face scrunched up tight and fanned the pillow before pronouncing, ¡°It¡¯s too darn warm¡­¡± Blair gave another look that implied he could tell her the solution based on the fact she was bundled up for a much later season than it was.

    Eliot agreed to turn on the central fan without AC just to circulate the air but made them both promise to behave while he was in the other room. Lacy and Blair said nothing, but they each gave a little nod. Brooke made it absolutely clear that there would be no more fighting because their family had too many challenges as it was without creating more by going at each other.

    Lacy gestured to the place where the rocks had been stashed by Clare. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to get rid of those? Or are we going to wait until they¡¯ve ruined someone else¡¯s life?¡±

    Looking at the rocks, Brooke asked which one was the problem. On this, Lacy couldn¡¯t remember, but she didn¡¯t want to have anything to do with any of them. Brooke considered that fair, but tons of questions circulated through her thoughts. What if the answer to restoring the boys actually resided with the rock? What if it operated on a cooldown and they just needed to wait a certain amount of time to touch the rock and something else would happen? What if it wasn¡¯t actually the rock?

    At the same time, she had a sharpened thought about all those crusty, lecherous old men that orbited her father at too many country clubs. She could do something about them...

    They couldn¡¯t get rid of the rocks until they understood what they were dealing with though. Would this area even have a geologist they could ask? Would they know anything more than they did?

    Distilling most of these thoughts, Brooke cautioned that they didn¡¯t know what the rocks would do or how they worked, so getting rid of them might be a bad idea. Despite still bristling, Lacy heaved a slow sigh and conceded that.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Lacy did consider touching them again to see if that might fix her but immediately shook it off as soon as she thought it, fearing, ¡°What if it makes me even worse?¡±

    Brooke told them both just to watch TV or streaming or whatever, while she dealt with Clare. That settled, she dragged herself over to the stairs leading to the third floor. Pausing on the landing, she cracked her neck before proceeding into the room.

    The den was amazing. A large screen TV was anchored to the far wall with teddy bears and dolls in glass cases all along. The back wall had a fake fireplace and assorted bric-a-brac decorations themed to the seaside with driftwood, colorful shells, and models of crabs and birds. Towards the front of the house was the key feature, a skylight with a wooden, overhanging section of the roof. Storm shutters flanked the opening. The unobstructed view of the waves was majestic and worth lingering on. Clare sprawled out on a wide, white couch with her head resting on the end.

    She approached carefully, so as not to scare off another family member and said, ¡°Hey, sweetie. You okay?¡±

    The star field dress bunched up slightly around Clare. She ruffled it listlessly and answered, ¡°I dunno. It was that rock, wasn¡¯t it? The rainbow one. I got a shock when I picked it up. And Lacy got shocked too and now this¡­ it¡¯s my fault.¡±

    Brooke remembered both of those instances but adamantly urged that it was not Clare¡¯s fault. ¡°You had no idea what would happen when you picked up that rock. And Lacy just accidentally touched while it looking through your stuff. If that¡¯s the cause, then no one is responsible. It just happened.¡±

    She innately disliked the prospect of blaming a random rock because then that led to the next uncertainty. Was it some sort of alien space rock or a magic rock? If a bizarre, scientific process then at least it prefigured the possibility of deducing a cause and possibility for restoration. Still, she wasn¡¯t sure how she felt about aliens or weird rocks in the universe that could turn boys into girls. If something outside the realm and possibilities of a scientific explanation, then she hated that even more.

    Clare looked her in the eye with her lip turned up and her arms drooping. ¡°I had a hunch it was the rock. I brought them over from my room to see if I could make it happen again, but with me. If I could change back, but I didn¡¯t feel anything. But¡­but¡­ the way Lacy was being, the big jerk, I was hoping he stumbled into the same thing. So yeah, it was my fault.¡±

    Brooke wanted to crouch down beside the couch to be at Clare¡¯s level, but she instantly knew that it would destroy her knees and back. Instead, she slipped in on the other side as Clare gradually sat up, with her legs underneath her. She rubbed at her eyes. No grit was coming loose. In fact, it felt like the sand she could normally extract had taken root. At least her skin wasn¡¯t dry with the coastal weather.

    First off, Brooke thanked Clare for being honest with her. However, she noted that it might not be a good idea to let Lacy know about this quite yet, since she seemed to be in a vulnerable emotional state.

    ¡°She¡¯s totally gonna wallop me¡­¡± Clare claimed. Brooke couldn¡¯t really disagree. Instead, she proposed a plan of action. Clare would come downstairs with her, and she would protect her with the assurance that Lacy would have to go through her first. Because they needed to figure out a plan because tomorrow was getting complicated. She explained what she expressed to everyone downstairs about grandpa.

    Clare was immediately against going but also knew that grandpa had a lot of power. Thankfully, she had been able to be with her children during all the close calls with the most recent set of old guys asking leading and personal questions of them. Brooke desperately would¡¯ve preferred to tell her dad to fuck off, but he held the keys to the kingdom, to her children¡¯s future, and the prosperity of their family. It sucked.

    She told Clare that grandpa liked his product suggestions, and they could buy any game she wanted as thanks. Clare just sighed and shrugged.

    ¡°What does she look like now?¡­ Lacy.¡±

    That was relatively simple to relay, as countless photos from Brooke¡¯s youth and adolescence survived. She focused on a junior high lab photo because Clare took a special interest in it, pointing out how pretty she was. Lacy had snickered when she said she wanted to be a scientist at that age but didn¡¯t say much else. Thinking back on that left Brooke with a little candle flicker of amusement. She didn¡¯t believe in karma. If she did, she would''ve been bitterly disappointed at how badly it failed most of the time. Also, she wasn¡¯t supposed to relish in that German word about appreciation of discomfort, especially when it came to her own child. Not creating drama and problems, as she warned about, even if they were only inside her head.

    Reflecting on that old photo, Clare flattened out the front of her dress and slowly shook her head. ¡°So, she¡¯s totally losing it, right?¡±

    Brooke had to admit that Lacy was not taking this situation well, not that she expected any of them to take this sort of thing well. Clare seemed like a much-appreciated outlier in that respect. Why couldn¡¯t all of her kids be so simple? Just know what to say, when to say it, and feel the trust from them.

    Despite everything, time marched on. She could see morning clouds winnowed away by a steady sea breeze. Noon wasn¡¯t far off and, despite a comfortable breakfast, she was already imagining at least a sandwich from somewhere along the boardwalk. It might¡¯ve been far too much to also imagine that she could take her middle child on a comparable excursion to the last one for something appropriate. At least clothes for Clare had been dealt with and with enough focus on formality.

    ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out. Together. As a family.¡± Brooke stretched out her hand towards Clare¡¯s side. Cautiously, her daughter slipped her hand around it and gave a quivering, uncomfortable breath. She used her other hand to brush Clare¡¯s hair back gently. That helped, as Clare immediately stretched on her toes and fixed her dress before giving a careful nod to her mom.

    They eased their way downstairs slowly. Throughout the short trek, Clare lingered behind. She drifted behind her mom, only peeking out briefly. They arrived back in the living room with just her eyeballs showing, but she slowly crept out.

    Lacy seemed to stare off in the vague direction of the television, which was playing something adventurous like the skateboarding and extreme sports from last night. Her arms carefully cradled her abdomen.

    ¡°My gosh! You¡¯re so pretty! I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m so so sorry!¡±

    Before Lacy could really register that her little sister had returned from hiding, the kid launched herself in her direction and tangled her arms around her meager shape. Promptly, Lacy scrambled to free herself, but it was useless. Clare had used this strategy before, getting far too close to her sibling so that any effort to dislodge her resulted in more trouble than it was worth fighting her off. Unfortunately, Brooke knew it also conjured up bad memories for Lacy.

    This time, she twisted and writhed with terror that slowly calmed to nervous irritation. Soon, Lacy grumbled, harrumphed with her mouth closed, and resumed her prior position. At least it didn¡¯t involve punching yet, Brooke resigned. Looking to her left, she quickly checked the crevices where the rocks had been placed. The one that made her hungry and the candy cane reminiscent one were there¡­ But that rainbow one was nowhere to be found. The rock that started all this was gone!

 [7] A Rock & Family Vacation 7 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [7]

    Brooke raised her arms in alarm as she searched the display, ducking, stretching, and crouching as much as her back would allow to see where it might be or where it could¡¯ve fallen. Turning around, she started to say a word, but her eyes immediately spied sparkling on Blair¡®s end of the couch. He was holding the damn rock in his hands!

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, mom. I have it.¡±

    She wanted to screech and scream at her eldest son. How could he be so stupid?! Why on earth would he do this?! But all those flashing, heart-racing thoughts just came out as a single word, ¡°Why?¡±

    On the other end of the couch, Lacy perked up from her listless state to piece together what was going on. Her eyes widened with terror as her pouty lips tangled. Clare made a little O with her mouth and swallowed.

    ¡°You fart face numbskull! What are you doing, bro?!¡± At once, Lacy appeared both starkly mad and desperately heartbroken as though she might punch her brother while crying.

    Out of everyone, even Eliot with numb shock on his face, Blair actually appeared the most serene. ¡°Just figuring it out. It gave me a zap too. Sharper than rubbing woolen socks on shag carpet but not as bad as messing around with the wall socket. I¡¯m gonna use my phone so we have proof for doctors and anyone else. That¡¯s why. Plus, there is no freaking way I¡¯m letting my little bros throw themselves pity parties. We¡¯re in this together. Especially against those¡­ folks grandpa hangs out with.¡±

    Before getting up, Blair made sure he had the rock held far away from anyone else. He gave his mom and dad the widest berth of all. While he was gone, Lacy placed her hands around her forehead and looked lost and defeated. Clare leaned back and gave Lacy some space.

    Brooke felt like she couldn¡¯t breathe, even though she straightened and leaned back to get the most air. All of her kids. Every single one of them. In less than a freaking day. Part of her brain echoed the same words she told Clare. There¡¯s nothing wrong with being a girl. There are lots of girls in the world. It¡¯s perfectly normal. This was not a subtraction or a loss. But they were her boys!

    Her children. Sure, Blair was a goofball when he was young who got into her clothes and had a dress party and then tried to use a plastic fork to open up the wall socket. He would also climb the furniture naked and sneak around with face paint pretending to be Rambo as he shut off all the lights for stealth. And he was amazing at the craziest mind puzzles. That included literally solving one of their business research project problems for makeup kit design by incorporating origami folding. He was amazing. And he was going to be someone else.

    Brooke¡¯s heart raced. She could bear what happened to Clare with the hope of uncertainty and dealing with it gradually. But the world was asking her to deal with all three of her sons as girls all at once. And what if this wasn¡¯t the end? Her eyes sought Eliot. Desperately, begging, she made absolutely sure that he hadn¡¯t touched the rock or grazed Blair while he was holding the rock. Her emotions couldn¡¯t trust her eyes, she wanted to hear his assurance.

    Nervously, Eliot took a deep breath as his eyes moved like a typewriter and he rewound his jumbled thoughts. ¡°No. I saw him get up to look over there, but I didn¡¯t realize he picked it up. Lacy wanted to watch something cool she said, and I figured it would be a nice distraction for everyone. I didn¡¯t think anything of it. He sat down a little away from me, as you saw, and didn¡¯t move. So¡­yeah. Wow.¡± After that reflection, Eliot eased back with his head almost facing the ceiling then tipped it forward to give Brooke a careful nod.

    Despite all that, she still kept flicking her gaze toward her husband with the faint stabbing fear that she might lose him too in a sudden puff of breeze or an unguarded moment. But that was stupid. She hadn¡¯t lost her children. They were here. And also hopefully returning very soon.

    Brooke slipped over to Lacy¡¯s side. Nimbly, she ensnared her in a sideways embrace, despite the fact stretching that way risked destroying her back. Since Clare was on the other side, Lacy was basically trapped without an easy way of pushing off. She still gave it an attempt, but her unfamiliarity with her new body doomed her to just rock forward and then dip back against the cushion.

    ¡°You¡¯re both crushing me! L-leave me alone. Everything sucks and it¡¯s just g-getting worse. Hugs don¡¯t help.¡± Lacy fought to hold her resolve against the weakness in her voice. Brooke knew well Lacy¡¯s animosity towards hugs.

    When he was really young, he asked what his name meant. It confused him, but he thought that lacy things looked neat. Then came school.

    The first few weeks were turbulent as the school knew about his name, but the teachers requested meetings. She couldn¡¯t tell them anything and Lacy felt like he was being punished. In class, so many kids were painfully cruel. Like with the modeling fiasco, so many assumed he was just a girl because of his hair and face. They tried a couple different styles to help. But the worst part was Tyler.

    He pretended to be Lacy¡®s friend while snickering behind his hand. Brooke couldn¡¯t imagine any other children she wanted to beat the crap out of harder. He tortured Lacy in so many small ways like breaking his little cars, sabotaging his drawings, and worst of all, turning hugs into pain.

    Young Lacy actually really liked hugs, especially from friends. But Tyler would sneak in, grab him, and yell, ¡°Got you, girlie!¡± No matter how much Lacy fought, it was practically impossible to wriggle away. Then he turned his nails in and started scratching. He squeezed until Lacy could barely breathe. But it was just a game, he claimed, always just a game. The best day of elementary school was when a bigger kid broke Tyler¡¯s arm.

    Brooke let Lacy go and urged Clare to give her space. ¡°We just want you to know that your family is here for you. And everything¡®s gonna be all right.¡± She wasn¡¯t sure she believed that, but she had to say it for her children.

    Lacy twisted in place. ¡±How can it be all right?! This is the worst trip ever.¡°

    Blair made his way back into the room and responded, ¡°You clearly don¡¯t recall the upstate New York trip. Now that was a disaster.¡± He had his phone in one hand with video already recording. His other hand held the rock. Brooke felt quietly grateful that her eldest hadn¡¯t passed out on the way back. He also didn¡¯t appear any different yet.

    Explaining why he took a while, Blair said, ¡°I actually brought along my spare phone because it still charges fine. And I was thinking about using that instead but the storage, as always, isn¡¯t that great. Unfortunately, I have all my offline YouTube stuff and that takes up like thirty gigs right now. I have twenty gigs free. Depending on how I record, it might run out.¡±

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Brooke would¡¯ve gladly given him her phone to use, but it had even less open storage. Ultimately, they decided to run through the videos on the television, broadcast from the phone, and then delete them when finished. Blair was in charge of managing that because, while Brooke had a respectable amount of tech-savvy, she knew he could do it better.

    Before settling down to sit far away from everyone else and record his final moments as a boy, Blair presented the rock and tapped on the side of it, mentioning, ¡°Oh, before I forget. I discovered something very interesting about our buddy. I assumed Clare didn¡¯t really look at the rock much with everything that happened. And I especially assumed that Lacy didn¡¯t notice anything either. But, this rock has something attached to it¡­¡± Blair tapped the top corner of the rock with his finger.

    From this distance and with her 40-year-old eyes, Brooke couldn¡¯t see what her son was talking about. It took dialing back the windows to let the noonday light through and vigorous wiggling. Part of the rock was loose, like a tar-and-rainbow-toned version of a baby tooth on its way out. If Blair managed to pull hard enough then she imagined it would come loose, like one of those gas station card skimmers they actually encountered several hundred miles back when filling up.

    It was clearly not part of the rock that had been weathered by erosion. Despite his best efforts and the wedge motion of a thin knife from the kitchen to try to pry it off, the application wasn¡¯t coming loose. Why on earth would this bizarre rock that had already transformed two of her children have a fake portion of stone attached to it? She thought of artificial stones used in a zoo but didn¡¯t like where that tangent might lead when it came to potential sources from beyond the planet.

    Blair didn¡¯t have any answers for what it could be. Even with Eliot¡®s vigorous imagination, he appeared to be nervously landing in the same vicinity as Brooke but didn¡¯t wanna label it more than ¡°a mysterious artifact¡±. Lacy¡®s idea was to find something hard, like the cement steps leading to the side cellar, and bash it over them until it gave up its secrets. That actually sounded like the best and worst idea to Brooke.

    She had no idea what might happen if they started attacking the rock, even though she felt it would be rather cathartic. Maybe it would grow legs and start attacking them or send a message back home or retaliate by doing something worse to her children. Meanwhile, Blair found the tallest spot on the entertainment system and shoved the rock all the way in the back. He did note that depending on how he turned up, he probably wouldn¡¯t be able to retrieve it again without a ladder. Fortunately, there was a small one in the side closet.

    Still, there didn¡¯t seem to be any apparent signs of him changing. This led Brooke towards the frail, fruitless pursuit of optimism. Maybe nothing would happen. Maybe he would be fine.

    Easing over towards her husband, Brooke left plenty of space for Blair to sit beside his siblings. Lacy scowled and told him that he better not try to hug her.

    Blair laughed. ¡°Nah, man. I¡¯m just gonna make you pee yourself.¡± Deftly, he got his fingers around Lacy¡¯s slender side, over by her neck, and in all the other exposed spaces while avoiding the soft spot he¡¯d accidentally grazed before. Unable to escape, Lacy squealed and squirmed and even stretched toward her little sister for salvation.

    The following roughhousing, normal between brothers, appeared so weird between her eldest and this young girl. But she didn¡¯t speak up, except to urge Blair to be careful, otherwise Lacy might have to change her clothes. This immediately alarmed their middle child, ¡°No! This hides things best! I don¡¯t want to see all that again!¡± The tussling and tickling soon eased with Lacy sprawled across the seats. She tried to unleash a fart but lamented that ¡°this girl¡± didn¡¯t have ¡°any ammo¡±.

    Blair good-naturedly helped her up, but she clung to his arms, wrapping them around her tiny tummy. Lacy kept her head down and quietly said, ¡°I¡¯m scared.¡±

    It desperately hurt Brooke deep in her soul to hear her child say that. She wanted to be the one holding and comforting Lacy, like when he was so young that his brother¡®s name came out as ¡°BEAR!¡± and always brought on giggles. Blair still looked so cool and confident.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll try not to trounce you too badly with my majestic, heart-stopping beauty.¡± Lacy rolled her eyes and gave her brother a half-hearted poke with her elbow. They fussed and argued like any old day with Lacy making boisterous points while Blair comfortably pondered.

    It was getting on well into lunchtime, but no one wanted to move, order lunch, or make it. Eliot noticed the absence and announced that he would go order some pizza from the boardwalk pizzeria. The timing wasn¡¯t the best, but it seemed unlikely they would ever find that. Clare jumped in eagerly with the hope to tagalong and pick up the pizza together. Eliot gladly welcomed his daughter¡¯s company.

    Brooke felt her head swimming even though she was sitting still. Considering it was comfortably over an hour between them leaving Lacy and what happened to her, Brooke could tell they still had some time. But she didn¡¯t want to be alone with just Lacy and Blair. What if something came up and she couldn¡¯t help them? Not that Eliot would be able to fix such an occurrence. But at least he would be here.

    Before the kids decided on one of those YouTuber, multi-million dollar challenges to watch, Lacy had one request, ¡°Mom? Could you cut my hair? Afterward, I mean. After¡­ lunch.¡± That was something Brooke could readily agree to. She hadn¡¯t cut any of their hair in many years but what Lacy was asking for just called for a rough hack. And fortunately, their travel shears seemed like they would be up to the task.

    Blair started blinking with increasing regularity as he yawned and stretched back against the couch. ¡°You better get going, dad.¡± Eliot took that with all the urgency implied and saved everyone¡¯s pizza requests to his phone. He and Clare were ready to go in about a minute. Once it was nervously just the three of them together, Blair roused himself from tiredness just enough to express, ¡°Mom, it¡¯s just a hunch and I wasn¡¯t sure how to say it¡­ But looking at all the stuff with that rock, I think someone, or something, placed it there intentionally, for us to find.¡±

 [8] A Rock & Family Vacation 8 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [8]

    Before Blair drifted off, they all made absolutely sure that the phone was filming. To prop it up, they took several ornaments from the kitchen that looked vaguely like bookends. Some little towels guarded against scratches and Brooke lamented that she didn¡¯t simply own some sort of phone stand. The boys and¡­ So forth¡­ had weird little things that she didn¡¯t understand to help hold their phones. A glass thing would¡¯ve been perfect but they worked with what they had.

    The first traces of change came with Blair¡®s curly hair starting to straighten, as though someone turned up the humidity. It also began lightening. It happened slowly though, like those Magic Grow toys or the invisible ink game. Blair used to play with those all the time. Brooke wanted to stroke her son¡¯s hair for comfort. Lacy folded up into a tight ball with her jaw clenched and eyes locked on the extreme sports distraction playing on the TV.

    Before long, watching was too much to bear. At the same time, her mind raced with all the strange junk that was expelled by the Internet. Deep fakes, CGI, morphs, and weird filters. Surely, no reasonable person would even believe this level of evidence. What more could they do? Brooke wasn¡¯t going to film her son in any way that might embarrass him. This would have to be enough, even if it invited debunking and skepticism.

    Brooke felt just as drowsy as Blair looked, but it was a different kind of tiredness. She had gotten up early and surged through the rejuvenation of a shower while working to deal with her youngest and all the questions such a radical change brought. Dealing with her chaotic teen boys as they dealt with their new little sister was emotionally exhausting. Then trying to be strong for Lacy through her pain and deliver some sort of reassurance that really only her eldest actually provided by making this strange sacrifice. Blair and Lacy had been as thick as thieves for so long.

    Sure, they fought, argued, and accused the other of the wildest things, but she had seen Blair walk into a room when Lacy was sulking over any old thing and resolve the whole matter with just a few words. Before all this, Lacy had panic attacks about the upcoming years with Blair investigating college. He even went so far as to hide any college fliers deep in his closet. Fortunately, Blair noticed, as he always did, and obtained plenty of digital copies by email. He let his little brother have his best efforts at controlling a situation he couldn¡¯t possibly control.

    ¡°Mom?¡±

    Brooke snapped out of her reflection and focused staring at the little ways changes drifted from Blair¡¯s longer hair to a softening of his Iron Giant-esce bulky jawline. ¡°What is it, sweetie?¡±

    ¡°You said¡­that¡­ grandpa sent something for us to look at?¡± Lacy was still twisted up as a pretzel, with her limbs tightening and clenching, as though providing an invisible pump for her tension. However, the snapping bitterness in her voice receded as she glanced over at her mom and then quickly checked on her older brother.

    Straightening, Brooke nodded to her child¡¯s question. It felt clear that Lacy muffled several unkind words about her grandfather. Brooke didn¡¯t have a problem with her child calling him all sorts of deserved things. Frankly, she could see how any of them might directly blame her father for how things had gone and were likely to go on this trip. He was deeply responsible for so many things that Brooke just wanted to forget. She appreciated Lacy¡¯s restraint, no matter the impetus or feeling. Just being able to talk to Lacy, without absorbing her panic that her world was over, was a relief. A moment to keep from drowning, even though the analogy didn¡¯t quite work since she was a strong swimmer who enjoyed the water.

    In response to Lacy¡¯s reserved question, Brooke considered waiting till everyone was together again, to brief them on the dress code and requirements, but didn¡¯t want to lose this opportunity. She agreed to bring over her laptop so long as Lacy diligently made sure that the phone was still recording and that her brother was comfortable.

    To this, Lacy adopted a serious expression practically unlike anything she¡¯d seen from her 12-year-old outside of challenging final bosses in her games. Lacy leveled her eyes at Blair and scrutinized every inch of his flesh for advancing transformation. She also delicately traced her slender fingers around Blair¡®s phone and checked the time codes along with the image focus. After a few moments, she gave a measured nod and responded, ¡°It¡¯s good. I mean¡­ it¡¯s going.¡±

    Before Brooke left the room though, Lacy swiftly recalled, ¡°Could you¡­ Grab those shears as well? Hair. For this hair.¡± Lacy tossed a few locks over her shoulder in the hope they might simply leave that way and never return.

    That was a bigger ask than rushing over to grab her laptop for grandpa¡®s update. They would need something to catch the hair when she cut it. Lacy could sit on one of the chairs by the kitchen and she could fan out a beach towel. No, better idea. In the trunk behind the backseat, she had stored the drop cloth from those painting classes she took. It had to be dusty by now, but it would do the job. She nodded, agreed to this as well, and lingered a moment to make sure there wasn¡¯t anything else.

    Being away from Blair¡®s unconscious form still etched her quiet, sleeping shape like a ghost on the back of her eyes. He never slept this peacefully, except when recovering after a serious illness. She could still hear his breath, but it was so faint and reserved. Lacy had been quieted too.

    She mounted the stairs urgently but not with chaotic speed. No reason to make anything feel worse. Retrieving the laptop was simple. Sifting through the scattered luggage for the shears was less so. It wasn¡¯t in her main bag. That just had the fold-up travel scissors. Fortunately, one of the bathroom bags had it.

    Hustling downstairs again, she dropped off her laptop but kept the shears in a pocket. She didn¡¯t want to cast a flare of uncertainty in Lacy¡¯s direction, but some of the things her child said deeply concerned her. Brooke tried not to dwell on that as she snatched up her keys and hustled out the front door to the car.

    Clare and Eliot were already out of sight. Despite that, Brooke stretched on her tiptoes to peer over the ridges of sand and dirt with tufts of green. Nothing. Meanwhile, the waves crashed and receded against the shore with practiced clockwork, not caring a wink for the tiny crises playing out in her life.

    Brooke climbed around in the back and easily found and retrieved the cloth. Before heading back in, she focused her kindest thoughts on her husband and youngest.

    ¡ª-

    Eliot did his best not to make this excursion feel different than any other. He grabbed his keys, wallet, and cell phone. However, when he grabbed for the last, it slipped from his fingers even though it had a bumpy and sticky grip on the sides. Cursing with all the blunted words practiced from a decade and a half of parenting, he saw that it was fine despite ricocheting over several floor tiles. His hand shook when he picked it up. He coughed and snatched up one of the nearest water bottles.

    The water helped but also made his guts feel like the crab shack meal and breakfast were ready to violently dislodge like a melting glacier. He considered jotting down that stray imagery, but his nerves were too rattled to bother. Instead, he drew in a few whiffs of the sea breeze until he felt like he could handle this. He had to show his best face for Clare.

    His mind traced the contours of a familiar, long-composed, but never-put-on-paper concept. An alien and human couple meeting for the first time on vacation. Maybe it cut a little too close to the present, but the grooves of the narrative slowly steadied his nerves. He never quite worked it out because he wanted the aliens pretending to be like a normal group of humans. The usual. The twist was the humans were trying to fit in by being more like aliens. Maybe it was a neutral location for each of them, but Eliot couldn¡¯t quite suss out how to write it. But the potential dramatic irony of each group desperately trying to be something they weren¡¯t excited him.

    It still didn¡¯t make facing his youngest daughter any easier though. But Clare still felt like Clare. It didn¡¯t matter how she looked and what she wore, he told himself.

    She slipped on that same travel bag from when she went out with Brooke earlier. Quietly, she held his hand as they walked out of the house. Blair stopped holding hands a few years older than Clare. However, he kept close to his family with a constant awareness of where he was and where they were. Not one of those kids who got fixated on toys and then found themselves half a store away from familiar faces. Lacy was that kid. His remedy involved busting out siren noises and screaming across the store. Sweet, quiet dreamer Clare had the worst of it though.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Nervous moments of uncertainty wrapped around the poor kid like invisible pythons. He looked fine, he said he was fine, and yet they would find him drenched in sweat and screaming about some nightmare he could barely remember.

    The only place Eliot could really deal with those things was several days after the fact in some detailed imagining, uselessly constructed and scribbled across a blank page.

    ¡°Are you okay, daddy?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Just stay close to me while we¡¯re out.¡± That was a lie and he faintly suspected that Clare understood it was. She accepted this though.

    ¡°It¡¯s getting easier to walk, but it¡¯s still weird. I¡¯ll take it easy.¡± Clare usually bounded ahead, explored, and sought out the next hill to see what it held. The possibilities of her star field dress expressed.

    Part of him wanted her to just scamper off but then swing back, as though following an invisible tether dragging him forward while allowing her freedom. His children had been too tightly bound in this decade, locked away inside by society, distant from his parents while Brooke¡¯s father made all the inroads. Eliot tightened his empty, untrustworthy hand, as though his bitter anger towards his father-in-law could dispel the shakes.

    Gingerly, Clare unfurled the narrative of her last outing with mom. Doing the splits and riding a wall without the ¡°birdie and egg¡± pain she usually felt. She reenacted some dirt slides and looked at her dad expectantly. Eliot smiled and nodded. He told her that was ¡°cool¡± and resisted all the anxious fears. Why journey anywhere else than in this shared moment with his child?

    ¡°Do you think¡­maybe I was supposed to be a girl?¡±

    That question took Eliot by surprise. Clare highlighted how comfortable she felt right then. Also, her siblings just accepted her as a girl. No one out and about freaked, and the lady at the clothing store especially saw her as normal. She compared this with how distraught Lacy was. Even though overreaction tended to be the norm with Lacy.

    That whole ball of everything felt like it had been set on fire and he needed to examine it before it melted away. His wife was so much better at zeroing in on simple answers. All he could come up with was a dozen vague contemplations about fate, genetics, and psychology which wouldn¡¯t help his kid. His daughter.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But I do know that your entire family will love and support you no matter what has happened before or what will happen in the future. We¡¯re here and you don¡¯t need to be scared.¡±

    It was awkward and took more words than any of Brooke¡¯s succinct determinations, but Eliot found relief in seeing his daughter nod and smile.

    ¡°You two there! Welcome to Pinckney Point. Could I trouble you for a moment of your time?¡±

    To their left at the edge of the grass along the path leading from the beach house to the boardwalk stood a lanky, gaunt man in a black suit. He didn¡¯t appear much older than Eliot but still had a frail, thin energy about him, as though he might dwindle to a single black hair wavering in the wind if he turned to the side and the breeze picked up.

    His suit dangled, as though he were an emaciated stick bug which adopted an awkward, hermit crab home. Eliot scolded and lamented himself for coming up with such rough analogies for a simple man behind a rickety, white folding card table. However, he also positioned himself between his daughter and the strange man before asking, ¡°What do you want?¡± Even though his wife more often cited the Netflix child abduction documentaries, he was also mindful of them.

    The strange man dipped his head with a quick smirk before saying, ¡°Just but a moment of your time. My name is Carren Cross. And I simply wish to discuss something called the Cerberus Initiative with you.¡±

    ¡ª-

    ¡°So, Blair is going to be gone.¡±

    Brooke arranged a nice spot on the tile between the kitchen and the dining room with a dark color contrasting Lacy''s fair locks so that she would be able to see if any of the hair fell to the side. She knew that if there was a cleanliness complaint then her father was sure to mention it and any random fines almost as desperately as he let her know about the damn, expensive tint-shifting windows.

    She spread out the drop cloth and situated the chair so that they both could continue to watch Blair without any obstacles. At this point, her eldest definitely had a different facial structure and curve to his features. His bulky shoulders were starting to recede through his clothes. His hips may have widened but his increasingly baggy clothing hid the specifics.

    ¡°He¡¯s right there¡±, Brooke asserted as she prepared everything for Lacy.

    ¡°Is he? Not for long. He¡¯ll be gone and I have no idea who he¡¯ll be when he wakes up.¡± Lacy focused intently on her brother while her eyes wandered and took in the scope of the entire room. Her mother stood in front of her.

    ¡°You¡¯re still Lacy, aren¡¯t you? Same RuggedClaw10Strike online¡­ Schooling all the noobs?¡± Lacy shut her eyes and groaned. ¡°God, mom. Stop, please stop¡­¡±

    Brooke knew a handful of recent and dated slang she could wield to painful effect. She did enjoy torturing the other junior high kids during Lakethorn¡¯s hybrid back-to-school night. Lacy flung her hair over the back of the seat.

    She sighed and declared, ¡°Change sucks. Everyone says ¡®embrace change¡¯ and ¡®look for change in things¡¯ blah blah. I changed, but I¡¯m fighting to go back. Clare changed so much. Blair is changing now too, but I don¡¯t know who he¡¯ll be when he wakes up. My brother or someone else? You don¡¯t know what that friggin rock can do. He doesn¡¯t either, even though he likes to think he¡¯s sooo smart.¡±

    Brooke knew Clare desperately worried that things were different between them. She honestly didn¡¯t believe that Clare had changed that much. The only difference was that she put on some other clothes. But it didn¡¯t seem worth it to nitpick and press Lacy. Instead, she told her, ¡°Yeah, change can suck. Change is desperately scary, but there are also constants, things that can¡¯t and won¡¯t change. Your family loves you, no matter what happens to your appearance, what words spill out of your head, or what fears rise to the surface. Blair will always be your big brother and Clare will always be your little brother. No matter what¡­ details are different. And we, your dad and me, I will always be here for you and love you.¡±

    Lacy¡®s head shifted around like she was rotating it to get a kink out. She groaned when one of the long hairs stuck on the wood. ¡°I guess. For now, just get this junk off me.¡±

    Brooke went right to work with the shears. She gathered up a lengthy section of the hair from all sides and gingerly snipped from left to right, pausing so that the blades didn¡¯t get snagged. Well over a foot of the hair resting on her shoulders came away in her hands. Some of it slipped out, but she twisted it together and set it aside in a wash basin.

    When she returned to pick up the strays, her hand paused, and her mind puzzled as a mass of blonde hair covered Lacy¡¯s shoulders as thoroughly as what she just removed. Had she not cut as much as she thought, and another layer slid back to fill the spot? The hair in the back looked exactly the same.

    Lifting her shears again, Brooke re-gathered as much of the hair as possible and then snipped slowly and cleanly across it. Lacy¡¯s back should¡¯ve been bare but, as soon as she lifted the hair away, it was like another curtain was revealed. This one actually appeared as though it fell lower across her back.

    ¡°Did you do it?¡± Lacy nervously looked back and felt around her head. ¡°Is there still more?¡± Brooke swallowed and witnessed the absolute mass of cut hair she set aside, enough for a decent wig. Lacy felt around in alarm. ¡°Why does it feel longer?¡±

    Doing her best to not scare her child, Brooke helped Lacy up and over to the nearest mirror in a closet. Lacy staggered and gripped the door. Brooke showed her what she cut off, but Lacy still dashed over for the shears.

    Brooke held her hands up nervously while Lacy gave a single nod and carefully sliced through a large part of her hair. The yarn-like bundle of fair hair tumbled to the floor and instantly more hair replaced it. A brief glow of silver traced the edge like a spark of static electricity. The hair reached slightly longer, stretching for the middle of her back.

    Collapsing to the ground with her arms dangling and her legs useless, Lacy pronounced, ¡°I¡¯m¡­cursed¡­¡±

 [9] A Rock & Family Vacation 9 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [9]

    Brooke wished that they had cut the hair in the line of sight of the phone as additional evidence, but she somehow suspected that someone somewhere, or especially someone of authority would just dismiss it as another piece of an Internet parlor trick. She wasn¡¯t going to try to trim her middle child¡¯s hair again, just to see even more fill its place. Lacy let the shears clang against the floor for dramatic effect but begrudgingly picked them up again to hand to her mom.

    ¡°You¡¯re not cursed. We don¡¯t know what this is, but we¡¯ll figure it out and you¡¯ll have your hair the way you want. I need to grab some things from my bag. You carefully watch your brother, as I know you can do. We¡¯ll get through this.¡±

    Lacy wanted to wallow there on the floor, all crumpled up, but she gradually got to her feet and sat near Blair while checking the phone and the angle. At this point, the changes had flowed to his arms and hands. Blair rather prided himself on the paddle-like swath of his palms.

    They retained his lightly-tanned tone while being comparable to Brooke¡¯s. His body, in those now-oversized clothes, sprawled out across less of the couch. Brooke noticed that Blair¡®s clothes were starting to slip, and Lacy seemed aware of it as well but neither went over to that end of the couch to adjust them.

    It actually took more searching to get what she needed this time than simply looking for the shears. So much of their stuff was scattered across the bathrooms, the bedrooms, and the closets. Fortunately, she found exactly what she needed in the master bedroom and Clare¡¯s bedroom. She had given her some hair ties when they went out, but this would require a little bit more. Using one of the spare shopping bags, she grabbed hair gel, some brushes, and a little bit of spray along with the sturdiest ties she had.

    Lacy had always been difficult and fussy when it came to his hair. He would put it back with a rubber band or twist it into something awkward and that was usually the most he wanted to deal with it. Moving into junior high did help somewhat with stray comments by girls about who had better and worse hair. But all that really did was introduce him to the basics of gel and hairspray.

    That foundation helped as she showed everything, and Lacy didn¡¯t panic. For the plan of action, Brooke pulled up a page from her phone that detailed all the steps for extra-long children¡¯s hair. She wasn¡¯t missing anything. It did recommend showering and other little touches, but there was no way Lacy would approve. Instead, she tried a different method.

    Firstly, she brushed out any tangles. Lacy distracted herself by keeping her attention on her older brother. His face appeared completely transformed. Brooke felt immense relief that at least her eldest hadn¡¯t inherited her weird, puffy lips as well. Next, she rubbed some gel around the tips and through the middle of Lacy¡¯s hair by running it through her fingers. The amount of rocking and flinching she did to the sensation and smell wasn¡¯t helpful, but Brooke resisted the urge to scold her about it.

    After that, she brought it up and together into a rough ponytail. Lacy couldn¡¯t resist peering over her shoulder and scrutinizing what on earth her mom was doing. Brooke urged her to focus on her brother with her head forward and her arms down.

    The next step was making a little bun and then vigorously winding up the tail. This appeared to freak out Lacy, as she gripped the sides of the chair but didn¡¯t say anything. After securing it with the hair tie, Brooke dabbed it with hair gel again and sprayed a little hairspray to make sure it wouldn¡¯t fall apart. She tugged gently at the edges and adjusted some of the small hairs so that the end was covered, and it all didn¡¯t pull too hard on her scalp. Brooke knew bad hair care all too well.

    Her father suggested she keep her hair quite long and discouraged cuts. Brooke retaliated by trying to hide it as short and high as possible. Unfortunately, she would always tighten it until it hurt and wouldn¡¯t come loose. Vicious, pulsing headaches soon followed.

    Attentively, she made sure it was comfortable for Lacy. Of course, Lacy soon fussed with it and ran through a gamut of different expressions. She stretched her head a few different ways before resolving, ¡°It feels super freaking weird, but it doesn¡¯t hurt.¡±

    Cautiously, like a cat knowing the evil vet is nearby, she approached the still-open closet to inspect her mother¡¯s work in the mirror. She didn¡¯t appear pleased with the way that her locks puffed out around her head from the bun at the back. Lacy muttered, ¡°It looks like a hair pastry. And super girly. But, I guess, it¡¯ll have to do.¡±

    For the briefest of moments, like the sun poking through a mass of silvery clouds, Brooke caught the glimpse of a stray smile on Lacy¡®s face. When she blinked, it had returned to a flat, dour frown. But she knew that it happened. Not enough to interpret one way or the other, but she felt pleased that her child seemed alright with something she had been able to do for her.

    ¡ª¡ª

    ¡°This isn¡¯t some sort of mid-level marketing deal, is it? I¡¯m quite busy with family matters.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is. But I do know the Cerberus Initiative is dedicated to bringing people and possibilities together. Resolute in absolute certainty in our uncertain world. Reducing the way that we spread ourselves thinly across so many different choices and integrating them into a greater whole¡­¡±

    Eliot could absolutely read the marketing speak on the wall. ¡°Do you have a brochure I can look through?¡±

    At that moment, it appeared as though the strange man just realized that he had a table in front of them that should¡¯ve contained fliers or information to give away. ¡°Afraid not. But I can pass along some vital information. Have you seen or encountered any strange rocks in the area?¡±

    Clare shifted over and grabbed Eliot¡®s right hand to urge him toward their pizzeria destination. ¡°Daddy? We should hurry because¡­my brothers.¡±

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    That one question struck Eliot like a bolt of lightning. It was bewildering and bizarre. He didn¡¯t know what to say. Out of all the things that this weird, lanky man could¡¯ve asked, why rocks? Sure, there was no shortage of random rocks along the seaside, as Clare was excited to investigate for extra credit. But why not sand, why not fish, why not crabs, why not ask anything but specifically rocks? He knew about coincidence and narratives, and this didn¡¯t feel like coincidence.

    However, tracing that thought also made him tighten up and grip Clare¡¯s hand firmly. ¡°In a moment, sweetie. I just wanted to clear something up¡­. what about rocks?¡±

    The man who called himself Carren Cross leaned back in the rudimentary chair situated behind his flimsy folding table. ¡°Simply inquiring. Rocks are just rocks, after all. Unless they aren¡¯t. I suspect there are some very strange ones in this area. If you happen to come across some truly strange rocks, I would be quite interested in examining them¡­ scientifically. The Cerberus Initiative would benefit greatly and provide solutions if you run into problems with one of these objects.¡±

    Clare put plenty of distance between herself and this strange man but still remained close to her father. ¡°I¡¯m Eliot Shore. We¡¯re over at a¡­ nearby beach house. We have run across a few strange things. You said your name was Karen?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yes like the lady¡¯s name. Spelled C-A-R-R-E-N though. And Cross for the last name, spelled like you would think, biblically.¡± Eliot took that down on his phone and then heard as the man added, ¡°Well, shoot.¡±

    A pair of stocky older men wearing field green uniforms with double pockets and gold stars on their lapels approached them. The nearly bald one pointed the end of a flashlight at Carren and asked Eliot, ¡°Well now, this gentleman bothering you folks? I don¡¯t think he registered for a booth, and we have a no-solicitation ordinance.¡°

    Meekly, the dark-suited gentleman folded up his table and dipped his head. ¡°My apologies. I only wished to pass along some information. Good day to you all.¡± The stranger didn¡¯t quite run, but he definitely hustled as quickly as possible with his table.

    The man with stringy gray hair and thick glasses gave a little wave at Clare and asked, ¡°You alright, little miss? The man didn¡¯t bother you or anything?¡±

    Clare dipped her head at first, as though weighing her feelings. ¡°He sort of bothered me, but it¡¯s okay. My daddy is here.¡±

    The gray-haired man frowned and glanced at the other one. They shared a quiet look before the balding one asked, ¡°You renting the house just up the way?¡±

    Eliot moved closer to his daughter, feeling like, even though they¡¯d gotten rid of the strange gentleman at the table, this pair was equally odd. ¡°We¡¯re vacationing. Just the two of us. And our three enormous dogs. Rottweiler, husky, and Great Dane. They¡¯re really hungry right now, I bet. Very protective of my daughter. So, we better be going.¡±

    A hot, furious part of him wanted to add that he was a retired Marine who loved armor-piercing rounds. But it was clear the two of them got the hint. ¡°That¡¯s good. Keep safe. I hope you enjoy your stay at Pinckney Point, the friendliest place along the Carolina coast. Happy to have you here.¡± They soon started walking back the way they came, which was not towards the main boardwalk area.

    Once they were gone, Clare questioned, ¡°Why did you lie to them, daddy? Were those bad guys?¡± She fussed with and adjusted her dress as the wind picked up and several dense clouds gathered overhead. Eliot led his daughter to an area with a small, colorful windbreak before answering with a sigh, ¡°I don¡¯t know. But they were asking a lot of questions about us, and you¡¯ve got to be careful when you¡¯re in an unfamiliar place, alright? Come on.¡±

    The pizza place was further than they¡¯d been before, just past the crab shack. The exterior had pristine white siding with a brown roof vigorously splashed by the leavings of seagulls. Several of those perpetrators lingered around the scene of the crime. The building was long but narrow, facing the waves. A modest dining area looked fancy on the inside with polished tan walls. Eliot got a feeling more like being aboard a ship, especially with the lighting.

    The kitchen and cash wrap at the front looked practically identical to every pizzeria Eliot had ever known. Bulky men with dense facial hair raced back and forth as though their feet were on coals, turning sheets of cardboard into pizza boxes, flipping and shifting pasta pots as living bellows of steam swarmed and swamped the air with heat.

    After accepting a black and white paper menu printed on both sides from a teenage girl in a brown apron with bright pink nails who worked the register, Eliot paused a moment to ask her, ¡°We ran into some security guards in green uniforms on the way here. At least, I think they were security guards.¡°

    The girl scrunched up her brow and folded her arms in front of her before yelling something to a man in the back. Some back-and-forth followed before the girl returned her attention to Eliot and pronounced, ¡°There¡¯s no security folk around here. We take care of it ourselves. You said you saw some guys in green uniforms?¡±

    Eliot confirmed that, and she shook her head. ¡°Local PD wears tan silver and big broad hats. Town sheriff is Raymond Cadell. Makes sure no one takes advantage of visitors. Let me give you his number.¡± Eliot accepted the note she wrote and took a photo of it to save digitally.

    He thanked the young woman and seriously considered calling. She looked over at Clare and smiled a quick smile. ¡°That is like the coolest dress.¡°

    To this, Clare looked down at herself, like she had forgotten what she was wearing. She politely thanked the girl and informed her that she also looked ¡°really pretty¡±. She laughed and dusted off her apron before conceding, ¡°I¡¯ve looked better. But thanks.¡±

 [10] A Rock & Family Vacation 10 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [10]

    A good measure of Clare¡¯s exuberance and energy returned as she pirouetted to one of the tables and flopped down sideways. That little moment also gave him a boost. He didn¡¯t have a favorite child, he couldn¡¯t possibly, but being around Clare was rejuvenating. Lacy reminded himself too much of his own childhood with permissive hippie parents. And Blair was the surprise and shock of their lives. They needed to get back soon, so Eliot cleared his throat and stretched out the menu between them.

    Clare had as many concerns about white sauce pizza as the non-dairy ice cream around the corner. The girl at the counter offered to whip her up a sample. Clare graciously accepted, then gingerly brought the bit of breadstick with the sauce up to a careful sliver of her mouth. Her expression was comparable to a bomb diffusion expert at the most critical point of the process. She gave the tiniest sample crunch and permitted the food to enter her mouth.

    After several tense seconds, Clare swallowed. Her faint eyebrows popped up in curious surprise as she responded, ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± When the girl inquired if she wanted a little bit more, Clare confidently shook her head but smiled and thanked her for the sample. The girl gave an amused chuckle as she noted that it was an acquired taste. To reward Clare for her indulgence, she gave them each a bit of breadstick with their thick marinara sauce in a little plastic cup. This one, Clare dunked and enjoyed eagerly. Her legs gave an animated, underwater swimming wiggle. Eliot''s reaction was much more reserved, but he enjoyed it no less.

    So far as their ultimate order, it seemed fitting to include a variety pack of breadsticks with a large works pizza, Mediterranean vegetarian for Brooke, and then a plain cheese just in case and for leftovers. While they waited, Clare peered out at the ocean with her hands folded under her chin.

    This was his son. And this was his daughter. Most importantly, this was his child. As he knew from Clare¡¯s own lips, reiterated by Brooks and emphasized by himself, it really didn¡¯t matter. It didn¡¯t change an iota of his love. But, at the same time, everything for his youngest child would be different. She would grow up one day and live a life separate from him and Brooke. Blair was close enough that he could envision the kind of person his son might marry, someone to truly challenge and surmount his pyramid of cleverness. They were sure to drive Brooke nuts whenever they got together for board games or puzzle night. But Clare will grow up too.

    Eliot¡¯s right eye gave a rough twitch, as though it had intentions of just popping loose and heading off for its own adventures. He needed glasses eventually. This was about the age that his father started to wear them. Skinny John Lennon specs with barely any coverage. He intended to embrace the full, professorial Coke bottle look. But he was wandering away from his own thoughts. Clare would grow up into what he was sure would be an amazing young lady.

    But the stresses of dating, no matter how it went, absolutely boggled his mind. Permissive and carefree like his parents or¡­ no, there was no way he would be demanding and exacting like Brooke¡¯s dad. His wife would roll her eyes and admonish him for dwelling on such far-flung notions with all this stress. Clare was six and she would remain six till November. He pressed himself, like she often did, to focus on right now.

    ¡°How are you doing?¡±

    Clare glanced across the table. ¡°We haven¡¯t gone in the ocean yet. That¡¯s the very first thing I wanted to do when we got here but it was kind of late when we arrived and we wanted to eat and I was looking at rocks and then it was really late and then everything happened. And I didn¡¯t think of it with mom. And now I have this dress and I don¡¯t want to get it wet and covered in sand. And every moment since we got here has just felt like the wrong one to have fun. Although I really liked helping mom finish her work. And I want to see more¡­good rocks.¡±

    He noticed how she slipped around saying things without revealing details. Clare could be too frank, honest, and open in the wrong moments but that was her nature. Eliot stretched his hands across the table and Clare reached hers out to meet them. He assured her that they were going to have plenty of time to enjoy the ocean this week.

    Clare fundamentally accepted this in the same way she accepted assurances when she woke that the nightmare she just escaped wasn¡¯t real and hadn¡¯t followed her. But¡­ she could cite so many uncertainties. No matter what Blair said about the upstate New York trip that Clare could hardly remember, this felt like the most doomed one which was only going to spread sadness, worry, and disappointment.

    He couldn¡¯t deny any of that, because he didn¡¯t know the future, but emphasized that each of them made choices that determined what happened. Eliot recalled that Lacy chose to eat those extremely hot peppers several weeks ago as part of a crazy sandwich to impress some guys at school. He came home sick and was in the restroom for several hours. They worried that they might need to reschedule this trip or take Lacy to the doctor. This moment right here may not have even happened if that or anything else went even a little bit differently. The concept confused Clare more than Eliot intended, but he distilled it to this essential thought, ¡°If you decide that something terrible is going to happen, that changes the way you see everything around you and could make bad things happen.¡±

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    He used a variety of random examples, from instances of bad luck to how he could¡¯ve interpreted dropping his phone earlier as an omen. Explaining an omen also took work, as Clare imagined it like a mystical curse. He said it was more a warning sign or caution but seen as a message from the world. The problem was knowing whether you actually saw a warning or just imagined it.

    Clare sat with that notion and did her best to process it. A nervous portion of Eliot wondered if he was screwing things up and complicating matters with a tangle of ideas best reserved for one of his stories. Clare was just six and she already had an entirely new self-identity to figure out. He didn¡¯t need to weigh her down with existential wondering and fate versus choice. At the same time, he didn¡¯t want to just brush it all off or say she wouldn¡¯t understand it.

    The girl at the register came over with the receipt. Eliot paid for everything and included a generous tip. She had a damp cloth in one hand which she was using to clean off some of the tables.

    ¡°Very philosophical¡±, she remarked. ¡°I see it this way. Bad things will happen. Good things will happen. You don¡¯t know. But no bad day controls you. You decide how you wanna live it. Take it on, run away, or just laugh at it. It¡¯s all attitude.¡± She left them with that and cleaned up a couple of empty tables towards the back.

    Eliot encouraged that notion, even though he had misgivings. Clare scrunched up her eyes, as though working through two contradictory but equally challenging brain teasers before settling, ¡°I choose¡­ to make my brothers happy and have fun, even if it¡¯s hard and even if they punch me.¡±

    For the rest of their time in the pizzeria, Eliot had Clare focus on a wish list of things she wanted to do. The beach and the waves came first, then building an amazing sand castle. Followed by checking out the science center in town and the marine one in the next town over. Flying kites at one of the parks on the hill. Visiting the zoo. And seeing Old Town. All that was already on their itinerary before they arrived. But Clare added one final, quiet thought, ¡°I¡¯d like Lacy to smile. I just want to feel like we¡¯re still family. Even before, I was scared about them running away. I don¡¯t want to be alone.¡±

    Eliot didn¡¯t need to think about or structure his words in answer to that. ¡°You go for it, in whatever way, and you will achieve it. Your brothers are your family. We¡¯re family. We are here for one another. You¡¯re never alone and there¡¯s no reason to be scared.¡± It felt good to focus his words in the same way his wife confidently projected hers.

    Brooke often thought he was just teasing her or being too kind when he genuinely said that she would make a better writer than him. He had the training and the grueling practice, but he often found himself lost in the sticks or trying to expand a notion and articulate it as clearly as possible.

    In marketing practices, Brooke had to be succinct, precise, and exact in her intentions and expression. That often meant she tended to give up after constructing a clever poem or limerick and she usually got lost after extended chapter glosses where people did things, got where they needed to go, and finished the job. She didn¡¯t have a narrative flare but had plenty of punch. Maybe combined, he pondered, they might be able to make a single writer who got to the point in time, but also made the journey interesting.

    They picked up their order at the front and the girl at the counter smiled and wished Clare and her dad a lovely day. Clare was the one who handled the bag of breadsticks and made sure everything was there. Eliot clung to the sides of their pizza order and shouldered a small bag of crushed pepper and parmesan along with oregano and other spices.

    Even though it was clear from a distance that the lanky, creepy guy with the table hadn¡¯t returned, they took an alternate route closer to the water to lead them back to the house. Protecting her bag of food, Clare dashed across the sand and down in a giggling parabola to taunt the water. Her shoes squished down on the really slick parts but she swiftly broke free and joined a group of annoyed sandpipers and skittish crabs darting back and forth. Eliot could watch her play all day long. But it took just a short spell before they were back in sight of the house. Someone unexpected was waiting for them.

    A teenage girl stood by the door with her arms folded around her stomach. She wore Brooke¡¯s calico dots blouse. It didn¡¯t fit the best, for several reasons. She also had on Brooke¡¯s black polyester pants, which fit her a little bit better. Eliot knew that his wife was probably lamenting this girl¡¯s pronounced lips and taking it personally as the junk of her DNA. The light twists of her soft blonde hair settled against her left shoulder but didn¡¯t fall any further. She seemed so distressingly small. That didn¡¯t stop her from boldly grabbing all the food and joking, ¡°Thanks for the grub guys! Did you bring anything for mom and grumpy face?¡±

 [11] A Rock & Family Vacation 11 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [11]

    Of course, Lacy had to start really fussing and scratching at her hair. Brooke secured everything to the point she wasn¡¯t worried it would just spontaneously pop loose or come undone. However, Lacy could be tenacious at picking things and not letting them go. Somehow, despite everything they did, and well-timed vaccination, Lacy still managed to catch chickenpox when she was young.

    He viciously went at the blisters to the point that Brooke had to make him wear gloves and wrap him in towel-swaddled cold compresses. Whatever saved him from scarring. She wasn¡¯t able to stop him from scratching his head though. And that indirectly led to the follicle study that her father put him in.

    Research at the company speculated on whether they might be able to isolate genes and compounds that promoted alopecia resistance. Really, her father wanted a cure for all sorts of hair loss. His grandson¡®s hair was a good candidate and Lacy received the encouragement that his hair was special, but it was just another one of grandpa¡®s projects that didn¡¯t go anywhere. Always chasing a cheap and easy fix. The next snake oil for her to market and sell.

    With Lacy¡®s hair taken care of, Brooke allowed herself an imaginary trip to some salon on the beach. Probably a bad business idea because of the salt water, but she craved it. Then throw in a full body massage and the absolute best treatment of her toes and cuticles and she could forget whatever was happening and whatever had to happen tomorrow to appease her father.

    Whatever was changing about Blair now, the details were obscured by his now-oversized clothes. She still wasn¡¯t going to turn this into something crazy clinical. Just the possibility of images of her children in any way compromised lit an angry fire inside her brain. One of her rules as a parent was no improper self-photography, especially shared. Fortunately, neither of her older boys seemed interested in that kind of thing. However, them acquiring questionable images was a place she didn¡¯t want to go.

    They each sat on a side of Blair along the big couch. The video transitioned to snowboarding with riding rails. Lacy glanced over every so often but didn¡¯t appear especially interested. Brooke wanted to compliment Lacy, but she knew that whatever she might say would only make her feel bad and lying to say that she looked boyish or manly would hurt even worse. The most she could actually do to help was raise her middle child¡¯s hair off her shoulders and leave her in peace. Deeply frustrating.

    Blair seemed far smaller than she remembered him being in such a long time. What she could see of his arms were lengthy and narrow, just like hers but with a mottled tone innately Blair. His poor lips had also joined the puffy club with his younger sister and mother, but she thought they looked fine on his shifting face. Brooke considered hers like a duck¡¯s fat lip, while Lacy had an even, rounded pout. What the damn rock was giving Blair seemed more like accenting with a colorful marker. His precious face though¡­

    The heft and sturdy mass of his features had become slim, dainty, and slight. What they could see of his hips kept his pants from sliding further. Blair whimpered faintly in her state and shifted her legs. Brooke avoided speculation about what this meant. It certainly didn¡¯t represent the conclusion of the changes as the slight but conspicuous parts of her chest became steadily more conspicuous. Lacy brought her hands up to her mouth and raised her slim eyebrows before muttering, ¡°Oh my gosh. Blair! Wake up! Stop that!¡°

    Her desperate words had no effect as the changes mounted greater and greater. When that acceleration finally slowed and came to a halt, Lacy adjusted her robe and glanced at her sibling. It appeared her new sister needed something helpfully loose even more than she did. She adjusted the sleeves but kept it on.

    Brooke realized that she had something that Blair could probably wear. Every pound of her heart while she was away from her child felt like a countdown to some unknowable ruin. The robe in question was quite loose but a satiny number highlighted by cream and peach tones. She had no idea if Blair would tolerate it, but she brought it over just in case.

    Her eldest would need something else in her range, a frustrating to find with the right band F to G cup. It stung, especially recalling the way her dad laughed once that if she had any daughters, then they would ¡°probably come out with udders¡±. That was one of the few arguments where her mother stood up for her, even though she was apologizing to him by the next week.

    Several more minutes passed without further shifts. A few more after that left Brooke confident that whatever was happening was finally done. The key difference was that Blair¡®s typical snore returned to the flutter of her now-small nose. It wasn¡¯t the squeaky bear so much as a rushing tone, like wind blasting through canyon pass, as though a strange spirit were trying to whistle. Lacy scrunched her brow and didn¡¯t seem particularly pleased with the new nose noise.

    Blair also gave signs that she wanted to bend her arm up but could only wiggle her shoulder, as well as tightening her legs in unconscious acknowledgment of their precarious position on the couch. She didn¡¯t scowl but also didn¡¯t appear particularly comfortable.

    Before long, Lacy asked, her voice slightly above a whisper, ¡°¡­ Should we wake him up?¡± Brooke didn¡¯t know. She thought about raising the volume of the television, which was barely loud enough to pick out most of the words with the assistance of the closed captioning currently on. However, Blair had managed to sleep through persistent phone alarms and several rousing rock ¡®n¡¯ roll tunes that woke his poor mother from several rooms away but left him still snoozing. The most Blair-like thing Brooke could imagine would be¡­

    ¡°Is¡­oh woah uh¡­ it over? Weird. That¡¯s my tone but not ahhh...waaaaauhh. Huh.¡±

    ¡°You sound like a girl¡±, Lacy declared with firm certainty. Blair cleared her throat a few times and coughed.

    ¡°Not especially. Jusssttt barely, I might say. Now what I know of music theory. Ugh¡­ Nap phlegm.¡± Clinging to several different parts of her clothing, Blair scooted sideways until she reached the bend in the couch and could properly adjust her position. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s very different. Ohhh oh. That¡¯s a lot.¡± It was easy to tell that Blair noticed the conspicuous qualities on her chest. Sitting up made them shift.

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    Leveling her head, Lacy shot off the next volley, ¡°You are way bigger than me¡­girly.¡±

    ¡°Yep, bigger and still smarter. Bigger and still smarter bigger and still smarter¡­ sounds very flat. How did you figure out how to naturally talk like a girl?¡±

    ¡°W-w-what?¡­¡± It half seemed like Lacy wanted to scowl at her elder sibling for a low-key slight but also held a dawning alarm that their voices as girls were noticeably different.

    Rotating her jaw around slightly and practically whipping her tongue in her mouth like Brooke twisted Lacy¡®s hair into a bun, Blair tried a few unintelligible sounds before settling on, ¡°What wwaaat whhaaahht what wuuutt what whuuuttt bigger and still smarter aaaaaa¡­ I talk about the same, but my dangly part is gone. I can make it flatter, but if I try to sound like a grandma then it gets a little bit closer.¡±

    Brooke felt vaguely shell-shocked that everything was so normal, and Blair was acting like the changes to his body were just another quirky puzzle to manipulate and see what would happen. So, still the same Blair. Lacy clung to her indignation that Blair managed to instantly instill her voice with a flat, almost boyish feeling. ¡°How come I can¡¯t make my voice sound like that? I just sound like this and I¡¯m not doing anything but the way I talk normally.¡±

    Blair finally appeared to be moving on from the larynx to examining the narrow structure of her arms. ¡°I don¡¯t know, maybe you¡¯re just naturally meant to be a girl or something, ''cause I¡¯m just being me right now. Nice hairstyle, by the way.¡±

    Immediately, Lacy¡¯s eyes widened. She tightened her hands at her side into fists but pressed them down into the cushion. Brooke pushed up slightly from her part of the couch in anticipation.

    ¡°¡­ Take that back. You¡­ Take that back¡­¡± The words were more strained and frantic than tough and deep like Lacy intended.

    ¡°All right, your hair sucks.¡±

    ¡°No, the other part. Take it back, Bessie Halston heifer!¡±

    Brooke raised both her hands, as though she were before an orchestra, but she didn¡¯t have a clue how to conduct. ¡°Lacy¡­ Blair.¡± The names didn¡¯t really matter though, she already launched the last option with Lacy¡®s middle name and Blair just laughed whenever anyone invoked his.

    ¡°You do realize it¡¯s supposed to be Holstein, right? At least insult me correctly. Not a surprise, your bird¡¯s nest brain falls apart at the word ¡®girl¡¯.¡±

    ¡°I AM NOT A GIRL!¡±

    ¡°You know what? Be in denial. Or you could actually deal.¡±

    ¡°WHY DID YOU DO THIS? It¡¯s not for me. I¡¯m more alone than ever. You just ruined everything. You should be screaming and hiding and yelling and bashing down the doors, tearing off your clothes and shoving a middle finger up up¡­whoever deserves it!¡± When she was finished it was like a storm silenced as simply as a candle blown out. She slumped on the couch and looked down at her hands.

    Without restraint, hot curious tears spilled over her cheeks and overwhelmed her faintly glossy cheeks with red pain and rushing rivulets. Brooke wanted to be right there for her daughter to comfort her, but Brooke reached over and drew Lacy against her. The hug wasn¡¯t binding, it clung around her shoulders and drew Lacy to Blair¡®s chest. Lacy could¡¯ve easily slipped out, but she brought her fists around Blair¡¯s back and laid against her as shuddering sobs became bracing howls. It wounded Brooke¡¯s soul to hear her child in such pain and do nothing.

    The tempest eventually settled with Lacy muttering through Blair¡®s chest, ¡°You¡¯re smothering me with your gross, ugly boobs.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Tis a good way to die, since you¡¯re already dead¡­¡±

    Now Lacy pulled away, muttering, ¡°Blargh, no. You¡¯re such a freaking girl. Boobs have gone alien estrogen hive mind on you already.¡±

    ¡°Join us¡­ Wear your skirt¡­¡±

    ¡°No. Never. Screw that. You go wear them for me!¡±

    Blair braced herself against different parts of the couch and delicately got to her feet. ¡°Not too weird but everything. But I don¡¯t recommend getting a second dose of puberty like this. Oh, and mom, do you have something I can borrow which won¡¯t fall off me?"

    Brooke sized up Blair as she desperately endeavored to keep her pants up while avoiding the burying swath of her shirt. The robe was suggested but didn¡¯t quite work. They would have to go looking for something else. Before she followed her mom over to the master bedroom to see, she noted to Lacy, ¡°You can¡¯t stay in a single, sweaty dad robe for the rest of your life.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t change or shower or wash anything for nine days straight.¡±

    ¡°I know. I still have my gas mask and mom¡®s posies outside never recovered. Nor did Mrs. Grove¡¯s poor dog.¡± Blair twisted a playful smirk across her face. Lacy accidentally let slip a giggle but followed it with a cough and a stern expression. ¡°Get out of here, doofus. Go have fun with your bras.¡±

    Still lingering a moment, Blair noted, ¡°I wasn¡¯t teasing you when I said you¡¯re beautiful. Or that you should do modeling.¡±

    ¡°Geez, just shut up¡­¡± Lacy responded half-heartedly. Blair persisted, ¡°What would be so bad? We find a good photographer who respects you. You get to be insanely creative without even thinking about it. Gotta be like your dream. Everyone at school follows you online, knows your name, and you still just get to be yourself. Because fashion ain¡¯t just skirts. Be the alternative girl, mix it up in boys'' clothes with confidence. Anything you want. Punk or pretty. Just be you.¡±

    Lacy listened and looked consummately bored and annoyed. But, for the twinkle of an instant, for barely a single frame that would appear in some film, her eyes shifted upwards in thought. Her look of animosity waned, and the faintest ghost of a curious smile tickled her features.

    ¡°Oh, fart off. Take your freaking phone and make sure you saved your stupid video.¡±

 [12] A Rock & Family Vacation 12 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [12]

    Blair held her phone, with the underwhelming but complete record of her change, in front of Clare and dad. She¡¯d briefly given them the major points of what they missed as lunch was orchestrated with passing plates and divvying up of the dipping sauces.

    Eliot embraced his wife as she moved like she¡¯d aged more than a decade in less than two hours. Swiftly, he rubbed her back and she managed to pop it. Brooke considered it stupid how she managed to wind up like this. She didn¡¯t even do anything. Just bent over in front of the closet to get her suitcase, brought it around to the bed, and then stretched to take a look at the closet. Followed by pain.

    She immediately tried to play it off, but Blair recognized her discomfort. Blair went through the luggage while Brooke rested against her pillows. Unfortunately, the bands on her regular bras were wrong for Blair but they were able to make a sports bra work. Blair paused when her top came off and lingered around the important parts without doing anything that might raise her mother¡¯s ire.

    The outfit that Blair ultimately selected was chosen, she explained, because mom had a practically identical one with black stripes instead of dots and multiple black pants. The dots top also already had a half-faded pizza stain, so Brooke concurred that I would be a good choice. With a clever smirk, Blair noted that was exactly the reason she went for it.

    After that point, there wasn¡¯t much that Eliot and Clare missed to fill them in on. Lacy scoffed at what Blair was wearing and admonished her for more girly hive nonsense. Blair ignored her and headed to the front door to see if the others were back yet. They didn¡¯t have to wait long before pizza was spread out across the counters. Everything was still hot enough that Brooke could spread, soften, and accent little bits of the special cheese for yet another meal.

    When they sat down to eat, Blair opted to switch the extreme sports flick to something casual and animated. Clare appreciated that. Lacy looked briefly annoyed but shrugged. With her body no longer fighting against her, Brooke turned her attention to Blair and vigorously scrutinized her eldest to make sure that she was all right.

    ¡°Are you comfortable? You¡¯re not hurting? Not gonna freak out? Need anything for your hair? I can put it up in a bun. Want me to grab anything from the fridge? Drinks? Anyone need drinks? Everyone have drinks?¡°

    Blair looked around at the cold soda cans everyone had in their favorite flavors. Lacy had a sideways Mountain Dew on her cushion but gave a grumbly promise not to open it up until she was done with the rest of her food and could hold it so it wouldn¡¯t spill on the probably very expensive couch. Blair just had a plain Coke while Clare set a 7-Up on its own plate off to the side. Brooke clung to a bottle of cherry-flavored slightly fizzy water and Eliot pushed through a hissing, popping root beer.

    The pizza made a good impression on all of them, especially with the breadsticks. Brooke¡¯s stomach felt like it had gone a few rounds in a tumble dryer, but she not only finished what was on her plate but tried an additional slice of the heavier pizza. The breadsticks went over best as Clare cited her encounter with the nice lady who gave them free samples. At this point, Eliot touched upon the weirdness that happened right before.

    He highlighted that at no point was Clare in any danger from the lanky, stringy man in the dark suit with the empty table. Tightened fury did flash across Brooke¡¯s face, as though she were transporting herself to that moment and looming over this creepy asshole with all the destructive energy she could muster. The mention of the Cerberus Initiative left her with a shrug and a frown. Blair raised a finger and elaborated, ¡°Cerberus is the guard dog to the underworld. He makes sure no one gets out. Everyone says he has three heads, but he could have way more according to whoever tells the story. His back is covered in vicious snakeheads, and he has a serpent tail. You don¡¯t wanna mess with him. He can see the past, the present, and the future all at once, so he knows if you¡¯re going to try to break out of¡­He¡­ck.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think the guy was a snake dog¡±, Lacy scoffed. Blair turned up her hands. ¡°Just sharing my knowledge.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just some naaaame, dingus.¡±

    Eliot nudged things back to the point by focusing on the two strangers who came over and made the other one leave. When he mentioned the greenish uniforms, Brooke stopped him and asked, ¡°Green? What shade?¡± To this, he had a little bit of trouble working through a precise description but googling different color swatches allowed him to get reasonably close. Brooke tightly frowned and puffed a long breath through her nose. When asked what was bothering her, she waved her hand and said, ¡°Nothing. Just¡­ what did they look like?"

    He was able to give a fair, distinct description but primarily focused on the unsettling fact they were asking specific questions about where they were staying and how many people. It set off several alarms for Eliot. Brooke squeezed her chin and Eliot responded, ¡°Your reaction doesn¡¯t seem like it¡¯s nothing.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna like it. At work, I noticed we were hiring extra security. Dad didn¡¯t say why but he assured me it was normal. The new uniforms are exactly that shade of green. Now, they¡¯re rather nondescript otherwise and it¡¯s not like they are the only uniform in the world to use green. But we know my dad, so the idea of him sending his people to keep a stalking eye on us during our vacation, unfortunately, doesn¡¯t feel like a stretch.¡±

    All three of the kids made excited and alarmed noises with tangles of words pushing to be spoken. Brooke raised her hands up high. ¡°I am not saying this is the case. It¡¯s an out-there thought but would definitely be something my dad would do, even if it were just to make sure we were taking care of the windows over there he likes so much.¡±

    Brooke was also aware they could easily prove it if her dad contacted them again. Maybe he sends a seemingly innocuous message asking if they brought along a guest or if someone from the neighborhood is also staying at the house. Then they would have him. In the same thought though, Brooke found herself wondering if she had to feel grateful then if her dad was watching over her because his security people scared off a possible scam artist, pervert, or worse.

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    She also realized it was probably the best time to open up the file her dad sent and lay out the requirements for brunch at the country club. Brooke seated herself in the center of the room and paused the show. There were still some breadsticks and crusts being picked over, but everyone looked at her. Lacy scowled and clung to the sides of the robe, as though protecting it from anyone who might try to take it from her.

    Clare had her legs tucked up under her dress and her arms around them. Blair delighted in the possibilities of her grandfather spying on them and catching him in such a crazy act. She wanted to dig around in all the fixtures for hidden spy cameras, but Brooke didn¡¯t want her electrocuting herself again. Eliot gripped his knees with his hands, almost to the point of pain, as though they were a stand-in for his father-in-law. Brooke did her best not to punish her laptop as she opened up the file.

    His preamble contained reminders about professionalism and representing the Muller Corporation and the prestige of his personage before arriving at his direct and explicit instructions.

    First, they would follow the dress code of the country club to the letter. He also included further limitations. No long pants or long sleeves. Single layers. No jewelry. Plenty of deodorant and skin cream.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going!¡± Brooke focused on the sections involving permanent consequences for the entire family, if this wasn¡¯t followed. Everyone had to attend. All medical coverage would be revoked. All tuition current and future would be withheld. All gifts in the past would be taken back. And legal action, as well as assault on credit and finances, would be endless. Lacy held tight to her youthful flippancy but quieted when she saw Blair¡¯s distant, concerned expression. Clare appeared as though she were waking from one of her nightmares without ever having fallen asleep.

    Brooke squeezed her fingers into her palms as she scanned the room with stony anger. ¡°It sucks and I agree with every single seething complaint. We¡¯ve had to make sacrifices to his¡­. his whims. We are going to do this. We are all going to do this. It will suck but we will survive.¡±

    Lacy squeezed her thin, trembling hands together in front of her mouth. If her eyes were a laser beam, they would tear through walls, earth, and sky without stopping. The rest of the documents outlined when they would arrive and a few particular individuals they would greet and socialize with. Allegedly clients and partners but Brooke knew better. Her children would have to spend at least two hours in the common area, with a variety of elderly men. She knew nothing would happen that anyone could tell later. But she didn¡¯t fucking care about that.

    In her fury, a resolute notion asserted itself. ¡°Blair? I¡¯d like you to retrieve the rock and take it with us tomorrow. If you happen to see any older men getting too close to any of you, I recommend sharing the rock with them. Let them see what it can do.¡±

    Clare and Lacy puzzled over this, but Blair calmly nodded. It definitely took the assistance of the closet ladder, but Blair was able to retrieve the rock from the high place she stuck it. ¡°No shock, not shockingly.¡± She took it over to Clare, with plenty of distance from their dad, and had her touch it. Still no reaction.

    Lacy backed away and wrestled with all sorts of denials. ¡°No way I¡¯m risking what that cursed thing can take away from me next!¡± So, Blair lobbed it towards her. Lacy wasn¡¯t coordinated enough to dash out of the way, but she was able to bat it down onto the couch. Fortunately, it just rolled into the crease rather than spinning somewhere dangerous. Everyone wanted to say something about that, but Lacy screamed more than enough for all of them. Before Lacy could chuck it over the couch, Blair nimbly retrieved the rock.

    ¡°So, it appears all three of us are now immune to this thing. Whatever it is and whatever it does. If only we could find someone else willing to touch it, to provide more information. Now, we need to know if we can transport it. Is it conductive? Can I put it in something plastic or a bag or box and nothing happens until I take it out?¡°

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t let you cut your hair!¡± Lacy complained, while fussing with her bun once again.

    Blair delighted in this new nugget of knowledge but unfortunately couldn¡¯t draw any new conclusions from it. She glared at the rock as though it were the worst sort of puzzle with not enough hints and way too many contradictions. Ultimately, she packed a bag with all sorts of plastic and plenty of insulating materials around the rock. Still, she treated the bag the same as the exposed rock. It went in the closet for tomorrow.

    That resolved, Blair turned her focus back to Lacy.

    ¡±Well, Ace. It¡¯s time for you to step up and be a hero. All stand together or all fall. It¡¯s on you. You gotta wear shorts and short sleeves. Now grandpa didn¡¯t say that we had to be ourselves at this event. If three girls instead of three boys show up, then that¡¯s an unavoidable consequence. Didn¡¯t say anything about that, if he wants to start some legal¡­shit. What do you say, bro? No skirts or no girly junk. Let¡¯s do this together.¡±

    Brooke allowed that profanity because she wanted to say worse. There would definitely be unavoidable consequences from the girls showing up as they were now, but it was all they could do. Grandpa would know, maybe he already did. But they were going to do it exactly as he asked, to stick it to him. And maybe leave a few surprises along the way.

    Lacy fussed in place, as though she desperately needed to use the bathroom and was fighting off bugs. Sweat added to her gloss as she started several words and drew them back. Ultimately, once all the fight had settled and all the bitterness dried over, her voice gave a crackly, frail, ¡°¡­.Fine. Only for this. Only for us. I¡¯ll do it¡­¡±

 [13] A Rock & Family Vacation 13 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [13]

    Lacy took her time getting up from the couch, as though she were delicately balancing a series of invisible, spinning plates. Blair used the delay to take a good look at the black panel off to the side that controlled the windows. Clare rummaged through what they purchased earlier and scrunched up her face in thought. Brooke assigned Eliot to help Clare figure out good outfits that precisely followed the rules. Blair informed everyone, ¡°You can voice activate the glass! And set your own trigger words. BLOOM. MIDNIGHT. DAWN.¡±

    In quick succession, Brooke was completely blinded by the midday sun, then it became blisteringly dark, followed by a medium closer to where it started but still surrounded by colored spots.

    ¡°Please, stop¡­¡± Brooke begged with a groan.

    It was bad enough this silly glass was all her dad would ever talk about when mentioning this place, she didn¡¯t need her eldest to get addicted to the feature as well. She tried not to dwell on the fact that her dad once claimed Blair was the son he wished he had instead of her. After college, it was implied he had an automatic spot in the company above his mother. Well, before all this.

    Blair apologized with a chuckle and gingerly adjusted the lights, so they supplemented the house lights without washing out the big screen. Along with the clothing they bought, Clare dashed to grab her travel bags. Lacy still stiffly traveled the span to the steps and then slowly hobbled up them.

    By the time Clare and Eliot had spread out the possibilities, like a puzzle made of cloth, Lacy clung to the open master bedroom doorway and took her breaths like she was summiting Everest. Brooke had taken the opportunity to spread out her clothing with possibilities that seemed modest yet similar to things that boy Lacy wore. The vast majority had not even the wildest chance of fitting Lacy compared to Blair, but at least it would give them an idea of what she would tolerate.

    That particular threshold appeared to be just looking at them and holding herself together in terror. Lacy fussed with the meager defense of her dad¡®s robe. Doing her best not to tempt trouble from her back again, Brooke crouched gingerly to gather and show off each potential outfit. Lacy¡®s eyes were not on the clothes but rather on the open bathroom door across the way.

    With a frail, mouse-like squeak, Lacy said, ¡°I need to go¡­¡± She then started shuffling her feet towards the door. This again. Brooke didn¡¯t rush to the door, but she did follow Lacy around. She made a couple more squeaks but didn¡¯t have any fight in her to keep her mom out.

    ¡°Not a little kid. I can go by myself.¡± Lacy appeared desperately uncomfortable, wobbling and beginning to squirm.

    ¡°Let me help. A strong man knows to ask for help.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not. And¡­.ohhhh.¡±

    Brooke didn¡¯t waste time. She basically launched Lacy the rest of the way into the bathroom. It was a relatively simple matter to drag her boy boxers down and the gray robe up far enough. An instant later, the most violently urgent sound erupted against the bowl like a flash flood. When the valve finally shut off, Lacy panted with streaks of sweat on her brow as if she just sprinted a mile.

    ¡°I¡¯m all gross¡­¡± Lacy trembled and clung to the robe. Same as she instructed her youngest, Brooke told Lacy exactly what she needed to do to be clean. She whimpered the entire time, as if she were prodding an open wound with a knife.

    ¡±Ready to undress?¡±

    Lacy¡¯s reaction was to stare back in abject, open-mouthed horror. ¡±I¡¯m not taking anything off.¡° Brooke beckoned for her middle child to then demonstrate how she expected to try on clothes while not removing what she was wearing.

    After slipping her boxers back on, Lacy peered hawkishly at the clothes laid out. First, she picked up one of the tops, fed it through the open portion of the robe, and brought her arms inside. Beginning with a writhing cloth lump on one side, then sinking her head down before more blind fumbling, Lacy managed to get the top on. The shorts were a much simpler affair.

    ¡°Can I see how you look?¡± Lacy swiftly shook her head and checked behind her to the open door leading to the hallway. Brooke went over and not only closed the bedroom door but plopped one of her heaviest bags in front of it.

    ¡°Sweetie, it¡¯s just us. I just want to see if and how it fits you. And I want you to get used to it. I don¡¯t want you to be afraid.¡°

    Lacy looked lost, with her eyes darting between the safety of the nearby bathroom and the urging presence of her mother. Shutting her eyes, she flung down the robe like tearing off a clinging adhesive bandage. Her eyes remained shut as she pressed both fists against either side of her hips.

    ¡°Well? Good enough?¡±

    Brooke thought of pointing out that Lacy couldn¡¯t go through the entire day with her eyes shut but didn¡¯t bother pointing it out. The clothes weren¡¯t the worst fit. She adjusted them and tried to make them look decent as Lacy blindly shifted and twisted away from her. Brooke eyeballed the sizes and deduced what would be the best fit. Unfortunately, she was certain she didn¡¯t have anything in her size.

    Fortunately though, she could do better than just eyeball. Reaching into her primary travel bag, Brooke drew out a six-foot tape measure. She started measuring the trouble spots before Lacy could figure out what she was doing.

    ¡°Stop it! What are you¡­NO!¡± Brooke managed to work quickly enough that by the time Lacy was batting her away, she had committed the rough important measurements to memory.

    ¡°Sweetie. You¡¯re going to need to wear a bra. That¡¯s a non-starter. It¡¯ll just be there for support and coverage. Nothing soft or pretty, just something functional and clinical like a back brace. Okay?¡±

    Lacy managed to work back by touch to where she dropped the robe. Only once it was securely draped around her body did she crack her eyes open and respond, ¡°No freaking way! I¡¯m not doing it!¡±

    Brooke took a deep breath and listed off a few alternatives. There was a band garment she could wear or a camisole. She noted that a minimizer bra or a chest binder would definitely help without a conspicuous layer underneath. Lacy refused to move beyond wearing something bulky and loose. Brooke returned to that stubborn little bit of sand grit beside her eye. Any other personal tricks she could offer were likely to be vetoed by Lacy.

    ¡°All right then. You tell me what you¡¯re going to wear, because that robe is not an answer, nor is an oversized tee. You can also try a sweater vest, but it¡¯s the middle of summer.¡± Only this last possibility seemed to garner any sort of interest from Lacy, but the one Brooke shared included a graphic of lilies and was a soft shade of pink, which she refused.

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    Left without any options, Brooke clapped her hands and announced, ¡°In that case, looks like we¡¯re going shopping, sweetie.¡± Instantly, she could tell that Lacy''s blood turned to ice as her cheeks went pale. Lacy reassessed the sweater vest with nervous trembles, but still couldn¡¯t commit to it. Brooke wasn¡¯t especially keen about spending even more on clothing, but she was aware there were few alternatives. Lacy was still of the opinion that if she could take as long as possible and delay things then this would somehow all go away.

    Brooke sat down on a section of empty bed real estate. She was patient. She had experience waiting through her father¡®s diatribes, random punishments, and willful disregard for her existence. Lacy really only had his grandfather¡®s stubbornness paired with a 12-year-old¡¯s flimsy knowledge.

    Squeezing the robe for comfort, Lacy looked like she was ready to wait things out as well. Brooke wasn¡¯t mad about that or any of this. She had been in Lacy¡¯s shoes at that age, feeling like a gross abnormality. Her father encouraged that feeling.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere¡­till this stupid golf thing. I¡¯m wearing this and if anyone has a problem, tell them I¡¯m about to erupt with alien eggs and breathe acid fire, so they better stay away!¡±

    She kinda wished Blair had joined them. Blair would know what to say in a moment like this, even if it involved farts. But this was on her.

    ¡°Sweetie. We¡¯re all going to be wearing things we don¡¯t want to wear and doing things we don¡¯t want to do for grandpa. I will do my best to make this as comfortable for you as possible but, as a start, you can¡¯t wear a robe. I¡¯m going to do my best to help you feel as comfortable in something they will allow you to wear.¡±

    Lacy¡¯s flinching, tense reaction was to shake her head. But her fury didn¡¯t flare as much. She growled and hissed though, ¡°I HATE grandpa and I hope¡­¡± Brooke nodded. She could feel what Lacy held back and told her it was alright. She thought and said worse.

    Nervously releasing her grip on the edges of the robe, Lacy started to peel it back again. With her eyes in a narrow squint, she set the robe aside and struggled to breathe normally. Brooke was very proud of her. Lacy wore a sour but gentler expression.

    To avoid going somewhere to try on clothes, Brooke mentally ran through possibilities. She had Lacy¡¯s rough measurements. Where they bought Clare¡¯s stuff did advertise an affiliated website. A quick phone search revealed a page doing its best to be both a better and worse version of Amazon. A size guide for adolescents helped her fine-tune the estimations.

    A compression top, a bra in all but name, escaped Lacy¡¯s scrutiny. The rest of the order included khaki pants practically identical to men¡¯s shorts aside from the zipper. A stark blue and white polo top with short sleeves and a collar provisionally met with Lacy¡¯s approval. Bicycle shorts and other undergarments received a wave like an insect buzzing around but begrudging approval.

    The models displaying modest shapes settled Lacy somewhat. Brooke looked her child square in the eye and asked, point-blank, ¡°If we buy this, will you wear it for tomorrow?¡±

    Lacy¡¯s eyes danced across the phone screen as though her mother just put her in a hot seat and asked a life-or-death question. She inspected every visible detail of the clothing and poked around the alternate-angle photos for some detail to disapprove of. ¡°I suppose. Since I am being forced. Put me in it.¡± Lacy drooped, preparing for chains and manacles.

    Brooke reserved them on her card for store pickup at the adult annex. Who would pick them up though? Eliot and Clare had gone last time for pizza. Her back was improving since tweaking it, but she could really use some time stretched out on the couch. What about Blair?

    She flinched at the prospect of letting her eldest scamper across the boardwalk all by herself. Especially with a pair of men claiming to be security guards who might be spies for her father. Brooke knew that Blair was clever enough not to get caught in some sort of trap. But, at the same time, she knew you didn¡¯t need to be clever or dumb, just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Why would they grab her though? What if they weren¡¯t here because of her father and they were just two sickos who happened to follow their family and wanted to grab someone? Her mind circulated a plethora of dangers, answers, and counters zipping back and forth.

    ¡°Blair?¡± Her eldest was no longer fiddling with the glass control but rather working on something in the other room over by Clare. Clare had on a combination of her boy clothes with some new stuff. The top, one of the older polos, would¡¯ve been stiff and snug on Clare yesterday but actually fit loose and flutteringly comfortable today. The shorts were the ones they got from the store. Clare looked impeccably cute and proper.

    Blair emerged from around the corner with a mustard-colored broom decorated with Clare¡¯s pants and shirts secured by rubber bands and with the brush unscrewed. It didn¡¯t take long for Brooke to put together that it was literally a ¡°clothes horse¡±. Blair reassured her that she could easily screw the brush back on and it, furthermore, seemed like a Dollar Tree item.

    ¡°I need you to go pick up Lacy¡¯s¡­items for tomorrow. I trust you to take care of this, but I¡¯m worried about fake security guards wandering around. Your dad or I can go with you, if you need that. Does your phone have enough battery, and does it still have that alarm app? The one that makes attention-grabbing noises, if you feel you¡¯re in danger, and automatically calls 911?¡±

    Blair¡®s phone was only at about 50% as she neglected to plug it in, but she did have that app, the family emergency app, tucked away far in the back of her icons. Brooke also wanted Blair to take her mace and taser.  Blair instead stripped the horse parts of the pole and declared, ¡°I¡¯ll just take this. No one wants to mess with anyone holding a bright yellow pole.¡± Brooke cradled her forehead and massaged it gently.

    Eliot was eager to accompany their eldest, but Blair seemed to like the idea of going alone. Brooke¡¯s heart rate ticked up, but she tried not to dwell on all the worst possibilities. She gave Blair the code to use for picking up the clothes. Blair had a combination little travel bag and wallet which also easily held her phone. Equipped with everything, even the ridiculous pole, she seemed ready.

    She solemnly promised with her hand raised and the formality of court testimony that she wouldn¡¯t stop anywhere else to sightsee or chat, just go to the shop that they ordered from and pick things up for her sister.

    ¡°Be safe. Please, be safe¡­¡±

 [14] A Rock & Family Vacation 14 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [14]

    Blair leaned against the counter as her mother recited exactly what they wanted her to do and had her repeat it back. Only then did she seem satisfied that Blair could walk what felt like a handful of steps to a store in full view of the public, grab the most basic items for Lacy, and then hurry back in mere moments. Truly an excursion to the dark zone requiring wilderness preparation. She held her tongue and the full extent of her thoughts and obediently responded in all the ways her mom wanted.

    What she considered the truly important part was that she would need to make sure that the clothing they had done guesswork on was even going to fit Lacy. Lazy Lacy barely wanted to come out of her smelly, sweaty robe cave. She got to wallow and whimper while Blair had to be strong. Yeah, this sucked. All this sucked. Most of it anyway. But she was dealing with it.

    Once she was out there and mom standing in the doorway was just a wobbly blip between the hills of sand, gravel, dirt, and clinging grasses, Blair slipped on an excited grin.

    She swooped towards the water, just like Clare did a few times when they were at a seaside rest stop. Really moving like this felt disorienting. Rather like the ferries that took them to Beaver Island up north. She snickered to herself. But those ferries listed left and right and up and down in slow unsettling directions. Blair felt an echo of nausea just thinking about it. She focused on the Ontario ferries which had arcade games, the best snack machines, and nary a wiggle when the water got choppy.

    Blair glanced down at herself as she drew away from the waves. The clothes she borrowed from mom were clearly not meant for her. The top kept shifting and didn¡¯t want to play nice with the sports bra. In contrast, the pants billowed loosely in the breeze. Putting on mom¡®s underwear was the one step she considered too far. Instead, she tried a previously slim pair of her boxers.

    The distorted curves of her waist and hips made wearing them surreal. She grappled for a clever concise analogies, like trying to put trousers on a watermelon, but a truly eloquent way of thinking about it eluded her. Her dad would probably be able to pop out exactly the right combination of words, but there was no way she would be able to broach the subject with him.

    Words in general felt desperately inadequate at expressing what she felt since she woke up on the couch. It was all foreign and yet not. One comparison she grappled with was wearing an intangible costume. The fountain of hair nesting on her shoulder and dancing with every breeze. The twisted, rerouted landmarks of her face reaching from her chin to the swath of her lips, which she couldn¡¯t resist tucking inside her mouth to suck on as though they were welts or ambitious pimples. The simple smoothness of everything invited prodding and poking even without directly addressing the most obvious changes.

    Wearing this top was an absolute godsend compared to when she first woke up. The noticeable presence on her muscles didn¡¯t feel quite as suffocating as she imagined it would be. It definitely stretched all the muscles around her shoulders. Several months to years to prepare would¡¯ve been preferable. She hadn¡¯t yet managed a private moment to judge the overall texture but thinking of them like the memory foam pillows on the rental house beds wasn¡¯t far off. Much different than messing around with the netting bag of volleyballs during gym.

    She had no idea that messing around with mom¡®s bra way back when would portend needing it someday. It made a huge difference but still didn¡¯t quite feel right. She hadn¡¯t even hinted at it to her family, but she had a notion to pick up a few things for herself when over at the clothing store. Just for comfort and she did have some spending money saved. Although the expectation was more towards a fancy kite or a wind up rubber band propeller plane to delight Clare than something to contain her jugs.

    She was surprised how much beach counted as territory around the house before angry signs marked it as a different property. Lingering along the ridgeline, she tried to recall last night after the crab shack when they were walking home. She was stuffed, so she drifted towards the back with Clare still energetically bouncing ahead and hunting for rocks. Blair felt, after questioning Clare amidst¡­ horseplay with this silly pole she was hauling (she resolved, if anyone asked, it was a walking stick), this area had to be where Clare found the rock.

    It was still within the confines of the beachfront owned by whoever rented out the house. Mom had alluded to it being the vacation property of a generous investor in the Muller Corporation and therefore grandpa managed a discount. Blair had to admit that he was right about how nifty the windows were.

    The boardwalk area up ahead looked busier than last night. Blair tried to be discrete about the stick. Skateboarders and surfers mingled with families, groups of college students, and clusters of old ladies without complaints or chaos. She felt distinctly anonymous as she approached them, and yet glaringly conspicuous.

    It reminded Blair of that one assassination game with the bald guy that Lacy made her try out once. She wound up trying to see how many corpses she could stuff in a restroom. In the same way though, she felt immensely tense and out of place and like everyone knew. But no one freaked out.

    She could tell that people were looking at her and that was the biggest strangeness. Despite how much quiet confidence he had about looking decent, Blair knew he didn¡¯t draw eyes in school. His friend Cynthia would joke about looking and sometimes the Asian girls would look away when he glanced but those were the only real signs.

    Nearly to the next sidewalk intersection, a skater pulled up on his board and stopped alongside her. ¡°Hey. How you doing?¡± He had twisty, dark hair almost as long as her light locks.

    Blair was so startled by the question that all she could do was offer up a quick laugh, which felt better than testing out her weird voice. She included quick wave, which was just bending her fingers in the air as though a wind were rattling them. A faint answer of, ¡°Hello¡±, didn¡¯t sound too weird.

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    It didn¡¯t take long for a couple other guys to join him. The one towards the front displayed his board accusingly, spinning the wheels at the front and dropping terms that puzzled Blair. Behind him stood an absolutely ripped fella with a poof of fire-red hair and a pair of rollerblades on.

    Blair quickly glanced down for no particular reason at all, except to remind herself that she still looked like a girl wearing this loaner outfit from her mom. The stains and blemishes that encouraged her to select this outfit so that her mom wouldn¡¯t be losing anything she really wanted to wear felt like gleaming lights that everyone else could see.

    The one at the front did most of the talking as she shifted around to continue on her way, and they drifted behind. Where ya headed? What¡¯s with the stick? She hated herself for the conspicuous lull of trying to articulate a good reason for the stick and that she was picking up a clothing order. It ultimately just became that she was ¡°shopping¡±, with a lot of muddled noises and shrugs in between.

    A presence passed between her nose and the roof of her mouth. It was like a smell but also a feeling. As a boy, something like it wafted through the air when he was seated next to an especially pretty girl. They would be so casual and relaxed and he¡¯d be sweating. Her mind grasped for the concept of pheromones, even though that was shaky ground mostly bolstered by random scenes from movies and vague internet comments. The feeling was nice. At the same time, it felt like ocean waves suddenly up close and personal. There was too much to think about.

    She still had her old cadence and way of speaking but briskly smiling brought a sunny energy. It wasn¡¯t quite talking like a girl as Lacy mysteriously managed just with dour pity and glum pouting. She wasn¡¯t sure if she wanted to sound totally like a girl, but she just figured it came part and parcel with the territory. The nuance was fascinating and terrifying.

    If they thought she was somehow fake, the scrutiny wasn¡¯t apparent just to look at them. The one in the front seemed more concerned that she was a possible tourist than that her voice may have sounded odd. When he asked where she went to college, Blair had to take a moment to process that. They thought she was older.

    It wasn¡¯t a foreign assumption. He was rather stocky but not thick. Despite the working out, everyone knew he was inconsistent and hadn¡¯t made much progress in building up good muscle. But his immense face had the presence of a more mature adult. Did she look older just because she was wearing something her mom liked?

    She bought herself some time appearing distracted by the guy cradling his skateboard and still lamenting something about the wheels. Like answering in class when she didn¡¯t know the solution, she tried to appear contemplative. ¡°I¡¯m still working out college. Not in it at the moment. Torn between design and marketing study.¡± She then gently alluded to the whole origami thing.

    The rollerblader had plenty to say about business study and marketing. He was apparently a fourth-generation tailor who wanted to open up a shop that sold custom comfort clothes rather than stiff formal ones. The other loved writing and sketching all sorts of birds but understood there was no real money in that, especially to help his parents with his wheelchair-bound sister. The guy leading the group assumed she was taking something called a ¡°gap year¡± and thought that was cool.

    He was currently training to be a physical therapist with a focus on sports medicine. The little snippets of kinesiology he laid out fascinated Blair. Between all that, they learned each other¡¯s names. His was Dylan. She let him text her phone even though she had no idea what she was going to do with the text. When he mentioned that they were heading down to a club by the wharf, and if she wanted to come along he promised to buy her a drink, Blair had to pull back, especially since the clothing store was coming up on her left.

    She made it clear that she wasn¡¯t able to drink and the group started talking about alcoholic intolerance and such. Dylan shrugged and smiled lightly. ¡°We can still have some fun without drinks. Don''t even need a big stick.¡±

    Those ocean waves were clearly far over her head. She chuckled and thanked them for a fun chat, but she had chores and had to meet up and¡­a bunch of other things. But she promised to text later without a specific time in mind.

    The sense of disappointment from Dylan was palpable and part of her definitely wanted to go along just to restore his warm smile. Once the group moved on, Blair had to take a moment to lean against a small wall and collect her thoughts. Did she like boys now? Perhaps it wasn¡¯t worth dwelling on, given a magic rock that totally changed how she looked. Not a stretch to assume it could change how she felt as well as all the stuff going on in her brain.

    She didn¡¯t feel that different though. It could¡¯ve simply been part of the craziness of being a new person out in the world, playing that anonymous figure, and really getting into it. Or it was totally the female estrogen hive mind turning her into another one of the girls, the joke Lacy and she shared.

    Not that she took a notion like that seriously, but Blair did have concerns about things the rock might do to her and her family. Clare seemed exactly the same with her plucky tenacity and curious charm. She also fretted just as much about what her siblings thought of her. Blair regretted making such a fuss earlier on the level of ¡°ew cooties¡±, but he was following Lacy¡®s lead and had his reasons.

    There were things he kept to himself. Stuff he said and stuff he didn¡¯t say. Like the real reason their names were Blair Posie, Lacy Anastasia, and Clare Rose. The real reason she knew mom and dad kept it secret. Not because they were trying to be subversive or because they had only girl names picked out and couldn¡¯t change them. She¡¯d known the truth for years but never bothered to pry, even while Lacy spun her chaotic theories. The solemn, exhausted resignation in her mother¡®s eyes whenever the topic came up always made her wish that things could be different.

 [15] A Rock & Family Vacation 15 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [15]

    The store was modestly busy when she arrived and visibly filled with teen and adult women. Blair gave her stick to a desk off to the side that held skates and skateboards. They didn''t ask why she had a stick with her, and she declined to explain.

    She randomly checked herself again, to make sure nothing changed in the last few moments. The other ladies didn¡¯t pay her much heed. Weaving her way to the pick-up section at the back brought her through a variety of racks and displays that she totally would¡¯ve glossed over before, but now they deserved some thought. Maybe not the ones with price tags stretching into the triple digits though.

    Despite being a goofball as a kid with her mom¡®s stuff, an ingrained, screaming taboo alerted her that these clothes were not for her. She felt wobbly when reminding herself that things were different now. Also, the absolute swath of what was on display felt like a massive mental spiderweb designed to ensnare her for hours on end. Mom and she were both in agreement that clothing was a task to address like a chore. Grab the stuff that looked and felt right, check that it fits, and then get the heck out of there.

    Dodging and weaving persistently through those traps allowed her to finally push all the way to the back with a register alone labeled online pick-up. The lady working that register seemed like a tired, decorative ornament crossed with one of those toys that moved only when it heard a noise. Her limbs hung as she shifted her hands across the keys without lifting them.

    Lacy¡¯s stuff was already bagged but Blair took the opportunity to spread it out and compare it against her shape and visualize an imaginary Lacy. She scrutinized the tags and compared her mother¡®s measurements. The polo appeared that it might be a little on the large size. For Lacy¡¯s sake, it seemed like a better idea than being desperately or embarrassingly tight. Same for the shorts, even though they didn¡¯t cover as much leg as she was expecting. She figured that was another girl fashion thing. Hopefully Lacy wouldn¡¯t lose her mind.

    The big problem was the comfort band. She had no experience or certainty about whether this would fit her sister. Despite the pleasant, captivating excursion, she wasn¡¯t interested in rushing around to breathlessly correct details just because Lacy was too nervous to step outside her door. She would have to ask.

    That wasn¡¯t something Blair had a problem with. She liked to ask questions especially. Although, she enjoyed deducing directions and instructions rather than simply being given the answer. The clerk barely registered her inquiry for assistance before pressing down on a slim button and calling for assistance herself. Less than a minute later, another clerk emerged from the back with far more energy than the dangling tree limb of a person barely hanging onto the counter. At least there wasn¡¯t a stiff breeze.

    She shrugged off the infectious lethargy and began by explaining her family was vacationing here and they needed some clothes for her sister because they had been invited to a country club with short notice. Alas, the clerk was nowhere near the demographic for knowing the dress code of a country club, but Blair was able to relay the critical points. They tossed ideas at one another. Was there a mannequin with the rough dimensions of her sibling? Blair crouched slightly and used her arms to illustrate her sister. Did she have a photograph of her? She put on a bit of sheepishness and wielded the explanation that she¡¯d gotten rid of a lot of the photos by accident to recover storage because of a long recording. But she could call.

    After confirming that she arrived at the store safely, Blair explained the situation and braced her mother for the prospect of Lacy having to stand in front of a camera without losing her shit. Mom sighed through the speaker and took a moment but assured Blair that she would figure this out. Meanwhile, Blair pivoted to asking the clerk about some stuff that she might be able to get. She needed similar. It was easy to track down some khaki shorts along with a collared polo.

    Learning her size in women¡¯s clothes was such a small discovery, yet it landed with the apocalyptic heat of a dinosaur day wrecking comet. It combined with the double whammy of getting her precise bra size. The comparison of one number to another, so simple. But the intimidating letter associated with those numbers went shockingly deep into the alphabet. She was at the threshold of what they actually carried in stock without special orders.

    However, she learned things that it didn¡¯t feel like her mom really understood or wanted to acknowledge. Blair knew that mom had difficulty growing up with grandpa and feeling like she needed to teach herself and deal with everything on her own. What Blair learned was that there were so many more bras and bra-like things out there than she could¡¯ve ever imagined in her male life.

    She fixated the most on the t-shirt/undershirt stylings of universal comfort tops. The difference appeared to be between getting something tailored or in a very specific style versus just grabbing something that said all sizes or small, medium, or large. It lifted a veil of mystery. Not that she was ever particularly wrapped up in bra mysteries, but now she had to be.

    The difference between just something to throw on to get over here versus a generic top versus something specifically for her felt like comparing slapping meat on bread, a decent diner meal, and the perfect home-cooked entr¨¦e as a labor of love from dad.

    She had to at least have one of each. Wearing out the best of what she acquired made her feel both nervous and relaxed in mind-spinning ways. It was good to get some preparation and practice with wearing this before getting thrown into the infestation of perverts that glommed onto grandpa¡¯s money.

    The ease of shopping addiction occurred to her as she realized from this foundation she wanted more stuff to try on and have. Stuff that gave her a certain look that might be interesting, brighter, more subdued, dark and relaxing, light and airy, shiny and soft, and then the varieties. Like swimsuits. It was the beach and the clothes she brought with her were useless.

    The very helpful clerk was at a loss for how to deal with Blair¡®s proportions. Once again, there were far more prospects than Blair imagined, especially with tops that came in from the sides. The key problem was her mom would lose her mind with how much flesh it left uncovered.

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    As a vague notion, she wished that the rock could be touched by an outfit either worn or by itself and shift and transform that into something that fits perfectly. Although, the rock had only made contact with hands, as far as she could remember. It was possible, when she surreptitiously decided to take the plunge, that it touched her clothing at some point. Unfortunately, she wasn¡¯t paying attention. An interesting prospect for experimentation, she mused.

    As far as finding a decent swimsuit, she did eventually settle on a matte black number with white trim. It was a little on the snug side, especially up top, but the leg and thigh coverage was definitely in the range that mom wouldn¡¯t yell at her. The bottom bit of the one-piece felt all kinds of wrong to Blair¡¯s clothing sensibilities though. There should¡¯ve been different contours, along with a vastly different feel. Everything that should¡¯ve been secret felt far too exposed.

    At the same time, wearing it tickled so many places in her brain. Not trying to sink into a weird sort of narcissism, she did take a photo with her phone while smiling in the mirror. That one photo was followed by several others from different angles and poses. It was fortunate her particular cloud on the phone wasn¡¯t synced with the family plan because of the trip.

    By the end, she wasn¡¯t sure if she would keep the thirtyish pics she took of this particular outfit, but she didn¡¯t regret taking them. Switching over to the country club clothes, she soon received a photo from mom that brought her to giggling tears.

    The photo contained Lacy wearing essentially the same expression as the old neighbor cat when young Lacy put together a scheme to get revenge on the sour kitty who always scared him off the sidewalk with outstretched claws and harsh hisses. Lacy found where the cat often rested under a bush and dumped an entire bucket of ice water from the fridge over the cat.

    One could tell the irate feline wished nothing but painful death upon everyone who witnessed it, especially the perpetrator. The flying ball of furious fur nearly took a chunk out of Lacy¡®s leg before its owner dragged it inside. It became an indoor cat after that, but still scowled and threatened everyone who passed by. Wherever that darn cat wound up in Cat Hell, it was probably howling at the photos Lacy had to take.

    The first one miraculously contained Lacy without the protective robe but with wide-eyed alarm. After that, the robe was back, but Lacy expressed smoldering fury in every curl of her brow and clinch of her mouth. Blair was curious about the backstory but swiftly texted her appreciation. The last photo just contained snaps of a handwritten sheet, clearly composed by dad from the cleanliness of the script, with plenty of information updating the hasty, scribbled data mom collected before.

    Blair could tell that the clerk had plenty of questions about the context of the photos but did her best to ignore that and compare what they had with the information. It turned out the first draft wasn¡¯t especially far off and just one quick swap allowed sizes that she was confident would work. As a gift along with the band, Blair not only got one of those tee shirt standard bra equivalents but also a Jackson Pollock-inspired swimsuit with vinyl screening and the words ¡°BOYS ROCK¡±.

    In her brain, she knew that getting something cool without the text would¡¯ve had a better chance of being accepted by her sister but, in her brotherly heart, she couldn¡¯t resist imagining what Lacy¡®s reaction would be.

    It was a bit more money than she really wanted to spend for a silly joke, but it had quality material and modesty around the legs like hers. That, along with everything else she added on, took a huge chunk of her vacation spending money from part-time work last spring break. She made absolutely sure she kept the receipt on her person and carefully tested the durability of the material, in case Lacy freaked out and attempted to attack it with more than just some pillow chucking. They gave her tissue paper and a nice little box for presentation as she recovered her stick.

    Outside, the crowds had not abated. If anything, they had thickened, with hordes of people slowly ambling from one shop to the next. It was slower to get back to the green areas and the sand but being amongst so many helped her feel anonymous again. Just one teen girl crossed, passed, and circled around by so many others in their little groups and clusters. She had no idea how to fit in amongst them, if this was her life now.

    Cynthia and some of the other girls she knew could probably settle the basic foundations, like everything she was probably doing wrong with her voice, her body language, and so many other things she had no idea about. A whole other life basically rebooted from scratch. While terrifying, it also fascinated her.

    She had no overriding desire to be a girl, not like Riley. She lived near Cynthia and liked to go camping and exploring all the time. Riley was transitioning, as they roughly explained it in a letter to parents. Mom felt puzzled why any boy would choose to become a girl but wanted to welcome her. Fortunately, aside from a callous few, everyone welcomed Riley. She had an amazing, carefully practiced voice and a look all her own. Blair learned so much from what she taught him about how voices were expressed but he never really got around to putting it into practice, as with so many other things in his life. He had a crush on Riley which felt different than any of the other girls in school he felt for. He never said anything though, to anyone, especially Riley.

    Then, at the end of last year, she just moved away without explanation. Cynthia said it was because of work issues with her parents and painful anxiety problems unrelated to everything else. It really hurt that she didn¡¯t say anything to him before leaving. She stayed with him, in his thoughts. He knew it was dumb, but he still wished he¡¯d been better and done better for her sake. The same with how this day started with one uncertain sister and then a second totally broken. She was not going to let either of them go alone and sad, for any reason. No matter what it took. What was one more stupid, ill-conceived idea from her? She gave a thoughtful snort and finally freed herself and her stick from the oppressive crowds to amble with her purchases across whatever sliver of beach wasn¡¯t locked off by warning signs.

 [16] A Rock & Family Vacation 16 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [16]

    ¡°I¡¯m back!¡±

    Even though Brooke knew so many steps along the way that her eldest was alright and updated her constantly, the cooling, healing relief and release of seeing her open the front door and return with several large bags was the greatest feeling she could imagine.

    Blair hadn¡¯t spent too long away, no more than she had when shopping with Clare, even though that was definitely a lengthy outlier in her shopping history. She and her eldest both subscribed to efficiency when it came to stores. It had to be something she picked up from dealing with catalogs and ordering. Her mother encouraged her to look through the glossy pages but would also snatch them up, without warning, and keep them captive for days on end.

    Eliot hustled over and helped Blair put the stick away and spread out everything. Lacy venomously narrowed her eyes at the billowing, white plastic bags. When Blair texted her about providing more information at the store, Brooke attempted it from a few different angles.

    She cozied up to Lacy and tried to lull her into a calm state before attempting that first photograph. As a mom, she was used to some degree of trickery. Like convincing little Lacy that the big scary shot next to her shoulder was gone and they were going to try something different, all while she cradled her son¡¯s head and made him look her in the eye before the jab came. The problem was it usually only worked once against wounded his trust.

    To get Lacy to agree this time required a full abundance of dinner bribery with promises they would order delivery of her favorite cut of ribeye from the nearest steakhouse, tiny fibs about not removing the robe, and blocking her exits of escape. It was frankly a miracle to her that she managed to get all that information. And Lacy actually said that she forgave her, so long as she got a big hunk of the special cheese to go with her steak, she got to pick the movie before bed, and she could use the big bed at least one night. Not Blair¡®s bad, the master bed. Easy enough terms.

    What Blair presented first were Lacy¡®s outfit for tomorrow and a ¡°decent diner¡± bra. For extra confusion, Blair audibly proclaimed her analogies without context. Lacy waved her hands and grumbled. She didn¡¯t wanna see any of it till tomorrow when she put it on for the least time required and took it off as soon as the obligation was fulfilled.

    ¡°And I got you a gift, with my own money.¡± Lacy looked confused and announced, ¡°If it¡¯s anything to do with clothes and not like the best game ever, then you totally wasted your money, bro.¡±

    Blair curled a finger around her chin and consider things a moment before announcing, ¡°This contains a proud and vehement proclamation of everything related to boyishness with colorful chaos and my sensibilities. This is from my heart to you to express so much.¡±

    Lacy clung to a wary expression as her lips wiggled like a passive fish, sounding out and replaying everything her sibling just said. For a split second, wide-eyed curiosity and demure appreciation seemed to flash through Lacy.

    Once it passed, she narrowed her eyes, sighed, and questioned, ¡°Is it some sort of boob holder with like coconut fur that makes them look like a hairy nutsack?¡± Brooke flashed Lacy a glare but didn¡¯t press her on her language with Clare at the other end of the couch, though wrapped up in the climactic third act of the animated film.

    Blair smiled with her hands under her chin and informed her sister, ¡°Even better than that.¡± Lacy tried to appear thoroughly disinterested, but her eyes kept wandering to the nondescript box. Blair avoided drawing attention to her swimsuit and instead focused on the various support measures she found. Brooke raised her eyebrows when listening to her daughter¡¯s account.

    She settled into a certain style of outfits since her brutal junior high years. Her father wanted a certain decorum around the office but also relished pushing her towards certain looks. No pantsuits, skirts required. But she was able to amass multitudes of mock skirts with fancy ornamentation. Rebellion in small, deniable measures. With regard to bras, she knew about what Blair discovered.

    She just tended towards sports bras and standard padded because they were the types her father liked seeing on women the least, especially her mother. Brooke delighted in the fact that her eldest embraced her own style with what to wear. The problem was this all felt too fast.

    Yes, the girls needed essential clothing for the country club, and she lamented her bias towards Clare with a full fashion deep dive. Blair had to do it alone and with her own funds, which Brooke assured her they would reimburse as soon as possible. Blair shrugged and expressed that it wasn¡¯t that bad and, ¡°The most expensive thing is my heartfelt gift to Lacy. I wanted to make sure it was good.¡±

    Brooke glimpsed a fleeting blush tint Lacy¡¯s cheeks before she turned and started rubbing it like someone flicked paint on her. She also noticed that Blair had the sort of reserved smirk when he was pulling something on his younger brother and didn¡¯t want everyone to figure it out right away. However, Blair¡®s face still appeared kindly. Maybe she was just reading too much into everything, but she desperately hoped that there wouldn¡¯t be another crisis between her kids that she would have to resolve before it came to blows.

    Blair once again showcased the country club outfits. Lacy cast a dismissive and disinterested glance while flashing her tongue. ¡°Tomorrow, and only as stupidly necessary.¡± Brooke held and checked the clothes while noting that they had no idea if they would fit. Eliot offered that they looked nice. He watched Clare during the nutsack incident to make sure their youngest didn¡¯t realize something inappropriate. Before a full load of this, combined with Clare¡¯s new clothes, found its way into the fancy pants washing machine underneath the stairs, Blair gladly slipped into one of the bathrooms on the first floor and came out proudly wearing her discovery.

    Swapped into one of the common, standard comfort bras, Blair said that she actually felt much more at ease with it than having to borrow clothes meant for someone else. Clare took this opportunity to ask when she would need to start wearing bras like her sisters.

    More like a plea than a reassurance, Brooke pronounced, ¡°Years. Several years from now. Assuming a lot of things about what we just don¡¯t know and how things are going to go. So far off, you don¡¯t have to worry about it.¡± Clare just accepted this as her legs wiggled on the couch and returned to the climactic scene of the movie.

    Lacy suddenly bent forward like she was a punctured balloon mortally leaking air. Brooke had a sense of why. It had still been less than one day with things like this. Several years seemed impossible to contemplate when the next couple of hours felt in flux. But they still loomed.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    If this was how things would remain, then the adjustment for her kids was going to be monumental compared to what she was struggling to handle. Years filled with days upon days of an entirely different life and way of living. She had imagined what it might be like to suddenly be transfigured into a man just to give her father the ultimate middle finger. But shouldering such a different place in society along with the altered headspace and all the other things she had no idea that she would need to know as a freshly minted man was truly terrifying.

    Blair resisted this somber melancholy and dashed over to grab Lacy¡®s arm. ¡°Come on, bro. I spent so much time and plenty of money and you yourself went through the wringer to basically be there so we could find stuff for you. I gotta know if there¡¯s anything I need to return.¡±

    It took about the usual amount of persistent grabbing and dragging for Lacy to finally bother standing on her feet. She listlessly but obediently followed her big sister up the stairs and over to their shared bedroom.

    Lacy eyed both beds and tiredly yawned. ¡°So, what stupid trinket did you get me? A beating, fake heart? That¡¯s all I can think of that fits your dumb explanation.¡±

    Instead of giving time for hints, allusions, and amusement, Blair got back into the all-business, let¡¯s-get-moving-and-done clothing store mode. She tried to motivate with humming, but Lacy was a master at stubbornness. So, Blair gave up trying to push. She left it in Lacy¡¯s hands and started sifting through the clothes she brought for the trip. It was a struggle that ultimately concluded in Lacy ambling over to her bed and grumbling, ¡°Shut the friggin door and put something in front of it.¡±

    Nonchalantly, Blair obliged but continued what she had been doing before. Lacy managed to stretch out every step of fiddling with the waistband of her robe to an excruciating degree. It was like an archaeologist gingerly unearthing some delicate fabric scrap left behind by an ancient human. By the time she appeared ready to touch the first new piece of clothing, Blair was done sorting everything.

    Walking over to the closet, Blair hung everything she couldn¡¯t use out of the way. At her feet, she checked the bag stuffed with all the insulating material and the rock responsible for all of this. To her confusion, she could see that the bag was open with the rock showing its rainbow shimmer. It should¡¯ve been completely covered with the way she wrapped everything around it. Logically, she deduced that the bag must¡¯ve shifted with the weight and the looser sections flopped down. However, the problem with that theory was that the bag was still positioned rigidly, it was just spread open to reveal the rock.

    Having no clear answer to this quandary aside from the terrifying prospect that the rock might be able to move on its own, Blair cautiously plucked the rock out of the bag and turned it over a few times to see if there were any differences. None she could clearly distinguish. The little attached section seemed to have more wiggle to it, as if placed with an adhesive that was losing its stickiness. With the light in the room, the rock had a natural shimmer but nothing inexplicable.

    Following up on her earlier thought, Blair touched the rock against her clothes in the closet. Nothing happened. Well, that exhausted her ideas. At the same time, she had another notion. It was a bit out there but no more than anything that had happened to them over the last day.

    ¡°Hello. I¡¯m sorry for putting you inside that bag. We need to take you with us tomorrow and need to protect you. If you would rather not be in that bag, you¡¯re free to leave it and I¡¯ll carry you myself tomorrow. Is that okay?¡±

    Naturally, Lacy voiced her immediate confusion and concern that Blair was talking to the closet and eventually put together what it meant. ¡°You¡¯re talking to the friggin rock! You¡¯ve finally lost it.¡±

    Blair could¡¯ve explained her theory, but she was almost done with testing it. ¡°I¡¯m going to place you down in a minute but first, could you please change my clothing into something that fits me and feels comfortable?¡±

    ¡°Hey! I¡¯m just gonna go talk to the wall for a bit¡­ sup, Wally? Not much? I could¡¯ve guessed that.¡± Blair resisted the urge to give Lacy a sigh of frustration. Instead, she touched the rock to her clothes again and watched for a moment as still, nothing changed. Following all that up with, ¡°Thank you¡±, she set the rock back inside the bag but tipped it to the side so that it was free to leave if it wanted to go that way.

    Although the prospect of letting such a precious item go made her heart race. Rationally, however, she knew that all this was just as ridiculous as Lacy was pointing out. But they were dealing with a rock that had radically changed their lives. No matter what might¡¯ve seemed impossible, however unlikely, had to be examined as a possibility. She also left the closet slightly ajar before turning her attention to her sister.

    ¡°Done with your new friend yet? Mine is totally talking my head off.¡°

    ¡°The clothes aren¡¯t going to bite you, but I might.¡±

    Lacy motioned like she wanted to run off and go tell their parents about that possible threat. Ultimately, she just glared. ¡°I see zero reasons to put them on now when they¡¯re only needed tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Returns and mistakes in sizing.¡° For an instant, a small part of Blair visualized slamming Lacy against the bed, then hog-tying her to a post to make her put the clothes on.

    ¡°It¡¯s barely past lunchtime. How about you just tell everyone that it fits perfectly and then I¡¯ll just figure it out before bed and if it¡¯s wrong the store will probably still be open or whatever.

    ¡°I wanna make a wager. If you win, you can ask for anything, within reason, to last the rest of vacation. Me being your slave. Loan of anything of mine. Or any requests you make of me.¡±

    Lacy immediately perked up. The faintest hint of drool slid toward her full lips, but she swallowed and rubbed her face. ¡°So, what do I have to do?¡±

    ¡°Put on a specific item I bought you, without hesitation or complaint, and then wear it for at least a few minutes. If you don¡¯t think it¡¯s at all comfortable, then I lose. If you lose, then you have to try on the rest of the country club outfit and display it for mom and dad. And no further complaints about the clothes for the country club.¡±

    Lacy had a vast array of questions to put forth ranging from which item to how long she had to wear the outfit outside of the event. Blair agreed to let her just switch to whatever clothes she wanted after fulfilling the basics.

    ¡°¡­Hmm. Seems like a lot. However, I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any way you can win. Therefore, ¡­ Deal, dear brother.¡±

    With a snide smile, Lacy stuck out her delicate hand and Blair shook on it.

 [17] A Rock & Family Vacation 17 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [17]

    Blair didn¡¯t give a smile or frown as they agreed to the terms of this bet. Lacy watched her face though, obviously trying to pick out some twitch or tell. Ever since they were young, Lacy would boisterously announce his plans in any games where you had to discern lies. Then he would try to interpret the little glimpses of Blair¡¯s expression. Exuberantly, he would declare that he saw something and clearly his brother was doing this or that. Then it would snowball with more details and Lacy would be completely confident. And totally wrong.

    Following that, Lacy would then resolve the opposite from all the quirks, accusing his brother of trying to trick him with fake tells. And he would be wrong again. Occasionally, Lacy would actually succeed but Blair then liked to seed the notion that he was just giving his brother a win so he would keep playing. Whether this was actually true or just another head game was never something Lacy could determine with certainty.

    Blair''s current impassive calm also baffled her. With an annoyed, girlish sigh (which then doubly annoyed Lacy that it came from her mouth), she inquired, ¡°So what dumb ¡®item¡¯ am I supposed to put on and feel good about?¡±

    Promptly, Blair clarified that her sister didn¡¯t need to feel good about it but rather just needed to feel comfortable. Those were the terms of the bet. Lacy heaved a forceful sigh. ¡°Yeah yeah, whatever. So, you really expect me to put on something meant for girls and I actually feel¡­ comfortable¡­ wearing it. Sounds like you¡¯re cruising for a losing.¡±

    Once again, Blair kept her emotions close without expression one way or the other, replying only, ¡°We¡¯ll see. I¡¯m actually thinking of a second, bigger bet.¡±

    ¡°Whoa whoa, bro¡­ You should just lose one at a time. All right, anyway, let¡¯s get this thing over with, so I can start dreaming up things for you to do for me.¡±

    Regrettably, Blair didn¡¯t hold the best option, but she still had faith this would work. It was also possible that Blair¡¯s limited personal experience with bras didn¡¯t translate to all wearers, specifically someone younger and smaller like Lacy. But she wasn¡¯t worried that Lacy would lie to her. In games with stakes, she held it almost like a code of honor to play fair.

    The remaining obstacle was Lacy¡¯s continuing hesitancy to give up their father¡®s protective robe. Blair sighed and quipped, ¡°I¡¯ve seen your balls before. It¡¯s totally fine.¡±

    With a sour glower, Lacy glanced down at what of her chest showed through the robe. ¡°Balls¡­Ha. Ha. The comedian. I¡¯m taking my time.¡± For emphasis, Blair hunched over and shuffled across the room with his hand curled like it was gripping a walking stick and pushing up imaginary spectacles. Huffing with annoyance, Lacy finally peeled off the robe but kept it very close to her on the bed. With that out of the way, she then carelessly yoinked off her top.

    She motioned towards the robe but restrained herself. Instinctively, her eyes scrunched closed, and she kept her head up. ¡°Now, the damn thing.¡±

    Blair helped her with it while she flailed, stretched, and fussed. Once everything was in place, Lacy finally settled her arms. A supremely quiet moment passed, the outside noises swallowed up by the striking size and relative isolation of the house. The roll and repetition of the ocean waves existed more as a natural rumble to be felt than a crash to be heard. Lacy made no obvious gestures.

    The stillness was eventually broken by Lacy speaking a single word.

    ¡°¡­..Dammit¡­..¡±

    Blair finally let herself breathe as Lacy stretched around and puzzled, ¡°This is a bra? Tell me you secretly put something cooler on me and this is a dumb trick? I¡¯m wearing a freaking, dumb stupid bra? Why is it comfortable, you jerk?! Why couldn¡¯t you pick something scratchy and weird?! Friggin sissy stupid pleasant stupid stupid thing!¡±

    She started to explain that other options might feel even better but they would need her to go to a store. Lacy fanned her hands and denounced, ¡°Never going to happen. You just keep getting me whatever the hell this is. I¡¯m keeping this on, but I¡¯m still gonna wear my robe. After¡­ I put on the gross things for tomorrow. As I agreed.¡±

    The rest of the clothes were quite simple. Lacy kept her eyes closed as Blair adjusted everything. Flippantly, Lacy spread out her hands and put on a patronizing smile. What she didn¡¯t realize was that Blair already had her phone out and took a quick snap of that before lying that she was preparing to take a picture. At the end of the countdown, Lacy did her best to spoil the image with a displeased sneer. Blair didn¡¯t even tap the button.

    The image that she saved didn¡¯t retain the context of Lacy making fun of her getup. Rather, it simply appeared that she enjoyed and appreciated the outfit. As Lacy restored her robe bulkhead, she finally opened her eyes again and blinked against the harsh light streaming through the side window. Hastily, Blair made her way out the door and back to their parents.

    Brooke enjoyed seeing Lacy dressed up the most. Double-checking the requirements from dad, she didn¡¯t see any conflicts. Socks and shoes would be required but Blair fit a nice spare pair and Brooke learned, while Blair was away, that Lacy¡®s feet still barely fit her dress shoes and she had appropriate socks for all of them.

    ¡°Lacy looks really nice. I¡¯m sorry she gets so upset about hearing that. You look really nice too, big bro. I was really scared when today started that I would be alone and scared but everything still feels the same. There¡¯s weird stuff for sure, but we still feel like a family¡±, Clare expressed quietly.

    The animated movie was over and now the television was playing some goofy shorts. Clare¡¯s attention was on her eldest sibling while her hands twisted and turned as though she were trying to roll up an invisible ball of clay. Blair smiled as Lacy returned to the room with no obvious signs of anything different and grumbled to her sister, ¡°I wanna see the gift box, since you¡¯re playing it up so much.¡± Blair agreed but instead of immediately following Lacy back to the bedroom, she sent the newest picture into the cloud and around to everyone¡¯s phones. There really was no reason to do and she quite expected Lacy to get perturbed about it, but it was a photograph basically with her sibling smiling and looking pleased, no matter the context, and, therefore, she treasured it.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Back in their room, Lacy wanted the exact same terms for this wager.

    Keeping her expression again restrained, Blair countered, ¡°You might want to change some aspects. I am thinking about raising my threshold to where you absolutely love and are gleefully tickled by what I got for you, for reasons all your own. With the win requirement that you then simply wear it around outside for the afternoon and we have some fun on the beach. And if you win, then you get a back and foot massage along with my bed whenever you request it. But I¡¯m really tempted to ask more of you, like force you to do something cute or act a certain way. Still thinking it over.¡±

    Blair had no confidence that she could win this proposed bet but that wasn¡¯t the reason she said it out loud. She simply wanted her sister to think she was confident. And, indeed, Lacy wore traces of a cold, deepening sweat made worse by how much she was wrapped up in that robe. She asserted weakly, ¡°Not possible. I don¡¯t like anything about this. I¡¯m just s-slightly comfortable. And it would suck to wear w-whatever it is you got. Whatever it is.¡±

    Calmly, Blair nodded and remarked, ¡°We did the big bet. This can be a smaller one with just my solemn hope that you enjoy my gift. No other strings attached for you to worry about. If I win, you give me a hug and a smile. If you win, you still get my bed for any night of this vacation.¡±

    Lacy wasn¡¯t a big fan of rubs, foot or otherwise, so reducing it to the bed swap was basically like setting the same penalty and a much lighter consequence. She was mentally prepared to deal with Lacy¡®s bed. In fact, she was looking forward to it since the skylight and the window had fantastic views. There was no convenient spot for her phone, but she would deal. She thought to herself that her parents really should put her in charge of making agreements with Lacy.

    As she expected, Lacy took that bet and shook on it again. The box wasn¡¯t that hard to open and push past a couple layers of tissue. Blair braced herself for all the possibilities of how her sibling might react. She held her breath as the last bit of paper fell away and Lacy looked down with wide eyes at what was in the box. For a moment, a strange, grayish tint filtered through the light outside, as though the waves were reflecting off something bright.

    The fact that Lacy didn¡¯t chuck the garment, poke out her tongue, and scold Blair confused her. The cold, nervous sweat remained around Lacy¡¯s ears. She cleared her throat as she brought the swimsuit up to show.

    ¡°Such¡­ such a you choice. Boys rock. Like to find a boy-making rock. I bet there are even more puns in that. Dammit¡­ I mean, sorry bro, you missed the mark. And who splashed all the paint on it? Dumb. It¡¯s your money and you just wasted it.¡± Blair motioned to return it with the receipt, but Lacy drew back, hugging the swimsuit to herself.

    ¡°Noooo. This was your mistake. You thinking buying me something would turn me into some¡­heart on her sleeve, giggly bouncy swimsuit-wearing cute younger sister. I¡¯m keeping this. And I¡¯m going to remind you that you threw your money down the toilet. Hahaha. It¡¯s delightful. I love it¡­WAIT! No no no no! You! You freaking tricked me!¡± Lacy stomped the ground as Blair freed the wide smile she¡¯d been restraining. It was an outside possibility for a win, and she appreciated the fact that Lacy stumbled face-first into it without her needing to connect the dots.

    ¡°You¡¯re so¡­GRRR. Bite me!¡±

    ¡°Pass and thank you. I will take a hug and a smile though.¡±

    Lacy pointed out that she also needed to try on the swimsuit as part of their deal. Blair noted that she actually changed it so wearing the outfit wasn¡¯t a requirement. To this, Lacy shrugged, ¡°I¡¯m counting the big one because even though you were tricky, you still got me. But! I¡¯m dropping extra consequences on you for that trick. I am wearing this. I am hugging you¡­.with a smuuurr¡­smile. And then you are putting on your fancy pants swimsuit you got and you¡¯re gonna be stuck outside on the beach with me! Ha!¡±

    Blair was tempted to question how any of that was supposed to be a consequence for her when she actually wanted to wear the swimsuit outside. Had her younger sibling somehow gotten smarter with all this and she had an even trickier endgame yet to play or was she actually dumber and thinking this would be a penalty?¡­ Or was it something else? Either way, Blair couldn¡¯t help but agree to those terms and see where it went.

    Lacy still shut her eyes when the robe was off and needed quite a lot of help to strip so that she could put on the swimsuit. Seeing her sibling completely undressed felt momentarily strange. There wasn¡¯t anything unexpected. But she noticed a quiet vulnerability as she stood there with her eyes shut and trusted Blair to support her and prepare the outfit. It took some awkward finagling from both of them but when the zipper went to the top and everything looked right, Lacy actually opened her eyes and sought out the nearest mirror. An instant later, she seemed to realize what she was doing and immediately snapped her eyes shut and asked for her robe.

    With the robe covering most of her, Lacy posed in front of the nearest mirror and stretched a few cautious ways before declaring, ¡°I¡¯m super annoyed with how comfortable all this is and mad that I¡¯m not allowed to wear it to the country club.¡°

    Turning to Blair, Lacy stretched her arms out, slipped on an unmistakable smile, and gave her sibling an enthusiastic embrace.

    ¡°Satisfied? The smile is just for you and not for any of what¡¯s going on. And that¡¯s enough of that crap. Put yours on and let¡¯s salvage this stupid vacation.¡±

 [18] A Rock & Family Vacation 18 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [18]

    ¡°Is it riding up my ass crack?¡± Lacy fussed with the new swimsuit that Blair bought her, lifting up the gray robe she was wearing over it.

    Whatever concerns Blair may have momentarily had about her younger sister acting unnaturally cute or sweet sublimated away with Lacy sticking out her butt. There wasn¡¯t enough of an opening in the back to get even close to being a concern. Blair flatly assured her it looked fine, noting, ¡°Aren¡¯t you gonna wear the robe outside the whole time?¡±

    Lacy tugged at the bottom of the leg section but made no progress in stretching them to her knee. ¡±Well, not in the water. And I may just hold onto it rather than wear it. I don¡¯t know¡­¡±

    If Blair wanted to pester her, she could¡¯ve easily pointed out how girly Lacy looked posing and turning in front of the mirror. But she was still rather shocked that her sister was even wearing a woman¡¯s swimsuit without screaming, shaking protest. Lacy probed the little bun their mother put her hair in. ¡°That dumb freaking rock is forcing me to have long hair! I just wanted to cut it! Why won¡¯t it let me do it? Now I got this total pain in the butt thing I gotta keep it in. Do I have to keep it dry?"

    To that, Blair shrugged and casually eyed the closet door in which she had placed the rock that started all of this. No visible reaction bled through. Perhaps her notion that the rock was somehow alive or could move was a bit too much.

    Lacy still focused on her reflection as she fussed with the small details. ¡°I¡¯ll just have to keep my head out of the water. Never thought the first girl I¡¯d see up close in a swimsuit would be me. Should¡¯ve been my dream date, Krystal.¡± Blair sighed. She knew plenty about ¡®Krystal¡¯.

    It started about two years ago. Lacy was still reeling from abusive former friendships and barely wanted to have anything to do with other people. Additionally, his dry, eczema skin got incredibly bad, to the point that if he wasn¡¯t flinching from the fear of hugs turned into pain then he was whimpering because some stray patch of skin got caught on his clothes. The skin often split, tore, or had wool embedded. It made sports impossible, handwriting in classes an ordeal as the teachers blamed him for the little marks of blood left on his sheets, and getting close to anyone even worse.

    Blair had no idea how it started, but everyone started calling him ¡°badger boy¡± under their breath or whenever he tried to volunteer in class. Rough, irascible, and antisocial was how everyone saw him. Poke the funny creature and have a laugh. That was the low point. Then, along came Kristen.

    She had hair as dark and striking as Lacy¡¯s was bright and shimmering. And she didn¡¯t give a flying crap what people thought of Lacy or how isolated he became in classes. She boldly included him in every conversation and really stoked the idea of modeling. Blair understood why Lacy hated modeling far more than some moments where he was mistaken for a girl. Those were just easy excuses. He was terrified of the exposure and scrutiny. The camera seeing and capturing all the shaky, wounded places. But Kristen didn¡¯t care, she exuberantly pushed and embraced Lacy. Then, she was gone.

    It wasn¡¯t quite as sudden or dramatic as what happened with Riley for Blair, but he could feel the difference in Lacy when a shuffle of classes and a new grade brought Kristen¡®s mercurial streaks into focus. It wasn¡¯t intentional, she just kind of forgot about Lacy. Lacy told him that Kristen was okay but the real girl for him was this dream date notion, Krystal. She was the real deal.

    Krystal, her appearance fluid depending on whatever popstar, teen actress, video game character, skateboarding princess, or neighbor caught Lacy¡¯s eye, had all the open qualities of Kristen but with a confident certainty and consistency that meant she would keep things stable and never hurt him. An acknowledged dream girl Lacy knew she would never actually meet.

    Blair lifted up her phone again. Lacy eyeballed it skeptically. She stuck out her tongue and fanned her hands around her neck to give the impression of swamp monster gills. Letting the camera dip in her hands, Blair waited out her sibling. All the childish, goofy poses cycled through until Lacy started to settle again. The wildness quieted and a placid smirk slipped over her features. She delicately adjusted the hem of the robe. With one leg raised and bent slightly, Lacy looked up as her sibling tapped the screen.

    Lacy¡¯s heart fluttered at the image captured on Blair¡¯s screen. That couldn¡¯t be her. That was a girl! Not just from the obvious aspects, but in so many minute details of her demeanor.

    ¡°Delete that¡­ Please.¡± Lacy looked at her pensively. This wasn¡¯t a sibling huffing and puffing and joking around about a bad picture. Blair could tell Lacy saw her delicate places captured in that image. Without complaint, the photo went away. Unfortunately, that also revealed the previous one taken. Blair dashed a finger to the right to expose her changing room antics. Lacy snickered, scoffed, and pronounced her sibling¡¯s narcissism at two-and-a-half dozen shots.

    For the beach, Blair used one of the travel totes they placed in the closet. While she packed the bag with sunscreen and several extra-large towels, Lacy took on the task of clearing away the empty Taki and snack bags scattered around their room. This, more than anything, raised alarm bells for Blair that her sister may have been somehow brainwashed. Glancing at the closeted, mysterious rock gave her no apparent visual signs that it was doing anything nefarious.

    Grabbing the large umbrella last, they were about ready when they faced a new conundrum: To get out of the house, the only exits were downstairs. The front door, the sliding doors behind the kitchen, and Blair had actually discovered a mostly hidden door adjoining a small mudroom next to the side wine cellar and Jacuzzi.

    The plan hadn¡¯t been to sneak out but Lacy definitely gave off the vibe that she wasn¡¯t interested in letting anyone else know that they were going to the beach but, moreover, that they were wearing swimsuits. This preparation and precaution were completely ruined when Lacy noticed and cried out that Clare¡¯s eyeball was peeking through their door, which was no longer successfully closed and blocked.

    She managed to catch their little sister before she could escape, griping her by her star field dress.

    ¡°NO! Don¡¯t rip it!¡±

    ¡°Chill out, dork! Stop yelling. Not gonna hurt you or your stupid clothes.¡±

    It was a tense standoff between the two of them, with Clare looking like she was ready to vault the steps and Lacy unwilling to release the fabric. Blair ultimately had to step in and hold Clare before she ran off. She attempted to hoist her little sister up onto her shoulders like she¡¯d done several times before, but her muscles fluttered and gave up with just a little lifting hop.

    Instead, she pulled Clare against her protectively. Clare¡¯s initial reaction was to bend and flex away, rather like Lacy when encountering a hug. She stopped though and eased into Blair with curiousness followed by an exuberant embrace that knocked the wind out of her. Her face right near her chest, Clare softly explained, ¡°You feel just like mom.¡±

    Blair was willing to bet some of that came from wearing her clothes. It had been years since Clare got this close to Blair. He used to give him big hugs when he felt out of sorts from one of his nightmares. Young Lacy would scream, ¡°BEAR!¡± and scramble wildly like a cub crossed with an octopus. Eventually, he got too cool for all that. Blair inwardly flinched but physically reached out a hand to brush Clare¡¯s hair. She cried hot tears as Blair focused on using her legs to successfully lift her up.

    Back in the room, Clare sat on the edge of the big bed as Lacy stood over by the doorway and professed, ¡°Come on. I wasn¡¯t going to do anything. We just wanna quietly go to the beach without everyone making a fuss about it.¡±

    ¡°¡­You promise?¡± Clare blubbered. ¡°You¡¯re not gonna punch me or rip my dress?¡±

    Lacy rolled her eyes with her arms folded quite a ways from her chest. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna do either of those. I just wanna go see the waves and the beach.¡±

    ¡°Can I come too? I got a swimsuit.¡± Lacy pressed a hand to her face in consternation. ¡°Why don¡¯t we just go tell everyone then? Why bother sneaking out?¡±

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Blair shrugged and gestured towards the door. So, they just told their parents.

    Eliot was watching a Netflix series that Blair recognized as a deep dive into a variety of popular fantasy and science fiction book series and how they were envisioned and developed. He expressed open-mouthed surprise that Lacy was wearing a swimsuit. It wasn¡¯t immediately visually obvious, but Clare blurted it out and Lacy fussed in place. After giving her little sister a bump on the shoulder, Lacy muttered through her teeth, ¡°I would really hate to break a promise¡­¡± Clare grimaced and put her hand to her mouth.

    It wasn¡¯t long before Brooke emerged from the side cellar with a bottle clutched in her hands by the neck. She explained, ¡°One of the wine bottles was left out for us with a note of¡­thanks and greeting. Nice vintage. I¡¯ll let it chill in the fridge.¡± Brooke held a yellow-tinted, folded-over piece of paper in her hands. She casually tucked it into a pocket and walked the wine bottle over to the fridge.

    Brooke initially frowned at the idea of the kids alone on the beach. She immediately recalled those two, suspicious men in green uniforms similar to people who worked security for her father roaming around. But it was a hot, embarrassing coal of fear that she swiftly extinguished. She looked Blair in the eye though and firmly advised her that her sisters were her responsibility, and that out there she had the same authority as their parents. They weren¡¯t to go beyond sight of the house on either side and if anyone approached them, they were to return through the nearest door immediately.

    Lacy pouted with narrowed eyes but shrugged and agreed. Clare happily nodded and rushed to put on her new swim clothes. Since Blair¡¯s phone needed recharging from recent events, Lacy¡®s phone came with them for emergencies.

    They decided to exit through the lower cellar because it was the only part of the house they hadn¡¯t explored yet. Brooke wasn¡¯t concerned about them being in there, but she did reflexively warn them not to touch anything or mess with the glass bottles. The room was surprisingly spacious for being tucked away around behind the laundry and bathroom on that side of the house.

    Curvy, quaint candelabras connected to fake stone walls. The soft, golden light cast lent the space a mysterious, storied air that reminded Clare of the pirate ride at Disneyland. It was the only one that their mom actually liked to ride. Dark wine bottles lay in silvery holders. A large fridge with a glass front looked more like something Blair expected to see in a medical lab. Her brain turned with scintillating notions.

    This place felt like a puzzle in need of scrutiny more than any other room in the house. She decided this sort of place had to contain a secret sex dungeon locked with a special key code. But there were no vivid clues for her mind to latch onto.

    Everything appeared strikingly normal. Nothing out of place. There was a yellow writing pad and a ballpoint pen shoved to one corner. She could imagine rubbing a pencil across the top sheet to decode the last few messages but couldn¡¯t come up with sufficient cause to attempt it. The place was a little weird, but not weird enough to go that far.

    The Jacuzzi had marble and wood all over and a slight ramp to get in without having to go down steps. It looked like exactly the sort of thing mom needed for her tweaked back.

    Outside, it didn¡¯t take long for them to set up the blankets and umbrella. Laid out with rocks (hopefully, normal boring ones) to weigh them down, they had a king-sized spread and enough space for each of them to stretch out.

    Clare started to work with her sand bucket as Lacy lamented that they didn¡¯t have anything like a kite, especially with the wind picking up from an idle breeze to a brisk flow. Over by the waves, a crab dashed in front of them, pausing only for a second to shift its claws, as though waving politely, before hurrying along. Lacy fiddled with the placement of the umbrella to spread the most shade but fished some sunscreen out of the tote.

    They had sunglasses and hats in the bag but not any bottles of water. Hopping up, Blair advised her sisters that if they saw anything weird to immediately ring the house with Lacy¡®s phone. She was just going to go inside for one thing. At least one thing.

    Clare paused and frowned but Lacy fanned her hand and announced, ¡°Seeya in literal seconds.¡±

    Blair had a few things in mind as she returned through the side cellar door. First of all, she checked that it didn¡¯t lock them out and was easy to open in an emergency. The frame was a tight fit for the door, but she had noticed that when first closing it. Likely because of the warmth of the summer and the sea moisture.

    In the cellar, she locked her eyes on the writing pad and made her way back around. Her parents were talking in the living room on the couch, so she snuck slowly around and up the stairs to the bedrooms. In a way, the idea that Lacy planted in her head to sneak out together desired satisfaction. If her parents caught her in the wrong place, it was an easy thing to say that she was looking for her water bottle while grabbing water for her sisters. Her destination was the master bedroom and her father¡¯s writing satchel. It took just a few seconds of digging, but she quickly came up with one of his Ticonderoga pencils for jotting down notes and ideas.

    From there, she just positioned herself logically and put on a bit of panting to show she was hurrying. Wiping her nose and mouth with a long sigh, she accepted her regular water bottle filled by dad and three bottles in a plastic bag to carry back.

    Before she could head off, her mom held her and set her hands on her shoulders before asking, ¡°Are you okay? Managing despite how crazy this all is?¡±

    Blair chuckled to herself in her usual way. ¡°I¡¯m doing what I can. I¡¯m alright. I¡¯d rather things weren¡¯t like this, but I¡¯m doing what I can to take care of my brothers and myself. And I know you both are here if there¡¯s ever anything I need to talk about. But I don¡¯t think I¡¯m ready to talk yet. I¡¯m still figuring stuff out. Okay?¡±

    Her mother pressed about Lacy and what Blair had gathered. She reassured her that it was just the usual craziness plus an additional dose of craziness, like doubling up on puberty. And she figured that was hitting her especially hard because of all the stuff she¡¯d gone through.

    Brooke stepped back and nodded. It was everything she surmised, even if she couldn¡¯t understand all of it. But she wanted Blair to pass along to Lacy that her parents were looking out for her, mom was sorry that she made her uncomfortable earlier, and that she could talk to them anytime about anything that bothered her. Blair smiled and assured her she would pass all that along.

    Back in the side cellar, Blair retrieved the pencil she tucked under her clothes, in a particular spot, for complete concealment. Although she realized that she definitely could¡¯ve come up with a reason for having a pencil with her, like playing some kind of drawing game with Clare. Oh well.

    She scrutinize the paper pad and saw that there were indeed some indentations on the surface. Gently brushing the side of the pencil lead against it, Blair managed to resurrect the entire document written on the paper just above.

    It read, ¡°Greetings to the Muller family! It is my honor to be your host. I have known Vincent Muller for decades and it¡¯s a privilege to provide a place for his grandkids and his beautiful daughter and her spouse. I¡¯ll forgo my life story and just say you¡¯re welcome to all the food on the premises and all the amenities. Please enjoy my weird windows. I love showing them off at parties! I hope the grandkids can feel at home! Feel free to explore the entire grounds. You can find so many unusual rocks and stones washed up by the tides. Vincent tells me that the youngest loves examining and collecting rocks and I encourage him to pick up and keep whatever he finds. Maybe he¡¯ll come across something truly special. Cordially Yours, Your Airbnb Host and Friend.¡±

    Some of the sections were a little challenging for Blair to deduce, especially with the low light, but she was confident in her reading. Brooke had that exact message in her pocket. She noticed the same curious focus of the message but did her best to ignore any strange and absurd notions percolating through her thoughts. Blair smirked and ripped the message from the pad before whispering to herself, ¡°Curiouser and curiouser¡­¡±

 [19] A Rock & Family Vacation 19 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [19]

    To Blair¡¯s expectation but also relief, her sisters were exactly where she left them, with Clare starting to produce the rudimentary foundation of a sand castle and Lacy squinting at her phone. She wasn¡¯t quite sure what to do with the paper. Just folding it up and tucking it away somewhere risked smearing what she had into illegibility. Fortunately, there was a zipper pouch on the side of the tote that appeared large enough to store it without folding.

    Sneaking up and stashing the note wasn¡¯t particularly necessary, same as the rest of the recent sneaking, but Blair felt like she had to commit to the effort. She was going to clue in her sisters and the rest of her family, but she still needed to think about it and process the details. Fortunately, Clare was thoroughly consumed by castle building and Lacy was in the middle of covering a long yawn with a hand while she languidly gave several long blinks. She still had on that bathrobe, compared with Blair in her black-with-white-trim number and some flip-flops, and Clare in a very basic, kids'' yellow swimsuit that mom and she must have gotten on their excursion.

    Blair had just enough time to quietly unzip the side pocket, slip the paper inside, and make herself known by setting down the water and releasing a quick sigh. ¡°Nothing weird happen while I was gone?¡±

    ¡°Everything is weird right now. Which weird do you want to know about?¡± Lacy roused herself and stretched her legs in the air slightly. Clare looked up casually as she shaped a thick, damp bulk of sand using pieces of a twig. Blair passed around the bottled water and each sister drank eagerly. Things felt remarkably calm and quiet. The regular rush of the ocean and the matching retreat of each wave was audio clockwork that anchored all the chaos. Blair did her best to keep the shifting afternoon breeze from tussling her hair back and forth. She had once again neglected to ask for ties at several convenient moments.

    Clare had a couple just to keep her hair back, which remained since her clothing trip and Lacy had that bun at the back of her head. Some of the strands looked like rope twisted and stretched too many times, but it was still holding up. Blair could see nothing had broached their quiet time on the beach, but she still inquired and made sure that no strangers walked by, and they hadn¡¯t heard any loud noises. The only thing close was a few moments of gulls angrily fighting over some unknown food remnant, which Clare specifically recounted, and Lacy barely noticed. Lacy persisted in her languid, drowsy mood as strands of sunlight slipped around the umbrella. She had a couple of dabs of sunscreen along her exposed arms and even more glossiness to her face. Blair applied a coat to her skin and made sure that Clare was also covered. Before she forgot, she passed along the message from mom that they were looking out for her, they were sorry if she was uncomfortable earlier, and she could talk to their parents anytime about whatever bothered her. Lacy sighed and gave this only the barest acknowledgment.

    Soon, serene quiet with regular crashing filled the air as the need for conversation drifted away. Actual vacation without any need to fill the span with worries or work. It was kind of boring to Blair, especially in contrast to all the thoughts and possibilities rushing through her head. A few random songs had transitory residence inside her. She dashed through the possibilities contained in the strange note preserved beside her.

    First of all, it was not outside the realm of reasonable logic to assume their host had merely composed a greeting or possibly several versions of his or her greeting and touched on several random, quick, and courteous thoughts. In that context, perhaps it was distinct and noticeable to find rocks all across the property. Plausibly, their host could¡¯ve simply asked for a few vague details from their grandfather or recalled them from chats or texts. Blair understood that adults sometimes used note writing in the same way as texting and might meander from one thought to the next without any consideration for data limitations. Prying into any level of the psychology of their host seemed fruitless.

    If only she had some preternatural awareness to interpret handwriting style or some further physical evidence. The rock references were certainly eye-opening and heavily suspicious, in the same sense as someone who may have murdered their spouse and happened to have a massive gator as a pet. When asked about it, they shrug off the scraps of clothing found around their ¡®pet¡¯ and beg everyone not to search the animal¡¯s stomach.

    Circumstantial, as they would say in films, but definitely adding up to suspicion. Nothing she could do about it at the moment though, so she helped Clare look for little decorative seashells to adorn her developing castle. Spectator critters pranced by curiously before rushing away.

    Between careful construction efforts, Clare posed quick questions about how each of them felt. Nothing too distinct until she asked, ¡°You both have the front pee butt, right?¡± Lacy opened her eyes and peered at Clare with an annoyed squint. Debate soon flashed between them as to what constituted a ¡°butt¡±. Clare had some notion that the differences meant they could be mommies now, but Lacy waved all that away like it was a horde of buzzing insects.

    Blair did her best to resolve things by confirming, yes, they were the same. Clare didn¡¯t like the idea of hair showing up in all sorts of places (like she glimpsed with mom), but Blair reassured her it was normal. With the baby thing, Clare seemed currently satisfied with the notion that babies came from mommies and daddies loving each other very much, along with some hospital assistance, and some special interaction. Blair found herself slightly stressed that Clare had all the pieces from being a boy and a girl but felt relieved that her little sister didn¡¯t connect the pieces. Instead, the topic pivoted to growing up.

    Clare deduced, despite assurances that she didn¡¯t have to worry about it for a long time, that she was going to kinda look like mom when she grew up. Or maybe their one aunt. Lacy involuntarily shuddered at this mention. It was rather obvious from the progression she could see with her older siblings.

    She had to inquire whether it was terrifying, hurt, or felt weird to have boobies. Lacy immediately shifted, as though sand were getting under her skin. Blair took a breath and did her best to address their sibling¡¯s question. ¡°It¡¯s different and weird for me, because it¡¯s just a few hours. You¡¯ll have years to deal with how things change for you. I envy that, because life gets way more complicated at our ages.¡± Clare tried to assert that her life was already complicated, but Blair just calmly smiled as Lacy looked away.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    A lull passed through the group after that, but with Lacy still moving about a lot. Eventually, she spoke, ¡°This isn¡¯t where things stop for me. Oh my gosh. Oh, freaking doom farts, I¡¯m gonna be like you and mom. Everyone is going to see, no matter how much I try to hide. It¡¯s just gonna keep fighting and spreading and going till there¡¯s nothing of me left.¡± She whimpered without words.

    Eagerly, Blair brought up the counterpoint of cousins and other relatives who were much different in their youth. That didn¡¯t reassure Lacy, as she muttered, ¡°If only I was more like my male relatives.¡± That wasn¡¯t a position that Blair could fight with emotional appeals or any sort of logic. All she could do was focus positive thoughts on her sister and encourage her away from tossing another pity party.

    Meanwhile, she helped Clare¡¯s sand castle get bigger and bigger. She noticed that something was bothering Clare as well though. She would check around them often and especially glance towards the door they took from over by the Jacuzzi to here. Blair surmised that the preparedness against strangers had left her wary and fretful.

    She couldn¡¯t reliably tell her that no creepy people were going to bother her or point to the fact that she was a big bulky Iron Giant presence who could hold anyone back. Because that was no longer true, unless you counted the intimidation of different features.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry, squirt. You should only be concerned about sand consistency. We¡¯re watching for bad guys. No matter what happens, we¡¯re family and we¡¯d die before anyone tries to hurt you.¡± Lacy raised a hand and clarified, ¡°I¡¯d actually rather rip and tear them a new one before dying. But, yeah, no one is messing with any of us, or they will see a fury I have never used before.¡± Lacy¡¯s voice cracked and stuck high and squeaky, but the sentiment was understood.

    ¡°I know, I know,¡± Clare replied with a sigh. ¡°Things are just so different now. From the way mom told me this morning, I thought it wasn¡¯t such a big deal. New butt doesn¡¯t hurt as much to jump around. And everything. But I feel like mom was just saying that to calm me. Because everything feels different. I dunno. I don¡¯t feel scared, right here, right now, because I¡¯m with you guys. But there¡¯s so much I don¡¯t know. So much none of us knows. We don¡¯t know what the rock is going to do. I heard from dad that Lacy can¡¯t cut her hair anymore. I¡¯m stuck with my hair too probably. It¡¯s like the dark man.¡±

    Blair had to differ on that analogy. A mysterious rock was a long way away from Clare¡¯s nightmare figure. She did her best to call attention to the differences. The dark man was certifiably conjured by Clare¡¯s dreaming imagination as it happened to see contractors finishing up work in their old house after dark. The rock was a verifiable, physical object which hadn¡¯t done anything to them really.

    ¡°Hasn¡¯t done anything? Dude¡­¡± Lacy retorted and gestured to her body. Blair clarified that it hadn¡¯t conducted any malicious harm against them. On this point, Lacy again seemed skeptical of Blair¡¯s claims. She really didn¡¯t need Lacy hopping on her to nitpick when she was just trying to reassure their younger sister.

    The dark man first popped up four years ago. Clare had a series of nightmares that a creature with many arms grabbed him in the night and took him away. They eventually got a nanny cam and several alarms to reassure him but ran into so many false alerts because of the men working on that house.

    When Blair was really young, he could remember the apartment. It was in the city close to the Muller Corporation and the offices of the Internet site that dad wrote for. Their parents were proud of it because it was rented with their own funds rather than anything from grandpa. But grandpa visited daily and took an early shine to Blair, who he often referred to as Blaine, like with his pet name of Clark for Clare. He never gave a pet name to Lacy though.

    Dad eventually lost his day job and mom acquiesced to grandpa asking if they could move into a bigger place he would provide, with the addition of Lacy and her then pregnant with Clare. It was close to a redeveloped suburb of Detroit and mom liked it better than the big city. But work was still going on at the time and contractors were coming and going at all hours for literal years.

    With the coming of the dark man nightmares, their parents had enough. They had set aside enough of a nest egg to finally acquire their own, current home. It was in a small town but within reach of a small copyediting business for dad and a reasonable commute for mom without either Lacy or Blair needing to change schools. When Clare started school, they were also perfectly positioned for his private boys'' academy, which grandpa insisted on.

    Rehashing history or providing trite reassurances felt woefully weak against Clare¡¯s persistent fears. She couldn¡¯t tell her that nothing was ever going to scare her. But she could remain right here next to her and make her laugh with stupid jokes and encouragement to build her sand castle higher and higher, despite the waves getting ever closer. Eventually, it was done.

    Clare christened it the HQ of the family trio of superheroes: Ace, Big B, and Sea Note. Ace created a force field to block the brutal winds that threatened to topple the drying sand. Big B changed into a massive creature that stood against all forces which dared to strike the castle. And Sea Note whispered to the waves to hold back. But it was not enough.

    The waves came and licked at the edges of the castle. The sturdy walls and rigid buttresses crumbled and fell to meet the watery embrace. Blair worried that Clare would be disconsolate and withdrawn from this loss. Instead, she fumed and raised a call to arms against the cruel waves. The team got up from the beach towels and launched their racing assault against the foaming waters. Blair noticed that Lacy shed her robe and dropped it against the blanket. She appeared surprisingly confident as she ambled to her feet. At first, she self-consciously checked her footfalls but worked her way up to a brisk sprint.

    Blair thought that Lacy looked absolutely ridiculous (even though she was the one who picked it out) in that Jackson Pollock swimwear with those overzealous printed words. Fortunately, it didn¡¯t matter. She could look as ridiculous as she wanted.

    It was just them, together.

 [20] A Rock & Family Vacation 20 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [20]

    The assault on the waves was destined to be fruitless. Time and tide were insurmountable, but they at least counted it as a moral victory that would teach the currents that the current state of things would not persist forever.

    Blair watched as Lacy stomped around the waves stiffly, constantly checking on the fit of her swimsuit as though she worried that it might suddenly slip or rip off if she moved too vigorously. As not only that didn¡¯t happen, but the outfit likely felt as comfortable and protective against the water as Blair¡¯s, Lacy started to move more like normal and vigorously splash her sisters then scamper away from the return strikes.

    She cackled and grinned, not dwelling on the girlish sound of her laughter. It wasn¡¯t long before a stray seaweed became a tool of entertainment. Blair swam out far enough that she could float but still touch bottom. It was a bit shaky, as her muscles didn¡¯t hold the same sway against the tow. The upswing of the waves threatened to pop her loose from her swimsuit, but she managed to keep it under control. Nothing scandalous happened but she definitely concluded that options with more leeway for her size would be necessary. Clare had to gawk at her siblings and honestly announce, ¡°You¡¯re both so beautiful!¡± Lacy groaned loud enough to challenge the crash of the waves. Blair thanked her.

    After a while, they returned to the towels, passing the devastated remains of the castle. Lacy found herself in a bit of a quandary as she couldn¡¯t immediately slip back into her robe because of how drenched she still was. And none of the spare towels were large enough to span her body as thoroughly as the robe. She wound up applying the towel frugally across her chest and stretching it to rub her face. The bun drooped behind her but remained intact. Her legs beyond the suit were totally exposed despite her best efforts to squeeze them underneath.

    Clare wore her towel like an extension of her hair and crouched between her sisters. She glanced over at the folded-up robe and remarked to Lacy, ¡°You really like that thing. Is it because it¡¯s dad¡®s? It kind of smells a little like dad.¡±

    Curious, Blair gave a few sniffs in the direction of the robe. The aroma profile didn¡¯t seem particularly distinctive. It definitely retained some hint of the discount soap they used for everything. At the same time, she felt a cousin to the stark presence on Dylan. That was a tangle of alluring pheromones which made her contemplate the idea of following him to the club. This seemed more reassuring and subtle. Quite literally, she surmised, a fatherly presence. Blair smirked and proclaimed, ¡°Ohhhhhh. I see.¡±

    Lacy immediately scowled and dashed her eyeballs at each of them. ¡°See what? No. It¡¯s not because it¡¯s dad¡®s¡­ It¡¯s because¡­ it¡¯s ''cause it helps to cover everything. That¡¯s all!¡±

    Blair brought up her theory and how she¡¯d run into a skater boy who had a very sharp scent. She left out the fact that they had talked, and he texted her because he thought she was college-aged, but Blair was otherwise truthful. Lacy vigorously rebuffed every aspect of this theory. ¡°It¡¯s not cause of smelly stuff. You smell! I¡¯m just wearing it because I prefer it! And I¡¯m gonna put it back on when I¡¯m dry!¡± She motioned toward this and rubbed the towel around to speed up the process.

    Meanwhile, Blair hinted at the presence of boys. She highlighted the sentiment blazed across Lacy¡¯s outfit and teased that if the tiniest hint of their father made her all warm and fuzzy inside, then she was truly going to go boy crazy out and about. Lacy huffed and fumed. She scolded Blair about dragging her into her own ¡°obsessions¡±. The discourse devolved into a rapid and vapid volley of teasing words. Blair thrilled at it and, despite frantic protests, Lacy seemed more embarrassed than angry. Clare appeared concerned even though it was familiar territory for her older siblings to tease one another like this.

    The situation stopped short of slaps and grabs, even though a few hands were crossed. Once the heat of the moment cooled down with Lacy panting and drying off the last wet patches with neither laughter nor complaint, Clare cautiously proposed, ¡°Is it because it¡¯s more like a dress? I like dresses. I never thought I would, but they¡¯re comforting. The way they cover, flow, and keep you safe.¡±

    Lacy¡®s first reaction was to take this notion with the same grain of salt as the last. But something clicked as she was about to fully rebuff it. A robe was kind of like a dress. She acknowledged the visual similarities. The way it hung, the obscuring, the sense of protection, and the soft material.

    Blair watched something break in her sister, like a mechanical doll stretching her springs to the limit. She was caught between thoughts, unable to move and barely able to blink. What broke her free was innate stubbornness. She puffed a long breath and announced, ¡°Ok fiiinnne, then I like wearing a dress but only so long as it¡¯s like a robe and doesn¡¯t look like a stupid dress. Flecking gosh darn it!¡± One of the key swears Lacy was allowed in the presence of her younger sister without getting in trouble. Blair couldn¡¯t remember any specific infractions, but she felt like they had all slipped a little past the profanity threshold, especially today.

    The quality of the light shifted from the blinding starkness of noon to a subtle, almost golden shade of afternoon. They stayed just a little bit longer before packing up the used towels separately from the tote and divvying up the rest to haul back. Blair handled the tote, so as not to crunch up the saved note.

    The lower door they came through needed a firm shoulder shove from Blair to properly open. Inside were several tangles of mist bleeding off the jacuzzi area. Their mother wore one of her usual, pink swimsuits as she sprawled out with her arms anchoring her and the rest of her body wobbling with the bubbles.

    Clare was the first to burst out that it looked really cool. This roused their mother to calmly glance over with a wide yawn. It wasn¡¯t long before she had to share the Jacuzzi with the rest of them. The warm water wasn¡¯t too different than the summer Atlantic waves, but it was definitely better than the bitter brine. Mom mulled the fact that the saltwater on them might corrode their host¡¯s tub but, considering the suspicious ambiguity in their note, she kind of hoped that it did. They didn¡¯t stay very long before heading back to the main part of the house after drying off on some spare towels mom brought down with her.

    Their father was wrapped up in some scribbled notes as he welcomed them back inside. Clare and Blair changed into their previous clothes in their respective rooms, but Lacy dawdled an expected amount with cautious, unspoken clinging concerns. Blair bluntly advised her, ¡°Clothing names are all made up. Just wear what¡¯s comfortable for you.¡± To this, Lacy nodded and acknowledged her sister¡®s point but added, ¡°I just wish I had more stuff that fit me. And I wish that I could deal with all this girly crap better, but I can¡¯t. I¡¯m not a girl and I don¡¯t want to have to deal with it. But since I gotta deal with it, I wish it wasn¡¯t such a freaking headache. Really, I wish I had Krystal. Imaginary girl can deal with girl junk.¡±

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Blair waited for her sister¡®s rant to wrap up. But as soon as it was quiet, she heard an audible ¡±THUNK¡± from her closet. She practically jumped from the noise, a sudden sheen of sweat spreading out from the remaining jacuzzi dampness. Lacy looked over skeptically and didn¡¯t seem particularly bothered by the sound. Peering inside the closet, Blair looked around several times before judging that nothing moved, especially not the rock which was still tipped with a clear opening as she had left it. She was about to speak when Lacy ribbed her, ¡°Is your buddy upset?¡± Blair firmly closed the closet and sharply answered, ¡°Everything¡®s fine. Mind your own business. You want clothes? They¡¯re still open. You can walk over there. Quit wishing and playing games with people for the most basic things. I don¡¯t care what you wear, just don¡¯t be an overdramatic bitch about it. God!¡±

    A lot of the stuff she said were things she immediately regretted. She didn¡¯t want to face them, so she stormed off from the room without looking back. Clinging to that bitter mood made her sick. She hated maintaining anger and upset. It was irrational and so much work for just causing your own suffering. Screw drama. But she couldn¡¯t go back and say something.

    She needed to cool off. At least this roiling, private irritation brought her in touch with her manly side again. Boy Blair would be like this during an argument, and nothing had changed. Go somewhere to quietly sulk and build up the frail baseboards of a mind palace. She didn¡¯t have the patience or lasting determination to be angry at anyone or to work out or hone her deductive reasoning in puzzles. Lacy could be persistently upset though, and she figured her sister didn¡¯t want to talk to her again after that outburst.

    The only spot she really wanted to be was over on the far side of the house from their bedrooms, on the main floor. The sliding door was over there, mostly in the dark except for a few trickles of afternoon light bleeding through the blinds. She hopped up on a little platform flanked by plush pillows and a three-sided bay window. Her sliver of perfect isolation from everyone else. If only she brought her cell phone.

    Blair told herself that she could manage, she didn¡¯t need to see social crap or videos on YouTube or anything else. Dylan would never ever work anyway. Even ignoring their age differences, and the fact she misled him, she had the nagging expectation that as soon as she figured out this whole second, crazier form of puberty then the forces that be would flip everything on its head and turn her back into a boy. After that, perhaps they would continue to play havoc as she was just sent ricocheting back and forth like a pinball of fate. That was the truth of her life. Confusion, loss, anger, cowardice, and quiet sulking. She scolded one sister and made fun of the other, but she was worse than anything she claimed of them. She was useless. Persistent swallowing and massaging her face were enough to save her from sounds and tears even though her eyes got glossy.

    No one came over to see her for a long time and she wasted as much of that time as possible in meandering, self-flagellating thoughts. Until¡­

    ¡°¡­Bear?¡±

    The voice was so tiny that she half imagined it was literally squeaked out by a mouse. Standing with her head down with a slight light spill from the main room framing her shape, was her sister Lacy. And she was wearing a dress. An honest to God dress. It spread in a loose, lean shape from Lacy¡®s modestly covered shoulders to a waistband that casually enveloped her midsection. The top definitely downplayed what she had and the bottom all but wiped away the shape of her legs like a frozen version of one of those tides they tussled with. Slight pleats gave it a bit of ornamentation beyond what she imagined a farmer girl might wear in the 1800s based on a handful of westerns she recalled. The hair bun looked like it had been mended. She took a few cautious steps closer before softly saying, ¡°¡­ I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    She didn''t have tears in her eyes, she had rivers. Poor Lacy looked at the threshold of dehydration from all that was flowing out of her. She attempted to blubber her way through an explanation for her appearance and a further apology. Blair hopped up and immediately wrapped her sister up in a careful, but open hug. In return, she squeezed her in a vehement, almost exhausting Clare-style hug and cried desperately. It was like turning back the clock so many years. She let her cry as much as she needed as they sat down together beside the window.

    She thought it was a hyperbolic notion, but Lacy did manage to actually dehydrate herself from tears. She desperately finished her bottle of water from earlier and arrived at a sense of calm. And then she poked Blair in the side.

    Confused again, Blair listened as Lacy spilled a flurry of words, ¡°You dumb jerk, you can¡¯t¡­you can¡¯t get actually mad at me! You¡¯re my big brother and sister or whatever. I¡¯m the one who gets mad. I¡¯m the one who drives you all nuts and then you just sigh and say exactly what I need to hear. You know¡­ If it happened to you first, I would¡¯ve grabbed the dumb rock¡­and then heaved it out a window. We¡¯re together for life¡­ Don¡¯t scare me by being mad at me. I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± All that was wildly incoherent to Blair, but she sighed and put a hand on her sister¡¯s head.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry too. I forget you¡¯re¡­ kind of a dumdum. I need to watch out for what I say¡­ Especially because now you can literally get your tits all in a whirl.¡± She had no idea why, but that response triggered something in Lacy, and she gave a quick giggle which then spilled over into uncontrolled laughter with no chance of being contained. Lacy only managed to finally fight it off when it seemed like it might endanger her wobbly bladder¡¯s tenuous hold.

    Nothing else needed to be said between them. Lacy admitted that the dress was something from mom and she just about sent her into shock when asking about it. ¡°That robe is kind of dumb, when you think about it. With your magic¡­top comfort gift to me and some shorts underneath, I actually feel more like myself than I did sweating up in that toasty thing. I don¡¯t feel like figuring out if I can wear this tomorrow ''cause I already got some stupid stuff that I can wear, but I¡¯m totally ready to just get it over with¡­all the bull grandpa makes a big deal of.¡±

    When they were done talking to one another, Lacy heaved a big sigh and asked, ¡°You wanna play some video games? I¡¯m tired of being lost and mad and sad and confused and stupid and everything. I just want to have fun like we were supposed to have over on the beach. Let¡¯s have some better fun!¡±

 [21] A Rock & Family Vacation 21 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [21]

    Dinner that evening was actually the least ambitious meal of the day. It consisted of sandwiches made from the remaining meats they got from the Polish market along with the rest of the pizza. Some stray dried and fresh fruit from trip snacks rounded things out.

    Brooke expressed a fervent note of heartfelt apology towards her body, but this was a vacation, so her body should¡¯ve realized what it was signing up for. It was taking one for the team. Even if this whole vacation had gone well then there was still no getting around ordained obligation brunch and that was enough to make her wanna drink. She hadn¡¯t touched the bottle yet but considered having one glass with her husband once the kids had all gone to bed.

    She emerged from the Jacuzzi with peace and serenity, which was soon broken by Lacy in her swimsuit crying about how Blair hated her. Through an absolute scramble of incoherent words, she apologized for trying to get an expensive meal out of them along with a bunch of other things that Brooke couldn¡¯t decipher. But the most bewildering notion was her firm and vehement declaration that she wanted to put on a dress. Even more than the idle imagining about Clare earlier, Brooke was convinced that some nefarious fairy had spirited away her actual child. But this sure seemed to be Lacy.

    Cautiously, she led Lacy back to the master bedroom and sifted through what meager vacation offerings she could loan her. Most of them she had put aside because the girl wasn¡¯t even willing to meet her part of the way without a lot of complaints. Now, nothing was off the table. When Brooke presented the free-flowing blue dress she¡¯d worn a handful of times but really only packed in as a spare, Lacy practically ripped it from her hands and then stripped naked without the barrier of the borrowed robe. Brooke vaguely entertained the possibility that in her relaxed state she actually slipped into a parallel universe where Lacy wanted to be a girl. Sounded like one of Eliot¡®s plot proposals.

    Some of the familiar Lacy returned when she assessed herself in the mirror and looked absolutely mortified at the feminine qualities of the outfit. That didn¡¯t stop her from bolting off though. It didn¡¯t take long before whatever rift was patched up and the thick thieves were excited to play video games together. Brooke shrugged. She was becoming desensitized to the whole teenager thing. Chaos rained and the weather changed by the moment.

    Clare appeared like she¡¯d been crying recently but excitedly hugged her and recounted the myth and legend of the superhero magical castle and its destruction on the beach. Eliot flashed her look. If she wanted a boring life then she would¡¯ve stopped with Blair.

    She could¡¯ve stopped with him, no matter what input her father gave her about her body. He relished digging in that she probably would¡¯ve had a ¡°pointless¡± little girl instead of a strong man if it wasn¡¯t for him in the genetic line. It wasn¡¯t entirely spite that motivated her second child, but it was a big part. If it had been a girl, perhaps she would¡¯ve stopped there. Balance and all that. But the old man just wouldn¡¯t quit.

    Somehow, he actually seemed happy with his third grandchild. Like with the other two, he often liked to bring them in for free physicals and to see if there was anything about them that was genetically rare or, more likely, profitable. The hair thing was the closest that he got.

    At the same time, upstairs, Blair and Lacy were seated around Lacy¡®s laptop with a bountiful cornucopia of all the games she¡¯d saved for offline play. Lacy was most excited to play Hades, even though it didn¡¯t technically have multiplayer without a mod, but she wanted to play it together.

    Blair casually reminded her that she¡¯d actually finished the game a while ago. That was no complication or concern for Lacy, as she noted that it was a rogue-like game and therefore you could still do plenty of things even after getting to the ending. Blair shrugged and left the actual game choice up to her. She did enjoy video games, but more often little puzzlers and bite-size experiences that could sit comfortably on her phone screen. At least her phone was comfortably charging its way back to 100% to survive tomorrow.

    The actual plot of Hades intrigued her and made her think that mom might find some catharsis in it as well. Their mother had a few game-like things on her phone which she indulged in but often limited because of one summer when she tweaked a nerve in her wrist and had trouble typing for weeks. Blair did not look forward to reaching the decrepit age of forty.

    After a Hades run, Lacy settled on a game that allowed them to share different sides of the keyboard and battle and cooperate for dungeon rewards. It really wasn¡¯t Blair¡¯s particular cup of tea, but playing a game with her sister was worth it. And she was able to best her in the competitive element time after time to Lacy¡¯s exasperation and questioning that Blair had never played this before.

    Evening stretched slowly into night, as though the sky were as reticent as Lacy had been to change. Her nervousness returned with the prospect of showering. Casually, Blair joked about the fact that the shower had a detachable, adjustable wand. Lacy didn¡¯t quite grasp her meaning and Blair decided that she didn¡¯t want to elaborate.

    Despite her reticence to remain undressed for long, Blair noticed that Lacy spent longer than usual at her shower, certainly longer than last night before bed when they were first figuring out all the buttons and water pressure. When she emerged, she was buried with all sorts of towels barely concealing a red-hot blush on her cheek. Blair didn¡¯t wanna know, she absolutely did not want to know. She was just happy that her sister seemed in good spirits.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    As they wound down for sleep, Blair noticed that her sister was lingering on her bed while poking around supplementary game materials and generally browsing before shutting off the laptop. Once the laptop was put away though, out came the question she was expecting.

    ¡°Can I¡­ Can I share your bed tonight? It¡¯s just been a crazy day with a lot of stuff and it would help a lot to know you¡¯re nearby. I know that I did a lot of stupid stuff today and there¡¯s like a lot of ways you could say no, but I just I don¡¯t know I just¡­¡± She stumbled around her words without any clear sense of what she was supposed to say next.

    With a sigh, Blair tapped the bed and shrugged. With Blair¡¯s shower, she found it immediately conspicuous that the shower wand was detached and dangling. She didn¡¯t spend a whole lot of time in there but did hang up the wand when she was finished. It was a very pleasant shower.

    For bedclothes, she just grabbed something in her old size since nothing had yet been altered by her silly rock request. The collar was too wide, and the drawstring needed to be especially tied, but it would work for sleep.

    Clare had already gone to bed, and their parents put on a particularly serious drama while splitting a glass of the gift wine. They would only be up a little bit longer since brunch applied to them as well.

    It took mere moments before Lacy was snoozing when Blair returned to their room. The snoring right by her ear didn¡¯t help, but she was tired enough that it felt easy to just drift off. Lacy didn¡¯t try to cuddle her like a giant teddy bear, but she did lean towards her sister rather than leaning away, compared to all the previous times they¡¯d shared a bed. I started to remind Blair of a story one of the seniors told her about their Academic Decathlon trip but, before she could fully recall it, she drifted off to sleep and it was sometime later.

    She decided it was still the middle of the night judging by the dim, silvery light passing through the windows on the other side of the room. The waves below added a slow, conspicuous shimmer that danced against the shades. Without turning her head, Blair quickly scanned the room. It was darker than expected and it only took her a moment to realize why. A looming, dark, humanoid figure stood not far from the foot of the bed.

    She couldn¡¯t pick out any features. Focusing on the wall made her feel like the figure went blurry and focusing on the figure made it exist in blank isolation. At the same time, it was exceptionally difficult for her to keep her eyes open to even see that much. The figure moved, with one hand reaching out. Blair was glad that Clare wasn¡¯t around to see this, and Lacy was asleep. But her heart raced like mad, beating and clamoring against her ears to wake her up and get her to do something about this. The figure silently approached.

    It stuck to Lacy¡¯s side of the bed. Blair wanted to snarl and command it to go away, but it felt like her mouth had been completely anesthetized to the point it wasn¡¯t even there. The strongest words she could expel felt like the smallest puff of breath, despite putting all her energy behind them. The figure paused and turned towards her. It wasn¡¯t completely black, like in the creepy stories she and her brother had been reading in the morning before their mom showed up with Clare. Rather, it seemed more like a no-signal-screen gray, not chaotic and shifting like the old static their parents liked to reference, but like a single stark screenshot wrapped around an anonymous NPC.

    Her eyes dipped closed for a split second and it felt like an eternity had passed in the dreamscape, as the figure was about to graphically probe and surely dismember her sister. She could do nothing but soundlessly scream in her skull.

    ¡°Blair?¡± A voice to her left. It was mom. The door to the hallway cracked ever so slightly to allow the faintest trickle of light. Looking back the other way, there was no darkened figure and no sign it had run. Another jolt of awakening, like trying to start her brain with a pull cord, brought her up and over to mom.

    She assured Blair that she was just checking in on them and hoped they got plenty of rest for their busy morning. Blair just responded that they were fine. Mom soon left. The distant sounds of water running through the walls told her that her dad was probably taking a shower. It wasn¡¯t that late, certainly not late enough for a spooky happening like a 3 AM apparition.

    Questioning her own brain, Blair carefully poked around the room with her camera flashlight. She opened her closet and discovered once again that not even the least sock had been disturbed. The bundle with the rock was exactly the same as when she checked it earlier. The only question was whether the door had been closed all the way, as she left it, or slightly ajar. It was impossible for her to say for sure.

    The room didn¡¯t feel distinctively cold or warm, just normal. One notion did linger with her though. Her panicked and flustered feelings vanished when she jumped out of bed. It was like shutting off all those sharp sensations as swiftly as flipping a switch. Not much to go on. Instead of dwelling on the fear and uncertainty to the point it woke up her sister and required explanation, Blair went over to the bathroom and splashed her face a few times with her eyes nervously checking the long mirror just to make sure nothing creepy decided to appear in the reflection.

    Back in bed, she wavered between the commanding, self-imposed order that she absolutely needed to sleep now so that she could wake up at the right hour, and a sinking tiredness that refused to let her go. As in so many things, tiredness eventually won out.

 [22] A Rock & Family Vacation 22 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [22]

    It was morning. Lacy was up before her but seemingly only by a few minutes. They went through the motions without much of a greeting let alone a chat. After they showered, mom made sure that everything about their hair was brushed and tidy while restoring Lacy¡¯s bun and asking if Blair wanted a ponytail, which she casually accepted.

    Lacy despised the little splash of perfume she got and abhorred the roll-on deodorant for its oppressive, flowery fragrance. But, true to her promises, she did everything without a word of complaint. Despite how much progress she made from clinging to a safety blanket bathrobe to a nervous swimsuit to finally walking around in a dress, Lacy appeared immensely stressed out about the polo and shorts. She escaped her pubescent figure only by shutting her eyes. Not even the comfort of the bra could settle her.

    Blair did her best, especially by holding her hand, but Lacy slipped out of it with her fingers covered in sweat. Clare had a ribbon on her head and appeared close to her normal self despite the visible tension in her gaze. Before she forgot, Blair retrieved the mystery rock from her closet. It still hadn¡¯t done anything remarkable or unusual since the peculiar but explainable shifting of the bag. She treated it like handling a live bomb triggered by getting close to anyone else.

    Blair took the corner as far away as possible from their dad in the driver¡¯s seat. She gathered that the rock didn¡¯t have enough influence to connect atom to atom across space. That didn¡¯t necessarily rule out their father handling the bag might still be a danger, but Blair felt more confident that directly touching the rock was its modus operandi.

    Brooke made sure to pack water, hats, and assorted things they might need if they were outside or on one of the golf courses. She also included her mace and taser even though she knew it was practically impossible to use against one of the old perverts. It just made her feel better to know it was within reach.

    As they turned around in the spacious driveway and prepared to take the access road back to the main one, Brooke thought for a moment that she saw a figure somewhere in the distance wearing those distinct green uniforms. It just turned out to be a tall bush. She sighed and rubbed her forehead as they sped across the gravel. Eliot had a brief encounter of his own with a lanky, spindly figure he nearly mistook for the creepy man at the table. Once again, it was just a plant with an unusual shape.

    However, it was only Blair who noticed two men in a white van wearing green uniforms, just like her father described yesterday, and a desperately tall figure in a disheveled business suit lingering far behind them in an alleyway. She thought about pointing them out, but they didn¡¯t seem to be looking at their car and Blair figured her parents didn¡¯t need the added stress. Before they drove away, she tilted up her phone and took a couple of shots as proof they were there and to catch the van¡¯s license plate.

    Broad Street was richly decorated with sycamore and birch trees flanking the broad sidewalks and providing plenty of shade. A variety of outdoor plazas, surf shops, and craft breweries, along with an eye-opening lingerie store front flanked the narrow two-lane road dense with ambling cars. Old theaters and dusty bookstores caught their eyes, along with a delightful, tiny wind toy shop with fluttering fake fish clustered in breeze-teased schools. Banks, barbers, and lounges filled out the rest of what they could see as the hill took them to a residential section.

    After several blocks, it was easy to find the painted stone sign for the Arcadian Fellows Country Club. A winding, smooth road looped to the right and then to the left to finally arrive. Large black gates covered the front with a cartoon top-hatted figure logo. Valet parking was available. All Brooke needed to do was give her father¡¯s name and the man out front rushed over and help them. Eliot casually tipped him, and he accepted it without complaint.

    The fa?ade of the main building looked like an overzealous imitation of Greco-Roman style. Looming, ivory columns with garish colonnades earned a scowl of contempt from Lacy. Blair squinted her eyes at the blazing reflections. Clare remarked simply, ¡°This place is so weird. I hope brunch is good.¡±

    Brooke checked that Blair secured the rock in the inconspicuous bag. He shrugged. None of them knew what secured or safe meant for the thing.

    The lobby appeared suitably over the top with ornate glass chandeliers and gold inlays. Several shops announced themselves to the left while the restaurant, dining hall, and social room were to the right. Men¡¯s and women¡¯s lockers were also split, and the bar was straight ahead. Signs directed them to the brunch, which adjoined the dining hall and restaurant.

    A mustachioed host greeted them at the door and took their information. At the mention of the Muller name, he softly clapped his hands and smiled. ¡±Why yes, the Shore family. Mr. Muller called ahead to let us know that we should be expecting you. I believe he sent you documents about your visit today. From what he told me, y¡¯all are to represent him officially for his close personal friends, business associates, and acquaintances who are also friends of ours. Am I correct?¡±

    Brooke did her best to tighten her lips to hide the grinding of her teeth before she responded, ¡°Yes. My father informed us ahead of time.¡±

    The man nodded and crooked a smile. ¡°Well, that¡¯s quite splendid. Now I¡¯m not saying y¡¯all are going to be facing any hardship. These gentlemen are kindly. Quite kindly. They¡¯re just here to be social and have a relaxing day. Treat them as you would your grandparents. Oh¡­ let me check something a moment¡­¡±

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Now, Brooke had to tell herself that just because she had certain encounters with perverted men at the country club where she grew up, didn¡¯t mean that these men were cut from the same cloth. It was just extremely unlikely with the kind of people that her father liked to keep company with. And every freaking coy word out of this scumbag¡®s hairy face made her want to not only punch him but also shove his hand down into Blair¡®s bag. She managed a long, careful breath to prevent her emotional spot fire from bursting into an inferno.

    Looking around, she felt shaded terror along with quiet relief that Clare had no clue about this place. Lacy was suitably skeptical and annoyed by everything around her, especially the fact that she had to wear out in the open. Blair showed a reflection of Brooke¡¯s own trepidation and irritation. She only had her suspicion, but she feared Blair encountered something like this when he was young.

    As yet an only child, her father invited Blair to an event like this, also out of obligation. She remembered plenty from her childhood, even though she preferred to forget and had convinced herself there was no way her father would lead his grandchildren into that. But there were several hours when she was away from her son. He said that he only talked to a strange old man about the oddest things, but Brooke knew the signs. The cruel bastard did it again, all to get in good with a bunch of fucking perverts with a lot of money to burn in his business.

    The temptation to cause a scene and storm out rose by the minute as the host finished consulting his notes and remarked, ¡°Pardon me, but I was informed your party consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Shore and their three sons with quite distinct appellations, if you¡¯ll pardon my terminology. A Mr. Blair Shore, Mr. Lacy Shore, and Mr. Clare Shore. Am I incorrect?¡±

    This brought a smile to Brooke¡¯s face as much as it flustered their host. ¡°You have their names correct. These are my children and I do hope they¡¯re welcome at this country club.¡±

    The gentleman cleared his throat and quickly dabbed a handkerchief on his forehead. ¡°Of course, of course! I¡¯m just confused and overwhelmed and immensely apologetic that I made such a grievous error. Young ladies, it is my privilege to welcome you to the club and my distinct, sincere apologies to have, as they say, gendered you incorrectly. Although I am sadly at a loss for a more elegant way to express how contrite I am at this error. As a courtesy, it would be my honor to offer you all vouchers for any snack or drink item from the commissary during your stay.¡±

    He passed out some papers to each of them. Clare delighted as she read all the different foods she could redeem this for. Lacy wore a bitter pout along with a faint blush but gladly took the paper from him. Blair glanced over at their mom and wiggled the bag with the stone while raising her eyebrows. Brooke gave a subtle shake of her head and said nothing.

    Clearing his throat, the host continued, ¡°This could throw quite a wrench in things. By this I mean we endeavor to be prepared for the nuanced needs and qualities of all our guests. But we shall do our best to adapt. Please follow me and we should be opening up brunch at any moment. Feel free to indulge your heart¡¯s content and then we can continue with the rest of the agenda your grandfather has laid out.¡± Brooke desperately wanted to tell him to go stuff the agenda up his ass, but she again held her thoughts back.

    They were quite literally some of the first people to enter followed by a gradual flow through the other doorway. Chefs in aprons and white hats stood before a long table decked out in food warmers and ice trays. Brooke noticed the posted price for the buffet. Even the kids¡¯ tier surpassed the more expensive meals they¡¯d ever had. Fortunately, the host assured them that their grandfather would be covering the bill. Brooke appreciated that, but also understood the cost.

    Clare went for the made-to-order custom omelets while her father instead tried the make-your-own waffles. Blair had to wait a little while for cr¨ºpes with the same perk while Brooke decided on the eggs benedict and grabbed an assortment of bagels, fresh fruit, and yogurt mixed with granola. She would come back later for the salad and shrimp and filled a glass of fresh orange juice even while she eyeballed the mimosas.

    Brunch was a strikingly calm affair. Everyone smiled, ate, and lightly chatted, mostly about food, a little bit about how swanky and fancy this place was, and debating what they should get with their voucher. None of the pressing matters of the day or the last twenty-four hours came up. Sure, Brooke could see Lacy¡®s visible discomfort about her clothes when she wasn¡¯t stuffing eggs in her mouth. Blair seemed to scrutinize the entire room, as though she were resolving who were the potential culprits for some crime that hadn¡¯t yet been committed. And Clare was quietly dazzled by the choice and the multitude of the food. She had a tall glass of chocolate milk.

    They each went back for seconds, which delayed the inevitable. But, eventually, the inevitable arrived. Their host checked in on them and made sure they had had a pleasant meal. Then he asked if he might lead the young ladies over to the social room to fulfill a meet and greet with their grandfather¡¯s business associates. Brooke just wanted to scream a terse ¡°NO¡± while she paid the damn bill without any obligation to her fucked up father. With only a vague sense of why they had to go and who they had to talk to, the girls slowly got up from their seats.

    Before leading them away to places and people unknown, the host quickly raised the finger and spun around to address their mother, ¡°Pardon me again, but I was told that Mr. Vincent Muller will be visiting in just a few hours. I quite look forward to meeting him and resolving these niggling little issues that I¡¯m sure he can fix...¡±

 [23] A Rock & Family Vacation 23 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [23]

    Her father was coming here. Brooke felt suddenly ill in a way that spread throughout her entire body. Simultaneously, a blazing, roaring fury consumed every sliver of thought. She could imagine a handful of reasons as to why he would show up and none of them were good. Eliot coughed into his orange juice.

    Following a deep breath, Brooke responded to the host, ¡°I see.¡±

    The girls all turned to listen, with Blair paying special attention. But nothing more was said.

    At the door, they made a left and continued down a hallway with all the same ostentation they had seen so far. Blair noticed the occasional security camera along the way. Most were positioned high on the ceiling, looking down. A few pretended to be round decorations. But soon this section of the club had a clear absence of cameras. She pulled the bag with the rainbow obsidian rock closer to her.

    It wasn¡¯t long before they arrived at a modest door, mostly wooden, with some light silver inlays. The host beckoned them inside. The interior most resembled one of those fancy dens from historical dramas. Blair hadn¡¯t seen a lot of them, but she recognized the aesthetic. Old-style couches with claw feet and maroon cushions spread across the room. The carpet was a worn shade of green that looked like grass that had been groomed but not watered. A library section adorned one wall with an empty fireplace and lots of cabinets. Blair put an arm to keep Lacy and Clare from going too far. They stopped just a few paces inside and she glared at the host.

    The man with the mustache looked ruffled at Blair¡®s expression. He cleared his throat and tightened his hand along his side. It looked like a fist, but he kept it low.

    ¡°No need to be tense. This is the social room. Just find yourself a comfortable spot. It¡¯ll be just a minute.¡°

    Clare¡¯s eyes danced around in concern and confusion at the palpable tension. ¡°Is someone going to hurt us¡­?¡±

    The host flinched and frowned with shock and dismay. ¡°Why, my dear, absolutely not! There are simply some gentlemen who know your grandfather and would like to meet you. They simply want to talk. And you¡¯re simply here to greet them as friends. Nothing more to it.¡°

    Despite that simple reduction, several questions occurred to Clare, mostly variations of ¡°why¡± but the host hustled away before she could figure out the right words for them. The three of them were left alone in that huge room. Blair checked the windows. but they had iron bars on the inside and no clear way of opening. The doors on the far ends opened up to a small study and a walk-in closet. The only way out was the way they came in.

    ¡°What''s happening, Blair? I don¡¯t understand.¡± Clare sounded on the verge of tears, but her elder sister gave her an encouraging look. Blair actually figured it all out when he was young. Innately, he understood something was very wrong about the way the ¡°gentlemen¡° his grandfather knew were cozying up to him, as close as parents but strangely different. Nothing ¡°happened¡± that he could point to but, when distressing clues emerged, he wanted to punch his grandfather almost as badly as his mother did. Lacy was quiet and reserved, more focused on the discomfort of her outfit than anything else. Blair struggled in her thoughts for how to make it clear to Clare in a way that wouldn¡¯t worry her or go to unsettling places.

    ¡°What I¡¯m about to tell you, you cannot say to anyone outside this room. Especially not mom or dad. No fooling around, no joking, you just have to promise it.¡±

    For emphasis, Lacy looked over and brought up the other promises and made a fist and a tearing motion. That was help Blair didn¡¯t really need right then but she reiterated her seriousness. Clare already appeared absolutely terrified in a way comparable only to her nightmares of the dark man. This wasn¡¯t going the way Blair wanted, but she would have to work with it. Softly, Clare nodded her head and gave a tense gulp.

    ¡°Okay. All right. Oh boy. I don¡¯t share this lightly. This is very serious. You know Pepe Le Pew?¡± Blair¡¯s mind went through countless iterations of the idea of adults asking her to do things or the terror felt during an injection, but that was more of a Lacy problem. Invoking the dark man wasn¡¯t gonna work. And there was no safe harbor analogy she could work from. This would have to do it.

    Clare brushed her hair back and dipped her head a few times before responding, ¡°The skunk?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Remember how he would get really close to the cat with the accidental stripe and wiggle his eyes and say¡­ romantic things? And grab her and smooch her all over?¡±

    ¡°Y-y-yeah¡­? Why?¡± Clare knew their parents had gone back and forth about whether she should watch the show because of it being decades older and with a ¡°different style¡±. She liked the animation and thought it was funny how Pepe always managed to show up ahead of time. The endings were always silly. But Clare had clue how a cartoon skunk could apply to meeting a bunch of old guys.

    Before Blair could really set it up and present it, Lacy blurted out, ¡°We¡¯re the cat and they¡¯re the romantic skunks. They want to grab us and do all sorts of gross things to us.¡±

    Blair did her best not to get mad at that outburst as she added, ¡°That¡¯s the worry. Because grandpa knows people who are¡­uhh¡­¡±

    With a reserved whisper, Clare actually said the Word. The P word. This threw Blair off and even raised Lacy¡®s eyebrows. ¡°You know¡­ That word? For this sort of thing¡­?¡±

    Clare averted her gaze and softly cleared her throat. ¡°I heard mom and dad talking about it when they were watching some streaming thing. When they were asleep, I watched some of it. And then I just googled it, but I was scared to look at it. So, they ARE going to hurt us?¡±

    Blair immediately shook her head. ¡°No. None of them are going to do anything you don¡¯t want. I swear on my life as your¡­ brother and Everything I have that we¡¯re gonna make them regret ever coming here. I don¡¯t care what grandpa thinks¡­ He¡¯s an asshole. And whatever happens, it¡¯s going to be okay.¡±

    For all that talk, Blair also understood that there really weren''t a lot of things she could do without risking unfortunate consequences for the entire family. That was probably how their mom felt. She didn¡¯t blame her, but she did wish that mom had told grandpa to take a hike a long time ago. They didn¡¯t need fancy houses along the beach and luxurious brunches or private schools or video games. When grandpa showed up, she could only imagine shoving that rock right in his face.

    Clare took a deep breath and nodded to her sister. Blair reiterated the same protection vow to Lacy, who vehemently responded in kind. They were going to look out for each other. An ominous lull followed until the door creaked open again and the host beckoned several figures through. Slowly, three older men made their way into the room.

    Stolen story; please report.

    The one at the lead rested on his mahogany cane before scurrying through. He wore a pink, collared shirt with gray pants and adjusted his thick glasses before surveying the area. He had a strange, dark, nearly black ring on his finger. He was bald in places with stark white hair like a cotton ball awkwardly spread across his head. His mouth dangled open, looking like the preparation for a yawn. Just behind him stood a mostly bald man with reddish and white hair concentrated around the sides of his head and leading down into a full puff of a beard. A pair of tan shades rested atop his head. He had on cream-colored shorts and a jean polo. He also wore a similar ring to the other man. Blair pondered whether it was some sort of fraternal item.

    The last figure to enter arrived with a clacking, rattling gray walker supporting him and drawing lines against the frail carpet. His head had a narrow, tall shape. And each of his features appeared vaguely exaggerated with his massive ears verging on elephant flaps. He also had the same ring. He wore a black and white checkered polo and tan slacks as he methodically pressed his way in.

    In Blair¡¯s head, she could easily conjure up some figures in the public eye that reminded her of how these men looked. Mostly politicians who had run for president, tech moguls, and characters from cartoons. But she didn¡¯t want to go there. Comparing them would either humanize these insects or degrade those figures. Lacy hopped up from where she was sitting and joined her sisters. Together, they stood in a line. While Blair held Clare¡¯s left hand, Lacy moved over and protected her on the other side. Looking down in the bag, Blair was briefly convinced that a shimmer of light had come from it. But checking it revealed no way she could¡¯ve seen anything of the sort.

    The old man entering the room under his own power without a cane or walker gave a quick cough and offered up, ¡°Well, good morning. Arthur, would you be comfortable over there? Steady on, Chester. You¡¯ve got this. Dear ladies, if you would be so kind, we just need a quick hand.¡±

    Even though she didn¡¯t have her iron giant muscles anymore, Blair stepped forward and was able to provide more than enough support for the man with the cane to find a place to sit down. Lacy cautiously approached the man with the walker and didn¡¯t need to do much to guide him to a spot on one of the long couches. The last man creaked at his knees but was able to find a separate spot on his own.

    ¡°Oh dear me, my apologies. Thank you very much. That was quite a meal. Should not have indulged that much. Already feel like I¡¯m about to pop and it¡¯s not even afternoon.¡± The man with the cartoonish ears rubbed at his eyes and kept a hand near his stomach. Blair concluded that was Chester according to what the one man said, so the other had to be Arthur, which left only the most mobile old man yet unnamed.

    Before departing, the host clasped his hands together in front of him and inquired if there would be anything else. Arthur rubbed at his eyes and shook his hand expressively, like he was trying to vigorously dry it. ¡°That¡¯s quite enough, my good man. Is everything packed away as requested? All the entertainment?¡±

    Adamantly, the host confirmed that ¡°the entertainment is all here¡±. Blair was honestly just waiting for them to be alone to act. Share around this mysterious old rock and wait as the trio dropped off into a life-changing slumber. The host didn¡¯t lock the door when leaving, which Blair kept in mind if they had to run.

    Silence passed amongst the group for several long seconds with the sisters standing as tall and still as statues. Clare glanced around, as though hunting for some unseen weapon she could grab.

    ¡°It appears Vincent has been a bit tricky lately. Your dear grandfather. Well, no need to stand on ceremony or be fretful about it. Come along and we might as well pass the time cordially. How was brunch for everyone? I thought the waffles were marvelous. Made just right. What were your favorites?¡±

    Blair scrutinized those comments, but also urged her sisters to not act too stiff. Conversation about the meal ate up a few minutes, especially with Lacy detailing everything. Arthur gesticulated with his cane while Chester clasped his hands and moved them around, as though preparing for an imaginary ball game. The third man crouched on occasion and looked consumed by quiet thought.

    During a lull, the mystery man postulated, ¡°Lose me once, I¡¯ll come back stronger. Lose me twice, I¡¯m there no longer. What am I?¡± He directed his attention towards Blair but cast his eyes over the others as well. It was a riddle, Blair immediately realized. Chester chuckled and shook his head. Arthur put a finger to his mouth and rubbed at his rough hand, as though that might reveal the answer. Ultimately, it didn¡¯t take Blair long to arrive at her conclusion, ¡°Teeth.¡±

    That earned a slap on his knee from the unnamed man. ¡°Marvelous! Very good. Well, looks like we¡¯re in good company. You don¡¯t know how many young professionals¡­ supposed young professionals, twist themselves into pretzel knots trying to deduce what I mean when I ask such questions. Or they laugh, throw up their hands, and don¡¯t even bother taking a guess. So disappointing.¡±

    He revealed his name was Silas and invited Blair to engage in a bit of logical scrutiny, for he allegedly knew more puzzles than anyone else his age. ¡°I¡¯ve been acquiring them for near eighty years now and the poor things need a bit of dusting off before they fade away."

    After that, Chester pressed Lacy about her interests. Flippantly, she declared extreme sports and video games. With delight, he spread out his hands and announced that not only was he a producer on some of the early underground videos to feature young skaters and adventurous wakeboarders, but he founded and owned a small video game studio. Frowning, Lacy admitted that she did recognize some of the titles they released. Arthur wasn¡¯t bombastic and didn¡¯t press his interest but casually brought up board games and the fact that this room had several of his favorites squirreled away, along with ones he was also responsible for. Clare knew that she should¡¯ve been on guard amongst these people, but she was also intrigued about what Agricola was.

    Blair slipped on a friendly face for the logical conundrums and quirky riddles Silas offered her, but she remained tensely aware of everything around them. There was no way that these three old men just happened to share casual interests. It fit together far too neatly. She knew this had been planned.

    Fortunately, as they sat down near the old men, they kept their hands to themselves. There were no obscene motions or implications. But she was watching. If any of them so much as made the slightest gesture towards her younger sisters, then she had the ultimate protection.

 [24] A Rock & Family Vacation 24 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [24]

    None of it quite went how any of them were expecting. Blair anticipated that Silas would stroke her hair or place a hand on her thigh, tracing towards somewhere. Or she might feel his breath press against her neck during a quiet moment. These were perverts, after all, here because of them. The fact that they held off confused Blair, but she didn¡¯t let her diligence lapse.

    She kept a clear distance between her and Silas as he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and squinted at the screen. The old man smirked and remarked, ¡°If you¡¯ll forgive me. I used to be able to recite puzzlers by the bucketful before running out. Now, I sadly require notes. This one is a little more intricate and it¡¯s only fair that I pass it along accurately.¡±

    The puzzle involved one thousand wine bottles and rats. Silas apologized for the imagery. Chester had a coy smile about this one and inquired if he could offer his own explanation. Silas waved him off and urged Blair to take it up first. Considering those particular factors, Blair had the sneaking suspicion that math might be involved. Not her best subject. The question was how many rats would it take to go through a thousand wine bottles testing them for poison.

    The problem was the number of rats might diminish because of poisoning, therefore leaving not enough test subjects. Blair was able to arrive at a final number of ten with some basic estimation but wasn¡¯t able to go through the complete solution. It was here that Chester and Silas offered up their thoughts on binary calculation. They worked from N and tabulated things that flew so far over Blair¡®s head that the best she could manage was nodding and smiling. The fact that ten places could store 1023 positions intrigued Blair.

    Silas looked over her with a wistful smile and remarked, ¡°I tried this once with my granddaughter and she gave me exactly that same look. I¡¯ve always done my best to make sure my girls and their girls have a basic understanding of mathematics and logic because it¡¯s so easy for someone with a little knowledge to confuse someone with a little less. For young women especially. Speaking of daughters though, that would be an excellent segue into my next riddle.¡±

    This one appeared much more reasonable to Blair on the surface. Two men are talking about their daughters, and one tries to get the other to guess their ages based on the product of the numbers, which was 72. As a second hint, the puzzler directs the other man to his house number, saying that is the sum of them. Blair took down the first number, which was given, but frowned when the house number was not provided, but rather the fact that the one man couldn¡¯t guess their ages simply from that information. So, there was a final hint, to which Silas couldn¡¯t resist smirking when providing it, ¡°The eldest daughter likes strawberry ice cream.¡±

    Instantly, Blair dipped the pencil she was using to take down the clues and placed a hand to her forehead. Silas howled with amusement while begging her forgiveness. Meanwhile, Arthur presented the rules of Agricola to Clare, and she wondered if it was similar to Rune Factory or Stardew Valley. Chester eagerly remarked that both those were delightful. Lacy¡¯s stiffness around Chester started to wane when he urged her to retrieve something stashed away in the other room. It was a PlayStation 5 with two controllers.

    On Chester¡®s instructions, she pulled back some panels and revealed a massive flat-screen TV with several slots to place the console. Of course, the first game that Lacy asked for was Hades, along with some of the shooters she knew well. Chester knew of it but wondered if it might be a bit too ¡°adult¡° for polite company. Blair had to stop herself from laughing. Instead, he proposed Human: Fall Flat, a goofy multiplayer title with floppy squishy Pillsbury Doughboy characters. Lacy recognized it from videos on YouTube but hadn¡¯t tried it before.

    Listing out the different products possible, Blair stared at her list before the key detail finally occurred to her, ¡°Two of the sums are identical, therefore that¡¯s why he couldn¡¯t guess. But only one of them has an eldest¡­¡± She circled and presented her solution as Silas smiled with delight.

    These little games continued with several stumping Blair before Silas walked her through the logic portions. They eventually joined the board game after an initial round of practice and explanation. On the screen, the only action anywhere close to impropriety occurred as Lacy¡¯s character throttled Chester into a train and then off a cliff. At some point, Clare glanced at her older sister with confusion and a hand held up, as if gesturing to the situation. It was the one puzzle that completely eluded her. Not even for a moment had any of the old men done anything that might be interpreted as suggestive or crude. Had they read the situation wrong?

    Then, it hit Blair, and everything made sense. Especially how flustered the host was when they arrived, and he didn¡¯t anticipate they would be girls. If she needed confirmation, it came when Arthur lingered on the child card for his farm. The cartoon image of a boy in farm clothes got the old man to sigh. He thanked the girls for their company, but I spoke briefly about young men. ¡°Sometimes, when you get older, you need to get in touch with a certain energy bolstered by young lads to truly remind the body and soul what living is all about. That boundless spirit and chaotic energy. Not to speak ill of any of you girls. But you know that boys are a different sort. Sometimes, I even feel so separate from the other lads.¡±

    Blair did her best not to show a visceral reaction to this. She had to be grateful that what happened to them happened. Or else these creepy old guys would have their hands all over as they talked about sucking up energy. It wasn¡¯t so much relief as finding out you¡¯re not the sort of meal a predator is interested in. She figured just bringing out the rock would be fine. Not using it on anyone, not yet, and not without cause.

    As an explanation for why she did it, she noted the pieces for the quarry looked rather underwhelming, so she prefaced, ¡°Why don¡¯t we use this?¡±

    Arthur leaned forward to take a good look at it with his eyes squinted and wearing a casual smile. ¡°Oh, would you look at that! Quite a remarkable piece! Unfortunately, I can¡¯t say more than that. But¡­Chester? Don¡¯t you collect minerals?¡± Looking over his shoulder, Chester paused the game and craned his neck to get a better look.

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s lovely! Reminds me of an oil slick, although I prefer this to that.¡± He leaned on his walker and gradually made his way over to carefully appraise the rock with a glance. Blair held her breath as Chester reached across the board and picked up the rock from where she had left it.

    She waited for some sign of shock or surprise from the man, but he turned it around a few times and concluded, ¡°I believe it to be a kind of fire or rainbow obsidian. Relatively rare, I must say. Typically, only found in Oregon. Could do with a nice polish. Appears to have a striking amount of magnetite and more hematite than I would expect. Lovely color. Where did you find it?"

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Blair gestured to her sister Clare and noted that she found it along with the beach not more than two miles from here. Chester raised his eyebrows and appraised the rock again. ¡°I¡¯m going to assume you¡¯re not teasing me but, in my opinion, this sort of rock has only been found in the Pacific Northwest. Definitely must be a transplant or perhaps tagged along with builders or materials. Quite a quandary.¡±

    Before he put it down, Blair remarked that it always gave them a little static shock whenever they touched it. Chester chuckled and noted, ¡°Oh? Bit of a joy buzzer? Well, not this time. Arthur?¡± He lobbed the rock toward the other old man, and he just managed to cradle it without dropping it.

    ¡°OH! Confound it! I¡¯m thinking about my next move! Darn near bruised my wrist. Silas? I present it to you with fair warning rather than just YEEEEET, as you kids say.¡±

    Silas held it in his fingers and examined it before passing it back to Blair. He noted that none of them felt a shock, but surmised, ¡°Since it was at the seaside, that could explain the difference. The humidity is slightly lower in these hills.¡±

    Blair eagerly accepted this explanation and put the rock back in the bag. She had no clue why it hadn¡¯t worked. They should¡¯ve received a shock, and something should¡¯ve started progressing in them. Unless maybe the location did matter. Or it was out of charge. Or only worked within a certain age range. Though none of those possibilities felt clear or reasonable. Lacy got up from the game and announced, ¡°I need to use the restroom. But I don¡¯t know where it is.¡±

    In this, Silas stretched to his feet and offered to direct her. It came as a relief to Blair that they weren¡¯t a captive audience for these men. but the host returned and announced that he would guide Lacy the rest of the way.

    Lacy found herself briskly irritated at the guy lingering right behind her shoulder. She couldn¡¯t really juke out of the way of him but made sure to put as much distance between them as possible in the hallway. It was bad enough that she had to be out dressed like this, but then also stuck with three old guys who weren¡¯t perving on them only because of this horrible vacation, as she had figured out about the same time as Blair.

    She really did have to use the restroom. Although she could probably hold it, she wasn¡¯t interested in making a gross mistake. The nearest restroom wasn¡¯t too far from the women¡¯s locker and part of Lacy¡®s brain considered screaming bloody murder and acting peak girly while saying a child slavery or abduction ring was going on. But she feared everyone else could be in on it.

    The restroom was somehow starkly cold despite the blistering heat outside. Her tummy gave some angry gurgles, as though it had as much to complain about being here as she did. Lacy grabbed the disabled stall at the edge of the room because it seemed like it was getting at least a little bit of warmth and had a sense of privacy without open windows to look through. Before anything else, she made absolutely sure that the paper dispenser had both rolls, they spun out easily, and there were covers for the seat.

    With a deep breath, she sat down and shivered. Infernal parts of this strange body gave unwanted reactions as she wrapped her arms around her chest. Sniffling, she grabbed a length of toilet paper, which hardly even met the requirement of one ply. She coughed and cleared her throat. Her hands felt achingly dry despite the humidity. The paper did more to scratch and irritate her nose than clear away the sniffles as she blearily whimpered, ¡°Can somebody help me? I don¡¯t wanna feel this way. Help¡­¡±

    The words were desperately so quiet that if she had missed someone on the way in, she could avoid the absolute embarrassment of some random woman thinking she could actually help her. She didn¡¯t need that. But she needed to say it out loud. Like an invocation.

    At least, this wretched brunch hadn¡¯t been as bad as their parents or any of them feared. The old guys treated them more like respected dolls than objects of fancy. But they were still just here for their entertainment. It disgusted her.

    At the same time, she could imagine it happening more. The boys at school looking at her and seeing someone she didn¡¯t feel. Considering her gross development, she was terrified THAT would be all they would see. After all, that was all she saw sometimes in certain girls and especially in her vision of Krystal. But being a part of it was different.

    The clothes weren¡¯t quite as terrifying as she initially expressed. The problem was how much they showed and clarified the awful truth beneath. A robe had ambiguity, heck even a dress had ambiguity. The clothes she had on were inherently truthful. They showed her slim girly legs and acknowledged the fungal mold squishy projection exploding out of her chest. It was impossible to feel comfortable when the raw exposure of what she had become was so viciously displayed.

    Back at the room, Blair managed to acquire her first child in the game and gained more movement options. But her mind was entirely focused on puzzling out the deepest mystery of why the rock only worked on them and hadn¡¯t shown any other signs of activity. She soon realized that it was literally looking her in the face as Arthur rested his hands on the table.

    ¡°Those rings you wear, are they special?¡± She tried to make her tone sound casual or like a girl asking about something pretty, but it still felt stiff and obvious.

    Arthur turned his hand and Silas also looked at his own ring as they both glanced over at Chester, who set the controllers aside till Lacy returned. Silas answered for the group, ¡°It was a gift. Some sort of invigorating ring. Bit of poppycock. Like those silly balance bracelet energy things. But never can hurt to try, placebo and all that, and they have a nice look.¡± Blair was well aware that asking any of them to remove the ring and then attempt to hold the rock would be desperately suspicious.

    Glancing down, she had a new quandary though as the rock suddenly appeared to lack much of its usual luster. The oil-slick shine and hint of radiance had dulled to the point that it more closely resembled simple obsidian.

    Back in the restroom, Lacy loathed every inch of the paper provided as she uncomfortably used it to get clean. She swore to never again use any public toilets, even though she recognized that was a promise she could never keep. Opening the door to her stall, she almost jumped back in fright at seeing someone else standing in the bathroom with her.

    The figure stood over by the faucets with her hands stretched halfway out, as though she feared to turn the knob. It was a girl who didn¡¯t appear much older than her. Shoulder length, strange hair spread over her shoulders. The hair had the color and presence of storm clouds with deep sections of gray bundled in with foaming white and heavy black. She wore a top that looked rather like a sweater with little speckles of light similar to Clare¡¯s star field dress but with sections of black and violet and matching shorts. Her skin was starkly pale, and her lips seemed to lack any pinkness.

    The strange girl wore a flat expression as she spoke, ¡°Hello. Call me Krystal.¡±

 [25] A Rock & Family Vacation 25 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [25]

    Lacy immediately froze before taking her next step and leaned back in concern.

    ¡°¡­.Krystal? Why?¡± She understood that was a peculiar question, but this girl presented a peculiar notion by stating that she be called this name rather than it being her actual name. Lacy had no idea what to think, but she was sure that someone was trying to mess with her.

    The strange girl cocked her head and peered at Lacy as though she were an interesting decorative plant. ¡°Would you prefer a different name?¡± If this were a normal situation, she imagined the girl would crack a smile to show that she was just joking. Instead, her face was like a mannequin¡¯s or a robot''s.

    ¡°I would prefer to leave¡±, Lacy firmly resolved. She rushed over to the nearest sink, splashed her hands quickly with water, and then tore off a section of paper as she dashed around the weird girl and towards the door. She turned to face Lacy at each interval but didn¡¯t motion toward her or do anything else.

    Pushing urgently on the door, Lacy expected to enter out into the hallway. Instead, she found herself having entered the bathroom again as if two identical women¡¯s restrooms in mirrored positions were attached to one another through the doorway. Glancing behind and over at the girl, Lacy squeezed a tight breath into her lungs and shook her head. The doorway actually revealed a sliver of the hallway as it rattled back and forth and settled closed.

    She pushed again and again through the opening, just winding up dizzy. Panting and confused, Lacy plopped down against the wall next to the trashcan.

    ¡°Why? What do you want? What is this?¡± Lacy endeavored to try and tuck everything into her meager clothes. But it was even less fruitless than her effort on the beach. The robe may have had its concerns, but at least there was enough material to hide behind.

    Glancing at the sinks and over at the towel dispenser, the girl methodically mimicked what Lacy had done with a quarter of the speed. When she finished with the paper, she tossed the crunched-up ball at the waste bin but missed the opening. This was the first thing that brought any level of expression from her, a frown. Retrieving the paper, she held it over the opening and turned her hand to let it drop. Lacy had no idea what was going on and why this psychic-powered head case decided to pick on her. She already had enough nonsense going on.

    Slowly, the girl crouched in front of her and looked her over. With careful effort, she reproduced the position Lacy was in. ¡°I¡¯m strong enough now. I want you to be happy. Here¡­boop.¡±

    Lacy made a faint puff of confusion, which turned into a gasp as the strange girl touched a finger to her nose. The contact felt like a pop of static electricity. Internally, Lacy flinched. Tyler used to do this. He would find the closest shag carpet and poke an electric shock in whatever place hurt the worst. One time he even got him around the eye. It hurt so much for several days. Even now, when he sometimes rubbed his eye, the skin around there felt sensitive. She¡­

    Blinked. A weird moment passed. It felt like when she sometimes nodded off while watching something on her phone and woke up an instant later, feeling as though she slept for much longer. Gradually, Lacy got to her feet. She scanned around with quick concern. The weird girl who claimed to be Krystal or whatever was absolutely gone. Opening up all the stalls revealed no one hiding and the only window was too small and high up to do anything but cast a frail warmth against the frigid toilets.

    Bewildered, she checked herself in the mirror. She thought her hair looked too severe in a tight bun. Too much like a crusty old librarian. It would look soo much cuter either down or braided into a clean ponytail. Unfortunately, she didn¡¯t have anything with her to provide the TLC it needed. She brushed off her polo and fixed the collar. The shirts were fine but she kind of wished that a pretty skirt was among the clothes they preferred. Didn¡¯t movies that Blair enjoyed, like Caddyshack, have big fluffy skirts on the girls? That was the 1980s though.

    Before she could put any more thought into it, a knock came at the door and vibrated it back and forth gently. ¡°Miss? Just checking, I need to walk you back. Are you alright in there?¡± Lacy blushed and smoothed out her clothes again before offering, ¡°Ready! Sorry!¡±

    She hastily emerged through the door with her hands firmly at her sides. She wasn¡¯t fond of this mustachioed weirdo. He wore a skeptical look and she retorted, ¡°Girl issues. Very important.¡± That flustered him and earned a nervous wave. ¡°Of course, sorry. Apologies. Immense apologies. I was only thinking about your safety. If you would, the gentleman won¡¯t detain you for much longer, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    Lacy kept as much irritated distance from the host as possible while following his directions. All around her were people coming and going from the lockers to the sports areas to the bar to actually setting out on the green for a round. It was intensely frustrating to be led around like a horse. She huffed her displeasure and made sure to dawdle as much as possible along the way. Whatever interesting adornments on the walls, curious happenings with club members, and tidying up after the brunch, received plenty of her distracted attention.

    When Lacy inquired as to where their parents were, the host speculated about a variety of options offered, including a massage parlor. In response, Lacy gently and covertly massaged her shoulder near her bra and scowled.

    Back in the room, Blair had taken what time between her turns to widely speculate about the nature of the rings that all three of their ¡®guests¡¯ wore. The possibility of coincidence strained Blair¡¯s reasoning. They all just so happened to be wearing rings that appeared to nullify the effects of the rock or at the very least had a grounding effect. Although, she remembered from their dad¡¯s efforts several years ago to construct his own PC, partially as research for his writings and otherwise to have a better home for those works, that the wrist strap required a clip. It seemed highly unlikely that a simple ring could absorb electrostatic discharge without an outlet for that energy.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    That made it impossible. However, that didn¡¯t eliminate all the improbabilities. She took a step back and challenged the assumptions she was making. Just because the discharges from the rock had a feel like an electrostatic shock didn¡¯t necessarily mean they were the same as them. In Blair¡®s experience, it felt pretty close. That assumption also required that the rings be something more than a simple electrical grounding agent.

    Her best efforts at prying out further details about the jewelry involved laying on the feminine curiosity celebrating their minimalist beauty. She just had to know where you could get something like it. Maybe she put it on a little too thick, as Silas looked notably disappointed in her jewelry preoccupation over the intellectual stimulation of the game and the random riddles he interjected between rounds. She knew well the variation on the fox and the raft but was delighted that it was slightly more restrictive than other iterations, adding a certain amount of time until sunset when moves could be made.

    Lacy returned without comment or ceremony, but Blair recognized something was different right off. She waved quite animatedly at them. It was something that she might do in private as a joke, but it felt thoroughly out of character for the moment. Blair¡¯s first assumption was that it might¡¯ve been a coded way of expressing information, but the gesture and the number of waves appeared meaningless. They hadn¡¯t established any codes or signs before all this, so if there was something, then she had to assume it would be glaringly obvious and make perfect sense to someone like Lacy.

    Each of them went back to their respective games. Another unusual sign was how boisterous Lacy sounded with reacting to the game on the screen. She practically sounded like an Internet commentator flowing over each thought and shifting to the next. Arthur chuckled and enjoyed returning to the game. Even Clare wore a puzzled expression as she craned an ear and frowned in the direction of their middle sibling.

    The answer the old men provided Blair was that no further details were included with the gifts. Just the advice to wear it. No amount of prompting led them to even consider slipping off their rings. They said they felt better than they had in quite a while but weren¡¯t ready to ascribe any more than the aforementioned placebo effect. At one point, Lacy stretched her legs and arms with a yawn and hopped up from the couch to see how everyone else was doing.

    Clare immediately showed off the tokens and resources she¡¯d collected which would be translated into victory points. As little more than an offhand note, Blair lightly inquired, ¡°You alright?¡± This brought on a cluster of giggles from Lacy as she cozied up to Blair. ¡°I am now. After that very frigid and quite necessary shiver-inducing restroom break.¡± Her eyes crinkled with a warm smile.

    Blair had seen odd little quirks and moments from her sister last night. But the striking delineation from before she left to returning now felt like they had to be two different people. Her actual sister and an alien pod person trying to emulate her sibling without knowing any true memories. However, her memory appeared to be perfectly intact as Blair scrutinized it. She recognized the vast array of private references along with particular minutia that could be quietly whispered without embarrassment.

    Clare braced herself and kept her eyes wide as her sibling wrapped her arms around her with cheerful delight. No caveats, no grumbles, no threats or promises. It should¡¯ve been a matter of relief instead of intense concern. Clare shivered. The three elderly guests also seemed to notice a shift in Lacy¡¯s mood. She still bristled and warded herself against them. But, instead of frank, honest distaste, Lacy expressed the open veneer of friendliness, like a smiling employee forced to deal with an uncomfortable customer in the politest way possible.

    Time passed for the group. It took several hours but the full game of Agricola was completed with Clare desperately surprised that she had the most victory points out of everyone. Arthur was runner-up but appeared even more pleased with her victory. In the video game, Lacy was much more subtle in her commentary and had plenty of deniable moments where she let Chester plunge virtually.

    Mercifully, their time ran out. Silas noted that he had some small meetings to conduct on the green, Arthur remarked that his driver would be arriving soon, and Chester sat listlessly in front of the screen with his hands slack and his gaze on the pale controller. The host soon retrieved them and expressed nervous, rambling thanks. Blair wanted to wave to the group but reminded herself that if things had been different, there was no way they were leaving this room as happy and relieved as they were.

    Before putting the stone away, Blair swiftly recognized that the muted coloration had shifted back to its previous, shimmering luster. She wasn¡¯t confident when that occurred, but it had to be not too long ago. Considering the changes in the object, she was also nervously curious about whether her closet back at the beach house had been adjusted upon her request. Another detail that evaded her for far too long was that the host had slipped on a pair of snug, white gloves that reminded her of the style of Mickey Mouse. While he seemed particularly attentive about them earlier, now he barely looked back at them to make sure they were following.

    Their parents were in a small sitting room off to the side of the original dining hall. They bounded from their seats to greet them. Lacy echoed the sentiment with fervor, giving each parent an adamant embrace. Same as Blair puzzled over this strange returnee, Brooke once again puzzled over this behavior. Eliot held and scrutinized their child as she faintly smiled and snuggled him.

    Running through perfunctory comments, the host thanked them for their patience, involvement, and indulgence as well as courtesy. He made it clear they were welcome to a free round of golf but the most anyone wanted to do was snag free stuff from the commissary. Blair wanted to come up with a reason to shake the host¡¯s hand and see if it retained any suspicious secrets, but he was away before any could occur to her.

 [26] A Rock & Family Vacation 26 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [26]

    The commissary, so-called commissary, appeared more like a fragment of a dollar store or a poor approximation of the Goodwill. Random golf balls were marked as individual items and clubs had a special tag that separated them from vouchers. It should¡¯ve been obvious, but the most they were going to get for free ranged towards a maximum of five dollars. Brooke was tenacious though and hunted down a beaten-up but applicable fleece jacket in her size. Eliot considered some off-brand ear pods while Clare settled on a floppy little beanie frog with its eyes open in surprise. Blair and Lacy were the last to finally choose but for vastly different reasons.

    Blair knew exactly what she wanted, setting her eyes and thoughts on the massive snack bag labeled for vouchers in the back. The expiration date was just a few weeks away, but she could easily finish it off before then. She devoted most of her searching time to quietly paying attention to Lacy. The first thing she did was grab hold of the marked-off, women¡¯s clothing rack. No glance toward the scattered, rebated games until at least several minutes in. Even then, she regarded the selection the same as Blair treated the blankly staring fish at the back of the supermarket.

    Ultimately, Lacy settled on a bright pink tracksuit with vaguely 80s-style flair along the shoulders. That didn¡¯t especially alarm Blair. Her sister had been adventurous last night, with plausible reasoning. Plus, the outfit dangled softly against her not too different from the robe. No, what made her and Brooke both tighten their eyes with concern was the velour material. Lacy hated that stuff because it felt far too close to woolen suffering for her fingers. Brooke knew well how careful she needed to be around her child when wearing anything close to velour. It was Lacy¡®s nightmare material and yet she eagerly snuggled the outfit and sprawled it over her shoulder before asking, ¡°Everyone find something they like?¡±

    Eliot questioned his daughter, ¡°Are you sure you¡¯d like that? Don¡¯t want to waste the voucher.¡± Lacy wore a quiet expression of subtle confusion as she traced a hand across the outfit again before reiterating, ¡°No, this looks and feels really nice. It¡¯s pretty. I¡¯d like to get it.¡± Brooke checked it herself and could detect no difference between this style of velour and what was on the outfits she wore. Just to be absolutely sure, she reminded Lacy about her distaste for the style. This garnered a thoughtful, reflective moment for Lacy as she rubbed the front and other parts between her fingers. Nothing caught or hurt her flesh, although only the mildest traces of her rough skin were present.

    ¡°Oh, right. Such a shame though, but alright.¡± That didn¡¯t sit particularly well with Brooke. She had no desire to dissuade Lacy from whatever choices she made about clothing and fashion, she just had a hard time believing this pick was genuine. Lacy eventually selected a polyester style tracksuit with absolutely no chance of getting snags. A young woman at the counter dimly regarded their presence as they passed forward the vouchers. For a split second, Blair pondered if this was the same lady she encountered at the clothing store working a second job. She definitely retained the same soul-broken presence.

    When it was her turn, Lacy politely smiled and cracked a random, goofy joke about tortoises. The clerk regarded her quietly, with her eyes dipping through an imaginary space before returning to peer at her. Slowly, it was like the frail glimmer of light, locked behind a cave flooded with water, burst with solar radiance. She crouched down and held back a spasm of laughter. The clerk wiggled and squirmed in place until all efforts at holding back her laughter were futile and a wild giggle broke the tepid silence of the room. Lacy joined her in a faint echo of that delight. Happiness suffused the room and brought a careful calm for the rest of the family. In that same instant, Blair shifted her grip on the bag containing the rock.

    It suddenly felt alarmingly warm despite the AC blasting its very best. Furthermore, Blair noticed the bounding energy of the clerk¡¯s laughter dulled and cooled to passive calm. Not as though the uproarious energy burst forth and bled away, but rather like an umbrella they had sheltered under from the sun. Something managed to cut the full force of that energy. The muted version of that feeling wasn¡¯t the cold, empty pit she had recognized a moment before but rather a mild divot in the land over which the setting sun carved out light and shadow. And that energy lingered as she hustled through everyone¡¯s voucher and politely bagged the entire transaction. Once that was finished, she didn¡¯t return to her original, zombified state but rather fastidiously cleaned around the desk and then lightly whistled her way through organizing everything that appeared scattered or astray.

    The earlier blazing alarm in each of them had also dulled to a watchful caution. Lacy was certifiably different and unusual since her restroom visit, but Blair concluded that didn¡¯t necessarily mean something was wrong. Her sister had a lot of peculiar qualities, especially as a boy. She made a big deal about her vocal inflection, along with its overall weight and presence. Blair admitted that Lacy kind of talked like a girl, even in her most boyish moments. His puberty was gradually nudging that rock through the deepening gravel but with slow reluctance. Now, it was like a boulder tumbled backwards and shot off the cliff towards some girlish valley. If it wasn¡¯t such a joke between them, she would readily conclude that Lacy had been assimilated by the girlish hive mind and made into one of the drones. That was, naturally, ridiculous. But not impossible¡­

    Another unnatural but not terrible note was how gentle Lacy was with their younger sister. When Clare started a curious question, Lacy crouched beside her at her level and encouraged her words. Walking back to the car, she also held Clare¡¯s hand and watched every corner with motherly scrutiny. She appeared to be a pleasantly happy girl who seemed perfectly natural in her own skin. There were so many questions that Blair wanted to pry into and press her about but part of her feared what the answers might reveal. Clare and Lacy were the thick thieves now, showing off cute things to one another and delighting in calm pleasantries. That should not have bothered Blair. Most times she just rolled her eyes at her sibling and grumbled about how dependent she seemed to be on her. Lacy just needed her, as was desperately obvious from how she tried to unsuccessfully sabotage Blair¡®s college applications. It should¡¯ve been perfectly fine that her middle sibling was not freaking out and wasn¡¯t wrapped up in her for everything. But instead, she felt a strange pang, as though a part, a deep part of her body, was being dragged away from her. She wanted to turn up her nose at the notion, but it still ached.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Dad seemed the most affected out of everyone. When they picked up their car from the valet, he tipped as much as he could spare. He got turned around in the lanes and wound up getting beeped at for following a downstream path up. It got worse when they snaked along the road and down the hill and his face and mind looked like they were in several different places at once. Merging onto Broad, Brooke practically screamed when he had to swerve to the right to avoid a white car shooting down the hill. The worst of it was the driver going into obvious road rage mode as they carefully made their way down the hill, and he refused to let this go. Eliot scowled through his window with feral intensity while Brooke backed him up. Brooke desperately understood that her husband was at fault for the turn but the raging asshole to their left, cutting over the double yellow lines to fume and break traffic laws, needed to take a flying leap.

    To everyone¡¯s relief, the distracted driver had to swerve around oncoming traffic and nearly barreled into one of the decorative trees. At precisely the right moment, a squad car rolled up and flashed its lights behind him. Listlessly, the driver pulled to the side. With relief and vindication, Eliot stated, ¡°Thank karma.¡± Clare puzzled at this and inquired about what that meant about the car. Normally, their father would¡¯ve offered a good-natured but not patronizing laugh and eagerly explained the rhetorical connotation as well as the unintended wordplay.

    That was how Blair, in his early years, developed and fine-tuned his sense of humor. But all that wordplay felt like it dried up, for dad and for her. Mom appeared as though she could¡¯ve resolved the confusion, but her eyes were glued to the glass and the unlikely possibility of another furious driver going after them for the least traffic infraction. The responsibility for explanation fell on Lacy and she delightedly delineated the idea of karma. ¡°It¡¯s the idea that everything you do, good and bad, is like measured out on a scale. And you get scored based on what it adds up to and that determines everything in your life and future. But sometimes, being mean to someone results in immediate consequences, like getting pulled over by the cops. Make sense?¡±

    Clare tried her best to work that out but was left with a multitude of uncertainties and quandaries.

    Lacy smirked to herself and ruffled Clare¡¯s hair with her hand, saying, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it too much, goofball.¡± Now that felt more like her sister.

    Blair let go of a breath she didn¡¯t know she was holding. It allowed her to gather up all the stray pieces of thought she¡¯d neglected. Cautiously, she asked her mom, ¡°Oh. So, how did everything go with meeting up with grandpa?¡± Brooke glanced quickly over her shoulder and squeezed her hands in her lap.

    ¡°Grandpa was a no-show. We spent a little while in their gym and then over on the driving range. How about you guys? Are you¡­ Is everyone alright?¡± She didn¡¯t focus her attention on Lacy but rather skimmed all of her children¡¯s eyes looking back at her.

    That was a challenging question for Blair, but she managed to wiggle her eyebrows lightly and simply respond, ¡°They were expecting three young guys. We were not that¡­for them. So, it was just games and riddles. Literally, that was it.¡± Part of her wanted to be more obtuse because of her level of embarrassment at the whole thing. At the same time, the peculiarity of the rings needed to be expressed to others eventually, even if it were a mere coincidence and the rock simply ran out of juice.

    Brooke let out a long, easy breath with a tight chuckle. ¡°Guess that¡¯s karma too. If only¡­ Grandpa felt the cut of it¡­¡±

    Unexpectedly, Lacy chimed in. ¡°I¡¯m sure he will. Grandpa will face all the consequences destined for him. For all he¡¯s done¡­¡± The tone in Lacy¡®s voice sounded like nothing Blair had heard from her before. The emotion was stripped away for sharp, clinical clarity. Any presence of doubt was also missing and not in the boisterous, flippant way that Lacy often wielded to assuage uncertainty. Swallowing nervously, Blair glanced over at her sister. She was staring straight ahead, unblinking. Her eyes, usually bright and vibrant, wore a muted, grayish shimmer. She seemed to be the only one who noticed as their mother cleared her throat and quietly agreed with the sentiment that grandpa would get what was coming to him eventually, hopefully, while Clare glanced out the window at the trees.

    Deeply but irrationally Blair could only suspect that the person sitting next to her was¡­ somehow not Lacy. Not anymore.

    ¡ª-

    Vincent Muller looked up from his phone with a tense scowl. The sounds of children at play filtered through one of the monitors. He sat in a faded office chair beside a security station filled with black and white surveillance CCTVs. Plucking his white handkerchief from his silver breast pocket, he carefully cleaned the phone screen.

    The door right behind him opened with the clink of a key. Edging his way inside, the mustachioed host twisted his face up a few ways with a ragged and halting breath before announcing, ¡°Sir, they have left. As I¡¯m sure you¡¯re well aware. I don¡¯t understand your requirements, but I have not denied them. However, I must protest your presence in this room, as the privacy and security of our guests from prying eyes is the foremost service we provide.¡±

    Vincent looked the host directly in the eyes and pushed up his black-framed glasses with a finger. ¡°No, it isn¡¯t. Don¡¯t try that nonsense with me, Elaine. I know every coal-black secret of this place dating back to the first shovelful. I¡¯m done here. Pass along my sincere apologies and heartfelt greetings to my associates. Something more important has come up.¡± A host bristled at the mention of¡­that name.

    Vincent rose from the chair and tucked his phone away gently in his pocket.

    The host pressed, ¡°Well, hold on just a minute now. I don¡¯t like your tone. I could have the local sheriff on you in a moment for everything I¡¯ve seen and so much more. Why I¡­¡±

    Vincent sharply swiveled and pointed his finger right at the host¡¯s robust nose. ¡°You won¡¯t. Good day.¡± He took a handful of large bills and pressed them into the host¡¯s hand before finishing, ¡±I¡¯ll see you again soon¡­Elaine.¡±

 [27] A Rock & Family Vacation 27 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [27]

    Halfway down Broad Street, Lacy turned her attention to the multitude of shops featuring fashionable wears spread across the sidewalks on circle racks. All the parking in this section of town was either confined to desperately rare strips of parallel parking along intersecting one-way roads or small paid parking plazas.

    Brooke aimed a skeptical eye at Lacy. Her darkest notion involved one of the creepy old men surreptitiously slipping something into her drink that put her in an altered state. No matter what Blair may have stated on the subject, that possibility couldn¡¯t be discounted, especially if mustache man primed them ahead of time. However, Lacy didn¡¯t seem out of sorts aside from being excited about clothing that she treated yesterday like a terrifying bear trap. It wasn¡¯t that she wanted a repeat of all that but, even among teenagers, it felt very fishy to have such a one-eighty. She pondered if perhaps it was hormonal, and then quietly grimaced at the dire necessities ahead. Fixating on the one looming, apocalyptic, mind-ending event of this brunch had blinded her to the inevitability that there would be a time after it when they would have to deal with more things.

    For the moment, she could at least deal with clothes as a family. Blair had gone off on her own and Clare learned as much as she had about the contemporary state of young girls¡¯ fashion. Time for a second lesson and another stretching of their discretionary funds. At least finding a nearby parallel spot allowed them to save about five dollars on local parking, even though it came at the expense of hunting for about half that in quarters for the meter.

    Hats went on and Lacy grabbed for the slim pink one. As soon as she secured it to her head, Blair noticed something randomly weird. Lacy¡¯s fingers clung to the brim and pushed the hat upwards and nearly off her head. In the next motion, she desperately gripped it and brought it back down. At the end of this bizarre little spectacle, Lacy stomped a foot and stuck her hands straight down in fists at her side. She smiled around, but Blair still detected a sense of discomfort.

    ¡°You¡­alright?¡± Blair folded her arms and rubbed her elbows. Pleasantly, Lacy emphasized, ¡°Sure you already asked that. But I am doing great and I¡¯m so glad to be out of that stupid place. Can¡¯t wait to actually have some fun!¡± The inflection of those words concerned Blair. There wasn¡¯t anything she could immediately point to as like a smoking gun but the special emphasis on ¡®fun¡¯ and other words of emotion reminded Blair of a scene from a show where one character was totally faking their enthusiasm and actually felt on the verge of panic. Edging over to her sister¡¯s side, Blair wrapped her arms around Lacy in what appeared to be a comforting hug. In reality, she just needed to get really close.

    Whispering faintly against her ear, Blair asked, ¡°If something is actually wrong, squeeze me as hard as possible.¡± Once she said that Blair let go of her sister and backed away. She let her have time to process that and not demand an immediate response. Blair did her best not to immediately look back for a reaction. Lacy seemed to halt at one point but then picked up her pace to rejoin her sister without a sign on her face of anything amiss.

    The nearest big store had several stories, especially a loft with soft carpeting and extensive rows of brightly colored clothing. Before entering the store, Blair noticed that the sheriff¡¯s department was nearly catty-corner down the intersecting road. She lingered and passed this along to mom, who nodded and made a note on her phone.

    Once inside, it was like Lacy was unleashed. She scampered and hustled between the rows and laid her hands across every kind of possible outfit. She especially lingered on skinny jeans and shorts. She indulged in an absolute wall of simple cartoon graphics from a sweater with a quaint little bird wearing a top hat to a blue blouse absolutely covered in anchors. Red tropical shirts with white-toned flowers caught her attention next and it wasn¡¯t long before she had a stack in her hands to try on in the back.

    Blair skimmed the offerings in her size and considered picking out swimwear that wasn¡¯t at risk of spontaneous chest bursting. She snickered at that particular image but frowned when her sister came out in the sort of getup that she never expected her to try on in private, let alone show off where other people could see her. It wasn¡¯t anything scandalous or bombastic.

    It was a shimmering gray top with little flashes of pink but in a clingy, shape-tracing style with a ruffled purple skirt reaching to her knee. Very little about Lacy was covered up by the clothes and that made her look strikingly mature. Maybe not as grown-up as Blair, like she¡¯d teased yesterday, but this was on par with loudly screaming her changes. At the same time Lacy flashed a smile, Blair picked up on the minor detail that she was gripping the wall beside her with enough intent to leave a hole in the plaster if she was stronger.

    Her deductive senses were strongly leaning towards some sort of possession or mind spell causing Lacy to behave this way while her actual will was sidelined and could only be expressed in small gestures. Seemed like a good theory, even though it was a drastic practical jump from changes to them which had thus far only been physical alterations. The suspicious detail, of course, was the dark rings on the old men. But combining those elements would require immense supposition.

    If those mysterious rings somehow put out a force that counteracted the rock and led to the dulling of its luster, then why were there only these strange effects in Lacy? How come she and Clare were unchanged? Did it have something to do with her leaving the room at a certain point? Furthermore, if this was to be the culprit, then why did they make her girlier rather than mannish, as it was implied those old pervs¡­desired?

    She had almost limitless points of speculation, but nothing concrete to cling to. It felt worse than any of the puzzles she could conjure up or any of the riddles and games she¡¯d faced, no matter how inscrutable. She resisted the defeatist notion that there wasn¡¯t a solution and that she was just spinning herself in circles.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    During a quiet lull, Clare lingered around dad and showed off so many cosmically-inspired outfits and mom kept an eye aimed nearby to see that the two of them were behaving as she looked through the windbreakers wistfully. Lacy rushed over to her side. And she squeezed Blair¡®s arm and side so roughly that it felt like she wanted to tear the flesh. All the while, she beamed a smile with hints of sparkling around her eyes, as though she had tears trapped in stasis.

    Yes, something was wrong, but Blair had no idea what she was supposed to do now. She confirmed a message to her sister, assuming this was still her sister and not some messed up creation trying to ape her. Passing it along to their parents ran into the biggest clich¨¦s. A poor young person has a fantastic story to tell, either about a specter in the basement, the creepy guy who lives down the road, or some strange animal they glimpsed in the forest. The parents just smile and chuckle about their kid¡¯s crazy, overactive imagination. It was a concept their father often played around with in some of his short fiction.

    Unfortunately, when Clare unfurled the full details about the dark man to them, they went to the simple and reassuring notion that he just happened to see one of the workmen around the building coming to use the nearest bathroom and his half-conscious mind invented something scary because of the shadows. However, Blair had to admit, at least to herself, that she had seen other men go into Clare¡¯s room on more than one occasion. If she was being really honest, she would add that they entered her room as well when she was younger, but she retroactively denounced such crazy notions as being influenced by and confabulated from Clare¡¯s experiences. It all rested on the shakiest of foundations.

    The events of this vacation, if they hadn¡¯t been so clearly evident and logically repeatable, were likely to fall into that same pit of skepticism that parents dug out as a protective space for kids from all the possible monsters in the world. She had to go it alone.

    Putting on the veneer of casual pleasantry, Blair followed her sister hand-in-hand as she guided her to the changing rooms. There were quite a lot, with an entire row continuing around in a loop and only ending at the partition for the men¡¯s changing area.

    ¡°What is it, Lacy?¡± Her sister dragged her along until they were as far away from everyone else as they could possibly go, then beckoned her towards a curtained room that looked exactly the same as any of the others. Making her way deep inside, Blair scanned around for outfits, suspicious papers, random rings, or anything else that might give her a hint as to what was going on. At the same time, there was a voice screaming at the back of her head. She knew that she should¡¯ve listened to it.

    Turning around when facing the wall, Blair took a deep breath and watched as a figure stepped through the opening and pushed aside the drape. She didn¡¯t seem much taller than Lacy, dressed in a dark purple outfit with little flecks of bright color. Unnaturally striking silver hair like storm clouds reached to her shoulders and she wore a blank expression, like a doll brought to life.

    ¡°Hello, Bear. I¡¯m sorry for this. but I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll figure out too much. You¡¯re very clever. Too clever. Please, take a break¡­.boop.¡±

    The moment hit Blair like a rock right to the face. She was out of it and, when she came back to it, she had no idea how she got into the changing room and why Lacy was standing over her.

    ¡°Ohmagawd. Lacy? What happened? Did I like totally trip? I¡¯m sorry. Oh, that outfit is so adorable on you! Lemme see!¡° Blair squealed with high-pitched delight as Lacy turned around and showed off the most precious outfit with a sweet little skirt. Even though this was the first time she was seeing it, Blair felt the weirdest tickle that she had seen it somewhere before, like that French word for seeing something more than once and not knowing why. She was bad with words, totally bad with words. It didn¡¯t matter though.

    Taking her phone out of her pocket and oh my gosh she still had on these totally tacky clothes from the country club, yuck. They looked like someone took vanilla soup and tried to thin it out with lots of colors but none of them worked. She needed something cuter and with all the lame vacation garb there was totally nothing to wear that screamed fun. But she took a couple of candid cute shots of her sister in this outfit for like a pretend, virtual fashion show later.

    Lacy was acting kind of weird though, staring at the floor like maybe she dropped something. Blair checked around because she was a good big sister and if she could help in any way then she was going to help her little snuggly cute tween sister! But, looking, there didn¡¯t seem to be anything around. Even peeking into the other changing rooms (even though that felt kind of weird) didn¡¯t turn up anything. With a nervous chuckle and a big wave, Lacy told her it was nothing and she was just feeling a little down, but she appreciated her big sister looking out for her. That totally deserved a big sisterhood hug to make her feel all warm inside.

    While Lacy went back to the store part of the store, Blair poked around on her phone and made sure that Lacy¡®s shots had the nicest glamour filters on. The phone was a little bit weird because everything was moved around and different, but she figured that was just like one of those dumb updates they did all the time that didn¡¯t do or fix anything. But she remembered the text from that hottie, Dylan. He was a skater boy and she had to say see you later boy. But she felt all wiggly remembering him and his friends. They thought she was in college. It was bad to lie to them, but she didn¡¯t totally actually lie, she just let them think something that may not have been completely accurate.

    Looking around like someone was going to watch her even though they totally couldn¡¯t come in here, Blair started typing up a reply.

    ¡°Heeeeey. Sorry this is late! I didnd¡¯t mean to :( stuff with fam came up but i would love to hang sometime. Plz text me back!¡± She squealed and looked at it a few times. She knew that she messed up the whole bunch of words but those were the flavor, showing that she actually made it herself without like pasting it in. It would be totally wrong to send it¡­.but her finger slipped, and she giggled.

 [28] A Rock & Family Vacation 28 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [28]

    Clare thought that her older brothers were kind of dumb, but things were getting ridiculous. She wondered whether it was one of their regular pranks to get her attention and make her think something serious was happening, then just laugh it off.

    Blair had been nicer recently and Lacy was totally wrapped up in dealing with everything that happened to them. Talking on the beach and then building their superhero headquarters, even though it got swallowed by the waves, was the best time of vacation so far.

    Going shopping with mom was easily a close second. She really liked getting her hair out of the way of the wind and just talking. It all still felt normal, despite how crazy different even the littlest things had become. Walking, wearing clothes, climbing, eating, sitting, using the restroom, and getting pummeled by the shower. So many things quietly different, but not so weird that they upset her.

    She told herself she wasn¡¯t upset by her siblings acting like weirdos over by the changing rooms. Clare was used to a certain flavor of what mom once called ¡®shenanigans¡¯. Clare liked that word because it didn¡¯t sound at all like being a goof. It was more like someone saying ¡°there goes Shannon Again, planning to do things with her shenanigans¡±. But it was strange.

    Big Blair felt so mom-like, a careful momma bear. And Lacy was like a shaky block of ice wrapping itself up in something warm, so it didn¡¯t melt. At least, that was how it had been. Now, they were snapping photos at each other and holding and stretching all sorts of clothes as if they were having the time of their lives.

    The spookiest part was the volume of giggles echoing down the hallway. Blair was always reserved and careful with his laughter and Lacy laughed as though she were a cat about to strike out with claws. Again, it wasn¡¯t bad, but it also felt like someone replaced her brothers with different people. And that was scary.

    Clare did her best not to worry too much about it, as Lacy had urged her. She focused on the interesting clothes at the front of the store. There was a lot more to pick from here than at the other place. But she was distracted.

    Every girly thing Clare picked felt like it carried a creepy echo of what her sisters were doing. Like her siblings had been brainwashed by the girly hive mind. Not a joke anymore. She pressed her knees together and tangled her legs down to her feet. Wiggling in place like that was an odd comfort.

    She was a girl. That both didn¡¯t matter and also changed so much. Because of those changes, the creepy old men at the country club didn¡¯t do the bad, unspeakable word. Because of everything, she had had fun with her siblings lately. Maybe the lady at the pizza place had been nice to them because of all this too. She didn¡¯t know, but it all seemed more like a good thing than a bad thing. But was she gonna wind up like her siblings?

    Everyone kind of said that already. They said that when she grew up there would be things she would have to worry about. All the weird, mommy parts. But she wondered more immediately if she was going to be acting like them. Clare didn¡¯t know a whole lot of girls her age because of the boys'' school.

    Before this whole weekend, she would simply say that girls were just weird. Clare ran into the sisters of classmates sometimes. They kinda behaved like Lacy, which was a thought that Clare always kept close to her because she knew Lacy would freak out if she said it. Elizabeth, one of the sisters of his friend Mitch from school, talked a lot to herself and would snap sharply with words like she was too good to even be around them. Mitch did tease her, but she would go screaming at the least little thing. She acted like she knew everything even though she was the same age as them.

    Clare didn¡¯t wanna be like that. She liked when people smiled. But Lacy and Blair were smiling, sort of. It was confusing, so she went back to fluttering a rainforest-decorated skirt. Eventually, mom went over to talk to Blair and Lacy. She had some windbreakers in her arms and offered them up. Clare noticed the nervousness in mom¡®s eyes as the two of them tried on the clothes and stretched out with strange body language. It wasn¡¯t long before mom put her hands around the two of them, either to feel their foreheads or look into their eyes with questions of concern. Her sisters looked back with answers of concern about their mom. Their mother dipped her hands at her side and took a long breath. She managed a calm smile and nodded her head.

    ¡°What do you think of this one?¡± Dad held up an outfit that reminded her of a handkerchief. Clare smiled and felt the material but didn¡¯t do anything else. Eventually, her siblings came over and asked for advice.

    Lacy had on a light skirt that made her think of fall but with a bright explosion of Easter colors. It complemented a close-fitting, sleeveless top with lots of buttons and a mottled shade of blue and white. Blair had on a medium red outfit with drape-like sleeves that settled down to her thighs. It made her shape go all over the place, even more than the swimsuit.

    Blair wanted to know if her dress was too adventurous. And Lacy just wanted to know if she looked cute. Clare looked them both in the eye and asked, ¡°Why?¡±

    This made them each pause for a long moment as though they were wind-up dolls approaching a stiff point. Blair dipped her head and explained that perhaps the ¡°beach boys¡± might like a little adventure. Lacy covered a smile and responded that she liked looking cute.

    ¡°No! You don¡¯t care about any of those things! What is wrong with you?!¡± Clare burst in with sharp determination despite the woozy feeling inside her head. Before her siblings or dad could say anything else, she shoved past them and hurried up the steps along the side to the store¡¯s second floor. Somewhere behind her, Clare could hear her name being yelled. She knew that she shouldn¡¯t be doing this. But someone had to do something about the craziness since they left the country club.

    Her head spun with uncertainty and doubt even as she cleared the steps and put as much space between her and her family. Lacy had been so nice to her after the commissary that she almost suspected Blair was jealous. But her brothers weren¡¯t supposed to be nice and cute and snuggly. They weren¡¯t supposed to fawn over girly clothes and act so¡­weird. They were supposed to be loud and messy and goofy and tough and make her want to be tougher too. And they should be more interested in games than how pretty they looked!

    Clare worked her way around and up into the loft area until she was out of breath and couldn¡¯t see or hear anyone else. She squeezed away a tickle in her throat so it wouldn¡¯t become a cough. The floor still vibrated with her urgent steps as she squeezed behind a rack with some jeans jackets.

    This was stupid. She didn¡¯t even understand what she was mad about. Maybe that was a girl thing too, getting upset just because. With her legs folded up despite how glossy the floor was, Clare lightly sniffled. She wanted them to find her, but she wasn¡¯t sure what she was going to say when they did. Would they be mad she ran off? It was too late to worry about that.

    This part of the store was remarkably quiet. There weren¡¯t too many other people around and most of them were near the checkout area. But it was so quiet up here that Clare started to worry that they shut down the store and she was stuck inside. That was totally ridiculous, but it felt like the only thing that made sense. Maybe she got turned around and this was a part of the store where no one else could go.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    She clung to each breath and resisted the urge to sniffle. Be strong. Don¡¯t be afraid. Words she wanted to believe. Even though it was just past noon, she felt the same confusing, isolating chill she felt when she knew the dark man was near. Clare stretched to look around, peeking through the layers of clothes. The railing and windows were visible with the flutter and flash of passing cars.

    The ground was still, yet sweat collected against her neck as she felt someone just beyond what she could see, someone seeing her perfectly.

    Get away, get away! Run, run! Don¡¯t stay here, the dark man will get you!

    At that moment, the floor behind her creaked and shifted. In a swoop of terror, she swung around with her arms out. Tangling limbs, someone staggered backwards onto the floor.

    ¡°¡­Ow.¡±

    Clare remained on her feet as her arms pinwheeled in front of her. A girl lay sprawled out towards the wall with an odd expression somewhere between confusion and disappointment. She appeared around Lacy¡®s age but with none of her distinctive attributes. She wore a purple-toned outfit with a top and a bottom speckled with bright, light bits. Her hair appeared unnaturally gray with lighter and darker parts like a storm cloud.

    ¡°Oh my gosh, I¡¯m sorry.¡± Clare wanted to help the girl up, but she was way too big for her to really do anything. Fortunately, the nearby hallway leading to storage included a small chair. Bringing it over, Clare encouraged her to grab it so she could help her up. The young girl continued to look like she didn¡¯t understand, but she worked together with Clare to stand. Once she was back on her feet, the mystery girl seized both of Clare¡¯s hands in a single grip.

    The move startled her to the point that she didn¡¯t try to break free. She just looked up at the young girl with a vague resemblance to her older sister. Whatever emotion had been there slipped away from the girl¡¯s features. She looked all over Clare in the same way as doctors she hated.

    ¡°Please. Let me go.¡± Clare kept her eyes on the girl as she brought a finger up and pointed it right between her eyes, hovering above her nose. Softly, the girl responded, ¡°In just a moment. I¡¯m not going to hurt you. I just need¡­¡±

    Suddenly, the path of her finger wavered, and her head tilted to the side. ¡°What¡­?¡± Clare gulped. ¡°What is it?¡±

    The girl shut her eyes and let out a breath. Gently, she said, ¡°It¡¯s you...¡±

    Clare pressed her, utterly confused, ¡°Me? What about me?¡± This strange girl still kept hold of her hands. That was getting annoying and kinda scary. ¡°Can you let me go?¡±

    ¡±Of course, Clare. Sorry. In a minute. There¡¯s just one more thing. Sorry¡­¡± Once again, her finger pointed right at Clare¡¯s nose. The girl mouthed a word without saying it, as though something was caught in her throat. A pained expression showed before she squeezed her fingers into a fist and drew them back.

    ¡°How do you know my name?¡± Clare asked.

    The girl dipped her head. ¡±I wish I knew more. Thank you for taking care of me. It was painfully hot on that beach until you found me.¡±

    Clare¡¯s eyes widened. She didn¡¯t need Blair¡®s usual cleverness to deduce what that meant. ¡°You¡¯re my rock, that I found. The rock.¡±

    ¡°Krystal. If you please.¡±

    ¡°You have a name?¡± All this was already flying way over Clare¡¯s head, but she was rolling with it. Thinking like Blair, she had to imagine that every strange aspect of their conversation could be easily explained away. But the idea that her little rock, which had done so many crazy, scary, but interesting things, was a person? She had to imagine it was like a genie inside a lamp.

    Before she could ask the weird girl for more information, she gestured with her finger over to the right. Clare immediately looked, but there was nothing there. The pressure squeezing her hands together immediately vanished and the girl let her go. Looking back, Clare was mostly annoyed but a little spooked to see that the girl was gone. That was a sibling kind of trick, doing the whole ¡®look over there¡¯ and then running away.

    ¡°CLARE! ARE YOU THERE?!¡±

    It was mom, yelling so loud that Clare was scared that she would lose her voice. The sound echoed with other voices calling with her. Those were Lacy and Blair, they had to be. Turning around a few times, Clare finally caught sight of mom and rushed into her arms.

    ¡°Oh honey, oh sweetie. Where were you? They said there was no way to get lost up here, but I couldn¡¯t find you. My gosh. I am going to need a moment for my heart. But I¡¯m just glad you¡¯re okay. What happened?¡± Brooke took a few careful breaths after saying all that and amended her statement to tell her youngest that she didn¡¯t need to answer all that immediately, she was just scared. Clare understood, as a bunch of people came barreling towards her.

    Lacy was the next to wrap her arms around her younger sister while Blair held her close in the kind of bear hugs that fit her nickname, only they were crushingly soft. They both apologized, even though they didn¡¯t understand what they had done wrong. They wanted to know where she had been as well, but Brooke urged them to step back and just be glad that they were together.

    Dad arrived last but had no lack of love and relief at holding his daughter again. Some clerks came around with questions but cast sour looks in Clare¡¯s direction. She figured they would¡¯ve been perfectly fine with handcuffing her to the cash wrap downstairs until everyone left. One guy, who looked kind of like a manager, scowled and said that there was a police station down the block if there were any further disruptions.

    Brooke practically slugged him right in the face for that, fuming that her child got lost in their store and she had half a mind to declare it was an attempted kidnapping. She didn¡¯t really have anything to base that on, but her emotions weren¡¯t going to stop for that. It did the job of causing that jerk to take a step back and blush but also did the job of getting everyone to politely ask them to leave.

    Once outside, Lacy pouted when looking through the window at all the nice clothes. Blair paused a minute, and looked around as if she had forgotten where she was before shaking her head and looking down at her phone and through window clothes with a similar sentiment of disappointment. She brushed the display circle rack on the sidewalk for comfort.

    Brooke smiled and gazed over her family, ¡°That place was too pricey anyway. There are plenty of clothing stores in this town. Come on guys, we¡¯re together and everyone is okay. That¡¯s the most important thing.¡± Blair and Lacy didn¡¯t seem particularly convinced by the first part, but they nodded to the last note.

    ¡°Together. So long as we¡¯re together¡­ As family. Everything will be fine.¡± Clare noticed that her older sister¡®s voice had a strange quality to it, more like the girl who claimed to be the rock. She knew that was crazy, but she couldn¡¯t deny that it was there.

    One more thing she didn¡¯t understand.

 [29] A Rock & Family Vacation 29 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [29]

    Brooke immediately warmed to the next store they visited, which was down the block but still within sight of the sheriff¡¯s office. It was tightly packed but boldly advertised as an outlet, discount warehouse. None of it was as fancy as the other store, but Brooke could already see a better version of the windbreaker she had been looking at for half the price. Because aisles were so cluttered and disorganized with unopened boxes and stray supply carts, she had plenty of reason to make sure Clare held her hand the whole way.

    It was a little embarrassing to her boyish feelings but, considering everything recently, she was glad to simply be by her mother¡¯s side. That helped her to forget about creepy old guys, confusing changes, scary memories, uniformed strangers, and the tall man in the suit. She couldn¡¯t forget about everything though. The girl seemed important, especially if she somehow came from or was the rock that changed them.

    She knew Blair would urge her to say something if she wasn¡¯t acting like a fashion-obsessed weirdo. Blair and Lacy were already off on their own, digging through everything but with less enthusiasm here. Every so often, Lacy glanced over to check on Clare. She appreciated it, even though she was deeply concerned about everything else her brothers were doing.

    Many of the items in the store had mending work, light stains, sewing errors, or other problems to justify their prices. Clare didn¡¯t try on that many things, mostly items they hadn¡¯t managed to get at the beachfront place. Brooke insisted on a nice jacket, despite the fact Clare¡¯s regular jackets were sure to still fit loosely. For Blair and Lacy, everything was game.

    Even though Brooke had no idea what was going on with her daughters, she appreciated the fact that just getting Lacy to look at girly clothes was no longer a tooth-extraction level ordeal. No one went overboard because, even with the discounts, this was going to be an expensive endeavor. But Brooke had every intention to make sure her dad reimburse her since they had done every last thing he wanted and taken time out of their vacation for it.

    After several spins through the changing room with Brooke carefully watching, Clare continued to linger by mom. She pressed her fingers against a pleasant pair of jeans as she pieced together everything she needed to say. ¡°¡­Mom? Can I talk to you about something?¡± Strange tension overwhelmed Clare¡¯s head for a moment. It felt like the super high-pitched noise made by the mouse-repellent thing in the basement. The vibration was so sharp that she started to feel it on her tongue like a needle poke. Looking a few aisles over in the cramped space, Clare noticed that Lacy was still looking at her intently. She braced herself by holding onto the rack.

    Urgently, Brooke looked Clare over and asked her what was wrong. A twisted poison oak gnarl of terrible thoughts spun around her head as she imagined everything from a sudden bout of illness to some side effect of what had happened to her children to carbon monoxide poisoning which was going to strike all of them. A quick, normal touch to Clare¡¯s forehead assuaged the first possibility while the last was diminished by looking around. She noticed Lacy staring at them and questioned her about what was going on. Soon, Lacy wore an unconvincing smile and claimed that she was just checking on them and expressed, ¡°This is a beautiful moment¡±.

    The intensity of the drilling only wavered a little. Clare couldn¡¯t take it. It was like the shower but numbing all possibility for thought as it struck her. During a lull, she grabbed mom¡®s hand and dragged her over towards the changing rooms.

    Brooke was utterly confused and considered fighting back against Clare¡¯s pull, but her daughter¡¯s urgency and intensity led her to follow Clare¡¯s hustle. Lacy¡¯s voice shot out but as a muffled note of concern. Only once they were inside the nearest changing room and Clare had dragged the drape closed, did the absolute deluge of discomfort begin to ease.

    With a few quick breaths, Clare looked her mother in the eye and declared, ¡°I need to tell you something. I saw a weird girl upstairs who vanished. At the other place. She said her name was Krystal. And she said she¡¯s the rock or in the rock like a genie in a lamp. I don¡¯t know, but she knew my name and she said she was sorry.¡±

    Frantically, Clare did her best to get that out. Brooke had no idea what to think as she barely processed most of the words as she mentally did her best to parse them. ¡°Krystal? With a K like Lacy¡®s imaginary perfect girl?¡± That oddly struck her as the most important thing to clarify. Lacy didn¡¯t like to talk about this kind of stuff, but Brooke managed to dig enough out by lightly interrogating her other children. Clare was always good for surreptitious info. Casually, she had hinted to her middle child, on more than one occasion, that imaginary and perfection had no place in reality, especially when it came to thinking about people. Lacy just wanted to wave her off like a buzzing mosquito.

    Mere moments later, Lacy¡¯s hand shot through the curtain as she flailed to push it aside. Brooke felt taken aback by the intrusion and declared, ¡°Excuse me¡­wait outside for us.¡± Lacy paused in the doorway with a visible gulp and her arms frozen as though she imagined that if she just stood still enough then someone might mistake her for a statue.

    ¡°Is everything alright?¡± The tone of voice Lacy used reminded Brooke of the tones her middle boy wielded when he knew he had done something wrong but was trying to butter her up. But the uncomfortable part was a complicated look in her eye which went beyond concern or guilt. It felt frantic, as though reaching out to save someone from falling off a cliff while also holding intense disappointment and accusation that they had slipped. The look was enough to give her a sharp, icy chill.

    Clearing her throat, Brooke urged Lacy to wait outside and assured her that everything was fine. But she didn¡¯t go. She stayed on their side of the curtain. And she got closer, so close that she could practically touch noses with her mother. Brooke flinched from her daughter and demanded, with as much energy as she could put behind her words, ¡°Stop it! Go check on your father, right now, or you¡¯ll be¡­¡±

    ¡°It IS you. It is. I had to know. I¡¯m sorry for everything that¡¯s happened. I just need more time. There¡¯s not enough time to make everything right. Not with everything in my way. This may not seem like helping. But I can¡¯t do more. Boop¡­¡±

    A voice seemingly spoke through her daughter. The tone was mature but also flat and bare of most affectation, hardly above a text-to-speech program. Lacy¡¯s eyes had a muted color to them, not quite gray but heavily subdued. They darted and searched through most of her strange words but settled in place at the end. For an instant, it almost appeared that Lacy was double exposed like a strange, living picture, something else existing over top of her. When her finger touched her mother¡¯s nose, everything went dark.

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    An inestimable amount of time passed in Brooke¡¯s quiet void. What part of her that was aware surmised that she had been engaged in an extended dream sequence. Unfortunately, that implied all the successes and oddities of the morning had to be wiped clean and everyone had to get up and prepare themselves for brunch at the country club. She didn¡¯t envy replaying that for real. Made sense though, there was no way that everything would¡¯ve gone quite so comfortably and without even needing to meet up with dad. But she woke to twisted stiffness instead of the expectation of the master bedroom.

    Stretching out, she felt bewildered as all the kinks and pain dashed away as easily as brushing off some stray dust. That was bizarre but not bad. It has been so long since her back was actually nice to her and didn¡¯t vindictively punish her for the least little motion.

    ¡°¡­.Mom?¡± Through her waking haze, she picked up Clare¡¯s voice with an ominous note of questioning concern. Brooke responded, ¡°I¡¯m heeeerree sweetie. Oh. What?¡±

    Her first concern was that her voice would take on deeper, more masculine qualities as an inverse to everything that had happened to her boys. Not the most terrible thing that could happen and the invocation of that treacherous rock set her mind in that vicinity. But, if she had been the victim of a strange spark from that thing because of Lacy, then it had established rules: a delay, oncoming sleepiness, and concluded with waking up with changes. Getting struck down this way was more like a bolt of lightning. And her voice had a youthful, childlike quality.

    That wasn¡¯t the only difference, as her clothing crudely draped across her body. Everything she wore felt like it was either dragging her down or about to fall off. Clare repeated quietly, ¡°Mom¡­¡±

    Brooke shivered quietly and positioned herself so she could look in the mirror on the side of the changing room. Her eyes widened and she gasped softly at her reflection. Her hair had been fairly unkempt since ending the orderly tension of the country club and needing to look nice for people she didn¡¯t like. Now, that accentuated the childish frame of her appearance.

    Her cheeks had a cherubic, tender feel accentuated by baby fat. Covered in what used to be her normal clothes, she looked like a street urchin wearing whatever she could find. On the plus side, her vision had a sharper quality far more distinct than a new contacts prescription. Drawing in a halting breath, she glanced over at Clare, who had her hands covering her mouth in nervous shock. By height alone, it was a small relief that she was at least older than Clare. The strangeness existed in the fact that she definitely appeared about as old as junior high but without the¡­precocious qualities. She was totally flat!

    Not a bad thing but it also made no sense. Over by the drape, Lacy was slowly getting to her feet with the normal brightness to her eyes and a presence of muddled confusion. ¡°What did you do?¡± Brooke tried to frame her question with as much adult energy as possible but failed.

    ¡°What? What happened to the restroom?¡± Lacy muttered groggily and added, ¡°Who are you?¡± She sniffled and cleared her throat a few times before carefully getting to her feet. Struggling to keep her clothes together, Brooke fumbled with her possible answers before simply stating, ¡°It¡¯s mom. You touched me on the nose, and something happened.¡±

    Lacy inspected the new girl before her with a befuddled yawn. Casually, Lacy relayed that the last thing she could remember was getting touched on the nose by some weird girl in the bathroom. Eyes flashing with recognition after a few relayed details of her hair and outfit, Clare offered a quick account of the girl she¡¯d also seen. As Lacy puzzled her way through all this, she mentioned having a really weird dream that she was basically doing nothing but looking through girly clothes. There was a hat, a changing room, and Blair giggling for some reason.

    To Lacy¡¯s rising horror, Clare confirmed all of this actually happened. Preferring to distract herself from this reality, Lacy turned towards the girl who claimed to be her mom. She was skeptical, especially knowing that the two of them, unfortunately, shared certain qualities as girls Lacy¡®s age. It was the tidbit boy Lacy plugged his ears against and only half heard several months ago, figuring it would be pointless for him to know because he had no plans to be a girl. So, why was this girl the way she was when she looked the same age as Lacy and was supposed to be her mom?

    Brooke had no answer to that. It was the biggest mystery on her mind. But she did have some measure of proof to offer as to her identity. She glanced over at Clare and asked her to cover her ears for Lacy¡¯s privacy. Even before she offered proof, Lacy tensed up at the mere implication.

    ¡°Dinky Dog Doodoo Dance Dreams.¡±

    All the color drained from Lacy while, paradoxically, her cheeks lit up bright red.

    ¡°Mom, please never speak that again.¡± Clare widened her eyes and looked tempted to uncover her ears but continued to cover them until Brooke told her it was fine. She apologized to her middle daughter.

    It was one of those things. Not even Blair knew or had deduced the details. The context was that, when he was rather young, Lacy had a series of weird dreams he liked to tell her where he was actually a girl instead of a boy. In the dream, she was listening to a goofy song with a silly character doing their doodoo dance because they had to use the toilet but had to wait. The song didn¡¯t exist though. Brooke looked everywhere. So, she helped Lacy construct one based on what she remembered. They kept it to themselves, and Lacy made her absolutely swear forever and ever not to tell it to anyone. It was a peculiar happenstance then and even more peculiar to consider now.

    A multitude of questions, fears, and confusions wafted through the air between them with no clear sense of which to resolve first. But the choice was made when she heard Eliot¡®s voice approaching with nervous concern and what sounded like Blair beside him. Doing her best to compose herself, Brooke took a breath, squeezed, looped, and adjusted her clothes so that it didn¡¯t feel like she was about to be disrobed, and pushed aside the drape to step out.

 [30] A Rock & Family Vacation 30 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [30]

    Brooke knew the perfect moment, just between the two of them, to use as proof of her identity for Eliot. It was oddly romantic but silly.

    Her inevitable husband started out as a psychology major and was nervously stuck giving out survey flyers on the first cold November day. He had a script that he repeated rotely about human social situations and breaking clich¨¦s. But no one stopped to even look at his flyer.

    Brooke felt consummately crummy. She had just broken up with her longest boyfriend effort and it had been brutal. Her father encouraged the relationship, which should¡¯ve been a clear warning sign for her. Silvio. He worked at the same store she did and noticed a dainty decoration at the end of her keychain. He was so nice in all matters. She got back rubs, notes of affirmation, and calm reassurances. But then they moved in together at his suggestion.

    It wasn¡¯t long before he started scrutinizing and getting irritated at every single aspect of her life from how she threw trash away, by getting in close to the waste bin instead of letting it drop from a distance, to how she blew her nose. In response, she consciously made an effort to mend every division and respond to every flaw. But it just wasn¡¯t enough, and she took every one of their fights as a failing on her part. Ultimately, his sleeping around in the worst possible way was what drove her to break up with him.

    Not long after that, she gathered the full scope of what she had stepped into with Silvio. She learned multitudes about mental conditions which she never thought she¡¯d have to know but deeply wondered if her own father had some of the same illnesses her former boyfriend did. The fact that Silvio stockpiled and divulged pages of inside information culled from all their heart to hearts to give her dad like he was just researching her the whole time absolutely destroyed her. On that piercing November day, she didn¡¯t even want to think about guys or psychology or anything else when she ran into Eliot, almost literally.

    Desperation met her in the eye as Eliot dipped to her level and ran through a plaintive version of his script and asking if she would participate. The autopilot clicked off in her head and she actually looked back at him. He was cute but in a rather grim and broken way. They got to talking and it wasn¡¯t long before Brooke took charge. She would be dispensing the flyers. In about thirty minutes, they were all gone.

    Eliot gave her the most genuine embrace of thanks she had ever felt. There was something different about him from the first moment they talked. It would¡¯ve been easy to point to the fact that he barely noticed her overriding, ginormous aspects. That wasn¡¯t a new trend though. Of all the guys, and a good number of girls, who flicked eyes to that region in surprise or delight, an even greater multitude locked onto her face, as though their lives depended on not glancing any lower than her mouth, lest they look into the Ark of the Covenant and melt their faces off. Those bothered her the worst.

    She did her best not to dwell on how many flyer recipients looked her over or fervently resisted looking her over. Feeling Eliot¡¯s hug and witnessing him relaxing beside her in relief and appreciation was the ultimate respect and treat. He didn¡¯t put anything on. It was like they already knew each other despite only just meeting. The spell of this moment persisted as he protectively cradled her hand and started to lead her away. And she didn¡¯t stop him. The spell was only broken when he put his key in the lock of his car and she asked him from the driver''s side door where he wanted to eat for dinner.

    Immediately, Eliot poured out nervous apologies and aghast realizations. That was so presumptuous of him, bordering on nonchalant kidnapping, he professed with horror. Brooke reassured him that she consented the whole way and she wanted to see where he would lead her next. Dinner was fun and that evening was even more fun. They played the wildest board games, even a few Euros. That was the part that Brooke always liked to lead into when recounting how they met because she could tell when the listener had a certain expectation.

    The parts she tended to leave out involved impossible fragments of memory that felt like confabulations and daydreams. Elie. Eleanor Shore. A girl who didn¡¯t exist. A girl who was a psychology major and couldn¡¯t give out her flyers any easier than Eliot. Not for lack of trying. She could challenge Brooke in quite a few departments. But it was like she was fighting with her loose sweater and sunken self-confidence.

    Brooke helped her when she pleaded and went with her when she held her hand. Same realization of practical kidnapping, same delightful dinner, and same playful night. One of their jokes was ¡°gopher farts¡±. Elie would turn the brightest shade of red to the point it looked like she had an awful sunburn. She was embarrassed by so many different parts of her body and Brooke pleaded with her not to be.

    For a silly, idle, confusing fantasy about her husband being a shy, busty, blonde coed that she was in love with, she held onto so many vivid and unmistakable details. Then, she challenged her father. She went to him with Elie practically hiding behind her shoulder and confessed everything during spring break. But, especially then, being around her father was like being in the presence of an all-consuming black hole. The fantasy stopped there, and she couldn¡¯t even imagine what happened next.

    There was just Eliot and she loved him. She always loved him, of course, because it had always been Eliot. There had never been anything or anyone else, not for real. But there were still the ¡°gopher farts¡± jokes and the peculiar sense that even though Eliot blushed as bright as his female fantasy doppelg?nger, there was this sliver, a shade that actually understood far more than either of them comprehended.

    She did her best not to dwell on that as she collected all her thoughts and faced the front of the store. Her husband and eldest daughter approached, urgently at first, then slowed to a careful amble when they sighted her. Fussing with her clothes, she could see that they were both doing too much and not enough about her slight form.

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    Even though she blushed and did her best to look decent, at the same time, she reflected on the hellhole of the country club and all the clubs before. She could imagine gallivanting around like this, half-clothed in an adult¡¯s wardrobe, while she screamed the worst and most bitter truths about the places her father frequented. In her heart, she knew Lacy would¡¯ve done the same thing if presented with the opportunity. The real Lacy. The bewildered girl following her had the potential to be the genuine article compared to the stranger who touched her nose. There was no way she would ever let her touch Eliot like that. She would fight for him.

    Nervously, she bridged the distance and wrapped her arms around him. Brooke whispered about all the gopher farts and urged him to believe it was her. He shared a blush almost as bright as the one way back when. To her relief, of course, he recognized her, and, of course, he trusted the impossibility that his wife was somehow this young tween girl.

    She didn¡¯t have to share their other secret, the one that hurt her in so many ways, intentionally. The reason she named her children the way she did. The ultimate cruelty, placed upon, burned into her by her father.

    Blair Posie wasn¡¯t too bad at names went. Her first child definitely experienced some teasing that stuck with him, but he was tougher for it and quick-witted with dispatching the worst of jokes and twisting them around to his benefit. He did get punched more than once until he started to bulk up. Lacy Anastasia had it worse. Brooke desperately begged her father for a different name for her second child. He absolutely refused and, not only that, set forth the ultimatum that if she even got close to denying these names then he would use the full power of his company to destroy her and any of her children for a dozen generations.

    She wanted to get free, but he was always there, orbiting like a god in any of the spaces she tried to free herself from. By Clare Rose, it was just one of those things they had to endure. She shouldered the full blame as a crazy lady who wanted to buck the gender norms in naming her children. Her secret, their secret, her most horrifying mistake. In return, her father took care of them.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Eliot looked into her eyes with the same urgent concern as that first day. ¡°Was it the rock? Where¡¯s the rock? Be careful, everyone.¡±

    Her husband sprang into action. He gathered them all up and made sure they were safe. Randomly, Blair¡®s phone chimed a tone. She fumbled with it and looked at the screen with open distress. Probably one more thing to worry about, Brooke nervously suspected. But no one pried and Blair quickly volunteered to go grab something Brooke could wear.

    Meanwhile, they tried to get everyone on the same page. Clare mentioned there was a weird buzzing in her head when Lacy looked at her. To this, Lacy appeared indignant but also relayed that she had no memory of when they left the country club or the previous location. She just had a vague dream that, it was dawning on her, actually happened. Lacy scrunched up her face to the point that it was like she shut her eyes.

    ¡°Whoever or whatever did this to me is going to get a real clobbering!¡± She didn¡¯t have anyone to shake her fist in the direction of, so she simply raised it in the air. At the implication from Clare that there was a person or some sort of genie-like entity inside the rock, Lacy renewed her promise to smash it. Eliot absorbed all the details with as much rational sense as possible.

    Blair soon returned with a dress not too dissimilar from what Brooke was used to in her wardrobe. Her stuff managed to fit a 12-year-old but that was with more prominent features. At least, it allowed her to feel decent enough to wear out once she changed. She sighed that was one more item they would have to purchase with no clue whether it would fit her in the next five minutes or five days.

    It was a jumping-off point, even though it was desperately itchy, had pokey imperfections on the side where the seam jutted out, and stabbing tags in all directions. Blair remembered the country club, the car, and the first clothing store, along with questioning Lacy about whether she was alright. To this, Lacy looked faintly pensive, as though the mention brought out a half-concealed memory.

    Taking Brooke by the hand once again, Eliot led her out of the narrow hallway and back into the main part of the store. No one screamed or gasped or had questions about them returning. Not that there were a great many people around or visible with the warehouse quality of the place. But they were also immensely normal as a group. Just a dad and his four daughters, to all appearances. He looked convincingly burned out processing these new events along with traffic troubles, the stress of brunch, and the weight of all the other uncertainties.

    By contrast, Brooke felt amazing. She wanted to run and skip and climb and dash here and there. Her body was game for all of it without a single note of complaint or pinprick of pain. Being twelve again was not an age she would ever want to repeat but to do so like this didn¡¯t seem the worst. It was just terrifying to consider that she might be stuck like this.

    Blair went to go get the rock, even though she still appeared flustered from whatever her text message contained. It likely wasn¡¯t a good idea to bring it into this cramped location, but it was the only thing they had. Although, Brooke wasn¡¯t sure what she was going to do once they had it. She couldn¡¯t possibly interrogate or throttle it in frustration to provide her with answers.

    The moment, with what had to be a possessed Lacy, desperately clung to her memory like stray clumps of sand lashed by the waves.

    It is you? What does that mean? What was she to anyone else, especially to some sort of spirit trapped inside a rock? It said it was sorry, yet it just made things more complicated. Not enough time, she could sympathize with that. But what was in its way? Them? And the final note implied that it was helping and that was the most it could manage.

    What would make a spirit like that afraid? She couldn¡¯t imagine...

 [31] A Rock & Family Vacation 31 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [31]

    It wasn¡¯t long before Blair returned with the rock, carefully concealed and protected in its bag. With a frustrated sigh, Brooke reached in and grabbed it with her bare hand. There was no spark, there was no shock, there was no sign of anything happening as she held and turned it in her grip. Eliot gave her a safe breadth while her children flinched, from the surprise of her just grabbing it, but didn¡¯t back away.

    She had no idea if there was ever any reason for her to be worried about the darn thing or if it had moved beyond the rock. But she wasn¡¯t going to risk it with her husband. In appearance, the rock looked essentially the same, with a black, obsidian texture and roughness beside oily rainbows and sharp brightness bleeding through from within.

    Blair confirmed that it appeared much the same as it usually did, but she also relayed that it had gone dark for a strange period when they were with the creepy guys and that coincided with Lacy going to the bathroom. Gripping tightly to all of her deduction skills, Blair could only postulate that the entity within the rock had somehow escaped and made contact with Lacy, then brainwashed her into a girly girl (Lacy gave a disgusted shiver), before somehow returning.

    Blair also had a vague, dream-like recollection of the time around and after the changing rooms. She imagined it had to be somewhere close to drunkenness as she fiddled with her phone again and walked the rock carefully back to the car. Soon, Brooke curiously flipped through the clothing on the racks, torn between her adult impetus to only focus on the practical and inexpensive while the reinvigorated exuberant, curious side of her yearned for something pretty but comfy.

    Blair took the opportunity of her parents debating different clothes to focus all of her attention on her phone. She was appalled to the depths of her soul at the flagrant errors her drunken alter ego had flippantly passed to the skater boy. She wanted to immediately delete his reply without even looking but she had already skimmed it, even though she hadn¡¯t truly absorbed the words.

    Flicking her eyes down with a series of frantic blinks, she eventually saw the whole thing.

    ¡°hey there. Glad 2 hear from you. Dat¡¯s cool. Stuff happens. We¡¯re actually up on Broad st this afternoon. Love to meet up. Text me again soon. I think yur mistakes are perfectly beautiful. TTFN!¡±

    She knew he wouldn¡¯t be so keen on her mistakes if he knew that she made the biggest one misleading and implying about her age. Or maybe he wouldn¡¯t care, which would make him as creepy as the country club ¡°grandpas¡±. At least then she could stop talking to him without a guilty conscience.

    Lacy had shot to zero interest in any of the clothes claustrophobically surrounding her, aside from a few robes with misprinted designs. She scrutinized whenever their mother moved towards the more androgynous clothing options. Blair raised an eyebrow, and Lacy firmly planted her feet with her arms folded wherever she felt uncomfortable.

    ¡°You okay?¡±

    Lacy flashed a sneer at her older sister. ¡°Okay? What part of all this looks the least bit like it¡¯s ¡®okay¡¯? Because I¡¯m not seeing it.¡± Her voice barely held below a strained yell but, with the density of the racks, it didn¡¯t echo far. Everyone turned towards her, but she held up her hands. as though surrendering for arrest. She turned away and grabbed the loosest sweater she could find. It was silver and had material that was quite a ways away from the kind that assaulted her dry fingers. She trembled slightly as she embraced the material. Blair held her hands up too.

    Eventually, Brooke went after things more befitting her youthful appearance. Not only that, she scampered up some side steps to a storage area with a lot of scattered, extra marked-off outfits for young girls. It didn¡¯t take long for Eliot to find himself out of breath and feeling his four decades in comparison to his renewed wife. Even Blair had to crack a few joints.

    ¡°You were really cute. So¡­you remember all that as like a dream? It was trippy for me, like unwillingly playing a riff on myself. Like hypnosis. Not painful but very disconcerting.¡±

    Lacy clenched her teeth. ¡°I hated it. What I remember of it. Most of it was stupid. Just acting like a flippantly dumb girl. I mean whoever that was¡­ was doing that. That wasn¡¯t me. She or he or it or whatever stole my body to do all that crazy stuff and hurt mom.¡± Across the way, mom flashed a radiant smile as she pinwheeled her arms in a flowing, tie-dye top. Lacy rubbed her nose and refocused on the clothes around her.

    ¡°I remember you singing an old ABBA song as part of some TikTok thing when no one else was around.¡± Blair hummed part of it as Lacy acted like an irritated hedgehog. In no way did Blair think her voice compared to the original singer, but she gave it her best shot.

    ¡°I¡¯m not seventeen, like the song says. So, it¡¯s more for you. And stop teasing me.¡±

    Blair persisted, but in a different direction. ¡°I also want to say, you fought well against whatever that was. I saw what you did with the hat, and you made sure to squeeze me real tight. Whatever it was, got me too. Although, it also made that one clerk lady really happy."

    Lacy emphasized that it made her touch and enjoy the cursed material that damaged her fingers. Or, at least, stuff that kind of felt like it. Drifting around to the far side of the store, Lacy dipped her head.

    ¡°I wanted things to be easier. I didn¡¯t want all this girl obligation¡­whatever to be so tough and frustrating but that doesn¡¯t mean whatever it was gets to brainwash me into someone else. Turned me into a girly jerk pussy¡­cat. Well, she¡¯ll see my claws.¡± Blair felt like Lacy was on the cusp of a further admission, but she wasn¡¯t ready to lay bare her emotions, even with so many clothes to insulate the spaces between.

    Everyone got a little bit of something. Lacy acquired her own silken robe with high, tough shoulders compared to dad¡¯s. It looked oddly bald, as though a child ran an electric razor across it. That meant it wasn¡¯t as fuzzy with catches as it would¡¯ve been. Blair found herself a red swimsuit number with enough leeway to comfortably fit her entire form. It was apparently slightly too large up top but that was no detriment in her case. Clare rounded things out with a cute little pink windbreaker which had shrunk right to her size because of an accident. It was almost like all the defects that happened were in their favor.

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    Brooke wound up with whatever she could grab which didn¡¯t break the bank and felt comfortable enough to wear on such a warm day. She wasn¡¯t sure what to think when the older clerk, who faintly resembled a librarian, mistook Blair for the mom and Brooke for just one of the children.

    As the best and least uncomfortable compromise, Eliot explained that these were his daughters¡­ and Brooke and refused to elaborate on the relationship between him and Brooke. Since that was all the interaction required for ringing up the clothes, that was all they said.

    Outside, Brooke couldn¡¯t resist scampering, stretching, twirling, and darting around all the things that were sure to scrape and scab and injure. She felt alive, far more than she had been at this age. Back then, her father suffused every aspect of her life like an intangible, energy-stealing poison and her body dragged her down the rest of the way. Rarely, it would just be her and her mother.

    Away from dad, some shadow of her mom¡¯s mathematic personality poked out. She would invent little games around housework and idle chitchat. And come up with clever solutions to household problems that mattered only to them. Then dad would return from work and the quiet aspects would withdraw, to be replaced by the automaton that served him diligently and repeated everything that he thought.

    Glancing over her shoulder, Brooke glimpsed the police station. It was so close. Just a short walk.

    But what could they possibly say of a legal nature? Help us, I¡¯ve been turned into a 12-year-old by some kind of spirit that lives in a rock we found on the beach with some weird thing stuck to it. They could absolutely mention the men in green uniforms or the other, loitering guy her husband encountered. She pitched this to Eliot as they tucked all their purchases away in the back. Clare chimed in that the pizza lady who recommended the sheriff guy was really cool with everything, so maybe he could actually help?

    Blair and Eliot had the greatest concerns about going to the police. They weren¡¯t from around here. This was a small town, and they had each seen plenty of unsettling movies about the creepy stuff that existed in the South like this. And this was where grandpa picked out the vacation home. None of those aspects felt good on their behalf. Never mind the fact that Brooke was now a tween, and the boys were girls. At least Eliot could still use his ID, if they asked for it, but if they were anything close to sleuthy, then they would immediately detect all sorts of problems with their story.

    The alternative was to head back to the beach house and, of course, enjoy what remained of their vacation, but also linger in uncertainty. Brooke didn¡¯t like the prospect of being anywhere near where her father could suddenly show up, making up for the earlier cancellation.

    They crossed the busy street as a close group, looped around a pet park, and paused by some streamers. Blair made a quick note that they had to stop by the wind toy shop they saw earlier. Brooke lamented whether she would even be strong enough to hold onto a kite for her kids.

    The sheriff station was labeled as Marlon County but emphasized as the locally-established PINCKNEY POINT POLICE DEPARTMENT. The all-caps were prominent in the lettering. Blair thought that it looked strikingly more like a library than what she imagined of a police station and that impression continued as they made their way inside. A female officer directed them through a metal detector and then casually scanned them before allowing them to proceed.

    Eliot had to consult his notes taken at the pizza shop but was soon asking for Raymond Cadell. The station had the low drop ceiling of any office building with open partitions separating sections into wall-less cubicles. His impression was that of a 1980s bank. The front desk had a couple of officers chatting with one another. One guy with a thick, red handlebar mustache beckoned them over and kindly asked their business. They all wore tannish silver uniforms with large hats set aside.

    It was a stressful matter for Eliot to prepare his response to that relatively simple question. He¡¯d never been in a police station, and he¡¯d never had reason on either side to be in a place like this, but it also fascinated him for all the details and minutia which made a story richer to include. Like, why was there a pair of leather boots hung on the far wall over by the stairs? He had no idea and doubted he would ever be able to ask that question, let alone arrive at the answer.

    ¡°We encountered two suspicious men who claimed to be security for down by the boardwalk and they asked us a lot of personal, casing criminal type questions about our stay here. There was also a strange man in a black suit who was trying to solicit business and the two guys and the other seemed to be at odds and¡­ It just created a very nervous and frankly potentially dangerous situation for me and my kids.¡± Getting that out felt more excruciating than a desperate college mistake that he once recounted to Brooke. The Egg Incident. That reminder actually would¡¯ve been perfectly fine as proof that the scared young girl was her wife and cause him less embarrassment than remembering gopher farts. Because it vividly reminded him of the weirdest dreams he ever had and only casually shared as an offhand admission.

    In them, he was a woman named Eleanor Shore. Elie. Just like in the fantasies that Brooke nervously admitted to when they were first dating. He didn¡¯t particularly believe in the supernatural, but he had that. Dreams of a life that couldn¡¯t possibly exist. He was so comfortable with her because Elie and Brooke were close friends and even more. And now, this crazy vacation had brought an inexplicable rock that changed their children in ways that felt crazy, alarming, and bizarre but which left a tickle of recognition he desperately wanted to ignore.

    It refused to go away, like the nagging sensation all around him that someone was watching, someone like the mysterious girl described twice by his children. Someone who he had also first seen¡­ in his dreams.

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 [32] A Rock & Family Vacation 32 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [32]

    Raymond Cadell was apparently busy but the people at the front desk sent along a junior officer to pull them aside and take down a statement about their encounters. He was immensely courteous, checking in with Clare first and making sure she was all right. She gave her side of the account, mentioning how nervous she felt. The junior officer assured her and everyone else that they would make absolutely sure that their stay in town was safe and problem-free.

    Eventually, he turned his attention to Lacy. He was broad-shouldered with ruffled light hair and a well-tailored uniform. Blair absolutely noticed that her younger sister restlessly fussed with her legs and had trouble meeting the officer¡¯s gaze. She fluttered back and forth with the intent not to appear suspicious while clearly feeling something she wanted to conceal.

    The officer was patient as she confirmed some details about when the incident happened but that she was not present. Blair provided the surprise for everyone as she revealed that she saw the men in green and the other guy when they were driving over to Broad Street this morning. She described their white van but unfortunately hadn¡¯t focused on the license plate. She did stress that they were quite close to the beach house, which put pressure on the speculation that they had intent to rob it. At this realization, the officer picked up his writing and typing pace so that the form could be filed. Eventually, the conversation drifted towards Brooke.

    She was quite disconcerted by the way that the policeman looked at her. It wasn¡¯t traditionally unsettling. So many times when she was younger, way too young to understand, people gawked at her and projected the cruelest little paper cuts of emotion about her being weird just because she grew up sooner than others.

    She once heard a teacher casually call her a ¡°little whore¡± just because she needed a larger bra than hers. It was after class and Brooke was checking in to see if the teacher was still there so that she could ask her some question she¡¯d since forgotten. Brooke didn¡¯t enter the room at first after hearing that comment, she waited and waited until the teacher and her associate had shifted to a different topic. When she finally entered, the teacher had wide eyes but slipped on a look of friendly compassion. She knew so many painful truths behind faces.

    This officer looked at her kindly, too kindly. But that was stupid, kind was good. It hurt because she had to peer back so far for a moment like this. There was the precious oasis of Eliot or Elie or whatever. And nothing before that. No strangers who felt like they truly saw her for who she felt inside.

    That was also ridiculous though. There had to be little moments, but they tended towards people who didn¡¯t care. People who forgot you seconds later. This random man in a uniform looked at her like she was truly the child beneath the suffered malice of her father and isolation of the life he ordained for her, the heart without the protective armor. She wasn¡¯t sure if she wanted to laugh, cry, or scream out at everything deep inside. Whatever the intention of the entity that possessed her daughter and transformed her, Brooke felt a flicker of relief to enjoy a moment like this.

    They implied Eliot was a single father. There was no way they could reveal the weird supernatural aspects of their vacation, but Brooke resolved to at least hint at the creepy activities going on in the country club. The officer nodded while wearing concern and uncertainty on his features. Brooke framed it as an obligation where young people like herself and¡­ and the other girls had to privately entertain rich old gentlemen. The way the officer flinched felt like an encouraging sign.

    ¡°Thank you, Ross. I should be able to take it from here.¡± A voice cleared out of the chatter as a bulky man in a gray, seersucker suit with a red tie tucked his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. He wore the same hat as everyone else and doffed it with a bow. Casually, he apologized and tugged at his lapel, explaining he was just in a formal business meeting. Blair quietly puzzled about that but recognized that there were a lot of business and politics she didn¡¯t understand when it came to the police. Then, her eyes widened.

    ¡°Excuse me, sir. Where did you get that ring? Is it a local thing?¡±

    In Raymond¡®s right hand, he held exactly the same ring that the three old men at the country club were wearing. Her heart and mind absolutely raced with questions and theories. She was going to absolutely lose it if he said that it was a mysterious gift too.

    ¡°This ring here? Part of my earlier business. Give it a look. Supposed to make you feel better.¡° He held it out for their scrutiny and Blair nervously asked if she could touch it. Raymond squinted and passed it to her. Finally.

    Some part of her desperately hoped that actually holding and feeling the ring would allow her some epiphany about this mystery. But it was just a normal ring with a slight bit of warmth from being handled by Raymond.

    She held onto it as long as she reasonably could before she had to hand it back, but she started to pass it to Lacy before she turned away. Clearly, rings were going to be as persona non grata as a multitude of other things for the stubborn girl. Instead, she passed it to Clare to transfer back over to the sheriff.

    *HSSS*

    As soon as the ring touched Clare¡¯s hand, furious sounds and swells of light bloomed, as though she held a tiny version of a Fourth of July sparkler. In fear, Clare chucked the ring at the junior officer¡¯s table. As soon as it left her flesh, it went perfectly still, dark, and inert. Blair absorbed every aspect.

    Chuckling with a nervous lilt, Raymond retrieved the ring and inspected it quietly before announcing, ¡°Well, you don¡¯t see that every day. Guess I¡¯m gonna have to look up what kind of material can set off like that with perspiration. Darnest thing. Let¡¯s just put this little feller away for right now, before he gets too excited. Rebecca, leave a copy of your full report on my desk. We¡¯ll investigate your case properly. We can send a squad car around this evening to check up on y¡¯all. And I promise to personally check in if anything comes up. Good day to you folks, enjoy the Point. A lovely little piece of heaven down here on Earth.¡±

    The junior officer smiled at Raymond and nodded before brushing back her long hair and facing the Shore family. Clare looked confused and disoriented as she asked, with concern, ¡°What happened to the other officer?¡± Frowning, Rebecca inquired, ¡°What do you mean, sweetie? An officer you spoke to at the front?¡±

    Clare shook her head with certainty. ¡°No. There was a nice man who took down everything we said before the sheriff guy arrived.¡± Rebecca appeared quietly concerned as she moved her mouth around a few times and asked, ¡°Has Clare here experienced any memory ummm or¡­ Not doubting you, sweetie¡­ just trying to understand.¡±

    Her family also looked at her with concern and uncertainty as the disparity resolved. Clare claimed that there was a young male police officer who was with them, Ross, but now suddenly Rebecca was. Rebecca confirmed that she didn¡¯t know any Rosses who were officers at this station.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    For the briefest instant, Brooke clung to some aspect of that which made sense. She had felt relief at being with and questioned by someone who saw her as a simple young girl. It mattered because it was a male officer, but that didn¡¯t make any sense, because she had been talking to this female officer the entire time. No one showed up except for Raymond and no one else left.

    Brooke scrutinized the junior officer adding a few casual notes while smiling politely at Clare. She had long, surprisingly loose hair in more of a dishwater blonde color with fair streaks than the lighter tone that Brooke and her girls shared. The officer seemed rather dainty and skinny compared to her expectations, but she didn¡¯t want to discriminate. Also, her teeth were amazing and made Brooke viciously jealous.

    Despite all the assurances, Clare was firm and concerned that no one took her at her word that there was another junior officer at some point. Blair put an arm on her shoulder and whispered comforting words, but Clare still looked like she wanted to cry. Lacy watched the female officer and also appeared unsure.

    Rebecca urged the little girl to go get a drink of water. She dug into her desk and came up with a brownie with gobs of frosting. She explained that it was from the last volunteer drive about a week ago and still seemed good. Clare accepted the brownie and offer of water before hugging the officer around the shoulder and telling her, ¡°Please be okay, I¡¯m sorry if I did something bad.¡±

    This left the poor officer perplexed but showing her best smile to console the kid. She could only imagine this single dad had it rough with three girls and this other kid, Brooke, he seemed to be looking after today or something. She wasn¡¯t really clear on that, but the girl didn¡¯t give her any warning signs of concern that it was a kidnapping and the guy seemed nice and as emotionally thrashed as she would expect for dealing with all those girls.

    She bid them a cheery farewell as she finished up with their paperwork. The weird thing with the ring stuck in her mind. Raymond had left around lunchtime just as he said. She knew he had a lot of stuff in his life that he didn¡¯t like to talk about. Good old Southern boys things. At least they treated the female officers fairly otherwise, but she always felt like she was on the outside of every social event.

    Although, something else nagged her. She didn¡¯t feel naturally comfortable in her uniform. It was like something was rubbing her the wrong way. She was surprisingly self-conscious of her bust.

    Maybe it was thinking about that poor 16-year-old who had to deal with all that at such a young age. She wanted to give them all hugs. It sure seemed like those kids had a rough vacation with the dad doing his best to keep their spirits up. Rebecca resolved to stop by their rental house and check in on them when she was off-duty.

    She willed herself not to blush. She wasn¡¯t stopping over because she thought the dad was a little bit cute or anything like that. But he had an amazing face, soft yet strong, a total writer¡¯s face, befitting a freelancer author, as he stated. If he ever wanted more information about the police station for one of his books, she could show him around and¡­. With a cough, she felt really flush and turned on her desk fan to circulate more air.

    He was almost twice her age! And his eldest was only a few years younger than her. Get your mind out of the gutter, girl, he scolded herself. Stretching and messing with her uniform until it felt comfortable enough that she could ignore it for a few moments, Rebecca walked over to the front of the station near the metal detector and cracked her neck with a quick look outside.

    The seagulls were fighting over a dirty hot dog bun on the sidewalk. Impishly, she imagined strolling out and asking them to break it up. It wasn¡¯t long before she grabbed plentiful amounts of coffee and walked back to her desk to officially finish and file the paperwork for Raymond.

    She had a few other things to complete as well before she could properly take a break. After about thirty minutes, she got up from her chair with a clear conscience. Peeking out front again showed that the seagulls were still fighting but without the hotdog bun. Also, there was a white, conspicuous van parked across the street. It exactly matched the description the teen had given. And she didn¡¯t have her freaking phone or anything nearby!

    Rebecca considered shifting over to at least get a mental picture of the license plate but there wasn¡¯t enough glass to surreptitiously accomplish that. If she went outside and strolled to get a better line of sight then she just knew that the suspect would just take off. And the wall in front was so tall that she still wouldn¡¯t be able to get a good look from where she was.

    A man got out on the passenger side and walked around the vehicle. He wasn¡¯t wearing a green uniform and he wasn¡¯t lanky like the other one, but he was wearing a business suit. She could also tell that he had something small in his hand, but was too far away for her to resolve more than that. He approached the station.

    Rebecca backed away from the window and retreated to her chair. The guy had to be coming over here. Rationally, she told herself that she was just seeing what she wanted to see. Get some people needing to track down some suspicious guys and suddenly there are the bad guys right at her doorstep. Just like the little games of Cops and Robbers she loved to play with her older brother, when he was still alive. Totally convoluted scenarios of criminal busting convenience.

    The front door swung open, but she was too far back to catch more than that. Her heart raced for no good reason. Her regular firearm was in the weapons locker, but she had a heavy-duty taser in the right drawer next to Smarcy¡®s oldest chew toy.

    She listened diligently for footsteps or anything else. There was nothing. She leaned back in her chair. This was crazy and she was acting spooked and suspicious for nothing. This was the middle of a police station, if the guy had a weapon then Dolores was going to catch him with the machine or the wand.

    ¡°Rebecca Coleson.¡±

    She turned around to face the man who¡¯d exited from the white van. Attentively, she scrutinized his features to remember them later. Black-framed glasses. Blonde hair a shade brighter and lighter than hers, thick but not too long. Looked to be in his 60s with a prominent beard. Most peculiar was he wore a dark, grayish almost-black ring on his finger exactly like the one Raymond had shown off. It took her a moment to realize that he hadn¡¯t phrased her name like a question.

    ¡°I am Officer Colson. Who are you?¡±

    The mystery man scowled. ¡°That¡¯s inconsequential, Rebecca. What matters is I need just a moment of your time.¡±

    She felt irritated as she sat up and folded her arms. ¡°You¡¯ll get it if you¡¯ll explain what you¡¯re doing here.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    A moment later, Rebecca Colson ceased to exist.

 [33] A Rock & Family Vacation 33 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [33]

    Clare kept looking back at the police station as they left. She knew what she saw. The officer helping them was a nice man named Ross and then when the ring flashed with lights in her hand, the officer was a nice lady named Rebecca. Clare carefully ate the brownie while turned into the breeze so that whatever crumbs fell off would be blown away and not mess up her clothes. It was good. The chocolate was both too sweet and too bitter, but it was a gift, so she didn¡¯t complain. She made sure everyone had some.

    Lacy wore a weird expression while she ate her piece, like she was enjoying it but also chewing something nasty. Clare imagined it was a cow cud. Blair ate it like a normal human being with a little cough. Clare shared her water. Dad just smiled but mom absolutely marveled at the brownie. She felt the same rise and dip of sweetness and bitterness as Clare but with intense swings. It was funny to see her so animated when she usually saw her mom more subdued.

    Blair wouldn¡¯t let them forget about the shop with the streamers out front on the way back to the car. Eliot held onto a cautious sigh when they were in front of it. He had so many things on his mind, especially the admission from Blair that she saw the three creepy folks from yesterday not too far from their rental house. It had plenty of passive video cameras and motion alarms, which they activated before leaving, but the anxiety of being away clung to him. It would¡¯ve been his call to head back to the house, check on things, and maybe change out of their brunch clothes. He was out-voted though, even by Brooke who eagerly grabbed for the door.

    A plush peacock with a billowing tail made of translucent kite parts was featured at the front. It led to something even more dazzling, a display of all sorts of rounded stones in a myriad of brilliant colors with miniature toy balloon lights sparkling above. Clare was the first to check it out. It was easy to find stones similar in appearance to the one that rolled into their lives. But none of them were exactly the same. They tended towards the appearance of pinwheel galaxies trapped in the earth.

    Lacy dodged far away from the bauble display. She drifted over to the flowers and perfumes while Blair marveled over the boxed hobby starters and science experiment kits. The place vaguely reminded Brooke of the defunct Natural Wonders shop that she always liked to take Brooke to, even though they rarely bought anything.

    Kites like arches high in the ceiling formed a path to the back. Small card games and oversized dice filled one wall, along with sculptures of winged dragons. It didn¡¯t take long for Blair to hunt down a variety of rubber band-powered balsa wood gliders and modest kites that looked manageable enough for even Brooke. A combo kite plane that furiously flapped its wings like a bird also soon became a must-have.

    To round everything out, Eliot insisted on a bubble wand that could be shifted into different shapes with a twist and a pull, along with a large bottle of quality bubble solution. It wasn¡¯t their least expensive purchase of the trip, but Brooke did her best not to worry about that. Blair exuberantly explained every clever trinket to a bouncing Clare as Lacy did her best not to let anyone think she was interested in a pearl bracelet. Despite Eliot encouraging Lacy that she could get whatever she wanted without judgment (and so long as it was less than $10), she dashed away from the bracelets and folded her arms to peer solely at the peacock.

    Brooke definitely noticed that Lacy was glancing in one of the mirrors up front while her eyes wandered to the glittering earrings and rainbow hair ties. She wondered if she could tempt Lacy with nail polish in similar colors, since she still had an open offer to paint Clare¡¯s nails. As though she could sense what Brooke was thinking, Lacy folded her arms so that her fingers and nails were hidden.

    Blair and Clare handled the super-sized bag of everything as they hustled ahead and receded back to the group with prancing excitement. Lacy made a show of dragging her feet and slumping. Brooke stretched out as the breeze pushed her hair around. She soon slowed to hold her husband¡®s hand. There was a slight crowd, so Eliot looked nervously around before resting his eyes on his wife. It felt so weird, even though they both knew that no one was watching them or seeing anything out of sorts.

    At the intersection, Brooke carefully checked both ways and frowned for a moment over a flicker of white heading left back over towards the police station. Had she seen a white van? No way to tell and only Blair had actually seen the vehicle in question. Blair was currently too wrapped up in playing some sort of stepping and stomping game on the stone tile with Clare.

    Back in the car, everyone took their usual spots. Brooke had to do a lot of adjusting of the seat but delighted in how easily the belt rested against her when secured. Eliot left some time on their meter for the next person even though Brooke figured that a meter maid or some draconian sensor system probably reset them as soon as they left.

    They had to loop around a few times with the one-way streets before they could merge back onto Broad. Several signs in blue with white trim advertised that the zoo was just a few miles north. That was definitely something they intended to see before the end of this vacation, likely as a capper. Brooke quietly wondered if she could get in at a discounted rate. The cliffside park to the south had already been designated and mapped out by Blair as the ideal place for all kites and planes. Reviews on Google said that it had perfect winds.

    Taking a side route back, they were afforded a glimpse of the fancy-schmancy hotel with an Egyptian aesthetic and a junior pyramid flanked by water fixtures. The wharf on the far end of the boardwalk was more appealing to Brooke. As they turned into the driveway again, Blair diligently scanned all around for signs of the van or the tall guy but saw nothing. The door was still locked and everything inside was fine. Checking the alarm, Eliot found nothing amiss and no warnings, intrusion, or alerts between it being set and when they returned.

    Brooke released a long breath as she flopped down on the couch. She stretched out and kicked her legs, relishing the absence of pain. Walking all the way to the wharf would be no problem. She bounced up and helped with bringing everything in. Darting along the steps, she opened up the closet of the master bedroom to put her brunch clothes away. Instantly, she froze in surprise.

    What she found in her side of the closet were not her regular clothes. Instead, there were dresses more suited to a young girl, slim one-piece swimsuits, and plenty of denim. Her specialty support bras had also been replaced with practically flat sports tops and training bras. That was all fine for the moment, but some of that stuff she spent a pretty penny on. A commotion downstairs brought her hustling to see what was going on.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    In the side bedroom, Blair and Lacy discovered similar changes to their wardrobes. Lacy stared, mortified, at a polka dot, two-piece bikini that barely looked like anything. There were girl jeans with hearts on the pockets, vibrant yellow blouses, and so many dresses. Blair had a lot of similar offerings but with the same sort of accommodations as her brand-new, red swimsuit.

    Fuming and billowing like a bull, Lacy proclaimed, with a finger pointing at Blair, ¡°This is YOUR fault! You talked to that stupid rock and you probably woke it up and that¡¯s why it¡¯s been haunting us! Now it took away all my clothes!¡±

    Blair pointed out that now they actually had more clothes they could wear, but Lacy didn¡¯t care. ¡°We¡¯ll have nothing when we turn back!¡± To this, Blair shrugged and clarified, ¡°If. But we have something for now.¡± This set her sister off, as she pounded the wood with her feet. Brooke listened quietly and held her hands up, encouraging everyone to take a breath. Lacy zoomed out of the room before she could say anything else.

    Chasing after, Brooke still wasn¡¯t quite fast enough to catch her as Lacy dug into the back of the car and grabbed the special bag that Blair used to carry around the rock. Yelling at her to stop was pointless, as Lacy set the rock in one hand like an oversized shotput and heaved it across the driveway. It rolled around awkwardly before coming to rest thirty feet away, nearly at the sand. Before she could march over and chuck it again, Blair dashed over and saved it.

    ¡°Darn it! Chill out! Just because you¡¯re mad and probably about to drop eggs, doesn¡¯t mean you can mess around! What if the rock decided to mess with you again? I don¡¯t want to lose you. None of us do. Come on!¡± Blair fumed, but also felt her voice crack. Lacy was still mostly trying to process the idea of ¡°dropping eggs¡± before a blush flooded her cheeks. Brooke smiled to herself at the visual from Blair before she went over to comfort Lacy.

    ¡°I¡¯m not¡­ acting like a weird girl on you know the thing and stuff. I¡¯m not spewing blood and organs.¡± Brooke took a deep breath. She realized that even attempting to explain biological things to Lacy would probably send her running and screaming. Instead, she just put an arm around her and led her back inside as Blair lingered behind. It was frustrating to not have enough body to wrap all the way around her child, but she did her best.

    Things eventually quieted down as they discovered that Clare also had a re-purposed wardrobe matching the stuff that they purchased yesterday. Before Brooke could wonder whether they might be able to return some of the extraneous items with a receipt, Blair noted that the rock seemed perfectly undamaged, neither chipped nor scratched. Although, she remarked that the driveway had a fresh divot in it. Brooke just hoped that the owner didn¡¯t notice.

    Turning the rock around a few more times, Blair squinted close and fiddled with the strange part stuck on. It wiggled before like one of Clare¡¯s baby teeth, desperately wanting to come loose. Now, there was enough leeway to begin pulling it away from the rest of the rock. But still not enough to tear it off.

    Blair was about ready to just tuck it back in her closet, with maybe a quick kind word of appreciation for changing her clothes without mentioning changes to Lacy¡®s wardrobe, when she noticed that part of the attachment was peeling off.

    She didn¡¯t have the longest nails, but she was tenacious. Small slivers flaked off at first, seemingly weakened by smashing against the pavement. It was like peeling off a very tiny, black sunburn. She brushed each little piece away and onto the floor despite a quick glare from mom before she asked, ¡°What is it?¡±

    Blair shook her head and kept digging. Her fingernails were soon discolored underneath, but she managed to pull most of the paint off. The strange attachment to the rock was a dull, metallic silver. Twisting it around a few times, Blair squinted before she gasped with her mouth hanging open.

    ¡°MOM! Look!¡±

    Despite the fact she had tested herself with the rock, Brooke still flinched when taking it. At first, she wasn¡¯t sure what her child was freaking out about. Yeah, it was gray and metallic and had some markings on it. So what?

    *Ding ding! Ding ding!*

    The front door chimed twice. Brooke¡¯s attention immediately went to the front. It was impossible to see who was there from this angle. Were Raymond or Rebecca already stopping by to check on them or did they have an update?

    With a sigh, Eliot got up from the couch and volunteered. ¡°I¡¯ll get the door.¡±

    Brooke nodded and returned to squinting at the weird things stuck on the rock. If she had her regular eyes then a magnifying glass would have been absolutely necessary, along with the bright light on her phone. The light through those darn tint-shifting windows was low, even though the sun would¡¯ve been a blinding laser if they were at their clearest option. She decided there was enough illumination, she just needed to turn it.

    Then, she saw it, what had freaked out Blair. On the side, beside the paint that had just peeled off, was a logo. A logo she was intimately familiar with. After all, she helped design a few variations of it.

    The Muller Corporation logo, with the gullwing M leading to the base of the C like a crude, open makeup case. It was the design her father hated the least.

    ¡°Hello, Elie.¡±

    Brooke dropped the rock, barely missing her feet as it rolled towards Blair, and she picked it up. That voice. The voice that could turn every part of her body cold and fearful. Her father¡®s voice, coming from the front door. And that name.

    She vaulted over the couch without a thought for the pain lancing through her legs. Despite how fast she ran, it felt like running in a dream, running through sludge with everything slowed to a crawl.

    Her father stood in the doorway with the door half open. No emotion crossed his features as he raised a hand. A ring just like the one Raymond showed off adorned his finger.

    Eliot turned to look at her as she opened her mouth to scream. He looked strikingly confused, as though he were in the middle of a dry spell with a parched desert of unknown scenes, invisible characters, and not enough words to adequately describe everything. Then, a melancholic realization spread over him beyond tears, followed by warm and quiet serenity as though Brooke was a cheerful vision of love he only dreamed to touch. Her love, her everything that mattered.

    Her father snapped his fingers with piercing light.

    And her husband was gone.

 [34] A Rock & Family Vacation 34 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [34]

    In Eliot¡®s place stood a familiar, yet strange, woman overwhelmed by Eliot¡®s clothes. She staggered in shock and horror, reaching for something to support her.

    So much of Eliot¡®s features remained despite the woman¡¯s narrow, soft face. It had the same tenacity. It was the face that begged her for help and then gratefully led her to her car. The only differences from then were wrinkles tracing her eyes and arms bearing the weight of so many years.

    Elie. The woman, who existed only in Brooke¡¯s fantasies, nervously crouched beside her. Looking out at her father, Brooke hardened her scowl and clutched Elie¡®s hand.

    With a rough sigh, Vincent Muller turned and gestured with a wave behind him. Looking back at Brooke, he said, ¡°You¡¯ve made another mess for me.¡±

    Glancing around, Brooke couldn¡¯t tell where her kids were. Elie squeezed her hand as they both took several steps back into the hallway.

    ¡°Not that it matters, but I might as well explain.¡± Vincent pushed his black glasses up and cleared his throat. ¡°Well? Haven¡¯t I taught you better? Invite me in. I may be paying for this place, but I¡¯m not going to be rude.¡± He tightened his tie and leveled a look of disappointment at his daughter.

    Everything was surreal. Brooke felt like her entire body was made of ice and it was sliding across the floor and down some pit from which she could never escape. At the same time, every attempt at moving broke off little pieces of her she would never get back. Somehow, despite this spinning stasis, she managed to beckon her father inside and lead him through the hallway.

    Blair stood with her arms crossed in front of her, wearing a look of sculpted, intense anger that Brooke wished she could match. Clare clung to the edge of the couch while Lacy held her back from moving closer. Innocently, Clare spoke, ¡°Grandpa? What¡¯s going on? Who is that? Why is she wearing dad¡®s clothes?¡± Despite her questions, her feet shifted nervously, as though a realization she refused to accept was dawning.

    ¡°Hello. Nothing to be concerned about, Clark. We just have a small situation I need to deal with. Thank you for helping your mother with her work. I hope she told you¡­ buy whatever game of your choice, with my thanks.¡°

    With watchful distance, Brooke led Elie over to the couch and fumbled for one of the blankets on the side to wrap around the one she loved. Despite the loose clothes and several layers, it was easy for her to see that forty-year-old Elie was still as prominent in her features as she had been back in college.

    Scanning the kitchen, Vincent smacked a hand on the table. Everyone else froze as he spoke, ¡°They were supposed to leave a bowl of fruit. I requested it specifically. Kiwi, oranges, apples, pears, and kumquats, if possible. I know you didn¡¯t eat it all. They just forgot. Frustrating.¡± Flinging open the refrigerator door, he assessed, ¡°Pizza. No surprise. This cheese will have to suffice.¡±

    Poking around, grandpa retrieved a small charcuterie board shaped like a painter¡¯s palette and sliced and arranged the cheese on it. They looked at one another with so many unspoken questions and abject confusion.

    Clearing his throat a few times, grandpa set the board on a small glass tray table that was well positioned at the juncture between the sides of the couch. Dusting his hands off, he then pointed to Blair and requested, ¡°Bring around that chair to the front over by the TV, dear boy.¡±

    ¡°¡­ Grandpa? What¡¯s going on? I don¡¯t understand.¡± Clare tried to pull away from Lacy, but she still held her little sister back. Her voice filled with the edges of frantic tears.

    Vincent planted his hands on the counter but not with anger. ¡°Be patient. All in good time. Have a little cheese to settle your thoughts. Shame about the fruit. I hope brunch went well.¡± He wiped his hands gingerly with a paper towel and tossed it in the waste bin.

    Grandpa looked around. ¡°Well? Did you enjoy brunch? Any of you? It¡¯s highly regarded. One of the best in the state.¡± They all remained silent, with their eyes dipping around to one another before returning to him. Blair cautiously took the chair over to where grandpa asked for it while still clutching her hands in front of her. She glanced over at the control for the glass and checked that it was engaged but quickly looked away.

    Clearing his throat, Vincent inspected the fridge again and then poked around an area off to the side. Opening a small cabinet, he gave a light chuckle.

    ¡°Found it.¡± Moments later, he produced a wooden bowl stacked with a variety of fruit. ¡°What would you do without me?¡± He laid the fruit bowl on the tray table beside the stacks of cheese after taking a single apple for himself.

    Brooke felt like her jaw was about to snap in two from the tension. Everything felt insane. Her father was puttering around the kitchen with snacks as though everything was normal, and it wasn¡¯t minutes ago he snapped his fingers and did whatever he did to her husband. And he was responsible for the rock. Ringing in her skull, Brooke had to conclude he was responsible for everything!

    ¡°You did all of this. How? Why?¡±

    Vincent took two full bites of the apple and waited until he was finished chewing before answering, ¡°I¡¯ve done a lot of things. You¡¯re going to have to be more specific.¡±

    ¡°You¡­know what I mean.¡±

    He took another bite. ¡°I can see. And I see disappointment. I put all my effort into you, Brooke. And you still wound up¡­ Like this. With a woman weak enough to want you and no prospects for children. So, I had to step in. But it wasn¡¯t enough. You disappointed me three times more¡­ so, I had to step in again. That¡¯s the story of your life: You disappoint me, and I have to fix it. And I¡¯ll make sure you never forget that.¡±

    Her heart raced, and her body shook with something beyond simply rage. ¡°How¡­what¡­how?¡± He finished the apple and chucked it in the trash.

    ¡°All in good time, as I said. Patience. Firstly, where is the rock?¡± He checked everyone in the room. Lacy¡®s eyes were wide as she pressed her nails against her palms and scoured her flesh. Clare clung to her but also looked towards mom and the unknown woman with her. Blair shifted over towards the TV. She had tucked the pole of the broom underneath the nearby couch cushions. Anyone looking could tell they were raised slightly but couldn¡¯t see anything else.

    Brooke hissed. ¡°Did you put it here?¡±

    ¡°No. An associate of mine did.¡°

    ¡°For what purpose?!¡±

    Lacy heard the faintest trace of a sound from around where Blair was standing on the other side of the couch. If anyone else heard it, then they showed no sign of it. She heard it again but still couldn¡¯t quite resolve if it was a whisper, an animal, or something in the house settling. However, it sounded important.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Vincent casually and comfortably traversed the open space around to where the chair was placed. He let out of breath as he sat. The chair was in king-like opposition to the lower couch. Clearing his throat, he encouraged them each to take a seat.

    Blair eased down stiffly with her arms positioned as though she were cradling a stomachache. She curled her legs around the edge of the couch, so the hidden pole was less obvious. Vincent flashed her a vague look that could¡¯ve been interpreted as sympathetic but said nothing. Brooke sheltered Elie and they each kept turning their attention to Lacy and Clare, pained by the distance separating them. Lacy did her best to keep Clare from squirming and forming more questions.

    ¡°Purpose? To see what you all would do with it. A magic rock. A mystery rock. A puzzle fashioned by R&D. Despite the best efforts of marketing, men will never be as much into expensive grooming products as women. But imagine inconspicuous stones left at strategic locations around the world. Newly-minted ladies, eager to catch up with their¡­ sistren. Or something to that effect. Given a tool like that, I also expected my tenacious child to wield it bitterly. Vindictively. Dash all the cruel, bitter men and give them what they deserve. I was watching and once again¡­you disappointed me.¡±

    Brooke reeled. She could easily comprehend that her father would overturn the world just for a little bit of money. it also made sense that he would test her in such an obtuse way. But all the rest felt incongruent. If this was so, then who was the girl? Why had she gotten younger like this? She didn¡¯t buy it.

    ¡°That¡¯s not the truth,¡± Blair calmly declared, following the same thought. ¡°Your own words contradict it. Maybe¡­ you wanted mom to use the rock as a weapon. That¡¯s why you provided those perverts with those rings¡­ For protection? But that¡¯s not it. That¡¯s not the full story.¡±

    Vincent clapped his hands together once. ¡°Even as the most pitiful girl, you preserve the searing intuition of a man, my dear boy. So, what can you deduce?¡±

    Blair remained stiffly and awkwardly sitting. Lacy continued to hear the faintest sound, as though some tiny creature or whispering only she could hear.

    ¡°It was an experiment. You wanted to see what mom would do. But there¡¯s more to that rock. That¡¯s why I¡¯ve hidden it. For safekeeping¡­¡± Blair glanced over to the other side of the room, towards the special little bay window where she and Lacy had their heart-to-heart. Then she immediately flicked her eyes back to her grandfather.

    Finally, the sound Lacy was hearing resolved into words she could understand. She carefully released Clare from her grip but pressed her back with an arm. Tensing her legs against the edge of the couch as though they were starting blocks in a race, Lacy bent forward on the couch but didn¡¯t move.

    Vincent calmly stood from his chair and looked expectantly to his left, towards the bay window on the side. Blair braced herself and reached an arm beneath the couch cushion before noting, ¡°There¡¯s just one thing I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    Their grandfather heaved an annoyed breath as he responded, ¡°And what is that?¡±

    Blair started to relax her arms. Lacy heard something, but Blair heard it as well.

    ¡°How do flowers BLOOM¡­ at MIDNIGHT and DAWN?¡±

    Instantly, the full intensity of the sun blasted into the room through the suddenly untinted windows as the first command removed their effect and Blair threw herself to her feet.

    The flash on Vincent¡®s glasses completely blinded him to his granddaughter¡¯s assault. Before she left the cushion, Blair used both hands to snag the broom pole underneath. Without her arms to hold it up, cloaked in the shadow and swath of her breasts, the black rock tumbled out of her top and onto the floor towards Lacy.

    The words that Lacy had just barely heard now filled her head like a scream.

    ¡°PULL IT OFF! FREE ME!¡±

    An instant later, the room went practically black with undulating light spots as the full darkness of the tint asserted itself with Blair¡¯s ¡®midnight¡¯ command. When ¡®dawn¡¯ brought blazing light in a second wave, Blair swung the pole around and smashed her grandfather in the face and on the hand.

    He screeched in pain as his glasses rebounded and ricocheted without shattering but scraped across his face. Meanwhile, Lacy fell over the obsidian rock and dug her fingers into the attachment with its paint half flaked off. She panted and snarled like a wild beast, digging her claws as deep as humanly possible.

    Everything happened so quickly that Elie could barely process what was happening. Clare plaintively wailed in confusion as Brooke desperately searched for something she could throw at her father with more weight than Blair¡®s improvised polearm. Nothing.

    She saw Lacy desperately digging at the attachment on the stone. She had no idea why she was trying to take it off but now didn¡¯t feel like a time for those sorts of questions. She let go of Elie and did her best to help.

    The attachment was hanging by the barest trace of adhesive, but Lacy¡¯s nails practically bled as her fingers trembled and fought to get purchase. From behind her, her little sister dropped down and wrapped her arms around her like a brace, pressing her smaller fingers into the gap between the stone and the attachment.

    Clare may not have understood what was going on, but she knew in her heart when her sister needed help. In the same instant, Elie joined Brooke and lent what strength she had to give it one final jerk and twist the attachment free.

    ¡°NOOOO!!!¡±

    Grandpa caught only a glimpse of the rock before raising his hand in the air. They may have caught him off-guard, but this was nothing. He was in control, he was always in control!

    Not even pausing to take a breath, Brooke and Eli together turned and heaved the rock at Vincent. The first traces of incandescent sparks issued from Vincent¡®s ring. Brooke shut her eyes, she didn¡¯t want to see what evil her father had planned for her and her children.

    Then, a far brighter explosion filled the air, like a newborn star. When her eyes recovered, Brooke saw that a woman much like her in beaming, radiant robes with brilliant blonde hair like the sun freed from the clouds held back Vincent¡®s fingers.

    The woman glared at him and said simply, ¡°Hello again¡­mom.¡±

 [35] A Rock & Family Vacation 35 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [35]

    ¡°Krystal? Is that you? What¡¯s going on?¡± Confusion pulsed around Clare¡¯s heart and mind. She didn¡¯t know why Blair attacked their grandfather with the broom pole she carried outside earlier and she definitely had no clue why Lacy was suddenly pulling the sticky thing off the rock, but she felt she had to help.

    Now, there was a taller, much older adult version of the girl she knocked over in the clothing store. The woman flashed Clare a quick, faint smile. ¡°It¡¯s me¡­¡± Then, she focused on Vincent and repeated harshly, ¡°It¡¯s me.¡± Still clutching his fingers, she gripped and ripped off the ring. It rolled and came to rest beside the couch. Vincent coughed and held out his empty hand.

    ¡°Turn out your pockets,¡± the woman commanded.

    ¡°My glasses.¡± Vincent checked blearily at his feet. Blair could see that the glasses had tumbled and came to rest sideways against the entertainment system supporting the television. Her muscles trembled and spasmed with her heartbeat echoing through her hands as she set the pole aside.

    ¡°Pockets first,¡± she persisted.

    Begrudgingly and with a faint growl, Vincent turned over his pockets, shook out his pants, and offered up his suit jacket for inspection. All he had on him was a cell phone, which the woman tossed aside on the ground. Vincent flinched as it landed roughly with the screen facing down.

    ¡°Are there others? Outside?¡±

    ¡°Of course, I brought a whole paramilitary squad, armed to the teeth. They¡¯re just waiting until they haven¡¯t heard from me long enough and then they¡¯ll take care of matters.¡±

    The radiant woman narrowed her eyes and subtly shook her head, but Brooke remembered that her father waved to someone. This whole situation felt like some impromptu improvised play she¡¯d been pulled into without any lines.

    ¡°What is all this? Who are you?¡± Brooke felt exhausted despite her youthful body. Elie comforted her.

    Still keeping her hands on Vincent, the strange woman explained, ¡°I¡¯m your sister. This is our mother. And she¡¯s screwed with us a lot.¡± Vincent flared his teeth.

    ¡°¡­..WHAT?!?¡± Was all that Brooke could get out. She clapped her forehead and shook her head. Brooke didn¡¯t remember having any siblings. The family had an aunt but that was just a vague recollection. Her sense was that it was either on Eliot¡¯s side or was her aunt. And she was quite busty¡­ which the strange woman actually fit the bill on. And she had many features similar to Brooke. But she knew well to question.

    ¡°Dad¡­or¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ What the hell is all this? What¡¯s the truth?¡± The woman holding on to her father studied herself but didn¡¯t waver at that implication of doubt.

    Vincent flexed against the hold gripping him. ¡°You¡¯re not my only disappointment.¡°

    Despite the brightness that suffused her being, the woman appeared as though a great darkness wanted to cross her eyes with her hands moving to Vincent¡¯s throat. It held there like a thundercloud, for just a moment, before passing.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna give them the truth,¡± the woman announced. ¡°With everything I have¡­¡±

    ¡°STOP!¡± Vincent tried to bat her away, but she held firm and raised her hand to the room. A light overwhelmed the afternoon sun through the windows but didn¡¯t hurt to look at.

    ¡ª¡ª

    ¡°KRYSTAL! BE SAFE!¡±

    In a place like no human place, but yet infinitely familiar, they came and went, lived and died, dreamed and hoped.

    Brooke saw it as a bucolic village. Children with sunny faces dashed along dirt roads with bundles on their backs and scarves hiding them as they hurried along. A child in simple silver clothes huddled close to a young woman. Their hair had a brilliant shine,  like harvest wheat stalks. The young woman definitely had all of them beat in the figure department, despite the simple lines of her peasant robes.

    The vision shifted to a modest room lit by dim candlelight.

    ¡°Your father will be home soon, sweetie. Remember to give him a kiss on the nose. Like this¡­boop!¡±

    The young mother touched her little girl delicately on the nose with her finger. The girl giggled and beamed. Her father arrived in the deepest night, when he could be most hidden. The door opened up to a shadow that had depth. It unfurled and clenched and slipped and stood. ¡±Welcome home, daddy!¡±

    [Created with Dall-e 2]

    She could feel him like velvet, like the pelt of a cat, like water rushing past, both cooling and warming. Yet he was still like smoke. He was a shadow without a face, but she could feel his smile. She kissed him, just like mama told her, even though she had to stretch on her tippy toes to do it.

    ¡°DADDY!¡±

    It was another time. One filled with terror and pain. Her father spread across everything, a wall of darkness to save the light. He was like fabric and iron. But he had fallen. They howled and messily consumed him.

    The village was next. The young mother resisted giving them the satisfaction of screams. She burned through her fury until there was nothing but ashes. She burned through her heart till nothing was left to feel.

    And in the place between places that followed, they still had to hide, to run, glimmers of embers consumed by the endlessly hunting hungry darkness. And they fed too. On stray emotions, on the lingering warmth of the places beyond. Until there was true light again.

    The young mother squeezed her chest and Vincent breathed. She was a man. Better, stronger. Hardened. Unlike the others, she and her daughter remembered.

    Humans. They were among humans. They were humans. Searching, she found studies of her kind with a company called Quantum Helix. They imagined the infinite possibilities of other realms, other places. She shared her discoveries with her daughter and envisioned greater things.

    They called their kind Radiant Spirits and the kind like her husband, Dark Entities. Their company modestly imagined trading between worlds. Founding her own company with the influence and image of a man, Vincent had grander ambitions. The combination of light and dark. Like matter and antimatter, represented creation and destruction. It was the key to absolute power, and control against the chaos. Her daughter.

    ¡°You¡¯re hurting me!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be all right. And soon, we¡¯ll have everything. We¡¯ll have everything we ever lost and could ever want!¡±

    ¡°But I just want you!¡±

    ¡°Weak. Pathetic. Liar! You have to be stronger¡­¡±

    He peeled a piece off his daughter, made of light and dark. The little girl screamed. It curled and curled until it formed a ring. Holding it close, Vincent snapped his fingers.

    He had two daughters. One born of the last world, and one born of this one. Krystal and Brooke. This one would be better, this one would be stronger. But she¡­ Disappointed too.

    The frailty of women, the flaws she had cast off.

    ¡°We¡¯re in love! Elie and I are meant for one another.¡±

    ¡°You know nothing of love¡­"

    He set his insolent daughter right. Children. He needed children. So many failures. The ring could do so much and yet so little. it was weak and getting weaker. Power, there had to be a greater power, if he just dug deeper.

    His first grandchild, Blair Posie. A silly little girl who liked cuteness and adventures. Useless. A mind full of wasted potential. He made her better and made sure his daughter remembered her failure in name and truth. His second, Lacy Anastasia, was another silly head. Her hair had some trace of the needed blend, of the balance of light and dark, but it wasn¡¯t enough. She idolized her Aunt Krystal, no matter how many times Vincent tried to expunge the memory and rewrite reality. The third, Clare Rose, finally what he needed.

    He paid men to seize her in the night. So what if she had a few pointless nightmares from it? She wouldn¡¯t really remember much. But it was painstaking work, even with the perfect subject. He¡¯d done worse. Even though he was human, he still needed to feed on emotions sometimes. Brooke amongst the wolves of the local country club provided a very special and long-lasting sustenance. Changing and twisting others filled in the rest.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    His daughter hated him, but that was fine. No matter how far she moved away, he just had to curl his finger and she came back. 500 miles, 800 miles, or more. It didn¡¯t matter when the world was within a snap of her finger.

    Krystal, however, continued to be a thorn in his side. Finding out too much, weakening his plans, and trying to undo his work. But he had a solution. The leftovers of Quantum Helix that he bought up experimented with trapping what used to be his kind inside simple objects, like toilet seats. Repulsive, but not a bad idea.

    Krystal still trusted him on some level, after all this time, still saw him as the na?ve mother who thought the world could be kind. She had no idea what was happening as the stone closed around her and trapped her until she could be of use to her again.

    But what Vincent didn¡¯t know was that his daughter still heard everything, even as a rock, even sealed by what his company created. She pieced together what she could. The presence of the rock should¡¯ve acted like a catalyst and converted her youngest niece/nephew into something more powerful than a simple ring, a tool for absolute power. But Krystal had different plans¡­ A spark for freedom.

    Wham!

    Returning from whatever that was felt like waking from a very long but also instantaneous dream state with a hypnic jerk, Brooke looked around in surprise. Her brain was absolutely filled to the brim with imagery and memories.

    She had a sister! And her dad was an even bigger asshole than she thought! Clinging to the couch, Lacy glared at her grandfather and hissed, ¡°You¡­ stole my life! I was¡­I was actually a girl the whole time?!? THE WHOLE TIME?! You¡­ apologize to my little sister for putting her through HELL!¡± If she had something actually threatening within reach, Brooke knew Lacy would¡¯ve thrown it at her grandfather.

    Glaring with focus despite still lacking his glasses, Vincent responded, ¡°I made you better. I made all of you better. And you were still so disappointing. You¡¯re mine. I made you. I OWN YOU!!! And it¡¯s too late. They¡¯re coming.¡± An alarm went off on Vincent¡®s phone, which was muffled by being turned upside down.

    Moments later, three men broke through the front door. At the back was Raymond Cadell and at the lead were the two men in green uniforms who worked for the Muller Corporation. Raymond had a handgun at his side while the other two were armed but had holstered their weapons.

    ¡°Well, Vincent, this looks to be quite the predicament. I know you told me you would take care of matters at the station, but you better let me take it from here. Why, things could get all sorts of confused and, in resisting arrest, something bad might happen to these nice folks here¡­ and no one wants that.¡±

    Vincent smiled ominously. ¡°I cede to your professional expertise, Cadell.¡±

    Everyone had their hands up as Raymond aimed his gun around. Krystal stood close to Vincent as she inquired, ¡°Did you tell him that his ring doesn¡¯t work for him?¡± She tipped her head towards the officer, who had the same ring on his finger as he was showing off earlier. He overheard.

    ¡°You might want to keep your big mouth shut, missy. Mr. Muller and I have an understanding.¡±

    Krystal still kept her hands up and non-threatening while she glanced at Clare and to the left. Clare looked to her side along the couch and inched over. Blair held her breath and tried not to look at anything in particular as she backed away. Brooke had the vague feeling that something was playing out beyond what she understood, even while processing the discombobulated mountain of information within her head. She clung to Elie for comfort.

    ¡°Have you tried the ring¡­?¡± She calmly questioned.

    Raymond snorted. ¡°I¡¯m waiting till the next big jackpot lottery. Then I can leave this festering pit of a town.¡±

    ¡°My my¡­ gave you a dud then. But you¡¯ll find that out¡­someday¡­¡±

    ¡°You best keep that mouth shut. Or I¡¯ll close it, forever¡­¡± Despite his bluster, Brooke could see that the sheriff was squeezing his hand together. With a quick whisper, he snapped his fingers and requested, ¡°I want that pear. Come on now. What¡­ why you scum¡­¡° Nothing. Even after furiously rubbing his fingers together, the pear wouldn¡¯t budge from the bowl. Popping the ring off his finger, the sheriff eyeballed it and glowered at Vincent, who wore a look of horror.

    ¡°Put it back on, you fool!¡±

    ¡±I¡¯m nobody¡¯s fool¡­shhit¡­¡± Slick with perspiration, the ring slipped from his grasp and clinked on the floor.

    Desperately, Krystal called out, ¡°Clare!¡± She looked right at the fallen ring yanked from Vincent¡®s finger. Clare was almost there and reached down to pick up the ring.

    Instantly, the precise mixture of energies within her body reacted to the ring and erupted in blinding light like an arc welder. She squeezed it in her hand and a brilliant charge washed over her entire body. Clare stared with pain and anger at Vincent. He looked back in terror.

    ¡°¡­You¡­ you are not a good person! You are the same as the DARK MAN. You want to hurt us! GO AWAY AND NEVER HURT ANYONE EVER AGAIN!¡± Despite her small body and meager voice, her command felt like a divine cry from the heavens.

    In a moment, nothing of Vincent remained. He was gone, without a trace.

    Panting, Clare released her hand and let the ring fall on the floor to roll towards the window. She barely caught herself on the cushion. Silence followed in the room until Raymond¡®s voice broke it, asking, ¡°What on earth is happening in here? Where am I?¡±

    Pointing and thinking fast, Brooke gestured at the two men in green uniforms who seemed equally befuddled. ¡±Those are home invasion robbers, please help us!¡±

    Raymond¡¯s police instincts kicked in and he ordered both men to put their hands up as he detained them for questioning outside. Krystal slumped against the nearest available wall and admitted, ¡°I had no idea that was going to work, any of that was going to work. Nice assist, sis. So many assists. Clare¡­ I¡¯m sorry you had to do that. I didn¡¯t want to tell you to do it. And I had no idea if he would do it right. If you command it, then it¡¯s better than just letting it happen. I saw what you did with that officer through Lacy. Sorry Lacy, especially for the mind-warping, and sorry Blair, and sorry all around. This has been a difficult time and I¡¯m so glad I can actually talk to you like normal again¡­. I¡¯m just glad to have my family back.¡±

    A tense moment of quiet passed through the room. She confirmed that no one had any weird or incongruous memories from what Clare did. Krystal bowed her head. ¡°Vincent removed me from your memories. I don¡¯t know how to get that back. But I promise to be here every step of the way to recover and put right everything he destroyed.¡±

    She swallowed and dipped her head towards the floor, her hands still out, welcoming but uncertain. ¡°I know it¡¯ll be a long process¡­¡±

    Dashing across the floor, Lacy rushed over and put her arms around her aunt. Krystal braced herself and didn¡¯t know what to think. ¡°You don¡¯t remember, or do you remember¡­?¡±

    Lacy immediately shook her head. ¡°Nope. No memories. But this feels right.¡±

    Soon, Clare joined her with her own exuberant hug, followed by Blair with a lingering, exhausted one, and Brooke approaching with uncertainty. Elie lingered back but smiled at their children.

    Sliding into a hug, like discovering old but familiar shoes lost in the closet for ages, Brooke cried softly as she embraced Krystal. So much changed, so much that felt like it was annihilated forever. But Krystal reassured her it would be all right.

 [36] A Rock & Family Vacation 36 [Mystery Rock Arc]

    [LAST CHAPTER, EPILOGUE TO FOLLOW]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [36]

    Even though the weather was perfect and clear, it felt like a cyclone had torn a path straight through their lives. It was a relatively simple matter to draw the pieces together for Raymond since the two security people didn¡¯t actually have a decent cover story. The assumption was made that they were a pair of disgruntled former employees of the Muller Corporation hassling the owner, who turned out to now be Krystal. This absolutely mortified Krystal, but she accepted it to get rid of them.

    Slumped on the couch, Krystal¡¯s iridescent shining luster had settled into more of a human coloration. She shook her head and muttered, ¡°I don¡¯t want to be the head of her freaking company. In one reality, honestly the best one, I was an artist who made sculptures. But I refuse to mess with what we have¡­to get there.¡±

    The rest of the family looked around. Brooke fussed with her clothes and looked down at her feet. It was unusual to look down and see them this way, it was like her nose was missing from her face. Although, she liked her nose whereas the most prominent part of her was simply accepted as more of a d¨¦tente agreement. But they were still a part of her. Elie looked like she wanted to slip away to their master bedroom either to jump under the covers and cry or desperately put together something nicer to wear. Anxious uncertainty wove its way through the kids as well.

    Lacy had her knees together with her hands resting on them for stability. Blair delicately used the broom pole to lift up and balance grandpa¡®s ring. Raymond¡®s ring had fallen somewhere behind the couch, and he hadn¡¯t been of the mind to care about it. Clare ran her hands along the material of the couch as she glanced over at the place where grandpa had been. His phone and glasses were still there.

    Brooke voiced what they were all thinking, ¡°Things are kind of a mess now though. I appreciate that you booped me and let me experience a youth that I never really had. But how can I be myself again? And Elie. Dad forced her to be this¡­ how can we fix this?¡±

    Krystal smiled gently. ¡°I actually, mainly booped you because I thought it would distract mom. You originally grew up as a bit of a modest, late bloomer. Every¡­abundant¡­ reminder in this family, even over here, is because of her.¡± She gave a faint blush as her hands circled in the vicinity of her chest.

    Brooke immediately huffed and rested her hands on her hips. ¡°What a total bitch!¡­ Sorry, sweetie.¡± She put a finger to her mouth an instant after looking over at Clare.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay mom, grandpa was a bitch,¡± Clare responded quietly with a sigh. Krystal reached over and put her arm on Clare¡¯s shoulder comfortingly.

    Continuing her thought, Krystal said, ¡°I do have some ideas for how to fix a lot of things. She ran so many versions of us, wrote and rewrote us to her liking and our punishment. I don¡¯t know if any of you genuinely remember me¡­¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Elie announced. ¡°I thought they were just dreams and Brooke thought I was humoring her fantasies. But the way the girls described you, I remember. You¡¯re more vibrant now. You sometimes felt like a cloud in the shadows before. But I remember you.¡± She smiled at her. Krystal took a deep, halting breath and smiled back.

    In turn, Krystal focused and drew out her strongest memories of everyone else. She recounted how feisty her little sister was and how she fought against her mother¡¯s plans. She wanted to be an artist too, but Vincent set her on the path of business and children. That Brooke was fearless and tenacious while keeping her childlike wonder. This Brooke marveled at those possibilities.

    For Blair, she deeply apologized for ¡°nerfing¡± her curiosity and cleverness, explaining that she was genuinely worried that Vincent would do worse if she poked around the wrong places. As for the Blair of past iterations, she extolled the athletic virtues of that girl, a Mathlete who indeed enjoyed fashion but as a creative puzzle to untangle. Blair rested on the pole again and processed that, along with everything else.

    Lacy braced herself when her aunt came around to her. She paused a moment and made it clear to everyone that these were just possibilities she remembered rather than certainties of self. But she celebrated the vibrant, playful smile that Lacy often wore. Excited to sing, enraptured by music, and treating her poor aunt like a mythic figure when she really wasn¡¯t.

    With her hands at her sides for support, Lacy looked Krystal in the eye and asked, ¡°So, I really am a total girl, huh?¡±

    Gently, Krystal touched the side of her niece¡¯s face. ¡°Sweetie, you are and can be whatever you choose to be, no matter what I say, or anyone says. You are beholden to no one¡­ Although, still listen to your parents please¡­yeah. But I know they would encourage you in whatever feels right and true to you.¡±

    Lacy shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m stuck like this so¡­ What does it matter?¡± Krystal raised a finger and motioned with it but didn¡¯t boop Lacy¡¯s nose. ¡°Allow me a moment with that. I¡¯m far older than I look, and I need to finish this thought before I can go to that. Almost done, I promise.¡±

    In sharing what she remembered of Elie, she validated a deep-sea plethora of stuff that Eliot either always ignored or subtly used as fodder for female characters. Elie was softly shy but strong when it came to her family. At one time, she wanted to be a dancer and compose music, but loved the beauty of words on the page as much as her male counterpart.

    Finally crouching before Clare, Krystal didn¡¯t have too much in the way of differences to pass along. Vincent focused on keeping her youngest grandchild much the same because of what she represented as a balance between light and dark. The other side of Clare also enjoyed games and books. And she desperately cried to her aunt about the dark man.

    Biting her lip, Clare squeezed her hands close to her and announced, ¡°But the dark man is gone now. It was grandpa all along.¡° Ease passed through Clare like Brooke couldn¡¯t remember seeing in so long.

    Krystal breathed softly. ¡°Yes. Although I wished and dreamed for a time that it was dad. Your true grandfather. But he would never hurt you. I wish he could¡¯ve met you. So much¡­ soo so much.¡± Krystal didn¡¯t want to cry and worry the kid, but her eyes refused to cooperate. Fortunately, Clare understood and didn¡¯t fret.

    At this point, Sheriff Cadell returned and finished taking statements. He didn¡¯t seem at all bothered by Elie in place of Eliot. He also didn¡¯t seem to notice the ring in the back of the couch and bid them all a pleasant vacation when finished. Krystal noted to the others that Vincent probably forcibly recruited the Sheriff.

    Without further preamble, Krystle explained, ¡°I have a way to fix everything. When I was trapped inside the rock, I was able to override  mom¡¯s horrific plan with the spark of memory. It was still just a physical trigger. The most recent versions of each of you. Now, the rings that she created alter reality using the combined power of light and dark. Using the special quality that Clare has. They are a part of Clare, which is why they react so strongly to her. Most of them. I was sort of around at the country club. I¡¯m not 100% sure, but Clare should be fine with a suppression ring, which is what those creeps wore. That means, wearing one of those rings, you can turn off the changes that have happened, unfortunately¡­ mostly because of me.¡±

    This part actually delighted Clare, because she immediately compared it to superhero powers. In fact, she made a case that it was the trifecta of superhero stuff. Blair supported her on this point. It was firstly something they were born with (mostly Clare though). Secondly, it was a power tied to an artifact. And, finally, she tried to make the case that it was some sort of technology. Krystal was vaguely aware of the superhero aspects, and she flashed her sister a look of concern at her niece¡¯s exuberance but smiled all the same.

    But there was a drawback, she urged. ¡°I don¡¯t have all the expert equipment and experience that mom did. I don¡¯t even know if it exists anymore. But I¡¯ve learned how to do this. Using the rings that we have, I can draw out and create suppression rings¡­ by taking a little piece of your body and soul.¡± Krystal grimaced at that particular phrasing and didn¡¯t hope for an encouraging reaction.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Clare responded simply. ¡°It¡¯s for my family. For everyone, so they can¡­ so we can all choose the way we want to be, right?¡±

    Krystal gave a nod. She lamented that this would be rather rudimentary and just allow them to switch on and switch off the way they were now with the way they were just immediately before. She started to get into explanations about M?bius curvatures of reality and how the twisting presence of the energy was a pocket to hold a separate reality state but soon realized that was too much information.

    ¡°When you wear the rings I¡¯m going create, you will be as you were immediately before vacation. When you take them off, you¡¯ll be as you are now. That¡¯s the most reliable way to make it work. With mom¡®s resources at the company, hopefully, I can find something better and simpler. But I want to help fix everything that¡¯s broken right now. I want to give you all back some real control of your lives. So long as Clare is okay. I¡¯m gonna do my best to be so very gentle, sweetie. I only know mom¡®s experiments with me and she was not gentle. Hopefully, the worst it¡¯ll feel is like getting stitches. Just a little poke. And I need you to do one very important thing. We need to both focus on how everyone was before. I have a connection with almost everyone but the tough one is going to be your dad¡­.Elie. She might need to hold my hand. We can do that first, if that¡¯s okay¡­?¡±

    Elie pushed up from the couch and wobbled nervously. Of course, she urged everyone that if there was to be any harm to Clare then she would gladly bear the weight and presence that Vincent placed upon her. Krystal twisted a hand to her side and admitted, ¡°Actually, this form is fairly modest for you. At least as far as I can recall.¡± Elie glanced down shyly and did what she could with her current clothes. Lacy walked over, having slipped out without anyone noticing earlier, and passed the robe that she clung to for so many hours to her dad with a hug.

    Graciously, Elie smiled warmly, accepted the offer, and felt much more comfortable. Together, the three of them focused on and infused the memory of Eliot. Wielding both rings carefully, it was like Krystal aimed an invisible barb through her niece, a soul sewing needle. Clare trembled that first, in anticipation but, as the procedure went on, she eased into it. Soon, a shimmering fragment curled off her side as though she contained an unseen plane of material delicately scraped into a band that curled into a circle. Unlike the other rings, this one had a softer luster closer to silver. It hovered, as though still attached to Clare before Krystal plucked it out of the air.

    The only sign of any change in Clare was a quick yawn, which she did her best to smother and reassure everyone that she was fine. Brooke and Elie both expressed concern and Krystal made it clear that this would very much tire the little girl out. Cautiously, Elie took a breath and accepted the ring from Krystal. It looked like the perfect fit and Krystal assured her that it would always be that way.

    She paused for several seconds before taking a sharp breath and firmly placing the ring on her finger. Instantly, Eliot was just there again. He wobbled, panted in relief, but frowned. ¡°¡­Why do I still feel weird?¡± Everything about him has been restored and yet something felt missing.

    ¡°You are Eleanor. Mom may have wielded that truth to hurt and degrade you but that¡¯s who you really are. I can¡¯t tell you who you should be more comfortable as, but you deserve to choose.¡± Carefully, Eliot removed the ring from his finger and, like reality blinked, Eleanor was back. She looked briefly sick and had to support herself with the couch as Krystal warned her not to overuse the reality-bending since she could get quite nauseous.

    Sitting down, Elie gave herself some time before replacing the ring. Despite that, she still looked like she was experiencing a blistering headache which took several minutes to pass. Meanwhile, Krystal included an additional apology, noting that she changed multiple clothes on Blair¡®s careful request but could only act upon it once she refueled with the energy and emotion of others, like the radiant spirit she used to be. She wasn¡¯t entirely clear on how to fix it now, but assured everyone, as the new owner of the Muller Corporation, she would cover any and all clothing expenses.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    The remaining rings were much simpler and barely bothered Clare other than the increasing regularity of her yawns. Blair accepted hers calmly and took several moments to finally place it on her digit. Once he had it there, boyish Blair couldn¡¯t resist playing ¡°explosion¡± with the effect of pulling it off and on. He thought it was rather like instantly inflating balloons in a tight band. And it wasn¡¯t long before he had to make a wobbly dash to the nearest bathroom. Fortunately, he managed to keep brunch down and settled his stomach with the cheese and fruit that had been otherwise neglected.

    Clare went next, at Lacy¡¯s urging, and marveled at the beautiful ring that actually came from her body. It didn¡¯t surge with light and sparks but rested calmly upon her finger as boy Clare returned. His clothes were snug but not painful.

    Mom was next even though she reassured everyone the same as Elie that it would be fine to wait. The ring came quickly and easily, and Clare delighted and snuggled his restored mom. The cracks, aches, and weight all laid upon her again. Her body as her real mother made it. She also felt that melancholic familiarity but also foreign quality. This wasn¡¯t exactly home, maybe home didn¡¯t exist, but it would suffice for now.

    Fighting to keep alert and awake with little slaps of his cheek, Clare gazed with determination at his older sibling. When the final ring emerged, Clare sighed with relief and snuggled up next to his aunt. She held him, snoozing, against her side and watched as Lacy marveled at her own ring.

    ¡°Funny,¡± Lacy said to herself. ¡°If you said yesterday this ring would fix all the girl junk, then I would be scrambling for it. But right now¡­ I don¡¯t know. Also, what happens if I lose this?¡±

    Krystal reassured her that it was as simple as this to make a replacement. Lacy focused on her exhausted younger sister and wavered back and forth before finally slipping it on her finger. And boy Lacy was back, although he still had the same presence as a moment before. Except for a spasm of discomfort when he felt the way his bra was sitting. Fortunately, the rest of the clothes were just a little bit snug.

    Once they were all comfortably situated, restored but still somehow broken in some unseen ways, Krystal eagerly offered to explain whatever hadn¡¯t been yet resolved.

    Blair mulled about how had she known that pulling off the sticky thing would allow her to escape and stop Vincent. She sheepishly referred back to her prior admission that several things were an unknown gamble on her part utilizing her connection to Blair and Lacy and hoping for the best.

    Eliot inquired about radiant spirits and their dark counterpart. Krystal clarified that the name was an invention of the Quantum Helix Corporation. She had shown what memories she retained of her life a reincarnation ago, full of kindly memories of the mother she once had and the joys of her loving father.

    ¡°The light and the dark rarely go together. But not every being of the light is pure, as mom clearly showed. And not every creature of the dark is cruel.¡°

    She also detailed that, while a rock, she did her best to observe and remember but her mind eventually settled into a sedentary state. Her memory of Clare managed to save her from Vincent¡®s plans and gradually, by encouraging greater emotional auras, she was able to move beyond the rock.

    Blair had to ask, ¡°Where is¡­ grandpa now?¡±

    Krystal gave a quick shrug. ¡°Like Clare chose¡­ far away, to never hurt us again¡­¡±

    All that remained on the other side of the room were his black glasses and phone, lying in the same place. Brooke eventually picked them up. Krystal vehemently wanted nothing to do with them, so Brooke eventually took them back to the master bedroom and shoved them in a pocket of their luggage.

    When she returned, Aunt Krystal celebrated the action-packed way they overcame Vincent. Merely removing the sticky thing and throwing it at him wasn¡¯t what allowed her to escape, although it was close to a catalyst. She explained that the emotion of the moment along with the love they all shared for one another, which she could feel inside her stony prison, was what provided the spark for her release. Blair carefully swung around the pole a few times, being conscious of where the expensive television sat, while Clare gave a quiet yawn and gazed at his family.

    Blair¡®s wardrobe sufficed with providing Krystal with options other than her radiant robe of uncertain origin (¡°Oh my gosh, what am I even wearing?¡± Krystal eventually realized). She blushed nervously as she became the focal point of impromptu dress-up. Yet another clothing run seemed due to cover the expanding physical options.

    Between the kids showing their rediscovered aunt a variety of delightful online media and booting up several games, Brooke decided it was time for that rather expensive celebratory dinner she¡¯d bribed Lacy with to get him into girl clothes. To her surprise, she actually had her ring off when she found her in the skylight bedroom trying on some strikingly normal girl clothes.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad I¡¯m not stuck one way or another, but I still feel stuck,¡± Lacy nervously explained, her hands looking a little red from rubbing. ¡°Did grandpa or whatever make me despise and degrade girls? I don¡¯t know what to feel.¡±

    Brooke sat next to her anxious daughter and offered her some moisturizing cream. She didn¡¯t have answers for her, she barely had answers for herself and this entire crazy situation. But she was mom and she had to offer some certainty.

    Carefully, with Blair-like logic, she walked her daughter through a thought. What were the real differences between being a boy and a girl? Lacy glanced down at her chest and then over at her mom¡¯s. Brooke pointed out that she was no less herself in her other state. The chat got a little bit more existential than Brooke was aiming for, but Lacy soon settled on the thought that she was herself by the choices she made in defining who she was. Boy or a girl, it didn¡¯t matter so long as she found peace with all the confusing sides. Brooke didn¡¯t feel like she helped in resolving the pubescent confusion, but Lacy smiled and gave her a hug, so that was enough for her.

    The motherly emergency spot fires didn¡¯t stop there as the truth behind Blair¡¯s cell phone skittishness was revealed as she blurted out, ¡°When I went out earlier, I ran into some older boys who are like mostly in college. And the Aunt Krystal booped version of me texted them and they are actually really really close, and they want to talk to me and I don¡¯t know what to say because I suggested sorta kinda¡­ I was in college too ¡­..¡±

    Brooke wanted to say so much and, at the same time, she acknowledged that there wasn¡¯t a whole lot she could say, considering she had, what she hoped were genuine, memories of crushing on a variety of college boys at Blair¡®s age before finding true love in Elie. So, she threw this family dilemma at her sister to deal with and retreated.

    She found Elie alone in the master bedroom with her ring off while wearing an outfit that barely managed to fit her. Brooke held the love of her life¡®s hands. While doubt and fretful uncertainty resided in Elie¡®s adorable eyes, love and ease traveled with Brooke¡¯s confident kiss. Flesh didn¡¯t matter, hers was the soul she wanted to spend all of her life and lives with, for better or for worse, for richer or for poor, for mind-molded gentle man or busty-as-all-get-out cutie. Making sure the door was locked, they took some time to truly enjoy their vacation in private.

    Downstairs, Krystal clutched her head and remembered why she didn¡¯t have kids in any version of reality. Clare recovered from sleepiness and was bouncing around the room like a pinball wanting to show her aunt all the other rocks and explain the multitude of books she loved. Lacy was getting dangerously close to questions about body feelings and monthly cycles. And the Blair boy crisis was definitely her fault.

    Fortunately, doing basically nothing and hoping for the best sustained her. Blair opted to text the skater/surfer group the address to the house so she could be honest with them and herself. Lacy mercifully saved the worst questions for some other time. And Krystal enjoyed challenging Clare to a competitive platformer once she figured out all the tubes and cords to hook up the Switch.

    The next knock on the front door made Blair tense up but stride carefully to the front. She left her ring in Krystal¡¯s care and opened the door.

    Dylan was everything she remembered from yesterday and he was also a desperate pit of swirling fire without direction that refused to leave her gurgling stomach. She waved to him and his friends as they noted there was going to be a fireworks display on the water at sunset, and would she like to join them for it? Blair desperately wanted to just say ''yes'' and forget all the quandaries, questions, confusions, thoughtful speculations, and worries. But she had a responsibility.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, guys. I need to clear something up. I¡¯m not in college. I¡¯m actually not even close to it. I have¡­ a really nice choice of colleges. I¡¯ll be a junior this fall¡­ in high school. I am sixteen right now. But I¡¯ll be seventeen in late November.¡±

    She didn¡¯t want to look at Dylan¡¯s face, at any of their faces. She just wanted to cry and run away. Cautiously, she looked up, expecting anger, betrayal, disgust, and so many other terrible emotions to show. Dylan snapped his fingers (she tried not to wince) and flashed a quick smile, remarking, ¡°I could tell something was bothering you. Also, it¡¯s so weird that you sent that text with all those mistakes, like you were trying to say something without actually saying something, I guess. I just dig the smart, cool, curious person we met on the boardwalk, and you know, we can be friends. There are so many nifty things around this town that no one checks out. If that¡¯s cool, I mean. Just friends?¡±

    It hurt somewhere in her young heart, but she smiled and nodded to the group. ¡°Friends! Yeah, that¡¯s¡­that¡¯s totally cool!¡±

    It wasn¡¯t long before Lacy popped out, in girl mode, and wiggled her eyebrows at the group at the door. Blair immediately pointed out that her ¡°little sister¡° was twelve. Sisterly pokes, jabs, and glares were traded. Exuberant Clare soon joined the fireworks viewing group followed by designated adult oversight, Krystal. Young Brooke and confused Elie, with notably askew hair, also joined the group, and Blair¡®s mortification was complete.

    ¡°Everyone all right over here?¡± A young man in a tan-grayish uniform with a big hat stood at the end of the drive walking over to them. He introduced himself as Officer Ross Colson and explained he was just checking in. Blair questioned if he was any relation to Rebecca Colson, but the officer shook his head and said that the only family he had was a goofy old pup named Smarcy. Clare gestured around to her family and Ross by way of explanation. Krystal had a thought but held her tongue. Lacy felt her heart thundering to race out of her body as her eyes flicked over to the officer¡¯s broad shoulders and words left her.

    It turned out Officer Colson was quite the cook, so the biggest guys hauled the grill out of the beach house garage and set it up. A run to the nearest market delivered some great steaks, hotdogs, hamburgers, and other delectable meats to grill up as the sun settled over the horizon. The beachfront wasn¡¯t a good place for kites or planes, but they got plenty of mileage out of the bubbles.

    The entire family sat together with Blair on the edge, sitting as close as she dared to Dylan. In a quiet moment, she leaned over and gave him a hesitant peck on the cheek before nervously reiterating, ¡°Friends¡­¡±

    He gave a smile and a light chuckle before leaning over as well and practically stopping her heart with a return peck on the forehead.

    ¡°Friends,¡± he replied. Blair held her hands in her lap as her face looked like she received a grievous, bright red sunburn. Clusters of colorful crabs crept along on the shore as though they were awkwardly searching for the best seats in an open-air theater.

    Krystal looked out at her family, once lost, now found again. She lamented that her mother couldn¡¯t be satisfied with precious, quiet little moments like this. Wherever she was now, she hoped she would find peace one day.

    Holding her younger sister, Krystal looked out at the expanse of night spreading before them with the precious sparkling twinkle of revealed stars as the first brilliant explosion of color spread over the water and danced in the darkness.

 [Epilogue] A Rock & Family Vacation Epilogue [Mystery Rock Arc]

    A Rock and Family Vacation

    [EPILOGUE]

    THREE MONTHS LATER

    ¡°I¡¯m freezing my tits off in there! Coach Pine refuses to turn up the heat!¡° Lacy huddled with extra layers as she secured her backpack.

    ¡°Speaking of,¡± Blair chimed in. Lacy puzzled for a moment, before realizing she had her ring off. ¡°Oh, dang¡­ I have my bra on too. Fricken Monday. Maybe¡­ Maybe I can just go like this for once¡­ Will anyone really notice?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re asking me¡­.if anyone will notice that you¡¯re a girl¡­.like that?¡± Lacy had on woolen leggings, which were technically against Lakethorn¡¯s dress code. While her top was fluffy and dense, there was still no disguising certain traits.

    Pondering, Lacy brainstormed, ¡°I could just tell everyone it¡¯s allergies.¡± Blair groaned and rubbed his eyes.

    Aunt Krystal appeared in the doorway and clapped for them to hurry up because the bus was minutes away. Grumbling with uncertainty, Lacy practically spun her way into some frumpy boy clothes and shoved her ring on before grabbing winter gloves.

    In the kitchen, Elie nursed a steaming cup of coffee as she quietly scratched new book notes on a large yellow legal pad with a fountain pen that her wife considered the world¡¯s greatest enigma to even wield. Brooke had on her pantsuit with a flashy little neckerchief and her presentation notes on her phone. She did her best to actually breathe as she confirmed everyone had food, money to buy food for lunch, and whatever else she¡¯d forgotten in her frazzle. Krystal teased and reassured her that everything would be fine.

    When they got home from vacation, Krystal endeavored to make sure her little sister was in charge of everything from revamping the dress code to booting out useless swamp scum like Arthur. She didn¡¯t quite replace him with a blowup doll, but rather one of the senior mail room workers who always cheered her on when she was starting out under the thumb of her father. Krystal turned her office into a luxurious break room covered in plants.

    And even though she had a nice house that she often invited the kids over for board games and various improv adventures, Krystal converted the front room here into an artist studio and urged her little sister to try a canvas or two. Brooke tried to tell herself that everything would be fine. Even if everyone missed their buses, her sister had a car.

    But she already stepped up and took Lacy to her second modeling session, the first in boy mode. Brooke didn¡¯t wanna lean on her elder sister again and she certainly didn¡¯t want to succeed in this presentation because of nepotism. Elie, with a quiet smile, urged her to breathe and Brooke jokingly mused whether breathing was really necessary.

    Lacy narrowed her eyes at her little sister as she finished her breakfast. Clare considered remaining at the boys'' school but there were several reasons to change, especially the fact that Vincent had selected and encouraged it. The uncertain shift to a girls'' school a mile closer invited all sorts of questions from her classmates, but they eagerly welcomed her, and the first study and fun sleepover was planned for next week. It wasn¡¯t that Lacy necessarily wanted to trade places with her little sister, but she did occasionally, idly imagine it. Junior high was so much rougher, especially with the complications of their lives.

    ¡°It¡¯s time!¡±

    Brooke was left with half-empty plates and untempered chaos as her children shot off through the front door to grab their buses. Elie hummed to herself and started clearing the table. Brooke rubbed her head and stretched her cold-buffeted joints. Elie gave her a warm, lingering kiss on the cheek and said only, ¡°Family. Beautiful, delirious, delightful family. Ooo¡­¡± she made a quick note on her pad and finished tidying up.

    Outside, Clare launched herself into a contained cacophony of cute giggles and subdued screams surrounded by so many girls her age. She blended in easily. A block over, Blair was just in time to loom and linger in the Pioneer High bus even though his ring, carefully contained in a zipper pocket, shifted with conspicuous weight. Several clever possibilities and devious discretions scintillated his imagination even though he told himself that he wasn¡¯t going to tempt reality and good sense today. Maybe someday¡­

    Lacy marched onto the Lakethorn Junior High bus. To his right, he noticed a cozy trio of girls laughing and smiling as though they shared one body in three parts. He took a breath and dodged away from them the same as he avoided a cluster of boys whooping and declaring some bold confidence he scarcely understood. Back of the bus. The best place.

    He waved to Caleb and asked how Nancy was doing as he rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth. Idle chitchat filled his ears and thoughts as the bus pulled away from the curb. In a moment of sudden silence, Lacy felt himself drift into the reflection of his own imagination.

    But the silence was too deep. Blinking, he looked around and saw that there was no one on the bus, no one but him. Nervously, Lacy stood up and scanned around to discern where, impossibly, everyone had gone or hidden. Had he suddenly fallen asleep and missed the all-important stop? No way.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    The silence started to crack and shift into a rumbling, like grinding in the earth rising to meet him. Lacy braced himself as liquid midnight spilled out like screaming oil from the windows and threatened to consume him. At the same moment, he felt and saw a blinding light emerge from his chest. Stark white fabric in luxurious spirals and soft fragments burst across his body with gems and precious decorations. He was in a dress, a perfect gown, and it was beautiful. She was a girl again. And in her hand shimmered a scepter like a lighthouse burning away the blackness. Her wand, her power.

    Before Lacy could chant a spell resting on the tip of her tongue, a bump in the road jostled her thoughts and returned him to the presence of his schoolmates. Too much watching magical girl anime before bed. Clare turned him onto it, even though he tried to show disinterest. But it was slowly replacing superheroes.

    Checking his pocket, he noticed the ring was warmer than usual against his side. Inspecting it carefully so that no one else saw, he was puzzled at the fact that it glowed brighter than usual. It often had a silvery luster that sometimes looked white in the right light but otherwise had a cloudy, dim presence. Probably nothing, but he reminded himself to ask Aunt Krystal about it after class.

    It was definitely too much to imagine that it had magical powers beyond just flipping the channel between his boy and girl modes.

    He wasn¡¯t a magical girl¡­ Not yet.

    ¡ª¡ª¡ª-

    ¡°Help¡­ Help me¡­ Help¡­¡±

    Vincent Muller coughed into the sand as he rolled over to get to his feet. He found himself in an immense space filled with sparse dunes and featureless clouds. Even without his glasses, he could see enough of it.

    A creeping, overwhelming exhaustion filled his joints and tugged on his senses like inescapable binds. Before he could speak again, a voice answered.

    ¡°Certainly, but for a price.¡±

    Glancing up, he was startled to see a lanky, spindly man in an awkward, ill-fitting suit standing hunched over next to him. He smiled a serrated smile split between menace and glee.

    ¡°You,¡± Vincent grumbled. ¡°I should¡¯ve known that your kind would show up like vultures.¡±

    The smiling man introduced himself as Carren Cross, even though he casually admitted that wasn¡¯t his real name. Vincent coughed harshly into the sand to the point that it felt like he was going to hack up a lung.

    ¡°I thought you enjoyed our kind, living on the dark side. You made some lovely little half-breeds...of such quality that I didn¡¯t even recognize their smell.¡±

    Vincent cursed at him and demanded to know where he was. Carren spread his arms.

    ¡°Far far away from anywhere you¡¯ve ever known. Fortunately, there¡¯s a little bit of me practically everywhere. Looks like your family didn¡¯t want you anymore. I can¡¯t imagine why¡­ just ruthless experiments, psychological torture, and the endless rewriting of their reality¡­ nothing to get that upset about. I consider those virtues.¡±

    ¡°Dammit! What¡¯s happening to me¡­?¡± Vincent fought with the spinning lethargy wrapping its tendrils around his body and mind.

    ¡°Must be a bit of a side effect. Or karma¡­ if I believed in that. In just a minute, I¡¯ll get to know the real you. Isn¡¯t that delightful?¡±

    With dawning understanding, Vincent howled, ¡°NO! I can¡¯t go back! Back to being a useless woman. I¡¯m better than that! Help me¡­help me¡­ you must stop it. I don¡¯t want to go back to that!¡±

    Carren clasped his hand. ¡°Do we have a deal? I help you, you help me. I have a little initiative I¡¯m trying to get off the ground and I really could use your experience. What do you say?¡±

    Bobbing his head, Vincent vehemently agreed. ¡°Whatever! Fine, yes! Just help me!¡± They shook on it and Carren gently let his hand go.

    Vincent didn¡¯t understand, as his lids became desperately heavy. Carren explained, ¡°I actually can¡¯t stop what¡¯s happening to you. And I¡¯m too amused to even bother trying. And, besides, I know you¡¯ll be a better man when you wake up. Have a lovely slumber, Miss Muller. I can¡¯t wait to see you in the morning. And¡­¡±

    Finally losing his bitter fight with the change gripping his body, Vincent shut his eyes and drifted off.

    The last thing he heard was, ¡°Welcome to Cerberus¡­¡±

    ---[THE SHORE FAMILY WILL RETURN]---

    [Radiant Spirit, via Dall-e 2]

    In the same style as the first story, this one will also have a follow-up. I am considering all sorts of stylistic approaches, but my intention is to have a rather fun magical girl anime feel. Hope you enjoyed this story, looks like there were more connections to the first one than I originally anticipated.

    Next week is the third arc and narrative in the series ¡ª ¡°Close Encounters of the Bus Kind¡±.

    No poll this time, but feel free to offer whatever feedback you think would be helpful. Do you want the next storyline to be intrinsically linked to the overarching narrative so far, or do you want it to be more stand-alone? I haven''t settled on how linked it will be so the next polls will be crucial. Certain upcoming stories like "Yuri Worlds" will be more separate.

 [1] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 1 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind [From Beyond Arc]

    <<Arc Introduction>>

    The story was originally intended to be released around Halloween, so it has some spookier elements. While Flush With Pride centered on Jeremy/Giselle and Rachel as well as their friends and family with a focus on the multiverse and Mystery Rock on the Shore family, From Beyond is intended to touch upon the cosmic/spooky and bizarre. Still thoughtful, emotional, and character-centric in the same tone, this arc takes a wider approach. What lies beyond¡­? There will be minor connections to the overarching narrative, but the vast majority of this narrative can be read without prior knowledge of the series. Feel free to suggest a vast array of ideas for the narrative. The Beyond is wide open.

    Author¡¯s Note - The opening section of this story is inspired by the gender-bending classic by Morpheus entitled ¡°The Bus Ride¡±</a>. I always wanted to know what might''ve happened next...

    =====

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [1]

    Paul Morris loved driving people wherever they needed to go. Buses, trucks, shuttles, whatever. It didn¡¯t even need to have wheels as he also had his ATV license. Airboats and hovercraft were an absolute blast to drive. It wasn¡¯t the kind of life he expected he would wind up with, but it suited him.

    He actually went to college for a few years but just meandered. When his grandpa and others in his extended family got sick, he was the one who made sure they stayed connected with the outside world. He drove them wherever they needed to go and didn¡¯t make a fuss when they complained about his driving or the routes he took. Paul just adjusted and did his best.

    That experience and dealing with folks helped him when he needed work. Little old ladies always talked about him, trying to fix him up with one of their granddaughters or leaving him some snacks for the road. He obliged their curiosity and gifts with a genial spirit and never an unkind word.

    The really interesting job came when he got hired on with a local high school district to drive their volleyball teams to meets and back. The boys'' teams had way too much energy when heading out and the girls'' teams had even more. None of them had any idea about personal space between one another and him especially. He appreciated when some of them showed off new cosmetics, he just wasn¡¯t sure why they were so excited to include him.

    He wasn¡¯t much to look at, even though he tried not to get down on himself. His brown hair just happened to have threaded tan streaks. Everyone he drove eventually asked where he got that done but it was natural. Plenty of people compared him to some movie actor he¡¯d never seen, which he supposed was better than being compared to some politician or serial killer. He kept his beard neat and made sure he smelled good for everyone, even when the air conditioning wasn¡¯t working and there was a long haul ahead.

    One particular evening, he was ferrying the Red Rock High School women¡¯s volleyball team back from competition. This client was special, because that was his alma mater. The girls delighted at all the stories he told. Coach Erin Reeves laughed the most because she was actually just a few years behind him.

    The guys he spoke to about his jobs often flashed I knowing wink when he talked about Red Rock but he assured them it wasn¡¯t like that. Sure, a man in his 30s didn¡¯t have the worst view when making sure a bunch of pretty ladies made it home safe. He didn¡¯t have eyes for the teens though. Erin, however, was a different story. He had a crush on her since his senior year. Also accompanying them was Megan, the volunteer team doctor/LVN, but she opted to stay overnight for another event.

    He ran through his checklist and made sure that everyone got on the bus when it was time to go. The girls had a fun time at a local steakhouse while he filled up on a mega-sized omelet. Everyone staggered back.

    Erin was there first with a coy smile and brilliant white teeth. Her brown hair settled into a puffy ball insulating her ears. She adjusted her silvery glasses as she called out everyone¡¯s name. It was pretty easy for Paul to remember because they had exulted a suitable mnemonic.

    LETS GO TEAM. Leslie the captain, with a stoicism that vanished as soon as the match was over. Evangeline, who clearly wanted to be the captain soon. Tatiana, a tall Filipino girl who was demure and quiet every single trip but raised the roof during competition. Sasha, a black girl who took her hair and makeup almost as seriously as confronting the line judges when she knew something was inside. Gina, who had oodles of fantasy and science fiction motivational speeches to pull from.

    Odessa, who sounded like a blond airhead but could do calculus off the top of her head. Thessaly, peak Greek with amazing cooking and muscles to make anyone from Sparta quake. Elsa, who embraced her name and all the allusions that came with it despite being the worst karaoke singer ever. Audrey, despite playing so very few minutes, was the greatest cheerleader for the team. And finally, Marisol lived, died, and dreamed strategies.

    Paul had gotten used to the raw force of so many girls in one place, playing and building off one another. It was like being right at a breakwater against the ocean. Tonya, the assistant coach and two years into college, had been the team captain for three years and acted as a stabilizing force when Erin was exhausted. This was one of those nights as she just slipped her fingers under her glasses and gently rubbed her eyes.

    It had been a victory but a thoroughly sloppy one. Odessa had her leg wrapped due to an aggravated injury that limited her minutes and was using some luggage to prop it up. When they came to a red light, the girls did their best to write encouragement and love notes on it, although Paul would¡¯ve preferred they all stayed in their seats.

    But the night was quiet and the trip doubly uneventful. They passed not too far from one of the major Air Force bases which sparkled with mysterious little lights in the sky. As they turned onto an especially dark section of road that went straight for quite a while through the desert, Paul noticed that one of the lights was getting closer to them. In the back of his mind, he gingerly hoped that he hadn¡¯t strayed into a government zone, about to be blinded by a passing military chopper.

    The bright object moved way too fast to be any normal helicopter though, bouncing about the sky with the kind of swiftness reserved for projected lights or drones much closer than they appeared. Soon, the glare was too intense for him to look at directly. And it wasn¡¯t long before his passengers noticed the swelling brightness.

    ¡°Oh my gosh, what is that?¡± Odessa inquired. ¡°Little green men¡±, Gina quipped. They all shared a nervous laugh, but the light wasn¡¯t lessening. Tonya asked upfront, ¡°Is everything all right?¡±

    Before Paul could answer, the vehicle stalled and what lights kept back the darkness blotted out. Of course, all the girls suddenly gave their wildest screams of alarm and uncertainty. Erin started to reassure them that everything was fine before a pure white beam scorched through the windows and blinded them.

    Paul tried to raise the tint but that wasn¡¯t working. He nervously checked to make sure Erin was all right. The last thing he saw before he passed out was everyone else slumping in their seats.

    ====

    In a starkly lit alien spacecraft interior, a series of identical, crab-like creatures drifted on strange gases. A swirling orb of light extended from their abdomens in mottled colors of white and red. Even, segmented claws brushed against one another as they communicated.

    [We have finished examining the specimens and their crude conveyance.]

    The other creature caressed an oily sack.

    [We wish to share in this knowledge.]

    [We oblige.]

    Shimmering lights wafted through the air.

    [Remarkable. They are unlike anything we have found before. Their colorations vary wildly. Their heights, weights, and much of their structure are unique to each sample.]

    [Truly, we have seen nothing like them. We have to visit more often. But one of the specimens has an injury.]

    [For shame. Can it mend?]

    [Slowly and with imperfections. As a kindness, we recommend healing it in totality. A simple application of its own genetics and manipulation of telomeres should work. And there are other matters.]

    [They are carbon-based? Other matters?]

    [Yes. Multiple specimens have experienced environmental genetic degradation. While most are in peak physical condition, others have not renewed themselves.]

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    [Are they not able?]

    [We think that might be the case. It is considered to remove or remedy this flaw. But it would take advanced genetic manipulation. We could correct it, as another courtesy.]

    [We must do so. Suffering is unnecessary.]

    [And then there is a final matter. The Variant.]

    [Is this also wounded?]

    [It appears to be outside the expectation of other members of its species.]

    All the creatures suddenly spasmed, as though shuddering as one.

    [Grotesque. Can we correct it?]

    [Easily. We hope the specimens are grateful for our assistance. May they be healthy and flourish.]

    ====

    The first thing Paul heard after a long spell of silence was the clicking of a turn signal somewhere to his left. He felt like being slammed through the wringer. The first thing he did was visually check to make sure everyone was okay. This was hindered by strange hair falling over his eyes. He guessed that perhaps some luggage had come loose, but he couldn¡¯t imagine why someone would¡¯ve packed a wig. Tugging at it only yanked on his head and hurt. Weird.

    Next item, he made sure the vehicle was in park with the brake on. It was. No broken glass or warning lights. Double-checking the brake, he fussed with his belt. The bus was pulled to a paved portion by the side of the road, so he set the hazard lights. Untangling himself from the belt also made him realize something was very strange about his pants. They were nowhere close to fitting. Had someone put different pants on him? He couldn¡¯t imagine why. His body felt as confused as that moment did.

    Checking the passengers again, he quickly realized that he couldn¡¯t find Erin in the group.

    ¡° Cooa¡­coach Reeves?¡± He had trouble getting the words out the way he wanted. His voice sounded like he suddenly regressed back to the beginning of puberty. Embarrassing. Clearing his throat did nothing to fix it. In the seat where the coach had been sitting now sat a vaguely recognizable but unfamiliar team member.

    He should¡¯ve recognized all the volleyball girls by now but this one looked more like the coach¡¯s theoretical daughter than anyone he knew to be on the bus. To his question, the strange girl popped her head up and responded, ¡°Yes? Who are you and what do you want? Did we have an accident? Where¡¯s Paul, our driver?¡±

    She certainly had the coach¡¯s cadence to her speech. Paul cleared his throat and raised an arm to respond, ¡°Right here. Doesn¡¯t seem to be an accident. Is anyone injured?¡±

    He still sounded weird, as though trying to force his normal voice through a compressed and tightened tube. It filtered out the low end and just left a high, uncomfortable resonance. His chest also felt strange the more he stood.

    Looking down, he couldn¡¯t quite parse the sight of twin rising mounds tenting his shirt. It didn¡¯t feel like he had something artificial attached to his chest. Rather there was just a suspicious weight gently nudging him forward. More than that, it appeared as though his hips and waistline had completely collapsed with his drawstring pants sliding off the edge of a cliff. It didn¡¯t take long for the group to realize something was wrong.

    Gina burst out, ¡°I knew it! Aliens¡­ but who¡¯s that?¡± The disheveled-looking teenage girl standing at the front of the bus in the driver¡¯s ill-fitting clothes caught all of their attentions. Several of the girls got out of their seats to circle around the new girl. Meanwhile, others puzzled at Odessa hopping to her feet without any pain around her wrapped leg and their coach looking very strange.

    Paul barely managed to keep himself decent as an onrush of nervous questions buffeted him. Separate portions of the group had their own theories as Paul explained this was him. Curiosity overwhelmed good sense as Marisol and Gina grabbed at Paul like they were about to celebrate a surprise victory and resolved they needed to see more. Paul protested he was not a doll to be undressed and examined!

    Tonya had to step in before the girls stripped the poor guy. She loudly and firmly coordinated everyone to settle down. She helped this strange girl over to the coach¡¯s side and made no judgments about anything else as she kept things on focus for what they were going to do next. The girls needed this as they settle down and listened. Leslie emphasized Tonya¡¯s authority for anyone who had questions.

    In this moment of confusion, Tonya resolved, they still needed a driver. Noting that she actually drove her grandfather¡¯s eighteen-wheeler more than she admitted, Tonya positioned herself in the seat and plucked a pair of glasses that she rarely wore from a pocket, and inspected everything.

    Paul crouched forward, ran her through the main differences, and pointed her to the checklist. While she got everything ready, Tatiana and Odessa offered to loan Paul some clothes out of their bags. He felt dumbstruck but ultimately agreed.

    Mirrors were offered but the frail reflection in the window was already more than he wanted to acknowledge. Sweatpants and a sports bra left him scrunching up his forehead. Not looking at things only meant that the jiggling sleek sensations of his body were doubly reinforced. At least he had some clothes that didn¡¯t feel like a clown¡¯s outfit.

    Instead of focusing on the way his chest slid into the contours of that bra, he glanced over at the coach. She appeared positively shell-shocked. Her clothes were loose but nothing that a quick adjustment wouldn¡¯t fix. He¡¯d saved his senior/her freshman yearbook and sometimes checked out the old photos. She now looked just like that photograph, restored. She tucked her glasses away in a pocket. It didn''t look like she needed them.

    They did a little more than trade furtive glances until Paul squeezed her hand. The bus, under Tonya¡¯s steady command, navigated its way through the long dark road and back towards civilization. In the backseat section of the bus, some girls, joined by Gina, remarked that the lights of emergency and military vehicles pockmarked where they had just been. This encouraged Tonya to pick up the speed.

    At this point, the girls not only remembered their cell phones but the signal on them soon popped from no bars to three. Delayed text messages and voicemails came in and everyone further realized that three hours passed during a section of their trip that should¡¯ve only taken ten minutes.

    Gina freaked a few of the girls out by suggesting they check all around for marks or implants from aliens. Some wondered if they should stop by the hospital or stay somewhere instead of returning home. Coach hopped up and took charge of the situation. She relayed that everyone would be heading to the appointed meet-up spot to return to their parents and guardians. She couldn¡¯t tell them what to say but encouraged them to keep things on the down low, which she then attempted to parse as ¡°don¡¯t be sus¡± before a few of the girls groaned. Despite how she looked, they desperately begged her not to attempt to talk like them. Coach pouted slightly but sighed.

    One plan bandied about was to get a couple hotel rooms like they sometimes did on an extended trip and just keep away from any craziness. Coach immediately vetoed this, despite the fact Odessa told her that she had a credit card that could cover everything. Audrey, who everyone knew watched way too much anime, had long ago invoked the rich girl clich¨¦ since Odessa¡®s dad owned several major corporations in the state and their main house was often empty except for maids and housekeepers. Odessa often waffled between wanting to hide all that and shyly mentioning people like Kevin Federer stopped by her house.

    It wasn¡¯t long before they came up to their stop and Tonya nervously questioned whether everyone would see her as a legitimate driver. Paul assured her she was at least as legitimate as him. With enough coaching, Tonya managed to bring the big honking bus right into the designated zone.

    All ten of the team members grabbed their bags and gradually shuffled off the bus. Some stopped by to give Coach a quick hug and then an additional one for Paul. No one outside called the authorities or questioned that Tonya was the driver. Once the bus was cleared, everyone went on their way except for Tonya, Erin, and Paul.

    It was late and dark. Paul knew since lockup was largely automated, he could turn in the bus through the overnight system. The video footage would confuse anyone watching it, but he could think of no way around that. He would probably be fired tomorrow morning and reported as missing. Coach didn¡¯t have a whole lot more prospects when it came to work next week. Tonya lingered and assisted with turning in the vehicle.

    Otherwise, all she could do was give the biggest hugs of all. Coach and Paul found themselves confounded as to what to do next.

 [2] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 2 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [2]

    Coach Erin and Paul hung around the brightest section of the parking lot. It was desolate after the team and their families left. A hint of fog tinted the farthest lights.

    ¡°Where are you parked?¡± Coach wiggled on her firm, renewed thighs as she zipped up her windbreaker and tucked her glasses away safe. Paul just had her old clothes swaddling her along with the loaner sweats and sports bra. Her shoes were about as useful as flip-flops with the straps missing but they managed to stay on.

    Paul gestured to a lot quite a ways away. Coach shook her head. ¡°No way I¡¯m letting you walk that alone, even without aliens mixing things up. Come on. Let me give you a lift.¡± Coach Erin immediately grabbed Paul¡¯s small, slender hand and led her to the section of the lot facing the main road.

    This entire situation was daunting for Paul and filled with reminders that she was now several inches shorter than Coach and possessed a body that she barely knew how to wield. A jiggling mass shifted often, despite the best efforts of the sports bra. Her hips felt so squishy and soft and then the space between had none of the contours she was expecting. If not for Coach restricting her pace, Paul knew she would¡¯ve taken a tumble right on the pavement.

    Coach¡¯s car was a gray Honda Civic. Paul noted that her car looked like the one she wanted to get back in high school. Coach sighed and laughed as she explained, ¡°This is the car I eventually got in high school. Still surviving, no jinx.¡± The fog, which once had remained suspended in the distance, barely touching the far lights, now could be seen in all directions, washing out the details of the surrounding houses.

    Popping the trunk, Erin offered Paul an old cotton jacket. Hesitantly, Paul slipped it on with everything else. As they walked over to the front of the car, Erin heard a single sound echoing in the night: solitary, clear footsteps in the distance that weren¡¯t either of theirs. Erin looked around in all directions but couldn¡¯t see where the footsteps were coming from. The parking structures nearby created confusing echoes.

    Once they were in the car, Erin started the engine and turned on the heater. She rummaged around in her purse and handed Paul a small thing of mace. Paul looked confused. She explained, ¡°It¡¯s night, it¡¯s a spooky parking lot. And we¡¯re a pair of teenage girls. Nothing about this is giving me good vibes. Just peace of mind for me at least to know you¡¯re okay. I have a concealed carry license, so I¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    Before Paul could ask a question about that, Erin swung her car around and out of the parking spot. She drove uncomfortably fast for Paul and dodged around several of the bumps. The other lot had about half of the lighting burned out with huge solar panels on cement pylons that blotted out the little illumination. Erin pulled right next to Paul¡¯s car so that she didn¡¯t have to go more than a few inches.

    The fog was getting even thicker. As Paul undid her belt, Erin urgently declared, ¡°I can put you up for the night. Please stay at my place. I have a 10-year-old gray tabby named Bubsy. I can stick him in one of the bathrooms for the night, if that¡¯s a problem or if you have allergies.¡±

    Paul took a slow, uncertain breath. ¡°That¡¯s fine. I have an overnight bag in my car with my cell phone and charger. The clothes are probably pointless, but it would be really good to grab the rest. Otherwise, I have everything else with me. I¡¯ve left my car here overnight before, but I wouldn¡¯t want to trouble you¡­¡±

    Urgently, Erin explained, ¡°It would be trouble if we split up and you suddenly vanish, and then I suddenly vanish too. I just don¡¯t wanna be alone right now. I¡¯m like 14 years old again and I feel a fraction of that. Please¡­¡±

    Drooping her arms, Paul accepted that. It was a methodical operation for Erin to unlock the doors and swing around to the back of the car while watching from all sides. She didn¡¯t pull anything out of her purse as Paul tucked the mace in her nearest pocket. The fog looked even worse, clinging and blotting out the sections immediately around them to the point that neither could see the part of the parking lot they had just left behind but as a hazy mass.

    To Erin¡¯s horror, she could hear footsteps again when she pulled in a breath.

    *Click clack click clack click clack click clack¡­*

    A steady, unrelenting rush of footfalls. As though whoever was walking had a clear, confident goal in mind and they weren¡¯t slowing down for anything. Paul just looked around in her trunk and casually pushed aside what was there while checking a modest, wheeled bag.

    *Click clack click clack click clack click clack¡­*

    She couldn¡¯t tell if the fog was amplifying the sound of the steps, but they seemed to get louder and louder with the beating of her heart. With a look, she urged Paul to finish up but kept silent. The sounds didn¡¯t relent.

    Paul checked in the backseat and then went around to the driver¡¯s side to unlock the door and put her key in the ignition. The car didn¡¯t start the first or second time but turned over the third. She revved the engine as Erin checked again.

    She hated this. It was bad enough with the alley behind her apartment where the superintendent never fixed the lights, and they were always on the fritz when she had to drop off the trash for pick up and had forgotten to do it before sundown. As a teenager, she had regular events and often found herself out late at night because her friends, her so-called friends, had so many mercurial streaks. One time, she wanted to cry for two miles of walking through an industrial area of town off the main drag. And it took four more hours after that for her parents to finally get home.

    Paul turned off the car and set the alarm with a loud beep before rejoining Erin, who dragged her back and then practically vaulted over the car to open her door. Once they were driving again, Erin looped around the cavern of solar panels and towards the entrance. An apparition appeared to her left and she slowed.

    It was one of those ugly, half-rotten trash cans that littered the parking complex. She lowered her windows slightly and paused. A ginger, moisture-wrapped breeze wafted through the window. CLICK CLACK

    The damn trashcan rocked with the precise sounds of steady footsteps as that faint breeze tilted it just enough to produce a steady noise. Paul raised one of her pencil-thin eyebrows as Erin¡®s shoulders relaxed. Sound explained.

    She didn¡¯t linger there long enough to consider the fact that this faint breeze hadn¡¯t been there earlier when she first heard the footsteps or that there were even more little oddities to debunk the trashcan as the source. Those were things she didn¡¯t need to think about right then. She also chose to ignore the silhouette of a person at the edge of the fog right behind them as they made a left to exit. Paul was looking down at her cell phone.

    On the road, Erin started out fast but then had to slow because of the poor visibility. Even with their youthful eyes, the red of the traffic lights could barely be seen and the street lamps were floating orbs. They weren¡¯t as bright as whatever the heck they encountered earlier but the sight immediately made Erin think of random UFO photographs. She did her best not to flinch.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    The landscape was strange, transformed by the fog. She had Paul activate Google Maps to make sure they got back to her place. The robot voice didn¡¯t really mean much, but it made Erin feel like it wasn¡¯t just the two of them all alone in the world.

    For too long, there was no one else on the road. And no one else walking and absolutely no activity in any of the businesses. Her brain desperately penciled in the gaps with the nervous conclusion that an alien invasion spirited everyone away. Eventually, they neared a Walmart with people milling about and Erin finally found herself able to breathe again.

    Paul asked if she was okay, and Coach Erin didn¡¯t have an immediate answer. When they stopped in front of the next light, she told her, ¡°It¡¯s really spooky at night in that place. I hate it when we have to drop the girls off there. Plus, it¡¯s three hours later than it would¡¯ve been. I really expected their parents to have my head, but Tonya took care of it saying there was serious traffic and an accident. That was kind of weird too, right? I would¡¯ve thought everyone had more questions.¡±

    It did occur to Paul that things when dropping the team off had been unusual. She was thoroughly preoccupied with a variety of issues but aside from some initial alarm about the hour, she hadn¡¯t really heard any surprise from those picking them up. When the cell phones and everything came back after that unexplained encounter, the girls said they were in contact with their families. Paul didn¡¯t have time to process any of that, let alone really process how strange her body felt now.

    The rest of the trip returned to an eerie late evening sense of normality with cars drifting through the fog. The weather abated once they got on the freeway but never really left them. As Coach punched in her gate code to the apartments, it was still hard to see beyond the first building.

    Her place was towards the middle with a long, darkened alleyway around the back. Coach pressed an app on her phone and the brown garage door in front slid up and they pulled inside. After closing it, Coach led Paul to a side door and a small series of steps. Boots and several heels adorned a corner with a dusty telescope and a laundry room against the wall.

    Paul noticed a room to the left that dipped down and had a variety of sports equipment strewn haphazardly with a treadmill and an old big box television. The cat that Erin mentioned napped in a small box that used to contain tennis balls. She greeted her kitty with a rub of his chin and a promise of food. Bubsy looked suspicious for a few moments before sniffing her fingers and giving a snort of approval. After squinting suspiciously at Paul, the cat soon fell back asleep without further complaint.

    Down the hall was the main living room with a kitchen off to the side. An L-shaped massive couch filled most of the space with a large-screen TV set in front of some thick blue drapes. The kitchen looked like something out of the 1980s with plants dangling here and there and a tiny moth banging itself against the overhead fluorescent light. Erin swatted it with an electric racket and faintly apologized.

    An even tinier dining room area with a wobbly table and two seats darkly overlooked the alley. At the other end of the hall were a shower and bath combo attached to a large master bedroom. Erin set her bags down over by the bed, dropped off her glasses, and then made her way back to the living room.

    Paul just caught a mirror in her periphery but didn¡¯t pay attention to it. Kicking off her tennis shoes several rooms too late, Erin snagged a knit blanket from the edge of the couch and wrapped herself up in its net-like texture. She appeared ready to go to sleep right there before lifting her head in a wave motion and announcing, ¡°I can loan you some clothes. And wash some old ones that should work for you.¡± Paul nodded.

    The clothes in question were not anything Paul would¡¯ve chosen to wear on her own. It was a pair of black yoga pants which she had a devil of the time getting up around her hips. She kept the sweatpants around. The gray tank top that Erin found immediately highlighted their physical disparity. Paul knew it in several ways, but she absolutely had boobs. She had no idea where they sat on the scale of things but plenty of girls on the team were bigger. She still made a significant imprint and show of cleavage. Over top, Erin offered her a blue plaid shirt that buttoned up well.

    In the mirror, she looked but try not to dwell on the visage that looked back at her. The girl was shorter than Paul could remember being for quite a while. She had much more of a tan but not so much of one that she didn¡¯t recognize herself. Her face was slim and trim with pearl-white teeth and a perfectly straight nose. She had the look of a model or the best qualities of all the girls on the team fused into a single person. She had patches of baby fat and a clear sense of ongoing puberty. Her expression slipped between uncertainty and upset as she splashed her face and rubbed a hand towel against it.

    She had no idea why aliens or whatever they were had decided to turn her into a pretty, teenage girl. She was fine and happy being a man. She had a life as Paul. What did she have now? The same could be said for poor Erin, who looked younger than half of her players.

    There was a lot to address and even more to comprehend but neither of them wanted to look at the facts of all this. Instead, Erin turned on the first comedy flick she could find on the streaming box, offered Paul a nicer blanket than the net one she was wrapped in, and dug a sampler platter of cheesecake and a bottle of wine out of her fridge. Bubsy received a refill of his water dish and a can of wet food, which he calmly accepted, as though nothing were amiss, and his owner wasn¡¯t less than half the age she was when she left in the morning.

    Paul went with the lemon-flavored piece and Erin desired the triple chocolate. Eating off a wooden bench tucked half underneath the couch, Paul and Erin rested next to each other. The distance gradually closed as they sipped and ate.

    The movie was a decent distraction in the background, but their attentions were subtly focused on one another. It felt like they were sending out pings of radar, trying to find the other¡¯s presence while in a deeper fog than the one still stirring outside. Eventually, something shifted.

    Paul felt warm lips on hers. Erin held her kiss and wrapped her arms around Paul. Faintly, Paul asked, ¡°What¡­?¡±

    Coach Erin shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I just¡­¡± Paul kissed her back, feeling a little wobbly with her body, the cushions, and the awkward position craning up. Their embrace and hold was desperate but not frantic. They clung to one another, as though shipwrecked on the sea and having nothing else to stay afloat with than one another. Each shivered but relaxed into their shared warmth. Soon, the movie was forgotten.

 [3] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 3 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [3]

    ¡°You were the first boy I liked¡±, Coach Erin Reeves whispered nervously to Paul Morris as she gently rubbed her shoulders. To that, Paul chuckled and reciprocated, ¡°You were the first girl I really crushed on.¡±

    Erin snickered to herself. ¡°Wow, if only I didn¡¯t waste so much freaking time. Why me?¡±

    Paul reflected on that. ¡°Nothing too deep. Your hair was this reddish chestnut bloom all year. You had a very gorgeous, smart look. Silver glasses and all those medical classes. At the same time, you would wear this combo of a lavender velvet top with snug pants. It just absolutely left me uhh¡­sweating and desperately wanting to talk to you.¡±

    How Erin looked now was like a restoration of those olden days, even though her hair was more of the short, flat brown she kept as a coach. Erin shifted in place as she looked down at her restored, teenage appearance. Each shared with the other that they thought they were either too cool or too unapproachable to do more than just smile.

    Coach also admitted, ¡°Around that age, my stepdad was a total shithead. He hated everything about me. Mom always thought I was being hyperbolic, but it was torture. They would stay out so late and so many of my friends treated me like garbage too. You were so nice but also so reserved. I figured it was nothing. I had way too many messed up years.¡±

    Paul gave her comfort and rubbed her shoulder too. A spell of quiet passed, which Erin soon shrugged off and shifted the topic, ¡°Velvet lavender, huh? Amazingly, I may still have that one. Let me go check.¡±

    Old feelings traced through the leftover pathways of Paul¡¯s body. After some digging in the closet, Erin emerged wearing exactly the outfit Paul remembered all those years ago. She took a deep breath and marveled. It was like going back in time.

    Erin strutted and turned in place. Her sitting down beside her brought flares of warmth through Paul¡¯s strange new body. Paul tried to defuse her sweaty emotions by recounting an emotionally tinged story.

    ¡°So, we had that one English class together. With your friend from the Philippines and my gay friend. You remember when we had to do CPR training because it was a hybrid class with English and medical even though I wasn¡¯t in your medical stuff?¡±

    Erin rocked her head and took a long breath. She reflected but ultimately had to admit, ¡°I¡¯m afraid I really don¡¯t.¡± Paul nodded and accepted that. ¡°It¡¯s wild because it¡¯s one of the most vividly painful memories for me. I did the CPR too realistically because I wanted to do it right and the positioning¡­ well, it was like wrapping my arms around you from behind. So, it was very uhh¡­emotionally charged.¡±

    Digging into her memory, Erin struggled to excavate this portion of her past. She trusted that Paul¡¯s account was accurate, but it felt so nebulous. Absolutely, she remembered CPR training as a general course subject. She had it several times, leading into college and then updates at the Red Cross for work. She also wanted to remember because this seemed so stuck in Paul¡¯s memory and it felt embarrassing that she didn¡¯t remember a lick of it.

    Of course, then he absolutely didn¡¯t remember the one moment that shot her crush on him to absurd heights. She wasn¡¯t gonna volunteer that particular memory, the nicest but most terrifying one from high school. At least not until he was done sharing and if she managed to wrestle up enough courage to get through the really crazy parts.

    She deeply apologized that she didn¡¯t remember any of this but encouraged him to continue with the details. Paul fumbled with her delicate hands in her lap as though they held an invisible puzzle box she was making the effort to unscramble. ¡°I made you sick. I feel like I hurt you. You had so many heart problems in school, and you worried about your weight. And you were scared about macular degeneration. And absolutely terrified about alcoholism in your family. You needed this particular surgery before age twenty-five. You were scared that it would lead to a heart attack before then.¡±

    It didn¡¯t surprise her that he knew all about her heart condition, even the specific name for it. She recognized him on the first trip that he took their team, but he truly surprised her by asking with concern if she ever got the specific surgery she needed for that disease. It touched her and truly made her pay attention to him as more than just some guy who drove the bus and whom she liked back in high school.

    She shook her head and urged, ¡°You didn¡¯t make me sick. You just did the lesson wrong, but we were learning it. It was a little awkward, but you know high school. Everything is just drenched in hormones.¡±

    Paul pulled in a thick breath. ¡°I was over the moon at the possibility of putting my arms around you, even though it was just a pantomime. I somehow resisted¡­. losing my mind from it.¡±

    Before Paul could say anything else, Erin hopped up from the couch and bade Paul to stand as well. She stood in front and turned around. It was exactly the same thing from all those years ago, except for some vital differences. Paul was now actually shorter than her, so she had to adjust her arms from that distant muscle memory. Rather than the fear of an erection, Paul had to be cognizant of the way her chest projected towards Erin¡¯s back.

    The heart-racing mystery of Erin¡¯s girlish shape still remained even though she bore a similar form. Furthermore, a lava-hot aching torrent churned in the depths of her snug pants. Still feeling the fear of harm and rejection, Paul¡¯s arms hesitated and hovered over Erin¡¯s soft shape, trembling but restrained by an intangible force field. Erin took a deep breath and gripped Paul¡¯s arms like securing a human seat belt. Her arms dipped enough to suggest the edge beyond. Paul fretted she might melt like candle wax.

    ¡°My story now. It''s a little long. It was shortly after the first week of class and the teacher locked the door in your face if you were even one second past the bell. I hated it because it reminded me so much of my father. One little thing and I have to sit on the porch at night and wait and ache. I was having a rotten day. I wanted to put my head down and sleep. You were doing some art project which definitely wasn¡¯t related to English, but it looked cool. It was a paper, white flower with delicate little curls and a golden center. I watched you make it, putting so much effort into it. When it was finally perfect, I wanted to check it out but, before I could say anything, you gave it to me and said, ¡®That¡¯s for you.¡¯ Your friend made some silly quips and used an overzealous French accent. I responded to that and like I didn¡¯t say much to you because I didn¡¯t know what to say. But that flower lasted for a whole week, I had it in my hair by my ear for the rest of the day, but I worried about damaging it, so I delicately put it under glass and made sure no one touched it, especially my dad. I made up that it was for a school project so he wouldn¡¯t do anything to it. But that was one of the coolest gifts I can remember getting. I must¡¯ve screwed up the whole thing because you didn¡¯t really say anything about it after and I was too scared to say anything, and I didn¡¯t really see you make anything like it ever again.¡±

    Paul confirmed that he was terrified and worried that Erin didn¡¯t like it at all and had thrown away the flower. She adamantly shook her head. ¡°Oh my gosh, that week, I don¡¯t know if I can say this.¡± She gingerly turned around in Paul¡¯s arms and asked her to do the same. Now, Paul was the pretty girl dwarfed by the presence behind her and arms wrapped around her abdomen. Erin pulled close, so close that her prominent breasts felt like a delicate version of pin art softly etched against her back.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Paul¡¯s senses were activated but so bewildered by the new, intimate sensations that this alluring touch wafted above, seeking interpretation and clarity. Erin took a breath and confessed, ¡°I wanted to hold your hand and I wanted to sit in your lap. I wanted to feel happy and protected. It was a crazy and dizzy thought, I eventually pulled myself away from it, but I wanted you to do something. I wanted to feel good with you.¡±

    Twisting around in Erin¡®s grasp, Paul kissed her like they had kissed on the couch in a reason-drunk moment. She held her in a way that tossed aside all the fear and uncertainty. They had shared so much and for all this time, they had just receded, as though accepting an ocean between them and their feelings. There wasn¡¯t really a clear hint or indication right away when they plopped in each other¡¯s lap. Just a private firestorm. They stopped at fumbling with clothes, dragging and pulling at snug fabric.

    It was like waking from a pleasant trance. But they didn¡¯t part from one another. Rather, a set of spoons softly snuggling each other, they spread out on the long L couch as Erin let the fire dwindle.

    ¡°How would you feel¡­ If you wore my clothes right now? This silly little outfit that got you in such a bother?¡± Now that was a melter. Paul swarmed with sweaty heat as the prospect burned through her brain cells. She could only admit quietly, ¡°That would be something.¡±

    Casually, Erin leaned over and lifted that lavender velvet top up and around her head. Paul gulped and glanced away, especially when she wiggled out of the pants. They traded. The pants were definitely too tight for Erin compared to Paul, but she just managed to get them on. For Paul, the pants laden with so much history for him didn¡¯t quite fit, especially the legs dangling so far down. But the top, that very special top. She had a shape to challenge the one that existed as a ghost in Paul¡¯s memories and an apparition at her side.

    Standing in front of the nearest mirror absolutely dazzled her. It was a reflection so enticing that it threatened to lure her in and trap her forever. Erin swapped out the tight pants for some stretchy ones. Paul considered the same but liked these well enough.

    Back on the couch, Erin kept in the vicinity of Paul¡¯s lap but their parity in sizes didn¡¯t allow her to sit for very long or very comfortably. ¡°Aliens¡­¡± Her comment wafted like a sigh of smoke in the air. Paul nodded and remarked, ¡°I guess so. I don¡¯t really remember anything between the lights and waking up. But clearly, something happened.¡±

    Erin took a deep breath and noted, ¡°My heart and the heart surgery I had. It didn¡¯t leave a huge scar, my thanks to the expert surgeon, but that scar is completely gone. Every scar I can look for is gone now. And I feel great aside from a few things¡­ Mostly how late it is. You?¡±

    Paul admitted that, despite the disconcerting nature of all this, he felt great. All the sitting from his driving jobs did cause a certain degree of digestive discomfort. His energy level had also been declining for many years. But all that felt boosted again. No matter how late it felt, and he did feel this time of night, he was excited to be next to Erin and share all this. It wasn¡¯t long before they had their hands on each other again.

    Paul wanted to be more adventurous, but she just explored Erin¡¯s back and soft sides. Erin went right for Paul¡¯s pants. Paul felt a shiver go through her despite the warmth surging through her body. A phantom sensation licked through her as she expected those marvelous hands to trace the contours of what she felt every other day of her life. When they found somewhere new with a muscular, delicate give, it drove home how much had changed by the light, by those aliens. Paul reciprocated her touch.

    When Paul ventured outside her safe zone with her hands crossing Erin¡¯s, her swooning nervousness felt like an emotional top that didn¡¯t have enough spin. When her touch plunged as deep as possible, it was like finding a secret. What struck her most was that Erin had even more of that electricity pass through her. Her partner was turned on, which supplanted her every expectation.

    Paul had a girlfriend in college and hung out with some people. But it just felt listless. It was always redheads or girls with a reddish tint to their hair though. He had a type, and they were inescapable. Now it was back to the beginning, to where it all started. She had never been this close to any of her partners and nowhere near as comfortable.

    Any lingering fear of harm and overstepping a boundary dropped away. She made her girlish hands the instrument of Erin¡¯s pleasure. Meanwhile, her partner did her best to match. It felt good, but it felt even better to see Erin¡®s eyes roll up in her head as her pants subtly darkened. Erin felt lost for words, whimpering and squeaking. She had decent partners in her past but no one as ruthlessly loving as this, as vehement in hunting down her joy.

    When it was finally reached, Erin couldn¡¯t hold back a scream as the most soul and brain-roiling waves crashed into her and mixed her up like she was a liquid spun in a kettle. A crash sounded over on the table at the juncture of the L couch. Neither noticed that the room got a little darker despite there still being enough light from the other rooms.

    The shockwaves twisted, pulled, and dunked Erin several more times before she finally settled into a spinning delirium. ¡±Wow wow wow wow¡­ fuck. I¡¯ve been missing out all these years.¡± She kissed Paul firmly on the lips and crested over her internal waves. Her pants already needed to be changed but she barely wanted enough of a respite for that.

    Paul wasn¡¯t sure what to do with her hands as Erin worked her way to her feet. With a few long breaths, Erin casually checked around the edge of the couch. To her surprise, the lamp had tumbled backwards, as if tugged by its cord. It didn¡¯t suffer any damage, so she just set it back in place and plugged it back in. It absolutely puzzled her that Bubsy was nowhere near it when it fell and nothing in the vicinity could¡¯ve shifted it so far off the base. She suspected it was what they had been doing but the couch hadn¡¯t moved, and the cord was too far away to be affected. Granted, her mind was nowhere near the lamp at the time.

    So far as Bubsy, the kitty had returned to the front room and one of the nicest empty boxes. Checking one of the side windows, Erin wondered if there was still fog at this hour. A faint haze touched the farthest amber lights but otherwise, things appeared normal. At least Erin thought at first.

    A dog stood stock still on the sidewalk staring right at her. It seemed to have been staring in her direction even before she pulled back the drape, as though it just knew she was there. Her initial reaction was to give a quick smile and wave. It didn¡¯t react. The creature was about the size of a husky but black with small patches of gray along its feet. It was too dark to see its eyes or any other features. The dog didn¡¯t do anything threatening, but it deeply unsettled her how much attention it focused on her. She replaced the drape and did her best to forget about it.

 [4] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 4 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [4]

    ¡°What is it¡­?¡± Paul Morris immediately noticed Erin Reeve¡¯s unease the moment she returned from checking on her cat. Erin casually brushed off her concern with a wave. Bubsy was fine, it was just some critter standing in the mist. Paul wanted to see it, especially when she described it as a large, black dog.

    Of course, when she was at the drape, the mist-cloaked street beyond was completely free of strangeness. Paul briefly considered sneaking outside to see if she could find it, but Erin ensnared her in a nervous, protective viselike grip and led her back to the main room.

    Erin also had designs for what they could do next. ¡±You shared your flower once, and you made me feel so good. Can you share it again and, this time, I can make you feel good?¡±

    Paul was usually pretty clever about innuendos, but it took him a moment to realize what she meant. She felt hot and sweaty as Erin already started her advances. This time, she wouldn¡¯t let Paul turn things around to lavish on her. Her pants came down easily. Erin advanced gradually but with teasing persistence. What Paul had down there still felt like a mystery, but she gasped and shivered as she accepted Erin¡¯s soft intrusion.

    Nothing else Paul could imagine made her feel so distant from the man she¡¯d been when she woke up in the morning. It wasn¡¯t a bad or scary separation, but it was intimidating to her senses and sense of self. She squirmed and squeezed as Erin¡¯s ministrations soon became overwhelming, like the ocean dragging her under. The pace was too quick for her to comprehend, yet perfect. The subsuming terror along with the vertigo-inducing excitement was neither terrible nor scary, but they brushed up against the bedrock of Paul¡¯s masculine ego, like a realization of castration or learning she caught the worst-case cooties and was a girl forever.

    That was actually, literally true though. Unless the aliens decided to come back and reverse it, this was just her. This frank revelation, deeply obvious, struck her like a hammer vibrating glass. She was a woman, a girl. No longer a man, no longer the Paul she used to be. What did that make her now, beyond the obvious? The current of her feelings tumbled over any effort to slow down and reflect. She was feeling things she never could¡¯ve even dreamed of. And she was feeling them because of the person who captured her heart at its earliest blush.

    She managed to let go of her fear, at least for Erin¡¯s sake. Part of her brain pretended that she still had all the old things and that her crush was giving the best finger action to a phantom. Whatever it needed, to accept its new reality. The rest of Paul rode the currents to the magnificent pinnacle and crest that existed beyond words. It wasn¡¯t monumentally different than what she managed on her own and a handful of times with nervous college partners.

    At the same time, it was like discovering an entirely different language. What was tightly concentrated and rigidly focused instead translated up through her thighs, into unfamiliar crevices, and echoed rapturously like the ringing of the bell. But it didn¡¯t culminate in a single, rushing finish, rather it cascaded over the precipice and into new territory. It was like finding an uncapped wellspring that flowed into her instead of erupting out. All those sensations carved through her like a tenacious, liquid animal.

    She could appreciate the analogy of a rock disturbing a pond¡¯s surface and the slow-motion undulations that brought her back to equilibrium. Simultaneously, that still didn¡¯t seem like enough to crystallize what she felt. It was like a delirious dream, and she wanted to return to it and remember all the fine details.

    Erin kissed her gently as she cleaned up and helped her switch into a pair of flannel pants. The smell of the moment and the smell of herself contained both exotic elements and gross bits. They each wanted a shower, but Erin eagerly encouraged her to take the first one. Paul¡¯s firm, dainty thighs quivered with the weight of everything and the exhaustion of a nearly transcendent experience. She set her clothes aside on the towel rack as she faced the walk-in shower with trepidation but also lingering butterflies of excitement.

    The shower wasn¡¯t especially fancy. It had silvery brown stone adorning three walls with a cloudy glass door on the end. She grimaced from the loud ¡°THUNK¡± when opening the metallic latch. Inside, she appreciated a multilevel pole attached to the floor which provided far more shelf space than the meager recesses in the stone.

    She only touched what products she recognized and did so sparingly, so as not to waste her host¡¯s stuff. Paul was surprised to find that Erin didn¡¯t have anything set aside for scrubbing. Fortunately, one of the nearby closets in the bathroom contained several hand towels to choose from.

    It was a little rough on her unfamiliar skin, but she worked the soap gently. She would¡¯ve preferred one of her familiar loofahs but hadn¡¯t thought to pack that in her go bag. Washing and sudsing up her boobs offered some entertainment value, although she resisted the urge to really play with things while polite company was just a few walls away. Not that it would be scandalous, considering that company had just brought her to a frantic orgasm.

    Did this mean Erin was her girlfriend? Or that she was Erin¡®s girlfriend? She supposed terminology didn¡¯t really matter. She quietly reflected on their situation and wondered what their families would think before her thoughts fully returned to her body.

    The smoothness and spongy feeling of her skin made everything she tried feel more intense. Just standing there with her legs apart, as water ran down her shape, made that shape feel achingly exposed.

    Eventually, she decided it was time to finish up, even though she was just getting familiar with the texture of herself. She delighted in the fact that a modest towel from the closet was able to comfortably cover her body. Experimenting with something she¡¯d seen in movies, she carefully endeavored to wrap the towel so that it fits snugly and securely around her bust. It kind of worked for her.

    Twisting and tucking a small rat tail between her cleavage did the trick but she could barely move without feeling like everything was going to tumble to the floor. It did provide a brief, sexy moment over by the mirror. She had so much hair that not even the biggest towel she dared to grab really dried it.

    The results in the mirror looked playfully tousled and matted. Just your average, everyday teen starlet. She reflected on her tan skin. Her family was thoroughly British with some Irish and German mixed around. This girl looked just a shade darker than Thessaly. She had no idea what that meant but this was done by aliens with crazy medical science. It felt fruitless to speculate.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Standing there, feeling weirdly sexy with this strange body, Paul felt an ominous rumbling in her tight, compact gut and immediately swiveled around and returned to the bathroom. The sounds that followed were like smashing several sledgehammers in succession against the porcelain. Fortunately, she was able to flush several times.

    Not only did it feel like she cleared out the epic omelet that she¡¯d consumed as a man, but clearly she had also exorcized the presence of several other meals dating back months. There wasn¡¯t much of her original body left but the little green men had managed to pack in all the leftovers. By the time she finally judged that ordeal finished, it was like being emptied like a tube of toothpaste, wrung inside out, twisted several times, and then left feeling downright two-dimensional. At least she was still human.

    The girl in the mirror definitely looked how she felt. The starlet backstage. She did what she could with her hair while getting it to dry. Once dressed, she hustled out so Erin could take her shower.

    She discovered Erin ambling in the hallway with her phone gripped in one hand while the other pressed to her forehead, as though struggling to recall something.

    ¡°All done¡±, Paul pronounced. Erin jerked her head, as though startled by Paul¡¯s presence. Urgently, Erin hustled over to the linen closet at the juncture of the hallway and told her, ¡°Oh my gosh, I¡¯m sorry. Do you need a bigger towel? There are probably only those little ones in there.¡± Erin extracted a monumental, fluffy pink towel that spread out like a sheet large enough to completely obscure her with an extra fold of fabric spilled over on the carpet. That was way more than Paul needed for her damp hair, but she gladly accepted the impromptu robe. Erin half shut her eyes and shook her head, as though realizing how ridiculous it looked.

    It didn¡¯t take much attention for Paul to realize that something was on Erin¡®s mind. She adjusted her phone in her hand and peered longingly at the wafting steam from Paul¡¯s shower before explaining, ¡°My¡­mother called me.¡±

    Paul¡¯s eyes widened. The only mentions she knew of Erin¡®s mother were vague negative gripes she remembered from school and how this evening she had brought up similar issues. More negative things about her father but certainly not glowing remarks about her mom. Cautiously, Paul probed, ¡°Everything okay?¡±

    To this, Erin released a small chuckle. ¡°The woman I just talked to was not my mother. She may have had my mother¡¯s voice and know the things my mom does but she was kind, concerned, and asked me how my volleyball meet went. She was receptive to the stress in my voice, and wanted to make sure I was all right. She¡¯s coming over.¡±

    All that sounded good to Paul, until she started to really think about it and inquired, ¡°Is that weird?¡±

    ¡°You have no idea. My mom lives in Florida¡­ The one on the other side of the country from here. And she calls like five times a year to see if I¡¯m breathing and still haven¡¯t bothered to give her a grandchild. Something¡¯s wrong. I am losing it. We are not where we¡¯re supposed to be. Like in the wrong world or another place. I don¡¯t know.¡±

    That sounded like a bit of a stretch to Paul, but she trusted the sincerity of the confusion and terror in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she elaborated, ¡°Do you remember that weird footstep noise in the parking lot earlier?¡±

    Paul recalled the wrecked wobbly trashcan they stopped right next to that sort of sounded weird. Otherwise, she had to admit that she didn¡¯t really remember anything strange. Erin hung her head and voiced, ¡°I¡¯m going crazy. I¡¯m seeing big black dogs out there and people in the mist and hearing versions of my mom that can¡¯t possibly exist.¡±

    Single-mindedly, Paul embraced Erin. She easily overwhelmed her, so Paul made up for that by wrapping her in the spare towel. ¡°You¡¯re not crazy. We got abducted by aliens who turned us into teenage girls. Of course, there are creepy things in the mist and weird dogs, and impossible people. And I promise, with all my heart, I will stand with you through whatever comes our way.¡± Despite her small, light voice and reduced presence, Paul did her best to affect as much confidence and energy as she could give those words.

    Erin snuggled close to her. ¡°God. I wish I wasn¡¯t such a coward.¡±

    ¡°Same here¡±, Paul gave her a light kiss on the hand. As they smiled wistfully at one another, the moment was interrupted by buzzing around the corner at the front door.

    Paul leaned to look as Erin nervously drew her hands away from the towel. The knocking was steady and persistent but not violent.

    ¡°Your¡­.mom?¡± Paul kept his attention on Erin. She squeezed a breath into herself and then eased it out. Even though she nodded lightly, Erin didn¡¯t appear confident. She made her way to the stairs with Paul lingering close by. Bubsy meowed from the other room but didn¡¯t provide any further support.

    Erin¡¯s felt like it was being tickled by dozen invisible spiderwebs. She fussed in place on the lower landing and strained to listen through the door. Cautiously, she posed the question, ¡°Mom¡­?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sweetie. Just stopping by. Open up or I can try my key.¡±

    Paul had listened to countless hours of unsettling podcasts featuring breathlessly narrated spooky tales both supposedly truthful and unabashedly fictional with one earbud and his phone set in the charger while driving. She was anticipating no voice on the other side or a deep frail imitation, like a Skinwalker smelling of wafting, rotten flesh. What she heard sounded possibly like a person, but she had no idea what Erin was expecting. Glancing over, she saw that Erin appeared unnerved but not terrified. Hopefully a positive sign.

    Reaching out, Erin gingerly undid the main latches and the deadbolt. Checking her side, she realized, with her eyes widening, that she didn¡¯t have her concealed gun with her. And Paul had put aside the mace. They each took a step back as the front door opened.

    In walked a woman who didn¡¯t appear too much older than Erin before this evening. She had a rusty-brown shade to her hair that reminded Paul of how Erin looked back in high school. But her locks were a lot thicker and spread out whereas Erin tended to keep her hair tied back and bunched up. She wore a dark blue and black striped top and weathered blue jeans. Shifting a large purse onto her shoulders, she brushed her hair back, flashing vibrant blue painted fingernails, and smiled at Erin.

    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m late sweetie. Have you and your friend been having a good evening since you got back from the meet?¡±

 [5] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 5 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [5]

    Erin frantically considered all her possible responses, ranging from running screaming from the room to passing out. Ultimately, she settled for, ¡°Yeah¡­mom. Good evening¡­ here.¡± She resisted the urge to cringe.

    The woman, who looked remarkably like her mother when she was last this age, cocked her head slightly and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Without warning, she stretched her hand out and touched Erin, who didn¡¯t have time to recoil, on the forehead and cheek. ¡°What happened? Did the game go bad? You sound out of it but you don¡¯t feel sick.¡±

    Erin waited for a sharp retort that never came. This wasn¡¯t her mother. It couldn¡¯t possibly be her mother. Her mother, at best, ignored her pain and suppressed tears, and, at worst, belittled them as the whining complains of a whelp. Grow up, get stronger, I can stand your father and so can you! Erin drew in a breath like she was hoarding and protecting it against some indomitable force which would suck the air out of everything. This strange woman didn¡¯t attack her though, she appeared genuinely concerned and sympathetic.

    Cautiously, Erin reported, ¡°We won. 3 to 2. Odessa hurt her leg. But she¡¯ll be fine. We¡­we got back a little late. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    This mother figure squeezed her in a cheerful hug. ¡°I¡¯m glad you gals won. Hopefully, that means you can move up a rank. And oh my goodness, poor Odessa. She¡¯s such a trooper. Maybe we can make her one of those peanut butter cupcakes she likes so much to cheer her up? And I figured you would be late. What with that plane crash next to the Air Force Base. Everyone is having trouble getting around with routes near there shutdown. Toxic chemicals too. Keep your windows closed tonight. And the air just set to circulate. I can take care of it.¡±

    After that hug was finished, she leaned over and wrapped up Paul in a cordial embrace. ¡°And how are you doing, Nadia? Have you had anything to eat?¡±

    Paul needed a moment to process the name that Mrs. Reeves called her. The magnitude of the word actually slipped by her until she repeated the sentence to herself and realized that was supposed to be her name. Curiously, she asked, ¡°Nadia¡­?¡±

    "Mrs. Reeves" searched inwardly with her eyes before resolving, ¡°Have I forgotten a new nickname? You girls are gonna have to clue poor little old me in. I finally have some of the cheers down and thank you for the mnemonic, Agent Omelets, and Element Goats. It¡¯s a shame Most Elegante is a little bit awkward, because that¡¯s my favorite. Even though you get nervous about being the extra E, sweetie.¡± For the last note, she turned back to her daughter with an expression of sympathy.

    Paul wasn¡¯t sure what she was supposed to do but answered that there were no new nicknames for her, that she knew about, and that ¡°Nadia is fine¡±. She nervously appended, ¡°Mrs. Reeves.¡± Then she realized that she didn¡¯t answer the original question and awkwardly stated, ¡°I¡¯m great. Just showered and, yeah, I¡¯ve had plenty to eat. Big¡­protein omelet earlier and cheesecake here.¡±

    The first part brought a quick pout and a lingering sigh from Erin¡®s mother, while she looked wistful and eager at the mention of cheesecake. ¡°Nadia¡­ please. No need to be so formal. Besides, we¡¯ve dropkicked Mrs into the stratosphere. I¡¯ve told you, you can call me Sharon or simply Miss Wray. Although, there are definitely some fun names I¡¯m considering. Things are still up in the air.¡±

    Every fresh word that this woman spoke felt like another mile put between her and the woman Erin considered mother. Her mother scoffed at the idea of changing the name you were given by your parents, outside of marriage. She was especially harsh to her coworkers, and vitriolic when Erin brought up a trans student who the administration struggled to find a spot for on one of the volleyball teams. Ultimately, she changed schools, but Erin desperately regretted not doing more for her.

    It wasn¡¯t a bad thing that this woman, a dream, ideal version of her mother, seemed to be real. But Erin had long ago resolved to keep her guard up against things that felt too good to be true.

    Sharon got a halting but slightly more confident, ¡°Miss Wray¡± out of Paul, who was uncertain about whether she should accept the name of Nadia. Sharon Wray was apparently parked at the curb with lots of groceries and supplies to bring in for the weekend and next week.

    One precious drip of information at a time, Erin was able to piece together that her mother showing up this late at night was not an unusual occurrence. This was apparently still Erin¡®s apartment despite the fact Sharon had her name on the lease. This mom split time between a ¡°gentleman¡± friend¡¯s condo and this location. Several bags called for Erin and Paul¡¯s help to bring in.

    Erin braced herself before the doorway and resisted breathing once it was open. The still of the night, lanced with harsh, buzzing lights was tinted by lingering fog in all directions. No other sounds, but the ones they made, interrupted the oppressive silence. No dogs, nor people, about.

    Still anxious, almost to the point of shaking, Erin hung as many bags as possible on her skinny arms until she started to lose feeling and blood flow. Paul took a modest amount, at first, but soon grabbed a few more when she saw how many Erin was hauling. On her way back to the door, Erin paused, and Paul halted right behind her.

    ¡°Did you feel that?¡±

    Erin turned slightly to ask Paul, even though she wasn¡¯t certain if she actually felt what she had just felt. The sensation was a ripple of pressure through the air from some immense presence, like a flying whale breaching some higher realm and splashing through a column of air as it returned. Only it didn¡¯t feel quite as harmless and friendly as some imaginary whale. She wasn¡¯t sure if the ground twitched a little beneath her feet or if it was her unsteady, quivering thighs. Erin decided to ignore it and hustle back inside.

    Sharon Wray diligently attended to putting everything away. She scratched Bubsy on the neck and cooed his name as though she had known him all her life despite the fact Erin¡¯s ¡®real¡¯ mother only met him once and denounced him as ¡®mangy¡¯. This disparity didn¡¯t seem to bother Bubsy as Sharon produced one of those meat Go-Gurt tube treats for the kitty and he eagerly sucked it down.

    Erin wanted to stay and continue to put things away, but the front door felt like a gnawing thread laced through her brain and Paul returned down the steps to grab the next load. She scampered after Paul and just barely caught up with her.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    The atmosphere outside did things to her, especially using all those shaking nerves to transmit that she desperately needed to go pee despite the need being absent mere moments ago. She could turn around, head back inside, and deal with it but that would mean leaving Paul alone with whatever the hell was lurking in the mists.

    She stayed right next to her as they split several more bags. Ducking down into the trunk to grab some personal, small watermelons, Erin popped back up and saw, with a sliver of her vision, a huge shadow pass at the edge of the apartment complex. When she looked up, nothing seemed amiss. No movement, no space whales.

    She remembered how the light in the morning through the bathroom window sometimes felt like the sun was a giant bulb and occasional motions of trees or animals felt like flicking off the switch. Just one of those things, or her bad eyes being awful and unreliable. Only their ¡®alien abduction¡¯ had healed her eyes along with everything else, so she was seeing the world as it was meant to be seen, right? She tightly shadowed Paul back inside.

    Paul, who was still toying with the name of Nadia in her brain, found it hard to overlook Erin¡®s clear anxiety. She didn¡¯t know what to think about the woman who purported to be Erin¡®s mother. They seemed nice though, so she had no complaints. Holding back the full stretch of a yawn, Paul sniffed an aromatic bag of coffee beans to keep herself going. Last trek.

    Erin dumped her stuff quickly and muttered that she had to use the restroom. Paul considered just grabbing the rest of it but instead busied herself with helping Miss Wray put several items away. A Korean barbecue kit and a make-your-own-taco platter both looked especially amazing. Paul hoped that she could come up with a reason to visit again to share in each of them. She gathered from Miss Wray¡¯s demeanor that she considered it normal that ¡°Nadia¡° was around and she seemed welcome. Fingers crossed!

    ¡±Do the two of you want some privacy tonight?¡± Sharon¡¯s question caused Paul to pause with a huge box of baking soda in her hand. Softly, Paul questioned, ¡°Privacy?¡°

    She winked and took the baking soda from her to tuck into the back of the fridge. ¡°I can recognize young love. Do be careful with my daughter¡¯s heart. I¡¯m fine sleeping anywhere. You¡¯re free to the couch or the nice big bed. Whatever is the snuggliest¡­ with company.¡± Paul immediately felt hot all over her face and was flummoxed for what words to offer. Instead of speaking, she just grabbed a whole bunch of things and put them away.

    When Erin returned, she noticed Paul¡¯s change in demeanor but wasn¡¯t sure what to say either. They made their way back down the steps to grab the last things from the car.

    Paul gripped the large bag of cat food, wavering with the weight. She didn¡¯t have a man¡¯s strength anymore, yet she was still conditioned to accept the heavier load. Behind her, she heard Erin¡¯s load drop to the pavement with the unfortunate noise of eggs cracking. A frantic, plaintive whimper squeaked out of Erin.

    Turning around, she caught sight of Erin barely on her feet, gripping the parking shade support beam and the edge of the bumper. Paul hurriedly set what she was carrying back down and huddled close to attend to Erin. Nervously, she asked what was wrong.

    ¡°I saw¡­I saw¡­ it was. It was horrible. I can¡¯t¡­ tell me you please tell me you saw something¡­¡± Paul looked over her shoulder. Just the bloom of the lights diffused by dense walls of mist. She could barely see the next building and the faint trace of a fence in the distance. With so many details obscured, she knew it was easy to glimpse something otherwise normal warped and distorted by the unsettling air. At the same time, they had lived through a night of impossible things.

    ¡°What did you see?¡± She moderated her tone with curiosity and softness, same as she did her best to believe her grandfather when he shrieked about a nurse who came in an hour ago and was stealing their best dishes, even though Paul had been sitting with him for hours alone. He knew about dementia and all sorts of other heart-wrenching conditions, along with vague notions of paranoid schizophrenia. He desperately avoided the sound of judgment in his words.

    Erin got her breathing under control and wasn¡¯t sure whether to check the uncertain world around her, seek comfort in Paul¡¯s kind eyes, or close her vision off from everything. When she turned around, she saw eyes in the gray. Wild, gleaming, red eyes projecting inescapable malice. Dozens filled the end of the street, watching her, waiting. They could¡¯ve been brake lights, her logic told the rest of her. Countless cars swarming the narrow space with no sign of them moments later.

    She drew in a breath to speak but slowly released it like a balloon. Weakly, she replied, keeping her eyes on Paul, ¡°Nothing. I thought¡­thought I saw maybe a car backing up I guess. Spooky night and I need some sleep. Sorry¡­ oh gosh¡­ the eggs.¡±

    They rescued what was broken and Paul handled it delicately as they brought everything inside. Paul and Erin tussled with one another to apologize first, but Sharon laughed and waved her hand as she assured them it was fine. Only three of the eggs were cracked and they had another dozen. Her old mom would¡¯ve launched into a diatribe about how everything she broke or treated with disrespect was money stolen out of their pockets and mouths for food.

    But that wasn¡¯t the way things were anymore. She had been far away from her mother and this woman was further still in attitude and affection. Erin felt so used to pessimism, nerves, and preparation for the worst. She had to tell herself that it was fine, she could be happy, she could relax, and she didn¡¯t need to think about terrible possibilities.

    With the three of them, everything was swiftly put away. Sharon grabbed some chocolates and one slice of cheesecake to take with her to the couch as she called back for Erin to shut the fridge when she was done. It wasn¡¯t a command or a note of disappointment, just a gentle reminder.

    Already one last item ahead, Erin unconsciously motioned towards the fridge and heard it firmly shut. When she turned around, she paused in confusion. The fridge door was several feet away from her. She copied the motion she¡¯d just done and resolved that not only hadn¡¯t she not felt the fridge when she closed it, but it was impossible for her to reach any part of it from where she was standing. Bowing her head, she rubbed at her eyes and told herself that she just needed some sleep.

 [6] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 6 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [6]

    Erin didn¡¯t notice any of her regular aches, pains, and stiffness after a long day, but she still felt the urge to stretch every joint. She knew exactly the routine she drilled into her players before every practice. Not all of those moves could be done without awkwardly grabbing parts of a wall, but she did a couple of the quicker ones.

    Her expectation was to hear the old familiar pops and cracks with every motion. They didn¡¯t come. Curious, she raised her arms above her head, bent to the side, and then back before dropping to touch her feet. For fun, she bent backwards like an arch to see how far she could go. The position flared her worries because, even when she was relatively younger and nimbler, stretching like this risked triggering the wrong muscle and activating a world of pain. Everything felt fine.

    ¡°You okay?¡± Paul leaned over from the bedroom into the hallway to see Erin positioned like she was going to do an Exorcist-style spider walk. Rising up, Erin adjusted her clothes, brushed her hair back, and announced, ¡°Just finding some good in all this with feeling a whole lot stretchier.¡±

    Paul marveled at all the different positions Erin was able to place herself in. Soon, she straightened up and asked, ¡°What about you? Do you feel more flexible too?¡± Paul¡¯s immediate reaction was to grimace and look towards the ceiling with an arm behind her head.

    She didn¡¯t hate PE back in high school. Archery was fun. Mostly because it allowed him to operate on his own. They had to wait until the entire arrow volley was fired so that people could safely retrieve their shots but, otherwise, he didn¡¯t have to worry about whether there was enough space for him compared to tennis doubles, square dancing, or volleyball. It wasn¡¯t that people excluded him. He just didn¡¯t volunteer.

    When he was in a group, everything felt like it wound up smashing him in the face. Then there were the embarrassing moments when he expected the ball would be out and he stood there looking at it as it plunged short and inside. He anticipated he couldn¡¯t be of much help to the team, and it became true. Ultimately, he spent most of PE chatting with people he knew on the bleachers and the coaches never bothered to do anything about it. He appreciated team sports, but he just couldn¡¯t figure them out.

    So far as the movements and positions Erin was showing off, he did have that video game version of yoga from a long time ago. Experimentally, she kicked, lifted a leg up, and looked on with wide, worried eyes as her toes passed her head. Moments later, she tumbled to the carpet. They giggled together.

    Without even trying and without pops or kinks, Paul found she was able to manipulate this strange body like it was a poseable doll that obeyed her every command. Inverting herself with her bust weight was disconcerting, but she clung to the door jamb for assistance. Finishing with a split on the floor did leave her confused about what to do next but that was more of a limitation of her mind than her body. Erin helped her up and their eyes lingered on one another.

    Erin still had on the outfit she swapped with Paul for earlier and it did its best to emphasize her cleavage. Paul felt strangely at home in the shiny lavender top combined with the spare flannel pants that fit her better. The memory of why she needed to change her pants kindled a warm and friendly feeling that left her with a slight smirk. Erin dipped her head and looked around behind her. Paul leaned forward.

    ¡°I should you go check your laundry. Also, you¡¯re gonna need some different shoes. Gotta figure that out since I don''t think you''ll even fit mine.¡± She drifted back through the hallway and saw Sharon curled up with her cheesecake. Paul followed and told her, ¡°I¡¯ll help. I kind of got used to the shoes. Not worth wearing more than a few minutes though.¡±

    Over in the laundry room, the machine buzzed right when they entered. Working together, they transferred the load out of the washing machine and into the dryer. Bubsy lingered in the doorway and scrutinized the situation as though he were their manager. Erin enjoyed the laundry room because it had thick walls and no tempting outside windows. Her cat raised up and paused when the dryer started but didn¡¯t bolt. Putting a hand out, she urged him over and picked him up with both arms.

    Looking both annoyed and bleary at the current situation, the cat turned his ears a few ways and glanced over at Paul. Erin invited her to pet the cat and she cautiously brushed a spot around his head which looked safe for contact. She could tell Bubsy was a senior cat from the lighter gray patches around his face. Her grandmother had a cat just like that and she learned some of the rules. Certain places were okay to touch, and they had a secret time limit before the cat hissed and told you to scram. It seemed like a good sign that Bubsy actually leaned into her touch to get more of it.

    She didn¡¯t mind cats but never really shook the feeling that petting them required washing your hands afterward because of the sensation like rubbing the dense locks on someone who never cleaned their hair or did so in an alien way. She didn¡¯t want Bubsy to know that.

    Erin lingered in the laundry room and clung to her cat as the warmth of the dryer started to circulate and stifle. Paul stretched her arms above her head and arched on her toes like a half-hearted ballerina. Still carrying her cat, Erin slowly made her way back up the steps and over to the living room.

    Her intent was to take the kitty with her to the bedroom. He routinely cuddled up on the empty side of her bed, but this time slipped out of her hands and scampered across the carpet to inspect the big couch. Sharon received a quick glance of curiosity before he judged her lap would be the worthy one.

    Erin gave the better version of her mom a quick wave and an unnecessary explanation that they were heading to bed. Sharon returned a calm and confident reassurance that she already had her shower and arched her eyebrows before adding, ¡°And I¡¯m going to have my earbuds in, so don¡¯t you worry about noise or anything.¡± Erin hustled along before the red in her face exploded like a slow firework.

    In the bedroom, Erin picked up her glasses and held them in front of her. Everything looked horribly distorted like she was in a weird fishbowl. That reminded her of the dumb game kids always like to play, especially when they were too old for it, of putting on the glasses of someone who needed them and questioning out loud, ¡°How can you see with these?¡± Behind those memories was a wave of relief for the unknown alien creatures that had done this.

    Simultaneously, she lamented all the unknowns. Was this a different world they had been dropped into? How did it work? Why were there so many scary things that only she seemed to be able to see? Erin rolled over and plopped down on the bed with her hair awkwardly tangled around her head. Paul joined her a minute later, carefully sliding onto the covers but also getting her hair awkwardly plastered across her face. Two of them shared laughter as each fixed their hair. The room settled back into relative silence, with her breathing sounding like wailing winds and Paul¡¯s barely audible.

    Erin felt randomly itchy. It prodded her in her side, then went for her elbows and a little space on her front, as though it were a myriad of microscopic devils anxious to bite into the perfection of her renewed flesh. This annoying development also calmed her. Not everything could be without pain and even the craziest space science couldn¡¯t get rid of life¡®s little irritations.

    When she passed along this silly notion to Paul, her bedmate wondered if perhaps the kitty picked up some fleas. Erin shook off the notion, pointing out that Bubsy was never let out of the house. She did have to admit that cats could get into and out of the weirdest places.

    But a scarier notion latched on to her thoughts: If this wasn¡¯t their world or her Bubsy, then anything could be true. Maybe her new mom took the cat out on a leash to the nearest park once a week. Fortunately, that fear was blunted by her amusement visualizing such an excursion in reality. Bubsy had a sky blue harness with a leash attachment and, whenever she managed to get it on him, he would turn into a rigid little commando stiffly stepping backwards and rolling to get it off. Mostly, it was reserved for vet visits because he had a better time like that as opposed to being confined to a dark, nausea-inducing carrier.

    With a sigh, Erin admitted, ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s probably nerves¡­ And I didn¡¯t take a shower. Heh.¡± She idly pulled at the top that Paul had been wearing before her. Standing up, Erin did a little more stretching, still without any points of discomfort or popping. She casually undressed and made her way over to the closet to select something comfortable to put on after her shower. Selecting her clothes, she looked up and noticed that Paul had turned away with her arm up around her face.

    With a crafty grin, Erin crept over to the side of the bed and slipped off the rest of her clothes. She then counted several seconds in her head and made a few light sounds before declaring, ¡°All right, you can look now."

    Paul hesitated with uncertainty, as though she had some vague inkling of what Erin was doing. Still, she turned and glanced up. She envisioned Erin wrapped in some large robe or full body towel. Her brain wasn¡¯t prepared to see the full extent of her long-term crush so starkly revealed by the modest lamplight. All the vague contours and implied features were exposed.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Everything she curiously fantasized about now showed with bold clarity, as if the memories of that time were perfectly preserved and resurrected. In squeaking alarm, she darted away, her hands shielding her eyes, then flailing to grip the bed to keep her from rolling off. Erin briefly restrained her amusement before breaking down in giggles. She slipped on a silver robe and again assured Paul that it was fine.

    This time, she was much more hesitant to look back, but eventually glimpsed enough to conclude that Erin was again covered. Placing her hands down on the bed with a long sigh, Paul muttered, ¡°Oh my goodness¡­¡± To this, Erin raised her eyebrows and responded, ¡°What?¡­ We¡¯ve done more than look.¡± Incoherent, half-formed words spilled out of Paul¡¯s mouth as she struggled to put together the pieces of the evening.

    Yes, she had indeed done more with the girl who existed as some strange, foundational archetype in her youth, and she returned the favor. Just seeing a little bare flesh shouldn¡¯t have been a big deal, but it was. Paul awkwardly settled on the response that she was a little flustered and shakily encouraged Erin to wash up, some she could ¡°feel better¡±. The temptation to continue to toy with Paul lingered in her thoughts, but she acquiesced and made her way to the bathroom.

    She noticed how little mess Paul left behind from her shower. The towels in the closet, annoyingly meager though they were, looked as if some unseen housekeeping service had tidied up. The floor was free of damp spots and the air lacked mustiness. There is a faint, peculiar aroma, however. It didn¡¯t seem to come from the shower and Erin doubted it was because of anything Paul did.

    Drawing in several breaths, she recognized an unmistakable stench that could best be described as rotten eggs. This presence wasn¡¯t overpowering, nor was it especially subdued. It was just there. Her first worry was a gas leak, but the water was heated electrically. Sniffing several times around the room didn¡¯t help with locating the source.

    She was tempted to pop out and see if Paul smelled anything too. As a last resort, she could also ask Sharon. Those were possibilities but, at the same time, her senses seemed like they were crying wolf. Would the apartment explode if she ignored it for the sake of a brief shower?

    Letting the water warm up, she checked every so often to make sure the odor was still present. It wasn¡¯t quite as harsh, but she also remembered a warning about fumes and old buildings. If a pungent smell started to go away on its own, that meant there was something terrible eating away at your sense of smell. But she cleaned everything a little over a week ago and not even a trace of a rogue smell tripped her suspicions then. However, depending on where the heck they were now, it could just be a sign of some horrifying monster Paul would know from those podcasts she listened to.

    Stop, she commanded herself.

    She could muster only so much energy for freaking out about every little thing. From sounds in an abandoned parking lot to strange dogs to mysterious bumps, unexplained parents, and untold masses of monsters. If something came to consume her, then she would deal with it. If a fire broke out, she would call upon all the pointless drills they did in school when she was young and in the last few years. That was all she could do.

    Glancing around, she bundled up every last twig of energy she had left and released a silent growl with her arms stretched out like that warning to appear as big as possible to scare bears. Remarkably, as soon as she did that, all traces of the ominous aroma blipped away as quickly as it emerged. That was almost worse, but she took it as a sign that she might as well enjoy this shower.

    Nothing weird happened when she turned on the water, not even any spurts to do with the pressure. It did take patience before the freezing, blowing stream warmed to where she liked it. Usually, she stepped in with flaring bouts of pain as the water worked its way into every worn nook and cranny of her joints. Now, it just felt like a rush of static. Not bad but not as intensely therapeutic. Whatever itching remained was drowned out.

    She didn¡¯t linger long in the shower but also didn¡¯t rush. She stayed until the liquid cocoon brought her lids so far down that she started to wobble and stagger. The meager towels earned her ire, even though she recognized the shortage was her fault and Paul made her aware of it. A cluster of smaller ones sufficed.

    Bundled up in those towels and her robe, Erin evicted the remains of the post-game celebratory supper and cheesecake snack until she felt true serenity. Once again, the lure of a nap started to drag her down, but she popped up and pressed on.

    Outside, the air was again perfect. Over on the bed, Paul was half bundled in one of the blankets but with her head craned towards the door. Despite this attentive pose, she didn¡¯t rouse.

    Erin intended to just let her sleep as she put on the clothes she had picked out and wound down with her normal routine, but Paul¡¯s phone shrieked to life from the table on her side of the bed. Instantly, Paul shot up and wiggled her arms, as though attempting flight.

    It took a whole lot of effort from the confused girl, with assistance from Erin, to even tap the phone to respond. Lingering, Erin listened.

    Paul found herself shoved out of the same dreamless blank void as earlier. No new changes but the familiar cry of her cell phone in an unfamiliar space.

    ¡°Hello? Who is this?¡±

    ¡°Sweetie, are you okay? We were worried you didn¡¯t check-in. Erin¡®s mother texted us to say you were staying over at her place.¡±

    Grappling for understanding, Paul attempted, ¡°¡­.Mom?¡± Her situation concerning her parents was a little more complicated than what she gathered of Erin¡¯s. The voice on the line had familiar qualities that tickled family feelings but also possessed a strange slant of accent and mood.

    ¡°Is the connection bad? Yes, this is mom. Are you staying with your friend? I heard on the news about the plane accident, and I wanted to make sure you didn¡¯t have trouble. I know getting home you would have traveled right by the Air Force base. They were saying that the reroute was three to five hours and cell towers were down or heavily engaged because of where it struck. I left you some text messages, but you didn¡¯t answer. Is everything all right, sweetie?¡±

    Paul struggled through what felt like an immense pyramid of words, building one on top of the other like steps taking her into the stratosphere, and she wasn¡¯t sure how to climb the base. She felt a little dumb for not recognizing the contact label of ¡°Mom¡¯s Cell¡±.

    Erin suggested they were in a different reality, or something akin to that, so having different parents definitely lent that credence. And it also melted her brain, because if she had this vastly different body and a separate lineage and a whole mess of different genetic information, then what constituted her consciousness and soul? Also, it dawned on her that Tonya and the other abducted girls could be going through a similar experience. Maybe.

    ¡°Yeah, mom. We actually just managed to avoid the worst of it even though it was a very slow way around. The team and everyone managed to get back home safe but, since I guess you couldn¡¯t make it I guess, Erin and her mom put me up at their place. Oh, and we managed to win 3 to 2.¡± All that felt desperately stilted coming from Paul¡¯s mind-tangled mouth but at least she managed to say something.

    The woman, who seemed to be her mother now, reminded her that dad was originally going to be picking her up but, because of the delay, he had to get ready for work. In one of her text messages, she mentioned contacting a family friend who did ride shares to bring her home when she was free.

    Paul recollected that unaccompanied minors under eighteen weren¡¯t allowed to use such services, although he had been known to bend the rules for kids in dire situations. While restored youth definitely had its benefits, she privately lamented how many things and people she would have to depend upon now.

    She couldn¡¯t grab onto a convenient moment to clarify whether Nadia was her actual name now, since any way she could¡¯ve asked the right questions felt dangerously close to acting like a crazy person. The lady on the other end of the line sent along abundant kisses, love, apologies, and hopes that her ¡°precious daughter¡° did not have a bad time. Paul wasn¡¯t sure what to say to all that, but she did her best not to sound as suspicious as she felt.

    Emphasizing the long evening and how exhausted they all were seemed to do the trick in getting her ¡°mom¡° to relax. However, she learned that she had piano practice on Saturday afternoon at three. Paul dipped her phone against her side after finishing the conversation. Why couldn¡¯t the aliens have given her ATV practice, truck-loading lessons, or something at least casually in her wheelhouse? She wondered what excuse might work for starting back at zero as she glanced over at a befuddled Erin staring at her with her arms folded.

    Paul nervously bit her lip as she asked, ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Erin had plenty of things that fell into that category but foremost on her mind at that moment was, ¡°What language was that?¡±

    Sitting up, Paul scrunched her forehead and responded, ¡°¡­Wasn¡¯t that English?¡± Erin shook her head and asked, ¡°No way. Don¡¯t you know? Weren¡¯t you speaking it?¡±

    Groaning with a sigh, Paul pulled all the blankets up around her protectively and muttered through the layers, ¡°I have no idea.¡±

 [7] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 7 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [7]

    There was no way that Erin was just going to leave this fresh mystery alone. She swiftly slipped on her usual, nighttime clothes (so quickly that Paul didn¡¯t even bother to look away) and sat next to Paul with her legs crossed.

    ¡°Can you try speaking like that again?¡± Erin encouraged, leaning forward. Paul poked her head out of the blankets and repeated from earlier, ¡°¡­ Erin and her mom put me up at their place.¡±

    To this, Erin shook her head. ¡°You¡¯re just speaking English now. Is that what you said before?¡± Paul paraphrased and summarized what she discussed with the woman on the phone who claimed to be her mother. Same stuff as what Sharon brought up regarding a plane crash, which both of them surmised was some sort of government cover-up for whatever they experienced. Erin grimaced sympathetically when Paul mentioned piano lessons and asked if she had any experience with them.

    ¡°No more than just messing around on Casio keyboards in stores by playing Chopsticks.¡± Shrugging with her hands, Erin proposed that perhaps, with everything that¡¯s happened, maybe she¡¯s turned into an unconscious virtuoso same as she was able to speak whatever language that was. They didn¡¯t make much headway with pinning down the language until Erin proposed searching for social media on Paul¡¯s phone.

    Nadia Miray Baris. That was her. Or rather, it was who the Internet said she was. Fourteen years old going on fifteen on November 29th. Turkish and Greek ethnicity. Grew up in Bristol before moving to the United States for junior high and high school. Father owns a local restaurant chain and mother is an accomplished writer. She had seven siblings, two brothers, and five sisters. Paul had to close the app and take a breath. It was too much to process, too much of a life to absorb.

    ¡°That¡¯s wild¡±, Erin responded. She also had two brothers, but they were never a part of her life. Paul set her phone back down where it had been and stretched around to make sure the charger was inserted. While she went to go get a drink of water before bed, Erin snuck around the apartment to hunt any mysterious odors. It would¡¯ve been ideal to possess some sort of natural gas detector with a myriad of sensors, but she never even considered that possibility. There was a carbon monoxide detector in one of the drawers, which she used to have on the wall, but the batteries eventually ran out and she never had the 9V it required.

    Sharon became mildly curious about what her daughter was doing rummaging around the drawers. Preparing her words, Erin set her hands on her hips and casually explained that she caught a weird smell before taking her shower. Only when she admitted that it smelled like rotten eggs did Sharon launch off the couch and out of the blankets. Fortunately, she actually had exactly the variety of gas detector Erin was thinking about in the car. A gift from the mysterious man she usually lived with. It vaguely resembled a colorful, bloated straw with a screen on the side.

    Reading through the directions, Sharon walked around the apartment and paused at various points to let it beep. She gave special attention to the bathroom while transferring several larger towels over from the main linen closet. The lines on the screen wiggled a few times but every measurement concluded that the air around was safe. Checking again, Sharon could only conclude, with some assistance from Google, that it was some sort of hydrogen sulfide buildup in the pipes or the water heater. She again invoked the mystery man she lived with as being able to help drain the water heater and possibly sanitize the pipes to see if that solved it. For now, she squeezed her daughter in a calm hug and brushed her hair back.

    Erin sincerely appreciated the gesture far more than the perfunctory, needy poses that her original mother drew her into. Those hugs felt more like a leech peeling off the love that bled out of her than providing an infusion of affection. It was nice and a relief that at least one of her worries could be set aside. The problem was the flood of other things which allowed no easy explanation or remedy. How could she tell her mom that she saw a pack of ravenous things with hungry red eyes, along with a creepy black dog, felt thumps to put Cthulhu to shame with forms to dwarf and blot out the evening light, heard sounds of twisting anxiety, and absorbed so many other things she didn¡¯t understand? She just presented a look of calm and reassurance as she receded back to the bathroom.

    Paul echoed her relief when she explained the puzzling smell. They each let the weight of all this chaos fall away as they pulled back the covers. Erin flicked off the light, leaving a moonlight-like spill from the hallway under the door. It was enough to see their way to the restroom. Erin bundled up and looked towards Paul, who was soon also as cozy. This was nice.

    They each apologized in advance for snoring, with Erin pressing that hers was absolutely the worst. Propping her head up with her hand, she looked at Paul¡¯s slight form with the abundant crests of her chest impossible to hide beneath the layers. Sleepiness dangled on their lives and spirits, but they still found the energy to talk for a bit.

    Erin questioned Paul about whether she should start referring to her as Nadia. Paul raised her slim eyebrows and tilted her head a few ways, as if she was searching for some hidden text that would provide her with the right thing to say.

    ¡°I am Paul. Barring the possibility that aliens or whatever just made two random teenage girls think they¡¯re actually Paul Moore and Coach Erin Reeves.¡± This deservedly earned a playful but firm poke from Erin for even introducing the possibility. Waving her hands, Erin qualified that, assuming everything was taken at face value, did she want to be Nadia?

    Paul wiggled her hands beneath the covers and inquired about how it made Erin feel. That earned another poke as she demanded Paul tell her her own feelings and ¡°Stop being such a shy little girl¡±. It wasn¡¯t an easy proposition. So many years of her life were devoted to just patiently waiting things out or acquiescing to others. The parents she grew up with were survived in their fury and their apathy because he became like an invisible presence. Not noticed as a deflection for bitterness. Not punished pointlessly. Just a ghost inhabiting the confines, just a dutiful butler who completed his tasks of ferrying the needy from one place to another before being transferred to his grandparents.

    What did he want? He wanted more time with Erin. He wanted to make her smile. He wanted her to feel comforted and safe. He wanted so many things for her and to share in them. But all that was presumptuous. His family crushed his ego for calm obedience. He had needs and wants, but they had to be excavated. What did he¡­ She feel then?

    Nadia. It was a pretty name that vaguely reminded her of Russian girls and gymnasts. She could be Nadia. But did she want to be Nadia? Before she receded into the nagging precipice of simply accepting that the world decided this was who she was and she couldn¡¯t disappoint her parents and others in her life, Paul took a deep breath and resolved, ¡°Alright.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a conclusion she was going to set in stone as her new reality or genuine self. But she was willing to give it a try. Be Nadia for a bit, try it out, and see if it fit along with everything else. Nadia Miray Baris. Someone else but also her.

    The notion still felt like tossing herself off a cliff but also felt like flying. In turn, now as Nadia, she had her own questions for Erin.

    ¡°What are we to one another? Like, I was kind of sort of thinking about whether we¡¯re a couple and we¡¯re dating or if we¡¯re together or something?¡± Despite the fledgling effort at some level of confidence, she could feel herself shrinking from the potency of her thoughts.

    Erin considered the easy response of just lobbing the question back at Nadia. How do you see us? What are your feelings? What do you want us to be? But she had asked first. It only seemed fair to tackle it appropriately.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    She had so many words and notions rifling around in her head, but it was like they all scurried away into the shadows as soon as she put forth the reality of this question. What was Nadia to her? Paul was a cute, protective, artistic, inscrutable guy she knew in high school who became a driver deeply devoted to making sure everyone was safe. Like this, together, either under the warm covers or reaching out for warm, sensitive places, she didn¡¯t know yet. She wasn¡¯t even prepared for if she wanted to say she was a lesbian.

    The word was so loaded, especially with all the crap that her parents piled on top of her head, never mind the garbage she accumulated from being an active sports enthusiast and educator.

    The teachers in the lounge never really said anything that she could directly point to but the looks and implications were a fouler stench than the one she found in the bathroom. That wasn¡¯t to say there weren¡¯t some teachers who proved the clich¨¦s, jokes, and worse accurate, like Coach Janice Nesbitt.

    During the first week before classes, Erin endeavored to befriend, associate with, and at least learn the quirks of everyone in her particular orbit of campus. Some of them were amazingly helpful and others provided interesting stories. But Nesbitt, oh Nesbitt. She really tried with her.

    The problem was Nesbitt was exactly like a callous, lecherous old man. If you said the slightest thing that she didn¡¯t like, then you never heard the end of it. Even worse, there were stories about the way she handled female students. Nothing ever wound up on the record and she always managed to find the careful line between suggestive and abuse, but everyone knew.

    She was just the most recent in a long line of negative examples that Erin ran into at the worst points in her life. The first lesbian she met in high school was utterly vitriolic, menacing, and obsessed with making reality what she wanted in a way that eclipsed mere gaslighting. And just when she managed to recover from each encounter, a new instance would crop up and smack down her optimism. After a certain point, it felt like the universe was trying to tell her something.

    She did her best to overcome that impression, especially as the area infested with notorious crackheads on the streets who just happened to be trans and gay. They provided the galvanizing negative example to the community to torpedo whatever progress, especially for that one former student who she desperately wished she could¡¯ve helped find a place where she was welcome.

    What did Erin think of herself? Despite the lack of any helpful role models, and so much noise and confusion, she felt content and at peace right here next to¡­ Nadia. She fully appreciated Paul in the school and all the quietly kind things he did. And she especially felt nervous delight every Friday when she could look forward to him in the driver¡¯s seat. Did that make her bisexual? Did it matter?

    She got lost in all that. What was the question again? What were they to each other? What particular label did it deserve? Girlfriends? Friends? Flirtatious crush? Something serious? Something undefined? Erin really did want to clear it up, as much for herself as for Nadia to understand.

    The answer seemed to be to provide some vague affirmation while letting Nadia define and delineate¡­ oh, screw that. She had been hesitant and waited for Paul all through her last opportunity. He shared his beautiful flower and precious art and she demurely expected that he would take the next step or that romance would happen if it happened. Well, she wanted this!

    ¡°Nadia¡­ I want to go out with you. Let¡¯s be a couple. Whatever that means. A cute couple. Just enjoying each other. Do you want to be my girlfriend and I¡¯ll be yours? You get to be the adorable, busty, shy, squishy one.¡± For emphasis, she ensnared Nadia under the covers and pulled her close. She didn¡¯t know if those were the right words, but she did her best not to doubt them.

    For Nadia, it was like being wrapped up in a warm confident tidal wave. She wasn¡¯t sure about her question and felt afraid pressing the point might make Erin turn away and leave the bed emotionally cold. The animating heat of her embrace made Nadia feel like she might pass out. Beside one another, Nadia¡®s trembles seemed like a chill she couldn¡¯t shake until Erin made her toasty.

    The words spilled out, ¡°Yes! Please. I don¡¯t know how to be a girl really, let alone a girlfriend, but I promise to do my best for you. And myself. Whatever it is I¡¯m supposed to do.¡± Calmly, they kissed. The fervent emotion stilled with the lateness of the evening, but they calmly cuddled against one another with the pillows stacked up for maximum softness. Erin quipped that Nadia was the best pillow as they took turns spooning. Eventually, she curled up against Erin¡®s back and shut her eyes. The snores that followed were so preciously dainty and demure that she went to the effort of sneaking away so she could use her phone to record the best bits.

    Sleep was easy for Erin but felt like a trick. As though some shade of the horrors she glimpsed were just waiting for her to relax the last protection. She just went through the motions of this notion until the enveloping warmth lulled her to sleep.

    A span of nothingness filled her existence, the same way she could only remember the alien light burning away the night and her thoughts. Did the bus crash? Are the kids okay? Where is Paul? It was all just an echo, but it still felt the same as that moment.

    Then, a weird sensation invaded that space, like something sharp probing the edges of her skin, worse than the strange itches earlier. Erin opened her eyes without feeling her lids lifting. She looked without seeing and resolved in horror a dark mass, like slowly undulating oil, saturating the ceiling above them. A sickly feeler, like an insect leg mixed with a slimy elephant trunk, rubbed against her head. A second one probed about where she knew Nadia was resting beside her.

    That crystallized all her thoughts into a single point of anger. She didn¡¯t have control of her body, but she still squeezed her hand into a fist. The wretched, inverted pool shifted. Opening her hand, she felt strange but amazing. Electrified currents flowed through her as she rose from the bed. Screaming without opening her mouth, she released her fist and focused waves of what churned plasma over the horrific mass. Immediately, it gave an inhuman shriek of terror as it writhed and roiled, as though suddenly placed in a bubbling, burning pot. The mass stretched to escape, but she tightly ensnared it until the nightmare probes slipped away from them. Only when it seemed like a frail puddle on the cusp of death did she finally release her hold on it. What remained shot out so fast that it rattled the window.

    Erin felt herself jostle against the bed as though from a jerk of sudden awakening. The mattress wiggled more than she expected, but it didn¡¯t rouse Nadia. Blinking her eyes, Erin softly groaned and scrutinized the ceiling above her. Nothing there, of course. Also, no sign of the gravity-defying dark sludge she had seen in the most empowering sleep paralysis encounter of her life. Plenty of them popped up when she was under stress, but she never managed to assault the monsters like that.

    Untangling herself from her new girlfriend, Erin stumbled with curiosity over to the window. She overlooked the fact that every time she checked outside, it seemed like something worse was around. Pulling back the drape just a little bit, so that the room wasn¡¯t flooded with the streetlight, she noticed the hint of a black mass crossing from the roof of one apartment building to another but easily resolved that it had to be some sort of raven or blackbird. The fog still lingered and obscured most of her view. Nothing else.

    Before she shut the drape and returned to bed, she scrunched her brow and noticed a faint darkening in the otherwise clear glass. It appeared similar to a scorch mark. No amount of rubbing helped, and she could find no other marks. Covering her eyes, she scolded herself about no more weirdness. She needed to sleep and finally let this crazy day go.

 [8] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 8 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [8]

    ¡°Good morning¡­umm h-h-how did you sleep? I hope it was good. I prepared some breakfast with Miss Wray¡¯s help.¡±

    It was disconcerting for Erin to wake up and see everything with focused clarity compared to the familiar blur that usually greeted her in the morning. Her eyes opened first and scanned the room with quiet awe. About a minute later, Nadia leaned around the corner and determined that she was awake.

    Despite the refreshed perfection of their teen forms, Erin felt like her mouth was tangled with the consumption of a dozen hairs embedded in the dry skin around her lips. She shielded her mouth from sight as she did her best to extract enough of that mess to breathe. Nadia looked absolutely flawless as she patiently stood waiting for Erin¡®s response.

    Familiar patches of grit needed to be cleared from her eyes and the job of breathing without eating so much hair is still undone, but Erin managed to greet her girlfriend, ¡°Good morning. It was fine. I had a lousy dream, but it ended well. Breakfast sounds nice. I¡¯ll be up in just a minute.¡±

    Nadia wore silvery sweatpants along with a snug, collared purple top. She fussed with it and appeared overly conscious that Erin was looking at her. Quietly, Erin added, ¡°You look nice.¡±

    Launching through a verbal sprint, Nadia rapidly thanked her and then rushed headlong into an explanation about how she woke up early and felt more positively energized than she had in ages. On her hands, she counted off the details of the morning, which included a morning shower along with tidying up, helping Miss Wray with the vehicles, and unboxing a bunch of things tucked in the corners.

    Nadia focused special attention on her account of the cars, swiftly apologizing for moving Erin¡®s vehicle with just the permission of her mom. Although, she deduced that whatever had shifted reality to put a nicer version of her mother here rather than Florida, had turned that vehicle into a spare. Erin resisted the urge to groan.

    When she saw how old Nadia seemed to be from her social media, Erin deduced that she was probably close in age as well. Around fourteen or fifteen. Was there even anyone on the volleyball team that young? Elsa joined the team when she was fourteen, but that was a while ago. Tatiana was also right at the cusp of eligibility. Erin wasn¡¯t going to lament the fact that she was now so young and so dependent on adults. But she would be suitably comfortable with being just a little bit older.

    Technically, with her memories and life experience, she was the same age as yesterday. Even if those creatures or aliens or whatever popped her brain out and tucked her in a new body, a horrifying possibility as she imagined the aliens chucking her original body out with the trash.

    But assuming they had just turned back the clock with some sort of age regression ray or advanced medical science, everything about her was still technically over thirty years old. Wasn¡¯t there some medical case out there where an older woman didn¡¯t go through puberty because of some sort of tumor on her pituitary gland and still appeared young or some teenager who still looked like a baby?

    If they¡¯d actually returned them to their original reality then¡­ Well, this was where Erin¡®s morning brain broke down. She initially floated the thought that they could somehow explain away the changes as being extreme surgery or a spontaneous medical condition. Hopefully enough to avoid being probed and scrutinized by the authorities.

    But why was her car parked exactly where she left it? If this was an altered or different reality then why wasn¡¯t her Honda, her crappy old car, just put away in the garage as a spare, to begin with? Why wasn¡¯t her mother present to pick her up instead, if this was the way of things?

    Only one possibility occurred to her as making sense: Reality and this world were correcting and shifting as things went along. It was an unsettling notion, but one she couldn¡¯t find an alternative to. She wasn¡¯t going to rudely dump this thought on Nadia¡®s joyful countenance. Not until it was more than an alarming theory.

    She celebrated Nadia¡®s active and accomplished morning with the same earnest tone reserved for positively reinforcing her girls. Sitting up on the edge of the bed and making herself a minimum amount of presentable, Erin watched as Nadia slipped over to her side.

    Carefully, Nadia leaned close to her and parted her lips. Erin took the hint and leaned into the kiss. Her own face felt more like a slime monster slobbering and slathering her goo all over this pristine beauty, but Nadia didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Erin¡®s shoulders and clung to her ravenously.

    The fervent sentiment surprised Erin. She was just a normal girl who evolved into a thoroughly normal woman. On the best of days, someone might compliment her hair. On the worst, an attractive coworker would rush through a conversation, while barely looking at her, and leave her wondering how far she was from being a lonesome cat lady. That Paul and now Nadia possessed and fostered such a wellspring of excitement for someone like her across the decades went beyond mere flattery, to warming a space deep in her soul. She traced her hands around Nadia affectionately.

    At the end of that round, came another followed by another until they eased back while still clinging close. Nadia effused with a smile that refused to dip lower than a cheesy grin. She rambled with giddy celebration about how Erin looked like an absolute sleeping beauty when Nadia woke up and she had to resist the temptation to give her a peck then. Erin felt skeptical that her snoozing actually appeared any better than a crude, angry pig creature slobbering on the pillow but let the girl have her sweet fantasy.

    Washing up and touching up in the sink helped with restoring Erin to what she considered a human state. The light through the windows seemed suspiciously subdued and diffuse. She squeezed a quick breath in her chest before checking the state of the world.

    Fog still lingered, but as playful cotton scattered around. The blank, bright skies burned at her eyes as she closed the curtain. Breakfast was presented at the kitchen table with precisely laid napkins and fresh silverware. Erin noticed that orange juice and carrot juice were set out in plastic cups with the original bottles beside for refills. The plate included eggs and avocado slathered over whole-grain toast with what looked like lean sausage and a colorful medley of fruit.

    Usually, Erin just nuked a bowl of oatmeal in the microwave and occasionally fried an egg if she was extra hungry. She also had a variety of granola bars if she was feeling lazy. This looked like the perfect Saturday spread. Nadia even went so far as to pull out and push in the chair for her. God, she felt like such a slob compared to her perfect girlfriend.

    Sharon lingered in the kitchen, nursing a tall cup of coffee and rinsing some plates. She sent over with a sly smile and pointed out her favorite aspects of this ¡°adorable¡± scene. Her old mother would¡¯ve needled and embarrassed her about how late she slept in along with not helping out and leaving everything for everyone else. This one just celebrated what an excellent cook Nadia was and how cute they looked together. Channeling her reborn teenager spirit, Erin still rolled her eyes.

    The food surpassed the quality of last night¡¯s steakhouse. It surpassed even the last several birthday dinners in her memory and that wasn¡¯t hyperbole. The egg alone compared favorably to her lamp-smashing orgasm. It was perfectly done and whatever liquid center settled across the plate soon solidified into crystallized gold. She almost didn¡¯t want to finish it, because then it would be over. Not to abuse her refreshed form, but she secretly wished the entire plate was covered in those eggs.

    Nadia ate so daintily, which didn¡¯t look uncomfortable or forced, that it encouraged Erin to do her best not to assault her plate. She just about wiped it clean at the end. Sharon popped over to take their dishes when they were done, even though it looked like Nadia was braced to take care of it herself. She heaped so many notes of appreciation on her ¡°host¡±. Sharon fanned a hand and reassured her that just seeing the two of them happy was enough.

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    After the meal, Erin¡®s muscle memory was primed to grab her morning pills and vitamins. Now, there were only vitamins. When had those been switched out? Erin couldn¡¯t recall any differences when she roamed around the kitchen last night. Nothing stuck out. This morning, she saw there were more plants along the sink and several boxes in the spare room rearranged along the wall.

    The lower, rumpus room near the utilities still had all these scattered sports equipment from her previous life. But that could be explained away as the accouterments of a teen athlete. She kept all her professional papers and degrees stashed in folders and plastic in the closet, so those would¡¯ve been impossible to find anyway, let alone in this shaping of reality.

    A thought suddenly struck Erin: What about Paul¡¯s car? Would it still be in that parking lot? Not that she was in any way anxious to return to that creepy place, but at least seeing it in the daytime would be more manageable. Sharon would have to drive them though, so that meant that Erin would have to come up with a plausible reason to go back there. Maybe she or Nadia dropped something when getting off the bus? The prospect of straight-up lying to a better version of her mother didn¡¯t sit well with her but revealing the whole truth wasn¡¯t possible.

    Ultimately, it worked out that Nadia needed a lift to her house, she told Miss Wray, because of her later piano practice. Erin immediately chimed in that she wanted to come along, but Sharon expected that. Working in the additional stop didn¡¯t take too much effort because the parking lot would be on the way to the Baris house. As far as an explanation, Erin sincerely expressed that she just wanted to check on something from last night that she wasn¡¯t sure about. Her mom was the one who assumed that the girls dropped something, and she didn¡¯t correct her.

    Erin also didn¡¯t volunteer any explanations about how they managed to get home from the parking lot if she couldn¡¯t drive now. However reality decided to deal with that, so long as it didn¡¯t try to mess with her too much, was fine with her.

    Nadia seized upon a moment when they were alone to inquire about why Erin wanted to return to the parking lot so much. With her hands on her hips, she prodded herself to just come out and say it.

    ¡°Last night, I mentioned the idea that we might be in a different world, timeline, reality, or whatever someone might call it. But stuff existed when we returned that would only work if we were still who we were. Like your car and your clothes in the trunk and everything. But now, you have a different family, and my car is no longer my car, so I¡¯m thinking things are changing and we can prove it by seeing if your car is gone."

    That idea actually wasn¡¯t too far from Nadia¡¯s own idle speculations since she got up but hearing it from Erin strengthened her confidence. She also pouted though and remarked, ¡°But I liked that car. It wasn¡¯t really anything special by now, but I was comfortable with it. So, if I¡¯m fourteen then that means I still have like around at least a year until I can get a learner¡¯s permit.¡±

    Her heart, devoted to ferrying people around, gave a melancholy throb. All Erin could really do to comfort her was squeeze her hand and speculate about whether she might be able to get a special license considering her experience and Erin¡¯s vague notions of child phenoms throughout the years who were experienced in planes and boats. Even though Nadia understood, from state laws, that was highly unlikely, she still smiled with Erin¡®s encouragement.

    They sat together in the backseat of Sharon¡¯s car as Erin did her darndest not to look out the window or focus on the lingering puffy curls of fog hanging around. Gaps appeared in the cloud layer with portals of blue peeking through, but the haze still blotted out everything more than a block away. She didn¡¯t need to know about any eldritch abominations stomping around in the stratosphere, let alone what that phrase meant beyond something ominous and sci-fi that Gina blurted out during the infamous team camping trip in the Adirondacks. She was perfectly fine sticking to her tent while the circle of her charges terrified themselves into sleeplessness with spooky stories.

    With how things were changing, would the team even remember that she was the coach? Was she old enough to be an official player? Red Rock didn¡¯t do the whole varsity or junior varsity thing of most but theirs was the school team. If things had been thoroughly rewritten, then where would it place her? Back in the medical program that kindled so many nervous feelings for her and Paul?

    She couldn¡¯t do blood drawing again. In fact, she had the sneaking suspicion that old awkward lumps in her hand and little pricks of arthritic pain, both thankfully cast aside, were the fault of stab-happy classmates. None of the people she used to know would be there. The idea of being in the same classes as the girls she taught stretched her ambivalently. She could understand them better in Freaky Friday fashion, although she anticipated she would be just as uncool the second time around as the first. At the same time, she¡¯d done this. She could do it differently, but she also survived it well enough. She didn¡¯t anticipate the 2020s version of being a teenager would be any easier than the 2000s one.

    But that was a matter for Monday. She had today and tomorrow to be a shortsighted kid. Unless some nefarious homework had suddenly manifested in her life, and she didn¡¯t know about it. No no no no no¡­worries she could do something about first.

    Her attention remained focused inward and on the soft and friendly presence at her side. If any new or familiar monstrosities decided to roar outside her window, she didn¡¯t hear or notice them. The parking lot was filled with far more cars than last evening and the section by the solar array was especially packed. Directing Sharon where to go, she relied on Nadia and her memories of where she parked.

    Expected, but Paul¡¯s cozy, modest car was not in the spot they left it. Confirmed, reality was adjusting to the fact that they were now teenagers. Or, it occurred to Erin¡¯s cruel brain, some creatures or authorities were fixing things to make sure they didn¡¯t stand out. Somebody, probably the government, was already covering up their encounter by saying it was a plane crash with noxious fumes. Nadia sighed at the absence of her vehicle and covered for Erin that the lovely little keychain she bought her didn¡¯t seem to be here. Erin admired her same wavelength but disliked the fact that she needed to fib.

    Sharon reassured her that they would find something really cute to replace it as she made her way back onto the main road.

    The Baris house was deep in a winding spiral of surprise cul-de-sacs and twisting turns. It was two stories and practically looked like three from its looming swath. Nadia took a deep breath and squeezed her hands together on her lap. Her home, or the closest thing to it now. The family she never met, and seven siblings contained within. She totally wasn¡¯t ready.

    Softly, Erin tapped shoulders and smiled warmly at her. She didn¡¯t want the girl who first filled her heart with love to go away, she didn¡¯t wanna leave her because she desperately feared that this fluid reality would take her away next. But she had to go and she didn¡¯t want her girlfriend to be afraid in her absence.

    Screwing up all the determination she could hold within her tiny body, she used her nervous hands to wrap around as much of Erin as she could hold and kissed her firmly on the cheek before locking lips for a quick, confident kiss. It didn¡¯t matter that Miss Wray was watching.

    With a deep breath, she clearly declared, ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon and call you lots!¡±

 [9] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 9 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [9]

    Stepping out of the car on her own and facing the house was a different matter than simply stating her determination. Nadia lingered in the driveway and waved to Miss Wray and Erin for as long as she could.

    When she was all alone, she adjusted her overnight bag, with basically everything she had to her name now, and turned to face the house. It was intimidating. She had no idea what sort of style it was supposed to be, but it looked like one of those common southwest ones built in the last few decades with light tan colors and Spanish roofs. There was a long garage with a smaller one off to the side. Five large windows with fake shutters and even faker balconies peered out and judged her. She gulped and wished that Erin was still with her.

    A silver Toyota coupe sat in the driveway, slightly off to the side. Tying her hopelessly oversized shoes a little tighter helped with the clown-like shifting and scraping against the walkway. She suspected that Erin had an idea for what to do about her shoes in the laundry room last night but forgot about it because of Bubsy cuddles. That was fine, she knew they were wiped out by everything and didn¡¯t want to press her about it. Hopefully, this place, this home, if it was in any way hers, would have something for her to put on her feet.

    The front lawn was a meager rectangle but looked well-kept. Wide ferns and a bold assortment of other plants flanked the archways in front of the door. By the tile stood a large American flag.

    The columns contained ornate decorations and a spacious, cushioned bench in front of the near window. Nadia wiggled in place and realized that she didn¡¯t have a key. She could obviously call one of the numbers she had for the Baris family on her phone but that seemed silly, when she was basically on the front porch. Knocking seemed like the best idea.

    Reaching for the door, she gripped the peculiar brass handle latch and it clicked. She let go and stepped back. Did they leave it unlocked? Maybe, for her sake?

    The notion beguiled her. Even when Paul was a little kid, his parents drilled into him that you had to lock doors and keep them secured. Stories of criminals and scary people were fed to him at an early age. Because of it, he once accidentally locked the family out of the bathroom. But it did help instill the habit of making absolutely certain everything was secure when he ran through the vehicle checklist and locked everything up when he was done.

    Cautiously, she pressed the door forward with the expectation that the chain would block her. The chain wasn¡¯t up. The house was literally unlocked. It also didn¡¯t even have a chain, as she discovered a small metal bell dangling on the other side. It tinkled softly. The foyer was small but had an area for umbrellas and shoes along with a wooden rack with several coats hanging on it.

    To her left, she noticed a large, widescreen TV in front of a dining area. With learning she was Turkish, Nadia was prepared for a few things. But she wasn¡¯t prepared for the giant lithograph of Jesus on the opposite wall. Her parents had some iconography scattered around their house but nothing quite so overt.

    Around the wall and to the left were a pair of couches flanking the television. Two girls sat on one couch with two guys on the other. The girls had circular versions of the Turkish flag painted on their cheeks and arched above their couch as though about to launch to their feet while the guys slumped on their couch as though they were distressed cats.

    ¡°Welcome home, Nadi! It¡¯s 1 to 0!¡° The nearest girl brushed her hair back and clapped as she spoke. Nadia noticed that some sort of soccer game was being shown on the television. Cheers came from down the hall by the kitchen. One girl appeared around her age while the other seemed a little bit older. Both girls had a red tint in their hair. The boys had thick but plain dark hair and seemed closer to elementary school and junior high. Her legs wanted to quiver and collapse beneath her, but she steadied herself.

    ¡°Hi. That¡¯s good...¡±

    The nearest girl glared, as if she still managed to commit a faux pas in so few words. ¡°Mom was mad she couldn¡¯t reach you until late. You should¡¯ve texted. What were you doing?¡±

    Gingerly, Nadia slipped off her shoes. ¡°We got caught up in that plane crash thing. It was a long delay¡­ rerouting. Erin and her mom put me up for the night. What¡¯s going on?¡±

    The other girl scoffed, ¡°What do you think? It¡¯s the World Cup. Did you fall off the planet? You sound out of it. Too much fun with your friend?¡±

    Nadia had only the vaguest notion of what the World Cup was. She knew there were a couple of instances of it back in the 90s. She deduced it was probably for the best that she leave the rest of her thoughts unspoken.

    I lovely, forest path watercolor painting covered the left wall before a glass and wood cabinet packed to the brim with family photographs placed like collectibles. Back a ways, she found the steps to the second story with a junction leading to a narrow, brown hallway to the right and the kitchen on the left with what looked to be another living room beside it. A woman hopped off a couch and rushed towards her with her arms open.

    She wore a red dress with white accents and not much to the shoulder. Her hair also had a reddish tint but with more modest layering. Somehow, she was actually smaller and shorter than her. Wrapped up in a vigorous, motherly hug, Nadia waited through several warm kisses on her cheek before the woman spoke.

    ¡°Nadi. I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re home. Was everything okay? You didn¡¯t have to pay for anything? Did you make sure to thank your friend¡¯s mother? Come here. Did you eat? I can warm something up.¡± Nadia marveled at the mother figure before her. It was like she hadn¡¯t seen her daughter in many days or weeks and surely she had only been away for the evening with volleyball, depending on how reality decided to treat everything. It wasn¡¯t bad though. Paul¡¯s grandmother was ravenous for making sure he was fed and that nothing was bothering him, at least when she still had her faculties.

    Still assuming this was her mother, Nadia could see that the woman shared certain facial features, especially the same subtle cleft to her chin. She wasn¡¯t prepared to absorb everyone milling about the side room in front of another large TV. A fancy air hockey table filled the rear area along with a cramped gaming setup. She recognized there seemed to be aunts and other siblings smiling at her between watching the game. All girls back here with three in particular who seemed like decent suspects for her remaining siblings. No dad though.

    A wide-eyed little sister grabbed at her leg and smiled when she looked down. ¡°How many points you score?¡± A dozen random numbers popped into her head, but she couldn¡¯t bring herself to lie to such a sweet face. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I didn¡¯t score this time, but I¡¯ll do better next time. It was rough, but we just barely won. Odessa got hurt, but she¡¯ll be fine. How are you?¡±

    The kid pouted in disappointment but soon launched into a diatribe about how her frog was doing this thing and then she lost it and then she got it back and then there was a problem with the pool where she practiced swimming and she couldn¡¯t bring her frog and then he needed to be washed and then there was a ball. She wiggled on her legs and looked away for most of it. Nadia just smiled.

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    Eventually, her mother peeled her away and over to the kitchen to continue her scrutiny. Nadia recognized baklava on the table but left it alone. Her new mother eventually served her a portion of it along with a kind of cabbage stew. Paul only had a few lingering food allergies, but she figured and hoped that whatever the UFO did to her removed those nagging issues.

    The dish was warm, hearty, and thoroughly soothing. She graciously ate a little bit despite her stomach still being packed from breakfast. This mother also didn¡¯t let the lack of answers to her questions slide. She persisted.

    No, Nadia assured her there were no expenses. And, of course, she fully expressed her appreciation and gratitude to Miss Wray. And she explained that she already had a full breakfast, but she appreciated the snack. But mom didn¡¯t stop there, she wanted clarity about all the missing details. Nadia would¡¯ve liked that herself.

    What she went with was the vaguest outline that followed the contours of her male life. But there really was no answer for how she managed to arrive at Erin¡¯s apartment than to ignore the incongruity. Picking away at these quandaries, her mother eventually sighed and threw up her hands.

    The weirdest moment came soon after that, when Nadia checked her overnight bag and found that it had a different texture and weight. The exterior was identical, but it felt like someone slipped something inside when she wasn¡¯t looking. Digging around, she soon discovered her phone was different. Paul easily sufficed with a small, older model Android that she could just add minutes to. Now, it was an iPhone with an absolutely enormous screen and several camera dots on the back.

    Nervously, she checked her contacts. The call from last night was still there despite the fact it was placed on a very different piece of hardware. ERIN REEVES sat amidst a grouping that included the entire team, along with Tonya. The only unfamiliar name was Coach Janice Nesbitt, who seemed to be the new volleyball coach.

    Aside from her phone and charger, the bag contained several sports items such as tape, pads, and a humongous water bottle. She also found her keys with a fluffy, squishy ball kitten critter attached to them. Returning to the front of the house, she further discovered that her ill-fitting shoes had been replaced with pink sneakers in her size. The shaking returned, as though it had never left. Fear ravaged her mind that, even though Erin¡®s name remained in her phone, the heart and soul she loved had somehow been twisted, by whatever was happening, into someone else.

    Seizing a moment occupied by game-focused cheers, Nadia sought out the privacy of whatever room seemed to be hers. The stairs led directly to a master bedroom with a spacious loft to the left. The master almost seemed bigger than the entire kitchen area. A king-sized bed did little to fill the space on the left. Straight ahead was a full couch with a spacious bathroom to the right.

    After several closets, she was presented with four doors. The ones with bunkbeds were obviously not the correct choice, which left her with a Jack and Jill combo set of bedrooms joined by a small bathroom. Whatever other feelings she had about this place, she narrowed her eyes in annoyance that there was only one sink but space for a second.

    It was ultimately the stray volleyball in the corner and the shelf of fascinating books that led her to the correct room. As with practically every other bedroom, the closet was covered in mirrors. On the other end was a computer desk with a fancy laptop connected to an external monitor and a slender black keyboard. The chair was full and fancy, looking more like a gamer¡¯s setup. She resisted testing it out for easing her way onto the queen bed and squeezing her legs together as she cradled her strange phone.

    She wasn¡¯t used to the contours of the see-through case versus Paul¡¯s regular ridged plastic one, so it slipped around in her uncertain grip until she finally squeezed it close. I took several long breaths before she gathered the determination to dial Erin. Uncertain whether to put it on speaker or leave it quiet, she pressed the phone to the side of her head before fiddling with her hair to make sure she could hear.

    It was too quiet, especially with only the ringing to bridge the silence. Rationally, she knew that there were several perfectly rational explanations for why it was taking so long. Foremost, she knew they had literally dropped her off not too long ago and likely hadn¡¯t gotten back to the apartment or were making a stop somewhere along the way. And she couldn¡¯t talk or perhaps¡­

    *Click* ¡°¡­So, how is it?¡°

    An absolute tidal wave of relief washed over her so hard that she wanted to cry. ¡°Erin?¡± The question was perfunctory but necessary to quell the last sliver of doubt.

    ¡°Still here. Are you still there? No weirdness? No losing your mind?¡±

    She couldn¡¯t stop it, she cried a little bit with squeaking in her voice. ¡°I¡¯m still here. Still not sure what all this is and why it all happened to some dumb bus driver. Plenty of weirdness and not enough mind. But I am here.¡±

    They talked softly to one another. Nadia struggled to express the immense, overwhelming magnitude of this new family she seemed to be a part of. She spoke highly of her designated new mom and made absolutely sure that Erin was the same one she left behind. Erin echoed a similar sentiment with carefully chosen words, since it sounded like Miss Wray was nearby. She especially pressed the reveal that several items on and around her had been altered by whatever was going on. Before they could delve further into these developments, Nadia heard several firm raps on the front door, which was positioned right beneath her.

    She paused and mulled those noises over. The walls were a little too thick for her to pick out the words being said, but she detected a man¡¯s voice and what had to be her mother¡¯s. Soon, she heard her mother calling from over by the landing, ¡°Nadia? Sweetie? Could you please come down for a moment? There¡¯s someone who wants to talk to you. He said it¡¯s important but not bad.¡°

    ¡°Sure! ¡­ Mom. Sure, mom! I¡¯ll be right there.¡± Erin and she said a hasty goodbye with the promise to pick up their conversation again soon, with greater privacy. After quickly plugging in her phone to charge, Nadia made her way back downstairs.

    A man stood in the half-open doorway with her mother gripping the handle. He wasn¡¯t too tall but crouched slightly before the threshold. He had on a suit with an almost black tie and long sleeves that pooled around his wrists as though the outfit was not a great fit. His pant legs were also bunched up. His thin, gaunt features gave a vaguely pathetic impression more reserved for a hobo. Dark, marble-like eyes peered out from the overhang of his black hair. He smiled sharply.

    ¡°Nadia Baris? I¡¯m Agent Cross with¡­the Air Force. May I come in¡­?¡±

 [10] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 10 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [10]

    Nadia¡¯s visceral reaction to the man at the front door was to turn him away. He just felt wrong in so many ways, like some slimy thing that happened to push its way into a human skin. She did her best not to let her disgust show, smiled for the strange man, and inquired, ¡°What is this about?¡±

    ¡°As I told your mother, it¡¯s nothing bad. You¡¯ve done nothing wrong. There was just an incident last night around the airbase. An accident. A small amount of noxious chemicals was released. The federal land surrounding the base is diligently monitored and photographed. We believe that a bus you were riding in passed through an invisible vapor threshold for contamination. Technical jargon, but that¡¯s what I¡¯m supposed to say. I¡¯m just here to make sure everything¡®s fine.¡±

    Her mother responded first with a rainstorm of frantic questions about what was the government doing that could endanger her child just traveling along a road. She pointedly declared that they weren¡¯t going to sign any sort of medical or legal waiver, and she knew several lawyers who would take up their case if something illegal was going on. The strange man waved his hand and calmly assured her there would be no paperwork and this was just done as a courtesy to check in with people who may have been affected.

    Still, her slight mother bristled and blocked the doorway like she was ready to tackle this intruder. Reaching out, Nadia touched her mother on the shoulder and said, ¡°Mom. It¡¯s alright. I can answer a few of his questions. And maybe he can answer some of mine.¡± That felt like a small but profound victory for Nadia pressing the issue forward.

    The peculiar man shifted and looked even more awkward than he already was. He noted, ¡°I deal with discrete matters, so I am afraid there are a lot of things I can¡¯t discuss about government interests¡­but I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡± After checking with Nadia, her mother finally opened up the door and a path for the man to enter. Rather like welcoming in a vampire, Nadia randomly thought.

    The cacophony of game excitement stilled as her siblings on the front couches locked their eyes on the mam. Her sister with stark red hair especially gave him the stink eye. The ¡°agent¡° regarded the match and commented, ¡°Go Turkey.¡± Her siblings reacted as though he just let loose some flatulence.

    Slinking his way down the area by the stairs to the kitchen, a joyous cry went up from the group over by the air hockey table before they noticed the unfamiliar company. So-called Agent Cross managed a timid wave at the group before clearing his throat and inspecting the table to his left. Raising his head, he inquired, ¡°Would it be amenable if we spoke in the backyard? That way we won¡¯t bother anyone or these festivities.¡±

    On this point, Nadia¡®s mom looked to her daughter for the answer. Nadia wasn¡¯t keen on being alone with this creepy guy, but the backyard appeared easily accessible through a sliding glass door and her mother seemed eager to keep an eye on them. She shrugged but nodded.

    The backyard was positively full of sights. It had the layout of a garden with a central gazebo featuring a covered keyboard mounted on a stand. Its close resemblance to a piano excited all the nerves in her about what was coming later. An herb and vegetable garden lined the far wall beside a koi pond with a gently flowing fountain. Some patio furniture flanked a small, sealed bar area. A cozy, kid''s play place filled the rest of the space.

    Agent Cross cleared his throat and coughed lightly against his hand after firmly shutting the sliding door. A quiet moment later, he remarked, ¡°Funny thing. For the life of me, I was so sure that Turkey didn¡¯t qualify for the World Cup this time. But here they are. A bit peculiar. Perhaps it¡¯s that thing they talk about on the Internet where people remember one thing happening but it¡¯s actually another. You know what I mean?¡±

    Nadia did, but she really would¡¯ve preferred pushing aside this tangential topic for whatever this strange man was here for, so he could finish and leave. Doing her best not to encourage him, she hesitantly responded, ¡°The Mandela Effect?¡±

    The agent gave a quick smirk with a finger pointed to his head and then tipped towards Nadia. ¡°That¡¯s the one! Funny thing too. It¡¯s very regional how some people are convinced Nelson Mandela died in the 80s versus when he actually died. No one from South Africa is ever confused about that. Little history lesson for you, it¡¯s also interesting that South African activist Stephen Biko died, beaten to death in state security custody, in 1977 with tens of thousands attending his funeral. Then, the film Cry Freedom was released in 1987, bringing global attention to his death and other injustices. See, most people hear a snippet of world news many years ago and vaguely remember a film, then they try to put those memories together in a way that makes sense. Memory is funny like that. It can feel like the entire world changed in an instant, but it¡¯s just what you remember. What do you remember about last night, Miss Baris?¡±

    Nadia refused to sit, folding her arms in front of her. ¡°I had a volleyball competition. The team went to a match with Wentworth High. Someone got injured, which was kind of a downer, but we won. Then we made our way back along the usual route we take when we compete with Wentworth. There were delays and cell service went out for a while, but we eventually made it back late and I decided to stay with a friend overnight. That¡¯s all.¡± She leaned towards the sliding door and saw that her mother was keeping her eye on them.

    Agent Cross pulled out a paper pad from his pocket but didn¡¯t make any notes. ¡°Do you remember the name of your bus driver?¡± Although Nadia was tempted, she figured it would be easier to shrug and say, ¡°It was just some guy, I didn¡¯t really pay attention.¡± She did wonder, if the agent found out about Paul Moore, then would they try to hunt him down, and would a missing person report be filed? Or had reality already corrected, Paul never existed, and there was a different driver in his place?

    She anticipated the agent¡¯s response, but he just smiled idly and commented, ¡°That¡¯s fine. Any oddities you saw during the trip? Around where did you get delayed? We are reporting there was a plane crash and any information you can provide about an explosion or a light in the sky you may have seen would be very helpful in providing clarity for the survivors of the flight crew.¡±

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.That sentiment did tug at Nadia¡®s emotions, but she had to remind herself that it wasn¡¯t a plane crash. At least, she was fairly confident it wasn¡¯t a plane crash. No effect from a plane should¡¯ve done the things that were done to them. She paused and reflected on her feelings from that evening, not that she was going to reveal anything big to the agent, but she was still working through the chasm in her memories between falling asleep blinded by an unearthly light and waking up to this life. It was like trying to probe the space of unconsciousness during surgery, a blank more ruthlessly devoid of memory than the deepest dream. There had to be something though.

    Paul had a serious operation when he was four. Mostly, he remembered needing to jump up and go pee afterwards. But evicting his gallbladder was the most memorable one. The void on the operating table felt warm and blank, like being immersed in a dark, tropical sea. That was all she was able to get out of probing the memory. Scratching at the new one yielded phantoms that felt like delusions trying to patch over the emptiness with something close enough.

    Only one thing felt firm enough to hold onto as a foundation.

    ¡°Crabs.¡± Nadia just stated that and stopped there.

    Agent Cross paused and looked her in the eye. His mood changed. He didn¡¯t seem as dark and mysterious as a moment ago, rather he just seemed bewildered and uncertain. For confirmation, he asked, ¡°Crabs¡­?¡±

    But there was nothing that Nadia could add to that frank and simple word. Nor did she unfurl or infer any details from that statement. Crabs. Could¡¯ve been anything.

    The moment of human sincerity passed as Cross straightened and smirked before playfully croaking, ¡°Craaaab people¡­. craaaab people¡­¡± Nadia raised an eyebrow but didn¡¯t speak.

    Cross fumbled with a quick explanation of the reference. Nadia recognized it but didn¡¯t feel like helping him along. Eventually, Cross sighed and muttered, ¡°Kids these days¡­¡±

    He ruffled his empty notepad and emphasized his original questions, but Nadia had nothing more to add. She could¡¯ve spun the blinding light into a helicopter search beam. And she could¡¯ve teased him with a dozen different snippets of strangeness. But she just didn¡¯t care. There was no real crash or danger, it was just some sort of cover-up like in so many podcasts Paul listened to when driving. And the guy wasn¡¯t even giving away any interesting hints, just old, esoteric rants.

    She rubbed around her eyes and forehead while suggesting that a headache was coming on and she wanted to finish. Cross sighed and tucked away his empty notes before asking her to do one last thing.

    ¡°Sit in that chair on the other side and lay out your arms.¡± She didn¡¯t understand why, but he suggested it was some medical test for toxin poisoning and she decided to humor him. Honestly, she figured it looked more like a human lie detector test from some movies she remembered. She held out both her arms on the table with her palms out. He palpated her wrists and gently felt around the veins. She briefly considered if maybe this was a legit test and she read the room wrong before doing her best to relax. She followed his brief instructions and breathed normally.

    The usual aches and pains from her regular body were absent, lending an extra muffle of silence. The spotty clouds above with limited haze muted a lot of the neighborhood while the glass and drapes reduced the sounds of the Baris family inside and the television to an anonymous rumble. Cross¡¯s breath lightly whispered like a breeze through an alleyway, drowned out by her thundering heart. Despite everything standing still, Nadia felt a shift like there were layers in front of her and someone decided to swap them around. Her eyes briefly went out of focus before she drew her attention back to Cross and looked him in the eye.

    ¡°Shit shit shit shit shit shit¡­oh ffuu¡­oh oh¡­ I¡¯m sorry. I have to go¡­ I have to leave. Thank you for your time and have a good day.¡±

    The agent practically stumbled out of his chair, barely catching himself before rising to his feet. His eyes widened and remained vast and trembling. He practically scrambled for the sliding door and shoved it aside. Nadia followed him but noticed he was rushing to get away from her. Was he afraid of her?

    Cross stammered over her mother¡¯s questions and desperately assured them that there was no sign of contamination, and everything was alright, but he had to go right now. His hand was shaking on the knob as he fumbled to get it open. Once on the porch, he slowed slightly but still continued to retreat back across the grass and over to the driveway.

    He muttered that the Air Force would keep in touch and contact them if they were any further developments and thank you for their assistance, but he didn¡¯t bother giving them a contact number or any further information. At the sidewalk, Nadia watched as he basically started to run the rest of the way. She didn¡¯t see a vehicle, rather it just seemed like he was going to retreat on foot.

    Her mother asked her for details and why he was behaving so strangely, but Nadia could only shrug and feel grateful that the experience was over. This time, her mother actually locked the door. Trying to take her mind off that high-grade weirdness, Nadia looked for a spot to join her siblings in cheering on Turkey. The kitchen area seemed reserved for the adults, so she pulled over a chair to sit with her sisters. The younger girl soon joined her and hugged her side.

    She got into it but wasn¡¯t up for having her face painted. She watched this new family of hers but felt a nagging concern. It didn¡¯t take much effort to tease out the names of her siblings. The girl around her age with the shock-red hair was Kira and the older one was Leila. The little girl was cutely named Luna. And across the room, still slumping on the other couch, were her younger brothers Erol and Murat.

    Including her, that was six. But she¡¯d checked previously and found there were five other girls and two boys. Returning to the information provided by Nadia¡®s social media, she opened the same pages and postings as before, only to see they had been amended to say that the Baris family now had four girls and two boys.

    Two sisters she had barely noticed and met no longer existed. That thought crushed her with a wave of inescapable nausea, but she was able to hold the cabbage meal down. Little Luna peered at her with concern, obviously feeling the tension and trembling. She did her best to put on a smile of reassurance for the kid even though everything inside her body was screaming.

 [11] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 11 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [11]

    Luna was a tenacious snuggler though. She squeezed without it feeling uncomfortable and urged Nadia towards calm. The currents of uncertain terror writhing within her didn¡¯t go away, but she smiled for the kid and brushed her long hair out of her squinting eyes.

    Aunt Melisa, with just one S, came over to check on them. She sighed but chuckled at the way Luna had Nadia wrapped up and trapped. ¡°That doesn¡¯t look comfy. Come. Help me get the beanie chair.¡±

    No way was Luna letting her older sister go, but she provisionally agreed to cling to her limbs every step of the way. She somehow helped with dragging the enormous bean bag couch over from the narrow hallway closet while maintaining her sibling death grip. The couch felt like a gray, slippery mountain range and practically consumed both of them.

    All the while, Nadia eagerly spoke to her aunt and focused on her physical details, from the way her hair was darkly permed to the silver bracelets on her wrists. No way would she forget and lose anyone else. Luna squeezed against Nadia and shut her eyes. Even the raucous, blocked-goal cheers of their other sisters weren¡¯t enough to rouse the kid. Nadia accepted being smothered like this.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that feel better?¡± Aunt Melissa asked. She couldn¡¯t breathe, but Nadia still agreed. Was being this loved normal for siblings? She doubted it but also felt nervous. This kid obviously had high regard for her elder sister. How could Paul ever hope to meet that expectation? He was a pretender, at best. At worst, he made that MIB guy run away. Did he also make those sisters vanish?

    Impossible. People don¡¯t just vanish. Nadia¡¯s social media had to be wrong. Or he messed up the math. And those two siblings just happened to head out for snacks or supplies while he was being interrogated by Agent Cross. He was too afraid to ask anyone for clarity. They would think her crazy for dreaming up two sisters who never existed or confirm that the aliens who abducted them had turned her into some sort of monster.

    Woozy, wobbly swarms of darkness clouded her vision, like she¡¯d been holding her breath for too long or frantically hyperventilating. She didn¡¯t deserve Erin¡¯s love or Luna¡¯s. If this was her doing, then the only safe place for her was far away from anyone she might accidentally hurt. Her formless, writhing panic crashed against invisible walls and twisted in torment.

    So melodramatic, she scolded herself. This was the way Paul reacted back when he bore the weight of so many broken relatives with soiled adult diapers. He was better than this. The world didn¡¯t revolve around whether or not she did something. That was folly. But something had happened, and she needed to resolve it.

    Firstly, she needed to get free so she could ask around. Theoretically, she could drag Luna with her, but surely the kid would inquire about why she was asking after siblings they didn¡¯t have. She couldn¡¯t imagine any easy way of dealing with that. Even that first step felt like an insurmountable summit and a bottomless pit. Shifting to the right allowed her some leverage but the kid¡¯s arms trailed after her, and she could feel their softly increasing drag. If she stretched too far then Luna would know. This felt so silly, like a child¡¯s game version of some action movie. At the same time, she urgently refused to disturb this little one.

    It was all for naught though. As soon as she cleared the lip of the couch, Luna¡¯s eyes popped open, and she curiously peered at her sister. ¡°Nadi? What are you doing?¡± Nervously, Nadia rolled back in place and answered, ¡°Nothing. Just¡­stretching.¡± The little girl appeared quite skeptical and immediately locked her sister into a waist-securing embrace. No possible route of escape this time. Nadia sighed and did her best not to look concerned.

    If not for the ominous possibilities around her, this would¡¯ve been the perfect place to just stay and relax. She never had a sister before. Short of having her own child, she could scarcely imagine a scenario like this. In other jobs, from janitorial work to restocking supermarkets. she did deal with kids. They had a wild, manic, untempered energy, and chaotic authenticity. If they thought your hat looked dumb then they wouldn¡¯t shy away from telling you to burn it. And they had a sharpened, though often comically misguided, intuition. If Paul showed up like this and unraveled his tale, they would immediately point out, ¡°Ah ha! I knew there was something about you that would get you abducted by aliens!¡± And then ask for candy.

    She quietly reflected that sitting with Luna felt so natural. Several of those store kids demanded all sorts of rides and lifts when they saw him hauling packages. He wanted to do that, and he did a couple times before certain parents and his manager put a stop to it. Big Ruth was still able to do it though and she lamented to Paul that they wouldn¡¯t let him. He shrugged. It was just one of those things. Subtle sexism that a random man was assumed to be less safe for children than a random woman. But he heard enough Let¡¯s Not Meet type human horror tales through podcasts to understand with quiet resignation.

    Nothing really changed just because he looked like this now, yet so many small and huge things were different. And that didn¡¯t even take into account the Turkish stuff. He wasn¡¯t sure what he would¡¯ve done if a totally unfamiliar religion came into play too. Although, Nadia expected that the way the Baris family approached their faith had to be pointedly different than the family she knew. The massive Jesus on the wall was a big hint there. She only had vague notions of denominations, but Coptic Christian was the first thing that occurred to her from a vague awareness of the world in general. She didn¡¯t want to assume.

    Waffling between so many states, feelings, thoughts, and hopes left her feeling close to seasick. How could she get free? How could she even begin? After several minutes of quiet reflection, she knew.

    ¡°Luna? I need to go talk to mom about something important. I¡¯ll be right back, okay?¡±

    The little girl slowly peeked her eyes open. She sighed and muttered, ¡°Okay, Nadi. Come back soon.¡± And she just released her. No need to be covert, sneaky, or trick her. Just say it and treat her with respect. Obvious. Why hadn¡¯t she thought of that before? No matter. It took some awkward flailing to find her footing with the squish and give of the chair, but she managed to roll and haul herself out. No popping joints yet. She did an incidental pirouette to find her footing.

    Her sisters on the couch launched to their feet and pumped their fists. Even her brothers roused lightly from their stupor to lean forward. Groans soon followed when the goal attempt was blocked by a stretching dive. Nadia put on a quick expression of disappointment while Kira dropped to her knees as though she had been the one who missed.

    Using this moment, she walked over past the landing to the adult viewing section. Her mom was seated and gesturing animatedly towards her aunt. The space looked so much emptier now.

    Attentively, her mother inquired, ¡°What is it, sweetie? Does Luna need something?¡±

    Nadia seized upon a long breath and shook her head. ¡°Luna¡¯s fine. I just wanted to talk¡­with you. If that¡¯s okay.¡±

    Her mother widened her eyes. ¡°Okay? Why would it ever not be okay? You can talk to me about anything, my dear. What¡¯s wrong? Was your food fine? Was it about that creepy man? I can¡¯t believe I let him in. He didn¡¯t try anything, did he? What is it?¡±

    First off, Nadia assured her that the food was amazing, and she appreciated it. Then, she reiterated that even though she didn¡¯t like the weird guy, all he¡¯d asked her about was whether anything happened during their bus trip back. And nothing had. In amending that he¡¯d looked at her arms, her mother also inspected them with a narrowed look, as though she expected to find some cruel, tainted mark left by that dark man. She reassured her daughter that if the government had done something wrong then they wouldn¡¯t hesitate to sue them with everything they had. She probed her daughter a little longer for some sign of injury or illness but eventually let it go. ¡°So, what is wrong then?¡±

    So many things she could talk about but none that would make any sense to bring up. Except for¡­¡±I¡¯m worried about piano practice today. I felt so off last night at the game and just like mechanically all messed up. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll suck at it today. Maybe we can¡­reschedule it?¡±

    In nervous preparation, she expected a flare of anger or disappointment from this new mother as a clear reminder of her old one. But she just appeared puzzled and concerned. ¡°You¡¯re hurt? Why didn¡¯t you say?¡± Nadia waved her hands plaintively. ¡°I¡¯m not hurt. I dunno. I just don¡¯t feel ready to practice today. I¡¯ll be terrible.¡±

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Her mother shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t be silly, my dear. You are amazing. You¡¯ve had¡­you¡¯ve been practicing since you were five. It¡¯s like a bike. Just do your best. Your¡­umm¡­you know. Has been giving you lessons all this time. Ha! I am the one who feels a little off. Too many things going on. I just wanted to see my country kick some behind. Haha.¡±

    Something was bothering Nadia¡¯s mother. Her first hunch clung to the dark place full of relatives losing their memories to an insidious disease. What cruelty would decide the same illness to fall upon her new mother? Why? But it didn¡¯t feel the same. Her aunt looked just as lost in a vague thought as her mother. This was something different. Someone had been giving her lessons? Was that impacted by her vanished siblings? She could speculate but what good would it be with her not knowing any more than anyone else?

    She had to do something. Okay, two sisters. Two of them. She had them. They existed. They exist. They are real. These are real people in her life. She saw them. It was brief but real. It didn¡¯t matter if her mind forgot. Something about her would remember and bash the universe in until everything was alright. Another crazy notion. She couldn¡¯t do anything to the universe before all this and there were no signs anything had changed. So, pretend, she told herself. Paul had done it enough times back in high school.

    The escape space of possibilities, where he could¡¯ve asked Erin out in a dozen different ways or made her days better, was filled with impotent imaginings. Being forthright enough to ask her out and having a fun day during the Renaissance fair where she dressed up in a cute, flowing dress. Sharing silly roleplay scenarios with the fun-loving gay guy who hung around them and impressing him with improvisation and cleverness or bringing geeky to the Filipino girl who was his friend. The ability to open up portals to other dimensions. Being in charge, being bold and confident. It was all there in his head, never useful to anyone else.

    But it would be different now. The wild, wasted currents of his imagination, flowing freely in the background of every route he drove for others would be channeled into a whitewater torrent. In the north, little more than water and time carved the greatest mark in the earth. It had been decades since she last saw the Grand Canyon, but she still felt its impossible magnitude. Looking down and seeing one tier of colorful rock, then another and another and another and another, a mile deep and a Rhode Island in swath.

    So, what do you do? Her first inkling was to replicate the motions in the X-Men movies of holding out a hand or clutching a head and forcing a trembling hand towards instilling some mystical power in reality. Her quiet, half-hearted attempt honestly felt more like straining to take a poop. She was torn between the urgency of vividly bringing those sisters back and the exhausting doubt of not being able to do anything about it.

    She felt like actually doing something meant it had to hurt her in some way. Maybe not as much as a nosebleed, but something had to happen, some sign that her effort was being put into action. The straining, splashing motion and thought eventually led her to a dazed bout that felt like someone had pressed her brain cells against an open grill. It soon passed, but she hoped it would be effort enough.

    For the sake of her mother not worrying, she focused on asking for a snack for Luna. Mother noted that Luna just had cake but agreed to give her a little bit of pudding. Nadia took back a bowl for each of them, and her little sister cozied up to her while they ate. She did her best.

    She knew it would come to a head. Nadia had those piano lessons and if they were somehow tied up in one or both of her missing siblings, then something would have to give eventually. Meanwhile, she mused about affecting the game on the screen.

    The eager, blind fantasy of his youth. He often watched various sports with his parents and begged or willed for the result they wanted. Never worked. More often, he would develop a hunch about when things would all go wrong and unfortunately be correct.

    But this would be different. She didn¡¯t really understand the rules, but she watched and attempted to learn. Adding time to the clock was confusing, but it was exciting how the players got tangled up in one another, desperately trying to find a foothold. She visualized, pulling from vague memories of winning goals she recognized from local news or YouTube clip compilations, exactly what was supposed to happen.

    She ate slowly and paid attention. Nothing seemed any different. The opposing team, Tunisia, didn¡¯t all trip at the same time. The Turkish team didn¡¯t suddenly become more powerful or skilled. She thought about willing a sign or celebration in the crowd into being. Nothing. But, suddenly, the Turkish team rushed towards their opponent¡¯s goal. Even her younger brothers started to stand in excitement. Screams and cheers filtered around the house, leading to sighs of disappointment with another block. She tried to parse all the terms and rules to put together a better effort, but it all felt like a confusing jumble.

    The Turkish team attempted several more goals and blocked a couple others but none of it seemed particularly guided or affected by her. It was a vaguely comforting notion that she wasn¡¯t in control, but it also bewildered her about what happened with her two sisters if it wasn¡¯t some accident of her not remembering them. Had it actually been the doing of Agent Cross? Was his frantic retreat because he messed up reality?

    Nadia finished her pudding and took their empty dishes back to the kitchen to wash.

    Without warning, she heard knocking on the front door. Her immediate concern was that thinking about the agent had done the worst possible thing and brought him back, likely with backup from the military or Air Force to capture her like she was a rogue extraterrestrial. Her mother hopped up and answered the door first.

    Wandering back to the front, she saw two vaguely familiar older women enter through the threshold with multiple bags strung over their shoulders and draped in irrepressible energy. She heard a set of names, one sounded like Edie while the other sounded like Iris. The older women embraced her and asked her a flurry of questions that she had no idea how to answer. The one named Iris lingered and asked, ¡°Are you ready for your lessons? We can do them a little early if that¡¯s what you prefer. I am excited but also nervous. Would that be a good distraction?¡±

    Nadia¡®s heart sang. Relief filtered through her blood like friendly bubbles. Her older sister, Iris, was her piano teacher. That made sickly sense with why her mother was confused about her lessons. Or she completely misread the situation.

    She took a deep breath and considered reiterating much of what she attempted to say to her mom. But Iris¡®s face was so chipper and so close that she couldn¡¯t bring herself to do anything but smile and agree. Her mouth and body twitched nervously when her sisters, her restored sisters, went to put everything away.

    Confusion settled in even deeper though when she checked Nadia¡®s social media and discovered the same incongruity about three sisters versus five. Checking a different page with personal diary journals finally gave her some clarity. Edie, actually spelled ?dil, and Iris were her half-sisters from her father¡®s first marriage and were apparently regarded differently.

    She rubbed her eyes and realized she didn¡¯t actually have any evidence that anything had changed. The bag, phone, and her shoes were proof that something unnatural was occurring and her mother and aunt¡¯s confusion about not remembering Iris seemed proof enough, but it wasn¡¯t proof she had beyond her own skull.

    ¡°Thank you...sis.¡± Returning, Luna softly whispered in her ear and squeezed her arms around Nadia¡®s shoulders. Glancing over at her little sister, Nadia initially suspected that the girl was simply thanking her for the extra dessert in addition to the cake, but there was something else about her expression. It appeared unusually sharp and focused for someone her age, especially compared to her recent demeanor. Her face seemed so suddenly serious, as though this were an urgent matter. Nadia also noticed that the little girl¡¯s eyes lingered on their half-sisters.

    What exactly was Luna thanking her for? Before she could give voice to that question, the kid begrudgingly released her and deftly somersaulted off the beanbag and over to the kitchen. She gave big hugs to ?dil and Iris as they finished putting away the groceries.

    She had no idea and the nerves weren¡¯t any better, but she at least felt some measure of relief that this family was whole, even if her worries were utterly confused.

 [12] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 12 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [12]

    Watching the game offered Nadia a good distraction while Iris went around preparing for their lesson. It took her longer than she expected to realize that the commentators were actually speaking in Turkish, and she simply understood them. That seemed like a nice power, if it was a power and not just some subtle rewrite of her reality, compared to the uncertain nature of whatever was happening around her.

    Watching her siblings, she was able to gather details about Kira and Leila. Kira, the younger, shuddered whenever Leila brought up clowns, and the older sister really liked to do it a lot. She even went so far as to claim that she loved clowns, although Nadia didn¡¯t have a good enough sense about her to judge whether she was being sincere or facetious. Meanwhile, despite her simple pants and sports jersey, Kira was an aficionado of detailed, historical period dresses and seemed skilled at stitching. Nadia wondered if that would help her with pinning down which of the bedrooms upstairs was Kira¡¯s.

    With the extended family nature of her half-sisters, Nadia wondered if that resolved some of the upstairs uncertainty about which rooms were whose. Piling on the interesting details, she noted when her older sister invoked Sun Tzu and war strategies. As far as careers, she wasn¡¯t certain if the clothing thing was just a hobby or something more serious for the teen, while it was clear that the older one had a legal background. That was all quite interesting and endlessly heady but didn¡¯t really provide her with a point of entry for discussing stuff with them.

    Was the real Nadia well-versed in these topics or was she just missing the latch points where she was supposed to chime in? Rationally, she realized that there was no other Nadia, just the expectation of a girl whose life she¡¯d been thrown into. Paul lived a relatively boring life that still felt immensely interesting to her but looking at this group felt like being shoved into a group where she didn¡¯t fit. They had expectations, and she was clearly going to disappoint them.

    She took time to pry details out of the younger boys, Erol and Murat. They appeared surprisingly pretty for boys, with their thick hair and soft cheeks. thankfully, she discovered something that she could actually talk about when Erol invoked his appreciation of trucks and engines.

    A flood of technical terms wanted to erupt out of her mouth, but she felt nervous that the impression she was supposed to create as Nadia would be at odds with her knowledge base. As an extra pang in her heart, Murat talked about cryptozoology in curious and sneaking terms, as though he was trying to create something more intimidating than what Leila was dishing out with the clowns. The older sister flashed him a look but didn¡¯t do more than that.

    This already felt too much like going back to high school, Paul reflected. She had a body and a life so fundamentally different than the one she grew up with. Yet, she could already feel the forces of social pressure pigeonholing her onto a certain path. The problem was she only had a vague notion of what that path involved. Did she really want to go into Nadia¡®s social media and absorb that as the script by which she wanted to live her life?

    Maybe she shouldn¡¯t think of it so much as an obligation as an opportunity. She was Nadia and this was Nadia¡®s life. She could learn it and see all the details. Perhaps the flow and the gravity of it would fit for her in ways that revealed fresh aspects about herself that she had never considered before. Interestingly enough, thinking about this reminded her of a paranormal/glitch in the matrix story that she listened to from a podcast. It was during one of her night truck drives not too far from a military base as well.

    In the story, the testimonial described a rambunctious young man who was the consummate boy and a total tough guy swinging on ropes and running through the wilds. Inevitably, he had a serious injury, having fallen hard on concrete. He was taken to the hospital to save his life. The operation included some weird sights and sounds and a lot of uncertainty, but he seemingly woke up without any ill effects¡­ aside from the fact he was now a young woman with breasts.

    It was obviously the kind of story that hit close to home for Paul. The brand-new girl was stunned but avoided telling anyone, because she expected to be labeled as crazy. Everyone simply saw her as this new person, as though nothing had ever been different. Her expectation from waking up was that she would continue to be a tomboy and likely remain interested in other girls. That was who he was, and he retained that entire personality and stretch of memories when he woke up.

    But, as time went along, the new girl found herself losing interest in adventurous activities and moving more towards pretty clothes and girly things, along with being quieter and subtly different. She eventually took an interest in boys and grew up with as normal an upbringing and youth for a girl as possible.

    So, what was it, assuming her story was true, that led her from the man she remembered being to changing into the girl she became? One of the theories that occurred to Paul at the time was that perhaps the brain injury caused her to have a false memory of imagining herself as a boy, since she couldn¡¯t find any remaining details of that life.

    It would¡¯ve been helpful if that scenario at all applied to her situation. But there was no other driver on the bus and everyone on the team remembered Coach and remembered Paul. For now. That was the other possibility. Something happened in reality to that boy and the world and everything around them decided to course correct to make sure that the new girl didn¡¯t stand out.

    If she wasn¡¯t accidentally in control of the changes happening to her, then she had to assume that something else was and it was trying to make her fit.

    What if she didn¡¯t want to fit? What if she didn¡¯t want whatever the forces that be deciding her life and the lives of those around her? She had seen the posting about three sisters and two brothers.

    She tried to recall. What was it in movies and comics¡­a retcon? Something acknowledged as an error or previously established which was amended to fit into a new structure? Imagining it being real in any aspect of reality felt like madness.

    But she was staring down the barrel of an unknown, powerful force that adapted her bag and her shoes to the life of Nadia. Did she really want to challenge something like that? Yes, if it sought to attack Erin¡®s happiness. Then, it would be her enemy. If it dared to force Erin back into the kind of life she had growing up with that wretched father and cruel mother, then Nadia would sooner burn down the entire world than let that stand. Stark words, full of empty fury, but she believed them.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Iris called her over from the hallway with a smile and a high wave. Pushing down the broiling anger, Nadia dressed in the best iteration of her calmness and went over to see her half-sister.

    Paul¡¯s mother had half-siblings who were decades older and decades younger than her. He wondered if this was some remnant of that stuck in the maw of reality. Iris retained lots of echoes of her features, especially that little cleft at the chin she noticed earlier. She felt like a version of Kira coming down from a wild phase, although Iris was the one with a silver stud in her nose.

    The hallway beside the landing was the narrowest in the entire house, but Nadia could still traverse it comfortably with her arms at her side. They just couldn¡¯t walk together. To the right was a small storage closet with a fold-up door and a laundry room. The wall to the left included what Nadia could easily deduce was Leila¡®s graduation portrait. Just beyond was a colorful family portrait taken within sight of what Nadia vaguely recalled was the Tower Bridge in London. The two boys were infants held by their parents while Leila had on a fancy green dress and Kira shone gleefully with a brilliant red one. Her doppelg?nger stood between them in a lovely navy blue ensemble. It was just a sort of color she would¡¯ve selected, although she never imagined wearing a dress like that.

    It had the same sort of visual allure as Erin¡¯s classic, lavender number. Skeptically, she noted that it looked like drapes you would pull across a stage after everyone bowed. But her other self looked happy wearing it. Luna wasn¡¯t present in the photo, but Nadia deduced that she probably wouldn¡¯t have been born yet when it was taken. It was strange that the hallway didn¡¯t have anything like an addendum photo to include Luna, but it also didn¡¯t include any images of Iris or ?dil.

    Instead of dwelling on that, she focused on the younger visage of her father, the only family member she hadn¡¯t seen yet. He had a broad smile with all of his teeth beaming brightly. His nose was prominent but reminded her of her own. His eyes were nearly shut and his whole face reflected his joy. Patches of gray and silver lightened his dark hair, and she hung on a moment just to catch his green suit jacket paired with a squiggle tie and dark jeans. Missing but implicit was the sense that his wife just cast him a look with a roll of her eyes before the photograph was taken. She wanted to meet him.

    Iris led her to the cozy, last room on the right. A pair of chairs flanked a large leather couch with a rounded table, watched by another one of those mirrored closets. On the other side of the room, beneath a large, detailed map of the continental US, was a black Steinway upright piano. Iris beckoned her to sit, but Nadia swiftly excused herself to use the restroom next door.

    Half of her escape was just to take a breather and prepare herself for the imminent stress and disappointment to follow and the other half was because breakfast was ready to be evicted. It barely felt like she had finished enjoying it. and her body already didn¡¯t want to have anything else to do with it. Once again, it felt like a vigorous, clean transition. Nothing left behind, even though she knew the cabbage and dessert followed it.

    She lingered in the tiny bathroom, wondering if her quiet might make her sister forget she was here. No such luck. She was sitting comfortably with a small laptop while shuffling several pages of sheet music. Although she would¡¯ve preferred to let them drop on the floor, Nadia cradled the stack as Iris urged her to warm up.

    Nadia figured the jig was, most certainly, up. No more chances for delay or deception. Well, no sense in putting it off further. She promptly sat down and set the pages in front of her. A little note in the corner reminded her of the mnemonic device, every good boy deserves fruit. Treble clef and bass clef. All cows eat grass and good boys do fine always. Little margin notes annotated what things meant. But those alone shouldn¡¯t have been enough to make sense for her. However, it did.

    As her mom said, like a bike. One that she had never actually put feet to pedals on. Left hand here and right hand there. It was like flying without any fear of whether you might fall. One finger after the other. Her brain and muscles translated what she saw into music. It wasn¡¯t effortless, but she tumbled from one metaphorical flap of her wings to the next.

    At points, Iris halted her to correct her position and pace, but those tips felt more like gentle reminders than the flabbergasted notes of someone looking at a student who had forgotten everything. Somehow, it was like her muscles remembered actions she had never done before. Part of her wanted to intentionally throw off the rhythm, but Paul¡¯s sincerity rejected that notion. It was like a kite trying to turn away from the breeze. She just couldn¡¯t do it.

    Ultimately, the true difficulty of the lesson emerged when Iris introduced her to a song that she wasn¡¯t expected to know. It was an old Turkish folk song reduced and rearranged for her skill level. Her hesitant unsteadiness was expected and gradually ameliorated. The lesson continued with several repetitions until the natural positions of each key just felt innate and automatic to her touch.

    Groans, cries, and gasps upset her musical balance when the rest of the family passed along that Tunisia had scored and placed the game into a 1¨C1 tie late. Iris heaved a weighty, resigned sigh, and her spirit didn¡¯t seem to be into the rest of the lesson, but it was just continued practice. Out of all the changes done to her, Nadia didn¡¯t feel too troubled by what she now understood musically but the fact that anything could change her so much mentally was still deeply unsettling.

    In turn, as the complexity of the lesson slipped away from her thoughts, she challenged the universe to let her change something herself. Nothing so dire as the existence of her relatives. Perhaps, the contents of someone else¡¯s bag, like hers had been shifted along with her shoes?

    After some tidying up and puzzling, an appropriate notion struck her. Everything about Iris seemed so professional and classically trained. The condensation of the family¡¯s British influences. She wondered if she could shift that. What could be something mildly uncouth for Iris? A secret grunge rock past? Composer cosplay? Being a dropout before success? Or maybe composing for a popular video game series?

    Before she could firmly settle on what minor aspect of her sibling''s life to attempt to toy with, she realized that the front door was opening again, but with a key in the lock and a cheer washing out the recent equalizer disappointment as she heard her mother energetically exclaim from down the hall, ¡°Dad¡®s home!¡±

 [13] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 13 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [13]

    While the man in the photo, now returning in the flesh, wasn¡¯t the man Paul had to spend so many decades with, mostly caring for, Nadia hopped up with excitement to go meet him.

    He looked much older than in the photo, with patches of lighter and darker hair on his head resembling a rough soccer ball. He smiled warmly in her direction but had to focus on a large platter in his hands as he delivered it to the kitchen table. When that was done, any reservations in his demeanor vanished as he spread his arms wide and beckoned his daughter over.

    Despite his age and stout appearance, he easily lifted her up and swung her around with energy but care. It was disorienting but thrilling.

    ¡°Welcome home, my princess! Did you have a good game and a good night with your friend? Mama was so worried about you, but I knew you would be fine. I bet you did better than the national team is right now.¡±

    His accent had a much sharper tilt, stretching through vaguely European to what she would¡¯ve expected with a Turkish accent. It also had a certain British cadence but with a deep belly weight to it. She couldn¡¯t wait to hear his laughter, and he seemed to know that was what he wanted as he soon indulged her in a hearty chuckle. The sound filled the room, blotting out all else.

    She could scarcely imagine that this man was supposed to be her father. When she thought of the idea of a father, there was a puzzling chasm between a tin pot wannabe dictator who ineffectually howled and demanded recognition and a brutal statue that invited no love. Vague memories tinted with the optimism of a child came close to the cheerful possibilities of this but were tempered by undeserved glares and scoldings.

    The presence before her more befit Father Christmas, no matter the deep tone of his skin. Parsing and measuring her words carefully so they were presentable for him, she squeaked that they won even though she didn¡¯t manage any points. He already knew about the questions involving their trip back and the Air Force base. He cautioned her that she had no obligation to talk to the military or the government for any matter, as she was a minor.

    Luscious steak sandwiches spread across the tray as if they were perfectly posed for a photo shoot. They had different condiments than Nadia was used to, and she could see traces of olive oil. Even though her body just finished a vigorous clearance sale, she was satisfied with just looking.

    Her father urged her to grab something, if she was hungry. His nearest restaurant was closed for a break between lunch and dinner, and there were plenty of other entr¨¦es in the truck for everyone. Erol and Murat had no qualms about grabbing as much as they could cover a plate with. Nadia wanted to grab one of the smaller sandwiches just to nibble on but, since none of her sisters were rushing for the platter, she figured it was prudent to modestly wait.

    A massive, colorful Mediterranean salad looked like a better bet. It wasn¡¯t that she was after a particular impression or engaging in clich¨¦ feminine food choices, but it just felt like the same natural gravity as the piano lesson. The dressing was mellow yet sharp with a soothing, spicy aftertaste. She made sure her dish included plenty of feta.

    Before sneaking away though, she did snag one of the sandwiches on the side before the men got all of them. It was so much. It was honestly too much, especially with the salad. Families that could eat well always earned her appreciation.

    Somewhere around this side of town, ages ago, her Filipino friend from high school, while sinking into their community college efforts, invited him to a birthday party. His time in college didn¡¯t last as he floundered, failed, and was needed in other places while she wound up a registered nurse living in Phoenix.

    One of her extended relatives tried to sell him on used cars and MLMs, but the food was amazing. He didn¡¯t even mind the huge dead pig in the center of the serving table. It was actually his favorite entr¨¦e of the evening, and he copiously ate off its belly. Paul was just old enough for alcoholic spirits and felt supremely disappointed that, no matter how many Zimas he drank, he never felt more than buzzed. He also recalled that it seemed like the beverage went defunct soon after that, so he was probably one of the last people in the area to drink a Zima. If it ever came back into production, he never noticed.

    Of course, it would be impossible for Nadia to imbibe like that, but she wanted something more interesting than a bottle of water. There were actually a few options, including something called Raki that the adults were drinking. Her mother prepared her what basically felt like spicy turnip water. It was better than she expected it would be.

    Listening carefully to the affectionate back and forth between her parents, she was able to gather that her father¡¯s name was Duman, and her mother¡¯s name was Taliah. She hoped gleaning this would allow her to solidify their presence in her life.

    She hadn¡¯t forgotten about the experiment involving her half-sister and changing some modest detail. But the possibility of accidentally messing up her life loomed largely. Something had briefly deleted her and her other half-sister, and she didn¡¯t want to accidentally invoke it again. The plan was to creep upstairs to her room with the plate and find a comfortable spot to get back in contact with Erin before meditating towards an understanding of whether she had some sort of ability or was just the universe¡¯s designated plaything. Rediscovering some of her favorite podcasts could probably help with that.

    The obstacle was that Luna wanted to sit and eat next to her, and she wasn¡¯t the only one. ?dil actually had several fabric swatches and designs on putting Nadia into the cutest outfit she could imagine. Her father had other platters adorned with side dishes and, since she had taken the initiative of joining salad with sandwich, it seemed reasonable that she had plenty of space for falafel and more dolmas. God, she didn¡¯t know if she could survive the kind of exuberant family life she briefly glimpsed with her Filipino friend. Everything was busy and always saturated with reminders of love. How could she even begin to think of herself as a separate entity, let alone privately reflect?

    At the same time, she would gladly take the feeling of community over quiet, sullen nights alone after everyone Paul cared for was gone. It was like being in a wide, flowing river taking you from one place to another even though you didn¡¯t have to move or do anything else but steer. The boisterous sentiment did take a hit when regulation time ended and even the extra time ran out with a deadlock. Vaguely, Nadia remembered a penalty shootout being a thing at the end of games but, for this stage of the competition, it was counted as a draw.

    Optimism still percolated in the house because, in a few days, there would be a match versus Kenya which Turkey had to win. As long as Italy, the group leader, also had a draw in their next match, then Turkey could advance. To escape her group, she urged Luna towards ?dil with some ideas about fancy velvet dresses then she feigned the need to use the toilet again. Climbing up the stairs felt distractingly loud, but she did her best to keep her footfalls modest.

    The contrast between the first floor and the second was stark, like someone turned down a dimmer switch on the cacophony. Everything was still present but at a much more manageable level. She popped several perfect olives in her mouth. Her computer table had plenty of room on the side for the plate, but she was hesitant to put food near electronics. Scanning the room better, she recognized a hexagonal tiled board game from a few games in her youth. Her family used to have a huge, green folding card table covered in lean felt. The energy and exuberance of playing a game with so many active opponents rekindled her competitive heart.

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    The last time there was an unexpected delay at the agency, Paul¡¯s coworker, Tom, and he happened to have an hour to kill before the buses were available, Paul had nothing inside to give for a friendly game of chess. He liked playing, and he wanted to give Tom a good match, but it had been so long since he bothered to play. His father¡®s Swiss cheese brain was barely an opponent. She would probably suck for a while, but the idea of having true fun again was like an electric current riding through her soul. Funny, she just got a break from this new family, and she immediately wanted to dive back into the deep end with games.

    Folding her legs up like a tight pretzel reminded her of anatomy she was quickly getting accustomed to. Still no sensation of loss or castration. After all, she hadn¡¯t really lost her balls, they just moved and had been reassigned to different duties through alien science. The fresh terrain had been teased, embraced, and professionally explored. It wasn¡¯t a void but rather like levels of sensation digging deep and echoing long. She squirmed slightly as her imagination triggered a certain, embarrassing pinging like personal radar. Her body wanted to home in on Erin.

    She texted out a jumbled but superficially edited explanation of the last little while. Erin relayed that her mother actually encountered what she would best describe as a man in black with a rumpled and ill-fitting suit like he was a hobo who robbed someone for it. The guy never got as far as talking to her because her mother turned him away and claimed that her daughter was busy and not feeling well. She brandished a gun on her hip for protection. Expectedly, the concealed carry license and its accouterments passed to her mother.

    Erin hadn¡¯t noticed anything physically changing in front of her, but her mother¡¯s hunting rifle was new. A quick gloss of her new family members and their ¡°familial exuberance¡± actually made Erin giggle. On the point of confusion about whether Nadia now had the power to make things vanish and appear, Erin gave her a few possibilities to focus on from a simple, random glass cube to whatever plant was the easiest to visualize. Each felt fundamentally solid in her head but refused to cross over into the physical world. It was like something out there wanted her to feel crazy.

    Sifting through the possible alterations of Iris felt like a mountain looming when she had barely established base camp. Stymied, she turned her attention to Erin¡®s experiences.

    Her girlfriend took a moment before responding with copious stressed emojis about how she tried, over the last couple of hours, to not even peer out at the fog-dusted horizon. But she caught a few glimpses. Most were nothing. But a few times warned her into hiding.

    She swore she saw what looked like a black ribbon fluttering in the wind, a slight shadow of something looming larger. Then, there was the standing, humanoid sludge turned right in her direction as they waited at a traffic light. She briefly flashed her geek cred by mentioning that it looked just like the monster that killed Tasha Yar in Star Trek. Paul actually couldn¡¯t remember anything about it but got the gist with a quick Google.

    Erin clarified her concern as she never felt specifically like any of the things she encountered since the UFO actively knew she could see them, but this thing did. It made no move towards the car but just posed there like the angriest piece of performance art that only she recognized. Even worse was the fact that they had to double back along that street and, when she looked at the same spot later, there was nothing there and no sign that anything had ever been in that spot. Nadia could hear her girlfriend¡®s exhaustion and frustration despite the fact they were just texting. They had to meet-up again, she resolved.

    Erin took several minutes in responding but agreed. She further revealed she had been contacted by Gina, who was freaking out about the fact that she suddenly had a different coach. Grimly, Erin relayed information that Nadia had found out but not recognized the magnitude of. The girls'' volleyball coach was now Janice Nesbitt, who should¡¯ve been fired years ago. Nadia frowned at the vague details Erin passed along and sighed.

    Back on topic though, Gina had proposed bringing as many of the girls together as she could, on short notice, this afternoon for some meet-up, sharing of information, and shopping. Odessa had nervously confirmed her interest and Gina knew she could drag Evangeline along, since they were neighbors. Gina¡®s mom would be driving, and Erin already got permission from Sharon, so it would now be up to Nadia¡®s mom and dad. She leaned back against her chair and quickly texted that she would ask them.

    Trekking downstairs, Nadia framed and floated the possibility to her busy father first as he seemed to be getting ready to return to work. His response was to check with her mother and her mother quickly responded in turn by asking to check with ¡°dad¡±. Breaking through that first level, she recognized that they were cold to the concept of letting their daughter go so quickly after she had just returned to them, but she emphasized the possibility of cheering up her injured teammate with a nice day out and pressed her social obligation. Her plate went in the fridge for later as they urged her to be back before sundown.

    Opening up her closet, with the freaky visual of broken reflections, Nadia mulled over how dressed up she should be. Was that the girl inside talking and was her voice getting stronger? Would it eventually be the only voice she heard? Not that she could do much about it if that was her fate, but she refused to lose the person she was.

    ¡°Can I come with you?¡± A small voice asked. Turning around, she saw Luna peeking through the doorway from the loft. It was like someone peering over the edge of a table but turned sideways. Nadia greeted her with a warm smile and a sigh with her hands on her hips. She cautioned the kid that she was going shopping with a group of her volleyball friends, so she may not find it interesting. No shopping for toys or candy, although that didn¡¯t necessarily have to be true.

    ¡°That¡¯s okay,¡± Luna eagerly responded. ¡°I just wanna go with you. I need to keep you safe.¡±

    Nadia smiled back. What a cutie.

    Quietly, as a whisper, Luna added, ¡°From the monsters.¡±

    She frowned at her kid sister. Worries about monsters weren¡¯t strange for kids but considering the things that Erin had been telling her about since the bus brought a deep wave of worry to her thoughts.

    Without complaint, Nadia told her that she could come along so long as she asked their parents first but, before she even finished that statement, Luna had a speedy response that she had already told them, and they said it was fine. Presumptuous but prepared. The kid even said that she had an outfit picked out and was excited to see what her big sister would be wearing.

    Glancing over, Nadia clung to her smile, but it faded slightly when she noticed a strange golden shimmer coming from Luna¡¯s right arm as she bent further into the doorway. It looked exactly like her sister¡¯s limb had been replaced by a column of sunlight. Before she could say anything, the little girl dipped to the left and out of sight. Seeing her return to the opening, the discrepancy was gone. A moment later, she scampered off to get ready.

    Nadia blinked her eyes and wondered if whatever is going on with Erin was rubbing off on her.

 [14] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 14 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [14]

    Not that she thought her little sister was actually some sort of monster. That was for flippant sibling antagonism the kid didn¡¯t deserve. Aside from some adorable and harmless quirks, she was practically a saint compared to the scream machines that often echoed ceaselessly through other bus routes.

    She seemed to be around five, but that was just Nadia¡¯s vague estimate based on the fact she seemed more grown-up than a toddler yet not as old as someone in second grade. Before she retired, Paul¡¯s mother volunteered him to help out at several elementary schools. It was one of the nicest and most enriching things she ever did to him.

    For what she was going to wear, Nadia marveled at just how many options this teen already had available to her. She felt a pang of guilt at adding to the masses that were already on display. There were also plenty of things that evoked her crush¡­her girlfriend, in fun and inventive ways. The skirts got pushed aside. Too adventurous for this occasion.

    But the leggings intrigued her. Ultimately, she went rather basic and boring, forgoing skinny or fashionably worn jeans for stretchy ones and a top that reminded her of the one that Erin let her try. A warm, white cardigan that covered her hands filled out the ensemble. An unmistakable swath of her chest could be seen, along with a significant band along her belly button, but that was to appease both the man he used to be and the girl she was. And for Erin.

    To get by her parents, she hoped that this display wasn¡¯t too out of character. These were items in her closet that weren¡¯t hidden or disguised. If it became a concern, she could pull on one of the oversized sweaters and wear it while they watched and lose it later. For presentation purposes, she dipped her hair down around there and also framed the collar of the cardigan as camouflage.

    It didn¡¯t take much looking to find what she assumed was her regular purse and bloat it with things that she figured she would need, from the essentials in her transformed overnight bag to a kit of makeup, a leather wallet, and some snazzy shades (even though it was clear that the haze had lingered through the day). She stuffed a couple of other random things from the table and deemed that sufficient.

    This was her first purse, so she figured she was forgetting something. In fact, she knew there was one thing in particular that she¡¯d done her best not to think about. Sure enough, the purse actually had a few of those stuffed in the side. She hadn¡¯t thought to check if there were any tracker apps loaded on her new phone. In fact, for the time being, she was perfectly fine deciding all the things she was thinking about were ¡°a thing¡± and not to think about them any further until they became a more imminent thing. She had so many deferred ¡°things¡± queued up to process¡­

    Working on the strange vision she had of her little sister, Nadia came to the conclusion that she had to have seen a beam of light peek through the window in the loft and land on her arm. That made the most sense. The problem arose when she moved over to the doorway and stretched around trying to replicate that illusion on her cardigan.

    The drapes did have a spill of light on them, but no beams showed through. And no amount of twisting and slightly opening them spread the light far enough that it hopped over the furniture and landed by the doorway. In fact, putting herself in the direct, afternoon light did absolutely nothing to reproduce the same image. The best she could settle on was that the kid was messing with her with some sort of armband or reflector. And that sufficed for now. She would get around to figuring it out later, or it didn¡¯t matter. Till then, she still had her parents to get past.

    Making her way down the steps played up the obvious display and jiggle. She found it remarkable how quickly she¡¯d adjusted to just walking around with¡­ What word would be best for them? She heard ¡°the girls¡° bandied about from time to time in stories and jokes. Tits? That seemed like a rather rough and rather inexact term from someone her age. Boobs or boobies sounded silly. Breasts was way too analytical, especially for how they felt. And it made her think more of chicken breasts.

    Bosom? Fancy pants wordsmith crap. Honkers? Hooters? Jugs? Tatas? Dongles? Orbs? Mudflaps? That last one kind of hurt even though she liked it. Ultimately, boobs would suffice.

    All the prelude and fear about the reaction of her clearly Christian parents turned out to be for naught as her mother was more concerned about the fact she was already leaving the house. But she was glad that her big girl was taking her little sister with her, and she hoped they had a good time shopping.

    Her father gave a brief, skeptical glance, but it faded into a reassuring smile as he reiterated all the points that mom already made about being safe, coming home before dark, and making sure she didn¡¯t forget anything. In response, Nadia opened up her purse and showcased what she was taking with her. That sufficed, although her mother appended a stern reminder to not lose track of her sister.

    Nadia felt a vague, guilty terror that her other self may have done something like that in the past. How could she possibly do that to the poor kid? The notion jabbed her again when she considered how much her little sister desperately wanted to cling to her. Wearing a serious face and adopting a tense tone, she assured her mother that she would be careful. That was enough.

    It wouldn¡¯t be too long for their ride to show up, so they sat together on the porch bench. The holes in the cloud layer had gotten wider, but the haze remained. To the south, this amount of fog would¡¯ve burned off with the first rays of the sun, but this was relatively common for the area. It added an eerie shroud that magnified recent events. Her nose and skin found the humidity pleasant though.

    Luna balanced on the edge of the bench while clinging to Nadia¡®s arm and leg on the right side. Her little sister wore a gray sweater with a white ribbon pattern. A light beige coat sheltered her shoulders while a dark, long linen skirt with dense crosshatching settled over her thigh-high silver socks. Nadia thought she looked adorable and told her so with a whisper. The kid didn¡¯t really respond beyond reaffirming her grip on her big sister, but Nadia thought she caught the faint trace of a smile on Luna¡¯s face.

    A large, tan crossover pulled to the curb in front of the grass and Nadia could just see an older woman wave through the tinted glass in their direction. Erin popped out of a side door soon after.

    ¡°Welcome aboard our ship, girls! Glad you can join us on this mission! We¡¯ll be exploring strange new fashions and alien stores! Buckle in before we get to warp speed!¡± Gina¡®s mom smiled broadly, and Gina wore a sheepish grin as she brushed back her long blonde hair. It didn¡¯t particularly surprise Nadia that this is what Gina¡®s family was like. The star field print on the ceiling of the car interior with velocity streaks and anonymous planets made for fun viewing.

    Luna looked immediately displeased about sitting in the backseat with Evangeline since there was just barely enough space for Nadia, Erin, and Odessa in the middle. Nadia thought about asking to switch around but the stern, icy expression on Eva¡®s face kept her hesitant from even broaching the subject, as they settled in. Luna reached for the middle armrest as a compromise and grabbed the coattails of her older sister¡®s cardigan. It was awkward but at least the kid didn¡¯t complain.

    Erin and Nadia turned to look at each other with warmth and relief as though finally being provided some long-deprived nourishment. Odessa pressed against the window but smiled in Nadia¡¯s direction. No one looked appreciably different, which was a good sign for the integrity of reality.

    Odessa had on a thick vest that made her think of a coat missing its arms with a tartan top, a pink sweater, and jeans with boots below. Paul hadn¡¯t really noticed her legs before but always had the vague impression that Odessa¡®s were wide and muscular. Now, they looked more toned but slim. Since she was clearly affected somewhat by what happened to them with the repair of her injury, Nadia had to wonder what else might¡¯ve happened to her that wasn¡¯t visually obvious.

    Other than the slight slimming of her form, Odessa looked exactly the same as at any other time. She had a presence that vaguely reminded Paul of Lisa Kudrow in the way she intently smiled but with the undertone of pain. Now that was probably presumptuous.

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    Her hair, which feathered, branched, and swept forward from her shoulders was a layered, multi-tone of shimmering blonde and a deeper, almost-orange brown. Even though Elsa had the name, Paul always saw Odessa as the hesitant princess of the group because of her family and connections. From her current expression, he could tell that something was percolating in her mind.

    Clearly, each of them had words they wanted to speak but not while Gina¡®s mom could hear. Although considering her apparent enthusiasm for fantastical things, it didn¡¯t seem like she would be averse to hearing about their encounter and weirdness.

    Gina gave no impression that it was a safe subject to broach, but her overall silence said enough. She was a vibrant, sun-shining blonde with hair that settled past her chest. She smiled broadly, especially since she got her braces in. Coach worried about whether anyone was teasing her about them but Gina, Paul overheard at the time, assured her to the contrary. Braces were just the newest addition to her freak flag, and she waved it proudly.

    She wasn¡¯t wearing anything particularly geeky or unusual though, not that Nadia had a good point of view of her current outfit. However, she caught the curious detail of her silver, tiny classic saucer-shaped UFO earrings. That seemed like a firm but subtle affirmation that she hadn¡¯t forgotten their experience.

    Stony Evangeline wore a simple white top with a fleece jacket and jeans. Her massive, brown purse covered her lap like a lumpy pet. Her bronze-toned hair had a rich texture which reminded Paul of young Erin. Eva always kept it long and straight for the bus even though he knew she will put up into a tight, clean fortress for volleyball. She was easily the tallest, practically matching Paul before and dwarfing her now.

    Except for some perfunctory comments and questions about water, the ride was mostly silent. Gina¡®s mom checked in with the group because she noticed the difference. Gina laughed and reassured her mom it was just because everyone was still wiped out from last night. No one contradicted her.

    The shopping center they were heading for was a slight drive out of the way. Along the trip, it was quite conspicuous that Erin constantly kept her head down or aimed towards Nadia without raising her eyes enough to peer out the window. In place of open chat, Nadia and Erin opted to text one another quietly. She was self-conscious of the outward silliness of sending silent messages to one another when they were literally bumping shoulders.

    Erin elaborated on her experiences since Sharon dropped Nadia off at the Baris home. Like the scare with the tar beast. After the weird Air Force guy tried to talk to her, she actually found herself napping with Bubsy curling up on her chest like a little spot heater. She also experienced what could¡¯ve been considered a physical shift when she discovered a school bag that clearly hadn¡¯t been there before. No scary, manifesting homework, fortunately.

    But she found plenty of things looming in this new life. Her greatest anxiety came with uncertainty about whether they shared any classes. If Nadia had anything to say about it, she would make sure that she was right beside Erin every step of the way come Monday. Nadia restrained her theory about whether forces were guiding them along a path or whether Nadia or any of them had a particular agency in what happened. Instead, she celebrated an innate talent for the piano which seemed to have been gifted to her with this body. Erin cheered about that and succinctly assessed that she had had a pretty boring day so far compared to the familial cacophony that surrounded Nadia.

    The shopping center was just past a small commercial park, the library, the auto center, and the courthouse. A former Sears in a lower section of the complex was vacated with posted and scratched-out plans from City Hall about what they were going to do next with the property. Aside from that, the center was bloated with over a million square feet of shopping hungry for their dollars.

    Gina¡®s mom did her best to avoid the parking structures but eventually had to slip into a spot on the second level. She was headed for a fancy restaurant to have drinks and appetizers with some coworkers but offered to accompany the group to the entrance. Gina assured her they would be fine. When they were finally, relatively, alone, Gina buckled and made a sound somewhere between a note of exasperation and a scream.

    ¡°Aliens, right? Real freaking aliens last night? Also, sorry Paul about getting carried away. That was totally inappropriate of me. I just had to see and feel proof of real freaking alien contact and transformation.¡±

    Through Gina¡¯s energetic admission, Nadia started gesturing and glancing towards her little sister, who aimed her curious eyes at Gina. It took a surprising amount of time for Gina to get the hint. Evangeline huffed a light sigh with her arms folded.

    Crouching before the kid, Gina asked, ¡°Do you believe in extraterrestrials?¡±

    Luna shrugged.

    ¡°Do you think aliens are real?¡±

    Again, Luna just shrugged.

    ¡°Okay so, we totally ran into aliens last night and your big sister was transformed by them. Are you okay with us talking about that? Like your sister used to be a big tough, macho bus driver man and now she¡¯s cute. Does that freak you out to hear?¡±

    Nadia would¡¯ve disputed the idea that Paul was big, tough, or macho along with questioning her own cuteness, but she decided not to step in.

    Yet again though, Luna simply shrugged.

    Gina straightened up and groaned as she joked, ¡°You kids these days. Nothing bothers you. Alright, I guess.¡± That was surprisingly close to Agent Cross¡¯s comment, but Nadia assured herself that it was just coincidence.

    Nadia accepted Gina¡®s apology for trying to strip her when they woke up after the UFO. However, her scrutiny continued, despite being hands-off. She wanted to know if Paul had changed completely and if they were any physical abnormalities or new emotions or weird physical sensations or ¡°gender dysphoric feelings¡± or anything else existential. She pulled out her phone and looked ready to jot down notes. Luna¡®s expression didn¡¯t change, except when she quietly yawned behind her hand.

    The girls walked towards the stairs that would take them to the ground level as Nadia did her best to provide answers she felt fine with giving. Everything appeared physically normal, but she hadn¡¯t experienced the full range of things. She saw Erin give a quick smirk. Emotionally, she noted that some things felt more turbulent but also nuanced. Whether that was due to the magnitude of the change or her altered biochemistry, she had no idea.

    The dysphoric notion took a bit of delving consideration. She admitted out loud that she felt herself adapting. Her¡­ Whatever you wanted to call them¡­ On her chest didn¡¯t feel alien or foreign. The physical adjustments also had a layer of rejuvenation which helped her accept them. There were plenty of frustrations about being a minor, which felt like preaching to the choir with that group. But bringing up and briefly demonstrating her amazing flexibility, reiterated by a brief display from Erin, showcased plenty of positives.

    Odessa chimed in that she now had a renewed range of motion and lack of discomfort since after the bus. Evangeline tersely glossed over the same. Gina attempted to convince herself that she felt different too, musing about whether it was the actions of the aliens but didn¡¯t look confident.

    The complex had an outdoor area attached to a classic, 80¡¯s two-story mall. They started at the food court and intended to work their way down. Glancing to her right, Nadia noticed that Erin was frozen in place. No one else saw she was halted, except for Luna, who intently locked eyes with Erin.

    Barely speaking above a frail breath, it took careful attention and blocking out the crowds for Nadia to figure out what Erin was saying.

    ¡°Something¡¯s here. Something terrible, something dark. Something¡¯s here. Something terrible, something dark.¡±

    Before blinking and clearing away a nightmare vision, Nadia thought tears of blood were streaming down her girlfriend¡¯s cheeks.

 [15] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 15 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [15]

    Nadia urgently embraced Erin and did her best to block her line of sight, despite not being tall enough.

    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡° She wanted to add some reassuring sentiment that things would be okay, but she couldn¡¯t guarantee that and it felt like a trite bandage. Instead, she just squeezed Erin until she looked down at her. Fear glazed her vision as she whispered to Nadia, ¡°So is IT¡­¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s going on back there?¡° Evangeline adjusted her purse and sighed.

    Turning from Erin, Nadia bit her lip and took a breath before explaining, ¡°Ever since what happened with the bus and the light, we¡¯ve been seeing unusual things. Something creepy in the fog that night, a huge black dog, red eyes, men in black, and a bunch of other things.¡±

    Gina exuberantly took notes on her phone. ¡°You gotta tell me more! How big of a Grim are we talking about, did the dog have red eyes as well, and was it hostile? Did it vanish into smoke or simply disappear? Also, did the Man in Black have human skin, and did his clothes seem in any way synthetic or fake? Did he try to use amnestics on you?"

    Erin wobbled and frowned, but she answered about the Grim-like entity with notes of uncertainty about whether it was just a large, strange dog while emphasizing the creepiness of the situation. In turn, Nadia dramatized the fact that the man who claimed to represent the Air Force didn¡¯t show any identification and that didn¡¯t seem to bother her or her family. Gina explained that the "amnestics" thing was a reference to stuff she read online and simply meant if he used anything to try to erase her memory, to which Nadia noted that she didn''t think so. She stressed that his clothes were weird but couldn¡¯t discern whether they were fake and clarified that his skin didn¡¯t appear uncanny. Instead, she pointed out his weird digressions about the Mandela Effect, how spooked he was when coming into contact with her, and the alarming incident of no one being able to remember her older half-sisters.

    To this, Luna chimed in, ¡°I remembered ?dil and Iris, even though mom and auntie didn¡¯t.¡±

    Gina tapped a finger to her lips before pointing and declaring, ¡°I¡¯m calling it right now, this kid has superpowers.¡± Luna looked at her, with a few calm blinks, but didn¡¯t say anything.

    Evangeline touched her forehead and said, ¡°Are we being serious right now? I know something happened with our bus driver and Coach, but nothing happened to me and, honestly, I agreed to go with Gina with the hope that things wouldn¡¯t be super crazy. Just shopping, not thinking, and just letting it all go. If you need to talk, that¡¯s cool, that¡¯s great, but I would like to do stuff here, on planet Earth.¡± Nadia felt a snap flash of annoyance at Eva, but it was tempered by the trembling in Eva¡¯s hands and the uncertain darting of her eyes. Gina sighed and puffed a long breath without making eye contact with Eva.

    Odessa clapped her hands together and responded, ¡°We don¡¯t have to limit ourselves. Yesterday was totally crazy, and I know we¡¯re all still trying to process everything, but we¡¯re here as friends and just keeping things calm and collected and cheerful, right? No worries. Nothing strange. Not even the weird stuff. It¡¯s fine. Come on, now! Shopping therapy and talking it out!¡± She clapped her hands again, like before a match. The effect was subdued but, some way or another, the tension started to ease.

    They drifted as a group but clung together with Gina and Odessa lingering close while Eva forged ahead on her own and Erin, Nadia, and Luna remained in the back. Nadia didn¡¯t hold Luna¡®s hand the whole time, and she didn¡¯t seem to need it, but they kept right next to one another.

    The cornucopia of commerce drifted by Nadia with glass and metal fa?ades. Paul always criticized the endless array of nail spas scattered across desert strip malls like the old joke of a Starbucks inside of a Starbucks, but the one here didn¡¯t look too bad and at least got her scrutinizing her simple but clean nails. Most of the stores sounded more like college classes, English estates, and random women¡¯s names.

    The most difficult obstacle was the mental impasse that such locations represented. This wasn¡¯t for her. Those weren¡¯t clothes she could possibly wear or look good in. She had to remind herself that things changed but all the unconscious decades were difficult to slough off.

    Another problem was she looked in her closet and found a reasonable spectrum of options. Paul was always a pragmatic shopper. Comfortable, cheap, useful, and durable. Now what was she supposed to focus on? A pair low rise dark wash cargo jeans looked nice, and she felt the allure of their skinny variant. But her usual sensibilities still felt disgusted at the distressed ones with holes. She wasn¡¯t a punk.

    Luna brushed the material of some outfits but still clung nearby. Nadia liked the long-neck cropped tanks on sale and considered one of the five-dollar T-shirts, but they represented a wild smattering of pop culture and boyfriend appreciation. Nothing hinting at a girlfriend, even of the friendship variety. Although, Nadia wasn¡¯t sure if she would have the confidence to wear something so bold out in public.

    It felt so complicated, even though nothing much had changed. She was in love with the girl she crushed on as a teen boy. The fact that alien doohickeys, laser waves, and probes had turned her into a Turkish, teenage girl should¡¯ve been just a random bit of fine print rather than a screaming note of social anxiety. Ultimately, she didn¡¯t get anything, even though she did go through the experience of trying on some stuff.

    Venturing back outside, Nadia glanced over in Erin¡®s direction to see her suddenly sprint off. She called after her, but she didn¡¯t respond. When she turned to check on Luna, she discovered that the kid had also broken into a run after Erin. No way she was leaving them alone to wherever they were headed, so she hustled after. The other girls would just have to keep up or meet up with them later.

    The first turn was a little confusing and worried Nadia about rushing past the other shoppers, but they soon came to an empty space, rather like an alleyway, stretching to the side entrance of the abandoned Sears. Up ahead, Erin yanked on a door, and it actually opened for her. She flung it wide and darted inside. Luna was close enough to catch the rickety thing before it shut again, and Nadia shoved her way inside too.

    The interior light was dim and subdued with just a few fluorescent bulbs working. Nadia recognized the pale tile style and simple support beams. Gray carpet looked perfectly fine in some patches and ripped up to the cement in other spots. A harsh band of recessed lighting flanked the side wall and the other doors appeared to be covered with paper and cardboard. An escalator broke the surreal, moody monotony. Erin coughed and covered her face with her hand. The air felt jagged and hostile, like she was rubbing her lungs across the equivalent of invisible, broken glass. Shielding her face preemptively and catching her breath, Nadia asked, ¡°Why¡­ did you run?¡± Luna lingered close but to the side.

    Turning around in a slow circle, Erin brushed her sweaty hair back and collected her breath before answering, ¡°I saw it again. The monster. It looked like it was going to jump into a crowd, but then it i-it actually looked like it saw me, and then it ran this way. I lost sight of it. Dammit.¡±

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    Their hearts rattled around a bit when the door swung open again to reveal the other girls out of breath. Odessa approached first and asked if ¡°Coach¡± was alright. Gina had her phone out and immediately asked whether there were aliens again. Eva clung to the door to keep it open but looked over with concern. Erin reiterated her monster sighting for the others, kindling Gina¡¯s exuberance. In attempting to describe it, the best she could do was like a dirty trash bag covered in slime and sludge flailing around like it was about to tear apart.

    *WHAM*

    Everyone turned to look at the doors as Eva winced and groaned, responding, ¡°Something shoved it. Frick, that stings!¡± The door she had been holding open was now shut. Trying it again, the latch bar refused to budge. The other doors were similarly sealed. She looked ready to try kicking the glass out when a voice cut through the silence.

    ¡°Greetings everyone and welcome to Sears! Why it¡¯s a pleasure to have you here! Is there anything I can help you with? Sears has everything!¡±

    Erin took a step back from the strange woman who suddenly appeared in front of her. She seemed slightly older than Erin used to be. She had on a green tartan dress with a pale blue collared shirt and an employee badge above her pocket. Her smile was warm, exuberant, and deeply unsettling.

    ¡°Where did you come from? Let us out!¡± Eva demanded. The air almost seemed to wiggle with Eva¡®s words as Nadia felt a sudden rush of claustrophobia. Erin quickly looked between the strange new woman and Eva, inquiring, ¡°You can see her?¡± Eva gulped and gave a small, quick nod. Odessa nervously nodded along with Gina, who had her mouth open and her phone dangling in her grip. Nadia saw her too. Stretching her sight without needing to squint, Erin caught that the woman¡¯s employee badge read ¡°LIZ¡±.

    ¡°I work here, you Silly Billy. And you just got here. Won¡¯t you allow me the privilege of informing you of our amazing Sears deals and opportunities? Good life, great price. And I think your lives could use a little of the Sears touch. Our hot deals on appliances and the latest in ladies'' fashion are not to be ignored!¡±

    Walking over to her left, ¡°Liz¡° pantomimed the air, as if she was showing something off. ¡°This polyester number is available in a wide array of comfortable and attractive sizes. Perfect for the gal who needs to putter around the house but doesn¡¯t want to look like a slob when doing it. It comes with matching gloves. Now, they may not be Chanel silk but, for the price, I can¡¯t tell the difference. You save a bunch of money for your man while looking fabulous!¡±

    Eva slowly stepped closer, without getting too close to Liz, and muttered, ¡°What the flip is going on?¡± Odessa offered up, ¡°Ghost trapped in the 60s?¡± Gina let out a faint gasp and included her own thoughts, ¡°A real ghost? Not like an energy pattern worn into this place? Does that means she died¡­ In a Sears? That¡¯s so sad.¡±

    Liz acted like she didn¡¯t hear those comments and sidestepped over to another display that none of the girls could actually see to continue her pitch. Nadia didn¡¯t know what to think, but she carefully worked her way over to Erin with the hopes of grabbing her hand and leading her away from whatever paranormal craziness was happening and out an accessible emergency door. Simultaneously, she wanted to go for Luna¡¯s hand, so she didn¡¯t lose her either.

    For a little more than a moment, all the girls were distracted from Liz and didn¡¯t look back until the unusual employee chirped up, ¡°Oh my goodness, we¡¯re really busy today! Seven people, which must be a new record. Just joking, but it¡¯s a pleasure to have you. Now how can I help, ma¡¯am?¡±

    A new figure, another woman, now stood relatively close to Liz, but there was something desperately wrong with her. Her eyes were too wide and her smile empty and beaming, like a mannequin brought to life. Silvery hair lay across her head.

    ¡°Confused good doggo is salty puppo of wild yak vibe can¡¯t interest you in my favorite color of bread and margarine. That¡¯s what the bureaucracy says about a nail dropper. Obedient gazelle with a chicken dropper zip. I can¡¯t even bolt my extinction!¡±

    There wasn¡¯t enough space in the building for them to steer clear of the new entity. Its voice sounded even more uncanny than its appearance, as though someone had recorded over an old cassette and the original sound didn¡¯t belong to a human but rather an old cat mimicking one. Memories of countless podcasts recounting encounters with skinwalkers bubbled to the surface for Nadia, and she didn¡¯t want to have anything to do with whatever the hell was going on.

    Liz just laughed. ¡°Oh, my word! What language is that? Parlez-vous fran?ais? Sprecken sie Deutsch? Carlos is around here somewhere, and he speaks a little bit of Spanish¡­ hable Espa?ol¡­ but I¡¯m afraid¡­ I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m afraid oh no I¡¯m afraid oh no oh no oh no¡­ oh¡­help¡­¡±

    They all could feel something cold and slimy slip through the air. Descending through the bright but time-worn ceiling was a monster. The uncanny figure to the side slumped over like a deflated balloon but also wriggled on a line attached to the dark entity. Like an anglerfish, Nadia thought.

    Tendrils of blackness wrapped around Liz and pulled her into an orifice with spinning, glinting teeth. There was no blood. She was ripped to gossamer, floating jellyfish fragments that were hungrily sucked down. When finished with her, it roared with a leg-quaking rumble. Faces and teeth, like tortured beasts barely restrained by a thin trash bag, roiled and twisted against its cancerous surface.

    It didn¡¯t need to be said, but Luna whispered in her sister¡¯s ear, ¡°Run¡­ you all have to run.¡± The other girls got the message as they darted away from the horrific creature slipping along the ceiling and sought out some corridor with an easier exit or a weapon. The employee service door was locked. Eva furiously kicked but only had enough strength to slightly bow it.

    The creature howled again and tore up several of the cream-toned floor tiles. Its anemone tangle of limbs flung a single ceramic projectile at Erin¡®s head. Nadia¡®s heart throbbed with terror as her vision desperately narrowed to a single point of fear. She held Luna¡®s hand, but she needed to save the girl she loved. Time was desperately slow in that moment but inexorable. She flung her body, but it wasn¡¯t enough.

    Erin brought her hand up to shield her eyes. The instant before the shard of tile was about to strike her, it froze inches before contact, hovering unnaturally in the air. Erin looked on, speechless, with her hand up. With an uncertain flick of her wrist, the shard tumbled and crumbled away in the same direction her hand motioned. Erin recalled how the lamp tumbled over last night when she got intimately excited, then the refrigerator door shut without her touching it, and she had a dream that she couldn¡¯t be certain was a dream¡­ and slayed a monster.

    She squeezed her hands into fists and glared at this new monster. ¡°Leave us alone¡­or you¡¯ll regret it.¡±

 [16] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 16 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [16]

    Her words loudly echoed through the stripped, abandoned Sears department store. That should¡¯ve imbued them with strength and agency, but she just heard all of her terror magnified into a crazed cacophony.

    Nadia finally closed the distance between them with her little sister, Luna, clinging and dragging against her hip, as though she urgently needed to show her something. Odessa covered her mouth with her hand and focused on the still-floating remnants of Liz. What remained of that poor ghost fluttered idly in the air like strips of clear plastic bags caught in an updraft. Eva looked ready to bolt down the side corridor but clung to the group. Gina fumbled with her cell phone while her eyes struggled to take in the wild series of events around her.

    Erin expected the writhing, chaotic black mass to launch at her. If that happened, then she¡¯d already visualized using whatever powers she had to pick up the floor tile and fling it back on the creature. Would that stop or hurt it? She had her doubts, but hopefully that might distract it long enough for them to get away.

    But she didn¡¯t expect what actually happened. After several moments of relative calm and silence, the entity pulled back through the ceiling and vanished. Erin immediately and diligently checked right above her and on the side. No signs of dark rippling or omens that it was trying to sneak around them. She dropped her hands but still kept on alert.

    The other girls settled, even though they still appeared tense.

    ¡°Okay¡­ all right¡­ okay. So, monsters, telekinesis, and aliens are definitely real,¡± Gina whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Odessa looked back at her and over at the bits of Liz. Gina caught herself, ¡°And ghosts. They¡¯re real too. Clearly¡­ And things that like to eat ghosts. Jesus...¡±

    Eva softly said what sounded to Nadia like a quick prayer before crossing herself. Luna bowed her head with her hands clasped but didn¡¯t neglect tugging her older sister away from the scene. A few moments later, Erin made a similar gesture and sighed.

    ¡°Can we please get the froop out of here? An emergency exit or grab something to break the glass?¡± Eva urged. They looked around at one another and quietly agreed.

    Luna practically led the group towards and through an access hallway. They slowed a little ways in due to the all-consuming blackness. Gina eagerly volunteered her phone flashlight and Eva dug a container of mace out of her massive purse for some measure of protection. She additionally rummaged through the deepest recesses, noting that one of her uncles actually bought her a safety hammer for cars trapped underwater. Unfortunately, she determined that she left it in her mom¡®s car.

    Odessa and Gina each checked around for something but couldn¡¯t find anything more heavy-duty than nail clippers and Ace bandages. Erin suggested that they might have to call 911 and come up with a credible story to explain things. Eva gave a sigh of displeasure but didn¡¯t otherwise respond.

    While keeping the light steady, Gina tried to make a call. It connected to emergency services, as far as the screen claimed, but the dial tone was broken up by harsh buzzing like an awakened beehive. She leaned close to try and speak into the receiver as glimmers of half-spoken words barely made it through the noise.

    ¡°Hello! Hello? Is this 911? Emergency services? We are trapped in an abandoned building, and we need rescue.¡±

    She prepared to give the address when a sharp sound cut through. She just missed it. ¡°I¡¯m sorry? Could you please repeat that?¡±

    ¡°¡­oh¡­oooo¡­NO. No one is coming. You¡¯re going to die here¡­¡±

    It was the voice was of that fake woman. Several of the girls screamed, and it took great effort from Gina not to toss or drop her phone. They screamed even more when the light on the cell phone briefly went out.

    Fiddling with the settings, Gina did her best to keep the light shining around them. With a grimace, she informed the group, ¡°The battery is at 4%. And I just charged this.¡± Odessa, Erin, and Eva couldn¡¯t even get their phones to turn on. Quietly, Gina noted, ¡°Supernatural creatures sometimes drain batteries and electricity on ghost-hunting shows. What should I do?¡±

    Nadia dug around in her purse for the fancy phone that replaced her older one. She stared at it, willing it to still have enough energy. Mercifully, it was actually at 98%. She urged Gina to turn off hers to save the last of the battery as she tapped for the flashlight, along with activating every power-saving option available. With the brighter beam from her model, they could see the air was saturated with foul, nasty unknown bits sprinkling from above like toxic snow. She wrapped her cardigan around her face to keep the worst of it out. Eva dug into her bag and produced several handkerchiefs for the rest of the girls.

    Nadia endeavored to wrap one around Luna¡¯s face for protection, but the kid fussed and grumbled. She also still dragged on her sister. In any other situation, Nadia felt like she had half a mind to scold her about that. When everyone had their face coverings secured, Nadia looked around at the group. She paused when her eyes landed on Gina. The girl was staring, pale and stock still, just above her head.

    A quick swing of the light revealed dark rippling through the ceiling. The monster was back. The girls scattered in all directions as a black, twisting mass slammed down. Erin clenched her teeth and tried to repeat what she had just done with the tile, pushing the monster back and keeping it from hurting anyone. Only, she had no idea how this worked.

    When she caught the projectile flying right at her head, it was just a reflex action, like how she drilled her students on how to play. She wasn¡¯t thinking about what technique or effort she was doing more deeply than ¡°STOP¡±. Trying to replicate it intentionally didn¡¯t work. Everyone expected her to do the same thing again, to protect them from this terrible creature, but she couldn¡¯t do anything.

    Fortunately, the creature¡¯s anemone-like tentacles didn¡¯t probe very far before receding back through the ceiling. Reassembling as a group, they sprinted deeper into the access hallway. Erin rationally knew there had to be an emergency exit or access point nearby.

    Her mind frantically reassembled the external features of a department store. Big box with a lot of bricks and some scattered trees. But there had to be at least some sort of loading area that usually went overlooked by the public. Luna was still pulling on Nadia to run, and Erin knew she would¡¯ve felt the same way in her shoes. Just run away with the cute girl she had fallen for.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Eva managed a few squirts of her mace at the entity but didn¡¯t seem to connect. Gina, for all her supernatural enthusiasm earlier, looked like her legs were about to drop out from beneath her. She quivered and trembled, to the brink of hyperventilating. Desperately, Erin wished that she could¡¯ve taken her aside to comfort her, like the poor scared kid she was, but all she could do in that frantic moment was nudge her along to keep up. Odessa seemed to be doing the best out of all of them, but Erin figured she was just running on adrenaline too.

    When the tendrils dropped, she couldn¡¯t help but notice that Odessa was the first to dash out of the way. In fact, for one strange moment in the low light, it almost felt to her like the girl had started moving before the creature dropped out of the ceiling. She always had excellent reflexes though.

    The problem with running in the same direction, Erin feared, was this horrible creature would try to get ahead of them, like a cruel game of whack-a-mole. But she had an idea.

    They had no certainty for what sense or trigger the monster operated on, but Erin kept her voice low and guarded as she ordered the others to cling to the walls. It seemed to favor dropping in from below, so this would hopefully allow them to keep separate but close enough to stay out of its way.

    She put them in the basic organization of a volleyball rotation. Since there were six of them, it functioned perfectly. The only problem was Luna and Nadia weren¡¯t accustomed to it. Luna seemed to swiftly and innately understand what to do though. However, she didn¡¯t want to leave her sister¡¯s side. Still, it worked. Gina recovered somewhat with the familiar structure as Erin assigned Eva and Odessa to watch different directions and give warnings. Even though they surely looked peculiar as a rotating mass going down the hallway, it helped until they came to a T junction.

    Everyone looked to Erin for the answer of which direction to take. She hadn¡¯t anticipated there would be a choice. Neither direction looked particularly promising, but the left felt like it would take them closer to where they had originally entered and the direction of the mall. However, the opposite direction could promise a back door that would¡¯ve been out of the way from crowds. She didn¡¯t notice any emergency doors nearby when she ran into the abandoned department store, but she hadn¡¯t been paying particularly close attention to that.

    If she made the wrong choice, then they could be boxed in with a dead-end corridor. However, it didn¡¯t make sense that this place would have something like that. There had to be a way out. And there was one, so long as they found something to smash the glass on the side. For now, her mind basically flipping a coin, she directed the group to make a right turn.

    Nadia¡®s cell phone light was vital but also so desperately limited. Along the way, the girls freaked out about cords and tufts of ceiling material stretching down as false alarms of the monster. The passageway had a gray door on the left. Odessa jiggled the handle before kicking and shoving it, but it didn¡¯t even budge. Nadia had seen examples of liminal spaces online and the high-walled, dirty but otherwise blank space definitely qualified. Luna dragged on her so hard that she nearly stumbled off her feet.

    Putting up with Luna¡®s tug so far, Nadia now narrowed her eyes and admonished her sister, ¡°Why are you doing that?¡± With wide, pleading brown eyes, Luna simply answered, ¡°You need to run. You all need to run now.¡± The rotation of the group wobbled but carefully continued as they listened to Luna¡¯s urgently whispered words.

    What if she knew something they didn¡¯t? Nadia reflected on the possibility. Strange things had been happening with her younger sister. First odd comments, then the shimmering glow and peculiar knowledge. How could she possibly know such things? One possibility that occurred to Nadia was that her sister somehow had a psychic power. It could be just one of those things that family otherwise ignored. Perhaps the only other outward sign was Murat¡¯s interest in the supernatural.

    No matter what it was or why, Nadia understood that it might be folly to just ignore her as a panicking little kid. So, she proposed running to the group. Eva narrowed her eyes. ¡°Isn¡¯t that what we¡¯re doing? If we just flat-out sprint then surely that dram thing is going to know and try to pick us off. Plus, there¡¯s all kinds of crump we could trip over.¡±

    Despite that sensible explanation, Luna¡¯s urgent plea didn¡¯t diminish. Gina squeezed her face covering and tried to take the strongest breath. ¡°I don¡¯t mind running. I just know I¡¯m totally the fastest and I don¡¯t wanna accidentally leave someone behind or go barreling into an unseen wall and knock myself out. That¡¯s all. Yeah.¡±

    Eva actually managed a quick smile listening to that. She looked like she had a lot to say in response but held her tongue. Odessa chimed in softly, ¡°We shouldn¡¯t run unless we know where we¡¯re going.¡±

    The lingering absence of the creature didn¡¯t go unnoticed by Erin as they slowly advanced through the right hallway. If only she still had her gun, even though she doubted it would be the most efficient weapon here, she would at least feel a little safer.

    Moving as efficiently as possible, they sighted a left turn and cascaded with relief when it abruptly led to a push door labeled with grime and the words ¡°emergency fire exit¡± along with the regular alarm warnings. Considering the place still had a little bit of electricity with the earlier scattered lights, Erin fully expected that an alarm would sharply sound. No matter. At the worst, someone found out and they would have to deal with the consequences of their trespassing later. At best, they could get far enough away that no one would ever realize it was them who did anything.

    As a unified group, they all pushed on the bar as hard as they could. They expected a rush of light and a blast of glorious fresh air. Instead, they were greeted with an impossible sight. Beyond, was not only another hallway, cloaked in the menacing shroud of darkness, but branches and doors stretching off in a seemingly endless array. Some went lower, and others rose into the sky like vertical shafts. And the meager light only revealed the closest section, but it was clear they had entered into an absolutely enormous space.

    Under her breath, Eva muttered bleakly, ¡°Fudging stick¡­¡±

 [17] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 17 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [17]

    The girls lingered at the threshold, uncertain whether to push forward or double back. The monster decided for them by dropping right behind and urging them through into the strange space. That seemed intentional, like a spider urging a fly onto its web. Erin tried to retaliate, but the tendrils were unrelenting and rolled through the area like a malevolent, chaotic car wash brush. Odessa shot through the doorway and pulled the lingering Gina through. Even though the creature could easily pass through physical structures, the heavy doorway provided a sense of separation.

    Erin avoided shutting the door until its arms, connected to screaming buried faces, were right there. The weighty click of the lock made her heart skip a beat. For some reason, the monster didn¡¯t advance through the door. She had no illusions that this obstacle would do much for very long, which left them with the alien geometries ahead.

    Luna eased up on her dragging of Nadia and simply clung to her instead. Throughout this entire ordeal, Nadia felt adrift, as though she were simply watching events that were occurring to someone else through a dream camera. She fully expected to find herself having suddenly nodded off in one of the changing rooms. The girls would come to check on her, with bright-eyed amusement that she was so drowsy, and decide to go grab some iced coffee from the food court. But this stretch of reality persisted. Which was another mark against the possibility that she had any say in its direction.

    Erin was the one with powers, and she deserved them. If Nadia wound up with a similar one then she was liable to blast open a wall by accident or collapse the entire ceiling down upon them. Her abilities were clearly language understanding along with a perception of these creepy creatures. Although, it was peculiar that this was the first time she¡¯d actually seen what Erin was seeing. Another thing she would have to process and figure out.

    The girls backed into the sprawling structure of hallways, granting the heavy door a wide berth. Despite the behavior of the hungry creature so far, it either didn¡¯t seem to want to pass through the doorway or wasn¡¯t able. The rules and rationale dictating its behavior felt fuzzy, but Erin was relieved that they at least seemed to have a moment to catch their breath and figure out their next step. Her eyes met Nadia¡®s.

    There is so much expectation in that gaze, too much. Even though the other girls weren¡¯t directly looking at her, she could feel their perception on her. That wasn¡¯t another power, just the weight of responsibility. She knew it well. She never thought she would become a teacher someday, vested with the hopes and dreams of so many young lives.

    The worst day of it was when she had to put together the main teams. The chasm between an adult and a child felt especially vast. So many of the prospects tried to wine and dine her with gifts and words. And the heart flare anger of every girl who had to be cut remained inside her like a festering ulcer. She had to choose, she had to be the confident one. It was a challenge in something as simple as sports and impossible when lives were on the line.

    No matter how she looked, she had the lifetime and experience of an adult. So did Nadia, but Erin was the one who ran after the monster. She was the one who started this, and she would finish it with all of them getting out safely. But the problem had multiplied into a labyrinth.

    At random, Gina commented, ¡°Could be worse. Could be an endless IKEA. Actually, that would probably be better, since we wouldn¡¯t starve, because we could just eat Swedish meatballs. Doesn¡¯t this place at least have a working water fountain?¡±

    It had been a while since Nadia was in any sort of Sears store. But it occurred to her that there probably would¡¯ve been something to drink from towards the restrooms. Maybe even a vending machine. They probably would¡¯ve shut off the water and emptied everything a long time ago. However, considering this place didn¡¯t make any sense, it still seemed like something to hope for.

    Stepping over to the main juncture of several corridors, Eva crouched like a baseball catcher and rummaged around her bag. It wasn¡¯t long before she produced a couple of plastic water bottles. Slowly, reverently, Gina bent down, pulled down her face mask, and carefully accepted the offering of one bottle, as though it were a delicate, holy relic. She moved gingerly, not trusting her shaky arms until the water was at her lips. A ragged gurgle gripped her throat, but she forced it down with a gulp. Even though it looked like she urgently wanted to suck down the entire thing, she held it out to pass along.

    Odessa was the next to partake, sipping frugally. Erin took a quick swig. And Nadia just lightly wet her mouth. Luna shook her head and reiterated ¡°run¡± with a quiet but urgent whisper. They had run though. What more could they possibly do? Eva was the last to drink, just taking a little and then recapping it.

    Following the water, she dug out a few gently crushed energy bars. Pausing, she scolded herself for ¡°doing it backward¡±. The others assured her they were not hungry. What she didn¡¯t have though was a ball of red thread, to keep them from getting lost.

    Nadia considered pulling out threads on her white cardigan to make a trail, but the stitching was too tight, and the threads appeared too thin to do that easily. Odessa mentioned that she often carried a seam ripper with her but not this time. Nothing any of them were wearing appeared hand knitted. Once again though, Eva¡®s bloated bag came through.

    She had a piece of pink chalk in a side pocket. During one of the pre-match strategy meetings, she used it to write out things they needed to focus on. She enjoyed the color so much that she randomly stuffed it in her bag to find some use for at home before returning it next week. Never before had Erin been so happy to know a student swiped school supplies.

    It wasn¡¯t the biggest piece of chalk and the marks needed to be significant to show up on the pale, weathered walls. For maximum effect, she focused drawing on the darkest, grungiest-looking sections. That meant she needed to carefully wipe the chalk clean with each new effort and hopefully not worry too much about what the sticky grim that got all over her fingers was made of. Eva quietly lamented that she didn¡¯t pack any hand sanitizer. Fortunately, Gina had a big bottle and gladly squeezed some out for her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not hungry, but I could really go for some Swedish meatballs,¡± Gina admitted. She wasn¡¯t at the point of drooling, but she definitely appeared close to it. Eva again offered one of the bars, but Gina assured her she was fine. Odessa also extolled the virtues of meatballs even though she was allergic to the onions most people put into them. Gina promised that when they got out, she would make her all the meatballs without onions she could take. Nadia added, remembering something that Sharon said, that she would make Odessa peanut butter cupcakes. To this, the girl practically swooned with delight. From there, they served back and forth concepts and ideals of food like it was a game. Eva looked annoyed but kept her tongue firmly planted in her mouth.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Erin was glad that the group was keeping up their spirits. It was easy to look at everything around them and lose hope. No one had blamed her for how this started, but she did. Over the last day, she felt so frantically terrified, unwilling and unable to look out the window to enjoy the mysterious fog. Her encounter with the other type of black ceiling crawler had reinvigorated her though and it actually felt like she had punched something in the face which wanted to make her and Nadia sad.

    The tar man and others had forced her back inside the safe shell but the way this creature suddenly appeared when everything should¡¯ve been happy just ignited a spark inside her. No more being afraid of these monsters. They should be afraid of her. So, she just acted without thinking and everyone else had to pay. She swallowed hard and imagined a little pinprick of discomfort, that she couldn¡¯t actually feel, deep in her stomach.

    The girls advanced through the hallway methodically. Nadia wasn¡¯t happy when she checked her phone and discovered it was already down to 80% but decided it wasn¡¯t worth worrying the others until it became a more imminent issue. Some obstacles appeared but were mostly scattered, torn papers, keyboards, and random trash they could easily step around. They had easily covered the entire swath of the department store before slowing down and considering another route.

    Eva turned her head and craned her ear towards some strange noise before outright inquiring, ¡°What is that?¡± The other girls paused and even held their breath. A noise was there, above both their beating hearts and the decrepit, rotten settling. It was sharp and irregular, rising and falling. The possibility that excited Erin was that it might be a slightly open or broken window with the wind whistling through a crack. And it seemed to be coming from not too far ahead of them.

    While this was an impossible place, she held on to the possibility that if they explored it far enough, they might find a corner that led back into their world. Hurrying carefully, the girls kept their eyes focused on the ceiling for any signs of attack and behind them to make sure that the marks remained as a trail of breadcrumbs to lead them back.

    The weird noise was louder but no more distinct. It felt like something just at the edge of perception. Just a little bit closer, and they would be able to discern it. Luna soon started dragging her sister away from where they were going, but it did nothing to slow her down. She softly whimpered and started to speak when clarity about the sound finally arrived.

    It was whistling. Not some wind whistling though. It had to be the whistling of a person. Another impossibility. No one was down here. How could they possibly survive? It had to be another trick from the anglerfish monster, Erin resolved. But everyone was moving closer to it.

    Loud buzzing startled the group as Gina turned around and fumbled with her purse. She explained with a stammer, ¡°P-phone! It¡¯s my phone. I thought I turned it off.¡± It soon made the default sound that it was receiving a call. They had to be close. Perhaps wherever they actually were was near enough that they could somehow get a message through.

    Pulling out her phone, Gina spun around a few times and frowned as the screen kept shutting off in the dark. She puzzled over the fact that she now had 40% battery life but figured that she must¡¯ve just misread it earlier in the dim light. It didn¡¯t wanna stay on though, despite the improved battery. Stretching and bending with the phone gripped in one hand, Gina explained, ¡°I can almost get it. I¡¯m sure I can call 911 if I can just get it to stay active.¡± She started tapping on the screen but scoffed when it froze. Shaking it didn¡¯t help, but she did that anyway. She also started to separate from the rotation of the group as she went deeper into the hall to pick up the snippets of connection the phone was teasing her with.

    ¡°Come on¡­come on. It¡¯s right there. Connect, Dr. Bright!¡± Eva was the first to notice that Gina was getting too far away while Nadia puzzled at who the heck Dr. Bright was supposed to be. Before Eva could get anything out, a wet, viscous, weighty mass erupted from the ceiling and flowed into space separating them. The monster was back, just waiting to divide and conquer them.

    The tangle of tendrils knotted around Gina¡®s legs. She screamed and squeezed her phone to her chest. Tumbling to the cement, she fought to free herself. Her forehead had an oozing gash and her arms looked scrapped from where she protected herself from the worst of her fall.

    Urgently, the other girls fought to get around the mass and free their friend. Erin begged whatever force might be responsible for her power that she needed it right now to rip this wretched monster to pieces. She clenched and strained and pulled and pressed every physical muscle in her being in the hopes that it might connect to the psychic muscle responsible for what she had been able to do. But there was nothing.

    The monster whipped Gina upwards, thrashing, screaming, and kicking. The mass of tortured, ravenous faces pressed against its black surface like a sea of drowned souls struggling to free themselves from the depths. All hope seemed lost until the creature shifted and tensed, as though caught on some odd structure. It turned and twisted until Gina finally got enough leverage to pull herself free and wriggle out of its wretched mass.

    Towards the side, they saw yet another impossible sight. Where there had been nothing before, now sat a large metal chair brushing up against the curtain of twisting monster tendrils. Odessa took a deep breath and glanced down at her hands and then over at the group. Gina scrambled away, still separated from the others but momentarily safe.

    The creature appeared viciously upset that the chair was there. However, despite how many parts of itself that it threw at the object, it just couldn¡¯t seem to grab it. This made it even angrier. Erin thought that some parts of it actually passed through the chair but, considering the way it was able to phase through the ceiling, she didn¡¯t know if that was significant or not. Gina wanted to be able to sidle along the wall and get back with the group, but she didn¡¯t have enough clearance. Getting to her feet, Gina looked around with a wince and uncertainty.

    Suddenly, her phone rang. Scrambling backwards, she just barely missed parts of the creature lunging for the sound.

    ¡°Gina!¡± Eva screamed. Her voice got some tendrils shifting in her direction, but they focused mainly on the chair and the phone. Eva squeezed the face covering against her mouth and tried to breathe normally. As the call on the phone continue to signal, Gina looked over at it and the group. Determination set in her eyes.

    She yelled sharply, ¡°Be safe! Get out of here if you can! I¡¯ll try to lead it away and get back! Red Rock Riders Rule!¡° Rushing into the darkness, both the monster and Gina vanished from sight.

 [18] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 18 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [18]

    Eva started to scream, but it only came out as a strangled squeak. She suffocated it with both hands, trembling and wrestling with herself until an overwhelming, ringing silence drummed in everyone¡¯s ears.

    ¡°You dumb blonde bubble blower. You can¡¯t just get all heroic like that. You better get back here, and safe, as soon as possible. I know you can hear me. You better make it. Or I¡¯ll kick your¡­favorite volleyballs on your roof.¡± Eva sniffled and turned away from the group. No one knew what to say after that. Erin felt sick.

    In the back of her mind, she always envisioned little horror stories about accidentally leaving a student behind, usually moderated by jokes involving selling off a certain misbehaving kid. The jokes typically didn¡¯t come from her but from around the teachers'' lounge and fortunately didn¡¯t involve any of her current charges. Had she just seen someone for the last time?

    Gina always played libero. It was a unique position. They had to stay in the back and couldn¡¯t get too aggressive, but they were a vital link on the court. The rest of the team depended on them to be there and, despite her jokes and sarcasm, Gina was swift and tenacious. Others may have been naturally faster, but she never saw anyone else push themselves as hard without taking a break. And Eva and Gina were quite the team, with Eva as the middle blocker, working together.

    Early on, she thought she might need to separate them because they would always take snipes at one another. Soon, however, she realized that was just their way of communicating. They¡¯d lived near each other since they were babies.

    Erin once caught half of a tale shared between them that Eva babysat Gina, despite the fact they were so close in age. Gina also apparently had this big, mysterious secret plan for what she wanted to do when she got older. Eva would always shut her down whenever she tried to explain it to anyone. If she was to be believed, then it wasn¡¯t worth the time and effort of listening. Erin had always been vaguely, morbidly curious, but it wasn¡¯t her place as their teacher to dig.

    Eva bent her knees and tried to find comfort in the position without touching the slimy wall. It seemed impossible. She scrunched her brow and looked around before saying, ¡°What happened to that flopping chair that came out of nowhere?¡±

    Nadia provided the best sweep of light, but the mysterious piece of furniture had disappeared as swiftly as it had shown up. Odessa¡®s scrutiny especially focused on the place it had been. Nadia briefly aimed the light toward the ceiling, now well aware of how the creature had come after them several times from above. The only thing up there were blank expanses of darkness that consumed the illumination umbrella and the ragged remains of insulation. No flying chairs. Odessa¡®s gaze lingered.

    They all took a moment and listened to what sounds persisted around them. Any trace of the horrifying beast and Gina had long receded. Brief, untraceable sounds filled the void. Some came like a whisper but quit the moment anyone noticed and spoke. Erin imagined those were other creatures plotting their demise, but rationally deduced that it had to be the normal deterioration of this place, one broken thing settling against the other. The problem was they had no idea how big this version of the Sears actually was.

    There could be so many unknown levels stacked on top of each other, like a tenuous layer cake, that simply walking around risked bringing the whole structure down. She didn¡¯t want to share this speculation with the others because they all had plenty to worry about. And it was only speculation. If this place obeyed any reasonable structure then there wouldn¡¯t be a mess of passageways and entrances to begin with.

    She could feel what adrenaline had been driving her until this point begin to fade. Sleep sought to claim her, but she fought back. Her body had been warped and rejuvenated by alien doctors. To go with her amazing flexibility, she should¡¯ve had the energy to run, sprint, and fight for days on end until¡­

    Erin¡¯s head dropped, but she took a short breath and lifted it up. She¡¯d already been dragged under by one Bubsy-cuddling nap, she didn¡¯t need more rest and she wasn¡¯t going to take it until they found Gina and made sure she was safe. Anxiously, she slapped around the handkerchief masking her face from everything sloughing off the dark holes above.

    She wanted to do something, she had to do something. Gina led the creature away and it was suggested by her words that they should either run too or wait here for her return. But waiting was the worst part. If they actually found some exit or tripped between the folds in universes and made their way back to their own, then they couldn¡¯t be sure that Gina would be able to follow them or, if they even tried to backtrack to save her, that the way would be there for her¡­ If she could make it back to them.

    On the flip side, she might¡¯ve already found her way out and was nervously waiting for them to join her. She said they needed to get away, echoing Luna¡¯s pleas. It could be the worst thing possible to just stay here and sit still. But it wasn¡¯t really her choice.

    Erin put it to the group. Gina told them to get away. Do they follow through with that or do they wait for her, knowing that at least Nadia¡¯s phone light could be a beacon to lead her out of the darkness? Even though Gina said that her phone suddenly had 40%, Erin feared that that could¡¯ve been an illusion, or some manipulation, by the monster.

    Luna reiterated her expected response and simply encouraged, ¡°Run.¡± Eva shook her head and set feet. ¡°That idiot is out there. I can¡¯t possibly leave her to her own devices. I know what she said. Stuff that bird, I am staying here.¡±

    Erin worried that this was essentially becoming a vote and, before long, they would again be separated. She contributed, ¡°I can¡¯t abandon Gina, no matter what she said or what she may have wanted. If we go, we need to head in the direction she went.¡± That sounded like a reasonable compromise.

    Following a deep breath, Odessa responded, ¡°We don''t know what''s going on, but we have to get out of here before anything else happens. We can call for help. We can get police and firemen together to search for her.¡°

    Eva curled her lip back. ¡°Gina is our responsibility. No happy, random second party to shove the responsibility on. If we don¡¯t find her, she just becomes one of those Missing 411 cases that she¡¯s always going on about that she thinks are either because of hungry Bigfoots, aliens, or hollow Earth civilizations. Her mom would never forgive herself. I would never forgive myself.¡±

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    Erin held her hands up. ¡°We are not going to go after one another when that monster is the bigger danger. While I still have breath, I promise all of you, with all my heart, we¡¯re not losing anyone, ever. And no matter what we do, we are not blaming one another. Got it?¡± Odessa flashed Eva a nod. Eva put a hand out, as though this were nothing more than a disagreement over a lost game.

    Nadia lamented the fact that she didn¡¯t have quite the rapport and relationships that the other girls did with one another. Erin still had their respect, despite the changes that happened because of their alien abduction.

    Nadia was just the one who used to be the guy who drove their bus. Important to Erin in shy, quiet ways, but anonymous in so many others. Luna let out a long low groan which they all noticed but no one commented on. Nadia rubbed the kid¡¯s shoulders and held her close. She had given up on dragging her sister toward whatever direction she seemed to think was safest.

    ¡°Tip for anyone who winds up trapped in one of Gina¡®s dumb liminal spaces or whatever this is: make sure to pack gallons of Lysol and a tarp, preferably along with some sort of tent,¡± Eva commented, as she endeavored to make the space around them less nausea-inducing. Use of the hand sanitizer barely rose above the effectiveness of splattering holy water. The girls just made do with what they had to take the pressure off their feet.

    Erin allowed herself a series of micro naps while propped up against the least offensive patch of remaining drywall. Odessa braced her feet underneath herself. Nadia could see them physically shaking. As one of the first items of discomfort since her transformation, Nadia noticed a tense warmth in her right thigh that bordered on a knot. She had some trembling too but taking a deep, careful breath through the handkerchief settled it down. Erin still hadn¡¯t felt the first pain of her renewed life, but she could desperately use more water than the sparing amount she accepted from Eva. Considering the current uncertainty, she pushed that need aside and did her best to ignore her drying skin.

    Nadia reported that her phone now had 62% left as she spread around as much of the LED glow without blinding anyone. It definitely felt like it was eating through the battery much faster than she would¡¯ve expected for such a small but efficient little light. Similar pen lights she used for inspecting parts of the bus at night managed dozens of hours without taking a hit. Likely caused by some aspect of where they were stuck or the horrifying entities. She kept the other parts of the phone off, even though she was tempted to at least try the connection that Gina was testing before things went crazy.

    When they got out of this, Nadia figured that most anything else she might run into normally, like dramas and craziness on a high school campus, would be small potatoes by comparison. Simply worrying about the sales tags and styles of mall clothes and trinkets felt so tiny compared to the wide, terrifying world that seemed to exist beyond.

    To kill some time, they started humming songs with as many lyrics as they could remember. Eva started with Harry Styles and one that Nadia vaguely remembered popping up recently on the phones of groups she drove around. Odessa followed it up with some Bj?rk. Meanwhile, each word out of their mouths was annunciated by tense checks in all directions that nothing horrific was being lured by the sound of their voices.

    Nadia and Erin recognized little snippets but grimly acknowledged that if they started singing the ones that they knew best then it would badly date their musical aptitude. But Erin was used to that mood, so she hushedly belted out well-worn lyrics by Kate Bush. Nadia actually went for one of the Beach Boys tunes and the entire group faintly joined in. At the end of all the lyrics that she could remember, everyone heard a faint but suspicious sound.

    Not whistling this time but something that could definitely be speech. Eva strained and straightened. Each of the girls raised up from the awkward resting position they had settled in, like they were at the starting blocks of a race, ready to outrun some unholy terror.

    Unlike the previous instance, this sound resolved as time passed, but it was coming from the area they had been pushed from by the black entity. Nadia told herself that it couldn¡¯t possibly be Gina, because she ran in the other direction. Yet, it was resolving itself as strikingly human¡­ Or an unsettling approximation of one. Moments later, Eva squeezed her face mask and urged Nadia to point the light down the hallway.

    The sound was one of the Star Trek themes, one of the old ones. Oddly though, interspaced were lyrics.

    Eva softly whispered, with a chuckle, ¡°Oh my gosh, that total dorp.¡±

    Sure enough, emerging out of the dark, there was Gina without her face mask and a hand up to block her eyes from the light. ¡°Oh my gosh, I made it! You have no idea how wild pitch blackness is. If only I had my eyeballs enhanced or polished or whatever Vin Diesel had done in those movies. I hit so many things.¡± Gina brushed her hair back and looked over at them. She seemed especially grimy, and Nadia couldn¡¯t see the scratch on her head from earlier, but it was definitely Gina.

    Eva sprung to her feet and softly asked, ¡°What took you so long, dumb ruts?¡±

    ¡°I had to lose that creature. Maybe there¡¯s something to the kid¡¯s thought on running. I felt like I could run off the entire world. Big nasty didn¡¯t even know where I went. Nor did I. But I haven¡¯t seen a trace of it. All right, so let¡¯s¡­¡±

    The shadows in the dark shifted and it felt like everything tumbled over Gina. Eva knew to scream before she truly understood what was going on. The monster surrounded Gina on all sides and its tendrils scooped her up into a spinning mouth of serrated, eager teeth. She barely had a moment for breath, let alone enough to yell before vivid, messy noises filled their ears.

    All Eva could do was frantically empty her entire canister of mace into the darkness, but it was too late. What remained of Gina fell out of sight, but no one wanted to see it.

 [19] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 19 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [19]

    Just simply calling what burst out from Eva screaming felt desperately short of what rippled through the group like an emotional earthquake. Pain, in human sounds and inhuman ones, tore through the air.

    Mothers separated from their children for the last time knew that sound. Children sitting with the eerily cold and still bodies of their parents knew that sound. The sound of lives ripped apart. The sound that could launch hundreds of tears. Anguish and pure, untempered agony. It erupted from Eva followed by blasting fury.

    Anything that happened now didn¡¯t matter to her anymore. She stomped into the darkness with her hand out, willing some tiny measure of what her volleyball coach had done with that tile to overwhelm and tear apart the beast, spill out its unholy entrails and give back the person who mattered most to her, no matter what was left.

    Focusing every molecule of air within her lungs, Eva burst out words that shook everything.

    ¡°GO TO HELL, YOU PIECE OF SHIT, AND FUCKING BURN FOR ALL ETERNITY!¡±

    All the girls felt a strange, ruthless wave wash over them as though a miniature explosion had been summoned through Eva¡®s words.

    Moments later, a fire to push back the shadows erupted from the nearest tendril and flowed to the central mass. Everyone looked on in wide shock as the beast twisted and shrieked with animal ferocity diminishing to hopeless wails. Several messy wet sounds cascaded down, along with billows of smoke and the oppressive smell of sulfur and brimstone. Not much remained when the chaos finally settled.

    Breathing raggedly, Eva bent against the wall, not caring right then about how hopelessly dirty it looked and felt. Luna flashed wide and curious eyes. Trying to hold on to a breath with her voice ragged and cracking, Eva simply said, ¡°Oh my God. My God¡­.¡± She coughed long and hard, yanking the handkerchief away from her mouth and bending over against the wall like she was about to throw up. A second bout continued as she struggled to catch her breath.

    Clearing her throat, Erin was the first of the others to manage words. But, even then, she had no idea how she was doing it and whether she might break down in the next few seconds. She stated simply, ¡°We¡­ need¡­ to get¡­ out of here.¡±

    Eva vigorously shook her head. ¡°Not without her. No way. It didn¡¯t have her for very long¡­ Whatever happened. She might be wounded over there. She might. Just some scratches just just¡­ she could be okay. I can¡¯t leave her I can¡¯t leave her. I have to take her back, whatever there is, whatever whatever they¡­ for her mom, for her family, for everyone. I have to see¡­¡±

    With Erin¡¯s careful support, Eva staggered towards the wretched, ruined darkness full of unknown horrors. She tried her best not to breathe through her nose, but the aromas were already fading with only a faint sense of sulfur remaining. Holding her recovered handkerchief to her mouth did very little to help. Despite Nadia offering up as much light as she could, it was still desperately difficult to see anything. Tears flowed freely from Eva¡¯s face. She didn¡¯t bother wiping them away, and she struggled to see what remained of Gina.

    ¡°I finally found you guys, on my gosh. I thought I was done for, but I lost it. Come on, let¡¯s¡­ what¡¯s going on?¡±

    Turning back the other direction, the girls were greeted with an impossible sight: Gina standing there with her phone at her side projecting a diffuse beam. Her head and golden hair were streaked with a splash of blood dripping down to her eyebrows but beginning to dry. Her forearms looked scratched and oozing as she fussed and glanced around the group.

    Breathing harshly through her nose, Eva swung around and hurled hissing spit at the new arrival. ¡°Who the hell are you and what the hell are you?!¡±

    This second Gina looked back with wide, terrified eyes and stumbled as though struck. ¡°What? It¡­it¡¯s me. What happened? How long was I gone? Time skip? My name is Regina Louise Ferris, like the wheel and like Bueller. You¡¯re my best friend. At least, you used to be. I think you are. I hope you are. I remember all about the clay willy in third grade. If you need proof. I hope¡­Eva?¡±

    Eva¡®s hands dropped. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. She shook slightly and her hands moved about as though she had forgotten how to use them. Odessa looked similarly shocked with her hand poised over her stomach. Erin felt like a statue but also a leaf that might blow away at the first sign of a breeze.

    Nadia was the first to say what everyone was holding inside, ¡°You¡­died.¡± Gina glanced over in confusion, as though uncertain if Nadia was talking about her, to her, or to someone else that she hadn¡¯t noticed yet.

    ¡°What? Dead? No no no no no no no. It looked kind of crazy, and I probably fell over everything completely covered in tetanus along the way. And it felt like I ran off the entire world, but I somehow got away from that horrible creature. Like it just went blink and was gone without a trace. Dimensions, I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t ever want to see it again. But not dead. I¡¯m not gonna be the second person in the area to die in a Sears. Nothing against Liz, I¡¯m sure she was happy to work here¡­ when she was alive. Here in this¡­ Wait, what?¡±

    This second Gina¡¯s puzzlement soon rippled to the entire group as they looked around and realized the long spooky hallway they were in had suddenly changed. It looked far more like a human structure, like the hallway as they first approached it. The ceiling was still torn to heck with wires and insulation showing but the grime was not quite as thick. Scattered papers and dusty fragments littered the ground at their feet and¡­ not too far behind Gina appeared a simple emergency exit doorway with the bold warning that an alarm would sound if opened.

    Exuberantly, Gina dashed towards it. Everyone else was locked in place by what felt like a dozen different confusions and fears. Nadia well remembered how things turned out with the last emergency door. She couldn¡¯t face that again. Too many disappointments in a row. It was like the universe had designated her its chew toy. The love of her dreams lost in terror about unseen monsters, lives rewritten, new siblings vanishing immediately, bewildering sights, ghosts, and things far worse. The kind of horrible fantasies she just wanted to sink into on a quiet drive, without any fretful thoughts. What would this next threshold bring?

    Turned out that it brought an absolutely overwhelming blast of light as though they had just stepped onto the surface of the sun. For a brief moment, Nadia contemplated that it was a door opening right onto the sun and they were all about to be vaporized. But, despite cries of discomfort from Gina about the sudden brilliant blast, she and they remained. Furthermore, the oppressive, musty, choking air around them cleared somewhat with the faint traces of a breeze.

    That felt like enough. All the girls rushed to their feet and scampered towards the opening with their hands sheltering their aching eyes. And this time, she gladly embraced Luna¡¯s insistent tugging.

    The brisk, overwhelming, cleansing outdoors was awash with pure light. The sky still had several overcast patches and a general haze that somehow still hadn¡¯t burned off from earlier, but it was brighter than anything any of them had seen in what felt like ages. They coughed and cleared their lungs while whipping off their makeshift facemasks. Eva hustled around to a planter at the edge of the walkway and finally emptied her stomach. The others felt balanced on the edge of queasy, ready to tumble off, but the fresh air soon brought calm.

    It was easy to tell that they all look like a mess. None of their white or pink tops looked the color they were supposed to anymore. Odessa¡®s boots were messed up and her jeans were developing holes. In fact, the only one of them who looked close to normal was Luna. She just had some stray smudges on her cheeks. Nadia felt more like Lara Croft at the end of the game than any kind of fashionista. The white cardigan was probably a total loss but at least the stretchy jeans had served with honor.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Things got ever so slightly weirder when everyone checked their belongings and was bewildered to find that none of their phones had diminished batteries lower than 90%. Eva clung to her massive, now-weathered purse, and shook her head as she gazed over at Gina. She handed out both bottles of water for everyone to polish off. Erin urged her to take the first sip, but Eva waved her hand and gestured to the mess she had made amongst the plants. She promised that the first water fountain and bathroom on this side of the shopping center would get her full attention. Each of them gave a little sigh of contentment imagining that as they drink.

    The last one to partake of a bottle was Gina, who gladly handed back a generous portion for Eva to finish. Restraining a cough, Eva clasped her hands and looked friend deep in the eyes for a long time. She had just seen the light in those eyes go out, and yet here they still were. Bright, bewildered, concerned, and uncertain. But absolutely the eyes of the girl she knew her entire life. Somehow.

    Eva looked around at the other girls. Just as broken and exhausted, as though they¡¯d been through a secret war that no one else know. She coughed once more and cleared her throat before saying, ¡°Let¡¯s get cleaned up. There should be some bathrooms down a bit that aren¡¯t usually too busy.¡± The shaking that Nadia and Erin both felt was finally beginning to ease. They all gladly left the shadow of the abandoned Sears while Eva said one more silent prayer for what lives may have been lost in there and forgotten.

    They stuck together in something resembling the volleyball rotation they used to keep safe in that horrible place. The friction and separation of before were firmly forgotten. The only tension was the uncertainty of the Gina they had brought back versus the one they left with.

    The crowds regarded them like the oddest form of discarded hobos and gave them a wide berth. They didn¡¯t care. The girls practically sprinted the last couple of steps on their way to the bathrooms, first holding down together and liberally using the water fountains at the front. Some of them splashed their faces but most waited until later to really wash up. The dripping wrecks they had become provided endless, strange amusement. They were here, they were alive.

    The camaraderie and closeness lingered as the decorum of the women¡¯s restroom settled in. Nadia lingered back and held her breath. This was the first time she¡¯d properly been in a public one outside of cleaning it and, even then, her shift manager had a certain thing about Paul cleaning those restrooms and often assigned it to Big Ruth.

    Unavoidably, he had to become the rescue party venturing into the other side to recover female relatives who couldn¡¯t be left long on their own without risk of breaking a hip. He deeply and desperately apologized each time and kept his head down like a reverent monk averting his eyes from God. No one ever really cared. But he needed to do it.

    That was a very hard thing to break from Nadia¡¯s psyche. She immediately kept her head bowed and felt quietly but hotly flush. I didn¡¯t take Erin long to notice, soon asking if she was alright. Nadia explained as much as she dared, while stumbling over every single one of her words. It definitely felt like a return to form for Paul¡¯s high school years.

    Erin actually worried that Nadia¡®s averted gaze may have had something to do with her or the ability she appeared to have infected the others with to suddenly see the skulking terrors of the world. She let loose chuckling relief that it was something as mundane as this. Of course, she still felt sympathetic to her girlfriend¡¯s nerves about being in a place that she didn¡¯t often go and offered to stick close, if it helped. Nadia reached over and squeezed her hand before venturing towards the nearest open stall.

    The private business was no different than usual, except for the shocking chill of the seat that left her already shaky legs feeling like they were about to dance out from under her. Everyone took their turns. Scrubbing the ruined parts of their outfits was a hopeless cause, but they each did their best. It barely seemed like several soaks in the washing machine would even do the trick. For the rest of their excursion, they would just have to suffice with looking like scruffy urchins. Heaven knew what Gina¡®s mom would think of it. Perhaps they could convince her it was a new fashion trend?

    From the restrooms, the next course of action was food. Food and enough energy to stop the lingering shakes, even though Erin doubted that food alone would help. The fashionable ramen restaurant had several sizable booths and a sparse crowd, as well as its own restrooms along the side. The servers at the restaurant had perfect poker faces that didn¡¯t betray any emotions about their new guests other than an attentive interest in their orders. Eva waffled between a veggie bowl and the biggest meat mass they offered before settling on the latter. The other girls followed similarly.

    After they received and inhaled their drinks, the air around them was left with so many things to say that they didn¡¯t have words for. Gina excused herself to the restroom again as Eva pressed her hands into her chin and watched her friend scamper off.

    Nadia took a deep breath and laid out her key thought. ¡°What happened the other night¡­ Seems to have changed more things about us than it even looked like.¡± Luna peered directly at Nadia.

    Odessa nodded and gazed around. ¡°Clearly. I mean, I¡¯m grateful that whatever happened fixed my injury, but if I could¡¯ve decided between this and like six weeks of rehab, then I would¡¯ve just done the time. And I¡¯m scared of Coach Janice. Almost as much as that whole thing that just happened.¡±

    Eva planted her hands firmly on the table. ¡°We¡¯ve all been changed. Me too. What happened with that creature and whatever I did¡­ That wasn¡¯t natural. My scariest thought of all is that I willed it to some unspeakable place¡­and it actually went there, and that place exists.¡± She shuddered and vigorously rubbed her hands against the table.

    Erin nodded but continued to hold her tongue. They apparently each had abilities, even though it was sharply confusing about what exactly they were. She appeared to have telekinesis, even though it wasn¡¯t on demand, like in movies and shows, but rather during unconscious moments and instances of high emotion.

    There was also the ability to see monsters, which had inexplicably passed to the group despite Nadia not seeing anything previously. Maybe it had to do with the type of entity or location? Nadia appeared to speak other languages, although she wondered if that was an alien universal translator, or some quirk of the way reality shifted. Odessa, she had no idea, but noticed she was faster than usual. However, that could just be from how the aliens repaired her. And Eva.

    Whatever it was that Eva had clearly troubled her. She spoke a curse upon a terrible monster, and seemingly condemned it to an even more terrible fate. And what about Gina?

    ¡°Oh, what a relief, I was still all tensed up before, but now I¡¯m ready for anything!¡±

    Gina emerged from the bathroom with her hands gently wrapped around her taut tummy and relief on her face.

    Then, Gina emerged from the bathroom a second time.

    ¡°Oh, what a relief¡­I was¡­ what?¡±

    Both Ginas stared at each other and regarded the other skeptically. Eva clutched her forehead. After turning around a few times, Gina and her doppelg?nger immediately pointed at the other and proclaimed, ¡°Alien copy! Jinx! Double jinx! Rocky mountain fountain coaster cloister oysters!¡± Only the last bit was simultaneously stumbled over by both girls.

    Yes, indeed, they had all been changed.

 [20] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 20 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [20]

    The two Ginas walked in careful circles, as though they were orbiting, as one of them declared, ¡°Standard rock paper scissors, throw out on a count of three, stare then look. And don¡¯t you dare try to change your throw! Best out of seven.¡±

    ¡°Me? That¡¯s a riotous statement from an imposter. I always play a fair game!¡± The results were quite predictable as each girl kept throwing out exactly the same symbol over and over. Their server just made a quick comment of ¡°Woah, identical twins¡± before serving their meals. Unfortunately, there were  now seven hungry girls and only six entr¨¦es. Before it could come to blows, Odessa frantically waved her hands and assured them that she would gladly cover an extra meal for their ¡°new guest¡± as they left the server to assume whatever they figured made the most sense of the situation.

    Each Gina stumbled over herself to eagerly reimburse her, but she waved a hand and assured them it was fine. They traded identical stink eyes with one another.

    ¡°Sit down¡­¡± Eva commanded but didn¡¯t compel. One of the Ginas briefly started to duck down, as if she was fine with sitting on the floor. The other merely shook her head at her twin and proclaimed, ¡°Why would the real Gina listen?¡±

    ¡°Because the real Gina would know not to tick me off,¡± Eva noted with a scowl. Both girls swiftly found seats amongst the group with much separation as possible from the other. One was situated near Odessa, while the other sat beside Erin. Neither party seemed particularly keen to be host to half this quarrel.

    Each of the twins grabbed for the remaining entr¨¦e with their order and made no headway in acquiring the dish, but plenty of headway in risking a messy spill. Eva had to play Solomon and ask for a separate bowl to divide this and the subsequent meal. That left neither of the Ginas happy as there was a sloppy, uneven distribution of the green onions and meats and plenty of accidental waste of the broth.

    The Odessa side Gina inhaled her ramen but also took time to declare that she had to be the real genuine article and they might as well put it to rest now.

    Erin side Gina also greedily attacked her dish and countered that sounded just like what an imposter would say.

    Nervously, Odessa dug deep into her memories and cautiously offered up this wisdom, ¡°Couldn¡¯t it be like a transporter accident? Wouldn¡¯t you each¡­ equally be real because you¡¯re just copies of one another? Like¡­ Tom and Will Riker, right?¡±

    The Star Trek fan in the two Ginas thoughtfully acknowledged this reference but still don¡¯t like it. ¡°But there was an original of us and now there¡¯s one claiming to be the original. I know who I am, but she needs to know who she is,¡± responded Odessa side Gina.

    The other Gina folded her arms and slurped her ramen broth. ¡°I already know who I am. I went through everything with these girls. I found the way out and I led the monster away. Don¡¯t you try to take ownership of things you never did! You just popped into existence. And uh¡­somehow, I¡¯m gonna prove it.¡±

    Squeezing sharped frustration across her wrinkled brow, Eva jumped in firmly but low enough that their servers would have to be listening attentively to know what they were saying, ¡°You died back there. Maybe the real you.¡±

    Both girls stopped eating and looked over at their friend with bewilderment. It wasn¡¯t too long before the additional order was placed on the table, compounding the sharing option. While processing the bombshell out of Eva¡®s mouth, they each seemed to do quick and dirty arithmetic about how much was left of their meal and how much they were obligated to relinquish. Odessa set down her fork and spoon and squeezed her breath into her chest, as though gripped anew by the memory of what had happened back there. Her eyes trembled but no tears came.

    The sound was still the most vivid part for Nadia, especially the messy crunching, twisting, and dripping. Even if she were to see all the stark details, she doubted it would be as seared in her mind as those sounds were. She took a steady sip of her drink to keep anything from coming back up.

    Luna gently sipped her fizzy matcha green tea soda, same drink as Erin, and probably kept the best poker face. Erin didn¡¯t need to be reminded of her failure. The fact that two versions of her student sat on either side of the booth was cause enough to make her want to scream in terror and run into the darkest recesses of this life, never to be seen again. Thank goodness Nadia was here.

    It took a little while for the weight of that information to be absorbed. ¡°¡­I died? What are you talking about? I ran away safely and hid until I made it back.¡± With less volume but equal insistence, the other Gina touted the same thing. Eva raised a hand for silence and both of them eventually agreed to it.

    ¡°Before the Gina we came back with, very soon before, there was one of you who found us with relief that we were going to be her salvation. I don¡¯t know who or what she was, but she felt exactly like my best friend and neighbor. And she died in the worst way humanly possible, in the dark, not even able to scream, and left there without anyone to bring her home or tell her it¡¯s okay. She¡¯s gone¡­ She could¡¯ve been my best friend or a duplicate of her. It doesn¡¯t matter, because she was equal to her in every way, and she didn¡¯t deserve to suffer and die like that. No one does, but her least of all.¡±

    A silence as stark and oppressive as the darkness they had just barely managed to escape from settled over the group. There was nothing to say, despite so many words being necessary. Listlessly, they each continue to eat. Somehow, both of the Ginas set aside their quarreling over the remaining broth, noodles, and meat. They gradually sifted through what was left until it looked like enough.

    Erin wasn¡¯t far from finishing her meal. She sensed that this should¡¯ve been one of those moments that she occasionally latched onto as a coach, when she plunged into the depths and quagmires of her negative experiences to sift out some pure, carefully constructed nugget of wisdom that might be able to lend comfort to the uncertainty in her girls¡¯ lives. But that tended to be on the level of a hard loss game, fears about not being strong enough, weight uncertainty, a boy who turned away at the wrong time, or heartbreaking family situations. Not barely surviving a man-eating shadow creature who killed your best friend, or someone like them.

    Fortunately, both of the Ginas had words of their own to share, even though they awkwardly stumbled over one another to get them out. They apologized for ¡°some part of them¡± dying, half as a serious sentiment and half as what felt like a typical quip. Eva snorted like she expected this but nodded for them to continue.

    More so, the girls fervently apologized for not being there at their best friend¡®s worst moment of fear and anguish. All they could offer as recompense was what they termed a special hug coming from two directions. Glaring with narrowed eyes, Eva considered it for a few moments before accepting. Only heaven knew how they appeared to the staff with their surreptitious whispers, drastic mood changes, and this.

    Being hugged by two versions of Gina was not something Eva ever would¡¯ve considered or even wished for but the mostly pointless gesture settled a lot of the turbulence still riding around in her stomach and quelled her heart from beating in her ears. It was just as much of a soothing watch as it probably felt for Eva to experience. That didn¡¯t particularly help with Erin¡®s drowsiness though. At this point, she had essentially resigned herself to randomly nodding off until she managed to traverse back to her bed. Unfortunately, her body¡¯s nagging complaints had finally compounded into the first unmistakable pain of this renewed shape.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    She had a headache right in the middle of her forehead. It felt oddly cooling and tingling, likely some variant of a muscle tension headache. As a consequence of everything that happened recently, it wasn¡¯t bad. But the problem was how she had been free of such nuisances since becoming an alien medical experiment. The raw perfection of her youthful refresh hadn¡¯t even lasted a full day. Up next, were her joints going to start popping and aching as everything settled back into the previous equilibrium? And then would Sharon turn against her and toss out the same old torments and pointless punishments? Compared to what the other girls were experiencing, she feared that her own thoughts were painfully trite.

    Despite that little moment shared between friends, the twins were still ruthlessly dedicated to objectively determining which one of them was legitimate and which one was the copy. Luna, tapping the nearest version on the shoulder, promptly gestured to her forehead and then poked at her clothes. It took the one Gina a few careful moments to put together what the kid was trying to say.

    ¡°We don¡¯t match. Not exactly. Your forehead scratch and arm skinning are still oozing slightly but mine have dried. And your clothes look still messed up from everything, like you weren¡¯t present when we washed up afterward. Therefore, it had to be me¡­who made you¡­s-somehow.¡±

    The other Gina¡¯s rebuttals verged towards increasingly frantic by proposing some sort of time skip and flashing her cell phone as proof. However, a couple taps along its surface soon revealed that it didn¡¯t function, or even turn on, looking basically the same as a plastic replica someone might find on display in a store.

    Slumping on the table, this version of Gina quietly resigned herself, ¡°I¡¯m the copy. But I don¡¯t have any crazy insane, arcane wisdom from my alien masters? What a gyp! What¡¯s the point of this if I don¡¯t have any sort of nefarious purpose?"

    The other Gina appeared sympathetic but expressed overwhelming relief as to her identity. Nadia reflected on the last few things she saw of the doomed Gina and couldn¡¯t say everything with absolute certainty but the other one was lacking her cell phone, or maybe she just put it away because it didn¡¯t seem to work. As well, and more incriminating, she didn¡¯t retain the forehead gash that the one they brought back clearly did. It ultimately didn¡¯t matter, as Eva alluded to, but it was some small measure of relief to ascertain their level of reality.

    Quiet shellshock lingered with the replica Gina as she nervously ran through her immediate fears. They couldn¡¯t possibly tell mom that she suddenly had a secret second twin daughter, she would¡¯ve known. And they wouldn¡¯t be able to paint her as some random person who just happened to look like Gina because they were freaking dressed identically. Just coming out with it and the full sci-fi implications could¡¯ve been the best approach, but then it opened up a whole ball of wax with the other girls and uncertainty about their situation. The stuff with the creepy agent guy who had been prying around at their doors was likely only to get worse.

    For a fleeting moment, replica Gina wished something dark with her eyes downcast. Instantly, her sister, who had been an only child, sunk under the table, and popped out next to her. Eva complained bitterly and dubbed her a child, but only for a moment.

    ¡°Listen, this is crazy and wild, and I have no idea what to do about it, but we¡¯re in this together. You¡¯re not going to be left alone. I¡¯m sure Odessa would be willing to take you in. Got that huge house with all those spare rooms, right?¡±

    A nervous, uncertain expression crossed Odessa¡®s face before she hesitantly gave a little nod and confirmed that she could figure something out to take care of ¡°all versions of [her] friend¡±. The girls also proposed imposing on Eva, but she swiftly shut that down. Then, they got into teasing her about the ¡°playful possibilities¡± of having three people together. Eva fumed and briefly wanted to take back all the nice things that she said.

    Despite the boiling, blasting craziness that had consumed her life, Nadia appreciated the group around her. Whatever happened, she knew they would take care of one another. Looking over, her fledgling peace floundered when she caught sight of Erin bent over the remains of her bowl with her eyes placidly fluttering. She looked so worn out. Part of her wanted to take her to bed and just snuggle again.

    She had to do something, even if it was a very small thing. Glancing down at the table, she noticed that the napkins the restaurant used were a certain, firm stiffness between cr¨ºpe paper and construction. It shifted and pulled apart easily, but diligently held its shape after being crumpled. She thought this could work, but she didn¡¯t want anyone to know what she was doing until it was ready. Grabbing several pieces of the paper, she set them practically in her lap and began to carefully fold, flex, and shift the elements of what she wanted.

    Delicate petals, velvety opening, and a strong supportive stem. She had folded flowers like it before, but nothing previously came as simply to her as this precious little project. When it was ready, she looked around at the table. The cluster of conversations and arguments had waned as everyone finished the meal and relaxed. Without preamble, she produced her completely colorless paper flower. It slightly resembled a rose but in more of a loose star pattern with broad petals arching out. Despite being the same color, the leaves along its stem still stood firm.

    Each of the girls marveled at the paper creation. Erin noticed last and smiled warmly at the precious memories it evoked. She felt overwhelming shock when Nadia presented her creation as something for her to have and keep. She commented with awe and appreciation at how Nadia managed to weave simple bits of paper into such a comprehensive and coherent structure. Then, she slightly frowned.

    The flower was good. The flower was downright amazing. Especially, the flower was frankly impossible. Just one more impossible thing. When the server returned, Erin considered and quickly asked for a glass of water. Setting the stem of the flower into the water should have swiftly dissolved it into a mass of paper particles, but it didn¡¯t. Instead, the flower held firm, as though it were a real one that just happened to lose all its coloration. Sucking up the water into which it had been placed, the flower rapidly bloomed and spread with fresh petals and a hint of ivory pollination centers.

    It was alive! She had no idea what this meant for whatever power other than language comprehension that her girlfriend seemed to possess, but she could only guess that it represented something immense and powerful. She could stop tiles in mid-air and see monsters. Eva could scream those monsters into hell and her best friend could make copies of herself. Odessa, she didn¡¯t know yet, but she suspected they would find out eventually.

    What a crazy bunch they were. Like superheroes but totally unprepared for what that represented.

 [21] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 21 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [21]

    ¡°That¡¯s so freaking wild,¡± both versions of Gina chimed in together. ¡°So, your ability is making flowers? Or maybe you can bring inanimate things to life?¡± Eva flashed glares at the Ginas, especially since their voices rose above the reserved tone they had all been keeping to in recounting recent events.

    Even though their food was finished and drinks were almost done, the girls lingered in the restaurant, especially after Nadia¡®s little surprise for Erin. The blooming effect in water continued like a time-lapse of a real flower but with limitations. The flower got fuller and wider, but they soon noticed that the new sections had a gossamer quality compared to the denser, lower section. Nadia and others deduced that the flower wasn¡¯t technically growing but simply shifting its existing structure to give that impression.

    Whether this represented her ability, Nadia felt uncertain. She had attempted to bring her two siblings back from possible erasure. She had teased and prodded many different possibilities and, despite the casual oddities that now orbited around her life, she had no clear notion whether they represented a simple status quo of strangeness or the results of anything she did. The best she could offer to the Ginas was gesturing at the flower and shrugging.

    The nearest Gina pulled out her phone, poised to take a recording of the flower in action. It didn¡¯t take Eva long to warn her against posting it anywhere on social media. Both Ginas were indignant, surprised that Eva thought so little of them to be so ¡°recalcitrant¡±. Eva immediately pressed them to ¡°vigorously¡° define the word recalcitrant. And no using Google.

    ¡°Well, you know. In fact, you know the word so well that it would be unnecessary for me to define it because it¡¯s a word that you already know¡­ You know?¡± Eva leaned forward and leaned on Gina¡¯s answer for more specificity. One Gina ducked down and kept back while the other was in the hot seat. After much floundering, she admitted to thinking it meant a fancy version of obstinate. Eva then asked her to specify her understanding of that word.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a dictionary. I just say things,¡± Gina explained with a pout. It didn¡¯t take much more admonishment than that from Eva for Gina to heave a long sigh and solemnly swear, by her entire Star Trek card collection, that she wasn¡¯t going to post this online. Instead, she clarified, ¡°I have some sparse evidence as proof of the supernatural, and I figured this was worth saving.¡±

    Before starting, both of the Ginas turned to Nadia and made sure they had her permission and approval. She gave it without condition and leaned back as Gina filmed the flower doing its thing from all angles. Eventually, the whole production caught the attention of their servers, who were tidying up. Their immediate questions involved whether it was some sort of trick flower and where did they buy it.

    Eva carefully framed an explanation regarding a hobby shop to the south which sold flowers for magicians and other entertainers without specifically connecting this flower as being bought from there. The server listening gave a nod and didn¡¯t follow up with any other questions. Eva gave Gina a glower of annoyance as she wrapped up the filming.

    Erin delicately extracted the flower from the water glass with bounding uncertainty about what would happen as soon as she picked it up and put it away. The flower appeared fine even though its growth and development paused. Eva offered to volunteer her huge bag for it, but Erin found she could just fit it in hers. Once slipped inside, the flower felt less like a delicate, happenstance creation of paper than an unyielding mass of iron without the weight.

    After taking quick turns in the small side restroom, except for the Ginas, who were restrained by Eva on the off chance that something in the bathroom area had triggered the duplication, the girls made their way out.

    Because of the lingering cloud cover with Swiss cheese holes, it felt later than it was. The dismal darkness of December had yet to settle in, but the daylight hours were definitely getting shorter. Nadia reminded herself she had to get back with Luna before it got dark.

    Gina and other Gina quietly argued whether one or both of them should have a different name. The one with the fake phone, who Nadia assumed was the copy, still looked rather uncertain. The Gina with the working phone celebrated the fact that her phone battery had made quite the recovery. It was actually somehow back at 50%. Yet another mystery.

    Odessa cited a few clothing shops for them to check out next, although she also acknowledged that their grimy and relatively unkempt state might lead to them being turned away. The possibility of stopping at a nail spa was proposed, although the girls suspected such a place could only do so much for their appearance.

    Before they decided on a certain path, Gina used her phone to check in with one of her apps. Moments later, she gave a slight but dramatic gasp before announcing vigorously, ¡°The Captain is here!¡± Considering she had to sift through a variety of vaguely-recalled Star Trek references, it took Nadia the longest of anyone to realize that Gina actually meant the squad captain, Leslie.

    Erin vaguely comprehended how Gina determined that Leslie was in the area. One of the things that the team set up quite a while ago was a ¡°social circle¡° which broadcast when anyone on the team was in a particular area. Typically, it would have reports about where they went in a given week or recently and what kind of stuff they recommended to others.

    Paul had some experience with using various apps, but it swung one of two ways. Either he received information so sparingly that it wasn¡¯t worth paying attention or notifications came so heavy and furious at the wrong times for meeting up that he turned off the functionality. It was one of those things that he knew teenagers would care for more than anyone else. This group had it thoroughly organized. Maybe Odessa or Gina could set up her fancy new phone, so it worked right.

    Erin asked Gina if it said where Leslie was right now. Gina reported that Leslie had turned off specific location services, but she would try to text her and verify. The group wandered idly until a chime came from Gina¡®s phone.

    ¡®Please, don¡¯t look for me,¡¯ read the text message. Gina was immediately taken aback and frantically shared her phone screen around. The other Gina reflected the same emotions. Erin winced and squeezed a hand to her chest. Her mind was split between two varieties of concern.

    The first involved the curses and gifts they had somehow all wound up with because of their unexplained encounter last night. Based on the scattershot nature of what they were now able to do, she could only vaguely imagine what poor Leslie might be saddled with. The other involved her sharp memories of the first day Leslie nervously crept into her office and wanted to try out for the Red Rock High¡¯s girls'' volleyball team. Rather than having varsity and junior varsity like some schools, Red Rock had a large overflow pool of players and alternates. She had to keep a hard cap and find spots and playing time for as many girls as possible.

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    The Leslie who arrived at her office that day looked like a nervous fall leaf in human form who might sail off into the sky at the slightest hint of wind. Her hair, unsure if it wanted to be a reserved brown or a bold red, was tied up in a careful, short ponytail emulating the squad captain at the time, and she had on a volleyball uniform in the school colors even though it looked a little too big for her.

    ¡°Coach¡­ I have to be on the team!¡± As soon as she spoke those words, Erin could see all her nerves and tremors fall away. The girl diligently ran through a rehearsed but strong argument for her inclusion on the lowest rung of the volleyball team. She would get her seniors water and help out with tidying the team room while doing a variety of other menial tasks. She assured Coach Reeves that she would earn her place, whatever it turned out to be. By the end of all that, Erin could see that Leslie was barely holding it together. The poor girl nearly dropped to the floor and broke into tears right there. She desperately apologized for that display, but it hadn¡¯t been the first time for Erin.

    On that day, she couldn¡¯t guarantee Leslie that she would have a spot and the girl understood. Fortunately for Leslie, she arrived right when there was an unexpected reshuffling of players due to injury and family emergencies. She was one of the lowest alternates, but she was unrelenting, stoic, and focused before every opponent. Erin often saw her staying late to practice.

    It didn¡¯t take her that long at all to make squad captain. She was all business on the court while never giving a cold shoulder to any of her teammates. When Odessa got injured last night, she flew through the air faster than any play to be at her side and make sure she was alright. After whatever they encountered on the bus, Leslie seemed especially reserved, deferring to Tonya. But then Erin had a lot on her mind. She only vaguely remembered the trip to the parking lot.

    Eva¡®s eyes searched the air for some sign to make sense of this news. Luna hugged her big sister¡®s leg but fortunately didn¡¯t ominously drag her in any particular direction. Nadia once again felt like the odd one out. Paul¡¯s impression of Leslie was that she was tough but, on the rides home, she was always listening to some music on her over-ear headphones and quietly peering out the darkened windows. She seemed like just another one of the kids. Only really that noteworthy because she formed the first letter in LET¡¯S GO TEAM.

    ¡°Forget that,¡± Eva responded. ¡°Are you sure you can¡¯t find any other info?¡±

    Odessa chimed in, ¡°What if she just wants to have some private time? It doesn¡¯t have to be more than that. We¡¯ve all had a lot on our minds, even without whatever happened last night.¡± Both Ginas were willing to accept this possibility, but Eva remained firm and shook her head.

    ¡°Trust me. If it were just some normal personal matter, she wouldn¡¯t have even responded or would¡¯ve used the auto-reply option. She¡¯s done that before, and I understand that means buzz off. Here, let me type something.¡±

    Gina passed her phone to Eva, who briefly scrutinized the wall of fingerprint smears shading the screen protector. Using swooping, slicing auto-complete words, she wrote out, ¡°This is Eva. We¡¯ve all been through the craziest 24 hours. We know some things that might help if something you don¡¯t understand is going on with you. If this doesn¡¯t make sense, then please ignore it. We¡¯re all here for you, Captain. No matter what.¡±

    The other Gina glanced at the message and quipped, ¡°Melodramatic much?¡± Eva simply sent the message and returned the phone to Gina. And there was nothing more to do after that than wait. Odessa clapped her hands and suggested a handful of nearby locations they could window shop while waiting. The girls listlessly ambled as a group towards the nearest one. Eva took the time to give a long-distance look of contempt at the Hot Topic store. A trendy jewelry shop received a quick glance of curiosity from Nadia before she continued on with the group.

    Though it was a simple, stray idle concern, Nadia was quietly glad that she hadn¡¯t bought anything before following Erin into the Sears building. Nothing she might¡¯ve liked that got lost. Same with the other girls, although she thought she saw Eva purchase a pendant that went safely into her capacious, now scuffed purse, but that was all. Odessa had tried on a fluttery, green number but decided it was very much out of season. and Gina had inspected some Tarot cards but found them lacking.

    Such cursory efforts at shopping continued in the aftermath of the message sent. It was supposed to be fun, but it was clear their horrifying adventure was coming down from the effusive catharsis of survival to the jagged discomfort and distraction that Eva had already traced out with the death of the other Gina.

    One of them had died. That could¡¯ve been any one of them instead. They were not coming back. When the unexplained dimension shifted, what was left of her remained behind in that place. Yeah, it made looking at cute tops and jeweled necklaces feel a bit trite.

    It was clear from the way Eva chewed on her lip that she was also tense about whether they would get a reply or not. To her relief though, Gina¡®s phone gave a chime and Eva promptly leaned over to check. She puzzled but didn¡¯t say anything about the fact that Gina¡®s phone actually had even more battery life than before.

    The message read simply, ¡°Outside of¡­¡± along with the store¡¯s name. Eva released a long breath and nodded as she used Gina¡¯s phone instead of her own, heavily-depleted one to search the store listings. The location was in an older section of the outdoor shopping center, not usually traveled because there were quicker routes to traverse. Eva led the way.

    Several benches filled the old offshoot. Leslie¡®s ponytail was easy to pick out of the sparse crowd. She crouched on one of the benches with her legs folded up under her in a fetal position. Her colorful head was down with thick, noise canceling over-ear headphones. Her letterman jacket, in the school colors, and her last name GARTLAND in bold script, also made it kind of obvious who she was. Erin shuddered slightly at the memory of how difficult it was to acquire the funds to get jackets for most of the team.

    Eva called out her name, but Leslie didn¡¯t respond. Carefully, she walked around to face her. As soon as she did, Eva dropped to her knees with frantic, obvious concern. The other girls soon joined her.

    Leslie had streams of tears flowing from her eyes, with red cheeks and trembling hands. From the sound leaking through the headphones, it was obvious that Leslie was listening to very loud, fast-paced music. Her expression almost appeared as though it had been hollowed out from the inside.

    She lifted her head weakly and somehow spoke softly and clearly despite the vigorous noises being pumped into her ears, ¡°I can hear it. I can hear everything. I can hear everyone. It doesn¡¯t stop. I can¡¯t make it stop. It¡¯s everywhere. I¡¯m sorry but¡­ I¡¯m going crazy¡­¡± She squeezed her eyes tight as new rivers of tears streamed from her eyes.

 [22] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 22 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [22]

    Eva and Odessa swiftly wrapped their arms around their squad captain. Leslie just sat there and wobbled slightly. She remained listless until she noticed both Ginas standing around her. Her head straightened and she put on a look of concern. Eva leaned right against Leslie¡®s ear and clearly stated, ¡°Things have happened to all of us.¡±

    Hesitantly, Leslie lifted the headphone on the left side and Eva repeated her statement. She looked at each of them cautiously and replaced the headphones protectively over her ears. ¡°I see,¡± was her swift response. She rocked in place and brushed back her hair bangs.

    Nadia¡¯s medical experience was limited to what she gathered from hospice nurses and listening to the medical class supplements with students like Erin. Her snap inkling was paranoid schizophrenia, bolstered by things she¡¯d heard and seen in the media.

    Leslie suddenly responded, ¡°It¡¯s not paranoid schizophrenia. My great-aunt had that, and I honestly think this is worse. I can just hear everything. Everyone. All around. And it¡¯s not synesthesia. I looked that one up myself.¡±

    Gina chirped, ¡°Telepathy. Mind reading. Wild!¡± The other Gina rode that same sense of enthusiasm. Leslie turned to look in Gina¡®s direction. She appeared to be reading her lips with what she said. Eva prepared to repeat those words for clarity, but Leslie raised some fingers and assured her that she got it.

    ¡°Yeah, telepathy. Mind reading. Only I¡¯m being drowned by it, every single moment waking or sleeping. Music helps muffle it, but it¡¯s like someone, everyone literally shouting their entire stream of consciousness by your ear. If I just block my ears, it doesn¡¯t help, because it¡¯s constantly in my head. I am feeling it, I am feeling everyone washing me away.¡± Her voice remained plaintive without rising above a reserved tone.

    Eva scooted close to her and held her hands. She didn¡¯t need to say anything. Leslie looked down at her cell phone playing heavy metal music and tapped the pause button. At the same moment, she set her headphones down in her lap, held her breath, and opened her eyes.

    Leslie immediately jolted in place, as though she had lost her footing. She swiftly recovered and urgently glanced around at each of the girls. They could tell she was waging some unseen and unheard battle within. After making a quick orbit with her eyes, she snapped the headphones back on, pressed play again, and looked like she was about to throw up. She staggered over to the nearest trashcan and coughed several times before resolving that wasn¡¯t going to work.

    ¡°Gina. A Gina died to a monster. Oh, that monster. No wonder you all look like that. Okay, all right. Aliens, ghosts, monsters, and powers. Nadia, pretty name by the way, Mr. Moore. You can understand language or got reality warped and maybe you can make things come alive or¡­ oh sorry. I won¡¯t say about that. Just speculation. Same as Odessa, she doesn¡¯t know about hers. Eva. I¡¯m so truly sorry. I don¡¯t know how you hold it together. But you all know what she did. Gina, my gosh, at least you¡¯ll never be lonely. Have you thought about whether the phone thing might be something else you can do? I know paranormal clich¨¦s and all that. At least, I know some now. But it happened outside too, and Coach hasn¡¯t seen another monster since. I¡¯m sorry I wasn¡¯t there to help, Coach. I¡¯m not much help anyway, not usually and especially not today.¡± She gave a nervous, practically panicked chuckle that didn¡¯t seem to be for anyone else but herself at that moment.

    ¡°So, sounds like the spacemen let us have two abilities each. Shame they didn¡¯t let us decide, or it¡¯s just some sadistic experiment. One that we can¡¯t turn off and one we barely know how to use, although I have both in one. Well, it¡¯s been interesting catching up. I guess you all should go now before I hear stuff that you don¡¯t want me to hear, and I don¡¯t wanna hear either. Okay?¡±

    The girls looked at one another. Eva was pained and uncomfortable, but she soon dropped her hands and nodded silently. Copy Gina seemed vaguely annoyed, but she had been wearing that expression for several minutes now. Leslie quickly amended that she didn¡¯t mean to lump together ¡°the twins¡° but she ¡°was trying not to dig too deep.¡± The two Ginas glanced at one another but didn¡¯t say anything.

    Erin and Odessa looked like they wanted to do something more. Coach could hear her own thoughts bouncing around her head like some long-ago class description she remembered of photons hopping around the depths of the sun and taking thousands or millions of years to escape. She was bombarding her student with the ambling, twisting, fighting flurry of things stuck in her head.

    All she really wanted to give her was reassurance and to know how much she deeply cared for all of them. And so many other things, so many beautiful things, that she frantically wanted to articulate, but she couldn¡¯t because this kid would see the process, the rough draft, and already know what was coming before she spoke. Leslie gave her a quick glance and a sympathetic nod.

    Leslie turned to leave towards the parking lot, but Luna suddenly stood in her way. She had her arms out as far as she could stretch, and she looked up at Leslie with a stern but determined expression. Opening her mouth to speak, Leslie soon paused, and her face underwent a journey of expressions in quick succession. She appeared bothered, then confused, and curious, followed by tense uncertainty. Slowly, the redhead crept in a circle around the young girl. It would¡¯ve been an easy thing to just run away, and her legs still tensed for that possibility. Nadia didn¡¯t know what to make of it, but her little sister had been as inscrutable a puzzle since she arrived at the Baris house as anything else.

    Actually, though, she did recall when they first met, and Nadia was still reeling from the reality of having such a colossal family and an attentive mother. Luna behaved differently for a short time. She had the energy, chaos, and raw emotions expected of someone her age. Then, Nadia started to settle in. She attempted to process the magnitude.  Soon, however, Agent Cross showed up. Next thing she knew, quiet, reserved Luna clung to her urgently.

    Leslie glanced over at her with narrowed eyes and said, ¡°Sasha told me over the phone that some guy named Cross stopped at her door, but she was away at the time. Sorry, if everything I¡¯m saying comes off as disjointed or confusing, I¡¯m not certain about what things were and weren¡¯t said out loud. But I¡¯m pretty sure the rest of the team wasn¡¯t left out of whatever happened to us, from their calls. Tatianna and Aubrey also texted me about urgent concerns, but I really didn¡¯t feel like talking at the time. Still not sure how I feel¡­¡±

    She looked down nervously at Luna, who was easily challenging her usual fostered sense of stoicism. Luna dropped her arms and reached out a hand, as if to shake Leslie¡¯s. Cautiously, Leslie took it, and the little girl slowly guided her to sit on the chilly cement.

    Nadia watched with uncertainty as her little sister motioned to her ears. Leslie gave a little nod and dropped the headphones to her lap with a heavy sigh. Eva turned off the playback for her. Leslie¡¯s breathing became briefly labored and she started trembling. She shut her eyes.

    ¡°Look at me,¡± Luna said calmly. Gradually, Leslie cracked her eyes open and focused on the little girl.

    ¡°Take a deep breath,¡± she said next. Despite Leslie¡¯s best efforts, she started coughing and looked flushed and confused. Shivers in her legs started to spread up to the rest of her. She looked like a ball of tightly wound anxiety about to rip open. Tears returned to her face as she murmured, ¡°I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t do it. I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You can do anything you resolve yourself to do. Look at me and breathe.¡± Nadia was bewildered as her little sister seemed more like a human Yoda guru than a kid. Who was this girl?

    It took some doing, but Leslie soon got her breathing and the shaking under control. When she calmed down, Luna issued the next step. She told her to focus on anything that relaxed her. For Leslie, it was standing in the court but also flying through the air to spike the ball. The uncertainty drifted away, and she became steady and calm. She even smiled. It wasn¡¯t a perfect focus and sometimes she needed to close her eyes and reestablish that thought but soon it was easy despite the discomfort of where and how she was sitting.

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    So they didn¡¯t appear that unusual, the other girls sat around them. It wasn¡¯t the greatest thing to sit down there, especially with the relative thinness of their jeans. Nadia didn¡¯t know how Leslie could bear it, but she looked at Erin. Her girlfriend was assuming a similar position to her little sister, and she appeared to ease into the same focus.

    Erin had some familiarity with varieties of meditation. She had experimented with it on the volleyball team but most of the girls at the time were too high-energy to get much out of it. Back in college, she used it to gradually get over her family crap. I didn¡¯t solve everything, but it helped her control the emotions that she wanted to feel about her past and direct them towards positivity. As Luna¡¯s surreal lesson continued, Erin recognized many of the methods she employed. She spoke simply and succinctly, guiding Leslie.

    At the culmination, it seemed less like Luna was reciting numbers and particular phrases for Leslie so much as providing support for her as she worked through the levels of her concentration. Leslie looked legitimately and totally relaxed in her body. Dry salt beds of her tears still reddened her cheeks, but it didn¡¯t seem like she needed them. Awe and delight actually crossed her features as she gazed around at the group. The nearby people in small, ambling crowds all seemed to decide that this strange little circle of hippie girls was not worth complaining about since it was easy to go around them and there were plenty of other places to sit.

    ¡°I can turn it down. It¡¯s still there, but it feels no worse than someone muttering. How did you do that?¡±

    Luna simply answered, ¡°You did that.¡±

    ¡°But how did you know what I needed to do?¡± She squeezed her headphones against her chest.

    To this, Luna gave one of her typical shrugs but also answered, ¡°I just did. Feel better?¡±

    Adamantly, Leslie nodded her head. ¡°I feel like I got my life back. Thank you so much. What¡¯s your name?¡± Luna gave her full name with a little bow and a faint, cute smile.

    Nadia tipped her head with curiosity. Leslie had gleaned so much about each of them in just a few moments. How was it that Leslie hadn¡¯t come up with her little sister¡®s name from all that? One more mystery, but at least she could ask her.

    The Leslie who rose to her feet moments later felt like the one that Paul often saw bounding towards the bus after a resounding victory, leading the charge and setting the tone. That exuberance bled off into warming the other girls¡¯ disposition. Everyone gave their captain the best embraces, with Coach going last. Leslie then had a hug to provide Luna, who calmly accepted being swung around and celebrated.

    Nadia smiled, but her thoughts were full of questions. Leslie raised a finger and announced to everyone that even though she had ¡°this thing¡± that she was finally figuring out how to control, there was also a second. Just like they had surmised. Working through everything, Nadia wondered what hints of ability Odessa had in mind and why she wasn¡¯t prepared for even those thoughts to get out. The hint from Leslie about Gina made sense to Nadia. One ability that just happens and one ability that needs work.

    Although, she was uncertain where Gina¡®s abilities settled. Perhaps somehow recharging a phone was just a thing that she could do now. That was definitely a fortunate ability, although her own that just happened wasn¡¯t bad either. Having a future as a universal translator sure sounded like a good gig, even though she was already beginning to miss the routine and joy of driving a large bus.

    There was one curious moment though, when Eva asked whether Leslie was alright, since they were only mere minutes past her so broken and sobbing. She looked back to Luna and seemed to invite the little girl to say something about whether she was moving too fast.

    ¡°Little by little, the bird makes its nest. That means, little by little, the bird makes its nest. Or little strokes fell great oaks. I¡¯m not going to say that I solved this, but I took a big step. And that¡¯s actually an appropriate analogy. Let me show¡­ What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    The other Gina gestured with her fingers and pointed out that Leslie just said the same phrase twice. To this, Leslie was especially confused and asked if Gina knew French. Neither of them did. Nadia had a suspicion and used her phone to pull up a foreign quote online and read it aloud. She recited one in German, then Italian, followed by some rarer languages. As she read it and as they received it, there was no confusion about what it meant, and she didn¡¯t need to check for the translation below. Somehow, for some reason, they all had what appeared to be her translation capability. Were they just gaining each other''s abilities by being around one another? was Nadia¡®s first question. She had to run an experiment, and this was a better way than experimenting around a monster who wanted to eat them with Erin¡¯s ability.

    She pitched the idea to the group and, of course, Leslie got it first. Open up something to read in a foreign language and then separate themselves one by one as a group. Since Gina noted losing sight of the monster as soon as she got away from them, it seemed most probable that she wasn¡¯t the one that allowed them to share it, but she would be a good first test case for how far it stretched. At this point, none of them gave a flying ficus, as Eva would term it, about what the other shoppers thought of their shenanigans that seemed to border on performance art.

    Both Ginas wanted to hold onto the phone as they measured out the distance. There was some tussling with the phone but none of it came to blows. Nadia figured that the copy Gina was probably considering that if she could get the phone away from her creator then she could possibly masquerade as the original since the phone was the metric by which they decided who was who. However, it was also clear to Nadia that the copy didn¡¯t seem to show any aptitude for charging phone batteries or creating copies of herself. It had managed to pick up the shared ability though, which raised questions about how limited or extensive it might be.

    Fifty feet wound up being the limit whether they were looking at the group or not. That was when both Ginas lost their ability to naturally recognize French. Focusing on those they didn¡¯t know for sure, the girls sent Odessa on a walk of 50 feet. She also lost and then recovered the language ability. Just to make sure, they sent Luna away.

    It was resolving a certain way, but Nadia was also a big question, especially for Luna. She tried to recall if her little sister had given any acknowledgment to the monster in the abandoned Sears. She had been laser-focused on telling them all to run and dragging her in a certain direction but it didn¡¯t seem like she focused on that beast in particular.

    While Luna was walking away, Leslie casually stepped over to Nadia¡®s side and whispered in her ear.

    ¡°Your little sister, Luna, I couldn¡¯t hear her thoughts at all. I don¡¯t know what that means. I feel bad about talking about her behind her back but¡­ You should probably ask her about that. Family and keeping secrets and all that. Not that I¡¯m the one to talk. Sorry.¡±

    The others tried to listen in, but she kept it low enough that they didn¡¯t seem to hear. Nadia kept on her best poker face. Sending Luna almost to the parking lot, all by herself, activated a deep-seated fear in Nadia that some stranger might grab her but had no other effect.

    Eva sighed, raised her eyebrows, and stretched her legs as she quietly declared, ¡°So, it¡¯s me. I am the reason we saw that monster and I¡¯m probably no no no¡­ I can¡¯t go down that road. Alright, let¡¯s settle this.¡±

    At fifty feet, the language ability went away for everyone except for Nadia. But the puzzling thing was that it didn¡¯t come back when she returned. Leslie immediately took a frantic, large jump away from them.

    ¡°What if it¡¯s random? What if you catch what I have? Stay away stay away, please. I can¡¯t bear to see that.¡±

    Eva closed the distance between her and the squad captain. ¡°Don¡¯t be like that double dipping duo over there. It¡¯ll be fine. We need to find out how this works and I think we have. If anyone has a problem with sharing anything then all we need to do is walk away or I can walk away. It¡¯s under control and it¡¯s not worth freaking out about. Come on, why don¡¯t you show us your awesome other ability?¡±

 [23] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 23 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [23]

    Leslie looked immensely skeptical at that calmly considered and coolly delivered rationalization by Evangeline but the volleyball girls knew that Leslie trusted her like a second in command, or Number One, as Gina like to refer to her and Eva hated.

    Despite this reassurance, Leslie still kept her distance from the other girls. While she continued to foster this concern, Erin felt a measure of relief. She hadn¡¯t infected the others with the sight that had been tormenting her. In some ways, it felt good that others could see a little bit of what she had seen because it validated that she wasn¡¯t crazy. But the sound still played back for her like a¡­ broken YouTube video on loop stuck in her brain. Maybe not as poetic a notion as a skipping record, but it did the job.

    One small measure that Erin noticed in watching the girls hang together was that Nadia seemed eagerly accepted by them. She was the Coach, and, despite her current appearance, she could still see that in how they looked at her. For Leslie the most, it was a sense of respect but also distance. Erin could only imagine it felt a little like being pushed into a version of Freaky Friday. Your teacher looks like one of your classmates and faces the ominous notion of going back to school for the first time since adult education night courses ages ago. Truly, Erin hated the nature of high school, especially when she was thrown deep into it with her original family.

    Nadia was different. As the bus driver, Paul seemed to have a certain rapport with the girls, which Erin briefly worried about before judging he still had a true and honorable heart after all these years since high school. But their normal frantic energy and lack of discretion paired well with how he did things. Paul was always organized and deeply concerned about their well-being, no matter what games and jokes got tossed around. And, like this, she was still simply a translation of Paul.

    His insistence that her good feelings come first when they had a little fun on the couch. Jumping for her when the store tile flew, while still trying to cling to her little sister. And the flower stiffly tucked away, much like the one that first opened her heart to his demure kindness. Where did they go from here?

    She gathered that the girls had intuited some measure of their relationship, and they didn¡¯t need Leslie¡®s abilities to spell it out for them. They were too smart to not at least pick up some pieces. That was fine. She had been able to pick up pieces of her own about the stuff that her girls kept closeted from their families, from the team, and from themselves. That wasn¡¯t her business unless they brought it to her. One actually had, but that was in her first year of teaching and the capstone of a veritable trial by fire.

    She felt annoyed with herself for going through such a personal mental digression as Leslie was around. The poor girl now seemed to have some degree of volume control over her terrifying ability, but she still fretted that she was loudly and incoherently yelling at her. She wished she could be as calm, mysterious, confident, and collected as Luna, who seemed wise beyond her years.

    Nadia also grasped the mood around her. When they first arrived at the mall, she figured she was just a tagalong, a curious case of a man in teen girl form. Marvel at how he¡¯s never seen all these sorts of outfits. See what knowledge he has about painting your nails and bra sizes. But, more and more, that seemed like just an illusion constructed by his shoddy confidence. They genuinely wanted to see her try on this and that. Perhaps there was some novelty to Nadia¡®s identity, but that wasn¡¯t all of it. She reflected on the afternoon.

    It was the true upside to what felt more like a nightmare until recently: She belonged in the company of these girls. She was one of them and they would take care of her. This feeling was so different compared to anything else in her life as a man. People depended on her, they used her, but they didn¡¯t feel like they were with and for her. Family just used her up and discarded her. Employers pushed in a million tiny, destructive ways, removed her precious joys, and unceremoniously fired her without care. Whatever friends she could claim felt like distant mirages or frail hopes. But this group of girls, no, this group of friends treated her as an equal. And there was one she cared for like no other. She also hoped that she wasn¡¯t broadcasting essentially loud spam to Leslie, who responded with a non-sequitur giggle that warmed all of their hearts.

    The distance they had to travel to this special place where Leslie could show off her other ability seemed rather excessive but both Ginas audibly speculated between themselves that it might be some eye laser beam that cut to the center of the earth. Leslie waved a hand and made sure everyone knew that while it was cool, and needed to be kept a secret, it wouldn¡¯t be especially dramatic. The place where Leslie decided to go ahead with the test was not too different from the abandoned Sears area, even though it was designated as being remodeled rather than outright shuttered. Anxiously, Erin checked as many corners and places as possible for another monster that might be lurking just out of sight.

    It also stressed her out slightly that the seemingly random roulette of shared abilities hadn¡¯t given them another roll since resetting things with Eva. But then nothing happened soon after arriving at the mall and there had been a lull in the ramen shop before everything with Leslie. The unpredictable nature frustrated her almost as much as not being able to wield her telekinesis. Although, watching what Luna did with Leslie made her wonder if similar training could yield comparable results.

    When she was ready, Leslie stood back a ways and not far from a wall. She shook herself out and stretched her neck while hopping gently on her toes a few times like she was about to launch a practiced serve. Instead of launching a ball in the air though, she jumped up and launched herself. And hung there. Leslie spread out her arms as she dipped down a few inches and then rose again with buoyant energy.

    It had been ages since Nadia watched the original Willy Wonka movie, but the sight triggered her memory of the fizzy lifting drinks. Fortunately, Leslie was in full control of her ascents and descents. She played up swimming through the air a few laps before spiraling backwards and twirling. Erin thought she looked like an exuberant astronaut in microgravity.

    Showing off a little but also keeping a watchful eye over the separation between the tallest nearest shops and the mall crowd, Leslie hovered high enough in the air to make everyone worry just a little bit, especially Erin as she nervously envisioned what might happen if this power suddenly decided to quit. But she was able to bring herself back to earth without any problems. Bubbly and spitting words as fast as she could think them, Leslie spilled out her hopes and joys. There were several secluded places out in the desert where she could really stretch her legs.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    She understood, especially with an Air Force guy looking for them, that it wasn¡¯t a bright idea to go Superman rocketing into the stratosphere like a tiny unidentified object, but she really wanted to see the clouds from above. Additionally, she understood that way up in the sky it was really cold, violently windy, and likely hard to breathe. Not at all like movies and fantasies. But she needed the safest taste of it. It didn¡¯t need to be tomorrow, next week, or next month, but she knew with absolute certainty that simply bringing herself back to the status quo of a dam against the flood of voices that wanted to overwhelm her wasn¡¯t enough. She needed this, as much as she needed volleyball as the one true foundation in her life.

    ¡°Different kinds of flying. The kind I could do before and the kind I can do now. Although, Coach, I totally and completely promise not to use either of my abilities on the court. No mind reading the competition and no impossible launching strikes or caught balls.¡±

    Erin appreciated that and trusted Leslie at her word. But she wasn¡¯t truly the Coach anymore. Leslie dipped her head and hissed, ¡°Nesbitt should¡¯ve been fired and arrested ages ago. She doesn¡¯t deserve to be anywhere near our sport.¡± Erin readily agreed with Leslie and so did the other girls. Odessa fumed because her wealthy parents actually celebrated her during their last donation to the school. Her mother was roommates with Nesbitt decades ago and vouched for her when scandals first started to break.

    It wasn¡¯t only family shame she kept bottled up inside, but she shoved it deeper than her uncertain suspicions about her abilities. Leslie had kept it a secret, as Odessa knew she could trust her. But the problem was it didn¡¯t feel like it should be a secret. She didn¡¯t have anything crazy to hide, but she was afraid. And, like many of the other girls, it was a combination that strangely suited her. Not that the other girls were paying any undue attention to her, especially with how much Luna stood out.

    Both Ginas had to ask the kid the obvious question percolating only in their minds.

    ¡°Luna. Are you an alien? Possibly an alien hybrid or an alien in human form here to teach us how to use our abilities for some greater purpose or as part of an experiment? Are you the one monitoring the experiment?¡± The two of them traded off filling in their speculative questions.

    Luna simply answered, ¡°No. No. No. And no.¡±

    ¡°But you have a secret, right? I mean you¡¯re not just a normal kid.¡±

    ¡°I am just a kid.¡±

    ¡°But! You have a secret, right? What if I put you in a pot full of seasonings and raw vegetables, would you confess your secrets?¡± Eva grumbled.

    ¡°Only witches do that. And no. Everyone has secrets. I wouldn¡¯t give them away for a silly reason. Sorry.¡±

    With that, the two of them started to brainstorm other fantastical things and notions to pin on the kid. Luna gazed at her older sister with quiet insistence similar to how she tugged on her when they were stuck in the Sears, only this motion was subtle and loving, not frantic and fearful. With a deep breath, Nadia stretched out the shape of her own questions without any firm hopes that she might get the answers she really wanted.

    ¡°Why did you tell us to run away?¡±

    To this, she actually provided a surprisingly lengthy answer. ¡°I knew that thing was there. I knew we could escape if we just ran. It likes to chase, but it¡¯s a sprinter. It can¡¯t keep up. It was a safe way out.¡±

    Nadia dropped her shoulders and shook her head with a sigh. ¡°How do you know all this? Why didn¡¯t you just say it?¡­ And why are you telling us now?¡±

    ¡°I just know. I¡¯m not an alien. I¡¯m not a monster. I just want to keep you safe, because I love you¡­sis. I don¡¯t want anyone to get hurt and I¡¯m doing my best. I promise. I hope you can understand.¡± Her large, deep eyes seemed to plead with her across the distance. There was something familiar about her, something genuine and sincere. But Nadia wanted to lash out that someone, anyone, who might know more than they were letting on about life and death matters and still claim to love her like her sister did. But that bitterness was just a stray, cooling ember of thought, not worth holding onto. She lamented that Leslie might have to somehow feel it.

    Her sister didn¡¯t have any thoughts though, even though she clearly did. Leslie just couldn¡¯t hear them for some reason. What was she? Why was she? She didn¡¯t want all this confusion. She just wanted a cute little sister, and she wanted a cute and warm girlfriend. Why was it all so mixed up?

    Nadia worried that the other girls might jump on her sibling with sharper questions than the Ginas and their supernatural softballs. Odessa looked like she had plenty of uncertainties brewing behind her composed fa?ade. Eva was festering with loss and pain and Nadia could sense the same primed whip of words that the girl wanted to lash out with. She desperately hoped that didn¡¯t portend they were setting up to feel what Leslie felt. No, it was more intuition than reading. Leslie mellowed with the kid''s words, clearly torn between the debt she owed her for showing the way through but burdened by uncertainty.

    And what about Erin? She appeared so uncertain about what this all meant, but her eyes on the girl were pure mama bear, eager to rip her apart if she heard something she didn¡¯t like. Not that Nadia felt she had any kind of power over her girlfriend in confrontations, but she subtly urged her to stand down. The only question was¡­ What to do now?

    Gina¡®s phone trilled, and it was a quick hunt between the girls to be the first one to answer. It was Gina¡®s mom. She was checking in and informed them that they were to soon meet up for the sake and respect of the Baris family for getting Nadia and Luna back before sundown. Both of the Baris girls gave subtle, lamenting pouts about that but conceded that their time was short.

    They could definitely go about speed shopping, but Odessa had a few specific locations in mind that might yield the best results, along with the fact there were places where she desperately hoped to pick up some gifts. No one had any problem with that.

    As the girls stretched their legs, not quite preparing for a sprint of their own but definitely hoping to be fleet, Nadia started to hustle. Her trek was soon arrested by an insistent arm at her side.

    Luna again? God, she hoped there wasn¡¯t another monster. But when she looked over, it was Erin, clinging to her in a similar way as her sister but with much less certainty to her expression. The other girls all paused as Nadia frowned and asked her what was wrong. Erin shook her head. Not wrong but something she needed to do.

    ¡°I love you. I love you so much, and I¡¯m sorry that I haven¡¯t said it more. I have no idea what¡¯s going on and the uncertainties are piling up, but I know I love you.¡°

    She pulled Nadia into a tight, needful embrace and kissed her full on the lips.

 [24] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 24 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [24]

    The girls responded with cheers and clapping. Nadia could hear some scattered surprise and the beginnings of a dozen questions, but she wasn¡¯t really paying attention. She just peered into Erin¡®s eyes with calm certainty.

    Erin¡¯s teacher instincts wanted to get the girls back in order, quiet them down, and tell them there was nothing to see here, just some adults having a heart-to-heart. And a mouth-to-mouth, as some of the girls like to quip about romantic things. But this wasn¡¯t volleyball time or teacher time and what she was to them still remained a big question.

    Coach was the obvious one, and they still gladly gave her that respect. But she was going to become their peer on Monday, assuming she decided to follow the path laid out before her by whoever or whatever set these changes to the course of reality. Those forces, however, permitted the existence of terrible creatures they had heard and felt murder a small piece of someone they cared about. So whatever plan guided the way things were definitely demanded skepticism and questions.

    How did the kid play into that? Her gut reaction was that Luna seemed too strange and too knowledgeable to just be a kid. At the same time, she heard sincerity in her explanation. She was just doing her best and she may have secrets, but there was nothing she could do about that. She was doing all that she could out of love for her sister. Erin could understand that. Erin felt she was in the same shoes. In fact, she felt an odd kinship with the kid.

    It wasn¡¯t something she could easily explain or even attempt to put into words, but when she looked into Luna¡®s eyes, she felt like she was looking into an echo of herself. But that went off in even weirder directions than anything she wanted to contemplate. The kind of reincarnation or spirit connection high strangeness that Gina dove into like a money bin of paranormal possibilities and she was Scrooge McDuck. The only eyes she wanted to think about right then were Nadia¡®s gentle, hazel set framed by a demure blush and wide astonishment.

    But they couldn¡¯t stop to gaze and appraise one another forever, like some John Donne poem explanation vaguely remembered from English classes she would have to return to. Even Donne was basically saying, ¡°No time like the present, let¡¯s get it on babe!¡± She would save that part of things for another time as her brain flamed with delight over the possibilities.

    She didn¡¯t need to have the responsibility and the dedication to appearances that a teacher required anymore. Although, Coach Nesbitt never had them at all. They could go canoodling on the ¡°field¡±, even though it was just a large stretch of Astroturf because of the dryness of the area. What would anyone say if two pretty girls snuggle each other beside the ramp leading to a classroom? Didn¡¯t the football guys and the cheerleaders do far worse with butt-grabbing and grinding?

    She never really thought of herself as gay, but here she was with a girl she loved. Among the squad, she assumed everyone would be sympathetic. It was more complicated than two lesbians but technically correct. Eva was the most religious of the group, but she never decried anyone for sin. She just made her own personal choices. Tatianna was another big question, as well as Odessa, based on some of the things they said in passing. Not her business, she just hoped all her girls were happy in their lives.

    Leslie chimed in, ¡°Coach and bus driver. Finally! Everyone saw how you guys looked at each other all the time! And I totally heard all the giggles. No need to read any minds. It was totally obvious. Good for you two!¡±

    Nadia had a brilliant blush and all the words she could say got swallowed up in stammers. Luna had an enigmatic smirk, which didn¡¯t do much to clear the air of mystery surrounding her, but it was good to see she approved. Odessa hugged herself and smiled while Eva looked down at her feet with her arms folded in front of her. It seemed more like a quietly embarrassed gesture than a disapproving one.

    Gina chirped up with a raised finger, ¡°You two look cute together. Kinda suspected with a flower. But while I am all for snogging, we have a big lingering thing to deal with before my mom picks us up.¡± Gina pointed with her finger to the other Gina. ¡°We never really came up with a way we were going to explain her.¡±

    Leslie squeezed her chin and inquired, ¡°Sorry to suggest this, but how about trying to pop her back in or maybe poof her?¡± The other Gina leaned back with her eyes wide and her mouth open.

    ¡°Poof? Pop? I¡¯m a friggin person here! I deserve to exist¡­ Don¡¯t I? I have dreams¡­ I acknowledge the big one is a little bit out there, but I am as much Gina as any Gina. Please don¡¯t poof me¡­¡±

    Leslie sincerely and deeply apologized again, knowing from her samplings of Gina thoughts that each of them was on a similar wavelength, she just didn¡¯t realize how independent the copy was. Gina gulped and took a deep breath before turning and wrapping her arms around her double.

    The second Gina actually seemed surprised by the embrace but squeezed into the hug. Talking close to her twin¡¯s ear, Gina reassured her, ¡°I won¡¯t poof you. Not that I even know how. You¡¯re my sister. Totally weird, but totally us. Odessa is going to put you up for a little while, but I¡¯m not throwing you away. I¡¯m not shoving you in the closet like a forgotten toy. We are going to find you some sort of disguise or outfit or wrap you up in bandages so that mom doesn¡¯t freak out from your face. We will figure it out. Promise. You don¡¯t have to shank me in my sleep to take my place.¡±

    The other Gina gave a short chuckle and her eyes darted around. ¡°I wasn¡¯t actually going to do anything. I¡¯m just scared. I was you until I walked out of that bathroom. I thought the craziness was finally over after escaping that monster. Although, I gotta admit some parts of it were exhilarating. The world is crazier than I thought, and I have proof of it. But I¡¯d also like a little quiet and calm too.¡±

    Eva stepped over and gave the both of them a quick hug. She reassured the second Gina Ferris and encouraged her to adopt a name that she felt suited her. Even though it was rather boring, she gravitated towards her middle name, choosing to be known as Louise. It was more of a careful half-measure as she considered the wide possibilities never afforded her since birth. She just didn¡¯t want to be known as Nia or Reggie. Gina understood and encouraged Louise.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    And that was all well and good and a heartfelt moment, but Odessa gently reminded them all that they were running out of time to do a lot of things they really needed to do. Leslie called out to the group the same way she did when getting them organized for practice or a match. All of them went to their regular positions with their arms behind their backs and their shoulders straight. Even Luna seemed to get into it the same as everyone else.

    Eva did her organizational Jitsu and tabulated the time they had left before the appointed meet-up with Mrs. Ferris to head back to their homes along with a detailed analysis of the places that Odessa wanted to see and to get the gifts that she hoped to get. Odessa wound up a little bit bouncy, but Eva assured her that they weren¡¯t going to cut things short for her or push her. Gina and Louise led the pack.

    Where they needed to go was actually down some escalators from the outdoor section of the shopping plaza. Even though it was two stories, the main complex was partially underground and connected to an extensive business park with hotels. The first was a cosmetic store and Gina and Louise did double duty by considering changing up Louise¡¯s makeup to something that might give her a different color to her cheeks. It was subtle but a first step.

    The next was a Japanese lifestyle store and Odessa acquired a pink penguin plushy which she said was going to be a gift for someone. While there, Louise seriously considered getting a pair of elephant pajamas that Gina turned her nose up at. This distinction between the two of them surprised the original but delighted the copy. Nadia got a mango soda and some Pocky, which she gladly split with Luna.

    A stop at a perfumery slammed Nadia right in the face. Paul wasn¡¯t any stranger to places like Bath and Bodyworks but often found it much cheaper to just get something at Walmart or mix his own fragrant concoctions. The other girls didn¡¯t seem particularly at home at this place either, although Luna and Erin had the same curious expressions. Eva just sneezed.

    Another place down, the final stop was actually a Warhammer store. Despite Gina and Louise¡¯s geek cred, they were puzzled, mystified, but casually intrigued by the tiny wedge-shaped location. Odessa knew exactly what she wanted in a model and relayed it to the ponytailed guy who owned the place. The group lingered briefly to take in the setting while steering clear of a focused campaign off to the side. Thinking about the clich¨¦s, Nadia found herself both disappointed and intrigued by the ripples or lack thereof their presence brought.

    The assortment of guys at the tables ran a gamut of those much older to likely the same age as them. They didn¡¯t really notice them. No nervous sweating or uncertain looks, as she had seen depicted in dozens of instances in popular media. One guy did give her a glance, but it wasn¡¯t longer than normal or bothersome. She actually gave him more of a look and wasn¡¯t averse about what she saw. He wore a polo shirt, and his hair was a wild puff, but he was also kind of cute. Not that it mattered, because she had her girlfriend. But she figured there was no harm in looking. If Erin noticed her looking at the guy, then she had a good poker face about it.

    Handling Louise¡¯s disguise took a couple different stops at lower-priced women¡¯s fashion locations. First of all, they put her hair into a ponytail resting on her shoulder in a way that Gina typically didn¡¯t go for. Louise wasn¡¯t especially keen on it either, but she accept it. They put her in a purple blouse that looked a little bit baggy and obscured her figure while going with loose brown flannel. It felt like a fashion atrocity but didn¡¯t particularly stand out in any other way.

    As a last-minute alternative, they did pick up several rolls of bandages to portray her as some sort of burn victim. Additionally, Louise practiced her best attempt at a British accent. It meandered comically between Southern, Australian, and some deranged version of Austrian but she was able to stick to it well enough.

    Nadia looked everywhere but didn¡¯t see any sign of the girlfriend proclaiming attire she had initially hunted for. Eva got a nice scarf. Gina found a subdued but luxurious perfume. And Leslie actually somehow found a helmet on sale. She didn¡¯t explain what she intended to do with it, but they could guess.

    It turned out though, Erin was sneaky and managed to create a colorful necklace to give to Nadia. She sprung it on her as they were waiting for their pick up and Gina¡®s mom had just texted that she was on her way.

    The little necklace had the entire sweep of the rainbow, even though some of the colors were out of order. The letters read GIRLFRIENDS FOREVER with bright red hearts and little female symbols locked together. It was subtle but clear. Nadia lamented that she didn¡¯t have one to give to Erin, but she assured her it was a gift and not some quid quo pro obligation.

    And she further highlighted how much Nadia had given her from the intangible gift of kind pleasures, being her strength when she felt scared and alone, making her breakfast this morning, and making some of the most beautiful and amazing gifts that she deeply treasured. This was just to make her happy after such a torturous and confusing day. They snuggle close but restrained a kiss as they saw Mrs. Ferris¡®s car pull out of the parking structure.

    ¡ª¡ª-

    A steady fire crackles in a corner. One sits and the other stands.

    ¡±I don¡¯t like it.¡±

    ¡°What''s wrong?¡±

    ¡°A telekinetic who can see past the Veil and one of those¡­ in love with each other, and you ask me what¡¯s wrong? I¡¯m surprised nothing worse has happened yet.¡±

    ¡°So, what do you want to do?¡±

    ¡°¡­. Bring her in. Let them know what¡¯s at stake. If that doesn¡¯t work, we always have contingencies.¡°

 [25] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 25 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [25]

    Gina offered up the roll of bandages for Louise one last time. She stuffed them in her pockets but didn¡¯t put them on. Louise rocked back and forth on her feet as she adjusted her ¡°disguise¡±, tested her accent, and took a deep breath. She didn¡¯t know if she was prepared for her mom, or the woman who is supposed to be her mom, to just see her as some stranger rather than her daughter, but she commented that she was probably as prepared as she was going to be.

    Leslie joined the girls even though they understood that it was going to be tight in the back with four. She had taken the bus earlier to get here and the timing was rough with getting back. She honestly expected to stay out till late, and nervously admitted that she didn¡¯t really have a plan for getting back home aside from walking.

    When faced with their mother¡¯s car pulling to the curb, Gina and Louise did something like a slight dance of cycling to the back and the front with uncertainty about whether they were ready. No immediate signs of screaming and panic emerged from the car as Mrs. Ferris waved at the girls and glanced around. A positive sign. Gina approached the passenger side, which was unlocked, and opened it before opening the other doors for everyone else.

    ¡°My goodness, you¡¯ve multiplied. Now, sweetie, I know I¡¯m a good driver, but this is not an Uber service. I¡¯m not gonna leave any of you gals behind, but tell me what¡¯s going on, please.¡±

    The ¡®multiplied¡¯ comment brought some immediate tension to the group. Leslie stepped forward first and did her best to monopolize the newcomer attention.

    ¡°Good evening, Mrs. Ferris. We are so sorry to impose on you and your family. This an acquaintance of Odessa and they¡¯ll be staying together, but there was some sort of mix-up, and we just figured it would be easier if she went with her since they¡¯re going to the same place. My situation is a bit more complicated¡­ There was a little family conflict and I needed to walk it off and the girls got in touch with me, and it¡¯s been life-changing to just let it all out and find my best self. I would be deeply honored if you could give us a lift.¡±

    Mrs. Ferris wore a faint frown and appeared as though she put together about half of that frantic, energized explanation. She cleared her throat and responded, ¡°Oh! Leslie, dearie. You don¡¯t have to explain yourself. If you want to stay with us tonight or anything like that, whatever you need, you are family. Why, with the absolute care, love, and confidence you have inspired in Regina, it¡¯s the least I could do. Don¡¯t you worry. You vouch for your friend here and that¡¯s as good as this girl is another you.¡±

    Nadia¡®s scrunched up her eyes and looked around a little bit, wondering if Mrs. Ferris was pulling one over on them and actually knew the entire thing, if she had some sort of weird intuition going on, or if this was just one crazy cosmic coincidence with what she was saying and them paying far too much attention to every word she said. Gina¡®s mother gave a close look at the mysterious blonde girl, gradually narrowed her eyes, and then inquired, ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    Leslie didn¡¯t need mind powers to deduce that everyone in the group was wishing that they had picked out a different name for copy Gina than Gina¡®s middle name. It wasn¡¯t the most common or uncommon name, but it felt painfully suspicious as they were all standing there and creeping toward the open doors.

    ¡°¡­Louise. Louise Gale. I am honored to meet you, Mrs. Ferris. Your daughter said a little about you and explained what an amazing Star Trek fan you are. Oh my gosh! This car is so cool. What warp factor does it get?¡± She went more subtle with the accent, and it mostly seemed fine. She did her best to reasonably gape at the starfield decorating the car interior, as though she hadn¡¯t seen it practically every day.

    The tension held for a few seconds before Gina¡®s mom cracked a warm smile. ¡°Oh, she gets warp factor 9 in the old system of the original series, but just a hair over warp 7.22 if you¡¯re counting in the 24th century. I did the math. Now she may not be the fastest ship in the Federation, but she¡¯ll get you where you wanna go.¡±

    Louise smiled, even though she shouldn¡¯t have. But she knew that her mom picked out those numbers because they translated closest to Gina¡¯s birthday in multiples of the speed of light because, she liked to say, her daughter was the light around which her universe orbited.

    That was a dangerous memory, as Louise realized she was tearing up for no apparent reason as she made her way into the car. Eva quickly shoved a huge wad of tissue from her massive purse into Louisa¡®s face to cover up her tears. The best excuse that Louise could conjure up was that talking about Star Trek reminded her of the ¡°The Inner Light¡± episode and that always made her tear up.

    Louise knew that the one that made her mom cry was ¡°The Sound of Her Voice¡± from DS9 because it reminded her of how desperately she wanted to talk to grandma more and say so many things before she was unresponsive in hospice. A quick mention of the Voyager episode ¡°Course: Oblivion¡± made Louise cringe, not only because it was hopelessly dismal, but also because it currently hit a little too close to home.

    Everyone else felt immensely lost, Nadia in particular, but they nodded and put on the appropriate faces for the moment. Nothing else really needed to be said.

    Mrs. Ferris noted that Louisa¡¯s hair was quite pretty, remarked that she seemed like a nice young lady, and promised that she would safely get her to her destination. No obvious suspicion that this girl was the exact doppelg?nger of her daughter hidden beneath the barest of disguises. Nadia suspected that despite how much the Ferris family seemed keen on the paranormal, sci-fi, and the unexplained, they were just as likely as anyone else to shrug it off when directly confronted with the impossible.

    The seating arrangement played out much the same way as before. Gina got the crew seat at the front. Odessa had the window while Erin and Nadia were again pushed together. In the back, it was Louise right up against Eva, who wore her usual, tight face but with a nervous blush. Fortunately, Luna was small, and she was able to fit right next to Leslie and stretch as far as she could to grab a sliver of her sister. As Mrs. Ferris remarked, with a chuckle, they were filled to the brim.

    Their return trek was uneventful and Odessa¡®s house was the nearest stop, with Louise joining her. Nadia was awestruck when they drove up on the private road. Horse trails crisscrossed the path. The actual house itself wasn¡¯t too shocking. A metallic horse sculpture adorned the side fence and oodles of drought-resistant plants covered what seemed to be a makeshift front yard. Wide, glassy front doors shimmered with golden light from inside. It reminded her more of a visitor center. Despite the immense swath of its footprint, the fact it was a modest single story made her think it wasn¡¯t too much larger than the Baris house even though it clearly was.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    When it was time to get out, Louise lingered, especially by the driver''s side with a thoughtful expression and a random hope that it might suddenly click for the woman she considered her mother and she would realize how strikingly similar this strange girl was to her daughter. But it never did. she remained immensely courteous and cheerful as she waved at the girls.

    Once the car was down the road, and the passengers were shuffled for comfort, Mrs. Ferris did have some questions for her daughter. Mainly, she was concerned about how ¡°clingy¡± the foreign kid had been, as well as putting her hair in a style not too far from Gina¡¯s. She made sure that this wasn¡¯t some kind of stalker situation, because she knew that girls could be stalkers of girls just as much as men.

    Genuinely and adamantly, Gina reassured her this was not the case and she gently penciled in the margins of Louise¡¯s life with the coy and exacting explanation that she had never even seen a volleyball game before, she¡¯d only known Gina for a few hours, and she had never been to their school. Her mother scrutinized her daughter¡¯s face over those answers, noticing nonverbal cues but not sure what to make of them. She accepted her word and didn¡¯t pursue the matter.

    Leslie was the next to go, taking a meditative breath in sight of some white condos, before wishing everyone a great rest of their weekend and then scampering off. Nadia strongly suspected there was more to Leslie¡¯s story, but she couldn¡¯t find the right moment or reason to ask.

    The familiar apartment came next with Erin¡®s exit. Since they got on the road, Nadia noticed that Erin kept her head down for most stretches but would occasionally peek and take in the fading day. Nadia diligently watched her girlfriend for any signs of distress or tracking something in the air that she didn¡¯t see, but she remained calm throughout the entire trip. Sharon greeted her at the door and actually chatted a bit with Gina¡¯s mom before they headed on their way.

    Just her, Gina, Eva, and Luna. The little girl respected that Erin and Nadia sat together even once there was a free spot because of Odessa and only moved up when Erin was gone. She sat in Erin¡®s spot and squeezed her hands in her lap. Somewhere along the way, Nadia bent to her left and gave her little sister a soft kiss on the forehead.

    Every part of her fretted about what truth or secret existed with and within Luna, but she believed the kid was telling the truth, as far as she knew it. And no way was she going to punish her for something that felt like such an inscrutable but sincere sacrifice. She hugged her close and smiled. With calm, hopeful serenity in her eyes, Luna reached up to gently traced the necklace around her big sister¡®s neck. Hints of tears to challenge  Leslie¡¯s floods gathered in Luna¡®s eyes, but she buried them in a fervent squeeze of her big sister¡®s body.

    Nadia warmly appreciated it as she suddenly felt a pervasive and thought-stealing sense of sleepiness grip her entire body. It wasn¡¯t long till what she now called home and the promised softness of her mattress and sheets. But she didn¡¯t have much choice in the matter as her breathing slowed and her lids clamped shut. Night fell across her vision and then more, followed by a strange sudden sight.

    A roaring fireplace in the corner of a room. It spilled waves of heat that Nadia could feel all the way over where she was. And where was she?

    She was seated in a massive, dark brown couch that completely wrapped around and enveloped her from all angles. It was majestic and soft but also suffocating. Her parents had a couch like this. Her grandfather died in it.

    The room around her was minimally appointed. Tan shag carpet below her feet and a slanted expanse of popcorn stucco above her head. Some old wooden cabinets flanked peach-toned drapes with what appeared to be a dim spill of light pressing its way from outside. The only real source of light was provided by what appeared to be a set of 1960s-era lamps situated on a small table to the left and another to the right. Beside the table on the right was a much smaller couch with claw legs more like a bathtub¡¯s. Looking at the color of that couch, Nadia¡®s brain immediately insisted it was burnt umber despite the fact she rationally knew that wasn¡¯t true. No matter what she told herself, she couldn¡¯t dissuade her thoughts from the notion.

    Red stockings with white trim were mounted over the fireplace although Nadia wasn¡¯t sure if they had been there a moment ago or not. She desperately wanted to get up from the couch, but all her muscles could do about it was tremble. Bringing her arms up also laced her hands together.

    Without her say so, Nadia began to frantically, vigorously, and mindlessly rub her fingers together and scratch them across each other like she had the worst itches she needed to get rid of. Her flesh practically started to ooze and bleed and that didn¡¯t seem like enough, as though it wouldn¡¯t stop until she tore every scrap of skin and muscle from her bones. Everything ached as a spasm reached a crescendo.

    ¡°Be there in a moment¡­¡± A voice called from around the corner. Suddenly, the frantic scratching shut off and Nadia was left with her sweaty, tired hands and boundless confusion.

    Into the room gradually walked a slight, older woman gripping the handles of a silver tray. Upon that tray was placed an ivory kettle with small steaming cups, a matching soup bowl, silver spoons, and some folded napkins. She set the soup and one of the cups over on the table nearest Nadia and then slowly walked over to the other couch, where she set the tray on that table before sitting on the nearby couch.

    ¡°Partake.¡±

    Without thinking about it, Nadia took several sips from the tea. It tasted vaguely like wintergreen with honey and hints of orange. She then cradled the soup bowl and sipped the dark broth. It had a sharper flavor than chicken but without the accompanying sourness of beef. Nothing else in the bowl provided her clarity about what she was drinking. Before the surface started to scald her, Nadia set it back where it had been.

    ¡°Very good. Do you know where you are?¡±

    Nadia immediately shook her head. She pressed to get out of the seat, but it was like her muscles and body didn¡¯t have any oomph.

    ¡°Stay still. Remain there. Look at the wall over here.¡±

    She was able to turn her head to the right and look at the wall by the strange woman. This time, she was absolutely certain that the engraved wooden sign above her head absolutely had not been there several seconds ago.

    It read simply, in a plain swoop of script, ¡°Welcome to Beyond.¡± Nadia quietly protested and asked, ¡°Where am I? Why am I here?¡±

    The older woman, who was dressed all in white, her hands in her lap, responded, ¡°Just what it says. This is Beyond. And we have much to discuss.¡±

 [26] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 26 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [26]

    ¡°Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up¡­¡± Nadia pleaded with herself.

    The older woman chuckled. ¡°Denial is the most consistent human reaction. You¡¯ve been through so many things, yet you find this the most unbelievable?¡±

    Nadia clenched her teeth and strained against the invisible force holding her in place. ¡°Not denial. Refusal. I¡¯m not leaving my little sister alone.¡±

    The strange woman frowned and sipped her tea. ¡°Would it help if I informed you that only a few seconds have passed for anyone else? Although the more you delay the topic of our discussion, the more those seconds slip away. Your choice. Rage, fight, and fury or listen to what I have to say.¡±

    After one more tensing against those unseen bonds, Nadia heaved a sigh and nodded. ¡°Then talk. Why am I here?¡±

    The flames in the fireplace shifted and shuddered. The older woman gently set her cup down.

    ¡°You are here out of concern. For you, for those you care about, and for your wider world. Less than a day ago, your life barely mattered more than a single ant picking up a grain of dirt. Things have changed.¡±

    Nadia took a deep breath. ¡°Aliens.¡±

    ¡°The Amashasama. Endearing species. Invertebrates who distinguish one another by the faintest of odors and stray hairs on their carapaces. Explorers. You encountered them by pure happenstance. And blew their minds with how different a species and its individuals can be. You most of all. They feared you were some sort of deformity compared to everyone else on that bus, so they did you a kindness and tried to make you normal, as they saw it. And, as a bonus, they patched up everyone they could find. Na?ve, but still an endearing crab-like species. Be glad you didn¡¯t run into one of the asparagus-shaped creatures. It wouldn¡¯t have ended well.¡±

    The alien name that spilled out of her mouth, along with that dense stream of information, slapped Nadia in the face and she did her best to process it all. ¡°They¡­ didn¡¯t give us powers?¡±

    ¡°Glad to see you aren¡¯t just a pretty face. No, that wasn¡¯t what they intended. They were just fixing damage to your genetic structure. Making you better than when you were born. Their kind renew themselves constantly. It was no more serious to them than giving you a quick bath. Lengthen your telomeres and remove the free radical damage before sending you on your way. They did also take some tissue samples, but you won¡¯t miss them.¡±

    This was so much information for Nadia to properly process and she didn¡¯t trust the current state of her mind to save everything. No details about the room had recently shifted or been lost, but it still constantly felt like something was sneaking by when she wasn¡¯t looking. ¡°So, it was a mistake? How did we wind up like this?¡°

    ¡°Unintended consequences. And this¡­IS you. Well, compared with everyone else, there are some notable differences. For physical appearance, they were working with an average of the entire group. So, in a way, you¡¯re like the daughter of the team. But powers? Those were all you and all them. Potential never fully translated until now. Hiding in your DNA. Now awakened. And that¡¯s where we have a problem.¡±

    The current of information waterlogged Nadia¡¯s perceptions. It was aliens, and they were a bunch of na?ve explorers who tidied them up and thought Paul was a mistake to patch, using the other girls as references, and activated everyone¡¯s inherent supernatural abilities. And Beyond didn¡¯t like that.

    ¡°Trying to keep humanity down?¡± For emphasis, Nadia strained to move her limbs.

    ¡°Alive. Existing. Thriving, ideally. Now people with certain surprising abilities emerge from time to time. Some of them even work for us. Even a sudden outbreak is manageable. Evangeline is a bit problematic, especially if she ever runs into the wrong someone. And we intend to keep an eye on Gina as well. Fortunately, most of your group doesn¡¯t concern us. Except for you and Erin.¡±

    Nadia bent forward as much as she could and strained against the invisible, intangible barrier holding her in place. ¡°Did you grab her too? Are you hurting her?!¡±

    ¡°Relax.¡±

    The force around her focused on pressing her back in place and pushing her against the seat. Nadia resisted and found she could wiggle her left foot. Some tingling passed to her right but nothing more.

    The old woman puffed a long breath. ¡°We suspected that chatting with you would be more productive. Erin is fine. She¡¯s feeding Bubsy right now. Want to see?¡±

    As much as seeing Erin again would delight her, Nadia knew that this person or entity, or whatever they were would only use that emotion to get what they wanted. She shook her head and questioned, ¡°Productive? What do you want out of me?¡±

    ¡°You make things worse for every one of them that you¡¯re around. Her, worst of all. Think of¡­ an accelerant on a fire. They¡¯re going to get burned. Your ability changes things, no matter what you may intend. Imagine Gina endlessly outputting clones until the entire surface of the earth is covered. Imagine Evangeline sharing horrifying powers with every living being on the planet. Imagine how much further Erin could go than just stopping projectiles. And that is how everything ends.¡±

    Nadia listened and finally eased back against the restraining force. Her ability made the abilities of others stronger? Weirdly, that fit with her personality. Paul always wanted to lend his own strength to help and improve others, even to his own detriment. And the language thing was just an offshoot of his hopes for clear communication. If she believed this strange woman at her word.

    ¡°So, what do I do? What would you have me do about that?¡±

    The old woman straightened in her seat, set her hands in her lap, and focused her full attention on Nadia. ¡°You can choose to do nothing. Just let it all play out. None of us can actually stop you. We¡¯re just here to give you a nudge in the right direction. As for what we would have you do¡­ Let her go. Avoid the volleyball team. We aren¡¯t certain what the cooldown time would be but the more time you spend apart, the better.¡±

    Nadia couldn¡¯t believe this. Some old woman with Christmas decorations over the fireplace was telling her to dump her new girlfriend and avoid all her friends to basically save the world. Go back to the way things were. Go back to that loneliness.

    The old woman added, ¡°You kids have your electronic devices and the Internet and all that, you can easily still keep in touch at a distance. And visiting the volleyball games would be fine, so long as you remain in the crowd. And your classes can be easily modified. But you absolutely cannot continue things with Erin. I¡¯m sorry to say that, if you do, then she or both of you will die.¡±

    Slowly, it was like the air was leaking out of Nadia. The way that she phrased that, and the emphasis she put, made Nadia want to question and rebel and do all sorts of teenage things against those words. But her intuition and her suspicions fluttered beneath the surface. If there existed entities that could whisk her off in dreams like this, then surely it had to be a serious matter.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Was there any independent proof that her learned ability, as Leslie seemed to allude to, made the powers of others stronger? She hadn¡¯t really seen any telekinesis from Erin earlier aside from maybe the lamp falling over in her apartment and some other things she referred to. What if she made the monster-seeing ability stronger? The responsibility for all her recent suffering, for all the group¡¯s suffering, would¡¯ve been completely on her.

    Gina didn¡¯t manifest any copies until she was hanging around Nadia. And similar things for the others. But that wasn¡¯t proof or even an argument in one direction or the other. She felt a sudden swell of vertigo as her head wobbled. The old woman brushed her hands off and cleared her throat.

    ¡°And that is all we need to discuss for now. The ball is in your court, as they say. Make your choices and face your consequences. Time may work differently here, but we all still have a schedule to keep. And it¡¯s time for you to wake up.¡±

    Nadia stretched out a hand from the couch, momentarily surprised that she was able to free it without any effort. The old woman appeared concerned.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Nadia cried out. ¡°I still have questions. Are you responsible for Luna?¡±

    The older lady cocked her head, scrunched her brow, and asked in return, ¡°What are you talking about?¡­Who or what is Luna?¡±

    Nadia¡®s expression suddenly dropped, like a kite losing the wind. The woman¡¯s expression of confusion was severe, intense, and earnest. Privately, Nadia considered that perhaps she should¡¯ve kept that question to herself. She was never good at lying, so instead of trying to confabulate some spiraling story about how Luna was the big black dog that Erin saw last night, she just shook her head and shrugged.

    The old woman paused with the invitation for Nadia to say more, but simple silence passed except for the crackling fire and a far-off hum that Nadia couldn¡¯t quite place.

    It wasn¡¯t long before Nadia discovered she could free her right hand as well. The old woman raised herself up in her seat and declared, ¡°We¡¯ll be in touch¡­¡±

    The next moment, Nadia found herself back in the car with a quick, unsettling hypnagogic jerk, as though she had just nodded off for a split second of a micro nap and was back. Luna was at her side and looked up at her with concern. Goosebumps covered what frail, silvery hairs she had on her arms. She took a deep breath and looked out the windows.

    Dusk settled deep in all directions, heightened by the lingering clouds against the horizon. The southwest desert felt different since last night, as though the weather has been transformed too amidst all the other changes. Luna squeezed tighter, urgently. She glanced over at the girl and put on a quick smile, responding and sniffling, ¡°I¡¯m fine. I just nodded off for a sec.¡±

    Eva leaned forward from the back and checked on her while Gina turned to look as well. She knew that she should¡¯ve said something to the group, with all the little details she learned. But what really had she learned?

    Everything in the dream felt unsettlingly real while shifting and changing from moment to moment. She let the imagery drift in her mind, testing whether it would diminish and become nebulous as time passed in waking. But the detail of the overwhelming chair, along with the soup and tea she was served, the taste sensations, and every word out of the mouth of that strange old woman along with the Beyond sign on the wall remained rooted in her awareness.

    Beyond, place or person, told her it was aliens. The Amashasama¡­ she somehow remembered the name. They gave her the average genetics of the other girls and awakened their innate abilities. Hers was supposedly dangerous because they turned up others'' abilities to eleven. If she didn¡¯t stay away, Erin could die. But they didn¡¯t know about Luna. Whatever that meant.

    She felt exhausted just assembling all that in her mind. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn¡¯t it just be that aliens turned her into a teenage girl because they had a fetish, rather than they had no idea what sex and gender were? No monsters, no oddities, no strange powers, just figuring out a quiet life with the girl she had a crush on all those years ago. Why couldn¡¯t it just be simple?

    Mrs. Ferris pulled into their housing tract and Nadia shoved all those tangled thoughts aside. She gathered up her things and put on a face to tell the others that everything was fine, even though it desperately wasn¡¯t. She wasn¡¯t listening to what Gina¡®s mom said when they pulled to the curb and the door opened, but she figured it was something nice, so she politely thanked her and waved to the other girls.

    It didn¡¯t really feel like her body was moving when she walked up the driveway to the front door. It had to be someone else¡¯s. The door was unlocked, and it was easy to slip inside. Nadia¡¯s mom greeted her, ruffled Luna¡®s hair, and asked a few questions that simply passed over her. She noticed the state of their clothes and wondered what they had been doing. The best explanation that Nadia could come up with was crawling over store floors to find certain things on low shelves. Her mother asked several follow-up questions only answered with shrugs. The Luna method.

    That sufficed for most things until her mother noticed the necklace. She had neglected to hide it.

    ¡°What is this?¡±

    It took Nadia several moments to realize what her mother meant. She didn¡¯t think the necklace was strange or suspicious, but she had also spent precious little time as a member of this family.

    ¡°This? It was a gift.¡± Her brain struggled from the wide swath of directions everything was tearing it in.

    ¡°From who?¡± Despite the reserved tone in which her mother asked that question, Nadia could sense the sharp seriousness. Her father wasn¡¯t present, probably back at the restaurant. None of her other family members were nearby, except for Luna clinging to her leg. She had such fond feelings and hope for the Baris family, but could she truly know them in so short of time? They were loving parents, but even the sweetest family has things they hope for, things they worry about, and things they fear.

    ¡°Erin,¡± Nadia answered, knowing that she should¡¯ve lied but also realizing it probably wouldn¡¯t have helped. ¡°A friend.¡±

    ¡°Why does it say ¡®GIRLFRIENDS FOREVER¡¯ and have lesbian symbols? What does that mean?¡±

    Before Nadia could say anything else, her mother stretched and undid the necklace from around her neck. She squeezed it into one fist, as though she could bury it that way. She gazed at her daughter with an intense expression between anger and disappointment.

    ¡°Go to your room. We will talk about this later. I am glad you both made it home safe.¡±

 [27] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 27 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [27]

    Nadia felt woozy. She still wasn¡¯t processing the events unraveling before her. The Sapphic love necklace that Erin gave her didn¡¯t even register in her mind as a problem or something to conceal. This sort of thing only came up once with her original family, in the most bewildering way.

    Her mother had the Lifetime Network on all the time back then and Paul wound up with a decent exposure to The Golden Girls, Designing Women, and China Beach. For some reason lost to time and memory, Paul¡¯s mother asked him how lesbians even ¡°do it¡±. Wandering through college and still stirring the possibilities of what might have been with Erin Reeves, Paul had not the faintest clue what to say in response. He could¡¯ve said a lot of things pieced together from the Internet, but none of them were things he wanted to utter in front of his mom.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± was probably the best answer. It didn¡¯t stop there though. His mother then launched into what he suspected was the main focus of her questions: Are you gay?

    Paul could say without qualification or hesitation that he liked women and spoke sincerely to his mother about that. He just had no idea how to advance from greetings and friendship into something more. It was always friends or being nice or hanging out. He didn¡¯t even really have anything in mind when he made that flower for Erin. He just thought it would be nice and make her smile.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be gay. Please, don¡¯t be gay. It¡¯ll make life so much harder for you to be gay. So, don¡¯t do it,¡± she declared.

    He always idly wondered a few things about his mom, especially with her disregard for his father and every uncomfortable hint about their sex life. So, he did his best not to be gay, not that he was trying to go in that direction or away from it. But his position and¡­things had been changed by becoming Nadia.

    She wanted to explain that to her new mom in a way that didn¡¯t feel nuts, but how? Even though she revealed that it was a gift from Erin, she hadn¡¯t admitted one way or the other what it meant. The only witness to the conflict was Luna. In the back room, her half-sisters were watching a movie. In the front room, her two younger brothers and two other sisters had on something from a streaming service. She was getting suspicious looks in her direction, but no one seemed to have figured out what she and mom were at odds about. Nadia quickly climbed up the stairs before her mother said anything else.

    In her bedroom, she changed out of her grimy clothes and searched around for something comfortable. She settled on a white sport shirt with striped red sleeves. A pair of gray polyester pants with bands of red white and black along the sides also sufficed.

    Looking in the mirror, she marveled at how normal her reflection felt. How the shape of her breasts in the top didn¡¯t feel unnatural or alien anymore. And the way that the pants traced the sloping curves of her hips and thighs. Then, especially the flatness as she squeezed her legs together and crossed them, left on top of the right. Her legs nervously trembled despite the fact she felt warm enough in these clothes and her room.

    Nadia did her best to arrange herself comfortably on her bed. She could tap open her phone and look for messages from her friends, but she feared that her mother was about to show up, see it, and take away that delicate connection she had to the others. The computer was over there to the left, but she felt too antsy to sit in the chair.

    Why was she being punished? Didn¡¯t parents in the 2020s not jump to crazy conclusions just because their kids are into weird jewelry? In this case, the assumption was right on the money but much more complicated than she could ever explain. Should she run away? Could she? She hadn¡¯t tried the windows, but she would¡¯ve assumed that they would be locked for safety reasons.

    This wasn¡¯t her family. It was just one she was thrown into by forces she didn¡¯t understand. Maybe that Beyond woman was responsible for it. In that case, they were clearly trying to isolate her. She folded her arms and felt herself coming to the strengthening conclusion that she didn¡¯t belong here anyway, and she had to get out. Her father seemed very nice and loving, but her mother was far too protective. She tolerated all sorts of stuff as Paul from a pretty crazy family and then an even more difficult extended family.

    Running away from home. It showed up in movies and TV shows and always seemed to resolve itself happily by the end, as only things in fiction could. She had no illusions that she would be able to come back from this. This was saying goodbye to the Baris family. She would miss Luna, especially for the hopeful sign that she was some sort of unknown variable.

    Before she could go beyond the ruminating phase for this plan, she had to check if it was at all viable. The windows behind her bed did open but were far too small. She could just barely fit her head through them. And the big window to her left only opened part of the way with enough space to get one arm through. What clearly had to be one of her sisters¡¯ rooms had two large windows, but they also only opened up slightly onto the fake mini patio that decorated the front. Each and every room she tried had the same limitation until the massive master bedroom and the window behind the couch.

    It was higher up but also opened all the way to easily permit her entire body to slide through in a quick test. She had to squish down her boobs to get through comfortably, but it was just enough space. With that resolved, Nadia quietly returned to her room and waffled between whether she would do it or whether she would wait. If she waited, then she could have a solid foundation and certainty about what her mother demanded of her. If it was unreasonable, then she would leave.

    But this was how it always went, ambition and hope dangled out before Paul so many times. He stood on the ledge of a true choice so many times, and he retreated. No, no matter what was her mother¡¯s reasoning, she had no right to take something from her that a friend gave as a gift. No matter the content of that gift, it was hers. Feeling the rush of this emotion, she dashed over to her room and composed a note explaining what she was doing.

    She vigorously emphasized respect for her personal property. She denounced her mother¡¯s assumptions about her character. And she made sure to say that she loved them, and she was sorry that she had to do this, but she had her own life. Nadia left no hints as to where she was going but wrote that they could leave text messages on her phone, and she would receive them. She promised her parents she would be safe. Writing the note felt like a huge step but, after all she had been through as an adult with so many years of experience and failure, being shoved into the treatment of a little kid was not something she could tolerate. Serious things were happening, the entire world could be at stake, and the fact that her mother was getting mad at her over a dumb necklace just lit a fire in her soul.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Folding the note and placing it in an obvious spot in the room, Nadia packed her sports bag with some of her clothes, her purse, and whatever snacks she could find around the room that didn¡¯t look inedible. Since she left her shoes at the front door, she dug around for a pair in the closet that looked durable enough to crawl across the roof. All that settled, she turned and looked towards the master bedroom.

    Luna stood in the doorway with her hands folded in front of her. She hadn¡¯t even heard her. Like a little ninja. Nadia jerked back and secured her bag while taking a deep breath.

    ¡°Hey, sis. I¡¯m sorry. I gotta go. Mom went too far. She¡¯s not actually my mom anyway. And you¡¯re not actually my little sister. It¡¯s one big¡­ It¡¯s complicated. I wish you were my sister. You¡¯re the best kind of little sister anyone could ever ask for. I want you to know that this is not because of you. You didn¡¯t do anything wrong. This is all on me. Okay?¡°

    Luna stood there, staring up at her sister. Her features were inscrutable and her expression blank. For several long moments, she feared that Luna might turn her in and ruin this whole plan. Part of her wanted to get caught. She could only imagine that running away would be a pain in the ass. She had to crawl across the roof and then hope that she could get over the fence without being seen and then have to walk and walk and walk with no idea where the bus stops were on this side of town or if the bus even ran at this hour.

    ¡°¡­Okay. I love you. Be safe.¡± Luna rushed over and wrapped her arms around her big sister. Instantly, Nadia felt queasy in her stomach about even saying to Luna that she wasn¡¯t her sister. But she didn¡¯t know what to say now to make it better, so she just hugged the kid tightly, kissed her on the top of the head, and promised her she would be safe while saying that she loved her too.

    To buy her some time, she asked if Luna could keep mom downstairs and distracted. Her sister slowly nodded. No more time to question and doubt.

    Even when she was out the window with her bag secured, Nadia still reminded herself that she could back out. It took pressing the window shut behind her. But even then she could tumble into the backyard and come up with some confabulation about why and how she got into the backyard without anyone noticing.

    The roof was not comfortable to sit on and quite unsteady underfoot. Evening was starting to spread on all sides, darkly filling the holes in the cloud cover that had emerged with the light of the sun. It wasn¡¯t yet dark enough that she needed a flashlight, although she did wonder if she should¡¯ve brought one for later in her journey. The phone light would have to suffice.

    As far as getting down from the roof, there was a slight projection on the side which didn¡¯t face the neighbor''s windows but allowed her to carefully stretch a foot down towards the tall fence. The side gate was locked and latched, but she was able to maneuver herself while holding onto the painfully rough stucco of the house. Climbing over the last obstacle was an easy task for her springy and flexible body.

    She was out. She could still go back though. It wouldn¡¯t be easy. But she could place everything that was upset back where it had been. Maybe her mother had a very good reason for everything, which she just needed to hear out. Nadia took a deep breath and walked along the fence and to the sidewalk and then she just kept walking. No going back.

    It was scary to take this step. This was what girls like Erin did when faced with family uncertainty. This is what Leslie had done when faced with a flood of thoughts that dragged her under.

    Paul, and likely Nadia as well, didn¡¯t do this kind of thing. He obeyed, he remained quiet, and did what was asked of him. It was kind of thrilling to just be off on her own, even though it was how things had been for quite a while. She was breaking rules, she was flying in the face of what people told her to do.

    God, she felt like such a goody two shoes. For other teenagers, boys and girls, sneaking out like this was probably low on the totem pole of rebellion, but it still felt like a giant step into the unknown. Her parents would still take her back, but she was totally going to be punished. They weren¡¯t her parents though, but it still felt like they were.

    She walked in whatever direction felt right and took her away from her house. Unfortunately, it was a housing tract and that meant a labyrinthine maze of cul-de-sacs and short streets. It was practically as frustrating as trying to navigate the pocket space at the abandoned Sears. Her mind did her the additional disservice of envisioning dark monsters that lived in this kind of area, just waiting to ensnare her like trap door spiders.

    Oh, yeah? Well, she would use her massive powers of making other people¡¯s powers stronger and being able to speak every human language to bend those giant residential spiders to her will. She was in the middle of this thought when she heard a strangely familiar voice call out to her from the street.

    ¡°Nadi?¡­¡±

    Stopped in the middle of the road was a beat-up, blue truck and leaning his head out of the driver¡¯s side window was her father. So much for running away. She couldn¡¯t even do that right. Got lost in the same housing area and the man who is supposed to be her father caught her.

    Nadia considered just making a break for it, but she was already starting to feel brutally tired from everything. Not sure what else to do, she just broke down crying on the sidewalk, tears streaming down her face like she was trying to challenge Leslie for anguish.

    Swiftly, barely putting his truck in park, Mr. Baris leaped from his vehicle and was at her side in a heartbeat.

    ¡°My princess. My dear, sweet daughter. What is wrong? What happened? What is going on? Please tell me.¡±

    On some level, Nadia suspected that her father was placed here by forces she scarcely understood. She vividly imagined that as soon as she unraveled her story for her father, then he would be just as upset as her mother. Maybe, for the consideration of her tears, he would stuff all the anger deep inside and go with the same parental lines of how they would talk about it as a family or talk about it later. Just give me a minute and so forth and push her aside.

    But at least she had this quiet moment of a father holding his daughter, without judgment or anger, and just wanting to make everything better¡­ Even though she knew that he couldn¡¯t.

 [28] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 28 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [28]

    The pause in the inevitable couldn¡¯t last forever. She would have to tell her father what was going on. He quickly dashed back over to his truck and pulled it safely to the curb before returning to her side.

    Her father¡¯s squeeze of her shoulder was comforting and supportive. She tried to look over at him, but it was hard, especially with trying to piece together exactly the words she needed and wanted to say.

    ¡°It was mom. She took away my gift and ordered me to my room. A necklace.¡±

    That was the best way she could get it out in words. Each sentence felt like a delicate step upwards with bare feet weaving their way between broken glass. If she revealed the wrong detail at the wrong time then she feared that all may be lost. Her father would understand why she ran away and worse things than what her mother did would result.

    He leaned his head to look at her face and sifted over what she said. ¡°Mom took a gift necklace from you? Why? Did she say?¡±

    The child thing to do would be to shrug and cry some more. ¡°She said we would talk about why, but I got scared.¡±

    Her father rubbed her shoulder and looked like he wanted to ask another question, but he held his tongue. The onus was on her for what came next. So many tickles invaded her throat and wanted to cloud her words and confidence. Nadia cleared her throat a few times before finding the beginning of a sentence to move through.

    ¡°I love Erin Reeves. She got me a cute necklace to say she loves me too.¡±

    It was out. Out of the closet. Out of her mouth. Out there like some wretched insect that she wished she could just stuff back inside and ignore. She wanted to just drown in her tears that had no reason to stop flowing now.

    What she expected to follow next was her father would slowly separate from her, stand tall and away from her side, and then likely ask for clarification before turning his hardest features and emotions against her in distaste and disapproval. She didn¡¯t have any sort of shell to ward against this fate, but she slightly hunched over protectively. For a moment, she feared that something worse was coming when he strengthened his hold around her.

    ¡°In love? You¡¯re in love?¡± His voice wasn¡¯t harsh but wafted a sense of surprise and disbelief.

    ¡°Yeah. With a girl.¡± Her voice wanted to choke and stumble beneath those words. Her eyes wanted to scrunch up and blot out the sight of her dad¡®s next response. She wanted to tell herself that it didn¡¯t matter what the people picked by whatever to be her parents thought about her life. Truly, even if they were her parents by birth, everything was ultimately up to her. It was her life to live.

    ¡°And she loves you?¡±

    Nadia looked at her father¡¯s face. His expression was calm but attentive, focused solely on her. Nadia nodded her head, building up her determination to speak.

    ¡°Yes. She really does. I mean she told me in front of everyone and kissed me. We talked last night about everything and how much we mean to one another. I know we haven¡¯t really known one another that long, but it feels like it¡¯s been forever. And I feel like this is it and if I don¡¯t express who I am then the opportunity will be lost and I¡¯ll spend years and decades alone, wondering what might¡¯ve been. And I¡¯m afraid that forces and people don¡¯t want us to be together and I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll hurt her. I just want her to be happy and I¡¯m happy with her.¡° Nadia had no idea of the absolute twists and turns of words that spilled out of her but as a raw feeling, as though cutting out the largest piece of her heart and showing it. She sniffled and wobbled throughout but made it.

    Her father looked down with a sigh. He was silent for a long measure and Nadia filled that gap with the worst imaginings despite the hopeful notes in his demeanor and questions. Perhaps he would be kind but still tell her that she would be cast out if she continued a relationship or simply demand that she stay away. She couldn¡¯t imagine such sternness coming from such a kindly, jovial man, but she had to recognize that she had only known him for a few minutes.

    After a deep breath, Mr. Baris spoke. His tone was gentle and reassuring.

    ¡°Nadia. Nadi. My dear, sweet princess. I love you and I will always love you. Nothing will ever change that. Your mother will always love you too, no matter how she acts. We are both proud of you. You have your choices to make in life and we will always support you in them. But I must ask¡­ Do you truly believe that Erin is the one? That you love her enough to marry her someday and spend your lives together?¡±

    Marry Erin? The thought never really came up in Nadia¡®s mind, what with the myriad of obstacles, like the fact aliens turned them into teenagers and Nadia into a girl and awakened superpowers in the entire group which brought them to the attention of monsters and strange dream people who warned her that they could destroy the world.

    Asking Erin out on a date was as far as her thought process had envisioned. Marrying her felt so far off and fanciful as a prospect. In her old life as Paul Moore, vehicle aficionado and podcast enthusiast, who spent so many hours alone or as the anonymous ferryman for others after a lifetime of thankless service, would gladly marry Erin and be a part of her volleyball coaching existence. But would it have been the same?

    As Paul and Erin, assuming the alien encounter still happened but they decided to do nothing to change the course of their lives, he would¡¯ve driven the girls the rest of the way rather than Tonya taking over. Recalling the details of last night, Nadia focused on the fact that Tonya still needed to use glasses. She thought that the aliens had given them a health booster or something like it. Patch up Odessa¡®s leg and put Paul and Erin in line with the other girls. And, according to the dream woman, they did a touchup of their genetic code, leading to activating their powers. She knew that none of the other girls needed glasses, but that imperfection sure seemed like something a bunch of experimenting aliens would remedy. Nadia had no idea and the best explanation she could come up with was that perhaps Tonya was a control subject, if the aliens were following anything resembling a scientific method on earth. She filed this away for now.

    Continuing this hypothetical scenario, perhaps the group would still be spooked. Gina would share her theories bolstered by the nearby military base and everyone would be bouncing off the walls, but they would arrive at their destination much the same. Perhaps Erin would linger with concern and curiosity, and they would talk. She might even get worried by the lateness of the evening, although without new perceptions to push her over the top.

    Still, she might invite him over for a drink and some cheesecake. Bubsy would inspect this strange fellow and perhaps they would reminisce over high school. Would there be love? Would they kiss? Would all those traces of memory and possibility ignite into something more? Did Paul and Erin feel bold enough to take the necessary steps and discover the ocean of feelings within? Nadia would never know. That life never happened. This was the one she was living.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    In this life, she truly and deeply loved Erin despite the fact they had a renewed lifetime set out before them as teenagers with families that deeply cared about their well-being. No matter what her mother did, it still paled in comparison to Paul¡¯s mother and her Machiavellian nature.

    She said that she loved him and yet she showed an ego-maniacal level of manipulation to have the perfect helper until she was done with him. As Nadia, she resolved she would be in charge of her own life, choose her own path, and control her destiny. No controlling mothers. No sly military agents trying to pick her brain. No monsters. No dreamworld grandmothers with ultimatums. This was her life, and she was going to share it with the girl she loved.

    So, the answer to her father¡®s question was easy, ¡°Yes. I want to marry Erin and spend the rest of my life with her, no matter what.¡±

    Sitting beside her on the sidewalk and holding his daughter close, Duman Baris smiled his warmest smile of the day despite acknowledging the fact that an army of black ants was getting very close to their legs. They walked over to her father¡®s truck and he gave her a ride back home just a block away.

    Neither of them immediately hopped out of the car when her father parked it. From the outside, the house looked absolutely normal. No screaming or chaos filtering out. Mother probably hadn¡¯t started looking for her yet. Nadia wanted to pull herself into the same fetal position they had found Leslie in. Duman cleared his throat.

    ¡°I don¡¯t mention it enough, but your elder sister, Iris, is married to a beautiful woman named Isabell. Your mother still has a hard time as a stepmother. She knows that she can never replace Marie in any of our lives, but she should also know that she doesn¡¯t have to. She is very distant from Iris but has made efforts with encouraging her to teach you the piano. I am very upset that she took your precious necklace, your precious gift from someone you care for deeply, no matter her reasons. It was yours and I want you to know that you are respected in our house the same as we expect respect from you."

    He discussed and was able to piece together how Nadia ran away from home and other details. Despite keeping a tone of sympathy, he did acknowledge that she disobeyed her mother telling her to stay in her room until she came to talk to her. How she got out without being seen was also a matter of concern. On the one hand, Nadia liked that a window existed that she could sneak through. An escape route, just in case. But he wasn¡¯t going to let her be vague on this point by saying it was just a random window. She had to say which one, and he told her he would fix it, so neither of her brothers might get the crazy idea of climbing out on the roof. With that settled, they both went inside.

    Calm pervaded the air until they were several steps in. Her mother practically vaulted the distance from the kitchen screaming a variety of foreign words which lost their bite by being perfectly understandable to Nadia. None of them were crude but plenty of them were terrified and angry. Duman silently and confidently raised a single hand in the air to ask for quiet. His wife obeyed.

    ¡°Our daughter needed to go for a walk to clear her head from a difficult afternoon. She told me you have something of hers that you would like to return to her. Please.¡± He laid out his hand, cupped to receive the necklace. Taliah clenched her teeth and shook her head, but her husband was unwavering.

    Stomping back to the kitchen, she actually had to dig around in the trashcan and come up with the necklace, tangled and smeared with dried sauce. Duman slowly shook his head and wore such a serious and rigid expression that she never expected to see on such Father Christmas features. It was like he had been slapped. He turned and delicately placed the necklace in his daughter¡¯s hands. Then he asked her to leave them to talk.

    Though he didn¡¯t ask her to go to her room, that was where Nadia felt most comfortable going. Her brothers were leaning forward at the edge of their couch and her sisters had their mouths cupped and whispers traded between each other. Her half-sisters stood in the back room, curious and confused. The last, fading traces of the day filtered through the windows as she climbed the steps.

    Luna sat with her legs crossed on Nadia¡®s bed. She was looking up, as though she expected her older sister to be there at this moment. The girl seemed strangely older, as though Nadia hadn¡¯t been away for ten minutes but rather ten years, like the old twin time dilation experiment she recalled from a podcast some time ago. Instead of the little girl with dusty skin and brilliant eyes, there was a young woman who seemed to outclass her in years, clad in jeans and a soccer shirt. Hair spilling across her shoulders like a waterfall. The presence of a princess more than she could ever claim.

    And there was more. Like an image just slightly out of focus, she could see someone else, smeared by radiant light. It almost clicked into place. But, before an epiphany could reach her, it was gone. Her sister Luna, age five, was back. And the vision was easily explained away as a trick of the darkening light.

    Luna scampered over from the bed and wrapped her arms around her big sister. She squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her head to her side. With a sigh, Nadia explained that dad caught up to her and she barely even left their street. Luna listened attentively without any telling expressions.

    Before they parted, Luna reached up and gave her sister a kiss on the cheek.

    ¡°I love you¡­¡± That was all she said before scampering off down the steps.

    Nadia stretched and set her escape bag aside. She inspected the necklace in her hands. It had some stains from the trashcan along the band and the parts that formed the words, but that could easily be cleaned off in the sink. The band would need to be lightly scrubbed with soap and water where it was stained. She plopped down on her bed about where Luna had been sitting.

    She adjusted her legs and tried to get comfortable but found she was sitting on something lumpy. Pulling on the sheets didn¡¯t fix it. She hopped up and looked at the spot on the covers.

    Laying on the comforter, half buried, was another necklace in the same style. She picked it up and inspected it. Her mouth dropped open. It wasn¡¯t just a necklace in the same style as the one Erin gifted to her, but it had the exact same message of GIRLFRIENDS FOREVER with the same hearts and symbols.

    Placing both on her computer desk, Nadia turned on the lamp and tried to get a good look at each. Her running away note was gone, but she ignored that for right now.

    The necklace she¡¯d been holding in her hand was a little bit warmer than the other one. The one she found on the bed looked a little distressed in places. It didn¡¯t have the messy stains of the other, but it had the traces of someone trying to clean it with a slight discoloration mostly faded away where there used to be a stain. Nadia stepped back.

    She was reminded of the situation with the Ginas. One of them current and one of them from a little while ago.

    These two necklaces, improbably, were her necklace.

 [29] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 29 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [29]

    ¡°Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up¡­¡±

    This made no sense to Nadia. Actually, that wasn¡¯t entirely true. This made perfect sense to Nadia from the perspective of all the craziness going on. But it was still somehow a step above aliens, superpowers, dream worlds, and anything else she may be forgetting.

    A glitch in the matrix was the first thing that popped into her head, and it wasn¡¯t the first time she had arrived at that thought recently. But it was a different matter entirely to look at two versions of the same thing and have no reasonable explanation for why they were here. If the world was a simulation and she was just some character programmed into it, then what did that mean?

    Was Beyond some sort of software company? Did people from Beyond play this world like people played online role-playing games? Was that it? Was that the answer? Was she, her life, her experiences, and everything she ever knew just lines of code in some incomprehensible program beyond her reckoning?

    It actually made a weird sort of sense. Of course, superpowers weren¡¯t possible in any sort of reasonable, rational, grounded world. Aliens didn¡¯t just abduct people and turn them into teenage girls because they made a mistake about the human species. Reality doesn¡¯t just shift to give someone different parents. They don¡¯t suddenly get a family out of nowhere. That¡¯s what happens when you update the server and correct continuity errors and adjust things, so they make sense. Maybe you lose someone¡¯s elder sisters, but don¡¯t worry, you can patch it in when they¡¯re not looking and let them think it was all on them.

    This is still a crazy theory, but it made more and more sense with every moment she thought it through. It was the only way she could really explain the craziness resting on her table. Maybe it was a necklace that Luna found somewhere, and it could be the necklace of one of her sisters but that would be an even crazier coincidence that they had exactly the same necklace and that was what set her mom off.

    It more sense if everything was a simulation. Can¡¯t get together with the woman she loves because it would somehow break the program with the interaction of their powers in the simulated reality. Then why do they allow her a choice? Is it a real choice or is it just the illusion of one?

    She had to sit down. The computer desk chair was too rigid for her needs and the bed didn¡¯t provide enough support unless she just flopped down on it like she was ready to make snow angels in the blankets. She grabbed the two necklaces but kept them in separate hands, even though both Ginas existed in contact without any problems. She didn¡¯t know if the same rules applied to whatever this was. Better to not accidentally create an explosion. Sometimes, she wondered if she absorbed far too many weird podcasts during her quiet drives. But the weirdness was in the world, and she couldn¡¯t ignore it.

    The notion that the world could be a simulation shook her to her core and yet didn¡¯t feel like a big deal at all. What was she supposed to do? Everything is a simulation. Reality is unreliable. Does it really matter all that much?

    Yesterday, before all of this, when Paul was prepping the bus for the team, he was just gonna live his life day by day. Look forward to the antics of his passengers, enjoy a casual chat with Erin, and return to the usual grind. The days didn¡¯t really matter. Everyone he ever knew or would ever meet would one day die. Everything he did, everything he made, every word he said, whether inscribed on the Internet or spoken into the nearest ear, would ultimately be erased. The sun would one day swell into a red giant and then poof into a white dwarf, probably taking the Earth with it and every trace of every human to ever inhabit it.

    And even if you consider the possibility that the atoms which constituted the key essence of the life of Paul or Nadia managed to embed themselves with the memory of his or her existence, there was always entropy. The universe expands forever with untold eons of star stuff flying to distant stretches. But, eventually, all that¡¯s left are dying black holes and the last sparks of particles. Even if reincarnation or an afterlife existed then she feared that be more of the same, but with endless pointless torture or endless pointless joy. Not that Nadia would shrug off the joyful possibilities of a heaven that appeal to her.

    If the world is a simulation, then none of it ever mattered.

    But a little voice inside her soon countered.

    Yeah? So what? Then, it¡¯s pointless. Give it a point. Draw a finite shape in the horrors of the infinite. Enjoy life. Love. Be sincere. Share. Have silly little moments like at the shopping center with trying to figure out a disguise for Louise, even though there¡¯s no way that her mom ever would¡¯ve come to the conclusion that her daughter got duplicated.

    What do you choose to have value, what do you give a point to? She looked down at the necklaces in her hands, the impossible duo. Quietly, she set the one she found exactly back where she found it. Walking over to the nearest bathroom, she cradled the necklace that Erin had given her. Using a couple pumps of liquid soap and some elbow grease, she delicately cleaned the necklace so that all traces of garbage stains and smells were gone. It still had the hint of a discoloration but only if you knew where to look.

    After gently drying it off, Nadia walked back to her bedroom and checked the spot where she had left the other necklace. There was nothing. Somehow, that¡¯s exactly what she expected to happen. Glitch corrected, error fixed. Go on your way, little NPC. No need to even read the patch notes. As you were.

    Somewhere in her mind, she connected the details that the necklace appeared right where Luna was sitting, and it would¡¯ve been an easy thing for a little girl to sneak into her room and grab a little thing like that without being heard. Luna was pretty sneaky, and she had her secrets. Nadia could press her, but she doubted she would say anything more than she already had.

    It only occurred to her then that it would¡¯ve been interesting to make a mark on her necklace and see if it showed up in the other one, like a double image. Oh well. She had plenty of other things to concern herself with.

    Her mother would be coming upstairs soon, with a lot to say to her daughter. The necklace seemed dry enough already for her to wear it prominently and proudly.

    Despite that intent, she still tucked her escape bag under the bed, especially to hide her fancy cell phone. Unfortunately, being without her cell phone meant there was basically nothing to do in her room. It would be too much trouble to get up and out of bed to turn on her computer and everything else was even further out of reach. The plight of the teenager, she snorted.

    She heard footsteps on the stairs and sat up. It could¡¯ve been anyone. Even though her siblings had been downstairs for the entire day, it made sense that they might eventually come up to get something out of the rooms. She told herself that it was probably one of them. At the same time, she sensed that it had to be her mother. And she was right.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Her mother was still wearing the same clothes from earlier decorated with the Turkish flag. Her eyes were rimmed with tears as she made her way up the last few steps. She wiped them away. Nadia braced herself. She was used to being manipulated by parental tears. In response, she sat a little straighter in bed with her head raised and her chest out so that her mother would easily be able to see the necklace, even from this far away.

    Taliah set her hand on the door frame and quickly inspected the lintel for dust. She found a few questionable spots but cleared her throat and straightened much like her daughter. ¡°Sweetie, I want to apologize from the bottom of my heart. I was wrong. I was especially wrong to react like that and take away the gift Erin gave you¡­just because I was scared. I dream so many beautiful things for you. I don¡¯t want you to make any mistakes. Not that this is a mistake, but so many of our family members have suffered because they were different. I know who you are and how you feel are things you cannot change, but I hoped I could hold you back from the dangers of the world a little longer. But that was wrong. Please forgive me.¡±

    This felt so familiar to interactions with Paul¡¯s mother, but with the key difference that she had offered up an adamant and unqualified mea culpa. Paul or Nadia couldn¡¯t ask for more. She embraced Nadia¡®s mother and they talked for a while.

    Most of what they talked about didn¡¯t directly hit on the subject at hand, verging towards worries, hopes, years ago, and grandparents. Taliah didn¡¯t appear especially comfortable with the idea of talking about her daughter¡¯s girlfriend and the same sort of prospects for a relationship and marriage, but she kept respectfully quiet and encouraged positive sentiment. It was kind of an odd moment though when she brought up protection.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about uh¡­ about about intimate things, but I just want to make sure you are protecting yourself.¡±

    It didn¡¯t take long for the subject to desperately and vividly become one that Nadia really didn¡¯t wanna discuss with her mother. The invocation of dental dams was her limit. She trusted Erin and it honestly felt like neither of them had been especially sexually active before the alien encounter anyway. Although, she suspected that Erin at least had a little more experience than she did.

    The uncomfortable section of discussing things with her mom soon passed but a key problem remained. Even though she hadn¡¯t gotten far, Nadia had attempted to run away from home against the directive of her mother. It turned out for the best that they didn¡¯t talk when emotions were at their height, but they still needed to do something. As a consequence of her actions, her mother proposed having Nadia help out a shift at the restaurant.

    Apparently, this was something they had done before and sometimes happened either as chipping in or a punishment. Only a half day on Sunday but she would consider everything resolved. Paul was thoroughly used to working around a restaurant, especially with tidying up, so Nadia eagerly agreed. She was just happy that she wouldn¡¯t have to give up any of her devices or be grounded.

    Her mother stayed for a little while just to talk about the day that Nadia had and how other things were with school. She had to fudge and confabulate some bits as well as leave out everything regarding powers, the abandoned Sears, and only vaguely refer to Louise as Odessa¡¯s visiting friend.

    Once her mother left her alone, that actually activated a bit of a flood as her sisters and brothers started swarming around the second floor. Plenty of them camped out in the loft with its massive TV and speaker bar. They were all apparently watching some western soap opera television show and Nadia opted to join in while mostly paying attention to her phone. Her sisters touched on the topic of controversy briefly when checking out her necklace.

    They hugged and cheered her. Iris, in particular, had kind words. It slowly dawned on Nadia that after her earlier piano lesson, she had planned to test whether she had certain powers by changing a detail of her elder half-sister¡®s life. At the time, she figured it would just be a matter of making her a little bit of a gamer who designed soundtracks for some popular franchise. But what if Iris¡®s sexuality was a consequence of that? She couldn¡¯t prove that her sister was a lesbian before, and it seemed another futile act to try and lay the blame at her feet.

    She had blamed herself so many times for so many stupid reasons. Just let it go. Besides, Iris not only seemed happy, but she couldn¡¯t stop talking about Isabell with a radiant smile. Nadia could only hope that she might find the peace and confidence to talk about Erin that way. A few of the details filtered out to her siblings, but she also didn¡¯t know a great deal about Erin¡®s hobbies. She might have to resolve that next time they spoke.

    As her frenzied brothers and sisters acted like it was still a part of the earlier game to watch the more mundane, interpersonal happenings on a massive Montana ranch, Nadia retreated to her phone and texted Erin. She did her best to keep quiet about it, lest everyone think she was composing racy love notes.

    It didn¡¯t take long for Erin to get back to her. She had plenty to update Nadia on. Because of the social circle connections, they had actually gotten in contact with the other half of the volleyball team which the shopping group hadn¡¯t really been in touch with.

    Everyone had encountered some variety of change, Erin informed her. All the girls had the two tiers of abilities as Leslie referred to them. Something natural and innate and something that needed to be practiced. Tatianna, Sasha, Thessaly, Elsa, Audrey, and Marisol.

    They all wanted to meet up on Sunday so they could get on the same page. The group that Nadia found herself with this Saturday felt like a big one but counting those six along with Erin and possibly others was incredibly daunting. A group of around a dozen and she was sure to be one of the focuses of attention.

    Despite how much she didn¡¯t wanna care about the warnings from her little dream, the prospect of being around people with uncertain powers and her being the one that might pour gasoline on their fire, made her pause and think. She relayed that she had to do some work for her parents at their restaurant and Erin excitedly passed along that this restaurant might be a good place for everyone to show up together.

    Nadia had to Google her father¡®s restaurant chain. As she probably could¡¯ve expected, it was Turkish but with a blend of Mexican and British flavors in a pub. Looking at Erin¡¯s untempered exuberance and sweet affection restrained her from passing along the bird''s nest of tangled things in her mind and heart.

    She played along with the appearance of happiness and at the end shaped excited words looking forward to tomorrow before closing her phone and desperately trying to lose herself in the melodrama playing out on the screen.

 [30] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 30 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [30]

    The soap story wasn¡¯t as bad as she feared it might be and it wasn¡¯t even actually that much of a soap opera. It definitely fell hard on a variety of tropes, but it was an easy watch with a lot of gorgeous landscapes and horses.

    After the show, it was basically suppertime. She had had breakfast with Erin, followed by a Mediterranean meal soon after, the ramen, and this was actually the smallest. All the courses from earlier returned but she mostly nibbled. The main topic of discussion was disappointment with the national team along with Duman smirking and cheering for England in the late game of the day. None of her siblings seemed to actually know how she snuck out, but her father alluded to the fact that he needed to repair a window in the master bedroom.

    Nadia volunteered that she would be working at the restaurant, so she hoped to get to bed early after such a crazy day. She added a yawn covered by her hand and a sniffle. Unfortunately, the topic of homework also came up and she had no interest in dealing with that. She suspected that the Sunday group would clue her in. However, Sunday also meant church and that was another obligation she would have to deal with.

    How religious did they expect Nadia to be? She desperately hoped that she wasn¡¯t in some sort of choir or featured position in the church. Paul¡¯s parents left channels like TBN on 24 hours in their later years, so she had picked up enough of certain denominations of Christianity in her life. Digging around her designated social materials didn¡¯t reveal a lot of hopeful details. There were implications of a prayer group but no recent activity.

    Considering the current schism, she felt it was prudent to at least placate her mother on this point and hopefully not discover any sore points for her father. This evening¡®s shower felt much tenser than the previous. She could hear her siblings scampering outside and feel the implication that she wasn¡¯t to hog the bathroom. Nadia¡®s stuff in there was marked with printed, plastic labels. Quite helpful. With more than ten people in the house, it seemed necessary.

    She also had to plan before her shower. Walking out in a large, sky-blue robe, fortunately, didn¡¯t raise any eyebrows or alarms. Murat asked her to help him draw some shapes and Nadia did her best with that although he seemed a little disappointed. As Paul, he was definitely not as precise but, as Nadia, she just didn¡¯t have the practice. The kid ultimately went to ?dil to clean it up. Nadia plopped on her bed and wondered if she would ever actually be useful to the Baris family. Paul was generally useful but had to field exorbitant expectations.

    Just get through Sunday, she told herself. Curling up where she lay, Nadia considered turning off the lights or sneaking under the covers, but tiredness and exhaustion rooted her to the mattress and she drifted off.

    Mercifully, she didn¡¯t find herself in any strange or menacing places in her dreams. They just manifested as a rehearsal outline of the day that preceded her and the expectations of the morning to follow. She saw the framework of how things might¡¯ve gone, like smartly hiding the necklace before arriving home. Responding cleverly to her mother¡¯s tears. And herself in a nondescript church waiting for and fielding every new occurrence. She reran the roads of working in a kitchen and cleaning up a restaurant.

    There was nothing especially memorable to stay with her when she woke up, but the casual rehearsal brought her relief and anxiety. The morning routine wasn¡¯t particularly different. She offered to help with breakfast and make sure her younger siblings got everything done they needed to do. The latter was encouraged by her mother, but she single-handedly gripped the responsibility of breakfast. It was a really good breakfast and she seemed to take immense pride in making it for her husband and all their children.

    For church, Nadia was able to dig out some random old photos online showing her at different church events, always from the back. It was enough to ascertain the appropriate clothes in her closet to wear. A pink collared blouse and a flowing black skirt with long stockings and flats. She made her hair nice and tucked everything away in her purse. Downstairs, no one batted an eye at her, so she took this as a positive sign. Her mother gave her a quick once over but didn¡¯t fuss with anything like she did with retying Murat¡®s tie. Her father hugged and encouraged her as they piled into two of the largest cars in the garage.

    Nadia did her best not to appear uncomfortable in a skirt. It wasn¡¯t that weird, but she innately understood that her legs needed to stay crossed and together, especially at this place. The muscle memory of spreading out and stretching during driving hours was an easy position to slide back into, but she was cognizant of each time she slipped and corrected herself by bringing her knees back together. In other clothes, even the really tight ones that Erin provided, it was easy for the way her body looked and felt now to just slip her mind with so many other distractions.

    In a skirt with a bra and a blouse, everything about her female body felt desperately highlighted and on stark display. Her face felt hot despite the fact she was perfectly attired for a girl her age. But she was a girl, a teenage girl. A notably, naturally pretty one. Compared to being bus driver Paul, teen girl Nadia was a world and a lifetime away. It seemed like a masquerade, and she was self-aware of her costume.

    Her family¡¯s church was on the outskirts, far to the north of town. It was a massive building that felt more like something Catholics would create, straddling a narrow canyon and pristine desert wilderness. Several ranches and fancy homes flanked the church, along with a sizable preschool and a strip mall at the end of the road prominently featuring a supermarket, credit union, and a sushi place.

    The pastor greeting them at the door was also obviously Turkish and said some kind words. Nadia noticed that her mother lingered behind to whisper something that she couldn¡¯t hear to the pastor. Her muscles tensed and she desperately hoped that it wasn¡¯t her mother tattling on her. Dad didn¡¯t notice.

    The interior of the church was tall and intricate, seeming more like an auditorium rather than a place of worship. The pews were arranged in neat rows with a tall stage at the front. The ceiling was vaulted and painted in vibrant colors and the walls were decorated with elaborate murals. The floor was polished wood. And the air was saturated with incense. It took a while for the congregation to be seated, but it was standing room only as Sunday service began. This was easily the most people she¡¯d ever been around in one place.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The air felt different with that many people. No matter what powers and influence she had or felt she had seemed utterly dwarfed by the presence of humanity all around her. The world is a simulation? Tell it to them. Fortunately, the procedure and routine of the service were laid out in the paper pamphlet passed down the row.

    During the opening hymn, Nadia tried to make her singing voice sound natural. She checked around to see if anyone was looking at her. There were several worship songs in a row and a few of the melodies felt familiar. She probably heard them on the television. The last time she was in a church was her mother¡¯s tribute after her death.

    It was an unfamiliar denomination but one recommended by the mortuary and paid for with a small donation. It was a clusterfuck. The pastor didn¡¯t know a damn thing about Paul¡¯s mother. They had the wrong name and information on the memorial papers. Less than a dozen people came, and Paul¡¯s aunt blamed him for the entire fiasco. Every close family member of his who passed after that just received a small wake at home.

    She tried to reflect on the lyrics of what she was singing. God loves you, Jesus loves you, sing about His glory to all the world. But Paul listened to too many podcasts that detailed oddities about Christian history. Nadia¡®s mind raced with them.

    Jesus was more likely a stone worker rather than a carpenter in the era that he lived, a tekt¨­n. Stonemason. And he was possibly a royal-blooded priest by lineage and an Essene. Then Saul of Tarsus, aka Paul, coopted early Christianity and implanted it with Mithraism. In short, it didn¡¯t mean anything either. It was all made up or tangled and twisted by the mists and mess of history. Yet so many people were devoted and vehemence in their faith, and she felt like such a phony. She couldn¡¯t even believe this world was real.

    Maybe she was completely wrong, and they were all completely right. Maybe there was a God that loved everyone and cared for them rather than dark monsters that ate what was left of your essence after you died. Maybe there was reason to be hopeful rather than fearful of dream people who claimed you would be responsible for the end of everything. Maybe someone was listening and actually loved her, who she was, and who she wanted to be. But it just felt so uncertain.

    The rituals of the service always gave her something to do, even if it was just listening to the sermon. The topic of that was devotion along with questions and the superpowers of God. If the universe was trying to send her a message, Nadia noted that it was a little on the nose.

    Pastor Anderson, whose name she figured out from her pamphlet, had them read several passages, including part of Philippians. Then he went into a pop-culture tangent about superhero movies and the need for people to have faith. He invoked familiar stuff about power and responsibility and humility and stories. She did her best to make her closed eyes appear like she was focused on the pastor¡¯s words and trying to absorb them into her life. At the same time, fear filtered through her.

    It didn¡¯t matter if she was gay, right? Paul vaguely remembered that laws were being passed here and there about churches when it came to sexuality. Of course, if her mother and the pastor had a certain arrangement, they could just take her somewhere and who knows what they might do to try to change things for her. She wanted to leave. She wanted to get out of here, twisting from a sudden panic in her soul, like suddenly realizing you left something smoldering at home, and surely it will catch fire.

    Her head swam with crazy swirls. She was a teenage girl in a skirt, in a church, singing a song about God. That phrase repeated over and over in her head like a mantra, a madness song. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. She was panicking. She was going crazy. She was losing it.

    She had to calm down. She had to get control. She had to focus. She had to stop thinking. She had to stop being afraid. This had to be like what Leslie felt when everyone¡¯s voices inside suddenly spoke up within her. Only the problem was it felt like the entire world was a simple cardboard construct that would tumble over if she so much as touched it. She imagined Pastor Anderson pointing a finger right at her and singling her out amongst everyone else as a sinner, as a lesbian, as a teenage girl in a skirt in a church who didn¡¯t actually believe in the God she was singing about.

    Before she could scream, a wavy, wobbly sense of calm passed over her. Luna, who she hadn¡¯t even realized was sitting next to her, nuzzled her arm and squeezed it. She was so perfectly, fantastically warm without being stiflingly hot. Nadia quietly cried and clung to Luna as desperately as she clung to her. The unreal uncertainty faded, and the routine of the prayers and the rituals settled into her senses. It wasn¡¯t long before it was over, and she could stretch. The nightmarish panic barely even remained in her thoughts, feeling more like a fever dream.

    She was ready to leave church. But there was quite a bit afterward to take care of. All of it felt listless and rambling, like filling out the empty spaces of her life with something to do. The pastor talked to her and said a prayer with her but didn¡¯t aim it in any particular direction of admonishment or advice.

    Eventually, she had done her duty, changed into more casual clothes, and part of the family headed to brunch while her father and she went to the restaurant. Duman had an entire chain in the area, but this one was the largest location which took the most of his attention.

    Compared to the unfamiliar landscapes of church, Nadia found herself immediately at home in the steamy kitchen. She went to work with elbow-length gloves making sure everything was clean, setting aside new ingredients, checking the walk-in freezer, and scrubbing the floor. Her father delighted in her energy, which did concern her about whether this was an uncommon occurrence. She just couldn¡¯t stop working though. It was exhausting but also liberating.

    She almost missed the text message from Erin announcing that she was arriving with several of the girls and her mom. And Nadia was so busy that the time between that message and a smiling Erin showing up at the entrance felt like less than an instant.

    They danced and hugged. All the pain of losing the necklace, the confusion of the evening, and the panic of the morning slid away like the haze and cloud cover of the last day that had finally burned away to reveal the pure, warming light.

    If there was a heaven, then it had to be with Erin.

 [31] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 31 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [31]

    The social energy of so many girls in one place usually felt to Paul like being a boat on a turbulent sea. But Nadia couldn¡¯t just sit back and ride out the metaphorical currents. She endeavored to pick up the different fragments of conversation and stitch them together into comprehension. The problem was the group already had so many knowing references and comfortable shorthand when dealing with one another. She did her best to pick up the meaning of ¡°spike talk¡± when the conversation was already on ¡°pear trash¡±.

    It turned out that both of them involved concerns about her. Spike talk was pretty much when they felt that they were getting too esoteric, and insider compared to someone outside of the volleyball team. Basically, hitting a hard strike when someone was just learning how to lob into the conversation. And ¡°pear trash¡± was a reference to slowing it down for her. It involved how Audrey would keep fruits like pears in her locker and slowly eat them, even when they were starting to rot. A briefly referenced version called ¡°pear crunch¡° actually signified the opposite, hurry it up.

    Eva joked that they could come up with a translation guide and that made Audrey¡®s eyes go wide. The other heavily geeky girl after Gina, she had loads to say about the translation process of anime and her favorite notes. What Nadia noticed first about her though was that she was wearing a pair of green-framed glasses. And what she noticed immediately after was that they didn¡¯t have any lenses.

    Audrey immediately plucked them off her face, twirled them, and admitted, ¡°They are prop glasses. I don¡¯t know how I feel about having been poked by¡­ Space science but my vision is now 20/15. However, I have a meganekko look to uphold. That¡¯s the bespectacled, cute glasses-wearing girl in animes.¡± She spun the glasses a little bit too much and they flew off across the floor. Audrey squeaked and scampered off to retrieve them.

    Marisol heaved a weighty sigh, pointed at Audrey crawling the floor, and declared, ¡°My cousin. If Miss Mister Bus Driver didn¡¯t know.¡±

    That was actually a surprise to Nadia. She had the vague impression that a few of the girls were quite close and, in retrospect, Audrey and Marisol looked relatively similar. But, simultaneously, they seemed worlds apart.

    Audrey had a massive drape of black hair that followed her like a cape attached to her head. Her face twisted and contorted like rubber, expressing her every quirk and trace of emotion. She had on a yellow top displaying some anime characters that Nadia didn¡¯t recognize, with the stark contrast of green pants. She put her fake glasses back on, used a single finger to push them back in place, and added to her cousin¡¯s introduction, ¡°At your service.¡± Marisol shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

    Nadia got the impression that Marisol and Eva were on the same wavelength. Compared to Audrey, Marisol had her black hair cropped but just long enough to have a swoop behind her ears. It looked shiny and actually a little bit wet, probably with some product that she¡¯d never really encountered. She would definitely say that Marisol toed the line between feminine and androgynous. There was a slight scar above her eyebrow which lent her a certain impression of toughness. She didn¡¯t appear she smiled regularly. Her clothes were a pleasant and fashionable tan and black and she expressed a welcoming aroma neither too flowery nor too pungent.

    They were all soon seated at a table with plenty of space. The waitress set down several containers with different varieties of bread along with dipping sauces and hummus. The girls passed everything around on the serving plates already on the table and snacked lightly. Water arrived, as well as non-alcoholic drinks. Gina¡®s mom was in one of the other rooms by the Cantina. Nadia noted to herself that Gina¡®s mom had gone drinking socially on consecutive days, but she opted not to say anything about it aloud.

    During a lull, Marisol pulled in her lips and gave a reserved but adamant apology for her behavior the other day on the bus. She had been the cohort with Gina who practically tried to strip freshly transformed Nadia bare to understand the extent and the authenticity of the change. While Gina only put in her proper apology yesterday before shopping, Marisol already vigorously apologized to her on the trip back from the UFO encounter.

    Sasha chirped up and admitted with her dark hands folded underneath her prominent chin, ¡°We were all curious and suspicious, but mostly curious. And that was only the beginning. We all texted each other about the superhero thing, right? Same page, even though everyone isn¡¯t here? Alien gift. I don¡¯t know what the best way to talk vaguely is without freaking out everyone else.¡±

    She glanced over her shoulder at the waiters, waitresses, and other workers around Mr. Baris¡®s restaurant. Nadia wanted to rejoin them. She feared that every moment she was with these girls was like throwing their abilities into overdrive. And Erin had decided to sit right next to her. This divided her with ambivalence. She wanted to get even closer to Erin, but she also desperately wanted her to stay away on the chance that something about her might hurt the one she cared for the most.

    Gina waved her hand and responded, ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be fine. We had weird stuff happen all day yesterday and no one bothered really. At most, people will think we¡¯re just like role-playing, talking about a game, or something on TV. Going first, we discussed with Leslie, who couldn¡¯t make it today but she¡¯s fine, that there seems to be one part of the superpower thing where it happens automatically and one that needs work. Like maybe a talent and a skill. One you just have. One you have to train.¡± The other girls were all focused on her, even as they ate.

    Nadia looked around and noticed something rather peculiar about Sasha. She had a sizable amount of curly, dense dark hair. That wasn¡¯t weird. The weird part was it looked like she was using her hair as a puppet to adjust her silverware. But that just wasn¡¯t possible because both her hands were still under her chin. While Nadia watched, Sasha¡®s hair also adjusted the collar of her purple jacket. At one point, the waitress came around to ask them about their orders and Eva took the initiative and ordered a large vegetarian appetizer including grape leaves and falafel.

    It was shortly thereafter that Eva adopted a nervous smile and inquired with Nadia, ¡°Is your dad covering this meal for us? I ask because I¡¯m sort of broke from yesterday.¡± Nadia had no idea, but she still assured the group that she would make sure that everything was fine. Somehow. Eva let out a sigh of relief.

    Gina picked up the thread of discussion and continued, ¡°So, we never quite figured out my talent¡­¡±

    Eva looked like she wanted to bite her tongue to hold it back, but she didn¡¯t move fast enough before the words escaped her own mouth. ¡°Coming up with crazy conspiracy theories about aliens?¡±

    Gina raised a finger and relayed, ¡°That is more of a skill. And there are still people here, Mr. Miss Bus Driver especially¡­ Nadia, who hasn¡¯t heard my plan and dream for figuring out the whole alien thing in one easy swoop.¡±

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Please, God, don¡¯t,¡± Eva groaned while pinching her nose. ¡°We¡¯re trying to be not super weird about everything we say around regular people.¡±

    To that, Gina shrugged and responded, ¡°You all may be. But there are things out there that people really should know about.¡±

    ¡°Talent. Unknown. Probably recharging phones,¡± Eva intoned.

    Elsa, who had been a careful quiet listener, asked urgently, ¡°Oh my gosh. For real? I have an older model and they don¡¯t even sell the right battery packs anymore. Do you just have to hold it?¡±

    Nadia hadn¡¯t even noticed that Elsa was there, aside from her plume of orange-toned hair. Ironically, she had a look more like Anna from the movies than the Ice Queen but with hair just slightly longer than Marisol¡¯s. She had on a blue blouse that complimented her azure eyes. Hesitantly, Elsa tried to pass her phone across the table to Gina, but Gina wiggled her hand and made a few expressions before noting, ¡°I¡¯m not sure what I do. But! I can hold it for you. No promises, except I promise not to peek at your stuff.¡±

    Elsa took that deal, and the girls passed the phone over. Eva sat up and cleared her throat. ¡°Then the¡­ Skill is that she can be twice as big a headache.¡± Gina narrowed her eyes and pouted. The skill was relatively easy to explain but invited all sorts of questions from the group who wanted to see this twin sister, Louise. Odessa explained that her guest actually decided to play video games the entire day. Eva rolled her eyes.

    When the veggie platter came out, Odessa poked around and made sure that nothing she grabbed for herself had onions. Nadia reminded herself that she still needed to get the girl a peanut butter cupcake of appreciation. The question emerged, from Thessaly in particular, who looked downright blissed out by the food, whether another instance of Gina could be created. Did the copy ability follow ninja rules, or did it have a physical limit? Audrey contributed this to the discussion.

    Eva set herself and took a breath. ¡°We only know that additional instances of her are normal people, like any of us. The other versions of her do have a connection to talents but it¡¯s also unknown whether the copies can do stuff on their own. Yeah.¡± Nadia could hear and feel the measured weight of the girl¡¯s words. The horrible things they faced yesterday in the abandoned Sears weren¡¯t things that any of them would get through in a day, but the mountain of things that had fallen on her since made it feel darkly quaint.

    Following up on that statement, Eva presented what they had gleaned about her. ¡°My talent may be one of the most versatile but also dangerous. I can share the basic talents of pretty much everyone I¡¯ve come in contact with who has one. There is a proximity limit once it¡¯s activated and when I leave a group it stops. It appears to be random which one my talent shares.¡±

    That brought on some interested murmuring amongst the girls. Eva swiftly clarified that skills did not appear to be shareable and then swallowed before continuing, ¡°My skill seems to be strongest in¡­ Moments of great emotion. I appear to be able to use my voice to command things to happen. The exact details and limitations are not clear because it¡¯s only come up once. I sent a monster somewhere hopefully very far away by telling it to go.¡±

    A stillness settled around the girls but also electric energy. Nadia feared for a moment that this admission might drive this friend group apart but, they all leaned toward Eva and did their best to cheer her up. She cracked a reserved smile.

    Going next was Odessa, even though Nadia thought that they hadn¡¯t really figured out what her ability was. The girl steadied herself and set her hands on the table before explaining nervously, ¡° I can move¡­ I can re.. I can I can¡­react very fast to something as my talent. I¡¯m sorry. I kind of knew about it yesterday and I was able to get away from the monster safely. But I was worried about talking about it because I know it would totally be something that would be unfair in competition, and I¡¯m scared because it¡¯s a talent and it just happens and it gives me an unfair advantage and I feel like maybe I shouldn¡¯t be on the team. I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±

    Silence clung to the air for several seconds before the entire group jumped in with sympathy, kind words, encouragement, and whatever they could offer to Odessa. Erin hugged her tight and told her it would be OK. For demonstration, Odessa held her phone, dropped it, and immediately caught it while swiftly jumping out of her seat. No serving staff were nearby, they made sure, but Odessa had already concocted an explanation whereby she would say it was some sort of sports training. The group was split on advice about whether she should use this talent or try to limit it. One side of the argument pressed that it was given to them by aliens. Nadia still held her tongue about what the Beyond woman had told her.

    The skill part of Odessa¡®s admission resolved another oddity from yesterday as she revealed that she was responsible for the chair illusion that distracted the monster. Like Eva had described her skill as being tied to extreme emotions, they further deduced that Odessa must¡¯ve conjured up the illusion in a similar moment of stress.

    Their side of the table finished up with Erin providing a thorough delineation of her experiences with seeing all sorts of monsters. She did her best not to dwell but ominously suggested that they may just be a part of the world that none of them usually saw. Things that eat things that are left behind, like vultures or other carrion eaters. Eva tensed up and so did Odessa. Erin noticed and gave them each a sympathetic look. The other girls had kind words for ¡°Coach¡± as she revealed that her skill appeared to be some variety of telekinesis which allowed her to stop a flying projectile. Nadia leaned away from Erin but did her best not to make it appear obvious. The group focus soon fell on her because she was the next in the row who hadn¡¯t yet talked about her power.

    ¡°Talent of understanding every language. And I have no idea about skill. It doesn¡¯t appear to have activated yet.¡± She shrugged and that talent alone was enough to get everyone¡¯s attention as Marisol tried a few languages she knew and a few of them even tried to write foreign languages, which didn¡¯t stump her either as she read them aloud. The overpowered possibilities for a job as a translator along with acing every foreign language class were energetically speculated on by the group.

    Sasha, who had started this line of questioning picked it up from Nadia and wiggled her dark eyebrows while showing off what Nadia had already casually noticed along with several others. The girl explained, ¡°I have prehensile hair. It¡¯s like having a hair muppet. It¡¯s really good with providing something to hold my cell phone, but I gotta be careful. Mom and dad thought I was pulling like a magician¡¯s trick and they¡¯re still trying to bribe me to tell them how I did it. But that¡¯s just my talent. My skill makes me swoon and cheer...¡±

    Leading into the reveal, the girl did a quick little mouth drum roll sound before revealing, with a gleeful whisper, ¡°I can turn the boys into girls!¡±

 [32] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 32 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [32]

    A portion of the group immediately turned in Nadia¡®s direction, as though she were supposed to be some sort of designated expert on this particular subject. All she did was raise her eyes slightly and put her mouth in a pout of surprise. Sasha immediately clarified that her skill just turned boys into girls and not vice versa, and she had actually attempted to use it that way. She further mentioned that it was just a temporary thing lasting about an hour, according to all the experimentation she had done so far.

    ¡°And by experimentation, I mean my little brother¡­ well, sister when I left.¡± She then added that it was consensual, and she had also bribed him with a lot of candy to not tell mom and dad. Sasha folded her arms and noted, ¡°It actually makes me smile. I know it¡¯s weird and I¡¯m totally weird about it but just seeing someone transform before your eyes, like the world''s coolest magic trick but it¡¯s not a trick, just lights the fires of my imagination. I don¡¯t want to hurt anyone with it, which is why I¡¯ve been doing it with my little brother. I hope it can help people. But it makes me smile. Till I figure out more of it, it¡¯s just Hairy and me haha!¡±

    Audrey had several instances of prehensile hair in animation to cite and several little warnings to give about not letting it get too much of a mind of its own. Sasha¡¯s hair waved and gave a quick thumbs up. Nadia hoped that it didn¡¯t have a mind of its own and, if it did, that it at least cooperated with its host. She already felt like the sizable length of her hair as Nadia lent it a certain wild character even without the ability for conscious movement. The utility of more limbs definitely sounded great. Paul could recall so many times when doing something around the bus or truck would¡¯ve gone so much smoother if he just had one more limb to use, even if it was to hold a cell phone.

    Glancing across the table, Nadia felt herself do a double take as she saw that Tatiana was suddenly and mysteriously absent. She didn¡¯t recall seeing her get up to excuse herself at any point. There also didn¡¯t seem to be any clear lines of sight where she might¡¯ve dashed off while Nadia was looking at Sasha. The only possibility that remained was that she somehow tucked herself under the table, like Paul sometimes did as a child. But with the lack of a cloth and so many glass sections, she suspected that she should¡¯ve been able to see her. Glancing up, she was further surprised by the sudden reappearance of Tatiana. Several other girls noticed and gave little notes of uncertainty.

    Whimpering and frantically waving her hands, Tatiana apologized, ¡°Oops! Sorry sorry sorry! I didn¡¯t mean to just pop off like that. I checked to make sure no one else saw and then I wasn¡¯t sure when to come back. That¡¯s my...I guess I suppose you call it my talent or something. I can become invisible.¡° Her voice started with a chirpy tone but then faded so much that Nadia had to strain to hear her last words.

    Tatiana, who Paul had seen with her name written with two Ns and just one, was not the absolute tallest at the table, but she was definitely one of the bigger girls. So far as the spelling of her name, it had actually been surprisingly difficult to get an exact answer out of her because she admitted to being perfectly fine with any particular spelling and didn¡¯t want to bother anyone by correcting it. The poor girl grimaced so often, as though she were nursing a painful ulcer and didn¡¯t wanna bother anyone by saying. She was absolutely the loudest and most exuberant voice when it came to cheers on the court though. Her skin tone was a similar, dusty shade to Nadia¡¯s, although closer to Kira¡¯s. She was Filipino with gorgeous brown eyes.

    Like every time Paul had glimpsed her off the court, she had on a beautiful dress. Most of them had a red or bluish theme but this one, in particular, looked like she was draped in the Filipino flag, which Nadia recognized because the girl would always seize the opportunity to wave one while cheering. Ornate, colorful flowers, and beautiful filigree decorated the fabric. Wearing a proper, pretty dress was a notion that suddenly struck Nadia as not only possible for her but also encouraged. There were several of them in her closet.

    Tatiana¡®s hair, down today instead of up as she usually had it for competition, was far too much for Nadia to feel jealous about. She was sometimes called Rapunzel because no one had ever seen her getting a trim. Elsa was actually the one who encouraged Tatiana to speak up as she fumbled with her hands, looking for the words to say next.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s not that useful. And it actually feels like something I need to do sometimes. It¡¯s like it¡¯s like¡­ It¡¯s necessary.¡± Gina hopped in and asked if it was like having to go to the bathroom. The fact that Eva resisted pulling her face or glaring at her demonstrated immense restraint on her part. Tatiana made a sound like a hurt animal and nearly melted into a pool of red blushing in her seat before quietly admitting, ¡°I guess. My sister knows about it, but I think it¡­thinks it¡¯s just like¡­ she doesn¡¯t know why it happened. She thinks that I am an XX meme¡­err X-Men. Or like the daughter in the Incredibles.¡° Tatiana further admitted to her sister teasing her about walking around naked and spinning her arms to make sure that she wasn¡¯t hiding in a room.

    Elsa continued to be the one cheering up and encouraging Tatiana the most. She also seemed to already know what Tatiana¡®s skill was from the leading way that she encouraged her to express it. Nervously, she qualified that she might not be able to demonstrate it on command since it only happened from time to time and it was another thing that her sister had taken advantage of.

    Without further preamble though, Tatiana¡®s body shifted, and she became an exact replica of Elsa sitting next to her. Well, not precisely exact, as the new Elsa did have a little flash of the original¡¯s smile but soon freaked out with a Tatiana blush and tremble. Elsa gleefully embraced her twin as Eva scrunched up her face and gave a look towards Gina, as though this occurrence had somehow been her responsibility. Thessaly, on the table end, gave several hearty claps of appreciation while checking behind her to make sure that none of the other folks in the restaurant could see.

    They had dealt with the assumption of identical twins yesterday from Gina and Louise, but Nadia suspected that this would toe the line of suspicion further than they wanted it to go. Tatiana elaborated that her skill tended to manifest whenever she let go of any measure of her confidence, but she still had a certain degree of control over it. Audrey chimed in about whether it was like role-playing as someone else. The trembling Elsa admitted that she had no idea what that was but explained it as though she could pretend to be someone else and perhaps be stronger than she actually felt.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Fortunately, she reverted back to Tatiana right before their waitress returned with several fresh plates for them. The girls took a break from explaining their powers to eat. Duman Baris made a stop around the table to kiss his daughter on the forehead and say a few things to the group. He made it absolutely clear that they were his guests and didn¡¯t have to worry about any of the meal. He even urged them to have several of the specials cooked by him especially. Marisol adamantly thanked their host and even offered to help carry several things out, but Duman would have none of that, even when his daughter offered in her place.

    ¡°I want you girls not to have to think and worry about anything today. I know you all have had a long and difficult and challenging week. Be as you would be. Relax and be friendly and have fun today.¡° Nadia asked if she still needed to do the extra hours. Duman also waved this off and murmured some explanation that they could have it to be before closing and after closing if necessary.

    The rest of the food was ordered and actually out before anyone could really do anything on their phones or start further chat. Fortunately, Elsa remembered to go next with her explanation. She had some of Tatiana¡®s energy with shy uncertainty but it felt more like she wielded her reserved nature more than being subject to it. Paul just knew that she bombed at karaoke but also gathered that she did so to entertain others.

    Elsa¡®s hair had a sleek, princess-like quality but also wildly unkempt spikes and pokes that Audrey labeled as ahoge. It was a brilliant orange that made Nadia think of some version of Scully who forgot to brush her hair. But Elsa had none of that television character¡¯s quiet uncertainty and more of the giggly effusive exuberance of Gillian Anderson in bloopers. At moments, she looked more like a little kid who had been invited to the adults'' table.

    Flapping her arms behind the table, after an especially spicy bite of food, as though she intended to become like Leslie and float in the air, Elsa began the relation of her talents and skills when it was clear they had some privacy again.

    ¡°So my talent is a little bit embarrassing but it¡¯s also kind of neat, I think. Like, Tati can vanish because you know she can¡¯t be seen, while I can vanish¡­¡± Elsa instantly popped out of view and, a few moments later, a doll-sized version of her carefully climbed onto the table. Her voice was tinny and small, but Tatiana diligently translated for her, ¡°I can vanish because I get small¡­¡±

    Hopping back on the chair and then over to the floor, Elsa poofed not only into her regular size but tall enough to challenge most of the doorways in the restaurant. This time, her voice had a certain heft and depth to it that it hadn¡¯t previously as she added, with androgynous weight, ¡°And I can get big too.¡± Thessaly especially giggled about this.

    Resuming her normal size and shape, Elsa scooted back into her chair and took a deep breath before pressing a finger to her mouth and thinking about her skill. She picked up her drinking glass, which was now mostly full of ice, and softly spoke a subtle note of music. The glass immediately vibrated in place, as though it had become a liquid. The air also had a wavy effect and several girls nearby experienced mild but sudden discomfort. Noticing that, Elsa cut the note short and explained, ¡°I can sing really really REALLY bad now. I was doing my best not to break the glass. I shattered one of the stones in the backyard by screaming. And it¡¯s a little scary but kind of cool.¡±

    Erin chimed in occasionally with the sort of encouragement she would always give the girls as their coach. She saw the positives in each of their talents and the potential in their skills. She noted that Elsa would be amazing against monsters and the girl added a quick blush to her cheeks.

    She further encouraged how talented Tatiana was and expressed fond jealousy at Sasha¡®s special hair but also chagrin at how she would keep it clean. Sasha responded that she had a certain regimen figured out.

    Among those with abilities that Nadia knew already, Eva got some undue attention from the girls, especially geeky Audrey who wanted to associate Eva¡®s skill with a Skyrim shout. The question of the group soon became which of the talents was Eva sharing amongst them. But it was soon resolved that Nadia was once again the donor because everyone understood when Tatiana spoke a little bit of Tagalog. Nadia had to wonder whether Eva had some conscious influence in that, considering all the chaotic possibilities if it was truly random. She suspected that they may have had Gina¡®s phone battery talent at some point but perhaps not been able to use it. But then checking in with Gina on the phone revealed that it had given only 10% of a boost to Elsa¡¯s device, but she was still grateful for that.

    Slowing down time could be quite useful for an entire group along with becoming invisible, changing their size, and Sasha¡¯s living hair. She just hoped that no one had any worrisome abilities like telepathy, wondering if the real reason that Leslie skipped the group today was that she still feared infecting them with it.

    Marisol didn¡¯t have telepathy, Nadia figured, but she did bring up Leslie and passed along to the group about her telepathic talent. Obviously, the two of them had been in contact over the Internet. Either Leslie hadn¡¯t mentioned the situation with Luna or Marisol kept it to herself, but the girl just vaguely explained that Leslie was meditating to get it under control since it caused her a lot of grief. Of course, her skill to fly was something that got all the girls excited and talking.

    A stray discussion about swapping talents and skills as well as the possibility of sharing skills rather than talents made Nadia tense up and dive into her kebab meat. Erin had said a few things to her but had otherwise left her alone despite the fact Nadia didn¡¯t really want that. She wanted every day to be like this.

    She wanted to just be with Erin and see her smile. She didn¡¯t wanna have to worry about the gifts she gave and received and who she touched and who she kissed. Just be amongst a group that welcomed her freely and encouraged her, however she was. That was the one ability that she truly wished that she could manifest, the skill of people just being good and friendly to one another. Everyone more like her father, everyone more like this group. Not force people to just be peaceful and kind to one another by some commanding voice or whatever will that Beyond woman used. But to encourage the best in everyone.

    No terrifying possibilities of abilities exploding because one thing went wrong, or she pushed people around her in the wrong direction. Just the ability to make things better. Now that would be something special, she thought.

 [33] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 33 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [33]

    Moving along, Marisol took it upon herself to present her set of powers and Audrey¡¯s, as though they were doing a class presentation together.

    She relayed that Audrey had acquired ¡°Doctor Dolittle Syndrome¡±. She could talk to animals. In addition to her adulation for anime, Audrey was also an animal lover. She gleefully celebrated that she could finally understand what critters like Hamtaro say. Unfortunately, she had thus far discovered that her pet Pomeranian, the first animal she was able to lucidly understand, was limited to basic thoughts like for food and bowel movements. ¡°Butt stuff¡±, as she relayed, occupied a lot of animal discussion. At least, Nadia admitted, this seems like a much more tolerable version of Leslie¡®s telepathy if it wound up being shared.

    Flocks of birds, she found to be wildly incoherent. And she was surprised that tortoises actually had a very intricate interior life. For her skill, she did a poof similar to Elsa¡¯s and actually became a dog similar to her pet. Marisol needed to hold the animal back before Audrey reasserted herself.

    Audrey explained on her own that whatever animal she turned into had a lot of the natural inklings, but she was still conscious and lucid inside an animal body and brain, even though her efforts at control seemed more like suggestions than commands. This was the smallest she had tried to make herself. The biggest was a Great Dane in the neighborhood. She had thoughts and ambitions about whales and dinosaurs but, when she thought about them, it made her head spin and she eventually passed out before making any progress.

    Picking it up from her, Marisol demonstrated her talent by stretching her arm all the way across the table to shake Eva¡®s. Additionally, she bent her legs in a looping pattern underneath the table and swiftly retracted them before the waitress came over to check on them. Like a comedy duo, she coordinated with Audrey as Audrey shook her hand and that hand became a pile of goop-like melting taffy that spilled over and out of her grip. Marisol, doing a little bit of a deadpan as her face oozed down, reassured everyone that this talent, which she called elasticity, was one she had complete control over.

    The same went for her skill as she drew herself back together and rigidly formed herself into a silver statue with the same pose. There was only one alarming part. After she returned to human form, she relayed that while she was inanimate, the process of remaining perfectly still was actually quite painful, comparable to holding your breath underwater. She considered the upper limit to be several minutes before the pain became too much.

    Settling herself down with a few calming breaths, Marisol passed it finally to Thessaly. Thessaly stood out from the other girls as she seems more like a college student than someone still in high school. She was massive with absolutely ripped and rigid thighs that often looked like they were about to burst out of her volleyball pants. Her arms had the kind of ridges that you only saw in bodybuilders. And, beyond that, she even challenged Nadia when it came to figures. But her face and features were slim, soft, and downright adorable. Additionally, her voice could actually go the highest and cutest of anyone in the group. Her dark, shoulder-length red hair often included a bow or a ribbon for fun.

    To no one¡¯s surprise, it turned out that Thessaly¡®s talent was the ultimate multiplier to her already prodigious strength. She could apparently pick up cars as though they were toys and easily moved the entire table as though it was hovering, even though all the girls pushed down on it against her. Her strength actually scared her a little as the other evening she was doing some isometric exercises against a wall and almost fractured the foundation before she pulled back. She had only recently uncovered her skill last night.

    ¡°So, I just washed my bedsheets after cooking dinner for my brother and it was comforting that I went off to sleep almost immediately. The serenity and the calm that filled my body were so complete that it was like I didn¡¯t even have a body anymore. And then I realize that I didn¡¯t. I was outside my body floating through the wall and into the hallway. I believe Gina has a term for it she told me over text¡­ Astral projection. I actually made contact with my brother as he was playing before bed and for a moment I was inside¡­him. Was very weird. But it was also relaxing to be weightless and able to go wherever I wanted to go and see whatever I wanted to see."

    One of Sasha¡¯s first suggestions was whether she should turn Thessaly¡®s brother into a girl so he could be a better host for her spirit, but she thought that might not be a good idea. Having now been properly introduced to one another, Nadia felt a sort of camaraderie between herself and this group. There were way too many people and personalities bouncing off one another for her relatively introverted nature but it felt like a group that she could be true to herself with.

    Musical interests and a myriad of flung references and pop-culture tidbits ruled the conversation and Nadia suspected that there was an undercurrent of curiosity how about what she and Erin meant to one another but those who were present for the kiss yesterday didn¡¯t seem willing to reveal their secrets.

    One of the vital points of concern was adding Nadia to everyone¡¯s social media and the other was their abject horror about having to deal with Nesbitt on Monday in any meaningful capacity. Erin consoled them as a group, but she had to deal with the certainty that whatever authority she may have had last week was gone in her current state. It even seemed doubtful that she would be allowed to be a part of the volleyball team in any capacity. Further questions involved whether any of them would remain on the team or even want to.

    Gina lamented, ¡°Blasted alien infiltrators wrecking our reality!¡± Nadia smiled over the fact that that quote was probably the least weird thing that could¡¯ve been uttered by Gina. She was still curious about this supposedly very stupid but especially secret idea that Eva was keeping under wraps from Gina¡®s brain. Eva got up to use the restroom and Nadia considered that now might be the perfect time to ask her about it.

    However, Eva seemed to have an understated preternatural ability when it came to matters of her childhood friend and neighbor. She turned around, brushed back her hair, and squinted suspiciously in Nadia¡¯s direction. Nadia leaned back and did her best to look perfectly natural and not suspicious.

    Eva briefly orbited the table before tossing some paper in a nearby waste bin. Ultimately, she didn¡¯t do anything more than stare a bit before heading off. She was joined by Marisol and Elsa, who opted to follow the apparent rule of girls going to the restroom in groups. The sort of unspoken stuff that Nadia wished existed in some book that she could study and refer to.

    It turned out that she didn¡¯t need a book though, as Sasha and Thessaly coordinated to inquire about what female experiences Nadia had acquired so far. It didn¡¯t take much for Nadia¡®s face to feel blisteringly hot. She hoped that the blush wasn¡¯t showing.

    Audrey, with a resilient poker face, confirmed that Marisol was a pro at ¡°battle shits¡±. The fact that that wasn¡¯t a movie that Nadia had ever seen instilled even more ominous delight in Audrey. The horrors of whatever Gina was cooking up in her mind were soon put in the dust by mentions of ¡°peanut butter and jelly¡±, ¡°crampy diarrhea¡±, ¡°alien babies¡±, and ¡°clementine drops¡±. It all just barely toed the line of being vague enough to mention while some of them were finishing up their food. Tatiana did seem a little bothered, but the other girls apologized.

    A few of them warned Nadia about ¡°vallooning¡± and she was modestly surprised that she was able to guess what on earth that was. Without joking, they made sure to confirm that she had all the prepared necessities for whenever her time came. Nadia had seen just about everything on their list in the bathroom or her closet. Having so many sisters at least embedded her with hope that the necessities wouldn¡¯t be that hard to come across.

    Gina avoided most of the gross-out discussion, preferring to focus on how far Eva had gone for the bathroom and whether that meant they were going to get a reroll on talent sharing and which of theirs would wind up the next one. Odessa wondered about dessert while Audrey endeavored to naturally segue the conversation into an anime she was watching with chainsaw demons. Thessaly asked the waitress about the seasoning on a certain dish while Sasha lamented the ply and consistency of standard toilet paper.

    During a particular lull in all this chaos, Nadia finally managed to corral Gina¡®s attention towards her and ask about the subject avoided by Evangeline up to this point.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Gina took a deep breath and then checked the hallways and corners for Eva. When she still hadn¡¯t returned, Gina stretched back, folded her arms, and began, ¡°So, I¡¯ve had a wish, a dream which is really more than just that. Consider it a lifetime ambition that I am casually hopeful can come true. I call it¡­ Nuke the moon.¡±

    The silence that followed her last statement was complete and striking, as though everyone in the kitchen and the neighborhood had heard that admission at the same moment and were bewildered about what to say next. Thessaly cleared her throat. It was clear that several of the girls around the table had heard this proposal previously, judging from the sighs and downcast looks.

    Nadia took a breath and asked, ¡°Nuke the moon?¡±

    Gina cracked a grin that appeared more insane by the second. ¡°YESSS. Nuke the moon. Also known as Project A119. There is some historical evidence to suggest that Soviet scientists had a plan to detonate a nuclear device on the lunar surface. However, what I¡¯m referring to in particular is the American plan to detonate a sizable nuclear device on the moon. There were a variety of reasons claimed scientifically at the time, but just wouldn¡¯t that be so cool. I believe there is a further utility for such an action. Since the early eras of spaceflight, there have been signs that space missions and the lunar missions in particular have been shadowed and acted upon by alien intelligences. There are records of astronauts talking in code about things they have seen out in space that are unexplainable. There was even an Apollo mission where all the electronics went off and then came back exactly as you would experience and we did, in our UFO encounter!¡±

    Gina started to sound breathless about this as she plunged deeper into her spiel, ¡°There is anecdotal but strong evidence to suggest that the moon may not actually be a natural heavenly body. Why do you think they made that movie that tried to disprove the idea that the moon was artificial by making it so silly? Hollywood has long been an arm of the military¡¯s disinformation and re-information campaign to make us think certain things are true and certain things are not. Alien spacecraft don¡¯t need to cross interstellar distances because all of them¡­ well, most of them probably are coming from the moon and just flying to the earth to conduct whatever. And everything that happened to us happened right next to that Air Force Base and we have these Air Force guys poking their noses into our lives.¡±

    She stopped to take a breath and a long sip of her drink. No matter what Nadia may have thought about the ramblings that Gina was providing, she had to admit that a lot of weird shit had happened to them and that wasn¡¯t even really counting the whole Beyond dream thing. She asked Gina though, ¡°But why blow up the moon?¡±

    Gina shrugged. ¡°Because it¡¯s there and maybe it shouldn¡¯t be there. Also, if we unravel the truth that the moon isn¡¯t what we think it is then we can not only get rid of crazy aliens doing all sorts of experiments on us, but we get this moon-shaped spacecraft to go explore the universe before entropy and the expanding size of everything push it beyond our reach. We can totally change humanity¡¯s understanding of reality with just a little firecracker. And even if nothing weird happens, it would be fascinating to see I think. We got so close. It¡¯s the biggest thing we can actually do which might have the wildest effects if all the crazy possibilities of the world are actually true. We already know the world is wilder than any of us could¡¯ve ever imagined just by being here and the things that have happened to us. Why not take control of that craziness and fire back at the void of space to see what will happen?"

    Naturally, this was finally the point that Eva and the others started walking back from the restroom. Some smatterings of the gross discussion were still around for Eva to pick up on and flash some sympathy in Nadia¡®s direction. Marisol and Elsa both looked a little green and grateful not to be present. But it wasn¡¯t long after that that Eva flared her nostrils and seemed to smell the presence of things around her.

    ¡°She said it, didn¡¯t she?¡± Eva folded her arms and looked around at the group as though they were an unruly group of children who had broken one of the class rules while the teacher was away. All Nadia really had to do was nod and say the word ¡°moon¡°.

    Eva huffed through her nostrils. ¡°The moon. The fleeping moon! Some little girls want to be president someday, and some little girls have always wanted to blow up the moon. Some children dream of following in the footsteps of their parents, and some dream of starting an interstellar war. Harry Christmas, if you all knew exactly how long and how many times I have heard about the physics and logistics and the possibility and the probabilities and the ideal and the potential and the whatever of blowing up the narfing lunar body! There is no reason, and no one is ever going to do it anyway! Soooo, when are you going to grow up?!¡± Eva didn¡¯t have a mic to drop but instead, she just flopped down in her chair and drained the rest of her soda.

    Gina didn¡¯t look too bothered, even though her eyes were staring off into the distance with one arm folded under her chest while her other pressed against her chin with a fist. Silence once again returned to the group, but it was oddly interrupted by a heavy rumbling that everyone could feel saturating the air and quivering the ceiling. The girls looked around in all directions and a few of them started to duck under the table, as though this were a small earthquake to ride out. But the movement wasn¡¯t constant. It came in batches of two followed by quick echoes.

    A thunderous, low bellow passed through the air, rippling out from the front of the restaurant. The windows almost seem to give a shake, but it was hard to tell. The oddest part was that no one else around seemed at all alarmed or bothered by this sudden rumbling. Clustering together, the girls got up from the table and cautiously investigated the front to look out and see whether there was a police helicopter circling nearby or some other event.

    Erin explained to their waitress that they thought they heard a strange police siren and emphasized it was one of those sounds that teenagers can hear but adults can¡¯t. The waitress still came with them to try and get a look.

    Outside of the restaurant, looming so high in the sky that the haze of the clouds from this day mottled and blunted its obsidian tone, was a massive creature lumbering through the southern part of the city. Nadia would¡¯ve described it as a Cthulhu elephant or one of those creatures from the Mist with more tentacles. At the same time, it was dropping off swarms of creatures that floated like malevolent kites through the air. It brushed itself off like some zoo creature stretching in the sun and unholy masses erupted like rotten sludge. Some of the floating entities, of which there was a countless number, resembled the monster that ate Liz and killed the other Gina.

    The girls just stared there in open-mouthed horror at a creature that had to be hundreds of feet tall, practically a kaiju, as Audrey whispered. The waitress puzzled over what the girls were looking at and shrugged and returned to the restaurant. Nadia found it interesting that Erin¡®s talent was being shared amongst them again.

    With her arms folded, Gina mentioned loud enough for Eva to hear, ¡°You know, I feel confident that we wouldn¡¯t have stuff like this if we just nuked the moon.¡±

    ======

    ADDENDUM

    Helpful Reference on Abilities

    Talent - Often happens whether they want it or not.

    Skill - Not precise, more powerful, but may require training to use effectively.

    Nadia Miray Baris - (Talent) All language recognition, (Skill) Beyond [claims] - boosts the skills of others.

    Erin Reeves - (Talent) Perception beyond the Veil, (Skill) Telekinesis.

    Evangeline - (Talent) Can share talents amongst those with them or connected to them, (Skill) Command voice that can will things to happen.

    Gina Ferris - (Talent) Energy manipulation, (Skill) Self copy.

    Odessa - (Talent) Ability to slow down perceived time, (Skill) Illusion projection.

    Leslie Gartland - (Talent) Telepathy, (Skill) Flight.

    Elsa - (Talent) Size manipulation, (Skill) Sound control.

    Tatianna - (Talent) Invisibility, (Skill) Become other people.

    Sasha - (Talent) Prehensile hair, (Skill) Ability to temporarily change boys into girls.

    Thessaly - (Talent) Super strength, (Skill) Astral projection.

    Audrey - (Talent) Animal thought reading, (Skill) Turn into animals.

    Marisol - (Talent) Elasticity, (Skill) Turn inanimate/metallic.

 [34] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 34 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [34]

    ¡°So, what do we do?¡± Elsa nervously asked with her hands squeezing together tightly.

    Eva brushed her hair back and responded, ¡°Keep the launch codes out of her hands. And just let me walk away a little bit so we don¡¯t have to see that.¡±

    Elsa urgently questioned, ¡°Does Coach see this all the time?¡°

    Erin stared at the massive creature and swallowed. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like this. I feared and felt something similar the other day and saw eyes. But not like this."

    Elsa appeared as though she was getting smaller and responded with a slightly higher-pitched voice, ¡°Do you think it wants to hurt us?¡±

    Eva smacked her fist against one of the beams at the front of the restaurant. ¡°It probably doesn¡¯t even know we¡¯re here. If we draw attention to ourselves, then who knows what could happen? Better just to forget we ever saw it.¡±

    Sasha let out a deep breath. ¡°She¡¯s probably right. I mean look at that elephant¡­ horse gross thing. All I got is hair and it¡¯s not long enough to tangle with that beast. And I wouldn¡¯t dare try to turn it into a girl. Assuming it isn¡¯t one already.¡±

    Odessa was at the front of the group, with her hands clasped in front of her. Nadia wondered if she recognized the parasitical creatures coming off of the massive beast as being similar to the ones they encountered at Sears. For how much strife and effort it took them to just deal with the one, the dense rain of the entities felt absolutely soul-crushing.

    She had a vague understanding of so-called eldritch abominations and Lovecraftian mythos. Movies and TV shows typically got it wrong because entertainment always wants to show human beings or at least the good guys in the story, winning. So, to win humans have to be a match for an otherworldly, immense beast. Some secret Achilles¡¯ heel or quick way of sealing them back into the darkness.

    But this was like the ambitions of a flea to take down the dog and humanity was collectively the flea. This thing and they were on entirely different levels of existence, not to mention clearly different aspects of reality. It was utterly hopeless if it was hostile. Fortunately, it just seemed to be taking a stroll through the south of downtown. It was even stepping calmly between the buildings. Nadia did her best to envision it as just a skyscraper-sized cow.

    Odessa looked like she was mulling a few things over before she finally spoke, ¡°I have some ideas. I can¡¯t really activate my illusion skill on demand yet, but it might be worth attempting it. We know that these creatures seem to be able to see them, based on how the situation went yesterday.¡±

    Eva¡¯s neck tightened. ¡°Yesterday was a nightmare. This thing literally sheds what we barely¡­ and didn¡¯t¡­ survived yesterday. Whatever idea you have, you better be sure.¡± She focused intently on Odessa, not with malice but concern and fear showing above barely restrained trembling. Odessa backed away and bowed her head.

    Elsa gestured to the massive beast looming in the sky. ¡°But what do we do? What if that thing is hurting people?¡± She took a couple steps forward toward the sidewalk from the front patio of the restaurant. Swiftly, one of those kite versions of the Sears monster swooped not even fifty feet in front of them and sprawled out like a ruined, slimy sheet of living oil. It wasn¡¯t as large and didn¡¯t have the masses of screaming hungry figures beneath it. The same sorts of mouths that ripped the other Gina apart, leaving only pieces, flared and lashed at the air like snakes. Eva took several long breaths but gazed at her feet. Elsa covered her mouth and tried to look down the road.

    The entity slowly probed the region in front of the restaurant as people just came and went like normal. They had plenty of bewildered expressions for the nervously tense group of girls at the entrance. Some passersby actually walked through the creature without stopping and neither the entity nor the people reacted to the passage. For one nervous moment, what appeared to be the head of the entity, although it was hard to tell, reared up and inspected their entire group. It checked each of their faces one by one. None dared to take a breath.

    Nadia had no idea what to do. She tried to make it look like she wasn¡¯t vividly aware of the predatory mass looming so close to her like a land shark. Focusing on Erin seemed like the best idea. She seemed to have gotten the same notion, as she rested her eyes on Nadia. The two of them did their best to appear lost in each other¡¯s gaze when really they were focusing their peripheral awareness on where that horrible thing was going.

    What had only been several seconds passed like torturous minutes. Mercifully, the creature aimed itself away and shot off like a sprung rubber band. It darted down an alley and seemed to pass through a wall. Only after giving it a long lull to make sure it wouldn¡¯t reappear, did the girls finally take a breath and start to look around like normal.

    Elsa panted a few times. ¡°But we¡¯re good guys with superpowers. Aren¡¯t we supposed to fight monsters?¡± Nadia wished she knew what to tell her. But there definitely seemed to be far too many monsters out there and not enough things they could possibly do. Elsa did have some sort of sonic talent but if she used it against the creatures then Nadia worried that it might cause more damage to the surrounding area and undue attention. Tatiana would only be useful if she could turn into one of the creatures, although with the way she lost herself in her role, Nadia I didn¡¯t see that as a positive. Marisol might be able to use her rubber mode to capture one of them, but she was just as likely to get hurt. And Audrey couldn¡¯t become much bigger.

    That left Eva commanding them, Erin¡®s telekinesis, Thessaly¡¯s strength, and whatever she might be able to do. Even if Leslie was around, she could only fly around the big one. If she heard its thoughts, Nadia feared for what might happen. The paralysis of the group ended with Eva shaking her head and heading back into the restaurant. No one followed her back in until the looming vision faded back to a normal day. Erin turned away and pressed herself against Nadia. She held her close and kissed her on the head. Beyond be damned.

    She had no direction to actually scowl in, but she hoped the sentiment was received by that foul old woman anyway. If these were the kind of creatures that their group found permissible, then Nadia didn¡¯t want any part of their advice or nudging about how she should lead her life. If she believed their lecture about what her ability actually was, then she found it far more preferable to strengthen the people around her to make them better prepared for the unseen monsters.

    Let Erin get stronger to defend herself. Let her rend those wretched creatures to screaming pieces so that just going to Hell would be a mercy. She didn¡¯t know what she could do to bolster Erin¡®s abilities intentionally, but she definitely focused her love, enthusiasm, and support on Erin to make her stronger. Thessaly squeezed herself tight with uncertainty, as though every inch of her flowing muscles was just a protective bodysuit she put on.

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    Marisol made a gesture to the air which wasn¡¯t precisely profane but definitely contained disgust. Audrey and Gina regarded one another, with the feeling that there were so many ways to translate that appearance and presence in geeky language, but they were each left speechless with fear and so many other emotions.

    It wasn¡¯t long before the entire group made their way back into the restaurant and their table. As far as the best-accorded explanation for their strange grouping outside, Erin relayed that she had heard about a daytime meteor shower and one of them looked out the window when going to the restroom and thought they glimpsed a bright flash. It was a detailed pile of bullshit but sufficed. That led Duman to take a peek with some of the staff for a minute and regale the girls with details about the telescope he would like to use at the park after dark.

    To deflect their anxiety and also focus on finishing their food before dessert came, the group focused on the lingering, playful, increasingly obvious implication between Erin and Nadia. Duman had lavished attention and concern on Erin as though she were his surrogate daughter. He apparently had plans for her to indulge in practically every dessert the restaurant had to offer. Erin expressed gratitude that she had a teenager¡¯s metabolism.

    Else was also keen for dessert and eager to put the horrifying visions outside out of mind.  Bolstered by Thessaly smiling and smirking, the girls started to press about what Erin and Nadia meant to one another. The group in the know politely held their tongue and just watch the proceedings. Nadia wished that she could¡¯ve brought the necklace, but with all the uncertainties and pressures of church, she feared that even if it didn¡¯t feel like a hot brand in her pocket, then there was the possibility that someone might know and take it from her again.

    Instead, she detailed its appearance and traced a phantom version along her neck with the smiles and encouragement of all the other girls. The romance was out in the open after being a giggling joke among the team towards Paul and Erin. Like ¡®oh look at Coach and Mr. Bus Driver fawning over one another and smiling and looking like they¡¯re about to erupt in bright blushes!¡¯ But beyond the teasing, the girls were also their biggest cheerleaders. It seemed like a regular proclivity for teenagers, particularly teenage girls, to ¡°ship¡° certain adults together, especially those in authority or close to them. At least, that was what Nadia gathered.

    A customer showed up with a big, diligent English Labrador service dog and provided a pleasant distraction. The tan dog obediently scanned the room, and the girls could easily hear it with a gruff but warm tone, ¡°Looking around looking around. Keep her safe keep her safe keep her safe.¡± A few of the group hopped up and had to resist petting the animal, especially as it warned them not to do that. But they lingered around the dog and asked service animal questions of the polite patron. Nadia felt some measure of relief that sharing had shifted to one of the other talents and it hadn¡¯t been one of the troublesome ones. Unfortunately, she also knew that this once again left poor Erin as the only one of them who could see and feel the barrage of horrible monsters outside.

    The prying about what the two of them meant to one another didn¡¯t stop though. Tatiana seemed restless with her hands as she mentioned, ¡°I¡¯d be easier now for the two of you than it would¡¯ve been when you were back in high school. I mean, you¡¯re going to be back in high school. Oh wait, oh I¡¯m sorry.¡± Nervously, Tatiana explained her oversight as she had neglected the fact that Erin and Nadia weren¡¯t a lesbian couple in high school. She felt some measure of confused amusement that the girl had somehow forgotten that Nadia was supposed to actually be a man.

    Audrey still considered the two of them to be ¡°technically adults¡± with the reasoning drawn from anime and other sources. She glossed over a reference to 1000-year-olds who appeared young. Their bodies may have taken on the appearance of teenagers, but their minds and souls and essences were still in their 30s. That immediately raised questions for Nadia about whether her brain cells had enough resilience.

    Dipping back into podcasts again, she reflected on the uncertainty of cloning animals and how particular ones suffered from genetic defects their entire life and protracted aging. In 20 years, would she have the brain of something like her 30-year-old self or would it be more of a 50-year-old presence? It wasn¡¯t that she was interested in immortality, she just didn¡¯t wanna suffer. What worth was it to look young and fresh but be wasting away inside? Back to the ominous and unnecessary notions though. She pushed the thought away.

    Erin casually but firmly confirmed that they were a couple, which earned a wave of girlish sounds from the group. They even demonstrated a quick kiss that paled in comparison to the one they shared yesterday. The team banded together though and made absolutely sure that the two of them would be taken care of at school and none of the people who might make fun of them would be allowed to do so. They couldn¡¯t really do much about Nesbitt, but they resolved to lend each other as much strength for the uncertainty ahead.

    The conversation shifted fully to interests and hints of romance, suggesting that the cute couple should make fun dating plans. But the momentum of this line of inquiry halted when Erin¡®s face lost its color and her jaw tightened. She had to hold back the full force of this mysterious sentiment as Duman and several servers came out with plentiful trays of desserts for the entire group. Nadia felt her heart break despite the smile she had to wear with the pain that Erin was obviously holding back. They all had to appear naturally delighted and carefree about this meal whilst unseen terrors bloomed.

    It took the longest time for them to actually get some privacy. All that Erin could whisper in the meanwhile were the tense words, ¡°It¡¯s here¡­¡± That was enough to trigger all of Nadia¡®s fears.

    Duman finally stepped out and Erin was able to express, ¡°It¡¯s here it¡¯s here. One of those flying flap grease motherfucker angelfish ghost eaters. It¡¯s right in the room. It was circling around your dad¡®s neck like it was tasting him and now it¡¯s in the Cantina.¡± Erin seemed like she wanted to cry, scream, and shake to pieces at the same time. Even though they couldn¡¯t see it, several of the girls glanced in the direction of the hallway leading to the Cantina. Nadia narrowed her eyes with tingling fury flowing down her fingers, as though her hands were suddenly alive with unseen fires.

    No matter what Luna said, no running away. They got rid of one of these creatures and surprised that mysterious little girl. Even if she had to do it herself, with her bare hands if necessary, Nadia resolved that they would kill this piece of shit for daring to even get close to her father.

 [35] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 35 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [35]

    Of course, she didn¡¯t know how she was going to do that. She couldn¡¯t even see the blasted thing. She had to rely on Erin to update her on what she was seeing. Thessaly flexed her arms and tensed her face like she was the last stand against an army, and she would die before she fell. She once told Paul that that warrior spirit was in her blood while giggling about over-the-top stylized movies with shirtless caped Spartans.

    The energy and goofiness that Gina displayed earlier had largely evaporated as she took a long sip from the drink in front of her, clenched her jaw, and stared towards the Cantina where her mother was having her luncheon. The sounds filtering out suggested that it was pretty busy at this hour. Plenty of people. Plenty of victims depending on what the creature wanted to do and could do. Erin had no idea if these entities had some sort of lifecycle where they were more venomous like baby vipers or they were not dangerous at all. Nothing they learned from the other encounter seemed useful.

    That version of the creature seemed like it was well-fed or at least had collected quite a few meals. It had all those tortured figures and faces seemingly being slowly digested. Were those all ghosts in its immense stomach or were some of them urban explorers who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and didn¡¯t even see what got them? She wasn¡¯t sure if she wanted to know.

    Elsa did her best to distract herself with some of the dessert in front of her as she shook her head and asked, ¡°Is this normal? Are those things out there all the time? I got a text from the group that said one of them ate an actual ghost. All those things are going to eat people who have died and¡­ Who knows what else.¡± She coughed into her hand and turned away from the table.

    Audrey took a long drink of her own and speculated, ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why the world isn¡¯t flooded with ghosts and why you don¡¯t see them that often or that well?¡± It was an interesting thought, but Eva brought up almost as an afterthought, that it seemed like ¡°the ghost we saw¡° had been around a while.

    Erin gave a tense hiss and dipped her head. ¡°Back,¡± was all she whispered. That monstrous entity, which Nadia could clearly see in her mind¡¯s eye, had returned and was likely stalking around the area within sight of them. It felt awful, like she feared from leering human predators. Whenever the girls were moving from the drop-off point to competition, Paul would shadow them at a distance because there was one instance recounted by Erin of a tall man lingering right behind them who didn¡¯t even seem intimidated when she and Thessaly asked him his business. He had no illusions at the time that he was a tough guy who could take on someone with ill intent.

    But these were the people he was responsible for, these were his girls, this was his team, and this was the woman he had always had a crush on. At the time, he had no expectations that anything would ever happen between him and Erin, the same as when they were in high school. That didn¡¯t mean that he wasn¡¯t going to do everything in his power to make sure they were safe. Nadia still believed that, and she wished with every fiber of her being that she could smash this creature into a slimy smear across the wall. Her language recognition didn¡¯t extend to whatever these things were, otherwise, she would¡¯ve long ago screamed at it to leave in whatever terms it understood.

    She mentally flipped through the powers of the others, trying to think of something. Illusions could work temporarily. She imagined perhaps distracting it with an intangible version of itself that Odessa conjured up. But that would likely be asking too much of her. She had briefly seen these creatures. Making a replica from those memories would be much more difficult than just popping a chair into existence.

    Elsa definitely had a skill with a lot of potential, depending on how much sound force she could apply. But they were in her father¡¯s restaurant with a lot of stuff on the walls and a fancy classic look like something out of Istanbul crossed with tropical influences and island cheer. The glass in all directions seemed relatively dangerous in a normal situation, let alone one with a slimy mass of evil.

    Another question remained as well, as to whether they needed to see this beastie to be able to act upon it. Even if Elsa was able to blast it with sound waves, the likely collateral damage would be impossible to explain, especially if the creature didn¡¯t leave a visible body. She considered the idea that it could be explained away as a low-flying jet from the Air Force Base, but it still felt like an immense risk to try. What Eva did yesterday had absolutely worked but getting her consent to do that again, never mind setting her in the right headspace, seemed desperately unlikely.

    Thessaly likely had the strength to overwhelm such a creature, but its teeth and clear ferocity would put her in danger. That left it to Erin. As much as Nadia hated putting their hopes on the shoulders of others, even Thessaly¡®s large muscular ones, she especially despised that the responsibility and strain fell on the one she loved.

    Where Erin¡¯s gaze darted toward and where it avoided gave them hints about where the creature was moving and lingering when she couldn¡¯t find the words to update them about its progress. Erin tensed up when Duman returned with a wide smile and his arms spread to ask them how they liked the desserts, and which were their favorites. He even added that one of the creations was experimental and had not yet been made available, so he was especially interested in that one and whether they enjoyed it and whether they thought other people might enjoy it as well.

    Nadia could appreciate the feeling of a teenager whose life has gone through a myriad of things that their parents don¡¯t know and can¡¯t even imagine the depths of while that parent just blatantly stands around as though nothing is happening. She deeply cared for her father, but she also wished that he would be somewhere else right then. The responses he got were monosyllabic or one word at best with some restrained head nods and quick approving sentiments. He got a wary sort of look that Nadia could appreciate on that side of the proceedings, but she really didn¡¯t want to invite a prolonged conversation.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    She couldn¡¯t see the monster, but she had the tension in her head focused to a point that felt wrong right behind Duman. It wasn¡¯t anything as obvious as a Predator shimmer, which she did remember some podcasts alluding to that people could see and thought were the presence of beings from other dimensions. But it pressed like a spike in her forehead. It was pain and discomfort that existed for no earthly reason. It was a phantom smell of garbage and rot mixed with the nastiest, most penetrating aroma of feral, malicious dust trying to sap your thoughts and make you suffer. Pure evil that had no name she could proclaim and didn¡¯t deserve one. Shapeless hunger and torment. If only her hands had true flames and she could burn it to nothingness.

    But she pushed all that back down inside of her and did her best to be the attentive daughter and make sure she gave thoughtful and constructive answers to her father. It felt like a torturous eternity, but eventually Duman was satisfied that he had provided for them, and they had to given him a nice amount of feedback. He still lingered though in the hopes that he might be able to bring them out something else. Maybe even a full lamb to eat on, Nadia jokingly imagined to deflate some of her tension.

    When he finally truly left to return to the kitchen and deal with a party getting ready in the Champagne room, Nadia relaxed her muscles and checked on Erin.

    She was staring right behind her, unblinking, with the most horrified expression. Nadia didn¡¯t need to be told what that meant. If she focused hard enough, she swore she could almost feel and smell its rancid breath right on her neck. All the happy thoughts and precious warm memories inside her felt like dismal ash. All her fears collected in one place as a wall against hope.

    She would never be good enough. The church would find out and do bad things. None of it mattered anyway. She would die. Horrible things would happen. People would find out all the wrongness in her. Unfeeling, black slabs of humanity would turn against her one by one. There was no reason to hope. There was nothing to be done. The world would swallow her up. Light would vanish and darkness would fill her soul. It was inevitable, like breath. In, out. Try your hardest to struggle and it only wraps around tighter. There¡¯s nothing you can do. Submit and die.

    Nadia could feel tears like acid rain burning her cheeks. She felt sick and hopeless and tangled up in a thousand worries that she could not solve. Nothing she could do, nothing to be done. She felt like falling deep into an endless gullet, hungry for her.

    Then she heard the scream. It sounded like an animal, a person, some great mechanical apparatus seizing up, and an unearthly crash. Swinging her head around, she saw that Erin stood with her hand outstretched. The monster was visible as a tangled sheet of oily rot smashed to pieces against the wall. Erin¡®s arm trembled as it seemed like she was heaving a psychic, constant scream with immense, stony weight.

    Everyone else was standing up too and people were about to spill out of the kitchen. Her father would see everything. Everyone would see everything. Maybe they could still get out of this. They didn¡¯t know that anything weird happened with them. It was just some sort of¡­giant exotic black panther¡­ which got liquefied.

    ¡°Panther? You think panther works as an explanation? You¡¯re all such children messing with things you can¡¯t possibly understand!¡±

    That familiar voice. Nadia looked around and found everyone was frozen in place, as though pretending to be mannequins. Everyone but one person: the old woman from Beyond. She stood next to the door with a hand pressed to her forehead.

    ¡°They¡¯ll be fine. For now. And you didn¡¯t listen to a single word I said. You have shown no caution about the dangers you face. She is getting stronger in a way that¡¯ll only cause suffering. Now I have to clean up this mess. I thought you were smarter. I thought you cared about these girls and about your world.¡±

    Nadia glared back at the older woman as she scowled at and scolded her. She tensed her mouth and responded, ¡°What does it matter? It¡¯s a simulation. This entire world is fake. It¡¯s all some glitch in the matrix crap. You¡¯re programmers and I¡¯m just information. Is this how you entertain yourself? Mess around with certain people?¡±

    The old woman put her hands together into a collective fist and pressed it against her forehead. ¡°Why do I always wind up with the weirdos? This is not a simulation! Your world is not some nihilistic nonsense. Sorry to break it to your emo-hungry brain. All of this is real and there¡¯s a lot more going on than you could ever imagine! There are no programmers. You think some crazy secret conspiracy is steering this whole thing? Some alien god programmers? Don¡¯t exist. No Illuminati. No Lake Tahoe hollow earth kingdom. No airport full of Reptilians that secretly rule the planet and make humans sterile. It¡¯s just a mess and we are the custodians trying to keep you from shitting in the toilet while we clean it! So, stuff your stupid theories and stop trying to screw it all up! At least your self Xerox friend has a modicum of sense by comparison.¡± The sharp red color on the old woman¡¯s face made Nadia take a step back.

    After a breath, she cleared her throat and added, ¡°It¡¯s been a busy day for a long, long time. We each ultimately want the same thing, Nadia. I don¡¯t want you and your girlfriend to have a bad time. I want you to have your pleasant little happily ever after. But I have bigger responsibilities. Consider this your second warning. I don¡¯t want to make things difficult, and the choice is still yours. But the longer you¡¯re around them, the worse things are going to get. Just look outside.¡±

    Nadia trembled. ¡°Am I responsible for that thing and for what¡¯s happening?¡±

    The old woman sighed. ¡°You are rocking the boat and the sharks are getting curious. I told you what you need to do. It¡¯s on you now. Don¡¯t expect me just fix this when things get worse. I¡¯m done with warnings.¡±

    With a rush of air, the old woman was gone.

 [36] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 36 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [36]

    ¡°Nadi? Nadia! Are you alright?!¡±

    Nadia jerked up with her father¡¯s frantic questions. Amidst his panicked concern, she could hear Erin and others, even though their words were mostly lost between her dad¡®s pleas.

    It took her several moments to draw together an understanding of what happened to her. Firstly, she was sprawled on the floor. Secondly, her hand really stung. Picking it up, she quickly noticed that the knuckles were smeared with fresh blood. She lost a bit of skin around the forefinger where it appeared her hand had scraped against her chair or the table. Her father was quick to squeeze one of the table napkins against her hand even though the scrape didn¡¯t even hurt that much.

    Duman diligently attended to his daughter until one of the cooks hurried over and explained that he was a med student. They checked Nadia carefully before moving her. She felt embarrassed that everyone¡¯s attention was on her. It didn¡¯t take long before Duman was satisfied that she was okay. But he still wanted to know what happened.

    Nadia mentally played through what she could say. There was no sign of the monster. She speculated that she stood up too fast. Duman quietly confirmed that she didn¡¯t accidentally hit herself on the chest, recalling memories from recent sports matches where young people went down due to an arrhythmia. The cook briefly listened to her heart, which embarrassed Nadia even further, but soon deduced that she seemed fine. Only then did her father carefully allow her to stand up.

    Meanwhile, someone had placed some pillows underneath her and adjusted them to support her in the chair. Nadia knew that ¡°princess¡° was the thing that her family liked to call her, but they didn¡¯t need to treat her like one. Of course, they gave her even more food.

    It took far too long before she was allowed some privacy with the others. An awkward bandage was wrapped around her hand with triple antibiotic ointment.

    Erin urgently wanted to know what happened as she puzzled over the missing monster. Nadia explained that she had briefly seen it when Erin defended her. The girls speculated about why it was briefly visible. She could¡¯ve told her about the older woman and Beyond, but she was still processing exactly what the encounter meant.

    Messes. All this is real. Rocking the boat. Things getting worse. Second warning.

    It was Audrey who actually speculated that Nadia may have had some sort of vision, referencing yet another anime. Some chatter passed around when Nadia didn¡¯t immediately deny this possibility but instead stuffed a couple of dolmas in her mouth. Thessaly was the one who effortlessly lifted her up and put her back in her chair. Nadia wanted to protest about such a prominent display of her power but no one else seemed concerned and none of the servers or her father found it strange.

    Elsa checked up on her and so did Tatiana, calling upon vague medical knowledge and referencing family members in health careers. She was being swarmed.

    ¡°I am fine,¡± she firmly reassured them. ¡°It was probably that thing. Tried to grab me or made me pass out or something.¡±

    Fury flared in Erin¡¯s brown eyes as she turned them against the spot where the creature had been. She confirmed for Nadia that it just seemed to vanish soon after she¡¯d gotten it away from her.

    Focusing on controlling her anger and her voice, Erin responded through clenched teeth, ¡°It looked like it was trying to chew on you. And your eyes. It was like the light went out of them. Even though it just grazed the back of your neck, I feared it was sucking your soul out. Or something worse. I felt so sick, so angry. I reacted. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s dead, but I hope it at least learned a lesson.¡±

    Gina lingered around the spot where the creature had been. She fanned the air with her hands. Erin readily confirmed the exact spot where the creature had fallen. Gina probed further and soon resolved, ¡°There¡¯s a cold and dusty spot. If only I had a nice infrared camera, but they¡¯re all over $1000.¡± Despite not seeing anything in the spot, Gina still pulled out her cell phone and filmed in a careful circle.

    Grumbling to herself, Gina covertly recounted, ¡°With everything that¡¯s happened to us, I can¡¯t believe the only documentation I have is a flower.¡± Eva loudly cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes at Gina, who raised her hand in surrender and didn¡¯t elaborate. Erin actually didn¡¯t have any problem with the rest of the group knowing about the flower. She didn¡¯t have it with her, but Gina shared about the video she captured with the girls not in the know. Thessaly was the most cutely affected by the image, squeaking about how pretty it would look in her hair. There were a couple pristine napkins on the table that Nadia knew she could use.

    She floated the idea of commissioning a flower for Thessaly, like creating a piece of art. While mentioning it, she checked on Erin, to make sure she didn¡¯t have a look of disapproval. Her expression was flat but not averse. Thessaly was willing to pay nicely. With servers and others coming and going from the kitchen so regularly, Nadia doubted she could work on it the way she wanted.

    Fortunately, the bathroom was empty and also had a nice variety of other paper to work with. Marisol raised an eyebrow and proposed the idea that Nadia¡®s skill had something to do with the manipulation of paper products or bringing to life of inanimate objects. To test this, Nadia folded her napkin into a little stick figure and propped them up on the table. And then she stared at it.

    It didn¡¯t do anything. She reflected on what actions she may have done yesterday in the ramen shop that compelled the simple paper to become living. Nothing jumped out at her as unique or distinct from her simple manipulations of paper any time before. It was just a matter of focus.

    Despite wielding her will on the little thing, it remained where it was. The only movement it did was to slip down and flop over when a waft of air shifted it. Marisol shrugged.

    Gathering together all the materials she figured she would need, Nadia made her way to the ladies'' room alone. That felt strange. It shouldn¡¯t have. Go in there, do the thing you need to do, and get out. And Paul appreciated the privacy and being able to sit and reflect. But it felt wrong now, despite the fact she had already gone once with the group after the abandoned Sears. Going alone bothered her more than anything. The dim lighting in the junction hallway leading to the restrooms didn¡¯t help.

    Her imagination conjured up and then slapped away an image of another one of those monsters waiting for her in the shadows. The bathroom was quite nice for a sit-down restaurant. It was a bit stark and utilitarian with supplies pushed to the side and a soap pump awkwardly fashioned into the tile sink as though her father had done the modification himself. And an industrial-sized canister of hand soap supplemented the pump. An old metal and glass one which needed to be pushed in with a plunger was dejected and empty at the end of the counter.

    Nadia felt a flare of anxiety that the door couldn¡¯t be locked but was also surprised that being in here didn¡¯t bother her that much. It wasn¡¯t as though she needed to pass a check or that anyone who came in would be bothered. She was a girl, she looked like a girl, and¡­everything else like a girl. At least that didn¡¯t need to be complicated.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    It would be a different matter entirely if being a girl didn¡¯t have alien augmentation. If Paul had to figure out how to contort being a girl into a Paul-shaped life. He never really considered the idea of being a girl. Mom would¡¯ve been an even bigger Hell. Dad was sure to do his usual screaming. And grandparents would¡¯ve just beat her.

    She still would¡¯ve done it, if it truly meant something to her like being with Erin. Stunned, bewildered, curious, having a little fun, having a lot of confusion, adapting, and figuring it out. That was how her last two days went. But with the benefit of knowing others understood that this wasn¡¯t the usual for her.

    The amount of adaptation still confused her though. Like that strange podcast episode with a young man possibly kicked through quantum immortality into the nearest available slot, which just happened to be his female version. And he got used to being and growing up as a normal woman. Just like Nadia was doing. Rationally, she suspected that she should¡¯ve had dysphoria. Horror at the shape of her body, rejection of the soft and empty spaces, suffering at how her body didn¡¯t fit her mind, slashing and screaming at reality, and trying to compensate.

    At least, that was what she imagined. But she was so boring. Oh, some aliens turned my world upside down and made me the combination of a bunch of girls. Well, better grab some cheesecake and a shower.

    By now, it wasn¡¯t shell shock or denial. She had thought about all of this. Was this just her? Different sex? Oh well, have to deal with it. New family? Oh well, at least there¡¯s good food. Superpowers? Oh well, make some flowers. Destroying the world because of love? Oh well, better figure that out.

    Passivity. Acceptance. Routine. Complacency. Sleepwalk through being a caregiver. Wander through the adulation of a crush. Go through the motions of ferrying people from one place to another. Take on the label of girl without complaint. Watch others do everything.

    Nadia looked up in the mirror. She was crying. Dammit, she was crying, and she didn¡¯t know the reason why. It was stupid to mope and dwell on the things she couldn¡¯t change. And she had a flower to make.

    Poking around at the available paper, Nadia discovered a surprising range of colors. There was the usual white and tan but also some blue and pink from packaging. Pooling together everything she had made for a pile of far too much paper.

    The flower Paul made in high school was lost to the distant mists of her memory and she couldn¡¯t just make another copy of the one she gave Erin. There was a paper-folding podcast she subscribed to with a website full of templates. But she didn¡¯t have any clearer sense of the combination of exact steps compared to how she had played piano. Each just happened though.

    She resolved to create a fun and fancy corsage. It would¡¯ve been a nice bonus to have known something deeply symbolic to Greek culture, but all she could think of was the laurel from the Olympics. The process got pretty far without her thinking about it. She had the basic bloom structure and simplistic outline already assembled when the door popped open behind her.

    Nadia prepared to clear away and apologize for hoarding the sink when she realized that Erin was standing in the doorway.

    ¡°Hey. You okay?¡± Erin gazed at her with sincere uncertainty. Nadia nodded enthusiastically, a little too much. She smiled and urged that she was fine.

    It was impossible to hide the flinch when Erin put her arms around her shoulders. Instead of trying to shape the warnings from Beyond into something that didn¡¯t sound crazy, Nadia talked about last night. About her mother. Erin stared sharply.

    ¡°They¡¯re not your family. Sharon isn¡¯t my mom either, but it¡¯s what I have to deal with. Better than stepping back into the past. What they think about your life is not only wrong, but it¡¯s fucked up. You said you love me. I¡¯ve made sure you know that I love you. You asked if we¡¯re girlfriends and we are. Do you want us to be together?"

    Setting aside her flower work, Nadia urgently pressed, ¡°I love you and I want to be together with you. You killed a horrifying monster to keep me safe, and I would do the same if talking in their language and making flowers worked on them.¡°

    Erin shifted her lips to the side of her mouth and reflected on what she wanted to say. ¡°Yeah. That was a moment and an emotion. Same as driving home together was fear and clinging. And cheesecake on the couch was tiredness and hope. And you embracing me is fear and sympathy. But do we have love? You¡¯ve given me such beautiful flowers. And I gave you that cute necklace and I know¡­ It¡¯s at home. Same with my flower. But between how crazy our lives have become and the moments of fear and uncertainty, do you love me when it¡¯s just a normal day with normal stuff to take care of?¡±

    Nadia scrunched up her eyebrows. Was she doing something wrong? Of course, she was anxious because of Beyond. Could Erin really see that in her body language and feel that or was something else bothering her?

    ¡°Yes. I love you. No monsters, no aliens, no superpowers. No trip back to high school. I swear. I¡¯m just afraid. Of saying the wrong thing, of assuming more than I should, of being a jackass, of not making you feel loved. I am so stupid when it comes to other people and myself. I had no idea all through high school that you showed any interest in me and I am still a little uncertain.¡±

    Stretching forward, Erin bent and whispered in Nadia¡®s soft ear. They were vivid, detailed, rich words full of all sorts of naughty things not merely hinted at but grabbed and gripped with fervor. Nadia kissed her and squeezed as tightly as she could. There wasn¡¯t a whole lot more than that they could do in the ladies'' restroom, but their eyes focused with intent.

    There was still a wall between them. Erin knew. She sensed the distance. She remembered the separation. And she wanted the truth out of Nadia.

    ¡°There is something on your mind. What is it? If you want me to just fuck off about it, that¡¯s fine. I respect your emotions. If it¡¯s just about your mom and a lot of shit you still have to process, that¡¯s fine too. But we need to talk, and I need to know that we can talk to one another. I had to keep so much locked away inside from my family for so long that if you want to be close to me, then we can¡¯t do things the same way. I don¡¯t care if it¡¯s a secret where you hate me or you¡¯re full of feelings of broken glass that¡¯ll cut me up. I accept you as you are. Can you accept that?¡±

    Why was dealing with another person, even one you could talk to easily, so desperately complicated, painful, and uncertain? Nadia didn¡¯t understand. The best she could do as Paul was create a wall. Nothing said hurt, and he projected distant unwavering confidence. Could she really tell Erin about all this fucked up stuff with Beyond?

    Fine. The old woman may be mad at her, but she was madder still. Time for the truth.

    Nadia opened her mouth. Before the words could flow, she suddenly realized she was somewhere else. Outside, with a bunch of other people. The shopping plaza from yesterday.

    It was far more overcast than she remembered it being. Gina, Odessa, and Eva were nearby. But Luna and Erin were gone. They weren¡¯t too far from the abandoned Sears.

    The words finally came. ¡°Oh, God¡­¡±

 [37] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 37 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [37]

    ¡°Luna! Erin!¡±

    She knew the route she took, despite all of those twists and turns to the abandoned Sears. D¨¦j¨¤ vu in the worst way.

    What was this? A memory? A hallucination? Beyond messing with her again? This couldn¡¯t be totally real and yet the sensations of her footfalls and the pulse and push of her entire body as she bolted around the crowds to where she knew Erin and Luna had gone felt as vividly convincing as anything else in her life. Her lungs burned, her head pulsed, and her stomach churned. Compared to how the alien fixes removed so many pains for her, this felt more real than the bathroom.

    Same empty space as the first time. Same weathered entrance. Only this time, the door wouldn¡¯t give. It was like pulling on a wall. Not even the handle would twist or buckle. Catching her breath, Nadia tried to peer through the patches of glass not covered up. Erin was inside, but she didn¡¯t see Luna.

    Eva, Odessa, and Gina soon caught up with a tangle of questions. All Nadia could pass along was that Erin was in there. Gina looked around quickly and jogged over to a slab of cement resting by the worn grass.

    With her hands flailing wildly, Eva tried to stop her, yelling, ¡°What are you doing?! We can¡¯t break in! We need to get security to open it up!¡± But Gina wasn¡¯t listening as she slammed the side of the lock. It rattled loose and, with Odessa and Gina pulling, they were able to get it open. Eva groaned but held it for them.

    The interior was exactly as Nadia remembered. Same mess, same lights. But she still couldn¡¯t see Luna.

    Erin answered the same way about why she ran.

    *WHAM*

    ¡°Something shoved it. Frick, that stings!¡± The door was sealed again despite the lock being broken. Nadia looked everywhere.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Luna?¡±

    She didn¡¯t say that last time. She also didn¡¯t see ghost Liz.

    ¡°Luna? Who¡¯s Luna?¡± Gina had her phone out for light. Nadia¡®s heart raced. How come they didn¡¯t know Luna?

    Erin took a breather and commented, ¡°Isn¡¯t that your little sister? You thought about bringing her, but she wanted to play in the backyard.¡° It seemed like Erin was going to say something else, but then she turned in surprise and took a step back.

    ¡°What? Where did you come from? Can you let us out?¡± Erin spoke to the air in front of her. It had to be Liz, but why couldn¡¯t she see her? Things were different and she wasn¡¯t sure why.

    It was a little more difficult for Erin to be believed without the others seeing Liz, but Gina still recorded the patch in front of her.

    ¡°What the absolute flip is going on?¡± Eva asked, with a hand pressed to her forehead. Nadia found herself torn between balancing what she knew and following what happened the first time.

    Gina dipped open her mouth after Erin did her best to explain. ¡°A ghost from the 1960s, stuck in a Sears? That¡¯s so sad. If I¡¯m going to die, I at least want to go in a Macy¡¯s. But preferably in a store full of Star Trek stuff.¡± Eva narrowed her eyes at Gina, as though perturbed that the girl would even entertain the idea of dying.

    The thing with Liz progressed just as Nadia feared. She couldn¡¯t hear what the monster said but caught Erin puzzling about ¡°doggo¡±. Soon, the screaming started. She didn¡¯t know if it was worse that none of them could see what Erin was so horrified by.

    The ceiling shifted, and everyone started to group together. At least the tile lifting up from the floor put the rest doubts. She knew exactly what was coming yet, when it finally dashed across the room, she still wasn¡¯t in time to block it. And neither was Erin.

    Her eyes wide in panic, Nadia trembled over the woman she loved as a large shard of tile was wedged in her throat. She knew this couldn¡¯t be real. They made it through this. They were safe.

    She knew not to take the piece out but there was so much blood and Erin gurgled harder when she tried to secure it. The others were around her, but she barely noticed them. Why was this happening? The monster loomed behind her, she could tell. It was that same darkness without a name. Only it was even more ravenous.

    Why why why why¡­

    ¡°Nadia? Did you hear me? Can you accept that?¡±

    The bathroom. She was back in the bathroom. The truth. She was going to tell her the truth. No more hiding the sharpened parts. Why did she still feel like Erin¡¯s blood was on her hands, even though she couldn¡¯t see it? Nervously, she set her half-finished flower aside and ran the water in the sink. Erin kept close and asked, ¡°What happened? Please, please tell me. There are so many crazy things going on in this world. Are we in this together?¡±

    Nadia¡®s hands shook like her father¡®s did towards the end. Not even the warmest stream could get rid of the shivers. She struggled to breathe, as if she were stranded on a mountaintop. She splashed her face and coughed.

    There weren¡¯t really any good spots to sit but boxes of paper towels sufficed. Erin fidgeted and stretched her mouth like there was something uncomfortable stuck in her teeth. Nadia leaned back and let her fingers relax. The shaking stopped.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Nadia swallowed and nodded.

    Erin waited with her hands set together in her lap.

    ¡°I¡¯m dangerous. I worried about it yesterday when two of my family members vanished and returned. Then I tried to make a change to one of my sisters and I don¡¯t know if it worked. I don¡¯t know what I am and it¡¯s worse because I got pulled into a place where someone warned me that I am dangerous. On the ride back home, after Gina¡®s mom dropped you off, I fell asleep and found myself in a strange room with a sign marked ¡®Beyond¡¯. An old woman held me there and warned me about my power. She said I have a skill that increases the powers of others. Like synergy or accelerant, I don¡¯t know. She told me that being around all of you is bad. She told me if I stay around you in particular¡­ We die and so does the world. Last night, when I got your necklace gift back from mom, there was a second one. It was older, like it had been copied. I thought that meant nothing around here is real and whoever¡¯s in control of everything is just screwing with us. But, after you killed that monster, that old woman stepped in again and told me all of this is real, there¡¯s gonna be terrible consequences, and I¡¯m making a mess that people need to clean up. I am responsible for the monsters being lured here. And, just a minute ago, I had a flash of yesterday when we got trapped inside the Sears but Luna wasn¡¯t there¡­ And you were bleeding to death from the flying tile.¡±

    When she was done talking, Nadia felt like a marionette puppet after her performance. Nothing to hold her up, no hands to guide her, just the weight of gravity. The box beneath her creaked but didn¡¯t buckle. Looking over at Erin, Nadia lamented that it looked like the attentive focus and energy she had been showing moments ago was buried under an absolute load of information. She asked for it and Nadia hoped it was for the best.

    Erin quickly confirmed that she hadn¡¯t met anyone like this old woman, as Nadia further described her. She thanked Nadia for being open and sharing but also admitted, ¡°I was worried that maybe you decided you weren¡¯t interested anymore or teenage girl hormones kicked you in another direction or¡­I dunno. I¡¯m weirdly flattered that you would risk the destruction of the world to spend time with me. I¡¯d probably tell this old lady to go fuck herself. If the world is so fragile that a little bit of love breaks it, then the world can go fuck itself too.¡±

    Erin wrapped her arms around Nadia as she managed deep, difficult breaths. It helped so much. Wherever that old woman was, Nadia had the sneaking suspicion that she wasn¡¯t pleased with any of this. She didn¡¯t project the same sentiment as Erin, but she was desperately relieved not to be alone.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Working through everything that her girlfriend had relayed, Erin really didn¡¯t even have a foundation or a cornerstone to rely on for understanding. The alternate version of yesterday was basically ignored by both of them for the time being. Erin had answers for the whole shark idea and build-up.

    ¡°We destroy any of them who try to hurt us and I¡¯ll learn more about my powers. Maybe what Luna did with Leslie, all that meditation, can also benefit me? But what I know for certain is that¡­ No one. Especially no supposed authority is going to tell me how to live my life with my girlfriend, who I love.¡± She embraced Nadia tightly for emphasis.

    While working on finishing the flower, she did her best to fill in the gaps. Beyond seemed to be a place. Erin derived special amusement from the thought that Nadia was the creation of all of the girls. She casually wondered if that included herself. The implications were bewildering. Neither of them was sure of what to do with the oddities surrounding Luna. Nadia avoided mentioning that the second necklace appeared in the spot where Luna had been sitting on her bed.

    It didn¡¯t take too long before the flower was completely finished with the accouterments of little curls and softening. Nadia felt a pervasive tiredness slipping over her. It wasn¡¯t that deep into the day but getting up early for church and the rigid routine took a lot out of her. She tried to shake her head and clear the feeling. Beyond seemed to show up when she was unconscious, and she didn¡¯t want to invite them back. After jerking up a few more times, she acknowledged that meditating with Luna seemed like a good idea.

    The flower looked beautiful upon completion, and it did similar things to the other one by fanning out and shifting under the influence of water. It definitely seemed worth the amount that Thessaly gave her upfront. But it was lacking something in particular. It was alive and gorgeous, however, it didn¡¯t have the magical cohesion and energy that the other one had. She had no clue what this meant, but she cautiously hoped that Thessaly would still enjoy it.

    Nadia cradled her flower creation and asked Erin, ¡°Do we tell the others?¡± Erin dried her hands and took a deep breath. She hesitated with her answer, gently rapping her fingers on the counter.

    ¡°It¡¯s a lot,¡± Erin easily admitted. ¡°And I thought it would be a lot easier. I appreciate that we talked about it. But I¡¯m sorry I pressured you. I was just worried. It feels hypocritical to want answers from you and not pass them along to the others. Shit. What are we even going to say to them? ¡®So, it seems like Nadia has a scary power and a dream grandma told her that if we stick around her, that could destroy the world¡¯. Problem is, I don¡¯t even believe that.¡±

    She took a deep breath and brushed off her clothes. ¡°We have to tell them. But not today. Not right here. I always try my best to save bad news for a Monday. They¡¯ve seen gigantic monsters that shed even more monsters. They¡¯re just kids really, no matter how remarkably resilient they are and I¡¯ve encouraged them to be. Let¡¯s give them a break. Are you okay with that? I won¡¯t stop you if you decide differently, but I¡¯d rather at least wait till tomorrow. In the team room. Let them freak out about some normal stuff instead¡­ like how much homework they forgot to do."

    Nadia accepted that. She had more things she could¡¯ve said, but she tucked them away. She also acknowledged that she really needed to pay attention to homework, especially if this high school situation was going to continue for the foreseeable future.

    Back at the table, Thessaly buoyantly pranced over and glowingly accepted the flower. She sheltered it from the prying eyes of the servers and cooks and followed Nadia¡®s instructions about putting it in water. It had icy blue at the fringes and the heavy tan paper focused around the stem. A little dash of pink accented the center and the whole thing had a fluffy, tissue quality but also unparalleled resilience. Nadia was proud of it even though it wasn¡¯t as elegant or automatic a creation as the one she did for love.

    Gina looked quite preoccupied with her fingers squeezing her lips. It wasn¡¯t long before she bent over the table and inquired, ¡°Was there a recording camera in the bus? Like CCTV or driver monitoring or anything like that?¡±

    It took Nadia a moment to parse what Gina meant. ¡±Yes. It doesn¡¯t have audio and it¡¯s incredibly grainy, but there is a video recorder in the front area to make sure the driver fulfills their hours and schedule and for insurance purposes in case of an accident.¡±

    Gina flashed her teeth. ¡°Can we get a copy of the footage? If it was recording when everything happened, then we should have total proof that we were abducted. Although, alien technology does tend to shut down recording devices and a variety of electronics. It would be a long shot but¡­ Can we get the footage?"

    With a long breath, Nadia folded her arms and considered the prospect. The bus was put into lockup. It was easy to get out the other night but getting back in now required getting over a large fence, around a security system, and through an entire complex for storing and servicing tons of buses. Unfortunately, the problem was Nadia knew that the buses would have their video footage dumped to a central server on Monday, which was even harder to get into and they would go back into circulation after evaluation.

    Gina¡¯s eyes widened, and she grinned. ¡°Sounds like a caper. We have to sneak in there tonight and get a copy of that footage before it¡¯s lost. Absolute proof of aliens! Who¡¯s with me?¡±

    Exuberantly, Gina raised her arm. Eva did her best to shove it down, but she was undeterred. Even when it was clear no other arms were going up, Gina scooted over and crouched in front of Odessa, putting on her biggest eyes and deepest pout while begging her to help out. Odessa cited concerns about her guest, Louise, as well as unfinished assignments which were due in the morning.

    Going around the table, Gina was met with similar responses. Marisol was busy. Sasha had several boys to educate. Tatiana would likely cry if she had to do anything even remotely close to illegal. Thessaly was in dreamland with her flower. Audrey promised to take care of some pets and wanted to hear what was on their minds. And Elsa just had terror in her eyes leftover from events and a lingering confusion about why Nadia passed out. Nadia assured her she was fine and privately had to concur that it was probably for the best they weren¡¯t dropping more on the group quite yet.

    Dejected and annoyed, Gina dragged herself over to Coach and Nadia. She dropped to her knees and pleaded. She recited her greatest ambitions about finding true proof of intelligent life in the universe.

    ¡°For smoked steak! Quit groveling to everyone! I was going to go with you anyway. It¡¯s better than blowing things up.¡± Eva folded her arms and rolled her eyes in Gina¡¯s direction. Gina assaulted her with an exuberant hug, and Eva lightly blushed. Erin and Nadia both agreed to go, so long as Gina could come up with a credible excuse for Duman to not be worried about his daughter.

    It briefly appeared like Gina was going to put some real depth of thought into her response. Then, she just offered up doing homework as a reason.

    Eva noted quietly, ¡°You mean me doing your homework¡­again. I have a better idea.¡±

 [38] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 38 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [38]

    The presentation of the reason why everyone needed to get together on a Sunday night for something important fell on Eva more than Gina and that seemed like the best call. Nadia had the suspicion that their schoolwork went similarly.

    Eva explained it as a brief stargazing event that ignited Duman¡¯s interest immediately. He lamented that his daughter hadn¡¯t mentioned this to him before. Eva responded that it was kind of a last-minute thing with her classmates, and she put a lion¡¯s share of the blame on Gina for the timing. Nadia could tell there was an absolute cornucopia of adjectives bouncing around inside Eva¡®s head to describe the situation concerning Gina, but she was clearly fighting her petty side to keep it simple.

    Duman¡¯s offer of a telescope had to be politely rejected as Eva assured him that there would be plenty of looking devices at this particular evening event. He wanted photos, especially of his daughter gazing at the stars. Eva took a moment and then guaranteed that she would get him something but also cautioned that delicate sky photos had already been arranged and there were a lot of procedures and she warned they might not be that interesting. That didn¡¯t bother him too much, he just wanted a photo of Nadia at the event.

    When Eva was finally released from dealing with Nadia¡®s father, she slumped down and rubbed her eyes. She seemed ready to vigorously chew out Gina for putting her in this position but, as soon as she turned to look at her neighbor, Gina bounced over and wrapped Eva up in the biggest hug.

    Nadia recognized the reaction on Eva¡®s face. She had one like it when she was Paul. It was sometime late in senior year. He just wanted to spend lunch period with a particular teacher who had come back from a writer¡¯s conference. But Britney Clement, a wide-eyed, exuberant blonde who liked to play pranks, hopped in front of him and wanted to thank him for something last period. He had been burned by jokes and insincerity all through high school. He always laughed it off, but it still hurt.

    She hugged him like an old friend meeting up. Immediately, his mind envisioned that she had been put up to this situation as a bet. She had definitely done wilder things on a whim. This was just one more of these chaotic turns.

    It wasn¡¯t till college, when Britney chilled out from her overzealous persona that he later discovered that she had the biggest crush on him. And she wasn¡¯t the only one. All told, Paul eventually pieced together that half of the girls in his history class actually had a secret fan club about him. And the whole time he thought he was a social pariah.

    Eva looked emotionally torn in countless directions amid that hug. Nadia could pick out a flare of annoyance, but also a flash of curiosity. She could see Eva wanting to run away and hide in the corner but also linger in this moment. There were so many unexpected things going on with her face and body language that she could only come to one conclusion: Eva had a crush on Gina.

    It was a silly notion. He¡¯d only been a girl for less than 48 hours. No way that the language and code and demeanor of female friendship made any sense to him yet. This didn¡¯t have to be anything romantic. There were a myriad of platonic connections. Granted, she was in a very not platonic situation, but that was exceedingly complicated. But then perhaps a great many romantic situations were.

    Nadia told herself to be mindful of this intuition but not to rely upon it as sincere truth. It was just a feeling and a guess but looking at the way Eva acted around her neighbor gave gradual but increasing reinforcing credence to this notion. Additionally, there seemed to be an air about the other girls, like a secret unspoken. That didn¡¯t necessarily mean anything, but she took it all into consideration. She guessed that Erin probably knew more about that sort of situation than she did but, considering the minefield of admissions and uncertainty between them she didn¡¯t want to add even more. Eva and Gina just looked cute together and it was funny to see Eva so flustered by her neighbor¡¯s closeness.

    It wasn¡¯t long before people took the leftovers away from the table to be wrapped up for whoever wanted them, and toothpicks were set out. Duman provided a quick lesson on how to toothpick in the Turkish way with polite etiquette. Fortunately, Nadia didn¡¯t commit any faux pas here, but it wasn¡¯t as though the actions were that complicated, just polite table decorum. Audrey had the most difficulty with it, but Nadia noted that she had animal instincts inside going against her.

    Because of the change in evening plans, it was arranged that Gina¡®s mom would stay until she was good to drive and ferry the group to this star viewing. Gina provided a slightly different explanation of events to her mother, leaning heavily on cryptid sightings and paranormal possibilities instead. Her mother still made sure that they would be getting back early enough for class on Monday though. Camouflage gear was also considered but ultimately rejected.

    One addition to the group was made when Nadia elaborated on the structure of the lockup with its fences: Leslie. When contacted, she was naturally reticent for a myriad of weak reasons, with the strongest stemming from her fear about when and if Eva would share her telepathy curse with others. A couple quick nudges from Eva got her to finally agree though.

    The rest of the group had ways of getting back home while burdened by leftovers. Audrey and Marisol hopped in the back of a relative¡®s truck and fanned the biggest waves. Sasha barely resisted using her skills on stray young men walking on the sidewalk before her uncle arrived to pick up her, Thessaly, and Tatiana. Elsa and Odessa took an Uber courtesy of Odessa. And then it felt lonely again.

    Nadia thought that Odessa, Eva, and Gina along with Luna, her, and Erin yesterday (and then Louise) was a massive group to deal with. But she slowly got used to it. Today¡¯s was dwarfingly huge and she found herself clinging to the familiar sections of the group for certainty. Amongst the girls she felt like she finally got to properly know, Elsa seemed really sweet and she could sympathize with Tatiana. There was more to Thessaly and Marisol than she expected. And she wanted to spend more time with Audrey and Sasha.

    The mnemonic LETS GO TEAM served so well with a group like this. A bunch of the restaurant staff recalled it and were grateful to have it.

    With the smaller group, they were allowed into a rear break room to relax and watch television. Gina had returned Elsa¡¯s cell phone with the battery practically topped off. Her own still lingered around 100% but one of the overhead lamps kept shorting out whenever she did her energy thing. This, of course, gave her an idea to try shorting out the security system for the lockup.

    Otherwise, it was considered that Erin¡®s telekinetic ability would likely be able to open things along with Leslie''s ability to fly over. And Gina quipped that Eva could just talk the security system to death as a last resort. This didn¡¯t visibly annoy Eva as much as Nadia expected it would. It appeared she was still riding the waves of that hug.

    Nadia helped with cleanup, service, and a lot of other little small things around the kitchen and Erin even joined in to help with some of the larger items. Eva also chipped in with her precise, clean handwriting to compose several notes about inventory and expiration dates while dealing with other administrative tasks. Gina had a fun time organizing unusual meats in the freezer.

    Eva requisitioned a large flashlight that wasn¡¯t in use from storage as well as a length of nylon rope. Each of them was treated to an eventual, small supper as things started to wind down. At one point in the evening, Duman pulled his daughter aside for a quiet word.

    Nadia didn¡¯t feel nervous about this chat but still held her breath as her father turned over what he wanted to say in his head.

    ¡°You are an amazing young woman. And you have befriended absolutely amazing young people just like you. Young Miss Reeves is such a glorious compliment to you. I just wish that the world did not have to make your comfort and joy with one another into something complicated. May you always be happy together. Don¡¯t worry about your mother. And I hope you see stars even more beautiful than you are tonight.¡± He warmly kissed her on the forehead and left it at that.

    Nadia resisted the urge to cry for at least twenty seconds.

    Leslie actually showed up a little early with her headphones securely fastened to her ears. She absolutely looked better than they first found her yesterday but still seemed tired and wary. It didn¡¯t take long before she admitted that most of her trek here had been on foot. And she sheepishly admitted that a decent portion had been while floating, swiftly amending that she made it look like she had rollerblades on her sneakers rather than something more obvious. Leslie leaned into the notion that ever since whatever happened to them on the bus, she had felt healthier and more limber. So walking multiple miles this evening was no bother to her. It was a very healthy sports training thing.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Eva looked like she wanted to bonk her Captain on the head as much as so many other incidents with Gina. Leslie reiterated the notion that it seemed like everyone got a mysterious health boost from their encounter. They had either discussed that or Leslie had picked it up from her telepathy.

    Nadia reflected again on the peculiar situation of Tonya. She still needed her glasses. Either she wasn¡¯t affected by the aliens or perhaps she just put her glasses on out of habit. But if she was positively affected then it was peculiar that she didn¡¯t say anything or just take them off at the time. Leslie had come to a point where she held everyone¡¯s thoughts at bay through the meditation taught to her by Luna, but Nadia urged her to read what she was thinking about Tonya. She didn¡¯t give much reaction to that memory and notion, but she did quietly nod.

    Nadia found it quite remarkable that Gina¡®s mom was just now finishing up her interactions with her friends, going longer than any of them with the same group. She kept the group¡¯s secret when Nadia¡®s dad wished them a lovely stargazing and hoped that earlier clouds wouldn¡¯t impede their viewing.

    Fortunately, it was a relatively clear night compared to the last few evenings of patchy clouds and heavy fog to assist their cover story. All Mrs. Ferris wanted to know was that whatever they were doing was safe. Her own daughter offered up a quick but unconvincing answer. It took Eva assuring her that all of them would be fine.

    The trip was uneventful aside from when Gina blurted out, ¡°Have I ever mentioned the ectoplasmic dildo theory?"

    Nadia I could just barely hear Eva mutter, ¡°Oh, sweet Jesus, give me strength¡­¡± Erin¡®s eyes widened and Leslie just put her head down.

    Mrs. Ferris wore a concerned expression and inquired of her daughter if that was an appropriate subject. Gina did her best to emphasize the scientific nature of what she was proposing. Gina began by emphasizing the ¡°atavistic energy¡± of all beings. Eva then stepped in and asked Gina to define ¡°atavistic¡±. Moments later, Gina rephrased it as ¡°spirit energy¡±.

    She detailed the almost vampiric nature of some spirits as they drained electrical, electronic, and human energy. She briefly touched upon mythology with succubi and incubi and the connection between spirit bodies and physical bodies before planting the notion that ghosts can manifest physical objects in our reality.

    After cautioning that this might or might not be considered like a tulpa, she cited several instances of ¡°objects of an intimate nature being created by ghosts¡±. She beamed with enthusiasm about where in a separate reality or out of what material such a thing might be fashioned.

    The main theory was that such objects might be quite common and a gateway between our world and others. Furthermore, she said some speculated that upwards of 50% of normal such objects may have acquired supernatural properties because of repeated use and emotional investment. It was like spirits beyond and people using them were bringing these things to life.

    Silence filled the car until Mrs. Ferris chimed in, ¡°Sweetie, I won¡¯t be mad, but have you been sneaking a peek at my private collection of books that I keep in the high drawer? The ones that sometimes have shirtless Riker and muscular Bigfoot. I know you¡¯re growing up, but I¡¯d like to have a few talks before you start exploring certain supernatural things."

    This actually brought a bright and nervous blush to Gina¡®s cheeks, even though she was talking about weirder stuff just a moment ago. She assured her mother that she hadn¡¯t gone into anything private and, furthermore, she hadn¡¯t diverted to searches like that either on Kindle Unlimited or the wider depths of the Internet. She emphasized that this was a peculiar but grounded scientific analysis of the interactions between different realms of reality. Her mother took a long look at her but accepted this. She did encourage her daughter to maybe talk more about the ghost parts than the more personal parts though. Nadia had to wonder how much Mrs. Ferris knew about her daughter¡¯s long-term aspiration to nuke the moon but figured that broaching that subject again would just upset Eva.

    Arriving at the place they had been dropped off Friday night, Gina confirmed with her mother that she would call her when their not illegal exploration of a supernatural nature was complete. And, if she didn¡¯t call in two hours, to return anyway.

    The main parking lot still didn¡¯t look fun at night, but the absence of fog definitely took the edge off for Erin. When Mrs. Ferris left them, a ringing silence invaded their ears. Some cars still wandered to the main street and a bus just left for parts unknown. But it was so deeply and darkly silent in all directions. Eva handled the flashlight but mostly kept it off. They used the flashlights on their phones to bolster the dim bulbs above.

    Before heading to the lockup section around back, Eva took Nadia aside and positioned her for a photo to share with her father. She made sure it was dark but Nadia¡®s face was clear and there was enough ambiguity about where she was standing on the grass that you wouldn¡¯t have known that a parking lot was just feet away. Eva assured her that she actually had decent recent images of her and Gina at a stargazing event which she could mix and mingle with these shots. She also took one with Erin nearby and them holding hands.

    Suddenly, the wind whipped up and a coldness seeped into the night. Nadia thought that the farthest lamps seemed even dimmer than they had moments ago. Everything settled for a quiet moment, until¡­

    *Click clack click clack click clack click clack¡­*

    Footsteps. Sharp and even footsteps in the dark. They were far off but felt like they were everywhere. And they each heard them.

    The five clustered together near the brightest spot in the parking lot and Nadia did her best to think about the shortest route to where the bus would be. Eva made sounds to push back the silence and urged that it sounded like it was just something knocking against a trashcan. Erin gave her a look, knowing how this had gone last time. Gina didn¡¯t appear particularly perturbed by the incessant, creepy sound. She had thoughts of meeting another Liz in spirit form and had her phone out in the distant hope that it might capture something interesting. Leslie anxiously hovered but kept to the front of the group.

    Doing their best not to separate, they followed Nadia¡®s directions over to the left, which unfortunately led to a very dark and ominous hallway branching between sections of the parking lot. They finally got to a T junction with a buzzing but dependable light source.

    *Click clack click clack click clack click clack¡­*

    They halted and slowed as a dark but slight figure about Gina¡®s height ambled with those regular heavy footfalls right into their path. A black hoodie covered its face and it seemed to gaze down at its feet. Its hands were tucked in its pockets and a pair of messy distressed jeans led to grimy, ruined sneakers. Gina frowned and took the first steps back. Eva continued to approach.

    ¡°Who are you? What do you want?¡± Eva pressed her words sharply like they were a sword, when really they were a butter knife.

    ¡°¡­ Have you forgotten me already? You left me behind. Alone. In the dark. In the never-ending, cold dark¡­¡±

    The figure raised their head and the hoodie slipped down. It was Gina. Gina with her eyes ruined, her face torn up with dried blood, and her jaw hanging by a thread.

    Eva¡®s mouth flashed open, and she squeezed a hand frantically to cover it. Her eyes lost their color and her skin turned pale as she slowly shook her head. She looked like she was made of sand waiting for the tide to take her away.

    ¡°No. Noooo. Please God, no.¡­sorry, I¡¯m so sorry. I did all I could. I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Eva¡¯s voice was so small and anguished.

    The figure in Gina''s shape curled a distorted smile and gurgled, ¡°Too late. You¡¯re going to die¡­ You¡¯re all going to suffer and die¡­For all eternity¡­¡±

    Then, it let out an ear-piercing scream and all the lights in the hallway went out.

 [39] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 39 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [39]

    The echoing dark threw all of Nadia¡®s senses off. She grabbed for anyone¡¯s hand but only found air. Ringing followed the echoes as she struggled to keep from stumbling or running into a wall.

    Eventually, the faint reflection of the outside grass off the dim lamps gave her something to aim for. But she didn¡¯t want to just run blindly and abandon her friends. She had to find them.

    Crying out for them just blasted an incoherent echo against the cement. She swooned and swooped with her arms out, reaching for anyone. An arm passed by hers, but it was slick, cold, and slimy. She kicked up her feet but didn¡¯t make contact with anything.

    ¡°Nadia!¡± Erin¡¯s voice cut through the chaos and she followed it to warmth. The others latched onto her and ferociously dragged her. It felt like her shoulder was going to be yanked out. They rushed in the dark towards that sparse glimmer of light. Leslie sailed above and swooped around like a predatory hawk.

    At the entrance to the long hallway, they sprawled and tumbled over into the bushes. Nadia could see Eva with her hair all askew and tears streaking her cheeks. The glimmer of Gina¡¯s bright hair from the shielded spill and presence of her phone told Nadia that this was the right Gina. Erin covered her mouth and stretched an arm out while wrapping herself around Nadia. Leslie launched to the top of the cement hallway and settled there. A few moments of silence seeped into them.

    *¡­Click clack¡­.click clack¡­*

    The noise sounded less like insistent footsteps and more like scraping a knife against a polished surface. The four of them huddled together and crouched down low in the grass so that the bushes would hide them. They weren¡¯t friendly bushes but jabbed and poked and stabbed at every crevice. The discomfort was muted by adrenaline and every breath slowed to the tightest trickle of air. Eva seemed to struggle the most to restrain her suffering.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re here. I know you¡¯re heeeerreeee. I know your every secret. Show your faces¡­and I¡¯ll make it quick. Join me in death.¡±

    The serrated, menacing steps advanced along the side path, crossing beside them while feeling like they were spiraling and swooping ever closer. Nadia noticed some pebbles around her feet and considered tossing one far away as a distraction, but she didn¡¯t feel confident about not accidentally dropping them and leading whatever it was right to their side. It certainly wasn¡¯t Gina. She knew that as well as anyone else, even though it was wearing Gina¡®s face and speaking like it went through what they went through.

    Gina didn¡¯t have that issue of confidence as she grabbed a handful of rocks and flung them in the air as hard as she could. Most of them peppered the nearby sidewalk like a sudden downpour but others tinkled and pinged against a trashcan and actually ricocheted against a car bumper.

    The entity gave a hiss but didn¡¯t rush in the direction of the falling rocks. It lingered by the bushes, as if picking up conflicting information. Of course, right then Nadia¡®s lungs and throat felt a random urge for a small cough. She tightened her mouth and swallowed it down, albeit with the faintest squeak of air. Whatever that thing was shifted again, back in their direction, and seemed to be sniffing the air.

    Instead of talking, it gave a painful whistle that lingered in the air like acid rain against their ears. Then another. Between humming, it would torment them with whistles. If they could just wait it out, Nadia hoped that it would go away. Long minutes passed though, and it continued this tense and painful game.

    ¡°I¡¯m hungry to see you terrified. What will your last thoughts be? What will you do? What kind of meal will you make?¡±

    The group clustered together in the dark, except for Eva.

    To Nadia¡®s horror, she watched as Eva shifted from empty, sobbing panic with her hands cupping her mouth to a bitter fury with her fists clenched. Before any of them could plead with her not to do it, she stood up and walked out of the bushes.

    ¡°Come to die?¡± The voice sounded like it was speaking underwater with a rough cold. Eva stomped her feet.

    ¡°Shut your stupid mouth. Only a paranormal idiot would take the face of a moron like that. So, I don¡¯t give a shit what you think. You DARE to use my suffering for your entertainment! Back off, bitch!¡±

    Looking up, Nadia saw that Eva had brought a hand up and slapped the entity across the face. The mangled representation of Gina staggered and looked up with wide eyes. Slowly, the others started to rise from the bushes. Leslie was still hovering above and actually had a large stone in her hands.

    Eva halted the others from getting too close, saying, ¡°This is my fight. I¡¯m not running away. I¡¯m not scared. I¡¯m not letting you, whatever you are, have control.¡±

    The dirty, wrecked creature had its fa?ade of Gina slip slightly with jagged teeth and blackened skin. ¡°Fight?¡­¡± It cackled. ¡°What do you expect to do against me? I can send you to your grave with a single slash¡­"

    ¡°I can send you somewhere worse with a single word,¡± Eva intoned with some measure of her command presence. ¡°Don¡¯t fuck with any of us.¡±

    ¡°You heard her!¡± That voice didn¡¯t come from Leslie above or their side but rather somewhere behind Eva. It was another Gina.

    Nadia puzzled for a moment about how Louise could¡¯ve known where they were, made it to this location, and what she intended to do. Then, she noticed a certain shimmer and translucency to the Gina standing over there. The original Gina tried to use her phone but, for some reason, it wasn¡¯t working.

    Eva took a tight breath and all the intensity in her face returned to vast, dark sadness. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±

    ¡±Don¡¯t be, it doesn¡¯t suit you.¡± Rushing over, that Gina boldly kicked the entity right in the jaw and practically seemed to rip it off. Its illusion faded to the vast, indistinct presence of an emaciated Gollum hunched over and covered in mud. It smelled like rotten meat and ass. Spectral Gina pointed this out and admonished the entity, ¡°Take a freaking shower sometime. All you crackhead cryptids can never get that through your skull. Maybe you¡¯d actually be successful. But then you just like scaring people.¡±

    The entity hissed again. ¡°You don¡¯t really know me. I can bring pain you can¡¯t even imagine. Suffering. Loss. Death. All you can do is moan and scream.¡±

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Eva gestured around. ¡°I can send anything wherever I want. Even to the depths of Hell. She can suck the energy out of anything and use it. She can fly and read your mind. She can crush you into a wet paste with a thought. And we don¡¯t know what her abilities are yet, but I¡¯m scared of them. And we have friends who can lift buildings, scream shattering destruction, and climb inside your soul.¡±

    The entity¡¯s gnarled features dropped. ¡°I¡­ want to sincerely apologize for causing any of you trouble this evening. And for the whole death thing. I understand now that my presentation and reading of your trauma were impolite and improper. I feed off of suffering, pain, and shock, but I should¡¯ve read the room better. I also want to apologize for scaring those two over there the other evening. I won¡¯t trouble you anymore, I promise.¡±

    All of the weird sounds and distortions of her voice vanished off for a light tone not too dissimilar from Gina¡®s regular speaking voice but with a remaining, odd inhuman quality. Her gesture went to Nadia and Erin. Spectral Gina added, ¡°And take a shower!¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Sorry, ma¡¯am. Good evening to you all.¡± Without further ado, the entity swirled up in on itself like a little colorful ball and popped. That wasn¡¯t exactly how Nadia anticipated things would go, but she couldn¡¯t complain.

    With the being vanished, everyone¡¯s attention, especially Eva¡¯s, turned to the other Gina, who they could see through.

    She flashed a quick, melancholic smile before saying, ¡°Hey, guys. It¡¯s good to talk to you. To all of you. I was kind of lingering after everything that happened in the Sears. It was a real kick in the teeth to put together that I was just a copy. Gina¡®s first copy. Explained why I couldn¡¯t use what I thought was my phone. It meant a lot that you remembered me, Eva. Like this, that¡¯s sometimes all you have to help you remember. Being a ghost isn¡¯t as cool as I thought it would be. But at least I¡¯m not stuck at Sears. I¡¯m sure it worked for Liz, but that¡¯s just not my style.¡±

    Her voice, weirdly faint and oddly sped up at points, crackled with emotion and hints of tears. Even though it was a difficult embrace, Eva wrapped her arms around her spectral friend. She could feel her, even though it seemed more like an outline of a person than their full presence. The original Gina kept back but listened diligently.

    Eva teared up as she struggled to find words. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry I couldn¡¯t¡­¡±

    Spectral Gina pushed against her. ¡°No. Don¡¯t you dare. You did everything you could. You saved everyone. You. Saved. Everyone. You are amazing and it was an honor to share a little of the life you share with her. Now, I feel a compulsion for the whole cliche tunnel and lights, and all that stuff and I get to find out what it all means first. I¡¯ll do my best to make sure your Grandma Edith is alright. Promise.¡±

    Swallowing hard, Eva nodded and fought back whimpers. Holding her close, Eva gently whispered in her ear something only she could hear. Not that it mattered for very long, as spectral Gina spilled the beans.

    ¡°SHE LOVES US! Well, I love you too. Took you long enough to say it. Never really thought about it the way I¡¯m sure you mean it but a bit of a bummer that you waited till the last possible moment to say something. I¡¯m counting that against you when we see each other again. Also, super lucky for her, so jealous. May you have joy, happiness, and love. Toodles!¡±

    She walked to the east with a bit of a rise to her steps. Before she faded from view, her foot snagged on something invisible and she took a tumble forward. Eva urgently moved toward her but spectral Gina waved her off, grumbling to herself, ¡°So embarrassing. I thought I was going to make a cool exit. Oh well¡­¡±

    And she was gone.

    Silence slipped back as Leslie lowered herself to the ground and looked around. No one knew what to say to one another. Eva pressed her hands around the side of her face, as though she were trying to block out the world. Gina took a deep breath and walked around to look her in the face. Eva avoided her eyes and her cheeks looked so bright that it almost seemed like she was having an anaphylactic reaction.

    ¡°You want to talk about it?¡± Gina asked.

    ¡°God, no¡­¡± Eva said faintly. ¡°Why did I say anything? I¡¯m so stupid. I hope she winds up in Purgatory where she has to play really hard video games like when we were kids and the power supply was broken and¡­¡±

    Gina finished for her, ¡°And sometimes it would shut off and destroy all your progress. Yeah, that sucked.¡± Gingerly, Gina wrapped her arms around Eva and rubbed her shoulder. The taller girl hunched over like a fallen tree and balled her eyes out.

    Erin stretched her hands out like she wanted to rub Eva¡®s shoulders too but there seemed to be no right place to set her hand. Leslie folded her arms in front of her and looked stymied about what to do as well. Nadia didn¡¯t hold back.

    She went right for the two of them and wrapped them up in as much of a hug as she could offer a pair of larger girls. It didn¡¯t matter that they had only known each other since yesterday. It didn¡¯t matter that, except for alien shenanigans, they never would¡¯ve been close to sharing lives like this. All that mattered was that Eva was sad and Nadia needed to do something about it. This broke the hesitancy of the other girls as the five came together into a very awkward hug huddle. Eva seemed confused but didn¡¯t protest.

    When they gave her some space, Eva stretched and bobbed her head like a bird with a nervous tick while still avoiding looking at Gina. She puffed a breath and said, ¡°We need to go get that video. I mean, it would be good to get that video for proof. Some assurance that the world is crazy. Alright? We don¡¯t really need to talk about anything else¡­ Until that¡¯s done. Right?¡±

    Everyone in the group but Gina agreed. She lingered with her arms dangling and reached up to rub her forehead. She squinted and quietly nodded after a moment, but still endeavored to add one last thing.

    ¡°Evangeline Hayes. I want you to know one thing. No matter what you do, think, or feel about me or anyone else. No matter if you go on a crazed killing spree devoted to some eldritch God. I have been¡­and always shall be¡­your friend. Live long¡­and prosper.¡± She cracked a goofy smile.

    The tears still lingered around Eva¡®s eyes, but she chuckled through her teeth and shook her head as she muttered, ¡°You absolute nerd.¡±

    Gina smiled. ¡°Always. Now let¡¯s go prove the existence of aliens!¡±

 [40] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 40 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [40]

    With the main lights in the hallway T-junction still shorted out, the group decided to take the long way round the lot with patches of pristine desert and cacti to be carefully avoided in the low, evening light. Since there were no lights right on them, Leslie actually hovered about fifteen feet in the air with rolls and loops. Her balletic display was traced in the shadow and the faint spill of phone flashlights as they trekked to the other end of the complex. Eva had recovered the flashlight and the nylon rope.

    Compared to yesterday with her tears, Nadia was happy to hear Leslie letting out a few happy giggles. She made some motions like she was swimming and then a couple with her arms playfully outstretched. After swinging back around, she dipped down and asked, ¡°Anyone want to try flying with me?¡±

    She explained, ¡°I was lifting some weights earlier for regular strength training and I was trying to figure out if they affected my ability to fly at all. The heaviest thing I¡¯ve carried with me has just been what I¡¯m wearing. That doesn¡¯t affect anything¡­ But it did make me wonder¡­ what if Superman was a nudist. Not that I¡¯m Superman or super strong or anything, like Thessaly, that was just where my head went. Sorry... digressing.¡±

    She took a moment to squeeze her hands behind her and reposition herself in the air. It was hard to see her face, but she seemed slightly embarrassed as she continued, ¡°In the air, I can easily take my purse. No trouble. I experimented and it seems like flying and lifting are separate things. It¡¯s kind of the same as if I were just standing on the ground and picked something up. So, I was thinking, back in junior high I actually spent a lot of time cheerleading, and I could hold people up easily. So, I think I could fly with someone¡­ I kind of said a lot that I didn¡¯t need to. But anyone want to try?¡°

    Gina was easily the most adventurous and bounded over uncertain gravel and dirt to try out this new ride. Eva warned them immediately about the conditions and invoked how a tiny drop could result in grievous injury. Gina agreed on this point but still wanted to be lifted up in the air. Everyone focused their phone lights not directly on them but around them to help them see.

    To everyone¡¯s surprise, holding onto Gina did not require lifting. As soon as the two girls had their arms entwined and gripped, it was like they shared the same properties, as though Gina had flight powers same as Leslie. An even more interesting discovery was that when Leslie let go of Gina, she didn¡¯t immediately lose this state. She no longer flew, but instead of dropping immediately to the ground she went into a slow hover and settled back gently. The joyful shimmer in Leslie¡®s gaze was evident even in the dark of the desert.

    They each took turns holding onto Leslie as they floated along. Erin actually teared up at one point and Leslie gave Coach a quick hug. Nadia had no idea how she could even describe the sensation of barreling through the air. It was terrifying in the first moments to just be floating with someone¡¯s arm gripping yours. It was less substantial than the swing seats she remembered from Knotts Berry Farm as a kid.

    Those were some of the nicest times with family. They would take an eight-hour trip and then drive along the West Coast for more than a week. He hated the feeling but still internally celebrated it and later fed it with off-road driving. But that was Paul.

    Nadia focused on the sense of exhilaration, of being free to move around the air in ways that only astronauts and people riding NASA¡¯s Vomit Comet managed. Only it didn¡¯t feel like she was constantly falling. It felt like she had turned off her sense of gravity while still being able to move in the direction she wanted. Perhaps there was nothing else like it. And she felt immensely honored to be able to experience it.

    When Leslie finally released her to settle back to Earth, she felt a pang of jealousy about the hesitant Eva. It took a good while before Eva¡®s tense and nervous body language finally fell away and she glided with wide-eyed curiosity through the desert night with Leslie as her escort.

    In this fledgling flight fashion, they circled around to the far side of the lockup. The actual challenge of getting into it seemed equivalent to having brought a supercomputer to take on a basic math equation. They had so many options. Gina flexed her fingers in anticipation of seeing if she could knock out the electrical system. Erin aimed her telekinesis at the lock. Eva pondered whether inanimate objects might respond to her commands. Leslie hovered safely above the barbed wire. And Nadia just wanted to fly through the air again.

    Ultimately, it was all of the above, as Gina managed to shut down the power by holding out her hand. She marveled at the luminescent sparks and pondered whether she would supercharge her phone or just short it out. Erin had to strain for several seconds but was able to manipulate her telekinesis in several directions to delicately unlock the main gate. As an afterthought, Leslie slipped over the top of the fence and greeted the girls on the other side. All the while, Nadia couldn¡¯t shake the notion that these were all enhancements and accelerations of everyone¡¯s abilities.

    Just yesterday, Erin barely managed to stop that tile from wounding her. She forced the memory of what she saw in the bathroom out of her head. And Gina was barely able to make a phone battery tick back up and now here she was shorting out electrical systems. And whatever Leslie was doing with flight also seemed like an enhancement. Even though Eva hadn¡¯t demonstrated her abilities recently, Nadia had a hunch that they would be more substantial the next time.

    Beyond was right. Just by being around these girls, she was doing something to their abilities. It made perfect sense. She had warned the woman she loved about this, but she reacted more like a teenage rebel. Eva would probably have a much more subdued and wise reaction, but it took a lot to just tell Erin. It took the terror of seeing her bleeding to death in a version of yesterday that never happened. She hoped¡­ never happened.

    They all looked at Nadia and it took her a moment to realize they were looking because she locked up the bus. Erin and Tonya were also present, but she took it the last few feet.

    There were a lot of them, they were tightly packed, and this cluster was decorated identically. More had come in on Saturday and Sunday, which changed the entire landscape of where Tonya and she dropped it off. She had a decent spatial awareness of where the bus should¡¯ve been in relation to vague landmarks.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Gina sharply whispered. Everyone froze. A droning, incessant buzz from one of the distant floodlights filled the air but no other sounds emerged. Gina quietly explained that she heard a scuffing sound, much like when that entity did its creepy walk after them. Eva tensed up and scanned all around with a furrowed brow. No shadowy figures, but the buses felt like a strange artificial forest blocking out but also trapping sound. The sounds of their shoes as they turned and looked around felt magnified.

    No unexpected noises caught their ears. Leslie offered to scope out the area but Eva vigorously rejected that. Nadia swallowed and crept between the rows of buses, looking for the specific number Paul had been assigned. After several false alarms, she found 6090.

    The doors at the front had been additionally sealed but she tried the emergency access on the side. Typically, this worked as an easy way to get back in when the bus was idle. She flipped the cover and pulled on the handle while depressing the button. Naturally, for security purposes, it didn¡¯t pop open. Before they moved on to the next option for breaking in, Gina positioned her hand and focused on the energy she had drawn out of the security system. The lights popped on with a flicker and the door wiggled but it was more like providing a random electric shock than any intentional jumpstart. A bit of smoke wafted out from the side panel and Gina sheepishly took a step back.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    Erin took a try but the locking mechanism seemed too complicated for her to wield her telekinesis in the specific directions needed. The lock just rattled around a few times. As a final attempt, Eva put on a scary face, as Gina termed it, and intoned her will about the lock opening. Nothing happened. Her attempt was relatively quiet compared to her successful effort in the abandoned Sears but even that volume made her glance in all directions nervously. After a few different phrasings, she conceded that this wasn¡¯t going to work. Gina playfully remarked that she sure did intimidate it though. Eva did her best to ignore her.

    The emergency exit was the next option but the position and the amount of pumping of the latch required, while assisted by a hovering Leslie, was exhausting from the outside. The final option before having to break something was the window latch high on the back. Leslie boosted them, pulled the latches up together, and slid through to gain access. Then, it was just a matter of helping the others through.

    The interior of the bus felt very different at night and surrounded by other buses. Cell phone lights helped but also added to the eerie ambiance. Nadia settled into the driver¡¯s seat with instant familiarity. It was pushed up to where it had been comfortable for Tonya, which suited her as well.

    Erin immediately asked, ¡°How are we going to access the footage? Doesn¡¯t the bus need to be on?¡±

    Nadia smiled and leaned forward to a place on the side of the dash. She dug into a crevice and pulled out a single vehicle key.

    ¡°Just in case. Every bus I¡¯ve ever driven has one of them hidden somewhere. And, if they don¡¯t, I put one there.¡±

    Turning the key in the ignition, Nadia made sure to start the electrical but not the engine. The security footage monitor was built into the lower console. The girls flipped up the hooded section protecting it and watched a black and white monitor showing them currently. Nadia stamped out their frantic questions by assuring them that she could keep it from saving this. It was set to record in case of overnight break-ins, but she would make sure there was no evidence they were here.

    Before that, she rewound the digital footage. It took a good while to go back through Saturday to when they dropped it off. Outside, there was a strange, sharp sound that cut through the dim buzzing. Several of the girls stretched up and glanced around, but couldn¡¯t see anything.

    For saving the footage, there was a USB cable that Gina was able to attach to one of the ports on her phone. The mobile operating system acknowledged it as a garbage string of numbers and letters. Nadia explained that she would be able to take a sample of the video and transfer it over to the phone. She had done this more than once before to make backups of incidents for insurance.

    It was easy to tell when they came to the specific section of the footage in question. There was a massive, blinding visual whiteout. She advanced several hours until she got back to regular driving. It was disconcerting but fascinating to see Paul. A life that she would never live again. Without too much struggle, she was able to get to a spot right before the encounter.

    The angle was not the best, distorted the view, and wasn¡¯t able to look out the window at what was causing the blinding light. Gina still eagerly anticipated getting it on her phone. At the expected moment, they all slumped over in their seats when awash by the alien beam. Nadia frowned though. Something seemed off. She replayed it a few times but couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on what was bothering her.

    It wasn¡¯t till they got to the long stretch of everyone unconscious that she jerked up and paused the footage.

    ¡°Movement¡­¡± Nadia gestured to the left side of the screen where part of Erin was cut off. Something had moved. Advancing it slowly revealed even more. The girls leaned back with their mouths open.

    Tonya was standing while everyone else on the bus was unconscious. Urgently, Nadia rewound to the part that bothered her earlier. It didn¡¯t take long to find. She gestured and told everyone to watch. As they did, it was obvious. Tonya was the very first person on the bus to drop down. She slumped even before the light flashed through the windows. It was like she was anticipating it. None of them knew what to say.

    Speeding back towards the main section of footage, they watched silently as Tonya leaned towards the view of the camera but then spotted it in the corner. She darted away. While barely visible, she unlocked the main door and then was gone into the darkness. What followed after that was mostly still and unchanging until some of the windows unlocked and little projections of light drew their unconscious bodies out of the bus and into the blinding brightness. Once they were gone, there were several minutes of slightly distorted but still clear footage of the light washing over the bus until it blinked off. Several hours followed of the empty bus with just their bags, snacks, and possessions until it felt like the footage reversed itself with the lights flashing back on and their bodies slipping back in through the open spaces. Each of them hovered and dipped with delicate precision.

    The only difference was Nadia and young Erin in place of their former selves. Their clothes stuck in place, as though steadied by an unseen hand, then heavily drooped once they were deposited back in their seats. When everyone was back where they should¡¯ve been but not necessarily as how they should¡¯ve been, the light blinked off. The shadowy figure of Tonya crept back through the open door and dropped onto the seat where she had been. It was again obvious and unsettlingly suspicious that Tonya was one of the last of the girls to wake up afterward.

    It didn¡¯t take too much effort to grab a file from just before to after they woke up. The size was in excess of a gigabyte, but Gina gladly waited on the transfer. Everyone seemed to be nursing the same thought with wide eyes and panic in their expression. But before they could scream about it¡­

    *Scriff scruff scriff scruff¡­ scrape¡­*

    Footsteps echoed against the metal corridors of buses positioned against one another. They were regular but not as hauntingly even and intimidating as earlier. Human footsteps, likely. Perhaps a security person. Gina grimaced and urged the transfer to hurry along. The bus had an older version of USB and the data moved at a frustrating trickle.

    Meanwhile, Nadia deleted the most recent footage and set the camera to sleep mode. Leslie peered around and tried to see movement. When the transfer finally finished, Gina yanked out the cord and Nadia put everything back in its place with the key tucked away covertly. Crouch walking, they hurried to the back of the bus. Preparing to slip out of the back window, the sound of footsteps was clearly right next to them. Eva urged everyone to pull back. Nadia glared at the ajar emergency window but didn¡¯t feel confident enough to stand up and close it. Swiftly, everyone found a seat on the bus and hid in the shadows.

    The footsteps washed out their muffled breathing. Whoever was outside made their way over to the doors and fiddled with the lock. Everyone listened silently as a key opened them up. Nadia wished that she had a small mirror to see better. Gina tilted her blank phone screen like a lens but was frustrated by the vague, blurry details she was able to catch. Erin chanced a risky glimpse through the dim light and scattered seats. She managed just a split second before ducking back down.

    It was Tonya. She had to clasp a hand over her mouth to resist the urge to cry out. Her assistant coach, a girl that she had known for years as one of the best high school volleyball players she ever taught. What was she doing here? What was she doing awake when the others were all unconscious? But a sickening reality burned through Erin¡®s mind as she pieced together the single frame of Tonya she saw etched against the windshield.

    Her eyes were complete, pure black.

 [41] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 41 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [41]

    That wasn¡¯t possible, Erin told herself. She must¡¯ve seen it wrong. Tonya Hill had grayish eyes. In such low light, what she thought she saw obviously couldn¡¯t be real. Tonya¡¯s sclera had appeared jet black like a shiny film of oil smeared across both eyes.

    Eva also tried to get a good look but focused on peering between the seats rather than over them. She couldn¡¯t see much, but it seemed safer than poking her head out. Although, considering the things she¡¯d faced down lately, whoever or whatever this was didn¡¯t necessarily intimidate her.

    Leslie held herself in a floating position and listened with her mouth clamped shut. Nadia checked on the other girls. And Gina just glared at her ineffectual screen mirror.

    Only Erin glimpsed Tonya fully and completely, yet a sense of danger and foreboding wafted between them all. Tonya¡®s footfalls at the front of the vehicle sounded more like she was dragging something heavy than simply walking. It was hard to piece her actions together from the sounds. Nadia could deduce that the scraping sound was a search for the hidden key.

    Because they had all been there when Nadia slipped in the key to turn on the electrical systems, some sounds were familiar. But the figure at the front didn¡¯t go that route. They went for full ignition. Everyone ducked down a little lower when the dome lights came on and the engine started. Silence followed for several long seconds with just the idling rumble of the engine.

    It took an excruciatingly long amount of time before the engine kicked off and shifted to just the electrical.

    ¡°¡­Hello? Is someone there?¡± Tonya spoke. It was her voice. None of them could deny that. Eva resisted the urge to recoil in horror. Nadia gently pressed her head against the seat and shut her eyes. Gina yanked her phone down and squeezed it against her chest. She also pushed hard on the sleep button, suddenly worried about what would happen if her mom or someone else called. Leslie felt like she was about to cry but smothered her breath. Erin glared angrily at the back of the seat but remained where she was. She desperately wanted to communicate with the others. Tell them not to say anything or move. There was nothing she could do but hope.

    Heavy steps shuffled and scuffed over the front of the bus. Tonya had to be standing near where she usually sat with Coach. And she was getting closer. A phone light passed over the tops of the benches. Eva tensed her muscles.  None of them dared to breathe. It hurt.

    Gina itched. Nadia felt a sneeze coming on. Erin didn¡¯t want to hold back from throwing her telekinetic power at whatever was standing in the bus in the shape of Tonya. She just didn¡¯t know if it would be enough. Leslie shivered. Eva found that her teeth spontaneously ached, and she desperately needed to swallow. Surely, something would give, and Tonya would discover them.

    But, she turned away, seemingly spontaneously disinterested in whatever was happening at the back of the bus. She was soon fiddling with the video console in the same way they had mere minutes ago. The light of the screen cast an ominous glow. They had to get out of here.

    The way they came in seemed like the only option. Communicating through phones would still be too loud or bright. Tonya was sure to hear the buzzing or see a screen. Erin rummaged around on her person for something to write with. But, despite all the paper in the bathroom, she hadn¡¯t grabbed any. She bent down the aisle and tried to get Nadia¡®s attention.

    It took a moment, but Nadia noticed her. Silently, Erin mouthed the word ¡®PAPER¡¯ and reached around in her slim pockets. Nadia caught on quickly and actually had a few leftover pieces from her flower creation tucked away. But no pen or pencil though. Mercifully, one was nearby, lost from someone¡¯s bag on Friday. The pen rested right in the middle of the aisle though.

    Swallowing nervously, Nadia stretched out along the floor of the bus and seized the pen in her hand before sliding back. She caught the briefest glimpse of Tonya turned towards the screen with an overwhelming blackness that made her want to scream. The noises at the front paused for a moment, as though Tonya had noticed what she had done. There was no further question asked towards the back and everything resumed several fluttering heartbeats later.

    Leslie became the designated paper passer since she could float around silently. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat. The paper and pen transferred back to Erin, around, and underneath the bench, as she cautiously scribbled out the plan.

    They would send Leslie to the back first and then have each of them grip her hand as she led them to float out the back with her power. Simple plan but so many possibilities for danger. If they waited, they were at the mercy of whoever that was and their full attention on them. Erin resolved that they had to go now.

    Leslie clenched her hands into fists and took a guarded breath before sailing between the seats with her legs tucked in. She made it all the way to the back before the sharp shimmer of Tonya¡¯s light came again.

    ¡°What was that?¡­Kitty cat? Greasy hobo? I won¡¯t hurt you, promise¡­¡±

    Most of that was still Tonya¡®s voice, but the last sentence carried a strange quality that didn¡¯t sound like Tonya at all. Gina went back first, gingerly rolling under the seat to get closer to Leslie. Those heavy and menacing footsteps started to move towards the back when something chimed loudly at the front. Tonya rushed towards it.

    They couldn¡¯t wait any longer. Each of the girls rolled across the dirty floor as silently as possible. Leslie gripped tightly to Gina as they held the back window open and drifted one by one through the opening. Tonya was hunched over the video console with her ear pressed to a cell phone.

    Gina was out. Eva soon followed. But they paused and dashed away when they heard Tonya clear her throat and speak again but not in their direction.

    ¡°I¡¯m taking care of it. No evidence. And you¡¯ll get what you want on time. Just have a few loose ends to deal with¡­¡±

    That was enough of a sign to get out of there. Nadia and Erin gripped one hand each of Leslie as she launched through the window. Nadia didn¡¯t squeeze in on time and it felt like a razor blade sliced her shoulder. Her clothes didn¡¯t tear but the pain almost made her squeak. When they settled to the ground, furious feet creaked the bus with a looming light.

    Still holding one another, they sailed together between the narrow bus gap and into the darkness. The twists and turns of parked buses felt like a mind-melting maze without end. Leslie had trouble guiding them without getting turned around but they managed to put some distance between themselves and 6090.

    The sound they made when back on their own two feet felt painfully loud. For the first time since she started flying, Leslie appeared wobbly in the air, so she went back to running as well. Nadia stumbled at a turn and pitched forward without anyone to catch her.

    When she tried to recover, Nadia discovered she was once more somewhere else. The abandoned Sears.

    She was crouched over Erin. Blood stained the old carpet and tile but Erin was cautiously sitting up. She had a dressing on her wound and looked shaky but conscious.

    Odessa clung to Nadia and asked, ¡°Are you okay? You passed out for a moment. The blood?¡±

    Back here. Back in this terrible place. Why did she keep coming back here? She had earlier entertained a dismal notion and it returned. This was the real world and the other was her escape. Like some 90s Twilight Zone concept. Only neither place felt like an escape. When she was there, everything felt perfectly vivid and real. When she was here, the same was true. The taste of bile in her throat and the smelly tang of spilled blood. She was bound by the oppression of this forgotten place and soul-sapping aches.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Gina looked rather queasy as well as she muttered, ¡°All right¡­ okay¡­ All right. I have no idea what that was, but I¡¯m good with getting out of here please.¡± Eva grunted and nodded, hoarsely responding, ¡°Can we? An emergency exit or grab something to break the glass? We need to get Coach some medical care. I don¡¯t know why the bleeding stopped but thank God.¡±

    Nadia felt torn between leading the group in the direction that Luna originally took them or bashing out one of the windows on the door. Gina panned around her phone flashlight as Eva retrieved and gripped her mace out of her purse. She endeavored to find a safety hammer, but Nadia already knew it would be fruitless.

    Gina put in a call to 911, but her phone kept disconnecting. The girls tried to pound the nearest glass but just wound up with scratches and bruised shoulders. The tiles weren¡¯t big or heavy enough and anything else they might use was locked down. Nadia supported Erin as they made their way to one of the side hallways. The same route again. Gina kept trying 911.

    Nadia knew that eventually the voice of the monster would come through and go after them again. But could she really trust that was going to happen? Things were already different. How would Gina hear the monster if Eva wasn¡¯t sharing Erin¡®s perception? Nadia whirled around and cried out to Gina.

    She was too far away and her mind was too focused on the call. Erin couldn¡¯t scream, but her eyes told everything. Gina was lifted up by an invisible force. Blood stained her shoulders as she screamed in pain. The most wretched, pained plea of broken agony burst from Eva.

    ¡°GINA!!! LET HER G¡­¡± Her furious words were cut off by a sudden, bright flash. A spot in her chest flared as though a lamp were attached beneath her sweater. She gurgled and tumble to the ground.

    From around the corner, emerged Tonya. Same dark hair as the other night. Same rectangular glasses on her face. Same bright ribbon to keep her curly, dark locks back.

    ¡°Down boy. You got them. Well, aren¡¯t you girls glad I was in the neighborhood?¡°

    Her footfalls sounded heavy against the worn tile. ¡°I really am sorry it has to be this way. But I¡¯ll take it from here. Let¡¯s see¡­¡±

    She held a strange device in her hands and waved it around with a bright, shimmering light. ¡°Oh, Gina. It¡¯s a shame you never got to see all the paranormal things secretly around you. Or experience your powers. Level two energy tapper. And a level three copy maker.¡°

    Eva, spitting and snarling, managed, ¡°Don¡¯t you dare touch her. Gina¡­GINA!¡± The blood around Gina was starting to flow. She lay where the monster had dropped her, unmoving.

    Tonya sighed. ¡°I always knew you had a thing for her. Pathetic. You¡¯re far better. Level three ability sharer. And a level four whisperer. I¡¯d love to have that voice.¡± As Tonya manipulated her device, a strange light flowed out of Gina¡®s chest and into it. Whatever energy was left in her body vanished with that, and she flopped over like a discarded doll.

    Eva struggled to fight back and hurl whatever cursed words she could at the inexplicable visage of the assistant coach. Nadia lamented that if only she knew that her voice had power. She had so many questions buried beneath venomous anger. Tonya didn¡¯t linger, she sucked the energy out of Eva just the same and Eva slumped over, barely breathing and empty like a discarded snake skin.

    ¡°You¡¯ve always been nice to me, Odessa. I would¡¯ve let you go. Wrong time, wrong place though. You¡¯re actually a level two perceptionist. That would¡¯ve been fantastic on the court. And a level three illusionist. I¡¯ll take good care of those.¡±

    Even though it didn¡¯t feel like something had struck her, Nadia had a sensation all through her body like electric paralysis. It was different than what Beyond had done to her. It was more like how she imagined a taser to feel. Erin couldn¡¯t move either, but she was struggling while gripping her neck.

    ¡°I had hoped to let you all stretch your powers a little bit. That¡¯s how they get ripe. But sometimes you just have to strike when the iron is hot. You may not believe this, Coach, but I actually am rather sorry to do this. You are an uncapped level three telekinetic. And a level four veil watcher. Quite unfortunate because, under different circumstances, you would¡¯ve been so much stronger.

    Nadia begged her to let Erin go. But with a flick of her wrist, Tonya silenced her. ¡°I will get to you in a minute. This isn¡¯t personal. Let¡¯s try to keep emotion out of it. Oh, Mister Bus Driver though. If only you knew¡­¡±

    Tensing, Nadia fought against the restraint. ¡°I do know! I make the powers of other stronger. Beyond told me.¡°

    Tonya froze in place and swiveled around to stare at Nadia. Moments later, she broke down in giggles.

    ¡°Hahahahaha! So Beyond got you already. And the old bitch lied to you and said you¡¯re just a power booster? Oh, that is so delightful! How perfectly expected. Oh, my dear, you are so very far from such mediocrity. You are the rarest of the rare. And you¡¯re all mine.¡±

    After sucking the glowing energy out of Erin, Tonya turned her attention to Nadia.

    Everyone. She got everyone. They looked dead. They looked worse than that. They looked emptied of everything even though they were still breathing. Rarest of the rare? So, what could she actually do? Could she save them?

    Why not try?

    Nadia thought back to when her sisters vanished, to when Agent Cross touched her hands and was terrified, every little moment of uncertainty in her life. Her friends were dying. She had to do something. What was her power?

    Lies lies lies. What could she actually do? And, in the flash of a moment, the craziest notion came to her.

    Whatever she wanted¡­

    But what was that? What kind of power was that? Oh¡­

    It clicked. She focused.

    Gina hadn¡¯t been attacked. She was fine. Erin escaped the tile without injury. Eva was fine and so was Odessa. And it was so.

    Tonya looked around frantically. ¡°No no no no! It¡¯s too soon! I tested you! You shouldn¡¯t be able to do this yet. It¡¯s been less than 24 hours. You should be weak. Weak enough to harvest¡­. this is wrong. No!¡±

    Nadia motioned towards her with focused intent. Tonya retreated and snarled. She waved her device in front of her, slowly becoming translucent.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get you. One way or another.¡± And, she was gone.

    Slowly, the girls around started to pick themselves up. Even though there was blood on the ground, Gina could find no wound in herself. Erin no longer needed her dressing. They stood on wobbly legs and made sure everyone was alright.

    Nadia wanted to be happy. She had saved them. But something felt strange inside her. It was like a metronome, pulsing with her heartbeat. Like the wavy air in a desert with the heat, only emitting from her body. The air and presence around her wavered. It felt like she might fly apart, like excited particles released in an explosion. She squeezed her mouth and resisted the urge to scream.

    Suddenly, everything went cold and she was slumped against the side of a bus with Erin pressing her hand to her mouth.

    She was back. But she still felt like she might fly apart. What was she? Was it true? Did Beyond lie? What was her true power?

 [42] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 42 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [42]

    So many questions. She always had so many questions and no grasp on what the truth was supposed to be. Put them away. Set them aside. They¡¯ll be answered in time. Now, they had to hide.

    Erin and she ducked under the nearest bus, crawling over rough pavement and gravel as Leslie carefully floated to a blind spot at the top. It was claustrophobic and every bit of exposed metal felt like it was going to snag on her clothes and slice her flesh. She had been under a bus a few times before for servicing, but this felt like being trapped and yet still not hidden enough to be safe. It didn¡¯t take long before those ominous, slicing heavy footfalls arrived right in front of them. Dark, sharp shadows blotted out the buzzing lights above.

    Erin pulled on her arm and dragged her over to the right. Breathing was difficult with the tight fit and her eyes teared up with the cacophony of metal, oil, and dirt. They drew back as far as they could. But it sounded like the figure in front of the bus was crouching to peer underneath. They didn¡¯t have enough space to hide. Nadia imagined pulling all the way back and slipping under another bus. She also imagined using her unknown power to freeze Tonya in place. Would it work? Was what she learned in that strange, other reality also true here?

    Before she could test that thought, a metallic noise came from one of the buses nearby, like a hard rapping. Tonya paused and seemed to straighten before hurrying towards it. That continued with sounds leading her further away as Erin and Nadia slowly worked their way out from underneath the bus. Their clothes had rips and mud marks. Nadia idly wondered how she was going to explain all this as simple stargazing to her dad.

    Working the other way around the twists and turns of buses, they managed to get close to the lockup fence. A few minutes after that, they met up with Gina and Eva drenched in sweat. Instead of trying to shut down the security system again or yank the lock with telekinesis, they just waited for Leslie to return. She provided the distraction, knocking on the buses. It took her a while to feel confident enough to fly back without being seen.

    She had to lead them one at a time over the fence because whatever intangible muscle represented her flying ability was getting exhausted or strained. The rounds of ferrying were uneventful, but they kept checking behind them with every hint of a noise. Once on the other side, not even the blackness of the T-section hallway raised alarms. It had been roughly an hour and Gina phoned her mother for a pick up as the group considered how much distance to put between themselves and the buses. Hiding amidst the solar pylons seemed sufficient even though Eva eyeballed the houses and churches across the street.

    While they waited, there was so much to cry and scream and puzzle over to one another that they all remained silent. Leslie rested her floating but occasionally slipped along like the rollerblade sneakers motion she mentioned earlier. Gina confirmed over and over that the video was transferred onto her phone but didn¡¯t do anything else with it aside from opening up Google Drive before realizing that she was still on mobile data. Eva watched her screen attentively but also seemed as exhausted as the other version of her had been. Erin appeared closest to grappling with the events and their implications. She peered around, as if the firmament of the world had shocked and disappointed her. Nadia understood that feeling. Still, no one spoke.

    It took a little longer than ten minutes for Mrs. Ferris to arrive. Everyone piled into the car frantically. Gina¡®s mom was cordial and curious about how everything had gone but she had to suffice with the tense, awkward silence. Nadia and Erin sat together, pressing against one another while Leslie enjoyed one end of the backseat as Eva sat as far from Gina in the front as the car would allow her.

    Eventually, Gina confirmed with her mom that they got the evidence but suggested that they had a run-in with something like a ¡°man in black¡±. Erin shuddered but didn¡¯t say anything. Leslie was the first dropped off and Nadia seriously considered spending another night with Erin but ultimately bid her a good evening. When it was finally her turn in front of her house, she had already formulated the explanation that it was muddy, and she had to crawl around and adjust a telescope. That¡¯s why she was such a mess. Diligently, she worked through the happenstance and details. Lies tend to be more detailed than truths, so she did her best not to focus on answering, but at least give this version of events enough weight that it sounded credible.

    She briefly considered hopping the fence to wash herself off in the backyard but knew that someone would probably see her before she was done. Her father met her at the door. Despite all the mental preparation, she wasn¡¯t quite ready for that.  He greeted her with concern but kindness as he asked how the event went and it slowly dawned that her clothes were disheveled and dirty.

    ¡°My princess, what happened?¡±

    ¡°It was good. I saw a lot of things. It was a lot of fun.¡±

    Her father inspected her clothes again. All she really needed to say was that it was very hands-on with a lot of grass and moving around. He accepted it. She listed off all sorts of heavenly bodies and how beautiful they were. Unfortunately, she also invoked Mars and her father was puzzled about that, as he noted that it wasn¡¯t likely to be visible until the end of the month. Nadia covered for herself by saying it was a photographed time-lapse image from some other time that she was shown. As far as pictures of the event, she put that all on Eva with a guarantee that she would send them around soon.

    Duman gazed deeply into her eyes. He probed them with care but also concern. She hated having to lie, to this man most of all. But she assured him everything was fine. Luna appeared from down the hall, clinging to the banister and leaning from the stairs. He asked her if there was anything else and Nadia shrugged and smiled. That was all. He let her go.

    Luna hugged her big sister but then had to head back upstairs because it was past her bedtime. It was late for Nadia as well even though it didn¡¯t feel that late. She couldn¡¯t remember when she had a bedtime but hurried through washing up in the shower before sifting through the remains of her homework. It was just a little bit of reading from English.

    Despite looking everywhere earlier, this time it didn¡¯t take too much trouble to find her schedule. She had honors English and AP Geometry, which made Paul¡¯s brain quake in fear a little. Biology and Economics were both honors classes and then she had an absolutely useless Spanish class. Her electives were music theory and team sports with a focus on volleyball. That hadn¡¯t been there before. Another slip of reality or a treat by Beyond?

    So, she was for sure on the volleyball team. But then who was off? Ten girls were the maximum. And did she want to be coached by Nesbitt?

    There were bigger issues than any of that. Tonya had been awake when they were abducted and hadn¡¯t been a part of whatever happened. Then she had shown up at the bus, seemingly to do the same thing they were doing. And then that vision, that world that could¡¯ve been. Tonya had some sort of immobilizing device which sucked the energy and life out of them. She had managed to survive it only because it seemed she knew more than Tonya was expecting of her. Nadia sighed and slumped against her pillow. She sent a text message to Erin, wishing her a good night.

    More was left unsaid, and Erin didn¡¯t seem ready to say it as she simply responded with the same well-wishing. Putting her phone away, Nadia tried to let all the jagged thoughts in her head and unfiltered possibilities just stay there for a few hours as she rested.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Morning came all too soon, frantically and without the luxury of dreams. She didn¡¯t have a uniform to wear to school but there was an assumed dress code. Something similar to what she wore to shopping didn¡¯t seem that weird. Jeans, a cardigan to make Eva proud, a jacket for the cold morning, a floral hat because she felt like it, and silver sneakers.

    It all felt so chaotic from stuffing some measure of breakfast in her face to exchanging glances with Luna as though they had a special language that neither quite knew if the other understood. Taliah took half of them in her car while Duman took the other half. Nadia did her best to poke her brothers and tease her other sisters while sheltering Luna.

    Before Luna was dropped off, she bent up and whispered in Nadia¡®s ear, ¡°Please, be careful. I love you.¡± And gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Then, she was gone. She knew well by now to heed Luna¡®s warnings, but she wasn¡¯t quite sure what she was warning her about. Did she know about Tonya? Nadia smiled and held her tongue as they made their way to Red Rock High.

    Being back here felt like a failure. It felt wrong. Paul had done all four years in this place. No fond memories. No wish to do it again. Maybe just a little curiosity to see it from different eyes. But she didn¡¯t know the first thing about how a teenage girl was supposed to act in this setting, decades ago or now.

    The campus had several sizable fences herding the masses towards a central point of entry and exit. The listless, dragging procession along the sidewalks and muddy grass felt intimately familiar. Her first class, honors English, was at the far end of campus towards the grass amidst the ¡°temporary structures¡±. The worst part was arriving where checking online had told her to go and yet still feeling lost.

    Guys and girls waved at her as though she should¡¯ve recognized them on sight, and she did her best to respond with a smile and a wave of her own. It actually wasn¡¯t long before she saw someone she did recognize.

    Tonya.

    She raised an arm high above her head and greeted Nadia like an old friend.

    ¡°Bus driver! Oop. Sorry! Good to see you. How are you holding up with everything? Did you decide on a name? Are you registered? Oh my gosh! Do you have Mr. Harcourt¡¯s English class? What a small world! I¡¯m actually tutoring for him through the college and providing supplemental materials for preparatory curriculum.¡±

    Tonya looked absolutely normal in the light of day. She had dark eyes with a slate gray tone but they didn¡¯t look menacing, inhuman, and out of sorts. Being slightly taller than Nadia wasn¡¯t a huge accomplishment, but it still left her feeling intimidated. She did her best not to show tension or any other suspicious warning signs and simply smiled back before mentally composing her response.

    ¡°Hey¡­ I am okay. A lot has happened. Seems like the world decided I should be Nadia Miray Baris, who I am. I hope I¡¯m registered. I think I am. This should be my class. Glad to see¡­ a friendly face.¡±

    Tonya grinned widely, adjusted the colorful bow in her long hair, and pushed her glasses up. ¡°Same here. But don¡¯t expect me to go easy on you. Haha.¡± Nadia put on the best fake smile she could manage and gave a quick chuckle in response. Part of her wanted to throttle whatever this creature was in front of her, no matter if it meant security might drag her away. She barely resisted the urge.

    The wind sliced coldly between the buildings, with cruel energy, as if it intended to strip the flesh from their bones. Tonya offered her a stick of gum, but Nadia smiled and said she was fine. She wanted one of the other girls to show up. Anyone else. Ideally Erin. If only she had some sort of tracker app on her phone too. But she was alone with this creepy and mysterious girl. If she didn¡¯t know what she knew, would this moment standing next to her have felt weird or unsettling in the same way?

    No one was freaking out about Tonya. Everyone was going about their Monday. But it felt wrong. So many things felt wrong. She shouldn¡¯t be in high school. She shouldn¡¯t be alone. The world wasn¡¯t right anymore. Everything felt broken. She closed her eyes and took a sharp breath.

    ¡°¡­Nadia!¡± Erin¡®s voice. Erin¡¯s blessed, glorious soothing voice as a respite in the darkness. She opened her eyes and saw Erin rushing from the main quad toward her. Nadia stepped away from Tonya and opened her arms wide. Even though it had been mere hours since they¡¯d last seen each other, it felt like a reunion of ages apart.

    They embraced and held each other close, even though Nadia wanted to do more, to kiss her and have it all out in the open. Erin whispered in her ear.

    ¡°I saw her last night at the bus. With black eyes. Not human.¡± Nadia looked back and gave a little nod. Then, she leaned close and whispered similar statements about seeing creepy things around Tonya. She wanted to say more, reveal the full extent of her vision, but she dared not to delve deeper with the object of so much uncertainty and questions standing so close.

    They both looked at Tonya, who kept a pleasant expression like nothing happened. ¡°Oh, Bus Driver and Coach. Sweet nothings. So cute!¡±

    Erin took a deep breath and relayed, ¡°Nesbitt is the coach now. She¡¯s apparently going to reform the team at her discretion. I don¡¯t expect to be on it.¡±

    Tonya mimed distress and concern. She even touched upon the ¡®bewildering¡¯ notions of how things had been altered. But Nadia couldn''t take anything she said as sincere. Erin just calmly bobbed her head before reaching over to embrace Tonya.

    The gesture seemed to surprise each of them. Erin spoke softly by Tonya¡¯s ear but she made sure that Nadia could hear what she was saying. She relayed how much trust she had in her assistant coach, recounted difficult times they¡¯d had together, and expressed immense gratitude for everything she had done, emphasizing what a fantastic player and teacher she was and what an honor it was to be her coach. Nadia could see Tonya¡¯s smile rising bit by bit with each fragment of flattery. Erin finished by encouraging her ¡°former¡° assistant coach in all her future endeavors.

    Tonya wiggled her head and remarked that, even though she was immensely loyal to Coach Reeves, she had a hunch that she might be able to fix several things with Nesbitt. She emphasized this with a wink and a smirk. Considering what she was able to do in the other reality, Nadia had no doubt about her abilities.

    But what was Tonya? There were so many stray elements to put together to make sense of it all. Clearly not human. Was she like Beyond? She clearly wanted their powers for some reason and could suck the life force out of them. If Nadia trusted her visions or whatever they were. It seems like the best idea to stay in public like this with her around. She didn¡¯t want to be caught alone with her.

    Erin smiled lightly and kept her poker face firmly positioned as she wished Nadia a good day. It ached that they didn¡¯t have the same first class. None of the other girls were in it. They were sure to meet up for snack and then lunch, if nothing else. And then, she was gone.

    Nadia had a hard time looking over at Tonya, but she didn¡¯t even bother to explain it as already missing Erin. Tonya didn¡¯t seem to mind. Mr. Harcourt arrived with a desert-whipping blast of wind and ushered the class up the ramp.

    She was just one student in the crowd, one girl among many, no one special. And yet, she was overflowing with secrets.

 [43] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 43 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [43]

    Class was faster paced than she was used to with her dim memories of high school. It seemed more like an accelerated college course that she took a few of and felt utterly daunted by. People talked to her and some girls joked with her, but she was separated from the punchline.

    None of the coursework was difficult, which was fortunate because she didn¡¯t need to be called up to Tonya¡¯s spot for any kind of assistance or tutoring. Sitting in class was strange because, all those years ago, Paul never really felt like he was a part of things. He was just present, like an observer watching as things happened around him. Sometimes, that wall was shattered, and he had to participate and other times it was pleasantly inverted with every moment he was able to spend with Erin. He could feel like it was just the two of them and no one else.

    Now, however, there were eyes all over, peeking right at the moment she looked away. Part of that was the unsettling worry of Tonya in the corner, but it also came from other directions. People were sneaking a glance at her.

    Boys? Probably. But not necessarily only. She was pretty, although she hadn¡¯t dressed to emphasize that aspect. Still, people were noticing her. Like sneaking a glance at some slumming celebrity. It was truly weird. It was like being the popular one and not knowing it. Which actually fell in line with how high school originally went for Paul.

    She felt so self-conscious. Like some actual princess again. Even politely covering her coughs was discordant, like she was doing something wrong, as though she shouldn¡¯t have even coughed in the first place. Her body had been renewed and perfected by alien technology but the more it was solely in her own hands seemed like deterioration and failed stewardship. She couldn¡¯t be a perfect doll though.

    Vaguely, the names of classmates started to adhere to her memory. Felix. Connor. Dara. Mathis. Jacob. Mika. She wasn¡¯t sure which ones she was supposed to know instantly, and which were just passing acquaintances. Who might Beyond try to push her towards as a replacement for the friends she truly wanted? Would they go so far as to give her a different girlfriend¡­.or a boyfriend? She eyed everyone suspiciously.

    Mr. Harcourt didn¡¯t seem like a bad teacher. Certainly not as bad as the one who locked Erin out of class so often and made her cry all those years ago. Nadia just didn¡¯t care about diagramming sentences, learning about the types of classic literature, or how to construct a written argument. Not that she was breathtakingly good or experienced at any of those things. It just felt like a skill set she didn¡¯t need right now.

    But Nadia was apparently something of an exemplary student as the teacher kept coming back to her for various questions. None of them were especially tricky, but she did get corrected on some of the nuances. Standing in line with strangers when waiting to present an assignment made her feel dunked in the aromatic energy of being a teenager. She had noticed it before, but the guys had an untempered, pervasive scent to them somewhere between sweat and musk. It was uncomfortable yet oddly alluring.

    Random girls did absolutely nothing for her now, even though the thought, presence, and smile of Erin meant the world to her. The stray realization that people might be attracted to her felt like a strange, unspoken truth. She had the faint feeling of a dozen adult comments about how teenagers are always preoccupied with this or that, why can¡¯t they just focus on other things? Well, she had some answers. Just existing as a teenager amongst teenagers felt like being tuned to an abrasive radio station that flooded in all directions and refused clarity. Chaos and uncertainty off the deep end of the pool. She did her best to fake confidence and experience until the class ended.

    Tonya didn¡¯t even attempt anything towards her during class but Nadia could still feel her looming, just like Beyond¡¯s analogy of a shark. She did her darndest not to rock this boat.

    Second period was Geometry and she didn¡¯t have much hope for that. Fortunately, it meant a friendly face: Odessa. Not a classmate, but a genuine tutor. Neither of them cared how it looked, but they wrapped each other up in a hug of relief. Class both allowed them to sit near to one another, yet desperately separated. The teacher, Miss Sanchez, was diligent with her tasks yet chronically forgetful. Nadia had to suffer through a variety of Geometry problems before she could find the time to really get close to Odessa.

    She already knew about the situation with Nesbitt and had a vague sense of what the caper crew encountered based on running into Eva earlier. But the newest revelation brought grimaces and headshakes.

    ¡°I¡¯ve known Tonya Hill for years. I¡¯ve never even got a whiff of anything weird from her.¡± Despite her reserved quiet when discussing such things, Odessa had exuberant energy for every lesson she passed along to those who needed help. The nervous admission that Odessa wanted to be a performer bore wavering uncertainty along with heartfelt determination.

    Nadia had no idea what to say about Tonya except to invoke the fact that they had all seen the video recording and Gina had it saved. The further mess of details seemed like a matter to save for later. She actually enjoyed geometry for the tangible symbols and applicable examples. The same was true the first time around, as it was one of the few classes Paul actually got a decent grade in before being shuffled around to a variety of experimental math classes and then lost to the subject.

    It was clear throughout the period that Odessa was quietly using her slow-down ability to eke out more notes and work than she otherwise would. She was careful about it when anyone else was looking, but Nadia was still quite aware of it.

    The long gap between second and third allowed for an extended meet-up between her and Erin. They squeezed each other close. Eva was also present. She seemed preoccupied, and took long, careful breaths to help her troublesome thoughts.

    ¡°I think Tonya isn¡¯t human. Could it be she was like a scout that brought the alien craft to us?¡±

    It was a notion that seemed to make perfect sense, yet invited a confused bramble of questions. How long, how, what were her intentions, and what could they do about it? With every glance her way, it seemed like Erin could read her mind as readily as Leslie. Not that Nadia meant to hide the second bout of mystery from the abandoned Sears visions. There just never seemed to be a good time to lay it all out, especially with the frantic pace of classes. The most they could really do was share a quick kiss as Eva took a deep breath and stared into the distance.

    Music theory third period was both a surprise and a delight for Nadia. Audrey and Marisol shared it with her and she needed them as it was like diving headfirst into an entirely different language that her talent could not decipher. Classroom Audrey was an energetic poke and a harmonious celebration. If she could somehow get away with turning into a perky songbird that regaled others with all the classic anime themes, then she gladly would¡¯ve. Marisol was the splash of cold water that brought them both back to earth. She also had the most amazing study sheets, which Nadia copied the finest points of.

    As with her sister¡®s piano lesson, knowledge and awareness of musical traits came with a subconscious acceptance that someone else had to take over for her, some energy driving her fingers and thoughts. Autopilot Nadia with innate knowledge. It was unsettling but best not to fight and keep it on a careful rein.

    She wanted to have a eureka moment of friendship and connection with these two girls, some spark of camaraderie. Instead, they just felt like two girls who seemed nice and she formally met yesterday after running into them casually for so many Fridays. It was a different matter for her next period honors biology.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Elsa and Tatiana grabbed onto her with exuberant hugs. They hadn¡¯t been clued in about the extent of the caper and had so many questions. Even though Nadia felt she slept well over the weekend and had been renewed with alien technology, the forces of high school just seemed to sap all her energy. Elsa and Tatiana were fascinating to listen to though. Nadia found them so imaginative.

    They often got distracted from the biology lessons in a group and liked to talk about ways that superpowers can arise. The others in the group just found it quirky, but Nadia worried about them giving a little too much away. At one point, Elsa looked at Nadia with her vast blue eyes and asked how she slept knowing about the monsters moving all around them. Elsa squeezed her hands and wiggled her feet with a gulp. Tatiana echoed some of the same nervousness.

    Worries about monsters actually hadn¡¯t occurred to Nadia recently. What kind of things was Erin seeing in her classes? She desperately hoped that otherworldly entities didn¡¯t bother her. Erin hadn¡¯t said anything around snack time, but it was just a sort of thing she would keep to herself.

    For the girls, she encouraged the idea that the two of them were stronger than any monster. And the group was stronger still. This seemed like a fanciful notion to the two of them, but they provisionally accepted it. Tatiana had to be on guard not to slip into familiar sympathetic ways. There were times when she started to look a little like Nadia, but they had a similar skin tone. It was rather like having an extra sister since Tati clung to her so much. The two of them were both boisterous about the music though, especially tunes that Nadia had no idea about. Further subjects included YouTube obsessions, cute people that Tati could turn into, and Elsa wanting to feel big.

    The two of them seemed very much like children in a way that Nadia didn¡¯t want to belittle. They were teenagers yet they were darn cute. She could imagine both of them indulging vigorously in pajama dress-up Spirit Days with snuggly plushies. The oncoming prospect of Coach Nesbitt made them both look a little queasy though.

    Lunch involved a painful, wretched slog dragging through a stinky, crushing line of people desperate to get out the other end. Leslie joined Nadia for part of it and carefully hinted that this was practice for her meditation. The physical crush of so many people was unpleasant. Nadia gave her her greatest sympathy for the mental trampling that had to be going on. Leslie didn¡¯t look happy until they were at the end of that crush, even though the promised chicken wings were more like chicken blobs.

    Leslie managed suspiciously long hops on the way to where they intended to meet up, but she endeavored to keep her feet on the ground. When seeing Erin again, Nadia squeezed her tight and released her nervous question about what she was seeing. The long breath that Erin gave seemed foreboding, but she assured her that the worst she had seen were far-off traces of the flying monsters not heading their way along with swarms of demon ants. Tatiana had to shake her dress at the mere thought.

    Sasha had the most excitement out of any of them as she regaled the group with her plans and careful positioning of transformation energy. She grabbed sullen friends who she had long ago promised transformation if it ever came to her. And standing beside her was one such friend. He was dressed mostly in black with a dark tank top and matching sweatpants. His figure was slight and slender, with a certain softness already. A bright blush tinted his pale cheeks as Sasha went through a whole unnecessary ritual of setting up her power while covertly wielding her hair to tap him on different sides.

    With a blast of air, the boy shifted. He lost several inches in height while his shaggy, light tan locks flopped down across his slimming shoulders. The tank top got loose and then very taut as an immense, rounded shape filled the front and almost looked like it was going to split. His limbs actually looked longer with fair fancy, painted fingernails. The pants tested their limits with his rising, wide hips and thick thighs. The black sneakers at his feet didn¡¯t fit anymore but the new girl joyously shuffled around in them. Something similar had happened to her, Nadia told herself. She had to wonder what that felt like as a process, since she was only aware of the end result.

    A new girl explained that it all felt a little like being under an invisible hand dryer but it instead blows away who you are. The group happily welcomed the new girl as she only lamented that this was temporary, according to what Sasha informed her. Although just an idle thought, and one tainted by revelations, Nadia wished that she could bolster Sasha¡®s ability, just this once, to leave the girl with a joyful, permanent identity.

    Revelations and fears seemed very much at the forefront of everyone¡¯s thoughts, but the time was taken to eat and dwell in pointless little things and Nadia was perfectly fine with waiting a little bit longer. As far as the new girl, she actually had a conspirator who would take her out of class to avoid confusing questions and indulge in a fun-filled feminine afternoon. Nadia envied her.

    Spanish class was absolutely pointless. So, she focused instead on helping her class. That wasn¡¯t an easy matter as her talent often tricked her and she had to consciously separate the languages out for the sake of others. Thessaly shared that class and needed a decent amount of tutoring. Despite being enormous, she had the heart of someone more like Elsa. Like a Great Dane with puppy feeling. And unending exuberance.

    Compared to how the day started, Nadia still felt drained, but at least she didn¡¯t have to shelter alone under the mysterious watch of Tonya. The teacher, Miss Chavez, proposed an AP/honor supplement based on how well she was doing. Nadia agreed to it so long as she didn¡¯t have to transfer classes.

    The day finished out with the advanced Economics course that felt like the kind of thing that her family would¡¯ve approved of. Happily, she was able to sit beside Eva and Gina at the back of the class. No Erin in any of her courses, but she had known that by comparing schedules earlier. That had to be the doing of Beyond. As recompense, she accepted hanging out with Gina and Eva. She expected that eventual seating charts would scatter her to the room. But this was nice.

    She still felt like an observer of Eva and Gina¡®s antics. The prospect of splitting school days with Louise got shot down by Eva with something like a cat yowl as she scolded her neighbor trying to sabotage her education. Gina just saw it as working smarter rather than harder by trading off days and leaving notes for the other. Of course, the problem was Louise wanted to do exactly zero days of school work and play video games. However, that was only sustainable as far as Odessa¡®s charity and ability to explain her unexpected roommate to her family.

    ¡±There¡¯s something about Tonya,¡± Eva eventually let out. She leaned back and shut her eyes.

    ¡°So¡­ How do we trap an alien like that? Peanut butter and jelly or tuna fish sandwich?¡±

    Eva scrunched her eyes and pinched her nose. ¡°What works for imaginary tigers doesn¡¯t work for everything.¡± Gina celebrated that she got that reference. Nadia held her tongue again. She knew that, at the end of the day, in the team meeting room, everyone would be there and they could hopefully talk without having to worry. It made the sense that Tonya was some sort of alien scout or other entity in disguise though.

    Soon. She would be able to tell them all more soon.

 [44] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 44 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [44]

    The Economics class was actually the most difficult one out of the entire day, partly because Nadia felt like her brain had been through the wringer with so many subjects and so many tangled thoughts. It was a different way of thinking from so many classes she vaguely recalled. It was fascinating and filled in gaps that she had to piece together on her own when certain responsibilities fell on her. Gina often lamented lessons and dragged herself towards Eva for help, even though Eva didn¡¯t have that many more answers than her.

    Excruciatingly, the minutes dripped by until the day was full, and they were released. Gina practically sprinted across campus to the team volleyball room while Eva had to hold her back. The confession last night wasn¡¯t addressed by any of them, but Nadia could feel it crackling in the air when they got close to one another. Eva loved this girl, despite all the things she said and did and all the lamenting. Gina didn¡¯t feel the same way and that seemed to strike Eva like an aching tooth she had to hide in the depths of her mouth. They could still be friends though, they could still be close, even while Eva¡®s heart of love languished in the dark.

    The team room was a place that Paul had seen once when picking up some bags that got left behind. He actually talked at length to Erin for the first time in so many years while ambling as slowly as possible with those bags. It was up a set of cramped and creaky stairs right above the main PE offices. Markerboards flanked the wall with a modest walk-in closet full of sports equipment for every subject on the other side. The ceiling slanted and dipped low above them as well as dripping with every thunderstorm. They were the first ones to arrive.

    Eva slumped hard into the nearest chair and bent over while rubbing her eyes. Gina looked like she wanted to fashion her own seat from the scattered sports equipment to the side of the room.

    Audrey and Marisol were the next to show up. With full and flaring curiosity, Audrey desperately wanted to know how the caper went last night. Their half of the caper crew gazed at one another but couldn¡¯t find words. Marisol raised an eyebrow at the vague promise that they would tell everyone when they were all together. Meanwhile, Audrey delighted in the fact she was able to temporarily transform into a tortoise to relax and clarified that tortoise thoughts were not as slow as they seemed.

    Thessaly and Leslie arrived next with Leslie checking down the steps and around the room before gleefully hovering up to the ceiling and spinning in place. She gave floating rides to everyone who hadn¡¯t experienced it yet and Eva had to restrain Gina from taking a second turn. Leslie also discovered that the upper shelves and ceiling desperately needed to be dusted.

    After that, it was a flurry of arrivals with Sasha scampering up the steps and celebrating the delights and possibilities of new girls. Leslie used her floating time to stretch out her muscles, especially her tired feet. Nadia¡¯s speculation came up about how much the alien encounter had removed aches and pains but the weight of the world had quickly put them back. Elsa, Tatiana, and Erin arrived last and decently contributed to the cacophony despite seeming so quiet.

    Everyone was here. Was it finally time? Nadia took a moment to embrace Erin. So much to say and so much uncertainty about how to say it. Before any of them could prepare, sharp words lanced behind them.

    ¡°What are you doing up here? This isn¡¯t your clubhouse!¡±

    Nadia had only met Coach Janice Nesbitt one time before and that was enough. She stomped her way up the steps with her arms dragging like a corpse¡¯s. Her tangle of dark brown hair refused to touch her rigid shoulders. She seemed born with a scowl or a textbook case of the parental warnings to not make a sour face, lest it stay that way. Her nasty expression seemed etched into her skull from years of practice.

    Nesbitt glared at the group. ¡°Team only. No pretty little pals kibitzing.¡± She clung to a clipboard with her arm hair shining in the light. She wasn¡¯t even close to taller than Eva, but still loomed with menace.

    Leslie, who had brought everyone back down to earth as a precaution, acknowledged the coach with a bow and an apology.

    ¡°You¡¯re not team captain. Not anymore. I have the official list of my choices and three alternates. Three of you will haul your pretty asses out of here.¡±

    Before any of them could react to that, she started reading off names. Thessaly, Eva, Odessa¡­ all expected because of strength and experience. Nadia, Gina, Leslie¡­ why was she on the team? Nadia had no idea but there was just one name she was hoping for now.

    Nesbitt read off the three alternates. Tatiana, Elsa¡­and Erin. Nadia released a sigh of relief. But she also ached as Audrey¡¯s effusive energy dropped like a lead balloon. Marisol¡®s expression was rigid and inscrutable. Sasha hid her face in her hands.

    ¡°Buzz off¡­ or I¡¯ll get security to remove you.¡±

    Marisol was up first with her bags around her shoulders. Audrey stumbled after and Sasha dragged her feet down the steps. Thessaly had kind words for the girls and Gina whispered quick notes of texting them.

    Nesbitt stalked in front of the remaining group. ¡°Those of you left, you aren¡¯t guaranteed a spot. We used to have ten but that¡¯s way too much, two alternates are all you would ever need, so I am looking to make one last cut. Get on my good side or it¡¯ll be you. Showers in five. Dress and practice.¡± Mercifully, she soon stomped back down the steps and left them alone. Unfortunately, Tonya then made her way into the room and any chance of spilling the full story evaporated.

    Tonya seemed to know the intentions of Nesbitt. They were to take their towels and walk down to the girls'' lockers to shower. Nude. And they would do the same after practice. Eva slammed the table and protested.

    ¡°No fleeting way! Nesbitt was censured for this!¡± Everyone remembered that, Erin especially. Tonya was already starting to undress like it was the most natural thing.

    There wasn¡¯t much they could do if they wanted to remain on the team. Erin had a spare uniform and lent it to Nadia like so many clothes the other night.

    The entire group shuffled to the side lockers to undress and grab their towels. Poor Tatiana shivered and clung to her towel desperately. She whimpered quietly and trembled. It felt so wrong for Nadia to see her like this. Her heart broke.

    Eva appeared forged from ice with a stern glare to challenge anything Nesbitt could throw at her. Nadia kept her eyes down on the tile, but it was impossible not to at least get a glimpse of everyone else. She felt conflicting emotions and a weird embarrassment that she seemed to be the largest of the entire group. Odessa had amazing hips and Elsa really did seem soft like a princess. Then there was Thessaly.

    It didn¡¯t seem too strange that she was naked. She had a classical look reserved for sculptures and images of the Olympic Games. Living marble. Seeing all of Leslie and Gina was just weird. She didn¡¯t mind seeing Erin and Erin seemed to feel the same way. The absolute saturation and sincerity of it all just felt so normal.

    The problem was Nesbitt. She stalked towards the stripped group and appraised them like meat hanging in a freezer. Eva clenched her teeth and bristled. A naked Tonya joined the group. Nesbitt ordered them to walk that way to the showers.

    Some of the group tried to drape their towels across their bodies but Coach Nesbitt caught that and scolded them. They also weren¡¯t allowed to close the doors to their showers as Nesbitt gazed at the entire team from behind. Nadia had never really imagined murdering anyone for any reason. Life is complicated and people that you might hate rarely deserve death. She often thought of the quote from the Lord of the Rings and Gandalf, which Gina had actually cited several weeks ago after a game. Judging punishments and life and death were not something she could do. But she truly hated Nesbitt.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Nesbitt recited, as though it were something she had practiced many times, ¡°None of you girls have anything different than any other girl. No need to hide. I am looking out for you. All of you.¡°

    Mercifully, at one point, she went away and gave them some modicum of personal privacy to finish up their showers. And they were allowed to wrap up as they dried. Once in uniform, she had to admit that there was a strong sense of camaraderie between the nine of them as they comforted and encouraged one another for practice. But that seemed more of an incidental benefit than anything intentional. Eva slammed her locker shut.

    Nadia didn¡¯t have a lot of context for what typical volleyball practice was supposed to be like, but Nesbitt ordered them left and right on the court to run and sprint and do push-ups and sit-ups and all sorts of other menial things. It felt more like they were cogs in a machine to perform for her. Actual practice seemed to occur between tasks with Erin leading them. She was paired with Gina to serve the ball back and forth. Scrimmage wasn¡¯t too bad when they got around to it. Nesbitt named Eva the team captain even though she was supposed to be chosen by the team. Leslie was the first to hug and congratulate her, but Eva just remained tense and rigid.

    The worst moment came when Nesbitt called out Odessa and Thessaly during some stumbles, ¡°Get moving your chunky candy, Thunder Thighs! And you too, Xena, keep up!¡± She had nicknames for each of them. Leslie was Big Red. Nadia¡¯s was simply Princess. It was a perversion of everything sweet about how her family used the nickname. Eva got referred to as Penguin, and Gina was Mulder, which she didn¡¯t actually seem to mind. Tatiana kept her mouth shut about being ¡®Leaf¡¯, whispering that it could¡¯ve been far worse considering her ethnicity. It was a small consolation at least that Nesbitt didn¡¯t seem to go there.

    She fumed more about Erin being mockingly called a ¡°queen bee¡± by the coach because she was gathering the girls together for actual practice in contradiction to what Nesbitt told them, despite being a ¡°replaceable spare¡±. Elsa also seemed to like her nickname of Pollyanna.

    Practice went over time and Nesbitt was right there as they went to shower a second time. She aggressively scrutinized everyone, as though this were a medical exam. Only once all that was over and they had their clothes back on did she finally seem disinterested with them.

    Quietly, they clustered around one another. Odessa held her tears in as long as possible before finally sniffling. Eva sat down next to her and gently rubbed her shoulder. Thessaly dispensed hugs with as much energy as possible and even more embraces followed from the rest of them. Thankfully, Tonya made a quick exit from the group and the team room was left open for them.

    Stalking around the room, Erin cleared her throat as Eva prepared to take down notes. This was it. Nadia passed along that she had something to share too, but Erin wanted to start it.

    ¡°Tonya is dangerous. We think she¡¯s not human. When we went to check the video footage of the bus last night, we discovered that the recording included our abduction by some unknown force. But Tonya wasn¡¯t knocked out by whatever happened. She left the bus and then returned as though it didn¡¯t affect her. She showed up after we saw the footage, for some reason, maybe to delete it as evidence. I don¡¯t know. But her eyes were oily black, in an inhuman way. She pursued us and we got away. And that¡¯s not the only thing.¡° Then, she passed it to Nadia, who felt like she had such a tangle of uncertain things to put into some shape that actually made sense.

    ¡°I was worried that I was dangerous too. We don¡¯t know about my advanced power or skill or whatever it is. Two of my family members vanished and something about one of my elder siblings may have changed. I may be responsible. I don¡¯t know though. But yesterday when I fell asleep I got pulled into a place with a creepy old woman who claimed that I have troublesome powers. She said my powers are like pouring gasoline on your powers. I make them stronger, and I make them worse. She said that being around people with powers is bad for me and bad for all of you. She said it would destroy the world. I¡¯ve seen a lot of crazy things. There were two copies of the necklace I received as a gift yesterday, which tells me all sorts of strange stuff is going on. And she told me I am responsible for drawing in the monsters we saw. But I don¡¯t believe her, because I had a vision of Saturday when several of us got lost in an abandoned Sears. It happened more than once. My little sister wasn¡¯t there and everything played out differently from what actually happened. People got hurt. Real bad. And Tonya was there too. She said that I have a very rare power and it seems she wants it. She wants to take all of our powers for some reason.¡±

    A spell of silence fell over the group as they absorbed that avalanche of information. There was plenty of skepticism and uncertainty as well as a myriad of knotted questions. Gina was ready to go with her part of the presentation as she showed off the video footage. Everyone got a good look.

    Elsa fumed with fiery energy. ¡°Let¡¯s go kick her ass! Is she responsible for everything?!¡±

    Nadia hesitated there and Erin backed her up. They had no idea what Tonya may have done and could guess only a little of what she may try to do. What Nadia relayed of her vision encouraged caution. She passed along that Tonya seemed to have a device that protected her from their abilities. The only way that they got around her in the vision was because Nadia had greater developed abilities than she was expecting. Elsa still liked the idea of ganging up on her though. Nadia mused that the Pollyanna nick really didn¡¯t fit.

    The sentiment was shared amongst the group, but it was clear that they needed to have a better strategy for dealing with all of these obstacles.

    Eva encouraged, ¡°Things suck sloppy stuff right now. We also had to deal with a nasty monster and some unexpected things last night. But we¡¯re Red Rock Riders. We¡¯re afraid. We¡¯re confused. We¡¯re mad. And there¡¯s so much nonsense going on. The world isn¡¯t friendly. The world isn¡¯t kind. It hurts and it¡¯s going to hurt. No matter what we do, no matter what abilities we have, things are going to be tough. But no matter our setbacks, no matter what makes us scream and cry and falter, no matter what uncertainty lies ahead, we¡­Will. Stand. Up. To. It. If we fall down, we get up. If we need help, we have each other. We are sisters. We are a team, even those of us¡­who can¡¯t be here right now. We stand together on the court of competition and the field of life. No matter what has happened and no matter what will happen, we will face it boldly, with everything we have. Together.¡±

    Nadia was the one who felt like she was going to break down and cry, but she held it in. No epic music played with Eva¡®s words and no monumental moment came to pass when she was done. The girls just looked at each other quietly but with a clear tightening of their conviction.

    They were in this together and they would stand together.

 [45] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 45 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [45]

    Gina gently teased her neighbor about dropping a big inspirational speech on the group when that was typically her thing. Eva quietly but confidently responded, ¡°You inspired me.¡± Gina¡®s eyes widened, and she actually didn¡¯t have anything to say to that.

    She did lament later that translating the full emotion and text of that speech for the three missing girls was going to be a pain in the ass. Leslie gleefully celebrated that Eva made a fantastic team captain, but Eva wouldn¡¯t have any of that, pressing incessantly that Leslie was still their leader, even though the girl assured her that it was fine. She started to tear up about that while offering floating lessons. They had to be cut short as the lateness of the hour meant that the electricity was going to go off soon and they might be stuck inside.

    That actually happened once, some girls of the girls explained to Nadia, when a different coach filled in for Erin and forgot about them. It was a legendary night for the team. They actually planned and put together contingencies about if they were stuck. Fortunately, it was the modern day, and just placing a call to the office and their parents got them out within an hour. But the possibility and jokes of a trapped sleepover with food and rollout beds were the subjects of discussion for a while and the inspiration for the next team trip they wanted to do to wipe the memory of the infamous Adirondacks trip.

    Gina sighed. ¡°I liked that trip. But then I thought I captured Bigfoot for like twenty minutes.¡±

    Eva pressed a hand to her forehead. ¡°You captured a raccoon.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not well known, but Bigfoot is a dimension-crossing shapeshifter. I¡¯m not taking any chances with that slippery fuzz bucket. And I have been technically proven right for several of my theories now. There are other dimensions out there!¡± The two of them quickly made their way down the steps. Erin and Nadia lingered at the back but still were easily able to clear out. Nesbitt already left the building.

    It was getting dark and chilly. Erin and Nadia snuggled up at the front of campus as the girls phoned their parents. Leslie was about to leave when Gina urged her to stay and have her mom drive her home. Eva even chimed in saying that she could stay at her place if she didn¡¯t wanna go home right away. After a few deep breaths and messing around with her ponytail, she finally agreed. Nadia¡®s mom said she could pick her up in twenty minutes, but she declined that to go with Gina¡®s mom again. Sharon was also available to pick up Erin solo, but sticking together seemed like the best idea.

    Thessaly shared recipes with Odessa while they each sang parts of a tune with a haunting melody. Elsa and Tatiana seem to be talking about a show they both watched online. The group dwindled as each ride arrived until it was just the caper crew again. Since there was some time until Gina¡®s mom arrived to pick them up, Eva and Nadia decided to go get some drinks for the others.

    The gate was still open and the vending machine was located adjacent to the library. Nadia had a hunch about what Erin wanted and Leslie said she was happy with whatever. Eva didn¡¯t even need to be told what to get Gina. On the walk over, Nadia could tell that Eva wanted to talk. But she couldn¡¯t have predicted the question she asked her.

    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m worthy of Heaven?¡­¡± Her voice hitched. Nadia looked over at her with wide eyes. Eva fanned her hands and reassured her that it was fine and tried to defuse the moment with a little laugh, explaining, ¡°I just¡­ I just have a lot on my mind and I shouldn¡¯t be laying all that on you. Don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯m sorry I said anything.¡±

    Before Eva could pivot away from the subject, Nadia urged her that she didn¡¯t mind listening. Whatever Eva needed to get off her chest, she could bear it. Eva lowered her head and gave an uncomfortable chuckle.

    ¡°I appreciate the offer, but you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re getting into. I have fought and tortured myself in a million different ways just with the horror that I¡¯m gay. And it¡¯s even worse that the girl I¡¯ve known my entire life, who I consider a shared part of my soul, will never genuinely feel what I feel. She¡¯ll be my friend. She¡¯ll care for me deeply. But never the same. And that¡¯s okay. At least, I tell myself it is. Anything she needs, forever. I daydream of us decades from now with floppy granny¡­bodies, just giving each other so much trouble. And I¡¯ll take care of her. She made up this silly story once that as babies, I not only changed my own diaper, but made sure she was cleaned up and changed too. Never happened. But I would¡¯ve done it, if I could. Sorry, that probably sounds gross and weird.¡±

    Nadia assured her that it was fine and urged her to continue. Eva put in the change and pushed the necessary buttons on the vending machine as she continued, ¡°I¡¯m not sure why I even blurted that out in the first place. But you¡¯ve always seemed like a good person, Miss Mr. Bus Driver. And I guess we¡¯re kind of dealing with similar stuff. But¡­ I¡¯m scared. Will there be a place for me in Heaven I can call home? Some small piece of the girl I love has gone ahead of me. That¡¯s a real place, just like the other place where I sent that monster. Is He judging me for all of this? I want to be a good girl, but I feel like such a bad person. If I say the wrong word, at the wrong time, terrible things can happen. What can I possibly do?¡±

    She pressed a cold bottle to her neck and passed half of them to Nadia. Those were so many questions to answer, impossible questions with distant answers. Nadia could feel all the same uncertainties with different shades of sentiment. She didn¡¯t have answers. So, she did all she could imagine to do and wrapped up Nadia in a comforting hug.

    ¡°I hope you realize hugs just give me more to worry about¡­ not that I don¡¯t appreciate them.¡± It took Nadia a moment to parse that implication: Eva considered her physically attractive.

    Whether a modest boy or a cute girl, the notion still felt ruthlessly foreign and confusing. Nadia blushed and Eva apologized again.

    All Nadia could think to offer was some small measure of the encouragement and inspiration that Eva gave the group. They were in this together. Don¡¯t relent. Don¡¯t fear. They had each other and whoever might think or attempt to do ill to one of them, they had the love and support of the others. Eva looked like she had a long list of responses to Nadia¡®s awkward comfort. However, she relaxed her tension and thanked her for both listening to the ramblings and offering her words of kindness.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    It wasn¡¯t long after they returned with the drinks that Gina¡®s mom arrived to pick them up. Sleeping in the car was something Nadia refused to do despite a large, comfortable blanket this time. She didn¡¯t want to see Beyond. She didn¡¯t wanna hear about all the stuff she had done, good or bad. She wanted to hear Erin.

    ¡°What do we do about Tonya?¡± Erin¡®s face was tense as she drank her bottle of tea. Nadia reiterated the encounter in the other world, and she sighed.

    ¡°So, she has a way to suck life and powers out of us. But why was she doing it? Does she just want them? You overcame her because you knew more than she did. How do we use that now?¡° Another series of questions that she didn¡¯t have an answer for. And a hug didn¡¯t mollify Erin¡¯s tension.

    They didn¡¯t talk much on the ride home and Gina did her best to keep her mother distracted while the girls existed as islands to one another.

    The day slipped away from her in quiet solitude looking through her assigned homework with a combination of nervousness and apathy. Luna showed up, clinging to the door frame with a calm, quiet smile. Nadia asked her little sister how school went for her, and the kid gave a smirk older than her years and simply stated, ¡°Easy.¡±

    She was tempted to ask her to help her with this stuff then, but some level of elder sibling pride made her resist. For not the first time, Luna crept up to her, held her sister tight, and whispered fervently, ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±

    Nadia knew that meant something. Luna had so many wild and impossible secrets and Nadia knew by now not to bother prying into them. She just smiled with the girl and rubbed her eyes while looking through her business paperwork.

    ¡°It¡¯s going to be okay¡­¡± For a split second, Nadia felt confused. That didn¡¯t sound like Luna¡®s little voice, but rather Erin¡¯s. She glanced up with concern and questions. But the moment passed, and everything sounded and felt exactly as it should¡¯ve.

    The evening ceded to bedtime with mundane moments between her and her siblings. The next set of the World Cup matches were casually but carefully watched before bed. Turkey played again on Wednesday, and they had to win.

    Tuesday flowed past with strengthening routine. Tonya was easy to ignore in the morning between sentences, suspicious glances at her butt, and awkward readings. Nadia learned more about Calculus from Odessa¡®s regular homework than she really absorbed from the teacher in Geometry. Audrey and Marisol sat next to her but didn¡¯t feel connected except for their melodious inspirations. The melancholy of losing the one thing they cared most about was tempered by swirling anger for what Nesbitt put the rest of their friends through and the revelations of betrayal, confusion, and uncertainty. There was so much to talk about and yet again so little was said.

    She soothed Elsa and Tatiana with quiet words as they both pondered quitting the team from all the torture and uncertainty. Thessaly expressed the same lament while Nadia basically taught half the Spanish course. And the last class with Gina and Eva felt like a bewildering reset. Jokes and the appearance of normalcy plastered above the shaking fears and painful uncertainty of Eva¡®s life. Round and round it went. Each day a slight variation on the last. The oppressive constancy was how Nesbitt found new ways to torment them despite every encouragement they could share with one another.

    In words.

    ¡°Hurry it up, Twinkie Toes!¡­ No need to pull your shorts out of your crotch, Princess. It looks good there¡­ I don¡¯t care what you want to lick later, lick this lesson or you¡¯re off the team!¡­ Do you want more than your name in my mouth, Big Red?¡­ Everyone knows you¡¯re asking for it!¡­¡±

    And in what she demanded.

    No towels this time. Toughen up. Practice in sports bras. Hold that stretch while she looks it over. Accept the sports massage. Take the abuse.

    It was so much and so unrelenting that Nadia could briefly imagine it was normal. It was so far over the line to feel absolutely ridiculous and horrifying. And it went on and on and on.

    Tonya made no overt motions or suggestions towards the group, so it was easy to just forget the worst possibilities of what she was and what she represented. She slid under the radar as just another one of the group.

    Turkey lost their next game and failed to advance. But the house, with a reserved melancholy, still celebrated as far as the team had come with a bountiful meal and cheerful smiles. Luna looked tense though and Nadia had no idea why.

    The class day passed, as normal as any of those that came before. On the way to the volleyball team room though, Nadia felt small familiar hands wrapped around her side and clinging to her arm. Luna!

    The kid had no explanation for why she skipped elementary school to see her big sister, but her presence was welcomed by gleeful hugs from the entire group along with concern about what coach would do.

    Fortunately, the storage closet was big enough to offer her a comfortable place and she was a quiet kid who knew how to keep to herself. Nesbitt never noticed as she leaned into the team unrelentingly.

    The torture was no worse than normal, but it was aimed with laser intensity right at Gina.

    ¡°Hey, Blondie! Tell me how much you wanna gobble hairy Bigfoot drapes!¡­ How would you like a special close encounter?¡­ I have a cryptid for you, just stay after practice¡­ I bet you never finish anything!¡±

    It didn¡¯t seem to be any one thing, but rather the whole week and the unrelenting verbal diarrhea waterfall that she spilled over a buckling Gina, who did her best to ignore the worst of it, as Nesbitt shouted right beside Eva¡¯s ear.

    Inevitably, it happened.

    In a quiet moment, right before Nesbitt was about to give her next, filthy order, Eva screamed, ¡°SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP, YOU VILE WOMAN! GO BACK TO THE MIDDLE AGES WHERE YOU BELONG!¡±

    The air shifted and tingled, and Nadia understood innately what was going on before the full weight landed. Nesbitt stood as frozen as a statue with a bright shimmer highlighting her. In an instant, she vanished.

    Eva dropped to her knees with her eyes wide and her hands dangling uselessly. Hot, blistering tears stained her cheeks as Eva gasped from her hollowed-out soul.

    ¡°No no no no no no no no¡­oh God no¡­oh God no. Please God, oh no. I¡¯m sorry, oh please God, oh please God, oh no¡­ What have I done?¡±

 [46] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 46 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [46]

    Shock and terror slowly rippled out across the entire team. Nadia felt brief relief that Tonya stepped out of the area even though she knew that she would be back soon. Eva seemed like she was going to pass out as Elsa rushed over to support her.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­I didn¡¯t mean to¡­I didn¡¯t,¡± Eva weakly managed. Thessaly supported the team captain from the other side and gingerly helped her up. Eva gave an anguished, covered cough as she did her best not to puke all over the court. Tatiana rushed over with water. The motion of setting it to her mouth, as she struggled to control her breathing, seemed more important than the actual act of drinking.

    Erin steadied herself before taking charge of the group. She had the girls carry Eva over to the bleachers and have someone sit with her while she sent Thessaly over to see if she could shut the door to the hallway leading to the lockers and keep Tonya out.

    Nadia didn¡¯t know what she could do to help, so she just wound up shadowing the girls who were doing things. Eventually, Erin grabbed her and squeezed her tight in a hug, whispering, ¡°I hope your secret power is some sort of time travel. Cause I know we all feel like we could use a do-over right now.¡± Nadia settled into the quick hug and closed her eyes for a breath. She figured her power wasn¡¯t that, but she liked the sentiment.

    It seemed like Eva¡®s command ability had been used in that fashion though, if what happened to Nesbitt was to be taken literally. While the monster in the abandoned Sears got a trip straight to Hell, it only made sense that Nesbitt went back to the Middle Ages. So, she was probably long dead now. Nadia did her best not to dwell on that.

    Odessa, who had joined Thessaly over by the door, rushed back onto the court and plaintively whispered to the group, ¡°Someone¡¯s coming¡­¡± Tatiana looked like she was going to pass out at those words and turn invisible. She already had a certain translucency that Erin had to warn her about.

    In much the same way Leslie had restrained her talent through meditation, it seemed to Nadia that Eva had also held hers at bay. There were a few slips in the past week but the group had kept quiet about them. They could sometimes hear the sparrows nesting in the gym rafters. And invisibility was a slippery slope they had to be vigilant for. Fortunately, Erin¡®s ability tended to go unnoticed because the only real monster that lurked around the gym was Nesbitt.

    Some of the girls seemed stronger, smaller, and faster than usual but that was easy to ignore. Fortunately, the gym was big enough that if they ran into an unpleasant sharing, Eva was able to find an excuse to move far enough away to reset it. For the most part, though, it was manageable.

    Shared invisibility could¡¯ve been a good thing at this exact moment, even though Nadia doubted that Tonya finding the gym suddenly empty would solve their problems. But there was one strategy that occurred to Nadia to save them. She rushed over to Odessa¡¯s side and asked her if she could produce an illusion of Nesbitt.

    The girl took a few, deep breaths and processed that notion as Thessaly by the door wavered between holding it and darting away. Straightening and clenching her fists, Odessa nodded before saying, ¡°I can try¡­¡±

    Everything felt like it was going too quickly. Eva was the only one even processing the notion that, though she was vile, an entire person had vanished and been banished to certain death in another age. Eva¡¯s stomach roiled as she did her best not to dwell on the list of sins she felt weighing on her heart. The girls got together into some semblance of their regular positions for practice.

    Gina, who had lingered back amidst the fallout, quietly gave her neighbor an earnest hug on the shoulder. That did more for Eva¡®s mental state than anything so far as she quietly hugged back.

    After a lot of sweating and tense straining, along with Nadia doing her best to bolster Odessa¡®s ability even though she knew that wasn¡¯t her true skill, a solid, credible illusion of Nesbitt appeared with her clipboard and red windbreaker. She cruelly scowled in the direction of a wall while writing. Odessa had to remain relatively close to the image of the coach and maintain eye contact, or the whole thing blipped away. It was something, at least.

    Unfortunately, the illusion completely went away when the person warned about poked their head through the door. It was Gina. Or rather a second Gina. Odessa couldn¡¯t resist the distraction. The original Gina rushed over to her twin. Nadia was just glad to see she was fine, even though she heard plenty about the drama from Odessa in Geometry. Louise¡¯s presence nearly lit a fire in Eva to go yell at her, except for the fact that Gina got there first.

    She scolded her twin and frantically hustled her behind the bleachers to hide. Whatever she said, whispered right at her doppelg?ngers ear, soon shut her up and got her obediently climbing around the dusty tangles of wood and metal to keep out of sight. Once satisfied that no one could see Louise, she urged Odessa to bring back the illusion, since Tonya was still out there.

    That earned a long breath of exasperation from Odessa as she started constructing the illusion again. The group did their best to brainstorm alternatives, from Gina blowing out the lights, which would cause them to have to leave the gym, to Elsa using her destructive voice. But the illusion still seemed the safest.

    This second attempt by Odessa coalesced easily into Nesbitt form and even had the capability of looking around harshly. But it still couldn¡¯t talk or interact, which they knew would soon reveal the deception. They could only hope that the harsh presence and silent treatment would discourage Tonya from addressing Nesbitt.

    They let Odessa relax and refine her illusion while wandering over to the door. It took several minutes, but Tonya soon emerged, not from the expected main hallway, but rather the short one leading outside. She wasn¡¯t alone, Thessaly relayed nervously.

    Eva received copious amounts of attention and comfort to the point that it embarrassed her. She steadied herself and quietly voiced the question of whether she could do what she just did to finally get rid of Tonya.

    The girl who stepped through the doorway first was Sasha, clinging to her sports bag and peering around. Marisol and Audrey followed together. All three of them gathered that something strange was going on even though the gym appeared normal except for the clusters of girls not practicing while Nesbitt mechanically glowered and scribbled. Then, Tonya entered.

    Odessa staggered and shook out her hand, but the illusion remained. Tonya¡¯s footfalls clacked noisily against the floor of the gym.

    ¡°Hey, Coach. I brought the players that you cut and I¡¯d like you to give them a second chance.¡± She smiled widely and looked around at the groups. Odessa pressed a hand to her forehead as she resisted the urge to blink. The image of coach gazed in her direction before waving a hand and returning to writing on the clipboard. Nadia wanted a backup plan, but they didn¡¯t have one.

    Thessaly could steamroll the girl with her strength but that wasn¡¯t the kind of person she was. Sasha started to separate from Tonya¡¯s end of the room and Marisol and Audrey crept away with her. Tonya noticed and slipped a hand into her pocket.

    ¡°Coach¡­are you a cock-sucking whore? If you are, don¡¯t say anything.¡± Odessa desperately tried to make Nesbitt¡¯s voice emerge with anger. All that came out was a quick scoffing noise before the illusion started to waver and blinked out. Erin shot her hand up but Tonya was quicker on the draw with a similar device from the vision. She was soon paralyzed in place.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Tonya sighed. ¡°I had a¡­feeling this was coming. You¡¯re all getting nice and ripe for the harvest. And you¡¯re all in one place. Convenient for me.¡±

    Eva burst out with, ¡°YOU STOP¡­¡± but she was cut off by another click from Tonya¡®s device, which paralyzed her as well. Murmurs and cries filtered amongst the group.

    ¡°No. I don¡¯t think I will. Nice effort, good hustle. Ultimately, futile. I¡¯ve been preparing for this for a while.¡± She clicked another part of her device and the rest of the girls slumped to the floor. Nadia felt pressure on her temple that distracted her concentration. Several girls rolled in place on the ground but couldn¡¯t find the strength to get up.

    Tonya let out a long, satisfied breath. ¡°I¡¯m soo glad we can get this all out in the open. It¡¯s bad to keep secrets from your team. I even have a few things to confess. I¡¯m the reason that you were all abducted by the Amashasama¡­ the crab people¡­ crab people. Those crusty crustaceans love their scintillating aromas and I left the most intriguing trail for them to follow. Why? Because I wanted them to do what they did¡­¡±

    With a glance through the tangle of wood and metal, Nadia could see that Louise was still on her feet, not immobilized. She looked away from that and towards Erin, who had her arm outstretched as Nadia did the same. Tonya stepped between them.

    ¡°True love. Romantic. And disgusting. So gross. So human. I hate it. It¡¯s all filth, like rotting meat that you can¡¯t get rid of no matter how hard you scrub. But you gotta fit in and have the right look. My usual look is very gray with large black eyes, no hair, and synthetics. Although I do kind of like my long, black locks. No close encounter photos for you, Gina. Shame I never got to probe you, you¡¯d probably like it.¡±

    Foaming spittle puffed around Eva¡¯s lips as she strained against the paralysis with untempered hatred. Louise delicately shuffled her way towards the edge of the bleachers.

    ¡°Boobs are the absolute worst though. You organic bitches are so gross. They¡¯re all heavy and dangly and pokey and perky. Paul, you have my sympathy in that regard. So yeah, I¡¯m the reason you were abducted. I like to track potential. A good shimmer in human form is easy to see, like a shiny egg. But you never know if it¡¯s going to hatch. That¡¯s why you need to borrow an incubator. A little alien intervention that slips under the radar. If those crabby kooks hadn¡¯t messed with your genetic codes then you would¡¯ve lived completely boring lives. Well, more boring lives.¡±

    Nadia struggled intensely against the tingling force holding her in place. Thessaly looked like she was making some progress, but she wasn¡¯t even able to get to her knees.

    Tonya stretched. ¡°Oh, feel free to fight as much as you want. It¡¯s totally entertaining. There¡¯s no way out. If there was, then I wouldn¡¯t be gloating like this. I¡¯m a business Grey, but I do like to have fun with my quarry. Some of us are a bit crude, we like to eat you or your cows. Cattle either way. Quite the delicacy. Some of us pay big for just a little taste. And I found someone willing to pay huge for the most powerful parts of each of you. Well, just a couple of you. The whole package deal was more of a bonus than the intent. Every human exposed to such advanced genetic engineering is going to come out with something. But my prize is dear Mr. Miss Bus Driver and his lady love. Which sucks¡­ Because they regressed Coach back to where her ability was nascent. If they left her as an adult, then I could¡¯ve had one of the top five strongest telekinetics to harvest!¡­Oh well, sometimes you have to crack a few eggs to get the good stuff.¡±

    She swung her device around and pressed it right against Erin¡®s chest. The scream that followed brought as much fury from Nadia¡®s mind and heart as Eva¡¯s foaming fury. Everything hurt and she didn¡¯t care. She had to get up!

    ¡°Ah ah ah ah! I may have let you toughen up a bit, but this lovely tool comes from a universe where powered humans are subjugated by my kind. No matter how hard you struggle, it¡¯s like a finger trap and just pulls harder. In fact, there¡¯s really no reason to delay the inevitable.¡°

    Tonya tightened her grip on the device and stepped over to face Nadia. ¡±This is going to hurt way more than me just rubbing your arms a little bit. But it is the number one, Agent Cross-approved method for getting rid of superpowered people. Yep, that was me. I even took the time to study the Mandela Effect. Not much else you can do when you¡¯re waiting years for a good crop. I¡¯m also responsible for fucking with you a little with those disappearing sisters. Enjoy the full extent of that, as your consciousness melts into a delightful little mush¡­Nadia¡­Naaadddia¡­NADIA!¡±

    Nadia jerked up in her seat. The bus bounced over a rough stretch of road. She looked around in confusion. The whole team was here. On the bus.

    ¡°You sure seem beat. I wish I could sleep that easily on a bus!¡± Erin Wray giggled as she settled back into her seat. Nadia found herself seated between Gina and Elsa in the second row with Eva looking out the window. Everyone was here. Sasha was listening to music behind her with Marisol and Audrey arguing about something. Thessaly had Tatiana situated up front and they were sharing cooking advice.

    Leslie was hovering in the back with Odessa, who seemed oddly uncomfortable. Coach Hill sat comfortably at the front of the bus, not far from the driver, who she couldn¡¯t see. It was the same driver as usual though. She assured herself that. Erin¡­

    Nadia looked over to her right and watched her friend¡¯s features. Erin looked so giddy as she had a silly notion for Gina that Dogmen in cryptid stories should be their own best friends. The idea kind of went over Nadia¡®s head, but it made sense when Gina eventually explained it.

    Something was bugging her though. Nadia felt peculiar. She didn¡¯t have the words to describe it. It felt like a tiny but persistent itch inside her skull, like sitting somewhere and discovering that ants have secretly crawled across you for several minutes and you never realized it. She could feel herself coming to a similar epiphany  even though the details still felt cloaked to her.

    At the moment of greatest panic, everything finally clicked. Her boyfriend!

    She forgot to text her boyfriend after the game! She texted her mom and dad to let them know that they were running just a little bit late, but she¡¯d totally forgotten about Paul. Yeah! Her boyfriend Paul! She hoped he wasn¡¯t worried about her.

    Working quickly, she composed a thoughtful and sweet message with a couple of choice emojis and sent it his way. She included lots of love and kisses. Even though the Internet out here in the desert past the Air Force Base was super spotty, the message sent and was soon read and replied to.

    ¡°I love you too, babe. We should get together on Sunday at your dad¡¯s restaurant. You haven¡¯t even met my mom yet. She¡¯ll love you. Thinking about you every moment and can¡¯t wait to see you again soon. Love, Paul.¡±

    She held her phone close to her chest in the mimicry of a hug and smiled lightly before glancing out the window. The moon hung heavy and bright in the sky with sparkling stars adorning the brilliant desert night. Why did she think it should be cloudy?

    She chuckled to herself and listened to Gina relay how a night like this was the perfect night for an alien abduction encounter. Nadia resisted giggling at that but wore a coy smile.

    Maybe, she reflected, out there in the untold number of stars in creation, that she just barely glimpsed through her dad¡®s telescope, there might be other worlds and other species. Something like 10 to the 24th power stars. Endless possibilities. But that ignored the basic insurmountable magnitude of space between worlds.

    Aliens probably were out there, but she doubted any of them would ever see one.

 [47] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 47 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [47]

    Erin thought that the drop-off place looked a little spooky. Her mom, Sharon, was there to pick her up though, and reassured her that she not only had a thing of mace but also her concealed carry strapped on. Nadia¡®s dad had to stretch his back but was energized when his daughter came down the steps, despite the late hour.

    He enveloped her in the warmest bear hug and asked her a flood of questions about how the game and evening went. Nadia wanted to sink into his love and enthusiasm, but the setting and the mood made her feel uncomfortable. She had a strangely vivid memory of this place. What was it about? Did she dream it?

    Whatever, it wasn¡¯t important. Nadia was just glad to get in her dad¡®s truck and be heading home. The other girls on the team were heading home too. She smiled and waved to Erin. Odessa had her leg wrapped up. Because she was injured during the game. That didn¡¯t feel right though. Hopefully, she¡¯ll heal up soon.

    Nadia¡®s dad put on British classic rock, which she rolled her eyes at, even though she liked some of the 80s groups. She held her phone close and tucked an AirPod in one ear. When she went looking for her music though, it wasn¡¯t showing up. Poking around the screen didn¡¯t find any of the settings she was expecting. What kind of music did she listen to? Thrash metal? No. R&B? That didn¡¯t sound right either. The Beach Boys? That¡¯s the kind of music her dad would listen to. Yet, that was the group that settled into her head.

    The high beams of a car in the other lane glared right in her eyes. The bright golden light made her squint. So annoying. Her dad commented about it too and said something unflattering in Turkish. Before she knew it, they were back at the house.

    Her crazy sisters were rushing all around the house because food had to be ready tomorrow for the big¡­the big. What was the big thing tomorrow? Oh! The World Cup. Of course. She had to be out of it at this hour not to remember all that important stuff. A shower would be so nice and might clear her head. Kira was being so crazy and Leila too. They were teasing her about her boyfriend and her mom even got involved.

    They were being low-key about their relationship. Keeping it quiet. And, no, she wasn¡¯t going to bring him over for the game tomorrow. They were waiting until Sunday. Nadia tapped out the notes to a new song Iris was trying to teach her as she put her hair back and helped out with some stuff in the kitchen. There was a new outfit she saw at the mall the other day and there was not enough time to get it before she saw her boyfriend again. But she knew he would like it. Oh, to be wrapped up in his big strong arms as he¡­

    Nadia¡®s thought process caught again. It was like buffering online or like dad would say with a skipping record. She lost her place. It was so weird because it was accompanied by a weird crescendo of sound like a frantic party going on with the neighbors. And then a flash in the air like one of those police searchlights combing the neighborhood. She felt weird about it and tried to shake the thought loose.

    Sleepy. She just had to be so sleepy and wiped out from the wild exertion of the game. They won. And she had done¡­.She had¡­ What had she done? She knew the proper positions in the game. Libero. Middle blocker, serving specialist, outside hitter, and so forth.  But, instead of years of practice in the sport, it all felt like she just had a few days of vague recollection. The absence in her mind was really starting to worry her.

    That wasn¡¯t the only thing though. She wasn¡¯t clear on what her family was preparing for tomorrow and what everyone was doing except for slicing vegetables here and there. Washing things and turning dials. Her heart started to race, and she had to step away. They let her sit down and catch her thoughts. But it didn¡¯t really help. Why was she freaking out so much?

    Her family said everything would be fine without her, but she felt bad about leaving them alone. Before she went to bed, she wanted to give a hug to her younger brothers, Errol and Murat. All of her sisters froze and looked at her with confusion.

    They didn¡¯t know who she was talking about. Nadia twisted her mouth around a few times in uncertainty. She could remember a few details about her younger brothers, one of them liked cars and one liked spooky things. But that information felt so tenuous and vague that she had to just shrug and resolve those imaginary brothers were just another thing that came out of her head. Only sisters. Two older, two around her age, and one much younger. Luna was playing with finger paint but gleefully waved good night.

    Her shower and settling under the covers went too fast before she had another flash of light and found it was morning. After the game, she went shopping with Eva, Gina, Odessa, Leslie, and Erin. All her closest friends. She wanted to get some clothes to wear to look real nice for her boyfriend, Paul. They found time after all. There was some really cute nail polish and an adorable silver bracelet.

    Eva got a text from her boyfriend, and Gina teased her about it. Erin held a necklace up to her throat and Nadia got a woozy, uncertain feeling again. She lingered and gazed at the looming empty Sears building across the way. Something was missing and she couldn¡¯t put her finger on it.

    After church on Sunday, she still couldn¡¯t shake the strangest sensation. Her boyfriend was there to comfort her though. She stood there with her back to his front, where her dad couldn¡¯t see them.

    It felt so naughty to be held close like this, barely restrained. What she would like to do with him. What¡­ did she want to do with him? The world outside seemed to fall away. Just her and Paul.

    Duman was a single parent with four daughters. No wait, it was just her and Luna. She had to have imagined the other siblings. But it was still such a large house. And eight players on the volleyball team, six team members, and two alternates. Had Tonya cut someone? She couldn¡¯t remember. There were so many things she couldn¡¯t remember. So many details slipping away. She just needed to take a nap. Just rest for a little while and everything will be fine after.

    What happened to the volleyball team? Was there a volleyball team? Part of her was convinced that she and Erin just played volleyball after school for fun. But it was a team sport. That didn¡¯t make any sense. None of it made any sense. Erin¡­Erin¡­Erin?

    That was a pretty name, but who is that? Or Aaron? Did she know a boy with that name? How exactly was it spelled? Everything felt like it was slowing down. Like that time she had nitrous for a tooth. And that gallbladder surgery. Islands of thoughts. It felt like everything else was being locked up in a tomb.

    What was left? Just a void. A life of melancholy. Just fall. Just slip. Just let go¡­ it would be so easy. There were predators of the heart and the soul ready to consume her¡­

    ¡­¡°You were the first boy I liked¡±¡­¡±You were so nice¡±¡­¡±Do you want to be my girlfriend and I¡¯ll be yours?¡±¡­¡°I love you. I love you so much, and I¡¯m sorry that I haven¡¯t said it more. I have no idea what¡¯s going on and the uncertainties are piling up, but I know I love you.¡°

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    *Flash*

    ERIN! Her gentle kiss. Her kind embraces. Her warm laugh. The way she held her close. The necklace! She loved Erin! She loved her since high school. It was just the surface details at first but so many things. The chance to make her smile and wipe away those tears. The hope to keep her students safe and chat beside her in the quiet moments. Curled up on the couch, or beside each other in bed. Huddled in the dark of an abandoned building while a monster hunted them or sharing secrets in a bathroom.

    She loved Erin Reeves! Even though she couldn¡¯t see her own arms, she punched through the shadows and darkness until it broke into daylight.

    ¡°No no no no! It¡¯s not possible! You¡¯re almost finished, you¡¯re almost sucked clean! You shouldn¡¯t have any fight left! You shouldn¡¯t have anything! YOU¡¯RE MINE!¡±

    Tonya fumed with venomous fury. Her hair danced around her head like she had her own private tempest to drive it. Her eyes were pitch black and her skin tinted a stark shade of gray, as though it were the simplest costume over an expense of alien flesh. In the corner, Nadia could see movement. Louise.

    Moving with purpose and methodical care, Louise raised a broken metal beam from behind the bleachers over her head and swung it through the air at Tonya. Before it could connect, Tonya whipped around and locked her in place with a gesture.

    ¡°Pathetic¡­¡± Tonya hissed and cackled. ¡°Do you think I didn¡¯t know there was an interloper in the room the whole time? And it¡¯s just a useless spare without any powers. Those die so easily¡­¡± She seized the weapon from Louise and smiled. Eva desperately begged her not to do it.

    ¡°Don¡¯t fret. I¡¯m not the sort to dirty my hands with organic blood. But I¡¯ll find a hungry place for her. Now¡­¡±

    She turned back to Nadia with her inhuman eyes and jagged teeth poking out. ¡°I just have to¡­¡±

    Tonya twisted around as her glowing device ripped out of her hands and shot across the room, over to the door. Luna stood in the doorway with tears reddening her eyes as the device flew into her grip.

    With a voice not quite her own, Luna yelled, ¡°GET AWAY FROM MY GIRLFRIEND, YOU BITCH!¡± She smashed the device into a burning swirl of pieces against the laminate floor. Strands of glowing light intersected all the other girls as Tonya screamed, ¡°NOOO!¡± The paralysis ended, and they got to their feet.

    Tonya staggered and spun around in place as she held her hands up.

    ¡°Heeeeyyy. Team. Girls. Yo. Let¡¯s let¡¯s let¡¯s let¡¯s let¡¯s step back, let¡¯s just take a breath and and let¡¯s not do anything crazy just because things were said and sort of done. Go Red Rock Riders yeah! We¡¯re all on the same team¡­Ghhhrrhh¡­¡± Tonya raised up on her toes as though an invisible hand was wrapped around her neck. Erin.

    Nadia looked between her girlfriend and her little sister with immense uncertainty. Luna was assisting with the grip of Tonya. Before any of them could say anything else, Luna warned, ¡°Watch out!¡±

    Despite the fact Tonya was held up like a puppet telekinetically, she managed to get her arm under her top and pull out something small. But she couldn¡¯t get her other arm around to grip it as Luna caught them.

    Erin grit her teeth, and said, with trembling pain, ¡°So, you want power? Come on, girls, let¡¯s give it to her.¡±

    Sasha glared and wielded her prehensile hair to twist around Tonya, who gurgled and tried to sound like she wasn¡¯t amused. Odessa practically head-butted her with super speed. And Elsa managed to get in a little bit of an ass-kicking with a size increase bonk of her own. Marisol¡¯s goopy elasticity seemed like it grossed out Tonya more than anything. All the while, Nadia noticed that Tonya was getting closer and closer to wiggling her fingers.

    She had to do something. Power. Her power was the rarest of the rare. She managed to do whatever she wanted in the vision but that was just a vision. Maybe¡­ She didn¡¯t need to do it alone. It was like Beyond said¡­ she could empower the others¡­

    Raising her hand, she focused and did just that. Stronger stronger. And strongest together! Eva¡®s sharing power swelled.

    Instead of just the prehensile hair of Sasha, everyone¡¯s hair came to life and battered her from all sides. Tonya looked dizzy as she muttered, ¡°¡­Is that all you got¡­?"

    Super-fast, strong goop swelled around her as they sucked the energy out of the building and sent it directly into her spare device. Tonya¡¯s eyes widened in horror as it burst into pieces and flung her back to the ground.

    Sprawled out on her back, Tonya roughly cleared her throat and responded, ¡°Alright, you got me. I surrender. Under the treaty of humans and Greys as signed by President Eisenhower¡­acckkkk¡­ s-sanctuary! Mercy, please!¡± Luna and Erin used their telekinetic power to grip Tonya and raise her up again. Nadia rushed over to her girlfriend¡¯s side and touched her lightly on the shoulder.

    Erin hissed. ¡°She was going to kill us!¡±

    Tonya hoarsely responded, ¡°Harvest. You would be left as basically vegetables for a few weeks before expiring on your own. Wasn¡¯t personal.¡±

    ¡°Neither is this¡­¡± Erin intoned. Luna lowered her hand and looked over at Erin, saying, ¡°It¡¯s not worth it. She¡¯s not worth it. Let her go. She doesn¡¯t have anything else.¡± Erin continued to squeeze until Nadia leaned forward and begged her to stop. Slowly, reluctantly, Erin dropped her hand. The girls still searched Tonya and nearly stripped her naked to make sure she didn¡¯t have anything else on her.

    ¡°What now¡­?¡± Erin asked no one in particular. Luna seemed like she wanted to say something, but she held her tongue.

    ¡°Now¡­ It¡¯s time for us all to clean up this very big mess we are left with.¡± In the middle of the court, towards the nets, suddenly stood the old woman that Nadia referred to as Beyond. The entire group could see her and turned cautiously to watch her.

    Beyond vigorously massaged her forehead as she looked out over the group. ¡°Time travel. Blasted time travel. I hope you all realize how much I absolutely hate time travel. It is the ultimate mess. Not your fault that it happened. That rogue Grey hampered a lot of our efforts.¡±

    Nadia was just glad that the others could see Beyond. It was clear that the entire group had questions and Beyond didn¡¯t care. She simply pressed her point, ¡°This time travel situation needs to be decisively resolved as soon as possible.¡±

    Eva staggered over to the front and asked, ¡°You¡¯re going to bring Coach Nesbitt back from¡­ from where I sent her?¡±

    ¡°No. What¡¯s done is done there. I¡¯m talking about her. She¡¯s a time traveler.¡± Beyond gestured to Luna, adding, ¡°Erin Reeves. Inhabiting the body of Luna Baris.¡±

    Nadia¡¯s eyes widened. Luna was Erin?! Luna bowed her head and reached into a pocket to show off the GIRLFRIENDS necklace gift from Erin.

    Beyond squeezed her forehead again and groaned. ¡°You better have the right one. I¡¯m not interested in any paradoxes developing from an infinitely old artifact.¡±

 [48] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 48 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [48]

    Most of the girls looked to Gina with the expectation that her overall weirdness and knowledge would allow her to understand all that was going on. She seemed just as clueless as the rest of them. Beyond waved a hand.

    ¡°Explanations with immense details can be handed out to all of you later. I have a few housekeeping matters to deal with though. First¡­¡±

    She squeezed her hand a few times and then did a quick snap with a radiant spark flowing out. A shimmer washed over the prone body of Tonya as she looked over herself in horror.

    ¡°What did you do?!¡± Tonya howled.

    Folding her arms, Beyond explained, ¡°Since you wanted to play at being a normal teenage college girl, I decided to add to that sincere state. You¡¯re organic now.¡±

    ¡°YOU SICKO! EEWWWEEEWEWWW! I¡¯m made of rotting meat!¡° Tonya¡¯s hands fumbled across her body like she was trying to handle a leaking garbage bag.

    ¡°Obviously. That also means you can¡¯t covertly signal your escape craft or slip between dimensions when someone¡¯s back is turned.¡°

    ¡°YOU CAN¡¯T DO THIS! I¡¯m 10,000 years old! You can¡¯t trap me in this gross shape! I¡¯ll¡­¡±

    With another snap, Tonya blipped away. Beyond noted, ¡°That¡¯s better. I just sent her to one of our waiting rooms to be processed and detained while we investigate and file charges. Evangeline? I am afraid the next part is on your shoulders.¡±

    Eva looked around and tightened her jaw. ¡°I don¡¯t think you can just skip over explanations for us. If you want us to do things, we need to know more. Or there¡¯s the door.¡± She pointed her thumb across the way. The other girls folded their arms and glared at Beyond.

    Beyond was dressed in a purple polyester coat with a long, matching skirt. She looked vaguely annoyed but not angry. ¡°Surely that motor mouth spilled all the oddities of the last week. Tonya Hill was secretly a Grey alien hiding out on Earth for several years and harvesting the soul spirits of humans to illegally sell to buyers. We only recently discovered this because she tampered with our information-gathering systems. Her device recently quit, signaling to us that she was ready to¡­ bounce¡­ As you kids say.¡± Nadia detected a faint grin that slipped past Beyond¡¯s stern exterior as several in the group expressed exasperation.

    Beyond cleared her throat. ¡°Greys are synthetic and don¡¯t have souls. They always crave human ones.¡± Louise and Gina were furiously taking notes and gave each other a quick fist bump. Beyond clarified the spelling was GREYS while pointing out there was a species name, but she preferred not to say it.

    ¡°We only recently discovered that she planted a complicated scent trail to lure¡­ the Amashasama¡­ an explorer species of crab-like beings who examined all of you and made you healthier. As well as accidentally activating your innate but dormant abilities. She also posed as someone named Agent Cross and we believe she monitored your development in the hopes of sucking your abilities out when they were at their most developed and valuable. We don¡¯t know who her buyer is, but we¡¯ll track them down. Tick tock tick tock though. And I don¡¯t mean the app. You don¡¯t want to see what a broken, unrealized reality looks like with a time paradox.¡±

    Nadia stepped towards Luna and asked, ¡°Erin¡­?¡± The little girl dropped her head and slowly nodded. ¡°Surprise. I¡¯m glad I don¡¯t have to keep it a secret anymore. Thanks for telling me as much as you did. You know it¡¯s a lot to remember every piece of continuity in the past that I have to do and keep it inside this little brain. At least, it¡¯s her problem now.¡± She gestured towards Erin and stuck out her tongue playfully.

    Beyond emphasized that, ¡°Everything Luna has said and done needs to be said and done by you exactly the same way or we have a reality-breaking paradox.¡± Erin¡®s eyes widened as she glanced over at the kid, who assured her, ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be fine.¡± Erin had barely managed to grapple with the notion of a future version of herself.

    ¡°How?!¡± Seemed to be the overriding question. Beyond gestured to Eva and Erin.

    ¡°It¡¯s already been done. More than once.¡°

    Eva waved her hands in the air. ¡°Could you just shut up?! Why didn¡¯t you show up before? Why didn¡¯t you help any of us in the last week in a way that we really needed? Now, you want me to just shout at Erin and what¡­ send her back to whenever for whatever reason? No¡­ No. I¡¯m a teenager. We¡¯re all teenagers and we¡¯re rebelling.¡±

    Beyond released a long, frustrated breath. ¡°You¡¯re asking me why I didn¡¯t show up before when so many important things rely on the fact you¡¯re always going to be several steps behind and there are several things that need to be done without question? If we all stop existing¡­¡±

    Eva pressed, ¡°Then, we all stop existing. I¡¯m not going to be bullied around by anyone. Not some soul-sucking alien or some dimension-hopping bitter old schoolmarm. We have the right to respect. We have gone through so much shit. We have cried and held one another. We¡¯ve faced death. We¡¯ve fought for every moment together. We¡¯re not tools. We¡¯re not cogs. We¡¯re RED ROCK RIDERS!¡±

    The girls all cheered together pumping their fists with some nervousness and uncertainty but enthusiasm. Beyond looked like she wanted to stroke her forehead in frustration again, but she dropped her hands and turned out her palms.

    ¡°¡­ I¡¯m sorry. You¡¯re right. We did things wrong. We kept you all out of important things. Even though it turned out the way it did. But I¡¯m asking you now¡­ Please¡­ Something must be done.¡±

    Eva still seemed tense but slowly nodded her head and glanced around at the other girls. ¡°What do I do?¡±

    On this point, Luna explained. ¡°Send me back to last Saturday. I mean, send Erin back. Erin¡­?¡± The kid rushed over to Erin¡®s side and held her close, passing her the necklace. A waterfall of information and explanation spilled against her ear. Erin did her best to absorb as much as possible before she resolved that it was enough.

    Nervously, Erin stepped towards Nadia. ¡°I¡¯m gonna see you again soon¡­ but you¡¯re not gonna know it¡¯s me. That kind of sucks. I could just squeeze you so tight that I never wanna let you go. Why¡­why didn¡¯t I do that more?¡± Luna pranced over and squeezed Nadia with both arms. Erin took a deep breath.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see you on the other side, girlfriend. I love you. Always. Time to make things right.¡±

    Erin stood in front of Eva as she fanned her arms around and still struggled to comprehend what she was supposed to do. She latched onto the notion that she had already done this before and she was just completing a weird temporal loop. Gina began explaining some of the details that she understood, but Eva cut her off.

    ¡°I can¡¯t think about it. I have to just do it¡­¡±

    And then she struggled with not being able to do it for several long seconds with audible frustration. The room went quiet as the confused mass of girls gave them as much space to do what they needed to do. Eva focused on Erin with tension and bitterness and anger and whatever emotion she had to wield to fling open a door in time. But it all felt so ineffectual. Then, it clicked.

    She looked over at Gina and Louise and thought about the other Gina who went on ahead of her to her hopeful reward. They would be together again someday, even if they had to part for a little while. She barely resisted tearing up as she thought about the separation of the love before her. Separation but also joining.

    Her voice didn¡¯t need to crack the heavens or build all her rage behind it. She just needed to believe her words. Believe them¡­as she needed to believe that for all the terrible things she had done and might do in the future, that there was somehow true forgiveness and love for her.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Tears finally in her eyes, she spoke with determination, ¡°Go back to last Saturday as Luna Baris and save us all.¡±

    A wave of pure, protective golden light unfurled from Eva¡®s breath and enveloped Erin. In one last moment before she faded away, she smiled at Nadia.

    When she was gone, Luna stepped forward and passed the older, weathered necklace to Nadia. She squeezed her tight and admitted, ¡°Unfortunately, I have no idea what I¡¯m supposed to do now.¡±

    Nadia cleared her throat and looked at Beyond. ¡°So¡­ what now? How do I get her back and what happens to Luna?¡±

    Beyond took this opportunity to fold her hands and raise a curious eyebrow. ¡°That one¡¯s not on me. That¡¯s on you. And I suppose I better admit to being facetious when it came to your particular abilities. We suspected it would be better if you limited yourself to just thinking that ability boosting was all you could do. Gina is thinking of a story on the Internet that applies.¡±

    Gina was actually lost in thought while rubbing her chin. She smiled and confessed, ¡°I was¡­ SCP-2006, I think. It¡¯s a¡­ a little story on the Internet about a silly diving helmet rubber suit monster form taken by some weird entity. It wants to scare people. So, this group limits what it knows about what people are afraid of. It thinks campy 1950s movies are the height of terror. But everyone¡¯s afraid of if it finds out about what people are actually scared of¡­ sooo¡­you tried to make Nadia think the same way, that she was limited to just power boosting. What is she really¡­ Oh my gosh! She¡¯s a REALITY WARPER!¡±

    That seemed like much more of an epiphany to Gina than to anyone else. Thessaly took a moment to ponder all that and even open up her phone to do a search for SCP. Eva urged her not to do that.

    Nadia swallowed and asked Beyond, ¡°Is that what I am? Does that mean like I can just do whatever to warp reality to change anything?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s one name. For us.¡°

    ¡°You¡¯re one too?¡±

    The old woman made her way over to the bleachers and sat down. She soon remarked that they were terribly uncomfortable.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been saddled with an immense responsibility to shape, steady, and organize pieces and possibilities of reality. I clean up everything with a careful hand so that the world keeps spinning. It¡¯s exhausting and it¡¯s something I would never wish on anyone else. If you choose to accept that part and possibility of yourself, you¡¯re going to have to deal with that. As far as Erin, I literally can¡¯t tell you what to do about it. I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never done anything quite like this. I¡¯ve done a lot of things, most of them I regret. But you have to figure this out.¡± Beyond slumped down against the awkward bleachers with a shrug.

    Nadia swallowed and looked at little Luna, who nervously smiled. It was all on her. Okay¡­okay. Eva did a cool thing, and she was sure that she could do something like that as well. Reality warper. She could¡­ Warp reality? Like she thought in the vision, anything she wanted to do was possible. And that was scary. How hadn¡¯t she blown up the world already with that capability? Oh gosh, no! Don¡¯t even think about that possibility! Why was she born with this kind of thing?

    Despite that tangle of thoughts and ideas, the world fortunately didn¡¯t go poof. Either it was more stable than she suspected, she was subconsciously holding herself back, or Beyond was probably keeping things in line as she freaked out. Yeah, that seemed likely. But how was she going to fix Luna and Erin?

    Luna gently squeezed her leg. ¡°She¡¯s in here. She doesn¡¯t understand what¡¯s been happening the last couple of days, and I feel so bad for imposing on her. But she loves you too. You¡¯re her favorite sister, even though she says that to Kira as well. Do what you can for her. She deserves to give her sister her best hugs. Save me, if you can.¡±

    Nadia tensed up. ¡°We¡¯re not sacrificing anyone. Your mom is expecting you home tonight. And our parents are expecting Luna.¡±

    Luna shut her eyes. ¡°Sharon isn¡¯t really my mom. My real mom is a Florida bitch who I escaped. Taliah has some issues, but she loves her kids. I wouldn¡¯t mind being her little girl. And Duman already sees me as his daughter. You can shuffle us around. Put me in the backseat and let Luna live her life. That¡¯s fine¡­¡±

    ¡°NO! No¡­ I have put myself in the backseat for so many years. Even when I am the driver. No one deserves to be back there. Both of you deserve to be loved and live your lives. Both of you will be free. I swear it¡­¡± Nadia pressed her head to Luna¡¯s. Her feeling was to strain and push all her energy out into the world to make things right. Flood it. Overwhelm it. Make it the way she wanted. But nothing changed.

    How could she feel so powerful and so helpless at the same time?! What was she supposed to do? It felt like there was a wall inside her skull keeping everything out. Like she couldn¡¯t get over her¡­herself. She couldn¡¯t¡­ Get over herself. That was it. It was all on her. None of this was about how hard she pushed or the energy she threw into the universe. That was like tying off her rear end as tight as possible while trying to go on the toilet. She had no idea how it looked to everyone else that a giggle emerged from her when privately considering that analogy. But it was the truth.

    She was fighting for and against herself simultaneously. Eva already practiced the correct way for her. It came down to one simple truth¡­ did she truly want this?

    Yes.

    Then do it.

    When she opened her eyes, with no energy or light or other special effects, Erin and Luna were there hugging her on each side. Nadia breathed with relief and held them close. The girls clustered around them in confused but gleeful celebration.

    Elsa showcased all sorts of mouth sound effects about their battle against the ¡°alien fake¡±. Gina and Louise raised numerous questions about why Greys went after cows. Thessaly looked like a leaf that might blow away on a breeze and held onto others with tearful appreciation and encouragement. Sasha nudged Nadia playfully and suggested all sorts of girl transformation possibilities that could be seeded in the world. She especially resolved that something like the necklace held between them would be an awesome transformation vector, even if it appeared as costume jewelry with a fancy name and a tantalizing history. For the girlcrafting!

    Odessa presented the possibility of at least making a mockup. Tatiana thought that sounded really pretty, but she blushed at the things it would do. Eva halted Gina before she listed out magical properties to give it. Leslie hovered nearby and joyously thanked Coach for giving her the meditation lessons which, she felt, saved her life.

    Meanwhile, Marisol eyeballed the old lady suspiciously and pulled Audrey close as she cautiously questioned what anime tropes might foretell about her intentions for them. Although Marisol¡¯s eyes darted around just as suspiciously about what others would think of her for invoking anime. Audrey brushed her cousin¡¯s short hair as though she were petting a cautious puppy. Her thoughts centered on the Old Master trope and mused if this nameless old lady might be looking for her replacement.

    Clearing her throat, the old woman from Beyond said, ¡°My name is Ruth. And I have a proposal for the group. A choice, if you will. For each of you and your futures¡­ Miss Audrey Navarro is not far off. I am looking for successors. All of you. I would like the volleyball team to join Beyond and safeguard this world. You¡¯ve seen the dangers and monsters out there. And you don¡¯t want to be left on the outside. That¡¯s fine by me. You can join us. What do you say?¡±

 [49] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind 49 [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [49]

    The girls exchanged quiet glances with one another. None of them backed away from Ruth but none of them took a step towards her. The afternoon had been wildly chaotic with Eva accidentally teleporting Nesbitt to the unknown past, then unsuccessfully trying to cover up her disappearance against Tonya, overcoming Tonya¡®s efforts to use her alien device to harvest their abilities, and discovering that Nadia¡¯s little sister was tangled up in time traveling shenanigans and sharing her body with Nadia¡¯s girlfriend.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± Louise raised her hand. Nadia could tell it was her instead of Gina because she hadn¡¯t dressed for practice. Gina gave her twin a curious look.

    Louise took a deep breath and explained, "I mostly sat on my ass and played video games for the last week. And every day I felt like I was just leeching off of Odessa. I need to find my place. Not that I don¡¯t want you to be a part of this too, Gina. But I need to do something for myself. Assuming you¡¯ll take me, Miss Ruth. I¡¯m just a copy and I don¡¯t have any inherent abilities.¡±

    Ruth raised a hand and smiled lightly. ¡°The offer extends to everyone here. And I am including Miss Luna Baris. Even those without what you have come to refer to as talents and skills are welcome in Beyond. We can always use all the help we can get. And we will gladly accept you, Louise. Now¡­I want to make sure none of you feel obligated to make a decision right now. We should talk¡­ one on one so I can answer concerns and questions any of you may have.¡±

    The group found this amenable but the suggestion was made to head back to the team room for the sake of more comfortable seating. It was getting late into the practice session, but it was still early enough that no one had to worry about being trapped inside the school or having frantic parents calling for them.

    Eva bundled up the nylon rope they never found a use for during the caper and distracted herself with trying to decide whether to stuff it into her huge purse or place it on one of the back shelves. Elsa eyed the rope with frantic concern. It took Eva several confused seconds to connect the dots before she vehemently assured her teammate that she was just thinking of using it for climbing. Thessaly made warm tea for Ruth as she sat off to the side and surveyed the group.

    Sasha put forth the first question. ¡°Will I be able to make boys into girls at this Beyond place?¡±

    ¡°You will,¡± Ruth responded with a nod. ¡°In fact, someone recently retired who does work in that exact field so, with a little bit of training about our procedures, you should soon be able to help out those who desperately want to be transformed in that way.¡± Sasha¡®s mouth dropped open and she beamed with vibrant enthusiasm.

    Erin took a deep breath. ¡°What if some of us decline? You said it was a choice. What happens to those who opt out?¡±

    Ruth took a long sip before responding, ¡°We have contingencies for that. Knowledge of Beyond is decently guarded for the safety and protection of all. As you¡¯ve seen, there are dangers out there. Put bluntly, you will have your memories altered and your reality adjusted. It will be like you were never caught up in Tonya¡¯s plans. Your abilities will return to dormancy and your lives will continue as they would¡¯ve. There¡¯s a lot of complicated pieces to it involving parallel realities, but we always endeavor to leave those who make that choice in the best possible place for them.¡±

    Tension rippled through the group as several girls found the notion of memory erasure unpleasant. Ruth didn¡¯t blunt her explanation nor did she try to justify it, she simply left it at that and only added, ¡°This is the way we do things and the way they have to be done.¡±

    Gina cautiously approached Ruth with her hands folded at first in front of her and then behind her as she couldn¡¯t decide where to leave them. ¡°Is Bigfoot real?¡±

    Ruth raised an eyebrow and took a breath. ¡°I may know of a few dimension-crossing entities that unsuspecting witnesses have referred to as such.¡°

    After resisting the urge to punch the air, Gina mused, ¡°So, you guys are basically like the MIB from the movies then?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t watch movies¡­ but something like that.¡±

    That was all it took for Gina to agree to join. Eva frowned and folded her arms as she asked her question, ¡°Is there any way to know what happened to Nesbitt?¡±

    Ruth sat up and set her tea aside. ¡°There¡¯s always a way to know anything, if you want to dig. But the problem is where you find yourself when the digging ends. What you did is absolutely forgivable, especially based on what I know of Janice Nesbitt. Don¡¯t torture yourself about it. She died a long long time ago.¡±

    Eva still appeared pained as she thought through all that. Ruth added, ¡°Yes yes, I know, time travel and all that. It¡¯s a ruthless agony. We at Beyond are simply custodians of the world, against all the strange and terrible things that might cause suffering. It¡¯s satisfying work. It¡¯s not glorious, but I believe each of you can contribute.¡±

    Odessa nodded. ¡°I would like to join. I feel like I haven¡¯t even touched the full extent of my skill. And I want to make something for myself in the same way Louise desires. Separate from my family and separate from so many expectations they have for me.¡±

    Leslie expressed hesitancy and nerves about whether she would be useful. Ruth resolutely informed Leslie that her abilities as a telepath were ¡°highly treasured¡± at Beyond and her skill at flight was a ¡°beautiful bonus¡±.

    She fussed with her hair and pointed at Luna, recalling last Saturday when she wasn¡¯t able to even get a read on the girl. Ruth dipped her hands and explained, ¡°At Beyond, we didn¡¯t know about Luna for a good while. I suspect that had something to do with time travel stuff I fail to understand. But when there are two consciousnesses in one body, it¡¯s like an interference pattern. Telepaths aren¡¯t able to pick it up. But the absence is a telling and suspicious sign for tracking those like Tonya. You will find you are quite useful in many unexpected ways, Miss Gartland.¡± Ruth added a quick mention of something called a ¡°radiant spirit¡° that they also briefly considered to explain Luna¡®s abnormality, but she didn¡¯t elaborate on what that was. Luna seemed incredibly chill and calm about the overall proceedings, just interested in cuddling close to her big sister as Elsa played a card game with her.

    Elsa had her own questions and she bolstered them with Tatiana. Ruth also considered their talents to be intriguing and invaluable. Together, they agreed to Ruth¡¯s terms. Thessaly eagerly desired to help others, especially with the possibilities of her astral projection skill. Marisol scrutinized several details, questioning reimbursement, specifics, and healthcare. Even though Ruth avoided quite calling this a job, she clarified that time ran differently in the realm of Beyond so that not only would they not age, but they also wouldn¡¯t get tired.  They could return to their regular lives as though everything had been put on pause. She made it clear that they would be taken care of and reimbursed. That was all it took for Audrey to join up too.

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    The only holdouts were Erin and Nadia, even Eva provisionally agreed. Ruth explained things to Luna but all she cared about was heading back home and curling up with her sister. Nadia squeezed her tight.

    Swallowing hard, Erin leaned on the table and asked, "So, if we reject this then it¡¯s like nothing this last week ever happened?¡± Ruth simply nodded. And she offered to show them a preview of what that would be like.

    Nadia and Erin grasped hands and prepared themselves. What followed felt like a dream played before their eyes which the others could see but none of them could control. Paul drove through the dark patch by the Air Force Base. It was like the vision Tonya gave her. Only he was the driver, and the evening came to a close with just a few smiling questions shared between Paul and Erin.

    So few days had passed but the chasm between the person she was now and then felt immense. Erin realized she couldn¡¯t go back. She had to go forward. She held Nadia¡®s hand and gently kissed her on the lips. They agreed together.

    Ruth gladly accepted their choice. She explained that she would contact them soon with further details about how to pass between the realms. Nadia did have one final question though.

    ¡°A couple of days ago, when we were trying to run away from Tonya during the whole caper thing¡­ I flashed to the abandoned Sears. But it happened differently than it actually did. Luna wasn¡¯t there and Erin got hurt. Also, Tonya showed up and I was only able to stop her because I knew more about my skill than she did, I guess. What was that?¡±

    Ruth frowned. She appeared lost in thought for several moments before widening her eyes and clearing her throat. ¡°No idea. We¡¯ll have to investigate that.¡±

    Nadia scrutinized the old woman suspiciously but didn¡¯t say anything. The matter with Luna wasn¡¯t decided. Ruth said she would get back to them on that as well. Without further preamble, she politely thanked them for the tea and welcomed them to Beyond. And she was gone.

    Since it was near the time that volleyball practice normally ended, the girls gathered up their things and chatted excitedly amongst themselves. The question of what would happen to the team lingered. Coach Parson used to teach girls volleyball before Erin, but she was just a few scant years away from retirement. They all hoped that reality, Beyond, or whoever got a say in it, would make her the coach again. The only other alternative was Coach Cashman, who was far from being as bad as Nesbitt, just rather lazy.

    Nadia walked across campus with Erin firmly holding her hand. Despite the fact they only watched a little bit of the theoretical reality where their lives remained perfectly mundane, she was still curious about how it would¡¯ve played out.

    Would Paul have motivated himself to do more than simply chat with the girl who meant everything in his life? Would they have huddled up on a foggy night with spooky air? Would they have gotten close on the couch? Would they have shared some cheesecake and so much more? Would they have wondered about what to call this thing they were awkwardly stumbling through while they looked at each other in bed? Would he have comforted Erin during a moment of panic and pain? Would they have gone shopping together? Would they have traded gifts? Would they have kissed? Would they have chatted in the bathroom? Would they have found a thousand little moments that each of them treasured?

    Nadia desperately hoped that those theoretical two, lost from each other, would somehow find some measure of this love.

    Milling about the edge of the parking lot, Erin proposed dusting off and utilizing her old telescope as a physical prop to help Eva finally create the stargazing proof that Nadia had to show her dad eventually. She noted that they didn¡¯t even need to fake it. She would be delighted to look at the stars with her girlfriend.

    While chatting about that, Eva oddly let slip the secret parts of the silly clay willy tale. Blushing all the while, she gingerly explained that in third grade, before her parents divorced, they were supposed to make clay representations of their family. Young Eva, with a vague understanding of anatomy, put a clay ¡®willy¡¯ on her mom. She explained to the teacher and the vice principal it was because her dad ¡°wouldn¡¯t share it¡±.

    Even though Gina had long ago heard and been present for part of the story, she still giggled uproariously. Sasha lingered with curiosity and delight. Eva regretted she¡¯d even said anything.

    Several smaller sweet stories spilled out as the girls clung close and smiled warmly against a bitter, early evening desert breeze. Eva quickly glanced between Nadia and Erin and herself and flighty Gina, who was listening to a song that featured Bigfoot. Despite everything, Eva gently smiled.

    Nadia held the necklace in her hands and let Erin secure it around her neck. She wore it proudly. It had been through so much, traveling the mysteries of time as a persistent reminder of what was important. Sitting there in the chill November evening, they watched the stars come out as they waited for their rides.

    The lights of countless possibilities washed over them, echoes from the past blazing into the present, as they quietly dreamed of what was to come.

    ¡ª¡ª

    A once roaring fire cools to embers. Both sit.

    ¡±You did far better than I could ask for, Ruth.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know who her buyer was. Someone willing to go after something like that worries me.¡±

    ¡°Do you think she¡¯ll talk?¡±

    ¡°I doubt it but we can try. I turned her organic to preserve some of her memory before it purged, but it¡¯s likely beyond even her ability to recall now.¡±

    ¡°Unfortunate. I have some suspects though. Is there anything else?¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes. Nadia slipped. Twice. She managed to enter an unrealized reality and we had no idea it was happening.¡°

    ¡°¡­ Maf tabanal! It¡¯s a good thing they¡¯re on our team now¡­¡±

    ¡°We still have our contingencies, if worse comes to worst.¡±

    ¡°Worst is on its way, there¡¯s nothing we can do about that. Keep a handle on this, and make sure none of them find out what we¡¯re up to. The consequences could be¡­ well, we¡¯re not there yet.¡±

    ¡°I promise, mom. I¡¯ll take care of everything¡­¡±

 [Epilogue] Close Encounters of the Bus Kind END [From Beyond Arc]

    Close Encounters of the Bus Kind

    [Epilogue]

    ¡°This is cruel! This is icky! You can¡¯t keep me in here like this! I can feel the goo oozing out of the meat! It reeks! And the only thing worse than these disgusting fatty lumps are the wretched holes everywhere! No wonder you all rot in less than a century!¡±

    Tonya¡¯s hands burned and the blue energy field shimmered as she beat against her cell. She pushed as long as she could stand before finally staggering back onto her bed. The cell was pure white with a small table and bookshelf she had already torn apart, flinging the books across the floor. She had also tossed the toiletries and soap into a corner but had eventually needed to use them. Tonya scowled at the shower and toilet combo in the other corner.

    The door down the hall hissed open. Nadia entered dressed in a blue uniform which she hadn¡¯t managed to keep lint off of, with her brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

    Tonya turned and sneered. ¡°Come to watch me produce waste products? It¡¯s all this meat bag does.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­Surprisingly, no. I¡¯m just here to talk.¡± Nadia grimaced and held her hands in front of her.

    ¡°Gum flapping. What about?¡±

    Ruth had instructed Nadia to be patient and not let emotions one way or another rule this conversation. She pulled up a seat across from the force field enclosing the cell. Tonya struck against it with her hand, but Nadia didn¡¯t flinch.

    ¡°We still have a lot of questions, after everything. Everyone¡¯s settling in. Leslie is flying high¡­¡±

    ¡ª¡ª

    Leslie sat patiently in the infirmary chair as Doctor Quail affixed small probes to her forehead and explained, ¡±We¡¯re going to try to highlight the pattern of your telepathy so we can tap into and direct it for your benefit. Just relax¡­¡±

    She did her best, but she was antsy. Requisitions Department had just delivered a flight suit to keep her warm and comfortable at high altitude and she couldn¡¯t wait to try it out.

    ¡ª-

    ¡°Eva is in good spirits¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    Evangeline set a hand on her forehead as she gazed at the crystalline screen for the library info search. She had phrased her query so many different ways and yet the same thing kept popping up.

    ¡°No results, historical records - JANICE NESBITT.¡±

    Not that that was going to stop her from digging. She had to know¡­

    ¡ª-

    ¡°Tatiana is an inspiration¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    Tatiana spun in place and scampered down the hallway, then embarrassedly checked to make sure no one saw her, as she left her therapy session. Her family frowned on this kind of thing at home, but Beyond provided her with just the boost of confidence she needed and her therapist told her that she was getting better at controlling her transformations. He hadn¡¯t gone invisible all day!

    ¡ª-

    ¡°Sasha is over the moon about what she¡¯s able to do¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    In a darkened, quiet bedroom, a young person looked up. The rough and manly reflection they¡¯ve seen their entire life is mystically and slowly replaced by soft features and a beautiful shape.

    ¡°Oh, Goddess! How?¡­Oh, thank you¡­¡±

    Hiding just across the Veil, Sasha bounced on her toes with an effusive smile. Her trainer, standing next to her, gave a quiet thumbs up.

    ¡ª-

    ¡°And Gina and Louise are¡­. Well¡­ the usual¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    Gina whistled to herself while she held her phone and kept one EarPod in as she listened to the latest episode of her favorite podcast. She gave a thumbs up to Louise on the other side of the room and her twin returned it. A second twin climbed out from underneath the desk and brushed her hair back. A third unfolded a poster and passed it to Gina.

    It took several tacks and a few staples but the poster held steady on the wobbly, white wall. Even Louise came over to appraise it.

    It was a single shot of the Moon, about four feet across and starkly vivid with desolate craters and rocky crags against the black of space.

    Several Ginas set their arms on their hips and sighed.

    ¡°One small step closer¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    ¡°But Odessa has been totally unexpected¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    Odessa moved all her belongings into the small, blue quarters. Compared to her family¡¯s house, this is so tiny. So perfect. She appreciated where she came from, but she needed to make it on her own. College was inevitably coming and she was going to step out of the shadow of her family name.

    With just a little bit of practice, her illusions were getting more convincing and approaching artistic clarity. Ruth hinted that if she had even better control of them, then she might be able to obtain a pass to freely and publicly create them.

    ¡ª-

    ¡°Thessaly is the strongest person I know and not just her muscles¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    Exuberantly, Thessaly hauled the entire crate into the Beyond cafeteria while she whistled. The soup for lunch was coming along nicely. And she already had a list made out to give to her superior of entr¨¦es that she wanted to try out for next week¡¯s meals. Dr. Quail was still testing her astral projection skill but considering her for a myriad of special roles.

    ¡ª-

    ¡°Elsa is just as amazing¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    Giggling and hugging her instructor, Elsa marveled that she had been able to double her size. It was the most intense exercise she¡¯d ever done but it was also paying off at home as she scored three straight points for the team. And she still had enough energy at the end of the day to scream into the little disks that captured her sonic energy.

    ¡ª-

    ¡°Audrey practically has her own zoo¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    Brushing down the greasy feathers of the four-legged, rounded brown wrestic, Audrey knew she couldn¡¯t use her entire break to pet the lovely critter¡­but just two more minutes!

    Long aspiring to be a vet, she had to admit that this job totally spoiled her for that. She worked with extinct, super rare, and wiped from existence animals sheltered for protection and possible reintroduction. She just had to be careful not to turn into one of them on a slow day. Erin was looking for a sociable pet to make friends with Bubsy and she had just the one in mind.

    ¡ª-

    ¡°Marisol has really taken to the organization of this place¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    She squeezed in between the file cabinets with ease and firmed up to push one over. Her family came from a long line of administrators and this was the most comfortable thing for her. How could one top keeping an entire world in order?

    ¡ª-

    ¡°And Erin¡­ she¡¯s¡­amazing.¡±

    ¡ª-

    Erin bounced around obstacles and held herself in place as she mounted over the largest one. She couldn¡¯t rely on space crabs to keep her body healthy. It was her responsibility now. And she would do better this time. Better in every facet. Better for Nadia and better for everyone.

    She pulled down the drawbridge with a thought and sprinted across it. The monsters better watch out for her¡­

    ¡ª-

    ¡°¡­Why do you think I care?¡± Tonya hissed.

    Nadia sighed and shrugged. ¡°You spent years together.¡±

    ¡°Mere moments to my kind. We¡¯re not even old until we¡¯re one-hundred thousand. Our civilization has a billion years on anything you¡¯ve ever known. I spent most of my preparation time turning off my awareness so I wasn¡¯t bored to death by the lot of you.¡±

    ¡°¡­ How did you manage to show up at the bus around the same time we were there?¡±

    ¡±Serendipity. Like everything else. My species has all the luck. That¡¯s why I¡¯m going to escape, and you¡¯ll never know how I did it.¡±

    ¡°Unlikely. We know you had help. Who was it?¡±

    Tonya gave a noisy yawn. ¡°Don¡¯t know. Don¡¯t care. Too tired of all this biological crap. Why do you waste so much time sleeping? Useless.¡±

    Nadia tried to press her further and then come at it more slowly. Each time, Tonya digressed about her farts, about having to dunk herself in the water, and the jiggly pointlessness of boobs.

    ¡°I¡¯m never going to have any kids. Might as well hack them off. We reproduce purely. You just shit out a scramble of random genetics and hope for the best.¡±

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Nadia folded her arms. ¡°Your kind don¡¯t have a soul.¡±

    ¡°Yep. Never needed one.¡± Tonya snorted preemptively, anticipating whatever Nadia was going to say.

    ¡°But now you¡¯re organic. You¡¯re mortal. Whatever Grey technology that would¡¯ve continued your existence¡­ no longer works. When you die¡­ you die. That¡¯s it. For sure. Nothing else.¡±

    Tonya scowled and wavered on her feet a little. She cleared her throat, ¡°And¡­?¡±

    ¡°I feel¡­ sorry for you. That¡¯s all.¡±

    Leaning forward so that her face almost touched the force field, Tonya growled, ¡°I don¡¯t care¡­¡±

    Getting to her feet, Nadia sighed and remarked, ¡°Clearly. It was nice talking to you though. It¡¯s a shame we couldn¡¯t share more. I can bring in a video screen or some other entertainment. There¡¯s Wi-Fi. The password is just B3y0nd, capitalized with a three for the E and a zero for the O. They have Disney+.¡±

    Tonya bent over and stuck out her tongue. ¡°As if I want to indulge in Reptillian-crafted tripe making your brains rot even more than usual. Hard pass.¡±

    Nadia pressed her lips together. ¡°Reptilians, huh? Guess I¡¯ll have to tell Gina she was right. Well, if there¡¯s not anything else¡­?¡±

    The response to that question came in the form of Tonya showing off her middle digits. ¡°Right,¡± Nadia responded. ¡°I do hope you have a good day. See you around.¡±

    As soon as she was out of the room, Nadia slouched and fanned her outfit. Ruth was pushing her to be more active, confident, and take charge of stuff, especially when it came to Tonya. But this felt wrong. She missed the simplicity of driving a dune buggy off-road or safely guiding drowsy travelers through the night to their destination. When she was old enough to get her license again, she had plans.

    Time ambled and then shot ahead in Beyond. They could spend what felt like forever doing something here and return to waking with just moments having passed in their lives. Somehow, it was already the end of January despite it feeling like Beyond had their Christmas decorations up not too long ago. Valentine¡¯s Day was coming, and she already had fun plans for what to surprise Erin with.

    Back home, Argentina won the World Cup. Her dad loved the partially-real stargazing photo and honestly wanted to build an observatory adjacent to one of the restaurants. Her mom made little overtures of kindness by helping her through a peanut butter ganache dessert parfait recipe for Odessa. Luna was still in a weird sort of limbo concerning Beyond, but she kept quiet and pressed her arms close to her big sister¡¯s side. And her birthday was coming up after Thanksgiving and it was one she was looking forward to for the first time in ages.

    But¡­back to work for now¡­

    ¡ª-

    Tonya gave an irritated belch of disgust and found some level of revolted amusement as her loud burp filled the air after finishing her meal. She shoved the tray in the corner but cocked her head to the side when something fell off it. It was a tiny gray sliver, like a square pencil lead. Like something she¡¯d seen before.

    Checking around the rest of the cell and peering out, she saw that no one was around. Disguising the motion with a stretch, she snatched the square and popped it in her mouth behind the back molars. This worked so much better when she was synthetic but she managed to position it to transmit sound.

    A voice filled her head, a familiar voice.

    ¡°You failed.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I did, sir, I did. But there were complications. She was too highly developed. They overwhelmed me.¡± Tonya kept her voice to a mutter, as though she were arguing with herself.

    ¡°I made sure you knew where they would be at the most important times. You didn¡¯t do your job.¡±

    Tonya stumbled and fumbled through a myriad of excuses and explanations and details of the complexity of all the work she had to put in and the odds she was facing with this group and how they had outside help and how even her backdoors into Beyond didn¡¯t solve everything.

    ¡°Is it still one? A backdoor¡­¡±

    Clearing her throat, Tonya managed quietly, ¡°Yes. Definitely. Probably. I burned one of them, but... should be fine. If they found all of them, then they would¡¯ve said.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯re not completely useless. I¡¯ll take it from here.¡±

    The square started to burn and itch in her mouth, which was the telltale sign that it was self-destructing. ¡°Wait! You gotta get me restored somehow. I can¡¯t stay organic. I¡¯m losing my mind. It¡¯s all goopy and gross and disgusting.¡±

    ¡°No. You failed. Your kind would never even take you back. They didn¡¯t care about you before anyway. There¡¯s a lesson to be learned here and you have to learn it¡­¡±

    Tonya cursed and spat the foul remains of the communicator into the toilet as she flushed it.

    ¡°Fuck you. And fuck your lessons¡­¡±

    ¡ª-

    Eva had been distracted for hours since finally getting situated at the check-in desk of the Beyond library. She wasn¡¯t the only link in the security net, but she was currently the weakest. Several academics, geeks, and medical professionals, who she had never seen before, passed by her desk and were scanned in with identification to see the reserved items. She couldn¡¯t have told anyone what they looked like.

    Her searches were getting closer, focusing on sudden appearances and anachronistic tales along with medieval accounts and copious folklore. She had learned far more than she ever wanted to know about the etymological history of the surname Nesbitt and how it meant a land bend in the river. But she felt like she was getting close as she glanced up at a completely inconspicuous young woman with hair even blacker than Tonya¡¯s.

    Suspicion only crossed her mind for a few seconds before she scanned the card, got a confirmation, and wished the woman ¡°good hunting¡± in the archives.

    That woman slipped back through the rows, turning and twisting and shifting beyond the scope of so many monitoring devices. The ones that mattered blipped out at exactly the right and wrong time. When it was safe, the fa?ade slipped away to reveal a gaunt, thin man with pale, pasty skin awkwardly wearing a suit not meant for him. His pants legs were bunched up. He looked frail and pathetic. His dark, marble eyes scrutinized every corner as he brushed back his greasy black hair.

    Agent Cross to some. Carren Cross to others.

    But he was Cerberus. All of him¡­ Scattered to the winds of the multiverse because he underestimated his foe. Never again. He learned his lesson.

    This time, he would win before they ever realized they faced him. He pushed on the nearest door and quietly slipped inside.

    [THE RED ROCK RIDERS WILL RETURN]

    =====

    As you might¡¯ve suspected from the style of this epilogue, this story will also have a follow-up segment. I¡¯ve received many wonderful suggestions, even the idea of a docile veil monster who might become a pet.

    I would like to explore all sorts of possibilities with Tonya and the girls who were not fully developed because of the size of this story¡¯s cast. I¡¯m excited for telling stories of teenagers balancing life, school, and whatever responsibilities Beyond brings them in the [FROM BEYOND] arc. I am looking forward to mixing and mingling genres. Historical romance might be an interesting possibility.

    It may flirt with several genres, as well as continue the character development established here.

    Next week is the fourth arc and narrative in the series and it¡¯s going to be quite interesting. There are some introductory segments I¡¯m not sure how I¡¯m going to present. Also, it may have small interludes following side characters. The main storyline is ¡°A Brand New Goth Girl¡± in the [Transform the Dorm] arc.

    Get ready to meet Beatrice. This upcoming storyline is not going to be as intense as the previous one, but I make no promises that you won¡¯t cry. I¡¯m not even sure how directly connected it will be to what¡¯s come before, but it¡¯s a story in the same multiverse that I am looking forward to telling.

 [1] A Brand New Goth Girl 1 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    A Brand New Goth Girl [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    <<Arc Introduction>>

    [Transform the Dorm]

    This story was originally one of the first ones I wrote in this series. It¡¯s meant to be introspective but also light. There are side story elements I came up with for it and I¡¯m going to include them here and there. Hopefully, it won¡¯t be super lengthy. This first chapter will follow a certain character and tomorrow''s chapter will follow a different character. It will alternate between these characters occasionally.

    I¡¯m tempted to refer to it as just Transform the Dorm because that¡¯s the overriding focus. A dormitory where a lot of wild transformations happen. This Arc will contain some sexual content, nudity, language, and adult situations.

    There are going to be some connections to the other stories but this one is very light on them and meant to be more of a romp. Taking a break from the world-breaking implications of the other stories. Just some people dealing with gender-bending instead. This one definitely stands alone. Feel free to suggest a vast array of ideas for the narrative. We got a whole dorm (and more) to transform!

    =====

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [1]

    She had an epiphany, and she needed to share it.

    Returning to the room, she plopped down and crawled across the bed to examine the tiny but remarkable little thing in her possession. Just a few bucks to change the world. She walked back.

    The hallway was clear, to her relief and disappointment. Stepping towards the common room, her heart raced. Some boys were about, but they quickly came and went through the sliding doors. Only when she reached the main common room next to the resident assistant''s office did she see some good boys. But they couldn¡¯t see her.

    The widescreen flat panel television next to the vending machines had on some cowboy program from the 1990s. Four guys stood around the billiards table taking turns shooting.

    The first one she noticed kept returning to a black-and-white guitar set off to the side. His feathered, unkempt hair seemed somewhere between a dark yellow and a messy brown. Clear-framed glasses adorned his face and he wore a nondescript, wrinkly tan shirt with jeans.

    Leaning back with his cue stick wrapped in his arms like an exercise bar, the guy to his right had a lean, long face with a half-finished brown beard. His messy hair rose like a pack of crumpled tissues. A gray Star Wars shirt with some immense spacecraft stretched over his flat chest. Black shorts dangled to his bony knees.

    On the other side of the table from him, a small guy with pitch-black hair leveled a hundred-yard stare at some spot ahead of him. He was small and his wildly askew locks looked like he¡¯d never brushed them in his life. He had bright pink, bow-like lips drawn in a pained expression.

    The last guy was setting up the next shot. He had on a red t-shirt with some math formula joke she suspected that only ten people on campus would get. His movements appeared antsy, as though he were ready for a restroom dash. His blonde hair looked good but also swept to the side unevenly, as though he just got it cut but forgot to trim one side. His swift hand brushed it out of his left eye as he slid his stick back and forth. A pair of loose black pants did little to hide his prominent rear.

    She judged the four of them and felt a pang of conflict. A few were real cute in ways she hadn¡¯t considered before. She might want them to wrap their firm arms around her as they guided her somewhere for a little¡­.private fun. The temptation tightened deep inside her until she took a single, quiet breath and reminded herself of what she came here to do.

    She aimed for the dark-haired guy who appeared so dismal. He could definitely use the light of girlishness in his life. The first thing that happened was the narrow shape of his head compressed into a round, full form with broad cheeks. His wild hair fell back, like a sleek, brushed curtain, spreading around his shoulder to his chest on one side. His reaction was to bat at it, like a fallen bug or a sliver of debris from the ceiling. He only had an instant to look up before the wave of all the other changes crashed into him. His dark shirt spiraled out like a short dress, dipping to his thighs while his whole body lost several inches of height. A tiny, black leather skirt barely poked out of the bottom with a garter belt merging with a pair of silken black thigh-high socks. A velvet, spiked choker laced around his tiny throat.

    A high-pitched girl squeak, loud enough to shatter glass if it had the energy, burst out of his soft throat. By now, the other guys had looked up and saw that something was amiss, but all stood frozen in shock. The new girl¡®s eyes were traced by Egyptian black eyeliner and her broad, pouty lips were matte obsidian. The pool cue slipped from her black fingernails (and rolled around on the carpet) as she gasped in surprise.

    ¡°Ohmygosh!¡± Her petite hands raced around and also darted away from the shape of her body as she looked to her compatriots for an explanation.

    The only response was by the antsy dude, as he finally settled in place and reacted, ¡°Dude¡­what?¡±

    It didn¡¯t take long before the new girl desperately scampered towards the nearest hallway, shifting her stride from loping and frantic to restrained and awkward.

    She wasn¡¯t deterred by the new girl¡¯s panic. She knew she¡¯d find joy and beauty in this shape soon enough¡­

    ¡ª-

    The day sucked. I couldn¡¯t figure out what my professor wanted me to do and staring at my PC back in the dorm did not help one bit. I had a massive art project to get through and inspiration left me days ago.

    Going for a walk failed and put me in an even worse mood. But at least the guys in the dorm who hung out around the billiards table randomly invited me for a game. Something to take my mind off this whole shit show. It was Connor¡®s turn and his feet kept bouncing around. His nerves were enough to make me wish I¡¯d gone to the bathroom before this.

    Anthony strummed a couple tunes I didn¡¯t recognize on his guitar, but music always helped my anxiety. Zach looked like he was dwelling way too much on his last shots when I wished he would open up and chat about geek stuff. I mentioned my Marvel tee and made my best gestures to connect it to his Star Wars top. He didn¡¯t take the hint. I wore the weights and frustrations of the day on my soul and stared out at the hall waiting for my next turn to come around.

    For an instant, I had this weird inkling like someone was watching me and holding something. But it was just the four of us. The next weird thing was a tickle against my ears. Knowing how many spiders nested in the upper echelons of the rarely-dusted ceiling, I was ready to fling away a dropped web or something worse. It got even weirder fast. My entire world shifted without me moving an inch.

    Hair suddenly appeared around my neck, shoulders, and way too many other places. My t-shirt felt like it had grown several sizes in the span of a breath. Something was around my neck and it didn¡¯t feel like hair. My lips were glossy and there had to be some sort of makeup, perfume, and so many other, intangible things crowding out my senses. The only word that encapsulated it all was ¡°Ohmygosh!¡± I also may have made the first squeak of my life.

    There were¡­ Boobs making bumps on my chest. They weren¡¯t the biggest things but any sort of boobs on me were cause for alarm. The other guys stared at me and I had no idea what else to say.

    Connor spoke first, ¡°Dude¡­what?¡± As if I might have any clue as to why I felt, looked, and was suddenly dressed like this.

    The fact I had on a skirt attached to stockings wasn¡¯t my most immediate concern, but it earned a solid place on the list. I didn¡¯t want to stick around, mostly because I had no idea how to deal with the other guys like this. I didn¡¯t want anyone to catch me in my boxers, let alone looking and feeling like¡­ A girl. So, I retreated. It wasn¡¯t a very good retreat as simply walking felt so strange and uncomfortable with a hot poker of embarrassment threatening to explode out of me.

    Getting away down the hall helped, but then I had to keep walking with these unfamiliar legs in the weirdest clothes with soft thighs rubbing against unmentionables. I was almost to my room before I realized I had no clue where my key might¡¯ve gone in this clothing combo, if it even was anywhere now. Fortunately, one of the side, strikingly-shallow pockets in the skirt rattled with a set of keys.

    Trying my key in the lock was met with failure. After pounding and rattling the knob, someone on the other end unlocked and opened the door. It was Marshall, my roommate of the last two years.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    He looked about the same as usual but there was something uncomfortable in his gaze. He stared at me like I was a stranger. Even more than that, I caught his eyes skimming this body, checking me out as though I were just some random girl who showed up on his doorstep. He had a bad habit of once-overs and it was thoroughly unsettling to be on the business end of his curious eyeballs.

    ¡°Yeah? Sup?¡±

    That¡¯s all he said. I swallowed hard and mentally flailed for how to proceed. Squeezing a hand against my head, I attempted, ¡°Do you know a guy named Taylor?¡±

    My name. Well, I thought it was my name.

    Marshall shook his head and responded, ¡°Noooo... Why? Should I? Do you have the wrong room?¡±

    Oh no¡­ what was going on? The guys at the billiard table recognized that something happened to me. They clearly knew me. Marshall should¡¯ve known the name Taylor¡­ Unless something more was happening than first appeared. I shuddered and tried to collect myself.

    Putting on a polite smile, I followed his assumption and declared, ¡°That¡¯s it, sorry. Sorry for bothering you.¡± I hadn¡¯t really been paying attention to my voice because there were crazier things to have to deal with. It held some of the contours of what I expected my voice to be but without the rumble and depth that came from my neck. It was like a squeaky, cute girl impersonating me.

    I slowly walked away and tried not to think about Marshall¡¯s eyes following me, probably checking out my rear. Fussing with the hem of the shirt and skirt didn¡¯t help. Eventually, the door shut.

    Checking my room key, I could see that it was printed with 212 instead of 116. Upstairs.

    I hesitantly took a handful of the steps near the emergency exit before retreating back down to the ground floor. The amount of jiggling those breasts decided to do was entirely too much. The better amount was none. Cautiously, I felt around this girl¡¯s chest and bra to make sure I hadn¡¯t screwed anything up. No, it just seemed like that amount of shifting was normal. I went with the elevator instead. At least, it just jolted me at the beginning and the end. It was also far enough away from the common area that it didn¡¯t require me to do a return of shame to the confused billiards guys.

    212 was not too far from about where 116 was on the ground floor, except it sat on the opposite side of the hallway. Carefully, I slipped the key in the lock, pushed all the way in, and turned it without a problem. This dorm had some interesting and encouraging landmarks with several wall scrolls from recent RPG games and a really cool Darth Vader one bathed in a red lightsaber glow.

    Colorful strings of lights illuminated a path linking the hallway sink to the right and the kitchen to the left. Pink-toned beanbags sprawled on opposite ends of the room. Translucent gauze fabric dangled like flowery, blue drapes around the main room and separated a set of classic Nintendo games from a collection of animal plushies. Muscular, half-naked dudes covered the wall behind a silver couch facing the television.

    I was totally in a girls'' dorm and I had no clue if I was supposed to be here. The door closer to the front sprung open and a girl peeked out. Fair blonde hair framed her head. She wore a red t-shirt with the words, ¡°Goonies Never Say Die¡± and a pleated, pink skirt. She smiled at me.

    ¡°Hey, Bea. Good walk? Hungry? There¡¯s a bunch of fried rice cooling in the microwave. I made too much,¡± she spoke energetically.

    Bea? As in Beatrice? Did she think that was my name? What if it was my name now? Instead of addressing that impossible tangle of questions, I managed, ¡°Hey. Sokay. We¡¯ll see. And awesome. Thanks!¡±

    She approached me from the hallway and, before I was adequately prepared, wrapped me up in an all-consuming, welcoming hug. Another reminder that I was so very small now. She didn¡¯t tower, but she had more than a head in height on me. It was a nice hug, the situation was just nuts.

    Once Kasey, which I was able to piece together was her name, released me, she actually went to work pulling the fried rice out of the microwave and adorning it with extra seasoning and some scallions she got from the fridge. It was really good. The amount of home-cooked fresh meals I¡¯d had this semester could easily be counted on one hand.

    The unfortunate part was Beatrice¡¯s little stomach couldn¡¯t hold enough to truly stamp out my sense of hunger. It was enough for her, but my brain still wanted more.

    Kasey vented about some professor I never met, but he sounded like a tool. She gave personal hints about her life as well as tidbits about someone named Drake who she was dating. I did my best to lay low and not seem suspicious. She didn¡¯t call out any of my glib offerings, but I felt bad about not being able to contribute more.

    Eventually, I was able to sneak away to the room intended for Bea and get some sense of who she was supposed to be. She was an artist, rather like me, but on a whole different level. An explosion of display pieces spread across the three walls on her side of the space and then battled for spots on the ceiling.

    According to the decorations on the other end, her roommate was named Norah and she was a huge Power Rangers fan and an even bigger plant lover. Seven feet of looming bamboo in a clay pot dominated the bright corner soaking up the afternoon rays through the blinds. Dangling vines laced above the window while a content-looking potted fern sat on the desk. I kept discovering scattered, lurking plants as though they were sneaking out of the woodwork.

    Beatrice¡¯s wall by the bed had a black and white lace presentation of her name with fancy ornamentation. She seemed to live the goth aesthetic from her art to the gray, ornate fluffy blankets on her bed. I dug it. The only reason I avoided that aesthetic was because of some pressuring peers who made fun of it when I started college.

    Using the full-length mirror against the wall, I checked out my reflection. Beatrice wasn¡¯t much taller than the door knob and the upper hinge was above my head. Probably less than five feet tall, but I wasn¡¯t super eager to know for sure. Her hair was cute, with a few purple streaks in the dark brown and askew around the neck, probably my fault.

    The heavy liner with Egyptian style around her eyes made my blinks feel like an animated character. She had a tiny little mole above her lip. Those black lips and how they moved also felt disconcerting but not bad. I twisted them up into a cute smile. It was weird for my mood the last few weeks and probably even stranger for her. Maybe she was happy though, she had to be happier than me. And maybe I could be happy as her.

    The choker on her neck was wild to wear, even though the spikes were more glossy, blunted, and sparkly than intimidating. Out of everything, I felt most comfortable with her black nails. Her hands and arms were so skinny and frail, but that played well with her look. A little metal Ankh on a thin band dove under her neckline. I approved of her black, Marvel t-shirt with Beast on the side.

    The shirt was humongous and dangled almost halfway down her thighs. I could barely see a pleated, leather skirt peeking out the bottom. Out of everything, I wasn¡¯t too uncomfortable with the skirt. The material made it kinda sweaty though. However, the feeling of all sorts of lacy and soft undergarments that attached to the thigh-high stockings covering her legs was a different story. The ominous, insistent threat of needing to pee loomed in the back of my head, but I¡¯d been able to distract it away from thoughts.

    Next to the mirror and leading to the desk, I saw so many photos printed and tacked to the wall. Beatrice had more clothes, costumes, and fashionable combinations than I could fathom. She was pretty in a way that felt surreal and strange to witness and feel. She was like a sister I never had or even imagined having.

    She was successful too. She didn¡¯t seem to have my kind of problems where even getting started on a simple art project twisted her up in knots and forced her to waste so much time procrastinating. I had to be better as her, I had to follow her example. Over towards her full closet, she had a clarinet case.

    Her computer setup wasn¡¯t too different from mine, but I was surprised to see OnlyFans stickers and placards celebrating subscriber milestones. On top of everything else, this girl was Internet popular in a way that made my throat dip all the way to the mysterious nether region between my legs. That was a lot to take in. My heart and mind raced as I mulled over what to do next.

 [1] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 1 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

    [1]

    She considered the options left before her. It would¡¯ve been interesting to see what became of the guitar guy and the antsy one. But the Star Wars fellow didn¡¯t appear as visibly troubled as her first target. Though, he definitely seemed guarded and reserved.

    Scant signs of fear crossed his face about what happened to the other guy. The cue stick he once held behind his back shifted to his side like a staff. All three exchanged questioning glances, endeavoring to confirm that they really saw one of their number turn into a girl. She knew this could lead to problems.

    Denial, shock, and hesitation were all natural after one transformation. Could be totally random. Once two or more changed, they were sure to try to escape. She considered just spreading it around to take care of the entire group, but she would miss the specific nuances and details of individual shifts.

    Watching the goth girl creation got her squirming more than her recent bits of fun. Rushing would only spoil it. She had to take it slow. Same as before.

    This one squinted as the change washed over him. Could he actually see it? She didn¡¯t know but hoped not.

    The first, obvious change was the shift of his eyes from a subdued brown to a striking green that shimmered like jewelry. As with the goth girl, the light scrunched the elongated shape of his head into a gentler oval. His cheeks bent inward and traced girlish lines. Beyond some refinements, the general presence of his face remained the same but without the barest hint of facial hair. He immediately tried to clear his throat. She hadn¡¯t paid attention to his before voice, but it clearly no longer matched the young man, who was rapidly turning into something else.

    His expression didn¡¯t shift, but there was a placid, serene warmth in his pink, soft lips. When the tissue crumple of his hair spread out in straight, flowing brunette locks over his shoulders, he quickly remarked, ¡°Oh, woah¡­¡± before using a hand to check it. Just his face in isolation had a certain clarity. If she didn¡¯t regard his hair or the other changes rapidly flowing forth, it might still resemble a young, curious guy. But it also reminded her of¡­something nice from a while ago.

    The way the change selected what features to gift and what way to interpret them filled her with wonder. His arms and shoulders slimmed to enviable, lean dimensions as the material of his gray top swelled and wiggled with ridged, sweater material.

    His black shorts fluttered into a simple, straight black polyester skirt with a fold and cut around the knee. Sandals completed the ensemble, as what was beneath that outfit asserted itself. His soft, long legs glimmered in the light through the side window. They had a polished sheen clear of even the faintest traces of silvery hairs.

    The last feature to be revealed was her breasts. The dense material of the top provided a buffer that blunted and contained the swelling expanse of flesh. This new one bloomed beyond the goth girl and eclipsed what even she could boast. The expression of her abundant chest couldn¡¯t help but draw the eyes of the others. She looked down and noticed as well. Hers was now a body to be regarded around campus and that filled her with a sense of glee but also trepidation. There was much she didn¡¯t know about how these changes would resolve with time.

    ¡°Woah¡±, was the new girl¡¯s next comment. It looked like she was done. She diligently observed the results.

    The antsy one rocked on his heels without bouncing and took a breath before inquiring, ¡°Zach? That you?¡±

    Ahh, her name is Zach¡­ Was Zach. But that was all up to her now, she hadn¡¯t even settled on a fitting name for herself yet.

    Zach sucked in her lip on the right side with an ambiguous expression. Her arms adjusted her gray, ribbed top and drifted towards her bust but ultimately clung to the edges without getting closer. Guitar guy took a sharp breath and scanned the room again. She had to wonder if the transformation had some sort of relaxing quality to keep them from running and screaming, or perhaps this was just human nature when faced with the inexplicable. Certainly, though, she knew there would eventually be those who react with less subtlety.

    The new girl shifted in place while looking down at herself and bouncing her slender knee. The ripples through her top were immediately obvious and made her widen her captivating eyes. From there, the gap between her thighs narrowed and she could see them sliding against one another. Her expression shifted around, as though she is hunting for something close but intangible. Her breath drew in and her mouth widened slightly. Both remaining guys leaned forward.

    After a moment, Zach seemed to realize where she was and released a long breath. ¡°Umm¡­what was that? Oh. Ha¡­ damn. I guess it¡¯s catching or spreading. Woah though¡­ this. I don¡¯t know what to say. These are super big. I guess I take after my aunt¡­if¡­ you know.¡± She trailed off but didn¡¯t look flush or embarrassed. The guitar guy gave a single shake of the head, picked up his instrument, and walked out the sliding doors without saying anything.

    Zach commented, ¡°Probably smart. You?¡±

    Antsy guy brushed his hair away from the side of his face and rubbed his nose. It was entirely obvious that he was struggling to look her in the eyes and not peek lower. Zach seemed to notice and a slim smirk emerged.

    Clearing his throat, he asked Zach, ¡°Can we go talk somewhere that I know for sure I¡¯m not going to need a bra by the end of the conversation, because of some curse or ghost or whatever is going on?¡±

    The hidden one stifled a chuckle at that.

    Zach rocked her head and looked him up and down, even though he couldn¡¯t bring himself to return the gesture. ¡°All right, Connor. Talk. Just talk though. Because I know what we promised, but you gotta give me a little bit.¡±

    With all his twisting, contorting energy surging from his voice, Connor beckoned and hid his hands back and forth as a furious pantomime before they made their way over to the hall.

    She had some choices before her. She didn¡¯t want to lose any of them before the job was done. But there were also so many others in the building who might be easier to catch unaware. She was only getting started¡­

    ¡ª¡ª

    I gotta admit, I was curious.

    When the quiet guy turned into a cute goth girl, my first inkling was to stand around where he stood and see what happened. Not that I had a masculinity death wish. But I figured it couldn¡¯t really hurt.

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    There were so many girls, going back to fourth grade, I had a crush on. Each and every time, it didn¡¯t work out because of something I did, some way that I looked, or some random disagreement.

    Connor and I both came from the same small town in the hills. No matter what we did, the girls either ignored us or put us through the wringer. It was at the tail end of high school, with just a hundred others in the class, mostly girls. And even the nicest ones had this formulated sense of polite rejection. Like just being around them represented the kind of obligation that we were their waiters in a restaurant. Even in the good times, they were the waitresses.

    That distance meant just trying to hit on them, suggest a fun weekend, or work your way to a dance was beyond the pale. How could you be so uncouth! Meanwhile, Mister Owner just walks in, and whatever he says goes. Around our school, that was JT Turner, the dude born on third base who can just walk his way home and back whenever he likes. Love and romance were a rigged game.

    So, one night we just went off about all this to one another, laughing so we didn¡¯t cry about it, and Connor said to me, ¡°Bro, you know if anything like really weird or supernatural ever happens to me and like I turn into a blonde chick with a huge rack. Well, first of all, I¡¯m bouncing those in front of the closest mirror and just living it up, man. But I promise, as a man, on my honor, I will go out with you with no strings attached. Even more, we can take all that for a¡­ Test drive? What I¡¯m saying is if I get turned into a chick then let¡¯s forget everyone else and just, you know, hook up. Not to make this sound gay or anything. Not that there¡¯s anything wrong with that either. But I know you like chicks and so do I. If I was a chick, I would absolutely hit that¡­ and by that, I mean you. I would let you fuck my wet, girly pussy so hard...¡±

    Remarkably, neither of us was stoned when we had this conversation. Sleep deprived, delirious, coasting on video games and the grossest snacks, but not stoned. Whether each of those states is all that different, I don¡¯t know, but that¡¯s where we were.

    So, of course, my man lays down that sharing of his commitment to brotherhood or whatever and there¡¯s no way I¡¯m not answering in kind. ¡°Same here. I¡¯d love to see you with a big rack. But, yeah, man. Same to you. If something like Mr. Bigfoot out in the woods up north is real, Skinwalkers, and those replica¡­ reptilian aliens, I¡¯m sure this kind of stuff is junior league. It can happen. But what I¡¯m saying is, if it happens to me then I¡¯ll do you the same. Literally. I will wet your whistle something fierce. More than that. Let¡¯s date and go steady. I mean we get along so well, the two of us as a chick and a dude and like even two chicks, because that¡¯s cool too¡­ that¡¯s not screw around¡­well you know what I mean, not beat around the bush you know. Let¡¯s agree, if in the unlikely event something like that happens, on my honor, I will totally and completely be your girlfriend or unrestrained fuck buddy gal. What happens after that, I don¡¯t know, but let¡¯s just bust each other¡¯s cherries.¡±

    We didn¡¯t do any crazy blood or ritual stuff, but we shook hands on it, give a nod, and agreed this was the way things were. We both totally forgot about it and, at the same time, there was an understanding that if the activation code came for something like that, then we weren¡¯t going to try to take an out.

    But, after that impossible possibility happened right in front of us, I must admit that evening was right there in my head. I thought about saying something, but I didn¡¯t have the chance before some light from over by the window caught my eye. Everything happened so fast after that.

    It was like a presence I couldn¡¯t reach was squeezing my face and tugging on my hair. I had no illusions that this wasn¡¯t what I suspected. But it¡¯s a different matter altogether to realize it. Just saying ¡°whoa¡± is underselling it. It was like my entire existence and feeling as a human being was being pushed and pulled and torn and twisted like hot taffy on a summer day, and I had no idea what I was going to end up as.

    My clothes lost the Millennium Falcon to become a different material. That was a bummer because I really liked that graphic. I wound up in a skirt too. Just processing all that took a lot, once everything settled down.

    My legs felt so soft and free that they were kind of cold and empty but also so full too. Those breasts seemed surreal from this angle, just a massive thing rising out of that sweater. I could understand how saying ¡°sweater puppies¡± might be uncomfortable when you got a set of big dogs. It called for another ¡°whoa¡±.

    Connor asked if this was me, and I wasn¡¯t even sure anymore. Adjusting those clothes meant manipulating the most obvious aspects of a girl. I wasn¡¯t ready to go for that expanse. Just sort of lingering around it and feeling the way my body pushed against it was a rush of both adrenaline and so many crazy chemicals inside my head.

    I kinda got carried away. I had plenty of access to the Internet, along with certain other things. I knew how a girl could get off, and I was one. If this was temporary, then I just wanted to feel a few things before it went away. I pressed my immensely soft, fleshy thighs together and bounced my knee. Not sensing anything familiar between my legs, I could only imagine what was down there. The Internet provided me with enough visual aids.

    Everything felt compressed and tightened. It was like folding over and inside the most delicate skin between my shaft and balls and around my nuts. Not that I had those anymore, but that was my fumbling analogy. It was like pulling all that taught and yet loose. At the pinnacle was a tight, aching little spot that wandered as I played this tune. The warmth, wetness, and emptiness overwhelmed me. An odd fullness and unfurling sucked away all other thoughts as I tried to press closer and harder. Jolts to my breasts made me think of what more I could do. Holy fuck, I was about to let loose with what felt like a volcano stirring underneath and inside.

    And then, I remembered I was in the middle of the dorm common room about ready to mercilessly hump and grind the billiards table to finish. I could see that Connor was watching. Words were no easier for me right then, but I still managed to get them out about the situation and what happened to me. I even mentioned my aunt, who was about as big as I was now.

    The other guy with the guitar noped out of there right then, and I couldn¡¯t blame him.

 [2] A Brand New Goth Girl 2 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [2]

    With a deep breath, I went over to the sink just outside Beatrice and Norah¡¯s room and filled a water glass. It tasted awful. We had nothing but hard water around here. Still, I needed that, even though it meant putting more strain on Beatrice¡®s tiny bladder.

    Out of all the possibilities before me, Bea¡¯s online presence made me the most morbidly curious. I had no solid experience with what the heck OnlyFans was supposed to be. There were enough memes on the Internet that some thoughts were inescapable. Was I getting naked and lewd for strangers? I had no idea if I even wanted to get naked in front of myself. But clearly, that wasn¡¯t who I was supposed to be now.

    Taylor sulked in his room, trying to come up with a single original artistic idea. And his roommates easily forgot he existed, even before all this. Sure, he had a couple of older sisters who made it to the Olympics for archery and water polo and they ravenously encouraged him whenever he felt down. But mom and dad just wavered in and out of the margins by briefly assessing that he did all the things he was supposed to do. Evaluators and curious bureaucrats checked to see if this so-called Taylor was still around. Yes? Well, moving on.

    Granted, when it came to Beatrice, I could only go by what I could see, but she looked to have everything together. Her art barreled over the boundaries of her room so much that she would soon run out of places to display it. She reveled in her body so thoroughly that she kept copious amounts of printed photos nearby despite the fact that no one really bothered to print actual photos anymore.

    And I couldn¡¯t even imagine how much of her phone space was filled up with pics. What I assumed was her phone sat in a wireless charger behind the monitor. It was absolutely huge and had a custom case with a sleeping purple pastel unicorn orbiting in space as a tiny planet. Likely her own design. Even stretching my black-tipped fingers around the back could only cover the bottom half.

    She had the site bookmarked but I could find no easy app for me to deal with. Going to Bea¡¯s page felt like what I imagined getting hit by a wave on a Hawaiian beach would be like. She had 87 notifications and each of them appeared recent. Steadying myself, I looked through them. It was a lot to take in.

    You¡¯re so cute. You¡¯re so tiny! I wanna pick you up and play with you. That look is really sexy on you. You are ravishingly beautiful. Your room is kickass! Always wear fishnets, they look awesome on you! Oh, baby, you¡¯re a beauty! I love comic book movies, but I¡¯d rather watch something romantic with you. Your titties may be small but I still love them! All boobs are beautiful! Would you like a spanking? I have a cum tribute for you. You¡¯re so hot. Don¡¯t be depressed, we love you!

    Depressed? Skimming along, it was so strange to see posts supposedly by ¡°me¡± talking about things I had no idea about. But Bea had many poetry selections to go with recent art and photos that I couldn¡¯t quite process yet. She talked about how she wanted a bright joyous light in her life, and she was inspired by making others smile and turning them on. She even waxed kind of philosophically about the idea of ¡°turn-ons¡±.

    I plopped down on her soft, well-decorated bed and cradled the phone. Was this just what I would¡¯ve been as a girl? Did I slip or trip through the boundaries of reality until it decided that a girl was what I was supposed to be? Was goth just another coloring or shell for the stuff I already knew? Shit, no matter how much I might change, it still felt like I couldn¡¯t fundamentally escape my own bullshit.

    Well, screw hiding from ¡°myself¡° then. I was gonna do something else. Unfortunately, I wasn¡¯t yet sure what that was going to be.

    Confronting my new body felt appropriate. Beatrice wore quite an ensemble, so if she had plans to show it off online or anywhere else, I didn¡¯t wanna mess up those plans. Though, I had no clue how to find out what they were.

    She might have a diary somewhere, but I doubted it detailed her minute-to-minute intentions. Her phone was probably a better bet. It was trippy to think that this was a phone I¡¯d never seen before, and yet it was mine. This cute goth girl¡¯s phone. The Face ID responded to me when I looked at it. Another weird little thing.

    Her wallpaper looked like one of her decorations with vaporwave pastel planets in a starkly colorful starscape. The reminders I could see involved shopping notes, class assignments, and important days. She had a huge collection of reminders for her roommates Norah, Kasey, and Rhea. Birthdays, family, schedules, extracurriculars, and so on. At least she left me enough details that the Bea they knew wasn¡¯t going to up and suddenly turn into an inconsiderate asshole just because I didn¡¯t know stuff. Despite all that, I couldn¡¯t find her specific plans for now.

    Kasey mentioned Bea going for a walk. So, we basically had the same plans, even though I couldn¡¯t imagine this girl getting frustrated with her art. Although, I didn¡¯t want to assume. So, if we were on the same wavelength, then whatever hunches I have wouldn¡¯t be too wildly different than what she might have. And thinking through that¡­my inkling¡­ is that she is nicely dressed¡­so why not show off? All right. So, how exactly do I do that?

    I mean, I knew how to take selfies, but how do I take one that doesn¡¯t suck? I could hunt through filters and settings, but surely a big honkin¡¯ phone with multiple alien lenses on the back would be all set for anything.

    I checked myself in the mirror again, brushed back my hair, and twisted my lips to make sure the lipstick was still good. Everything still seemed fine, although I could see dapples of sweat on my neck and forehead. For obvious reasons.

    I tested what would be a good mirror angle. I bent my face down with a playful smirk while crouching and trailing my arms over my thighs. My tiny heart throbbed over feelings I still wasn¡¯t quite processing. The walk here vividly told me that things were different downstairs, but that was a reminder I could hide at the bottom of the list. The same went for my boobs. Although, they kept announcing themselves.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Meanwhile, I did my best not to think about how silly this all looked as I arched a hand up towards my chest, while the other pointed at my mysterious crotch. I was going from vague recollections of modeling photos and Instagram.

    But something about this felt intuitive, like this was how it was supposed to look. I considered being on my knees with my mouth in a puckered, pouty circle, but that might be too much. Another pose that came to me was tracing my hands along the top to pull it taut while bunching it up around my crotch. You can never forget the crotch in sexy photos.

    That one felt like an overt allusion to a famous Marilyn Monroe look, although I had none of the features to pull it off the same way. Maybe more like a princess in a gown with gossamer fabric frozen in action. This all felt like I was totally making it up on the spot. For Bea¡¯s most vocal online supporters, I figured I¡¯d have to think of something a little more adventurous.

    They were apparently giving me money, so I guess I had to make it worthwhile. I wasn¡¯t going to strip though. At least not until I figured out exactly how much money I was earning. The website was vague on that.

    For them, I lifted up the baggy shirt to expose as much of my flesh as possible. I could tell Beatrice still had my mixed Taiwanese/Spanish/Welsh mutt heritage. I slipped the shirt completely off, bunched it together like a thin band with just the Incredible Hulk showing, and I dipped my head with a hopefully playful expression. My lacy black bra was underneath. From my normally flat-chested guy perspective, they looked slightly bigger than the loose t-shirt suggested.

    I¡¯d touched boobs before, but it was very different to feel them as your own flesh with your body responding to the sensation. I dipped the skirt just to where it felt like it might fall off but was still snug. Unfortunately, my ambition for the shot collided with not knowing how I would snap this photo.

    A quick check told me that Bea didn¡¯t have a tripod or anything. It took a lot of finessing to hold the phone in front of my chest, with the bunched-up top artfully posed and my crotch on the verge of being exposed while looking playful in a mirror. I took about a dozen shots to get close to what I intended.

    It was both fascinating and kind of surreally sexy that the stuff I imagined a girl doing, I could do myself and get immediate results.

    Since I¡¯d at least accomplished something with this getup, I felt better about undressing. It was early for my usual shower. There were days when I missed it altogether, but I wanted to at least get a better impression of myself and this body. Dropping the Marvel top on the bed, I glanced through the closet for something to put on afterward.

    It was immediately obvious that Beatrice didn¡¯t believe in pants. She had big fluffy woolen skirts that looked like loose leg blankets but that was about as close as she got. I picked out a top with ornamental gray vines that laced around thin sleeves.

    For a skirt, I considered one that would go almost to her ankles because that felt like the less¡­ Horny choice. Looking at her site, she already had enough horny as it was. Ehh, screw it¡­ I went with a rather short but pleasant black velvet skirt with crosses on the fringe. The length seemed dangerously close to threatening panty shots.

    As I prepared to undress further, I turned and heard the front door click open. Swift, confident footsteps made their way over to the door. Through the doorway stepped a girl with medium-length red hair tinted starkly bright with patches of the original auburn showing. Wide golden glasses covered her face as she walked to the bed on the other side of the room and plopped down. She had on a rustic brown jacket with a floral blouse underneath and green tights. Casually, she glanced at me and asked, ¡°Hey, Bea, what¡¯s up? Feeling better? My date canceled on me, so it¡¯s just you and me tonight. Wanna watch something stupid online?¡±

    I wasn¡¯t sure what to say. The fact that a girl, who didn¡¯t know, walked into the room, into what was now MY dorm room, felt like an event in itself. Part of me nervously expected that she would scrunch up her eyes, detect some flaw in my appearance, my presence, or my very soul and point at me with wide eyes and an open, hissing mouth like an ending scene out of a horror movie I saw when I was way too young for it.

    I felt like my hand was caught in the cookie jar, like it was obvious I wasn¡¯t supposed to be here and I had taken someone else¡¯s stuff and life. But she just looked at me expectantly, with vague confusion that I hadn¡¯t said anything yet.

    I cleared my throat with an awkwardly tiny cough and uttered a quick apology before starting, ¡°Just the usual. I¡¯m so sorry. What a bummer. Sure, we can do whatever. I was just gonna wash up because I feel all sweaty and stuff.¡± That was either the worst performance of Beatrice or¡­ no that definitely had to be the worst. I felt so self-conscious trying to sound sort of like me yet as far from myself as possible and as much like girls I¡¯d overheard occasionally who were also goths.

    If I completely confused Norah, she hadn¡¯t let it show yet. She just agreed to everything I said and promised to look up something online we could watch, while she encouraged me to have a good shower, and tacked on a last comment, ¡°I think it would be better if we just stay inside for tonight. Downstairs was all sorts of crazy. There were a bunch of girls just screaming for no reason and a few were acting like it was spring break. Total sluts, you know?¡± She motioned pulling up her top to explain.

    I nodded my head and simply said, ¡°Oh yeah, weird.¡± In my head, I had to wonder if this was because of something like what happened to me. I could go down and check. I finally felt calm enough to deal with whatever was down there. I mean, I hoped so. But if things were crazy then taking a much-needed restroom trip and a shower might be good to do first.

 [2] Shifting the Sci-fi Guy 2 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

    [2]

    Connor and I got a little closer and I could feel it. I saw him with a different flavor than usual, mixing up all my senses. He was a man, and I was a woman. Call it aroma or presence or whatever, but there was something new and exciting to him, even though nothing about him changed.

    It wasn¡¯t long before I invoked our promise, but also qualified it by saying I wasn¡¯t sure about anything yet, so he would have to give me a minute.

    We made our way out and over to the left to climb the stairs to the second level. Going upstairs with big breasts was an adventure. Fortunately, our room was right there. Connor fumbled with the key in the lock. He could be antsy. At the same time, I wasn¡¯t sure where to keep my hands.

    Inside, the dorm looked about the same as I expected, but the room we shared was different. It looked more like a chick¡¯s place on my side. That didn¡¯t upset me too much because it still had an aesthetic I approved of. There were these big pinned-up flags for video games like a celebration of the nations of gaming. My bed looked and smelled a lot better than usual. Considering my usual method of cleaning tended to be just aiming and emptying whatever Febreze canister I could find, doing much of anything would¡¯ve been an improvement. There was just one muscle guy poster on the side and the rest were a lot of fantasy landscapes, fantastical creatures, and sci-fi wall scrolls behind my bed. My prized Millennium Falcon replica scale model had not been messed with and that was a relief. The closet had more of a focus on fashion but, at the same time, the girl I had become still nurtured geekdom. And her name was Trisha.

    It wasn¡¯t necessarily the name I would choose for myself, but it did sound familiar as one that my parents tossed around before they knew what I was going to be. Slowly, I sat down on Connor¡¯s bed and looked over at him as he sat down as well.

    Well, here it was. The unlikely scenario. Looking down, it was insane how much of me swelled out. The immense spread was larger, it felt, than my head. All sorts of notions for what to do with it flashed through my head and some of them were cosplay possibilities instead of just horny ones. I hadn¡¯t gotten a proper look in a mirror yet.

    Our roommates in the other room weren¡¯t gonna be around till later because of classes, so it was just us. Connor looked nervous and I felt uncertain. He smelled good though. Not anything that he was wearing but instead this olfactory aura around him which I couldn¡¯t explain except as being part and parcel of what I was now.

    Before he said anything, I hopped up with an obvious series of jiggles and said I had to use the bathroom. He leaned forward like he was about to ask if he could tag along, but he held his tongue. In there, I took care of a bit of business with the new plumbing. I wasn¡¯t exactly a fan, as whipping it out definitely had more convenience. And it just felt like taking a reverse shower instead of aiming a blast. It had a lot of collateral consequences. After cleaning up, I took time to check myself out.

    She could definitely be my sister in the face. Not outrageously pretty. But those green eyes were not bad. Kinda like my grandmother. She had the family nose with just a bit of trim to it. The hair would take some getting used to. But, my God, those titties.

    I could tell there was a shelf in front of me and it pulled on every one of the muscles in the entire area from my pants to my neck to around my back to a part of my lower back to almost even my legs. It was a whole thing, not even counting the way all those new spots felt like plush softness in a different sort of skin.

    It was surreal because I could look in the mirror and see a girl there instead of myself. I could see her squirm when I moved about and I could see her play with those titties. Feeling it all was the biggest rush, because I had no idea about the thresholds and what buttons to push. It was like going down a mountain without any way to break.

    Eventually, I just had to let go and hope and pray that everything would slow down. Back in the room, when I returned, I figured Connor knew I was doing something with how long I was away. Looking at him, I could still feel the residual heat and energy.

    Leaning against the wall, I spoke, ¡°So, what we promised. I¡¯m not gonna back out. Are you good? Do you wanna do this?¡±

    Connor eagerly nodded but made sure that I was cool. Unfortunately, we didn¡¯t have any condoms around because it wasn¡¯t an immediate need. Nor did our roommates. My first reaction was ¡°I don¡¯t care¡± but I had to think and reflect that, no matter what caused this, I seemed to have all the parts. If there was an oopsie, I¡¯d have to deal with that for the rest of my life.

    Right? Or was that just a movie thing? Girls get knocked up all the time in those. With how little either of us knew about the process, despite being present for a bunch of required sex-ed classes, we were sure to screw this.

    At the same time, we both had that promise, and nothing could shake that. Still, the responsibility in front of us was manyfold, even though the whole thing is simple. People had been doing this for untold thousands of years, possibly millions, depending on who you ask.

    I don¡¯t know but, sitting there and physically being like that, I appreciated Connor¡¯s reluctance, reticence, and forethought to not just jump into this. Meanwhile, I wanted to jump his bones. I already started the engine, cleared it, gave it a few good revs, and it was raring to go.

    As far as I could tell, at least. I was a new owner, and it took some intuiting. Some chick with decades of living with this sort of thing under her belt would probably have better control. But that¡¯s where I was after whatever voodoo occurred to me and the other guy at the billiards table.

    I wanted to make sure he was alright as a goth girl and commiserate. See what was up. We just talked in passing around the dorm, but I felt like we had a good rapport. I know he did a lot of thinking and walking and was some sort of artist who put too much worry and thought into stuff instead of actually doing it. I could understand that.

    As Connor talked to himself and tried to work through everything, I leaned over and placed my big, soft butt on his lap. I knew he was a gifted man. He should¡¯ve been the cock of a walk in high school. But the ladies never figured it out and they only talked about other guys. Maybe he should¡¯ve worn tight pants every so often?

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    The sensation was unusual but not bad. I could only describe it as a rising, warm sausage with a landing pad. Alarm hit me first. This was the kind of stuff that the locker room and your grandfathers told you was wrong. A part of me was shocked, startled, and wanted to escape.

    At the same moment, there were a whole lot more parts realizing ¡°this is fun!¡± and that now I had the right slot to go with that adapter. Rubbing through our clothes, with him in thick sweatpants and me in a curtain-like skirt took finesse. I had to push and grope, hunting for his warm flesh. He definitely seemed to feel my crotch. It was like a mouth I couldn¡¯t control, hungrily salivating. And I could practically hear it whispering ideas in my ear. Each of them sounded great.

    Feeling mounting frustration that rubbing against one another through our clothes wasn¡¯t enough, I followed an impetuous notion and squeezed a hand under Connor¡¯s boxers. He nearly screamed while squirming. I stoked that flaming torch.

    I reminded the rebellious parts of me that a woman¡¯s long, soft fingers were rubbing along that expanse of flesh. But before they could properly travel from sweaty base to quivering tip, Connor slipped away and told me, ¡°I¡¯m about to pop off, please please. Oh jeez, slow down! I can¡¯t take it.¡±

    Begrudgingly, I let him go, as he scrambled with his pants nearly off to the other side of the bed and caught his breath. Softly, he muttered, ¡°Holy crap, Zach.¡± It sounded between breaths like he had more to say about that, but he ultimately just let those words stand.

    I had plenty to say. ¡°I¡¯m not really a Zach anymore. I¡¯m Trisha. Trish. Not sure about that name yet, but we could also go with Megan. Courtney is a cute name too. But not Zach. Look¡­¡±

    The ideas kept coming as I worked to remove that skirt. I found a Hidden zipper and several buttons towards the front. With some finagling, I soon stepped out of it and laid it against the end of the bed. Underneath was a pair of lacy blue panties. They were simple to pull down. The color didn¡¯t do much to hide the darkness developing at the bottom. I could feel it more than I could see it. When I had them off, I spun them around on a finger and flung them against the bed.

    He could see better than I could with my jutting chest. I widened the gap between my legs and let my fingers roam. Stretching and bending, I glimpsed the slope of my new sex. Instead of the decorative shrub past the tree and hills, so to speak, this felt like an alluring track leading out of sight with a hint of dark shine. I wanted to spread the folds and unfurl everything.

    Connor¡¯s mouth dangled, and it didn¡¯t look like he was going to pick it up anytime soon. For the next step, I reached down to the hem of my ribbed, gray sweater, slipped my narrow arms through the sleeves, and worked it up and over. Connor sat up with his arms out, as though grasping for how to help me. He almost retreated when his hands accidentally brushed my soft shoulders. He wasn¡¯t getting away that easily.

    I clung to his arms like a trap when the sweater fell away. I guided his hands up to the pink, sleek contours of my bra. Slipping them out of the cups brought an imbalanced, added weight on my shoulders and pits. They weren¡¯t quite as heavy as I was expecting though. My breasts squeezed and shifted, not like dough, but like a set of premium memory foam pillows just coming out of the dryer. My aunt had those. In both respects.

    And I was giving Connor a hands-on demonstration. The bra hung around for the moment because I didn¡¯t see any clasps in the front. It didn¡¯t take him long to find my big, hard nipples and an expanse of sensitive flesh around them. With my encouragement, he not only tweaked but squeezed and started to play with them with his tongue. That got him going but didn¡¯t seem quite on the same level for me. It was good, kind of ticklish, warm, and made me squirm but was not as intense as what I indulged in by myself.

    However, it helped Connor cross a boundary. He had been, no pun intended, pussy footing it. After that, he took charge. A certain hesitancy still lingered in his eyes, but he took a deep breath, swallowed, and announced, ¡°I take full responsibility. Let¡¯s do it.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t blame him. The possibilities of a tit job, along with the prospect of going down on him, still felt like an obstacle wrapped in alarms. I was prepared, but still feared I might hesitate. As his pants and boxers came off and we stood before each other without anything holding us back down, everything but that moment faded away.

    Kissing him jolted me before some female programming kicked in that his scent was what this body wanted. His hot, fiery length at the center of everything teased my soft legs and eased gently against my flesh. Just as I could imagine it sinking inside me, it retreated.

    It didn¡¯t take me long to realize that something was happening to Connor and that something was the same thing that happened to me. His uneven blonde hair, with more on the left side, erupted into shoulder-spanning waves thicker than mine. His face smoothed out and took on daintier features with lean, brush-mark eyebrows instead of his bushy ones. His cheekbones looked especially prominent with decorations of red blush and light freckles. He managed one last, ¡°Dude¡­¡±, as his voice shot up to girlish heights.

    Since his pants were off, I got a really good look as his erect cock slid and shrunk against the developing folds between his legs, punctuated by a bold, puffy accent of bright blonde pubic hair. She had especially wide plush hips with legs that almost made me feel jealous. When it came to the chest department, she also gave me a challenge. They were huge and her feminized light blue hoodie clung to the contours and aroused nipples. When the change settled down, the first thing she did was bounce in place to jiggle them.

    ¡°Dude, I mean¡­Trisha. It got me too. Holy cow, I just¡­ Wow, you felt like this? Oh ohhhh¡­ I¡¯m gonna need a moment.¡±

    I could tell. Leading her over to the bathroom, she didn¡¯t seem sure whether to shut the door. I noticed that her dorm area turned into a strangely different space between blinks. The same with the restroom and all the unusual new accouterments. But that wasn¡¯t all, as I noticed the main dorm area and our roommates¡¯ space also seemed significantly altered. It was all too much to process. I needed a moment as well and maybe a few more to fully come down from where this left me.

 [3] A Brand New Goth Girl 3 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [3]

    I wasn¡¯t sure if I should keep undressing in front of Norah with my geeky top off. She resolved it for me by slipping out of her nice clothes and standing there in her underwear like she absolutely trusted me. Her panties appeared similar to bloomers. They had quite a leg section to them with dark purple against radiant hearts and Mario piranha plants opening their mouths. Really nifty looking.

    I nearly resisted saying something, but spoke, ¡°Those are so cool!¡± Up top she had a simple black bra and looked significantly bigger than Bea. Norah adjusted the straps and flashed me raised eyebrows before noting, ¡°Thanks for them again. I saw you had the 8-bit superheroes one on the other day, so I figured it might be good luck. Not this time, but oh well.¡±

    I felt a little nervous when I realized she meant that I actually bought those for her as a gift. Well, Bea did. I chirped up, ¡°Maybe try Poison Ivy?¡±

    It was a shot in the dark. I didn¡¯t know DC stuff that well, but with Nora¡®s look and aesthetic, she had to be at least casually conscious of that character, right?

    But I realized a moment later I hadn¡¯t considered the character could be her pet peeve. I had a couple, like when I tell people I¡¯m an artist and they randomly, immediately ask me to draw things for them. It seemed to overlap with some people¡®s ideas of a hobby rather than a job.

    It was frustrating, because no one would look at a lawyer and ask them to recite case law or ask a midwife to show them a baby. Still, it felt like certain careers got more respect than others. That was an awkward mental digression but the moment gave me too much time to think. More than anything, I didn¡¯t want to hurt the relationship between Norah and Beatrice when it felt like I was just stepping in for her.

    To my relief, Norah seemed collected and chill as she remarked, ¡°Dr. Pam is a badass, but I don¡¯t know about plastering her across my crotch. Might send the wrong message to some guys. But I did see a really cool lounge set online the other day. Bookmarked. We¡¯ll see. But, yeah, you have a nice shower.¡± I nearly wished her the same before spinning around in place a few times to face the door. She probably totally thought her roommate turned into a ditz.

    Using the toilet was an instant release and relief from all I was holding in physically and mentally but also presented new problems. It was a familiar act but one full of primal panic. My mind tried to warn me that I had things all bunched up or tucked in because it was all coming out wrong. It would take some getting used to.

    In the main bathroom space, it took me a minute to figure out where everything was. Luckily, Beatrice¡®s roommates had a detailed system of organization. The walk-in closet adjoining the bathroom had several shelves labeled with their names.

    Kasey had a lot of interesting bath aids and vials of fragrance. Rhea had categorized, color-coded bottles. Norah¡¯s section focused on a theme of all-natural with a handful of soap in the style of Power Rangers helmets. Beatrice¡¯s spot had ornate black bottles along with purple and gray bath bombs, and skin care. I took advantage of everything I understood for removing makeup and soon saw her unadulterated features.

    Yeah, I was still related to my family. The lips were absolutely my eldest sister¡¯s style of upper prominence and a pursed bow at the bottom. The black lipstick made them unrecognizably anonymous. It was easy to see aspects of my mother¡¯s face in the gradual slopes of Beatrice¡¯s cheeks. All of it was still recognizably reminiscent of me and yet still indefinably someone else.

    But here we were, together, all alone with no one to judge us but ourselves. Me and the most intimate qualities I shared with Bea. Removing her panties was easy, and, oddly, so was her bra, despite all the ornamentation and fanciness. It had a simple clasp, which unleashed the gossamer cloth into my hands. There were no unexpected surprises.

    We had rolling, cute mounds with large, punctuated nipples in an understated shade. Not quite brown and far from perky pink or sharp red. Looking over her body, she had quite a bit more to show than you might expect from her loose and understated clothing. Her breasts didn¡¯t challenge the other girls I¡¯d seen so far in the dorm, but they weren¡¯t some simple, ambiguous bumps either.

    There was something about them. You can call me romantic, with all the lingering aesthetic feelings of a man possessing two decades of experience that way. I wanted to draw the natural, lyrical shape of Beatrice¡®s body. But I didn¡¯t have much experience with sketching nudes. With the right pencil strokes and shading, I could bring her out as a work of art.

    At the same time, I wasn¡¯t dissociating myself from the fact this was my own body and was me. We were each other. She was me and I was her. But I still gawked at her reflection and marveled at how I stood in the presence of such a gorgeous girl who shared details with me. I wasn¡¯t denying her and I wasn¡¯t denying myself. It was something I worked to understand.

    Down, between my legs, I could tell she kept everything hairless. Methodically hairless. I didn¡¯t want to assume, but it seemed clear to me that she was doing nudes for the over hundred subscribers on her page. For the next few minutes though, I was the only voyeur.

    The shower water pressure sucked as much as in my regular dorm. But the detachable wand had a couple different options that made the best of the low flow. Stepping in, it was easy to find Beatrice¡¯s stuff because each girl had a different style stick-on shelf.

    For Norah, it was a vine carousel. For Kasey, it was a treasure chest. For Rhea, it was a rainbow with a puffy cloud foundation. And Beatrice¡®s was a black, spiral staircase. They took up a lot of space but I appreciated their presence because I didn¡¯t want to accidentally use someone else¡¯s stuff.

    Washing introduced nothing new from any regular day, but contours of what I was cleaning felt fresh, exciting, and mysterious. Getting around Bea¡¯s shoulders went like a playful, spider dance darting from one end to the other. It also included new, subtle feelings with the shifting of her body from this way to that.

    Beneath clothing and so many other distractions, it was easy to forget and slide past the differences. That reminded me of how your vision edits so many different things in your brain so they don¡¯t bother you, like your ever-present nose. But in the shower, with just this body and my brain, it was hard to forget. Not that I wanted to.

    Girls didn¡¯t fart rainbows and smell like perfect floral petals all the time. It was easy to idealize them from a distance, but I also understood from family and life that tragically romantic notions were nonsense. Beatrice smelled like wet sweat and all my nervous shivers. She smelled like the afterimages of her perfume and the traces of the last time she had to go to the bathroom. She was human, we were human. But a certain part of my brain deeply desired to ascribe all the best aromas swimming down the drain to someone else and all the murky bog funk to my presence. I guess I wasn¡¯t going to escape my submissive nature towards the feminine anytime soon.

    There was something new though. As I sifted through the mental cornucopia of all these aromas, I drifted back to my fretful encounter with a Marshall who no longer remembered me in front of the door of what used to be my dorm. I just got a whiff of him, but I recognized the presence of something more potent than the usual doldrums of smelling another guy. It was a man¡¯s aroma, cooked in every day sweat and activity with the faint topping of casual deodorant and a touch of body mist. That scent did something for the body I inhabited. It excited me in a way that felt foreign. I felt turned on by the scent of a man.

    Stolen story; please report.

    Do I like men now? I was about to parse it as ¡°other men¡±, but I no longer counted among men. Fresh sexuality, biological connections, arousal triggers, and switches collided with emotions and copious amounts of hormones inside my body. With all that the stew of biology was doing to my brain, I had no idea if the mind I woke up with this morning could survive the chemical experiments Beatrice¡®s gonads were unleashing. Might it be an irreversible condition? It was a quandary.

    Something in the common area turned me into this. I had no guarantee of ever seeing my original body again. I let the existential magnitude slide off like more soap residue. Washing Beatrice¡¯s boobs felt like a delicate operation, at first, until I found their comfort zone. I experimented.

    My nipples were starkly sensitive like this, far more sensitive than I was expecting. They seemed like what I should¡¯ve been expecting out of larger, cliche endowments on the Internet. When I thought about it though, it made sense that something on a more concentrated scale would have sharpened feeling. I carefully brushing a white towel over her nipples. The moan that came out and resonated between my legs felt breathtaking. However, I was hot and flush with the prospect that one of the girls must¡¯ve heard that through the walls.

    Gingerly, continuous downward, I could barely even encroach between those legs. I didn¡¯t wanna do anything that messed it all up. I could remember snippets of mom and family harping about pains and irritations. It needed a manual.

    The Internet might help, but I didn¡¯t want to bring my phone to the shower. Having a reference where I could make sure that I wasn¡¯t screwing up my entire uterus would be worth investigating. I went about as far as felt comfortable, but that still included getting underneath, around, (very delicately) inside, to the side, between, over, and back around until I was in familiar territory.

    It didn¡¯t feel high maintenance, but it definitely felt like more maintenance than I was used to. It was all I can do for now and I would research it later to make sure I didn¡¯t screw it. From there, I actually took care of the rest rather quickly. Everything slid across Beatrice¡¯s soft, silken limbs.

    Finishing up was an enjoyable few minutes where I didn¡¯t have to pay any attention to how I felt, yet I could indulge in strange and new sensations with a vacation from my reality.

    Idly, I thought of Marshall when he walked around the dorm after a shower with just his boxers on. Little notions popped up like the tiniest firecrackers in my soul, like spicy pop rocks floating lightly but fervently over my flesh. Concentrating on these memories, along with playful possibilities brought out a wet, deepening slickness between my thighs which wasn¡¯t from the shower head. I reflected on the fact it was detachable and debated whether I could be just a little more forceful.

    Taking it down, I explained to myself this was just a courtesy rinse. I stepped into it and gasped. A direct, consuming wave washed over me. I wanted more, but I resisted the temptation while promising myself I would do that again and better when I understood things more fully. This body felt both satisfied and grumpily irritated with me.

    Getting out of the shower, I glanced in the side mirror and wondered if my nude, hair slick, water dappled form might be worthwhile posting to subscribers, assuming something like it hadn¡¯t already been shared. Still, taking a shot might be worth it, just out of curiosity¡­

    It took some sneaking back to my room and fortunate placement of Norah, out of line of sight, to allow me to grab my phone and return to the bathroom. Then, I actually had to do a bit of work spraying myself again in the shower to recapture the right look. Poses, stretches, and saucy suggestions in the way I was positioned came easily. I probably took more than anyone would ever ask for, but this hardly felt out of character for Beatrice.

    After drying off, I experimenting with some of the lotions and other things on Bea¡¯s counter shelf. It was easy to slip on the clothes I picked out and a casual top for lounging about watching the kind of videos Norah mentioned. She was sprawled out on the front couch with speakerphone on and texting at the same time.

    During a lull, she explained that the guy who stood her up was currently trying the ¡°silliest¡± excuse, which she conveyed to me, ¡°He claimed that he turned into a girl! That¡¯s so crazy, right? And then, he had the gall to send me a pic of some girl who supposedly looked a little like him, wearing his clothes, and hanging out in his dorm. That asshole and that slut! If he wanted to tell me that he liked her more, then he could¡¯ve just had the balls to say it! Arggg! Screw him!¡°

    All the warning bells that could possibly go off were screaming inside my head. Something befuddling was happening. She mentioned that he lived in this dorm downstairs for several weeks, and that was how she first met him, of course. He was apparently still registered in this dorm but mostly moved out. Norah didn¡¯t want to see or think about him.

    I seized upon this opportunity and swiftly asked her if there were any errands she needed me to run downstairs, whatever I could take care. That way, she wouldn¡¯t have to bother going down there. Norah took a long breath and cooled off before waving her hand and telling me that it was fine and I was such ¡°an awesome friend¡±. Ultimately, she gave me a couple singles and said to go get everyone whatever snacks looked nice downstairs. But she reminded me to watch out for peanuts for Rhea, Kasey preferred caramel, and dark chocolate for her.

    Her instructions and warnings were deeply appreciated but also raised my ears because I worried that I was disappointing her and the others by needing the reminder. Pivoting around to remember my little black purse also felt like an embarrassment.

    I had on a casual gray top with a kind of cute but slightly spooky artful forest in the deep dark woods. The black skirt with crosses was adventurous but interesting wear. Here I was, just a girl standing in the hallway and walking over and down the steps.

    A couple of the doors opened at random and I noticed girls peeking out. It kept happening. And it lodged in my mind that none of the people looking out the doors were guys. Some of those girls were dressed rather sloppily. Those sights were nothing compared to what I encountered at the bottom of the steps after managing the jiggles.

    Groups of boisterous ladies clustered everywhere, some of them not wearing a whole lot or down to their underwear. Several were screaming and yelling to one another. And there were only ladies. The mass had to rival the population of the entire dorm. I crept around carefully and tried not to attract attention.

    I received answers and even more questions when I made my way over to the center of the common area. The billiards table was still there but dwarfed by a massive, colorful wall-spanning collection of board games. Several comfortable tables spread out on the side along with a drink machine and a little kiosk for bubble tea which wasn¡¯t currently staffed. Was this even the same dorm? So much changed!

    And the most interesting note of all were the bathrooms. The main restrooms over by the washing machines were labeled as ladies and gender neutral. Slipping around to the front of the dormitory, I caught sight of the large sign in front of the walk up path.

    I knew it very well and could tell you that it read the Samuel J. Carting Apartments as long as I knew the college. Now, however, it was clearly labeled as Margaret Mead Hall with flowing script to characterize the text and a very specific note along the bottom, ¡°Girls Only Dormitory.¡±

 [4] A Brand New Goth Girl 4 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [4]

    Girls-only dorm? How?¡­

    The only thing I could think of involved the barriers between realities breaking down and a version where this was always a girls dorm bleeding through. Was that what happened to me? Was I just the forerunner to the entire building changing? What did that mean to my former roommates?

    The chaos of girlish screams and half-covered flesh was hard to parse into anything that made sense. I glimpsed a girl with curly hair in a blend of brown and streaked blonde, decked out in a dozen colorful bracelets, wearing denim overalls, and peeking beneath their white top in surprise at her sizable boobs. When she vanished out of sight, she was replaced by a tanned girl with large glasses balanced on the tip of her nose wearing a flirty-looking bright red dress filled with yellow and orange flowers.

    This girl grimaced wildly while trying to figure out if she wanted the hem of her dress hiked up higher or as low as it could go while managing how much of her cleavage was showing. Another rushing by in a black dress dotted with red and blue roses had already lost her battle with cleavage. Girls wearing more conservative tops with stretchy pants looked like they started to get dressed but had been interrupted by an emergency.

    All the girls I could see looked at least somewhat peculiar. Not that I was anyone to judge them. The most bewildering thing was that I appeared to be the only ¡®normal¡¯ girl in this messy havoc. I had to get away before anyone presumed I was a knowledgeable presence.

    The side sliding door took me around to the back of the building. I could still hear high-pitched screams but as distant cries that could be explained away as a rowdy football game. I ventured away from the dorm and towards the parking lot. It already had some spillover. I saw random women in states of half-dress rushing towards trucks and SUVs. One in particular was a redhead with her locks ornately made up in a princess style wearing blue yoga pants and a sports bra with one side in danger of popping loose.

    To say all this was simply ¡®surreal¡¯ stretched any definition of the word past all meaning. It felt like I was watching what should¡¯ve been a movie or an art performance. The closest thing to normal involved one girl hauling ass around a road curve with a backpack slung across her shoulder and a neon green bikini with black accents doing its best to hang on.

    At a certain point, it seemed like the screaming and panic were exhausted or everyone needed to catch their breath and a weird calm settled over the proceedings. Since I was out here, I didn¡¯t feel like going back yet. So, I figured I might as well wander and see how the rest of campus was fairing. It wasn¡¯t lost on me that I was once again taking a random walk to clear my head.

    Walking didn¡¯t get any easier out here. In fact, I felt even more exposed and like I was in the most obvious, absurd costume. I was wearing a flipping skirt! I¡¯d been in a skirt previously, but the baggy t-shirt cloaked that fact. Why did no one point and laugh about this? How could it be normal?

    My first, heart-racing fear was that, if I wasn¡¯t careful, then everyone would see my balls. It was followed by the realization that was impossible and, instead, people were going to see that I didn¡¯t have any balls. My pur¨¦ed brain couldn¡¯t decide which notion was more terrifying.

    The gray top, despite feeling a little too cute for public, didn¡¯t stir as many feelings. But the subtle, distended shape at Bea¡¯s chest still failed common sense. Instead of innately understanding that I had boobs, my brain still guessed that something was stuffed underneath or the material was just weirdly tenting in a way that needed to be smoothed out. My brain had seen everything. It was just being stubborn and irrational. But muscle memory and decades of expectation were hard to change in mere hours.

    However, that I didn¡¯t need to consciously tell myself how to walk like this meant some part was already adapting to things it was never supposed to understand. Denial and compartmentalization felt pointless. As much as I hoped for Beatrice as a separate entity from myself, cutting her off was impossible. Walking with her sleek, hairless thighs dangling out of a cute skirt had been my choice.

    I was this shy, cute, adventurous, thoughtful, playful, and popular goth girl. Unfortunately, those were all backstory characteristics. Playing the role felt like the worst form of forgery. Whatever photos I took for her fans were pale imitations. Whatever excuses I might confabulate for her roommates felt even worse. A notion soon started to twist and turn in my thoughts, like thin strands of thread spun together. I¡¯d figure it out later though, just walking took enough brain power.

    Marshall had Anatomy classes and once mentioned that the angle of the femur and a wider, flatter female pelvis innately changed the way women walked versus men. He also had an embarrassing story from when he visited his aunt¡¯s elementary school class. Marshall attempted tried to translate what he learned for the kids. I witnessed pieces of his presentation outlining the differences between girls and boys in a kid-friendly manner. He had really nice visual aids and culminated in having a boy and a girl volunteers try and touch their toes while against a wall.

    What he overlooked, however, was that all of the kids were inherently clumsy, eager to do dumb things, and weren¡¯t far enough into puberty to make a difference in the results. It at least got the kids laughing and trying to stretch to see if they could do it. I had no idea if my balance was altered enough for that, but I could tell that something was different. My hips had a pronounced swing forward followed by a rowing dip with the receding leg.

    It reminded me of when I took a multi-day road trip with my eldest sister in her brand-new sport utility vehicle. That one had rigidly sculpted seats. Two days in, it felt like it was digging into my leg and back muscles, and I was getting a workout. This structure also felt like it was exhausting my thigh and back muscles swiftly but more because I was fighting between the way I usually walked and the way this body wanted to walk. If it wasn¡¯t all currently happening to me, then it might be clinically captivating to study.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Still, I walked. The nearest dorms were just past the softball fields. They only played games on those fields over the weekend, so they were empty. Compared to the larger dorms, the quartet of buildings over here were three stories tall but had half as many rooms. This section of campus still had plenty of roaming male students.

    I roomed here in my first year. Except for a communal one on each floor, there were no kitchens. The elevator was so close to where I lived that it was impossible to not hear it rattling all the time, especially in the middle of the night. The only upside was when we told each other late-night scary stories, it provided eerie creaking through the walls.

    The space looked pretty much the same. I cast a glare around before continuing past the elevator and over into the main common area. Shit¡­

    My former neighbor, Brian, was filling a large pot with water for pasta. Bad timing or exactly the sort of timing and luck I always had. He turned, noticed me, and continued to notice me.

    ¡°Hey there, what¡¯s up?¡±

    That sounded suspiciously friendly. I wasn¡¯t used to that from him unless he was talking to a pretty girl. I was just the dismal dweeb who lived nearby and would pop over to talk Marvel at all the wrong times according to his judgment. Making Bea¡¯s pretty face smile politely, I responded, ¡°Hello. Not much. Just some craziness. Taking a walk.¡±

    To my ears, all that sounded way too much like I was trying to secretly flirt with him. The greeting was too chipper and the tone too conversational. Too na?ve. But it felt wrong to be somber and reserved, despite the whole goth thing. He kept his curiosity up. ¡°Craziness?¡±

    I did my best to downplay it. He probably heard the screams as well as the screeching, fleeing vehicles. The walls of these dorms were especially thin to the point I routinely heard the local train over a mile away. I characterized it as some sort of celebration, while maintaining there didn¡¯t seem to be anything dangerous going on. He started cooking but dwelled on me.

    ¡°I have a hard time knowing though,¡± just slipped out of me as an unnecessary addition. I could tell from his smirk, the comment ¡°that¡¯s what she said¡±, was orbiting in his thoughts. He was just above actually speaking it.

    It was strange to feel and parse all these little things from Beatrice¡®s perspective. They hung on the fact that I was a girl, no matter if my look was understated or obvious. I didn¡¯t feel especially offended, but that was more because whatever self-esteem I should¡¯ve had still hovered near zero. I was annoyed for Beatrice¡®s sake.

    Brian wasn¡¯t really doing anything that felt over the line, but he was treating me differently in uncomfortable ways. Perhaps it was a small mercy that my boobs didn¡¯t have greater evidence.

    Before I could think of just the right thing to say that other people would cleverly think of before me, a strange electricity filled the air. It was almost as though there was someone else in the room who I couldn¡¯t see.

    All it took was a blink and Brian was someone else, a woman standing there in shock as her changes settled in. She had on a pair of pink, tight short shorts that covered very little of her lower half. She was full-figured with a soft but lean face and fair blonde hair tied up into a loose ponytail. The big deal, however, was her snug purple top showing a hand¡¯s length of diving, vast cleavage. Her breasts had to be the size of a personal watermelon each and vigorously shook with each move she made.

    I almost felt bad for her as she stared in shock at her new features. It didn¡¯t take long for me to realize that she wasn¡¯t the only one affected nearby and this was probably another dorm changed.

    She didn¡¯t stick around, as she bolted for her room, fumbled with her keys, and dashed inside. I made sure to turn down the heat on her pot so there wouldn¡¯t be a mess or worse.

    I was surely soon to be flooded with a swarm of terrified, jiggling new girls, but I took a quiet moment before that to ask the empty room, ¡°Is there someone there?¡± It was a long shot and an idle notion. If spirits had infested campus and were playing an ever-increasing trick on us, then it was debatable whether I wanted to get their attention. After all, they left me with a modest shape while others had more to deal with.

    I clarified my question, ¡°I felt someone earlier and I just wanted to thank you. I don¡¯t know why me. Or how it works¡­ but thank you.¡±

    There were so many better ways I could¡¯ve phrased that, but it was done and, if busty consequences befell me, then so be it. I walked out of the dorm, which was now Sampson Hall. It wasn¡¯t the only one that seemed to be altered as the other three dorms in the area appeared altered and with scrambling women rushing about.

    Without warning, I realized a slip of paper was in my hands. It appeared identical to any random scrap of notebook paper. With clean penmanship, a brief letter had been composed, ¡°You¡¯re welcome. You were my first and my favorite. I hope you¡¯re happy with how you turned out. This will be a women¡¯s college pretty soon. Are there any modifications you would like? I¡¯ve noticed you seem envious of others. Can I help? If you have requests, please write them on the back of this and leave it on any open table in your dorm in thirty minutes from [current time written].¡±

    There was someone or something out there. And they were going to change everyone. I was the first? I was the favorite? That seemed like the most inscrutable notion of all. Modifications? So many possibilities immediately and fervently dashed through my thoughts like charged particles.

 [1] Tuning the Guitar Player 1 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [1]

    I had no idea how to play billiards. Same went for pool. And I especially had no idea what the difference between the two of them was. I rubbed my eyes and vaguely listened to Connor¡¯s explanation. A good board game interested me more. Hell, I would¡¯ve even accepted Monopoly.

    Roommates Connor and Zach from upstairs were already around the table when I ventured over to the common room with my favorite guitar in my hands. Its name was Parsley, although I long ago stopped telling people that. Not worth the questions and annoyance. If people learn your guitar has a name, they want to know if you sleep with it or treat it like a girlfriend. And it just gets worse from there.

    I let the two of them set up the game while I practiced a riff stuck in my head for a while. No matter what I did with it though, the sound still played wrong. Seeing Zach¡®s Star Wars T-shirt made me think about the time my music teacher showed us the difference between major and minor key. The Imperial March transforms into a soft and fluttery melody. And if you drop Hey Jude, it sounds morose. That seeded ideas in my mind. I was going to do something wild like that. Find some mixture of tones that unleashed just the sort of emotion stuck inside me creatively.

    I made sure Parsley was set flat and I didn¡¯t do anything amateurish like resting my thumb too far in front. Then, I cracked my knuckles a few times, made sure I had a pick even though I was fine without, and¡­ retreated to comfortable sounds, spending a long time just replaying familiar notes. Good thing my guitar wasn¡¯t actually my girlfriend, otherwise I¡¯d probably bore her to death with my hesitant fingering.

    My last shower, which smelled like too long ago, wrapped my brain up in an inspiration haze. Everything from ditties to epic ballads played in my head like frantic dreams. All my body needed were my fingers. Unfortunately, the moment I was out of the shower with my hair drying, clothes on, and Parsley cradled in my hands, most of that was gone, like the drifting vapors of hot steam once I opened the door.

    The only piece left was, ¡°I¡¯ve got a song for you, I wish I could write it down.¡± Apt. I took my not-girl for a walk. Surely some stray visual this afternoon would trigger the remnants of what briefly slotted into position between my neurons. Shirley. Don¡¯t call me ¡®Shirley¡¯. I¡¯ll call you, surely. Hurly burly whirly early pearly surly Shirley. Song long tong bong prong strong wrong thong. Down town crown brown frown gown.

    I didn¡¯t need to rhyme everything, but it felt like a better bridge. I borrowed Josh¡¯s rhyming dictionary in freshman year with the implicit promise that I would eventually return it. I¡¯d since lost that particular dictionary twice when moving dorms and acquired new copies all while fostering the pointless illusion that it was the same book, like a mom reincarnating her child¡¯s immortal goldfish.

    Before the game properly started, I looked up and happened to see Taylor Lee wandering around with his hands in his pockets, his head down, and his long black hair covering his eyes. Dude looked like he was having the worst day. I called out to him and he seemed surprised that anyone else was around or even noticed him. We shared a couple of pre-requisite classes but just talked as much as random group assignments ordained. He seemed like a cool guy, just very quiet. When I brought him around to the dorm, I had to glare at my friends of my roommates when they asked Taylor if he was into guns. A mixture of genuine curiosity and cliche probing.

    Taylor was totally flummoxed about the topic. He seemed to understand from his appearance and mood what they were getting at, and the poor guy looked completely sickened. After that, I noticed he shifted to more light colors, tans, and yellows.

    At first, it seemed like he was going to dash away like some frightened deer, but he recognized me and crept over quietly. Connor, practically bouncing off the walls, gave him a huge invitation and extolled the virtues of having four players on this table rather than three. Taylor recognized all of us and seemed to brighten ever so slightly. I fumbled through my chords, searching for the perfect pleasant background music to boost the party. A bard, I was not.

    Taylor, after the initial excitement of joining the group, dipped into a melancholy groove. He kept looking over at Zach as though there were something he wanted to say but couldn¡¯t quite figure out the words for. I could tell he was checking out the artistic Millennium Falcon on Zach¡®s shirt. There used to be a day when something like that spoke the same language to all geeks. Now, it was all obfuscated by the dilution and confusion of Disney+. I could probably write a song about that, as if there weren¡¯t already enough geek rants songs.

    We chatted lightly towards and across one another. I couldn¡¯t tell you what was said. Just stray neurons releasing their excess charges. Mostly there were belches foreshadowing the desire for supper at the student union. I was able to send a few balls down the far side but I also scratched. I think. One childhood Christmas, I actually received a convertible sports table with ping pong, air hockey, and pool. Didn¡¯t help my understanding of the rules of any of them. Better Christmas was the Game Boy Advance year.

    Not that I didn¡¯t appreciate it. I appreciated every year that my parents opted not to separate and instead kept together so they could scream at me and each other even louder. I played pool on the sports table maybe twice in my life before it became a thing to hoard junk on.

    This version was fun, mostly owing to the company. I could almost feel as though the ghost of a melody wanted to breach through my skull and flow across the strings. But it was one of those painful expulsions you get where you have to bear down because you¡¯ve forgotten to drink water for the last day or two. Tightening my grip didn¡¯t help at all.

    When I looked up, I could almost see a weird shimmer around Taylor, as though I¡¯d spent all night staring at a tiny cellphone and my eyes weren¡¯t ready to see the world as it actually was. Blinking a few times didn¡¯t remedy it. He was shrinking.

    Taylor¡¯s first reaction was to brush at something like it was a stray cobweb. His wild hair flattened into orderly locks that came to rest against his shoulders. The changes practically exploded after that. His face got rounded and his top shrunk but also spread down to his thighs. It kept the Marvel theme though. Along the way, he acquired black nails, matching lipstick, and a spiked choker. Gorgeous black eyeliner traced around his shocked, wide eyes. The lowest fringe of a black leather skirt encircled his thighs and extended suspender straps to hold up a pair of long socks.

    And he was clearly no longer a guy anymore. I mean, I didn¡¯t know 100% for certain, but it looked damn obvious. His arms were so tiny, half swallowed up by those sleeves. Everything about him was dainty, cute, and girly in a starkly goth fashion.

    ¡°Ohmygosh!¡± Those crammed-together words squeaked out of his throat in a way I¡¯d never heard before. She¡­ Yeah, she¡­ looked around at us as though we had to have the answers. I had no clue what to say.

    Connor managed a not-very helpful, ¡°Dude¡­what?¡± Taylor didn¡¯t stay long after that, rushing down the hallway as though she had pins and needles in her legs and had never used them before. I continued to have no idea what to say when it was just the three of us and the surreal normalcy of the common room.

    Zach looked like he was about to say something as he fussed with his ball-hitting stick. He squinted and then started to go a little blurry as well. I straightened where I was sitting and watched with my jaw clenched.

    With a vibrant blink, his eyes turned a sharp shade of green. The facial changes seemed more subtle with his eyebrows darkening. The Star Wars shirt shifted for a long-sleeved gray sweater. And he wound up in a skirt. But that wasn¡¯t the most obvious change.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.The poor guy got tits way out there. Extreme rounded pillows level. I swear I could see his nipples wanting to destroy the material.

    ¡°Oh, woah¡­woah,¡± was said with a different voice than he had moments ago. Connor checked that the new girl before him was Zach. She didn¡¯t have an immediate answer, which made sense. Anyone put through something like that would absolutely question who the heck they were in the aftermath.

    Her search for understanding went in a particular direction. She squirmed a little and pressed her thighs together. I looked around too. Something was absolutely going on and my heart thundered in my chest for a weird, messy ball of reasons. Was something happening because of our proximity to the billiards table or was it something through the window? I didn¡¯t have the faintest clue about that, but I had an increasing hunch about what was happening with Zach.

    She had her legs together and was bouncing on them in a way that made her look like she was about to shudder and moan. This weird guy liked to watch hardcore porn whenever he came around to visit our dorm. Josh knew him from somewhere. What Zach was doing felt like the prelude to one of those videos.

    I wasn¡¯t a prude or a horn dog, but I still couldn¡¯t stop myself from watching with my mouth slightly open and my eyebrows raised as I leaned forward and gaped at what this second spontaneously created girl was doing. Clearly, she was about to get off. Never in a thousand years would I have put money down on this interruption to a prosaic pool game.

    She was crossing over into territory that made me quite concerned about anyone else stumbling across our current situation. Thank goodness it was a lazy afternoon. Before it surpassed not fake When Harry Met Sally territory, Zach came to her senses and looked brightly embarrassed. I didn¡¯t blame her, but this was definitely the last straw for hanging around.

    The new girl stumbled through some words, but I wasn¡¯t paying attention because I wanted out before I became the next, salacious sideshow. I gripped Parsley securely, checked to make sure I hadn¡¯t dropped anything out of my pocket or left anything behind that would¡¯ve required me to swing back around, and left through the sliding door to the immediate right.

    The air inside the common area wasn¡¯t particularly stuffy, but I could breathe easier walking along the side of Carting Hall. Some guys were working on their tans on the lawn chairs spread across the brick walkway. The aquatic pool was past a fenced enclosure and shared by these three newest dormitories.

    I had to swing around and cross the sidewalk in front of the basketball court to cut around the satellite financial aid and undergraduate admissions complex. From there, I slowed down near the softball and football fields.

    They were twelve dorm halls on this side of campus and four on the other. I liked my little niche towards the main road. North, South, West, and Pelmont Hall. The mystery of the inconsistent naming wasn¡¯t really a mystery, but I preferred to keep it that way. Just like I was perfectly fine never knowing what happened to Taylor and Zach, so long as the same fate didn¡¯t befall me.

    On the first floor, I saw Brian putting together some stuff to cook. Immediately, I swung around and decided to use the external stairs instead of the elevator. Talking to him was a thing best avoided. Pausing on the second landing to look across campus, the dorm complex I¡¯d just abandoned looked the same as any typical day. No signs fluttering in the air that two guys had spontaneously gotten in touch with their feminine sides. Still, I could smell something off, like the foreboding doom wafting off a nuclear power plant after it''s gone uncontrollably critical. If that was a bad thing. I wasn¡¯t a nuclear scientist, I just had a neighbor in the room across the way who was taking classes to be one.

    My dorm was the one on the far side that I shared with Josh, Patrick, and Drew. The plush t-rex head was half stuck out of the couch with a gap to suggest that the full creature was right behind. Patrick must¡¯ve put it like that. Drew was responsible for the mesh bags on the wall for extra storage. And I was responsible for the black and white jazz musician posters adorning each wall. Someone¡¯s mom was responsible for the cluster of short bookcases like truncated end tables encircling the main couch.

    ¡°Hey, buddy! What¡¯s the good word?¡± Drew rolled out from the nearest room in his electric wheelchair.

    I considered hanging Parsley up in my room but instead flopped down on the couch with her nearby. So many things popped into my head that I could¡¯ve, should¡¯ve, and shouldn¡¯t have said out loud. In the quiet moment of reflection, Drew took the initiative and announced, ¡°I got ripped off online!¡±

    The temptation to ask if it was porn or a girl floated through my neurons, but I mercilessly stifled it. That would¡¯ve been more of a Patrick thing to say. I plucked a few strings while I asked, ¡°What happened?¡±

    Drew enthusiastically regaled me with the full details of this injustice. He subscribed to a Los Angeles area playwright around our age who performed his own music and had a local theater situation or something. I had half-listened to him talking up the virtues and talents of this particular creator about a week ago. Unfortunately, the situation had soured when Drew agreed to fund his most recent project through a crowd donation website that I was vaguely familiar with. My roommate subscribed for just a month and canceled several days ago before the first.

    This precise effort to get access had run afoul of the website¡¯s structure. Drew was charged twice.

    ¡°He ripped me off for $5.12!¡± Was the best summation. An emotional torrent of huffing along with an extended frown accented his point. I inquired whether he had gotten in contact with the website about refunding the additional charge. He had but without the immediate progress expected.

    Gesticulating and propping himself up in the chair with his artificial left arm, Drew resolved, ¡°I know where he lives and I¡¯m going to talk to him! He owes me $5.12. We can talk this out like men.¡± Losing that amount of money wasn¡¯t a good thing but considering how well-off Drew¡¯s family was and the additional cost of going to the LA Basin to resolve this¡­ Just didn¡¯t seem worth it. But I wasn¡¯t gonna fight that battle, especially with all the other craziness orbiting around my brain cells.

    Drew was the first person I met when I first arrived at Cressman University. He took me around the whole campus and made me feel welcome. It was just the two of us for most of the semester. Eventually, I met Patrick and Josh through my classes and it was a perfect fit with our different but complimentary personalities. Patrick was always easygoing and liked to treat Drew like a little brother. Josh was a mix of super mature and playfully juvenile.

    It was just the two of us right then as I filled the air with a nervous, tight little melody. I supported Drew in whatever financial revenge he wanted to conduct. The problem was still feeling like I was standing too close to Ground Zero for something I didn¡¯t understand. Warning my roommate about what was going on felt like a good idea, but I barely had the words inside my head to personally contextualize what happened, let alone translate that for someone who hadn¡¯t been there. And the worst part was, I felt like no matter what I said to Drew, he would be instead intrigued and skeptical, and roll himself over to that hall and probably wind up with a big honking pair of tits. I refused to imagine further than that.

    Drew was heading out though, to grab a wheelchair-accessible Lyft to take him over to the Basin. He had ambitions greater than just knocking on this Internet person¡¯s door though. It felt like the lost dollars were just an excuse for a mini road trip. If I was in a different state of mind, I eagerly would¡¯ve joined him for the opportunity to just drive a little way and let the tangled blocks of words settle and assemble into something creative in my mind.

    It didn¡¯t matter where I was going either. I just had to get away from here.

 [5] A Brand New Goth Girl 5 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [5]

    I needed a drink. Not the hard stuff, just a stiff Sprite. I rummaged through and sifted out a few coins from Beatrice¡¯s purse. The vending machine over by the door provided large bottles. This end of campus didn¡¯t have any snacks vending machines with what sweets my roommates wanted. I would have to head back for those. Thirty minutes though.

    Checking the clock, I estimated about how much time I had, including travel back to the dorm along with writing out exactly what I decided. What would I decide? That was a big question.

    So, did my ¡°benefactor¡± not have a direct say in how I turned out? Maybe it was some kind of magic spell or a random curse. The message left plenty of ambiguity. It was also particularly creepy that he or she seemed to be watching me as I made my way around the campus. Were they a classmate who simply made themselves invisible, a spirit outside of our dimension, or something I couldn¡¯t even begin to comprehend?

    What could I ask for? The message left me with so many possible directions. I could ask to be restored to Taylor but, considering the mood of the communication, I doubted they would be favorable to that. I could also theoretically ask to be made a proper girl with my memories all purged and reconstituted. It would be like I was always Beatrice from the beginning. I would never know anything different. Basically, erasing myself. Terrifying, yet soothing.

    Considering the way that I spent part of the walk earlier, that didn¡¯t sound like the worst prospect. Clear away all my confusion, mental wrestling, and feelings of inadequacy against this cute goth girl. Much of the world seemed to think that Beatrice had always been this way, and going along with that seemed an inevitability.

    As much as part of me agreed with the notion of sinking into oblivion, another part of me vehemently fought back. Beatrice was the same as me, Beatrice was just the girl I would¡¯ve been. Whatever schism existed would eventually be healed by time and acclamation. It was a pleasant notion but one with a tenuous foundation. I wanted to continue existing but, at the same time, I felt my best existence would come in matching Beatrice.

    But there were other options to consider first. I could ask to be¡­emphasized in all my qualities currently displayed in a limited fashion. For example, what happened to Brian. Big titty goth Beatrice. Curvy and voluptuous to make all those salivating fans online drown themselves in thirst. That had to be a possibility, considering all the results surrounding me. Did I want it though and would it serve Beatrice to go down that route?

    I could also press my ambitions and ask for a power comparable to this invisible presence. Maybe helping him or her with these transformations might be a way to repay my gratitude through service. Rather presumptuous, but it was another possibility to reflect on before making a final decision. I pondered all this and more while sipping my Sprite and ambling back towards the dorm.

    I doubted that I might find a sign along the way which would guide me to the most correct resolution, but I ran into something even more interesting. I ran into Norah¡®s boyfriend. Well, he was abundantly a girl at this point, but I recognized her from what Norah showed off, thinking it was a pitiful attempt at an explanation. I was decently confident it was the same girl as in that photo. Couldn¡¯t hurt to check.

    Before she dashed away in fear and confusion, I called out with cupped hands, ¡°Do you know Norah in room 212?¡±

    She had an interesting look, with a dangling sports top and twisted red shorts looking like she put them on backward and then attempted to swivel them around without removing them. She had wide hips and evident boobs along with so much dark hair that it practically reached past her behind and nearly got caught on her legs.

    ¡°Norah?!? Where?¡± Okay, I had my girl.

    I relayed, ¡°I¡¯m her roommate and she deserves an explanation.¡± The girl wobbled and retreated cautiously from me. ¡°I tried to tell her, I texted her. But she wouldn¡¯t believe me, she hates me. I don¡¯t wanna hang around here and get turned into something worse. I¡¯m hitching a ride on the city bus and going as far as I can back home, even though that¡¯s Northern California.¡± She had a purse and a backpack but nothing else for that long of a trek.

    Throwing up my hands, I urged her to just come with me, apologize to Norah, and not have to deal with smelly hobos for five-hundred miles. I even threw in that I had some idea of what was happening and I might be able to help her. That actually made her warier.

    I didn¡¯t have time for any of this as I was under a thirty-minute constraint. Fuming, I remarked that Norah was really upset and he broke her heart and if he didn¡¯t come with me then I hope that whatever befell him be¡­whatever. It certainly wasn¡¯t the greatest ultimatum, but it was about the best I could do at that point.

    I stormed off and left it in her hands. She tagged along, nervously asking about exactly how upset Norah was. I didn¡¯t need to play it up as just quoting her was sufficient. The maelstrom or rather female strom¡­ okay, that was a bit much¡­ from earlier had abated to a regular sort of chaos you would expect of any dormitory in the afternoon. The absolute lack of guys sure instilled a curious energy through the area.

    The former boyfriend demurely, nervously clung to my arm like we were sneaking into a haunted house in the middle of the night despite the lack of fearful sights. It was especially awkward as she was taller than me. I made sure to pick up the snacks everyone requested.

    Stolen story; please report.

    Rhea allergic to peanuts. So, I went with Smarties because of her color coordination. For Kasey¡¯s caramel crush, I only needed a Riesen. And, for Norah, my companion approved of and recommended the Hershey¡¯s dark nuggets. I gave them the bag to offer up as recompense.

    Halfway up the stairs, they started to chicken out though. How could their girlfriend see them like this with greater boobs than her and such a dainty figure? I quipped that so long as they didn¡¯t try to masturbate in front of them, it should be fine. Unfortunately, they confessed that they had spent a decent amount of time exploring that possibility before bolting from the dorm until I found them. And further confessed that their hands desperately wanted to wander in certain directions. That that was too much information went without saying.

    Again, I didn¡¯t have time for this. I walked them to 212 and presented everything. They would just have to deal. Beatrice¡®s roommates enjoyed my finds. Rhea wore a gorgeous, lengthy French braid of her hair that reached down to her lap. Seemed like the new girl could use her help in controlling her massive sheet of hair. I also adored Rhea¡¯s rainbow banded top, beginning with red at the hem and cycling back to it on her shoulders. It was something that I privately wished to wear too, even though it broke Beatrice¡¯s aesthetic.

    Norah scowled and recognized the visitor from the text her boyfriend sent. Before she could properly chew them out, the girl dropped to her knees and offered up every romantic and private mention that only the man she should¡¯ve been would know. I deliberately, gradually scooted out of the room so that I wouldn¡¯t accidentally overhear all the stuff that Norah didn¡¯t want anyone to hear.

    It took several minutes, but she eventually believed the strange girl by sheer force of evidence and the pressure of a few mysterious text messages and social media posts propping up the notion that boys had been turning into girls all over campus. Nervously, I returned, stood before all that, and prepared to fling myself over the edge too.

    ¡°I used to be a boy as well and I got transformed.¡± Norah initially laughed that off as a silly joke, but I stuck to it and reassured her this was the truth. I pointed out the way that I didn¡¯t know about the gift I gave her, highlighted how disappointed I felt in my confusion about not being a better roommate, and dwelt on so many other personal failings that bothered me.

    I prepared for a slap but instead received a generous hug as she stood up and embraced me. Norah noted, ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what you used to be. Heck, the way things stand right now, who knows if I started out the week as some burly trucker dude? Are you a girl right now? Do you want to stay that way?¡°

    Abundantly, I reassured her that I was Beatrice and I promised to do all I could and be the best Beatrice possible. This was me. I just didn¡¯t want to not cause any trouble. Just help everyone and create beautiful art. And maybe pictures for perverts, I don¡¯t know. But I just wanted to be happy.

    Norah waited through that spilling, confused confession, and told me, ¡°You totally are Beatrice, oh my God. This is exactly the way she would freak out about the littlest things and seek validation of her sense of identity. She also pined for bigger boobs. So silly. In fact, I wonder if someone just made you think you used to be a guy to mess with you. Never know. But I want you to be happy in all things. You¡¯re my friend. No confusion or worry. Now, as for this chick over here, I think she owes me at least a platonic date where I get to tease her and braid her hair.¡± Norah wrapped her arms around the startled boyfriend and dragged her over to the sofa, where she¡¯d already set up the smart screen for the silly videos we were going to watch. I was, of course, welcome to be a part of it, but I had one thing I still needed to take care of first.

    After downing the final sips of my harsh Sprite, I peered at the blank reverse of the paper I¡¯d been left. The remaining minutes slipped away. Eventually, I settled on what I needed to write to this mysterious force.

    ¡°Thank you for everything. I appreciate it. I¡¯m still figuring it out, but I have incredible friendships to help me along the way. Thank you for your blessing, and I leave it up to you what happens to me next.¡± I could¡¯ve said so much more or qualified the notions into something safer but that felt sufficient and yet open enough. Whatever happened now was out of my hands.

    I set the paper on the quietest, safest spot over to the far side opposite the billiards table. Mere steps from where my world changed just a few hours ago. Now, it would change again one way or another. I walked slowly and wondered how she might alter me again. Perhaps, I really would get erased and replaced with a Beatrice without doubt and confusion. A perfectly happy Beatrice.

    I heard a rustle and a shift. Turning back, it was easy to see that a small, fair pink object sat on top of the paper I placed. It was a peculiar-looking flashlight. Carefully, I picked it up and examined the paper for further clues.

    It read, ¡°No dice. That would be too easy. I¡¯m gonna turn that around and leave everything to you. This light produces a pink beam that emphasizes and establishes a girlish presence in anything and everything. That¡¯s all I¡¯ll give you but there are many tricks to this one. Play around with it and see what happens.¡±

    The choice was mine, still mine, which brought a sense of ease but even more stress as I realized the multitude of possibilities something like this suggested¡­

 [2] Tuning the Guitar Player 2 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    Tuning the Guitar Guy

    [2]

    There was a modest bus switching station at the other end of the main road that divided the campus. I wished Drew the best of luck as I pulled on my big satchel full of random dogeared paperbacks, what textbooks I could be bothered to take with me, and my pitiful little cell phone attached to its emergency battery backup life support.

    We took the elevator downstairs to the first level and I swiftly dipped out to the door to avoid chatting with Brian, while Drew naively indulged. Swinging around North Hall, I briefly considered warning the guys I knew in there. Or at least telling someone. This felt like the kind of thing you had to tell somebody. One artist guy I knew with a somber vibe had been spontaneously transformed into a petite adorable little goth girl. And then a geek dude got huge whoppers¡­and everything else.

    If only I managed to somehow record it. But I left my phone back at my dorm charging because it held such a pitiful charge and I just wanted to wander around and figure out what I wanted my music to say, if anything.

    What would I do with a recording of two guys turning into girls though? Maybe I could sell it online to folks who were into that sort of thing. Too late now. Besides, it would¡¯ve been weird to try to capture it and possibly put me at risk from interacting with whatever phenomenon was involved.

    The idea of what could¡¯ve happened to me triggered a rush of flutters. Naturally, the broad concept was a turn on but also terrifying. It was enough to make me woozy from the blood migrating and multitasking in all directions.

    Putting the main section of campus behind me by crossing the pedestrian walkway over the road was a helpful psychological separation. This end included the aquatic complex, early construction for the larger, replacement football stadium, a bunch of other sports stuff, and the art center. I never bothered going over here.

    It was relatively simple to use the self-service station to purchase a ticket to get me to the center of town. Waiting for the bus was the harder part because nothing happened, and nothing continued happening for a good while. Faint hints of screaming occasionally drew my attention but that were easily explained as stray kids from the youth development building or practicing cheerleaders around the half-finished stadium.

    When the big orange civic bus rolled up, I cradled Parsley and edged away. It tilted so far towards me that it gave the nervous illusion that it was about to roll over and crush me. The little machine on the side punched my card and I slowly ambled between assorted clusters of old ladies to the back.

    No matter how comfortable the seat in the back felt and no matter how much cushioning wrapped around me, my legs still trembled and that nervous feeling translated to my back. Shifting over towards the right corner with my guitar resting against me helped a little.

    Checking the schedule on my phone while leaving the brightness on the lowest setting revealed that this route circled around to the municipal library, made a stop in Old Town, and eventually went as far as the mall before circling back to the college. Far enough away for me. At least I didn¡¯t have to bother with classes today.

    Some of the old ladies and a couple of the gentlemen eyeballed Parsley as though it were more of a weapon than an instrument. I made no overtures to actually play anything, although I gently brushed my hands against the strings enough to make the faintest twangs. It was comforting.

    No one complained about this faint, quiet interaction, especially as the bus rumbled, shook, and squealed down the dips and rises flanked by heavy oak trees on each side. Exhaustion rushed in to fill the void of my thoughts as the bus pressed between fancy apartment complexes and million-dollar houses. I set a location alarm on my phone to make sure that it would rouse me when the bus arrived at the mall. Once that was settled, I slumped against the seat and did everything I could not to think about all the craziness that had filled this day.

    It was exceedingly challenging to nap on something as recklessly chaotic as a bus, but I at least shut my eyes for a span.

    Somehow, I manage to find restful ease with a chaotic subconscious and that jostling ride. No dreams followed, just the vague inkling that the position of my neck and the rigid indifference of the bench was building up a ball of discolored phlegm in my throat.

    I woke to a thick, gurgly cough and my phone alerting me that I was in the vicinity of the mall. It didn¡¯t take more than a few moments of disheveled awareness to tell me something was wrong.

    My brain made the snap deduction that I¡¯d clearly tripped in the wrong direction from waking and instead settled deeper into an actual dream state with conflicting and confusing stimuli. Foremost among those stimuli was the weird way that I breathed through my nostrils while clearing my throat. It was like my nostrils were being smushed downwards and closer together without anything pressing on them. My glasses were still there, but they weren¡¯t the perpetrator. My hair felt a little shaggy but no worse than any normal time when I needed to get it cut. The sleeves of my shirt were gone.

    There wasn¡¯t anything to spit the nap time phlegm on, and I didn¡¯t want to swallow it, so I fumbled for my satchel and some of the older tissues I left in there. My satchel wasn¡¯t beside me anymore though. Instead, I found a pink and black large purse with rhinestones along the side and high-energy doodling expressing a rocker girl aesthetic. Something large and fleshy hindered me in my confused fumbling as I wielded unfamiliar hands to dig around in that purse for something to wipe my mouth with. Only once I hacked up what felt as dense as a hairball into a tissue, did all the incongruent warning signs slide into position.

    My arm bumped into something soft spilling out on the side of my top. Boob. Breast. On my chest. Looking down, I saw enough cleavage to lose myself in. So much. too much. They absolutely dominated and swelled beyond my lightly tanned chest. An overwhelming percentage of me had to be just straight-up boobflesh. Ohhh, I was gonna throw up¡­

    Relax relax relax relax¡­relax¡­relax. Breathe. Don¡¯t lose your shit in the back of a bus. But look at it! I was wearing¡­the hell was I even wearing?! God, I had on a black bra with skinny straps, and it looked and felt like twin-headed Boobzilla wanted to tear out of it and rampage across town! I knew that girls did this thing where you could see their bra straps but seeing a bra strap and it¡¯s my bra strap felt like¡­why, what¡­what am I doing?

    My white, normal shirt had been transfigured into a girl top thing with spaghetti straps that felt more like angel hair straps about to rip off. And, if that weren¡¯t bad enough, had a freaking midriff because the thing was too small for my girly ass form. Tugging didn¡¯t help, it just invited the wrath of the delicate fabric holding Gargantits down. My jean pants had an entirely different cut to them and felt like I was wrapped in constriction fabric. At least I had some normal but smaller sneakers on my feet. The hips I¡¯d been granted felt more like a guiding boat than a waistline. Just looking at the feminine thighs and slim legs vividly traced through the material got something going between my legs, even though it felt like nothing I should¡¯ve felt. Oh God, no underwear.

    The bus soon pulled to a stop with the announcement that this was the mall. Several people slowly got to their feet and shuffled towards the front. I would¡¯ve been fine just sitting back and letting the bus take me in a loop, but I also urgently needed to get off.

    Those seated and getting up inspected me with quick, dismissive scrutiny. Some of the looks appeared scrunched and puzzled, as though they were internally debating about whether they had seen a young man or a young¡­ someone else get on the bus and sit in the back. That visible confusion just floated about in the exhaust-tinted atmosphere and never coalesced into a question or an outright concern.

    The purse, that this mysterious force had swapped my preferred satchel for, provided the loosest approximation of a bulkhead against the most glaringly obvious and jiggly parts of my body. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to use Parsley as a shield though.

    I was not prepared for walking in this way. Fortunately, most everyone needed to move awkwardly and grab onto benches while filtering out of the door as well.

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    There were many terrible parts to this entire situation, but the one that struck me with the most enveloping horror, was the daunting realization of tight jeans and the lack of a layer underneath. Damn panties! Even though, I didn¡¯t want to wear them and apparently whatever transformed me didn¡¯t want me to wear them either. But there were strange and delicate features below that felt like they were getting the most embarrassing iteration of a wedgy. It wasn¡¯t that I had a gratuitous camel toe developing around parts I never should¡¯ve had. It was the icy, soul-stealing fear with every movement that I was about to showcase one for all to see.

    Every suitable profanity whipped around my brain like a hurricane and emerged as a clenched teeth incomprehensible grunt as I cartoonishly waffled between a cowboy crab walk and a grandma shuffle. I couldn¡¯t deal with this!

    As an extra little point of embarrassment, while I kept my head down harder than a penitent monk ready to whip themselves for sins against the Almighty, it was impossible to juggle everything and not notice riders both my age and well beyond my age, resting their eyes on places around me that were not my eyes. Someone totally checked out my ass. And several got a better gander at my bust than I¡¯d even taken in so far. Why couldn¡¯t this fucking thing go after them so they had something else to look at?! All I did was play billiards and fail at writing a single damn song.

    Clinging to Parsley helped take my mind off this embarrassing situation. It felt like an absolute eternity to work my way to the front and finally off the bus. I took the final steps gingerly. Once I was clear, there was no looking back. Or looking to the sides or looking to any of the other ambling former passengers. I just walked carefully but persistently away from everyone.

    Walking was so absolutely weird. I felt like I needed to pull up my pants, even though they were quite snug. So much of my flesh was exposed and it was no longer my flesh in any recognizable form. I eventually managed to get that tiny tank top balanced enough that it didn¡¯t feel like I was about to fire off double-action boobs or expose my belly button. My ass was still totally swaying, shifting, jiggling, and going in all sorts of directions.

    Mercifully, on the quiet end of the new theater they recently finished attached to the mall, I found a concrete bench to take a moment. This was absolutely insane. I was sitting with my legs together and nothing familiar pushing out between them. They trembled, as though I just stopped atop a polar ice sheet. I was a girl! Gosh, friggin dang girl! What was I supposed to do about this?

    There were probably people out there in the world, maybe even in the region, who would be singing hallelujah and praising Jesus to be in my slightly smaller sneakers. I just felt like I was perpetually stuck in a state like a wobbly top to never correct itself or fall over. This was temporary, right? 24-hour condition? What if it wasn¡¯t? The nausea came back.

    I pressed Parsley around my neck and tried to find a decent position in case I lost what remained of my lunch. Holding my breath allowed me to blot out everything but the sounds of a light breeze and the warmth of the late-day sun worming its way through my overgrown locks. I also felt the comforting presence of my guitar. My head throbbed as an echo seem to carry over to it. The entire world went woozy for a moment with a strange, energetic golden string feeling like it connected me and my beautiful instrument.

    A sensation passed through my entire body like scrunching your eyes up too hard. As I recovered from it, I heard a strange and melodious voice whisper in my ear, ¡°Are you okay, Master?¡±

    I sprawled back on the bench with a wince and opened my eyes wide to glimpse who spoke those words. A girl with wide eyes and fanned jet-black hair peered around the hard armrest of the bench, squeezing her hands in front of her dainty chin. She barely wore a black, leather jacket with her slim shoulders exposed and a white tank top with better straps than mine. Fumbling with her limbs, she awkwardly advanced to the edge of the bench and squeezed in next to me.

    This strange girl echoed and challenged the swath of my burdensome cleavage. She wore skintight, glossy black leather pants that squeaked with every movement and a shiny pair of matching flats.

    I asked the most obvious and important question, ¡°Who are you?¡±

    She smiled calmly and answered confidently, ¡°Parsley! I¡¯m Parsley. I feel a little weird right now though, Master. Everything is all squishy when it should be hard. And I can¡¯t feel my strings. How do I make music now?¡± She pouted with concern.

    This was fucking nuts. Parsley? This was Parsley? Even my guitar had a pair of tits now? Was that about the shape of things? No way, no freaking way, no! I¡¯m done.

    But my guitar vanished, even though I had a very firm grip on it. And now there was this girl, right where it would¡¯ve been. I had to hold myself, even though I didn¡¯t want to get close to what I was now.

    ¡°You can¡¯t be. Who are you? Why are you messing with me?!¡± I said the last part a little bit louder than I intended and with a jagged harshness. The strange girl flinched and drew her arms back.

    ¡°¡­But¡­Master. I really¡­really am¡­Parsley. I¡¯m sorry if I look weird. I don¡¯t know what happened. I¡¯m so sorry, Master¡­ please forgive me.¡±

    Tears streamed down her soft, rounded cheeks. She mournfully whimpered and lamented, ¡°Oh no no no¡­ I¡¯m getting wet. I¡¯m gonna warp and corrode. My strings. What happened to my strings? I¡¯m useless¡­¡± Her voice was so small, and so desperately frail that it was hard to hear her.

    All of this was crazy. Every single bit. But it didn¡¯t matter if the strange girl sitting next to me was somehow my six-string brought to human life or just a crazy lady who snuck over and was pretending to be my guitar. I couldn¡¯t let her be sad like that.

    I wrapped my insubstantial arms around her and mashed the megaboobs against her side. It was disconcerting to maneuver my way around our curves and features, but I figured something out. Her crying lessened and shifted to a soft, faintly cheerful sound.

    ¡°Oh, Master. When you hold me, it feels like all my worries vibrate away with a harmony playing deep inside me. Thank you, Master.¡±

    Everything about this current situation felt desperately awkward and that was with my sex change somehow receding into the background from the assault of greater craziness. Before I could cobble together any sort of excuse to let go of her, the weird girl fervently, loudly mentioned how happy she felt when I didn¡¯t have any clothes on and ¡°played with¡± her.

    I furiously scanned in all directions to see if there was anyone within earshot. She kept talking and spilled out that I had a particular moment in the buff involving Lexi Rose and St. Vincent images. She described them vaguely but with enough accuracy that I understood and urged her to stop there.

    That clinched it for me. My friggin¡¯ guitar was a girl too. What next? Was my weakling-ass little phone going to turn into a pint-sized lady? God, don¡¯t even think about it, don¡¯t even get close to invoking it. Or the universe will probably take it personally. On top of everything, there was a pinprick but radiating pain on the right side of my forehead which was threatening to colonize as far up as the top of my head somewhere and as low as this bewildering nose. I let out a long, slow breath. Parsley mimicked me with wide-eyed curiosity.

    Was I responsible for her? Standing up from the bench, she followed me in sync and even moved her legs the same way, like she was my little sister shadow, even though we were basically the same size and she was possibly even bigger in a chesticular fashion I didn¡¯t want to compete in or even be eligible.

    She hesitantly, nervously reached for my arm with wide eyes and a desperate plea for me to hold her. I couldn¡¯t grab her by the neck and slipping too close to her girlish waist was a terrifying reminder that I possessed something similar. I shifted her hands around and gripped one hand between my fingers. Her dark but vibrant eyes got bigger with her mouth slightly open. The expression gradually morphed into a cheerful smile as she responded, ¡°This is nice! You always find the best ways to hold and play with me!¡± Still no one around, fortunately.

    Yeah, I appeared to be responsible for her. Just one more thing. But it was hard to be upset at her, whatever she was now. Gently, I led her around the sidewalk and over to the main part of the mall.

 [6] A Brand New Goth Girl 6 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [6]

    This random pink flashlight device I¡¯d been gifted had no further explanation for how it worked. The message told me that I could use the beam like a force of transformation. Was something like this how I¡¯d been changed? I vaguely recalled a flash or twinkle of light when everything happened. If this was the instigator of the current chaos, then why did my mysterious benefactor judge me as the worthy recipient of such a thing?

    I was liable to break reality altogether. There had to be some sort of instructions or a basic sense of how it operated. I didn¡¯t want to just blindly test it on myself or anyone else. Holding it up to the nearest light, I actually discerned some tiny marks with letters beside subtle notches.

    I didn¡¯t understand what they meant, but it was progress. After poking around every inch of the device, I finally attempted to unscrew the battery case. At least that would tell me how it was powered. I aimed the front away from my face because I knew that, depending on how you screwed in a flashlight, you could get an accidental moment of illumination. With a little probing, I easily discovered that it accepted four AA batteries. Etched right underneath the top segment was a quick explanation of what the symbols and letters represented.

    L and M were a range of Less or More. AA, UA, TA, UTA, and NA stood for All Aware, User Aware, Target Aware, User and Target Aware, and None Aware. All that largely made sense as my own transformation affected those who thought of me as Beatrice. User was a bit stickier, but I suspected that was whoever wielded the flashlight. I actually soon got my answer in another line which designated ¡°Assign User (speak name)¡± as AU. The final elaboration was SC or Set Change with another speak note.

    Those were a lot of different elements that I fretted about messing up. Slipping into the nearest bathroom, I put the flashlight back together while still aiming the business end away from me. Thankfully, it didn¡¯t go off. In fact, I figured out that if the different variables weren¡¯t set then I wasn¡¯t able to turn the light on at all with the button. Good to know and a helpful safety measure.

    All right. Assign User. A small portion lit up as though it were a live microphone. ¡°Beatrice Lee.¡± The light went away and there was no further, clear confirmation. Super¡­

    Well, I might as well run a test. As a precaution, I set it to All Aware and opted for a rather basic focus of change. ¡°Hair length.¡±

    I felt like I had plenty of hair but this would hopefully be easily correctable with a cut if it didn¡¯t work the way I wanted. Again, the device lit up and then turned off when I was done speaking. With a deep breath, I resolved that using it on myself was the only possibility. I took a deep breath and resigned myself to accidentally erasing Taylor and thinking I¡¯d always been Beatrice.

    Flash.

    Refreshing moments of relief turned to warm delight as I watched Beatrice¡¯s hair illuminated by the pink beam gradually stretch forth like a stop-motion art project brought to life. Twisting the setting to L not only returned it to the original length that I started with but actually reduced it off my shoulders and into a closer cut. That was a little too short to look good on Bea but it was wonderful to know that I and those around me weren¡¯t tied to a single, perpetual hairstyle.

    Clicking the flashlight off stopped the progress and left me standing there with basically the same hair as a minute ago. My nervous chuckle wafted through the air, softening to a giggle of delight. This thing had immense power and potential. It terrified and delighted me. I wanted to have it on a permanent, secure chain on my wrist all the time and slip it into a locked, bolted safe when I wasn¡¯t using it. I also wanted to really let loose with it, fueled by my percolating imagination. But how and on who?

    Potentially, I could play around with Beatrice¡®s body like a create-a-character game slider. Anything I could imagine could be modified. Lacking confidence, self-worth, and personal acceptance? Just give myself more of each? That truly felt like a cheat code. Terrifying.

    What did I want to do with it? Norah¡¯s mention of some version of Beatrice wanting to change herself presented me with the possibility of fulfilling that desire. Before I even approached that though, I made sure to figure out the approximate limits of what I was wielding. I tested a variety of spoken concepts and phrases. It appeared to accept whatever I threw at it until I hit certain walls. Assigning ¡®masculinity¡¯ and ¡®immortality¡¯ received several warning flashes. This vaguely reminded me of setting up a universal remote several years ago.

    When wielding the light after that, it produced a blank, white illumination that had no effect aside from providing a standard light. Transitioning to ¡®skin softness¡¯ brought back the special light and allowed me to lightly soften my skin as an experiment.

    Clearly, this device was focused on augmenting and controlling womanly or traditionally feminine qualities in whatever the light touched. I was able to alter the contents of paper towel dispensers on the side into a variety of quilted textures and colors. With some extra modification, they actually shifted into tampon dispensers. The exteriors also changed from clinically gray to cushioned and pink. There were already plenty of tampon options though, so I restored them to their original forms. I considered stashing a few spares in my bag. But, even though I knew the need for such things loomed in the life before me, I wasn¡¯t quite ready for that yet. Meanwhile, ravenous possibilities rushed through my brain about turning this light on a structure, a sign, or a textbook.

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Nothing came together from a possibility to an actuality. There were too much, too many considerations and uncertainties as well. It was immensely frustrating because it took me back to the start of all this. I couldn¡¯t decide what to do. Maybe take another of my walks?

    This was a lot bigger than an assigned art project. I would be toying with the lives of random people, if I wasn¡¯t the test subject. I could go ask one of the new girls or one of the old ones for permission to transform them. But I wanted to see a big reaction. Start with a blank canvas and resolve the entire thing. Though, without the ability to invoke masculinity, it would be a one-way trip for my target. Like what happened to me.

    One-way Beatrice. I could open up a variety of different styles of Beatrice, but the shades of Taylor were unavailable to me. That added an odd weight to my nether regions, as though it were some strange, intangible ship setting down anchors. I would be a variety of Beatrice for the rest of my life. I desperately had to use the toilet¡­

    Not for nausea, panic, or even anything in my admittedly shaky stomach, just my Beatrice bladder. My bladder. Up in my guts. Around my uterus, vagina, and all the other stuff I just gave cursory consideration so many years ago in sex ed. I had considered Beatrice my host and I was a nervous guest doing his best not to ruffle the furniture or leave a mark on the carpet. This was all very interesting, lovely, and a delight to share in for a while.

    Oh, what¡¯s that?¡­ This is where I live now and forever after? There never was any Beatrice? I am the host? I am the permanent owner? I am Beatrice? I am a girl in all respects from now on as though I were born this way? And all I can do is redecorate my home, my girl body? Yeah, I really needed to pee and sit for a moment with that metaphorical anvil to the face.

    This was how I was going to pee from now on. My muscles down there quivered, fighting through waves of shakes. I was a girl. And, to basically everyone, I had always been this way. The prospect of trying to contact my parents and elder sisters terrified me on a normal day, so I definitely wasn¡¯t ready for that like this.

    I am the petite girl, Beatrice Lee. A goth girl in adorable shades of black. My blouse up here and my pretty little skirt down there. So soft, with a fundamentally different presence and aroma profile. I felt light years away from being a boy.

    Standing after cleaning up took a good bit of effort, mostly willpower. I looked at my face in the mirror, my girlish face. Gulp¡­ everything I did looked cute. God, it was like a tightrope between existing and my existence being a turn on. How could I be like this forever?

    If my base form did all this to me, then how could I ever apply the startling shock of even more changes? It was all right at my fingertips, my slender, dainty fingertips with obsidian nail polish. I felt burning hot in places I didn¡¯t even have a day ago. This was crazy! Just being myself now was a white-hot flare of perceptions beyond processing. Not so much the nitty-gritty of having a cleft between my legs leading to a smoldering, wetly consuming furnace, but the existential toppling of everything I was or could be.

    My default was this girl. I was this girl, Beatrice Lee. I know. I know¡­it was weird that the lag time of several hours had to set in before this dawned on me but finding the only tool of transformation was set to varieties of girl was a big deal. The entire campus was ordained to be nothing but girls.

    However, the fact I¡¯d become one of them still mattered to me. It wasn¡¯t a big deal to Norah, Kasey, or Rhea. That was just how they lived their entire lives. But Norah¡¯s once boyfriend understood the chasm of identity too. Maybe I was being weird about all this, and it was just a matter of a few touches and shiftings of flesh, inside and out, but it boggled my mind. I still kinda needed Beatrice, even if I fashioned her as like an imaginary friend who I could aspire to emulate. Beatrice, please show me the way to comprehending girlhood!

    What I wanted was a full-body apparition of Beatrice in my mind¡¯s eye telling me what I needed to do and how I needed to be. My doppelg?nger of true wisdom. But she wasn¡¯t really there, it was just me and all this was on my shoulders. Okay¡­

    I walked out of the bathroom with that flashlight and considered the paths before me. My benefactor wanted to change so many boys against their will. He or she¡­ had their own motivations. It wasn¡¯t my place to indict them one way or another. All I had responsibility for were my choices. And I wanted to help.

    Whatever I was, with all the craziness mixed up from family, life, and circumstances, I never really imagined being a girl. But I knew people through the college and student life who did more than imagine it and sought achingly for the kind of change I¡¯d been enlightened with.

    Plucking my phone out of my purse, I did a quick search for transgender resources in the area. After Google attempted to bury me in a huge, useless variety of side ad links, I was able to find an office linked with a church resource center for trans outreach.

    Unfortunately, when I called, I just got the messaging service. I left a polite message saying that I had donations and resources I wanted to provide and when I could get in touch to meet with someone and talk with whatever groups they had. That seemed like a plan. Find some people who really wanted the light of this flashlight and help them that way.

    It might¡¯ve been too serious compared to what my benefactor intended, but I couldn¡¯t follow the path they walked. I had to find my own.

 [7] A Brand New Goth Girl 7 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [7]

    And my path took me back upstairs. I ascended the steps gingerly so that the quakes and feelings which embarrassed me before were under control. The bra I wore was putting in work and what once felt weird was something I was slowly starting to adapt to.

    The possibility that they might get bigger under the light of what my benefactor gifted me made me feel flush. It was interesting and crazy and alluring and totally impossible I would ever do that. But considering I could just immediately undo it, I was torn. Messing with Beatrice¡®s body, even though it was also mine, felt like an affront. Plus, it wasn¡¯t the worst thing to comfortably occupy a distant, vague awareness of breasts. If they were much more pronounced, would I ever be able to overlook them?

    Beatrice¡®s thing was being cutely gothic with a petite, slight presence. I had already been changed so much by slipping into her role. To change her from that essential form felt bizarre. But I told myself it was just messing around temporarily. Additionally, if I was going to transform other people in so many ways, especially very girly ones, then it was only right to test the extremes out on myself first.

    By the time I made it back to the dorm room, I was resolute in what I was going to do with the flashlight. Norah and her boyfriend were still on the couch and Norah was braiding the mile of hair that flowed over her shoulders and to her butt. The poor former guy had a defeated expression. I waved to them and asked what was up.

    Norah totally lamented that I had stepped out because they just watched the coolest videos, and they gave her lots of ideas for Luke. I couldn¡¯t remember if I got his name before, but I didn¡¯t worry about it. I found a spot next to the shimmering twinkles of lights strewn across the walls and diffused by drapes between them. It was like dousing me in stray rainbows.

    Luke flicked some of her hair back and pointed out, ¡°I wish you were as interested in finding a way to turn me back as doing all this stuff to my hair.¡±

    I sat up and relayed the information, ¡°There¡¯s actually no way to turn back. It¡¯s permanent. I ran into the entity or whatever that caused all this to happen. They left a note downstairs¡­uh..that vanished. Every student is a girl.¡±

    Luke shifted and took a big swallow as she glanced down at herself and over at me. She huddled close to some ember of hope. Was I absolutely sure? Was it just a claim? What kind of entity?

    Of course, I couldn¡¯t be absolutely certain and I didn¡¯t know much about my benefactor other than they could write letters. Luke looked a little woozy but steadied herself. Norah had a bit to say about transforming the entire campus. ¡°Seems rather overzealous. There¡¯s less than half boys anyway.¡±

    Despite skirting and I¡¯m securing some information, I truly wanted to segue into sharing what I was given. But not yet. Rather, I referenced the original proposal. What if you could change anything about your appearance which didn¡¯t change your sex?

    Luke lamented that she couldn¡¯t just switch her sex. Norah alluded to all the fun the new girl could have with her sex. Luke dipped her head and kept quiet. Norah counted off plenty of things she would change, even though I considered her practically perfect as she was.

    She thought her face looked bitchy and vaguely androgynous in a tomboy librarian way. She also wanted a much leaner belly, sexy thighs, and a more versatile voice. Perfect eyesight was a given, and she wasn¡¯t certain about her boob size, but she definitely wanted to be bigger than Luke, because she found that annoying. Luke emphasized that he would gladly trade with her.

    Working around the concepts, I slipped in a trial balloon of musing whether this mysterious entity made changes without anyone remembering, like Norah randomly speculated about if she had been changed before, I put forth the idea of if you could have changes without remembering them or if Luke was just made into a total girl, what would they think of that? All that was a very circuitous way of hinting.

    Norah¡¯s swift reaction was that that would be so boring because making Luke squirm and blush about all this gave her life. It seemed like I would be making prolific use of the AA option.

    I joined in for some of the video-watching as Kasey came over to air-pop some popcorn for us. Rhea also lingered and took an affectionate shine to the new girl by adding several more little braids.

    Eventually, I snuck out and went over to the sinks next to the shower for some privacy. Setting the option on the flashlight was the most challenging prospect because it felt embarrassing to just say boobs or bust or beauty. Femininity in particular seemed too vague. I wanted to do it right. As a faint joke, I offered up ¡°peak Beatrice actualization¡±. It waited a moment but actually accepted it.

    When I thought of that prospect, I imagined Beatrice with as much beauty realized as possible. As many innate Beatrice qualities exemplified and distilled. I set it specifically to ¡°more¡± with as much light covering my entire¡­ my¡­ entire body as possible. I waited with my eyes squinted shut as weight, softening, and stretches flexed their way all over, as though providing a massage that burrowed deep inside, beyond merely my muscles.

    This continued for quite some time until the vibration and feelings plateaued. I waited several seconds longer and then finally clicked off the flashlight. That done, all I needed to do was open my eyes and see the results. It took time to build up my resolve but, eventually, I did it and gazed at the reflection that greeted me.

    My God¡­ The woman before me, my reflection, had hair much like Beatrice but it dipped past her shoulders with a delicate shine. The same clothes I put on were still worn by her. In some places, it looked like they had modified to adjust to the new curves. In others, it looked like the clothing just endured. Beatrice¡¯s narrow, dainty shoulders had a sculpted meat to them which emphasized their softness with a plush refinement. Her nails weren¡¯t quite claws but had a solid and shiny extension with a delicate touch of acrylic.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Her subtle shape, with a faint dip around her waist before the rise of her hips, was stretched, seemingly, to the limit. Her tiny waistline dipped in and then shot out with voluptuous hips emphasized by a truly pendulous behind that fluttered up and hinted through the skirt. Beatrice¡®s legs didn¡¯t feel or look fat but rather enthusiastically feminine, for lack of any other words I could think of.

    Of course, I would be remiss to overlook the most blatant feature added. Beatrice now had breasts with a mile of cleavage expressed through the top and traced by the fabric. Beatrice could even make Brian jealous now, assuming that new girl wanted what she received from my benefactor. And her face. It had a sculpted precision and slope less roundedly cute and more strikingly flowing.

    It was intense all around. Setting my legs together with the new shape wrapped my flesh around and against sensitive places and managed to play them like an extra pair of limbs. Just shifting in place, I felt like I could achieve the most intense results. It was all so perfect and breathtaking but¡­ it was not Beatrice.

    Far be it from me to judge the girl within me or the girl I could become on surface qualities, but Beatrice didn¡¯t feel innately like a voluptuous, curvy busty Goth chick who needed custom bras. Not that I was complaining about the soft jiggly contours I could carefully manipulate on my chest. Perhaps that would change given several hours of sustained gravity or trying to sleep comfortably. But I liked everything I¡¯d been originally given. The idea of ownership of the most basic qualities of Beatrice and her cuteness felt headier and more uncertain than all the crazy additions. These massive boobs were easier to swallow as something separate from my blended self-identity.

    Yet, I set the light to magnify the inherent Beatrice qualities. This had to absolutely be Beatrice but through the filter of some funhouse mirror of extreme exaggeration. How could I even return to normal Beatrice shape? Did I really want to? This was peak Beatrice. Nervous tears streaked my face as I took a breath and struggled to work out how to undo this.

    With frail hope and uncertainty, my brain told me it was obvious. If the flashlight recognized magnifying Beatrice qualities then it would understand what I meant when I asked it for the original Beatrice, the one only touched by my benefactor. Bracing myself, I put forth that thought and felt a rush of relief when it accepted it.

    Moderating the output of pink illumination, I stretched this chaotic reflection back into order. The leggy curves fell away for something still scintillating but cute. I preserved a slight stretch of the hips to best emphasize the qualities of the skirt. A slightly thinner waist was little more than vanity. But I brought back Beatrice¡¯s original face. Not because I feared that everyone would notice a difference but instead because it felt more like my face,  and I desperately didn¡¯t want to lose it. Beatrice¡®s dainty arms returned but with a faint, added luster of the other girl¡¯s skin. And call me what you like, but I saved an ever so slight addition to Beatrice¡¯s bust.

    The heightened curve, especially in this top, seemed almost imperceptible but I noticed the altered heft and shift with my footfalls. A slightly scarier jiggle for Beatrice¡¯s bra to contain. But gradual enough that I suspected and hoped that no one would see anything more than a different bra put on to maximize what I had. It was a relief but also exhausting.

    I had no idea that shining a light on Beatrice¡®s body could sap so much energy. When I got blasted by my benefactor the first time, I felt energized, even though a shower helped. Perhaps this variety of alteration was different? Did it wear out my spirit and brain? Or was it just stress and drain of my own doing? That last possibility seemed like the safest bet.

    I am Beatrice. Permanently. I am this goth girl from now on. This was home. I conducted some crazy, do-it/yourself remodeling which I then reversed for some minor tweaks. My essence freaked out for just an instant at such uncouth and forward claims of ownership. I was a boy, just a common boy. How dare I presume to have anything to do with Lady Beatrice! But that reaction seemed silly. Quite a shift.

    The terror and uncertainty weren¡¯t gone. I just fortified myself against its worst symptoms. Oh, you think you¡¯re stuck with the guest appearance of a pretty girl? You are the girl. Remember how the girls you liked felt too close and yet too far away with mystery curves, alluring fragrances, and a presence that excited all the hormones within like water in a microwave? You are now everything mysterious and exciting from back then. Boys will sneak a peek at you, and you will get to reveal all those mysteries with just a little shine from a light.

    It came and went in waves. The realization and prospects of being Beatrice overwhelmed, swamped, and tugged at every emotion I could feel. But leaving the mirror and returning to the dorm quieted the anxiety and left curiosity about how to tint it. Seeing the exaggeration brought the truth into focus. I wasn¡¯t a big titty curvy goth, I was subtle but beautiful Beatrice. And every word that complemented her had to also apply to me, despite the wriggling uncertainty and doubt of accepting such playfully flowery sentiments as reality.

    I still had a lot of work to do, but it was wonderful to recontextualize what it meant to be Beatrice. I was still freaking tired though.

    Leaving the sink mirrors behind, I did a little quiet stretching and flexing in the hopes that all the movement might shake loose my lethargy. It didn¡¯t. Well, instead of trying to fight it off, I resolved to just embrace being a sleepy slug. Popping over to the bedroom, I found a nice set of pajamas with black cats and silvery moons set against a deep purple landscape. The top made it faintly obvious that I¡¯d given myself a little more to show, but I reassured myself it was still a subtle alteration.

    Returning to the living room, all my roommates were present and accounted for in front of the screen enjoying silly videos. They had Luke boxed in and it appeared Norah was especially amused by that. I cuddled up in a blanket off to the side and giggled with them.

 [3] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 3 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

    [3]

    I was grateful that I didn¡¯t strip my bra off all the way. It was still a pain in the ass to get situated in a way that felt comfortable. Fighting with my mega pillows while learning the hooks and shit was not something I wanted to deal with right then. Just pop them back inside.

    Connor closed the bathroom door, but I could still hear her alone time through the flimsy walls. She sounded much more hands-on and expressive than I¡¯d gotten. At some point in my wanderings between the hallway and our bedroom, a blink-and-you-miss-it moment happened where Connor¡¯s end of the room altered into something else.

    We gained a gorgeous Middle Earth map rug. Pink and rainbow lights circled Connor¡¯s desk area. She also had a fully decorated photo board with printed snaps. The bed that she had before was medium height with enough space for a trunk, but now it was low and larger, a queen instead of a standard twin. I was just glad that our female alter egos didn¡¯t get the idea to do one of those terrifying multi-level beds atop living spaces.

    The blackout curtains had a very nice space theme that I wished I thought of. We split a vanity mirror with a little coffee and sweets station. Several such stations spread around the room. One for perfume, another for makeup, and even nail care. The smell and style everywhere were inescapably feminine. It was enough to melt my brain. Fortunately, the geeky edge still remained.

    Connor¡¯s side had a plethora of mathematical principles and jokes lovingly accenting the girly stuff. She had lost the red top reciting Fermat¡¯s last theorem along with the joke, paraphrased from Fermat himself, about there not being enough space in the margin for the full answer to the theorem. Various t-shirts, tops, and sweaters that fluttered out of her closet clearly had the same theme.

    Exploring beyond our room, I soon noticed that the separate sinks had acquired calm, blue lights bordering the mirrors. At least I recognized my toothbrush but the products surrounding it with the name ¡°Trisha¡± emblazoned in fancy script were totally unfamiliar. A massive, much more convenient, Gonk-themed trashcan replaced the ill-advised little R2-D2 dome that filled up within hours every single day.

    A striking amount of stray pink led me toward the common room, where every single one of our cooking utensils was now themed along that color tone. I had to wonder which of us pushed for that idea. A massive, twenty-foot drape covered the wall in a gorgeous misty, pine tree landscape with tons of green and blue flowing off into a subtle sunset. Not only was the couch bigger, but there were two of them with star field drapes half drawn over the window. This room also had a bigger, more extensive coffee bar over toward the microwave.

    The door to our other roommates¡¯ space was closed and I didn¡¯t feel right looking until they returned. I expected that they were going through much the same thing as us. Kunio and Simon.

    They were random roommates chosen for us by whatever strange forces and computer algorithms guided the college before the additional craziness of the day. Kunio Ishihara, or however his extended family back in Japan phrased it, and Simon Winchester, who sometimes joked that he was related to the characters on the TV show and actually got this one girl to believe it for like a week. Thinking about it now, Simon might¡¯ve had some condoms but they wouldn¡¯t have been easy to find. Who knew what she had now though.

    Kuni had absolute oodles of Dragonball Z stuff with posters carefully affixed to the ceiling and stretched across the walls. Then there were a variety of cute girls along his bedside as miniature body pillow reproductions. I couldn¡¯t tell you much about them except that there was a purple-haired one, a blue-haired one, and a black-haired one. Some smaller musically themed ones linked his bed to his desk space. Scattered amongst everything were some figurines, which he mostly painted himself, model cars, English and original language manga books, some motorcycle helmets, and a tall shelf of Blu-rays. Simon¡¯s aesthetic was more film related with posters immortalizing classic moments, an enormous television that they shared, and some really great cameras.

    I once joked that we just needed a comic book geek to complete the set. Connor slipped out of the bathroom with a long, girlish sigh and smiled. The light blue hoodie was hiked up and almost off, along with a gray, algebraic equation shirt. A lacy, pink bra was all she had covering her front.

    She quietly murmured, ¡°Oh my gosh, Taylor was right. Dude, this is so wild. Everything is so jiggly. And it feels so weird but so good. Should we pick up where we left off?¡± Connor flashed a playful smile.

    I smiled back but with reservation, pointing out, ¡°Did you notice how much everything around us changed? This is different than what happened to me or Taylor. Maybe we should check things out?¡±

    Connor pouted but nodded. ¡°I¡¯d like to check¡­several things out.¡± She wasn¡¯t entirely successful in putting on a seductive voice, but it was an amusing effort. I was reminded of a black and white movie starlet that Simon showcased for us once and I had to wonder if that was her intent¡­ His intention¡­ yeah, no her intention to evoke. All this was gonna take some getting used to when it came to properly addressing one another.

    Before we made our way over to the front door to investigate the changes in the wider world, I brought this up with Connor. No especially nuanced or polite way occurred for me to frame it, so I just said, ¡°Do you consider yourself a girl now? You know, pronouns and all that.¡±

    Connor seemed to have a devil of a time wrangling the massive, wavy locks of deep blonde hair sprawled behind her but also desperately clinging to her shoulders like a dozen fluffy, brass octopi.

    She raised an eyebrow and gave me a curious look. Plenty of historic embarrassment for me in the usual way with a girl giving me a weird expression. But it wasn¡¯t followed by an awkward statement that basically, politely signified that she never wanted to talk to me again.

    ¡°Well, aren¡¯t we both girls? I mean, I checked pretty thoroughly, not to be too lurid. And you sure seem to fit the bill as well from all that I saw.¡± She did a playful little eyebrow wiggle.

    Oh my gosh, this was totally Connor as a girl. It was both disconcerting and a relief. But then practically everything lately seemed to have me questioning and off-balance. And not just because of giant tits.

    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m just thinking like¡­ How do you want to be referred to? There¡¯s all that stuff about how someone looks outwardly and how they are inside. It¡¯s kind of confusing, and I just want to make sure I have it straight.¡±

    Connor shifted around a thought that made him¡­ Her smirk and thoughtfully reflect. ¡°I don¡¯t care, dude. It¡¯s just more accurate right now, I guess, to say I am a she. You just do whatever you¡¯re more comfortable with. How about yourself? Which way do you find yourself going?¡±

    This was what Connor was like all the time, and I liked it. Discussing the possibility of one or both of us turning into girls and then hooking up was just a calm, friendly thing between us. The sudden reality of it not just being a hypothetical clearly worried me far more than it worried my friend. I didn¡¯t want to be preoccupied with it. And I wanted to be able to give her a clear answer about where I came down.

    I was a girl. I was¡­ Potentially¡­ Technically a ¡°she¡±. Granted, I had run into girls on campus who went with more generic pronouns and the complexity invited different terms. Being physically a girl and fooling around with Connor was kind of fun. I didn¡¯t have to worry about a minute or an hour later. But it was starting to hit me that this might be the way things were¡­ from now on. I had no clue, and I had no hold on what to do about it.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    In the empty void of uncertainty that I wandered through, Connor decided to chime in, ¡°You¡¯re a girl. You¡¯re a pretty, cute girly girl. Little Miss Trisha. So adorable. Can I snuggle you?¡±

    All that felt like he¡­ She had suddenly decided to splash me in the face with cold water. A playful splash but still one that shocked me. Connor brought several things about myself into focus when I was younger. He noted simplistically but pointedly that, despite my love of the speculative fantastical, I liked things to be grounded. I wasn¡¯t someone who gave in to impetuousness. I took literal weeks to get that shitty R2-D2 trashcan while weighing all the possibilities of reviews on Amazon along with the practicality.

    I stressed out for weeks about our random new roommates, and I sounded like a total robot until I figured out that they were both cool people that I didn¡¯t need to be worried about. I would take forever to resolve something while Connor would just go at it with excitement. He just did what he did when he resolved the time was right. I resigned myself when there were no other options or it had to absolutely be done.

    Smiling but also blushing with Connor¡¯s playful talk, I responded, ¡°You may. If you can win a boob jousting war against me.¡±

    Heaven knows where that came from inside me. Connor was all for it, even though I feared that our pendulous masses might be lethal weapons if wielded without caution.

    That fear turned out to be one I should¡¯ve listened to. In my head, I envisioned something like a girly fight with big warm pillows slapping against one another. It was more like smacking into one another in a surprisingly sensitive place. Not like dick jousting¡­Which we¡¯d never done but joked about on a couple occasions.

    I had plenty to work with, enough that my hands weren¡¯t really big enough to wield them properly. Boobs didn¡¯t work particularly well as jousting weaponry though. Getting close and bumping against one another didn¡¯t feel like fighting as much as inviting bruises where I didn¡¯t want them. Slowing it down and doing more of a rub wasn¡¯t bad though. Our little boob war concluded with me giggling as I adjusted myself and looked over at Connor. She locked lips with me.

    We¡¯d just shared a kiss minutes ago, one that I pursued. The flesh pressing against me then had been quite different. Connor¡¯s lips felt subtly but significantly altered. He had a faint hint of stubble before. All that was gone now, replaced by soft plushness. In fact, so much of his new body was so soft. His legs, wrapped in the tight yoga pants, edged towards mine half sheltered by my skirt. Her ticklish little curved waist was so delicately touchable. Her arms nestled near mine felt so snuggly.

    This was honestly my first kiss with a girl not part of a pity party. And I knew the same was true for her. Well, Connor¡¯s second kiss. But her first girl-on-girl kiss.

    It felt good. The taste was a little gross because I did too much thinking about all the saliva and bits involved. Panic also wanted to nest inside me because parts of my brain were trying to simultaneously process that I was kissing my best friend, kissing a woman, and that my own lips felt different. The combo was enough to fry all rational thought.

    We squeezed close. Connor smelled good, even though she seemed a little sweaty. She didn¡¯t smell the same as the boy she once was, that hypnotic musk pervading every inch. It was an intimate and inescapable girl scent. Fortunately, despite how much my body had changed, it still seemed perfectly happy with that aroma as well. She sniffed my hair. I wished that I had washed it recently, and also somehow used the new perfumes granted to Trisha.

    Our snuggling was soon cut short by rattling in the front door lock. We adjusted ourselves and awaited our visitor. Even more fumbling and clicking effort followed before I stepped over and opened the door myself.

    Standing in front of the door was a girl several inches shorter than me. She had soft, reddish-brown locks which spilled over her shoulders. A dark blue jacket awkwardly tangled across her, buried under an enormous satchel and backpack she was struggling with. Her button-up, pale blue blouse featured a bright red ribbon at the collar. A tartan, pleated skirt dipped across her thighs and fluttered towards a pair of socks that went above the knee. She looked like a Japanese schoolgirl escaped from one of Kunio¡®s favorite shows and made flesh.

    My instinct, noticing the concern and uncertainty on her features, was to ask, ¡°Are you okay, miss? Are you lost?¡± Connor approached behind me through the half hallway facing the door.

    A bright blush shaded her cheeks as she struggled to wrangle her bags. Her small voice barely managed, ¡°Umm. Maybe. I¡¯m looking for Connor Campbell, Simon Winchester, and Zach Monroe. My roommates¡­ As far as I know. Despite¡­ appearances.¡±

    Connor gasped and pushed forward with an eager question, ¡°Kuni, is that you? We¡¯ll get your bags. Come on in.¡±

    The girl whimpered and murmured through her answer, but ultimately agreed to our assistance. Those bags weren¡¯t particularly easy to carry the rest of the way, but we managed. She kept her lips firmly pressed together as she surveyed the common area.

    Before anything else, the girl nervously relayed that she had to use the restroom. She appeared quite anxious but stepped carefully towards it before closing and locking the door. I anticipated that, assuming this really was Kuni and not some confused girl, she would take a while to find her bearings and several other things. However, she exited swiftly to wash up at the sinks and hesitantly rejoin us.

    She appeared way more like a girl than I could ever imagine Kuni being. She nervously brushed back her hair, held her hands politely, and had a presence that suited her attire. When she finally grabbed a seat, she was swift to sit femininely and cross her legs. Despite these mixed signals, she was adamant about her identity.

    Private moments, personal anecdotes, and certain conversations provided copious amounts of confirmation. Squeezing tightly to her spot, she then asked us to reciprocate. Bringing up similar but different instances seemed to be enough. Having sufficiently settled that the three of us at least remembered being the boys we had been mere hours ago, Kuni relayed events from her perspective.

    ¡°I had my film studies class with Professor Baker. We were just finishing up the main discussion and he was asking us some follow-up questions, before a final short film analysis, when it was like everything and everyone got blurry. I was afraid that something was happening to my brain. But everyone else was having it at the same time too. Even the Professor. When it cleared, everyone in the classroom was a girl, the Professor and myself included. It was absolute panic. And it was all over campus. My entire walk back, I didn¡¯t see a single man. I noticed a bunch of women and young girls messing around with their clothes, panicking, and running. What happened here? Magic spell? Are my parents okay?¡­ Sorry. I just wish any of this made sense.¡± Kuni finished her explanation with a hand pressed to her forehead. She looked exhausted.

    I had no idea what to say to her about all this. Fortunately, Connor took charge, as he often did with matters around the dorm, and rigorously and methodically explained all the things that we knew while outlining what we didn¡¯t know. I wanted to fall asleep next to her, cuddling close. It was so much to process, and I found myself wearing down too.

    Entire classes of all girls. Professors transformed. Were there any guys left? What did it mean? Of course, my most striking and pronounced fear was that, somehow, we were responsible. What else could it be? If we tracked down Taylor, might that give us answers? A dizzying array of possibilities loomed before me.

 [3] Tuning the Guitar Player 3 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [3]

    Parsley had some difficulty negotiating the dimensions of things in front of her. She stumbled when the curb dropped and I had to pull her away from a sign. Despite looking like a normal person, she clearly didn¡¯t have any experience. This became especially clear when a boisterous group started laughing around the entrance to the mall and she whimpered and snuck behind me protectively. I wasn¡¯t a very good shield, but I squeezed her hand gently and urged her onward.

    Her initial efforts at walking were more reminiscent of a toddler¡¯s unrefined stride, but she paid extra attention to me and copied what I did. Not that my awkward efforts at maneuvering these wide-ass boat hips were anything worthy of mimicry. But at least I hadn¡¯t taken a tumble yet, and I managed to keep her on her feet too. We were sure an unusual pair, but I was grateful that no one who passed us by gave us undue attention.

    I had at least a casual familiarity with this mall going back several decades. My aunt and uncle often vacationed in and eventually retired to the area. Now at school, I visited them on weekends. It was better than taking the long trip home. Their presence was part of the reason mom pressed me to attend Cressman University.

    What the crap would I say to them or my parents when they called? Hey, fam! College changed me a little, I hope you don¡¯t mind. I still didn¡¯t know how long this was going to last. Although, I felt weird about the prospect of Parsley returning to what she was before. Big velveteen rabbit thoughts. I nearly went to ¡°vibes¡± in my head, and I cursed my estrogen-addled brain.

    But yeah, I remembered this place way back when they didn¡¯t need parking structures and there used to be a Sears that already felt like it was abandoned even though it was still open. It was all indoors back then instead of this weird hybrid version with a fancy promenade and sheltered glass. That sounded kind of nice inside my head. Might make for an interesting lyric somewhere. Although who knew if I was going to be writing any songs for a while considering my guitar was in a non-musical state.

    We walked through the front doors, and she acted like I¡¯d just transported her into some magical realm. Her expansive eyes took in both levels. Even the pillow store impressed her.

    Neglecting her recent reserved hesitancy, she inquired with childlike enthusiasm and more volume than I would¡¯ve preferred, ¡°What is this place?¡± Some people looked over curiously, and I flinched. It took her a moment to recognize the sudden attention.

    ¡°Oh no. Was I too loud? I remember I was really loud when that serious man talked about me being in your bed.¡± The chat I got from a residence assistant once about my guitar volume.

    I really would¡¯ve preferred she¡¯d said anything else while other people were paying attention. Fortunately, all that seemed to be too puzzling or simply funny to the nearby crowds as they passed us.

    With a sigh, I answered, ¡°You were a little loud. But that¡¯s okay. Can you listen to my volume and have a similar sound as we talk to one another here?¡±

    Parsley listened intently to my voice and, when she spoke again, said, ¡°Yes. I think I can do that. How does this sound?¡± Her voice came out at a perfectly normal, conversational level. It also sounded very close to mine from the intonation. I assured her that she could speak with the voice she was comfortable with, just keep the volume like mine. With a second try, she sounded just about where I wanted her. My Parsley always had a good sound. This was the weirdest kind of tuning though.

    Getting back to her initial question, I explained that this was a ¡°mall¡±.

    ¡°What¡¯s a mall?¡±

    Oh no. During the holidays with extended family, I had way too much experience with the youngest family members asking questions that simply led to infinitely more questions. Typically, my response was to be a smartass in some small, forgivable way or turn the question back around on them until they got bored. I resisted that urge and fumbled around for the best answer that occurred to me.

    ¡°It¡¯s a building with a lot of shops that sell things that people need.¡± She absorbed that reply and scrutinized everything around us before quietly repeating, ¡°Building. Shops. Selling. Needed things. Okay. Why are we here? Do you need something?¡±

    I was quite proud of her. She worked it out. I suspected she had a lot more questions, but I answered the ones that she asked, ¡°We¡¯re here because I wanted to go further than I could walk because the guy in black clothes and the guy with the¡­the other guy who changed scared me because I worried something like that might happen to me. And it did.¡±

    She responded with visible surprise. ¡°You¡¯re scared, master? Oh no. I don¡¯t want you to be scared. It hurts and feels very uncomfortable.¡±

    My eyes flicked to the nearest groups of people. Fortunately, she was quieter than before, so I hoped the ¡°master¡± part wasn¡¯t easy to hear. But I needed to do something about her use of that word¡­ Eventually. Although master was better to my ear than the technically-accurate ¡®mistress¡¯.

    ¡°I¡¯m all right. What happened to me happened, as well as what happened to you. I don¡¯t like this, but I have to deal with¡­my appearance now. I just came here in the hopes that I could relax and think more about music.¡±

    Parsley quietly gasped as she repeated, ¡°Music. The songs you want to make. Can we still make them together? I promise to be as helpful as I can.¡± She wavered on the verge of tears again. I brushed her head gently and she leaned into the touch like an eager, large cat. This probably looked really weird to everyone around, but fuck ¡®em. I wanted to comfort Parsley. She looked so happy.

    I assured her vehemently that we would still find a way to make beautiful music together, and she slowly relaxed. Uncertainty about what shops and selling meant popped up, even though it was clear she was trying to work out the gist on her own. Breaking it down into manageable pieces for her learning brain was easily the biggest challenge.

    Shops were places that had things you wanted. But you couldn¡¯t take them from the shop without giving the person with the shop something mutually agreed upon with value. I didn¡¯t have enough time to give her the basic version of an economic system, I had trouble doing that throughout an entire recent class. There¡¯s always something new that needs to be folded in as a qualification or additional explanation. Whatever kept her from making a big mistake that led to security and police attention, was my goal.

    I pressed into her the absolute commandment that she wasn¡¯t to take anything without giving this something of value or getting the okay from the shop person. Perhaps my best bet was to suggest that she had some variety of autism. Although, I wouldn¡¯t be prepared for the inevitable follow-up questions.

    One immense benefit to all these preoccupations with my guitar was that I had less brain space to freak the hell out about my jiggling boobs, underwear-free crotch, strikingly girlish voice, and a dozen other little terrors invading my perceptions. The worst, looming prospect was the realization that, inevitably, I would have to use the restroom. What about Parsley?

    At least she hadn¡¯t had anything to eat or drink yet. Did she need it? How did her digestion work? Was it normal? Did I have to feed her particular foods? She clearly hadn¡¯t consumed human food before. Did she need to start with a liquid diet and work up? I supposed I could deal with it when it came up. Meanwhile, there was a really nice guitar shop towards the middle of the complex. It was either a great or horrible idea to take her to a place like that.

    I could foresee her freaking out that her kind or being sold but maybe that was too much of my own human perspective. She could also see it as returning to her birthplace and checking in on her relatives. I¡¯d have to play it by ear once we got over there, but I hoped for the best.

    Not being enclosed by a variety of questionable folks who decided to take the bus made walking around less stressful. The curse, or whatever it was, hadn¡¯t dressed either of us for subtlety. The faint reflections I got from well-polished storefronts made me think of a rocker chick and Parsley emphasized that as company. She held my hand firmly as I did the same.

    One annoyance I hadn¡¯t noticed before, but which was swiftly getting to me was my hair. I had a lot of it before, and I had even more of it now. Mercifully, the mysterious, schlong stealing force hadn¡¯t decided to burden me as much as Zack or even Taylor. It just made the whole mass fuller and rather like a toasty, fluffy helmet. With some feathering and maybe little dabs of color, it could be a decent look. At least as far as I could figure out with the ghostly reflections bouncing around the windows. And other things bouncing around as well.

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    I vacillated between being painfully knowledgeable of everything going on with this body and placing myself in a Zen state of unawareness while focusing on Parsley and her needs. No matter how much I told myself it, I couldn¡¯t just neglect that much freaking cleavage as being like the side of my nose. It wasn¡¯t as weighty as I was expecting, but there, both fortunately and unfortunately, was a bra.

    The overall feeling was still like walking sex though. I had girlish legs and thighs that I had to large gate swing forward and back while maneuvering these hips. My ass felt way the hell out there. And I barely even wanted to think about the sparsely covered stretch between my legs. My pants were surely going to slide down into oblivion once they boa constrictored the life out of me. And the jiggle tit avalanche was coming as soon as those tiny straps gave up the ghost.

    Even my arms felt roaringly sexy. Not that I was trying to expose sexiness with any part of it. It was just a consequence of the rod shrinking force packing my inherent sexuality into a body vividly aware of how foreign and hot this all was. I still had no idea how I was going to survive seeing myself naked.

    Parsley gleefully marveled at every sparkling storefront and window display flashing past her gaze. She even asked me once if we ¡°needed¡± a very pretty purse prominently displayed. The one I¡¯d been saddled with seemed like plenty.

    The guitar shop adorned a second-floor corner. Parsley retreated in uncertainty and concern about the escalator leading up, so we took the nearby elevator as an alternative. She swam and swooned with her arms stretching out tentatively, peering through the glass as we rose. I held her close, with the concern that she might stumble and hurt herself.

    She did get a little woozy looking out across the railing. Quietly, she reflected, ¡°Everything about people and what you make feels so big, so grand. I always felt so small. My little corner of quiet reflection waiting for when the reservoir of music within could speak. Now I feel so very big. But I can¡¯t make music.¡±

    That stung in a quiet place in my heart. So often and for so long I set Parsley aside because of something around my house or because of a new series online or something on YouTube to look at or going somewhere with friends. With how often I let her get dusty or sit and wait for me to have time for her, it was an astonishment that she didn¡¯t feel betrayed or abandoned once she could speak her feelings. I took care of her, but I could¡¯ve taken better care of her.

    I wrapped all those sentiments up into a quick embrace that did its best to avoid smothering squishes. Parsley¡¯s joy projected like the sun despite her dark tones. Like a puppy wagging its tail. Like a friendly smile spreading across my soul. It was almost enough to make me want to smile too.

    Before entering the shop, I had to explicitly remind myself that the owner and the people who worked there were not going to recognize me like this. So, I couldn¡¯t make the same assumptions as usual or act with any sense of familiarity.

    Bill waved as soon as I walked in and called out, ¡°Howdy, Celeste! We have a few new things in, but we¡¯re still unpacking from the last shipment. Some nice, discounted songbooks in the back. Who¡¯s your friend?¡±

    I wasn¡¯t prepared for any of that. Celeste? Was all this also trying to stick me with the girliest name possible? The songbooks being discounted made me happy though. This place always had the best prices on those. As far as introducing Parsley, she jumped in and took care of that herself.

    ¡°Friend? I¡¯m Parsley! And I remember you, Mister Nice Man With A Beard! You handled me very well! I felt very nice!¡±

    I wanted to scream and die several times inside my head. Bill had done cleaning and care for Parsley more than once when she needed it. Fortunately, the way she phrased it allowed me some ambiguity to explain what she meant to say, in a normal human fashion. If necessary. Handled her¡­as a customer and, obviously, he forgot about her¡­even though Bill remembered everyone. Dear God, help me¡­

    Bill took it all in stride. He appreciated her compliment even though it was clear he didn¡¯t understand it. From there, Parsley dashed over to the wall of guitars and immediately smiled, waved, and introduced herself to each and every one of them hanging up. Bill gave me a look but still smiled.

    It was a relief to feel something like normalcy around Bill. We talked to each other the same way as always. I lamented the loss of recent creatives in music, especially Burt Bacharach. Bill casually played recognizable snippets of his music while I actually found myself feeling a little blubbery. Fucking estrogen, hell of a drug.

    I was able to plug it before any tears spilled out. Parsley, who was still introducing herself to every single last guitar on the wall, chimed in singing one of the songs. Her voice was angelically beautiful and traveled melodiously over to us despite the awkward acoustics of the store. Bill celebrated her singing and Parsley nervously dipped her head down and fussed with her hands as though she were looking for my hand to grip despite being on the other side of the room.

    When my guitar was finally done greeting all the other guitars, Bill actually prodded her about whether she played. A tense look from me transmitted the vital impression to not go into her usual detail. Parsley simply responded, ¡°Not at the moment.¡±

    Bill wouldn¡¯t leave it at that though. He put a guitar in her hands, and she showcased all of her color exploding in a bright blush. Guitar on guitar action, aww yeah. For a split second, terror crossed my brain wondering if whatever force humanized Parsley could be transmitted through her hands. Fortunately, I was spared that, as all that resulted was a few awkward plucks and some uncertain finger positioning from my girl. Her asking for permission to touch first mostly came across as quirky.

    I did wind up getting some songbooks as they were absurdly cheap. Fussing with my altered bags, I not only found enough cash for my purchase but also some unwanted confirmations.

    My student ID and driver''s license both confirmed that Celeste was a diminutive of Celestina. Celestina Moretti instead of Anthony Moretti. A pretty little, mostly Italian princess. That almost hit me as hard as the one and only time I attempted Austrian spiced rum at Josh¡¯s egging. I dimly suspected that my weakling phone might provide further clarification before it passed out, but I wasn¡¯t ready to cross the social media Rubicon yet.

    Parsley didn¡¯t need to say goodbye to each individual guitar, but she did offer up a general wave to the group. She had much to say with youthful excitement and glee about the entire experience. In particular, she delighted in the fact that she was still able to make music with her mouth and that she might learn, borrowing the melodies of others, to make guitar music again. I still had to sway her away from ¡°master¡° talk.

    She relayed to me that her mouth felt ¡°weird¡±, which revealed that she actually required water the same as any other person. Because of what water could do to wood, she was cautious about getting too close to it. Uncomfortable coughing came first as she tried to suck it down and breathe at the same time. But I was able to coach her in the right direction. She even got playful with the squirting.

    I knew, inevitably and inexorably, if she drank water then the next step was coming. We actually got some wandering in before I noticed she was behaving strangely. She squirmed and did an awkward two-step before letting me know, ¡°I don¡¯t feel good, master. What¡¯s happening to me?¡±

    Gently, I reassured her that everything was normal, it was just a human thing, and I would take her¡­oh. Ohhhh¡­We had to go to the ladies¡¯ room.

    Not a big deal, just the bathroom on the other side from the one I used my entire life...until now. It was fine. It was also damn busy with a line. Parsley¡¯s signs of urgency encouraged some nice ladies at the front to let her go ahead. I jumped in and said I was her ¡°helper¡±, so they let me go too.

    The interior was like a machine of people moving and fluttering and doing and talking and washing and flushing. My head wanted to swing around and swoop back out the door. But I had to be here for Parsley. She looked over at me expectantly, as though I had some expert translation of what this all was that I just needed to tell her. Really though, all I could say was that I am a stranger here myself.

 [8] A Brand New Goth Girl 8 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [8]

    After enjoying a couple of videos, Norah wanted to see what kind of clothes new Luke had in her dorm. We spent a good while basically teasing poor Luke with girly names because she refused to look at her college registration and other evidence to determine what name this twist of fate granted her.

    Kasey approached it methodically, working backward from the light-related meaning of Luke to come up with Lucy, Elaine, and Phoebe. Rhea, expressing her rainbow roots, broke up that light into a variety of colors for suggestions going off of Scarlett (even though Luke didn¡¯t have red hair), Aqua, and Hazel. Meanwhile, Norah just opted to lay on the cutest possibilities like Cassie, Blossom, and Layla.

    The videos were fun, especially with an energetic group of roommates. I had a good group, with Marshall especially, but they were fundamentally different than this one. We just happened to be put together in freshman year and stuck around for two years like that. Me, Marshall, Keith, and Gordon. I did my best to forget Wade though.

    He was our neighbor first year and he would come over all the time and dominate whatever situation. Keith knew him from high school, so they always liked to hang out. The problem was Wade always brought the drama.

    I heard so much, too much, about his itemized list of who in that building were the good friends and who were the bad ones. He always called on me to make art for him. I liked the practice. Separating myself from the art as a personal thing and instead making it for someone else was an unintentional positive. A lot of my stuff was crap back then, but he always lauded it.

    Wade also used, posted, and shared it all over the Internet with my contribution barely an afterthought. It was about the exposure, right? That was fine too. But it started to get rough when he would have his moods and act like he didn¡¯t even know me. I saw him throwing out the trash once and rushing back to his dorm. I wanted to discuss something with him, and I hustled over. But, before I could even manage a word, he lashed out, ¡°NO NO NOOO!¡±

    He slammed the door so wildly that the ripple of air staggered me. I was barely a foot away with my hand reaching out. The situation terrified me that he might trap the door on my fingers and not even care as I screamed in agony. I took it hard.

    The rest of that day, I just squirmed in bed as my head raced with a thousand potential, reasonable explanations, a million bitter fantasies of smacking him in the face, and an endless tangle of mental confusion. I¡¯ve often told myself that I don¡¯t need other people. It¡¯s easier that way. Don¡¯t dwell on my family and don¡¯t get tangled up in messy social crap.

    But it hurt so much to be essentially ghosted in person without any possibility of explanation. All I could imagine as anything approaching a slight was recent grumbling about Wade¡¯s social tiers, but he good-naturedly agreed with me that it was silly. We had several normal days after that before he suddenly snapped.

    He ensnared me to be on his softball team which never won a game. I barely played any sport and we were constantly up against huge guys who could launch shots into the parking lot. I tried my best and was rewarded with two minor concussions dashing along the base path and running into human muscle walls. Wade blamed me for those injuries.

    When the ghosting ended, it was like a switch was flipped and no disagreement ever occurred between us. Wade was just as animated, energetic, and personable as before. I talked with Keith in private and broke down. Basically, I pussed out.

    The exhaustion of dealing with this crap came out as frustrated tears and struggling words. Fortunately, Keith didn¡¯t hold it against me as a guy. I expressed my confusion and terror that Wade hated me. Keith explained it clearly and succinctly: Wade was an asshole.

    So, I had to wonder why on earth was he friends with him? Keith didn¡¯t really have a clear answer for that. Their families were close, and he mostly got amusement over the way that Wade overreacted to everything. Keith had the impressive skin of an elephant when it came to all this. Wade couldn¡¯t hurt him.

    I did my best to withdraw from dealing with Wade and toughen myself up. But, inevitably, I fell back into his influence. The next time, he brutally ripped through my art. He pointed out a dozen failings and countless nitpicks. No construction to the criticism, just a soul blasting that it sucked and he never really liked it anyway. We changed dorms not too long after that and I didn¡¯t see as much of Wade.

    Bitterly, I fought to improve myself so that everything he brought up was addressed and resolved beyond reproach. After spite burned out, what I had left felt like a forest after a fire. I couldn¡¯t quite link the mental scars of Wade to the walk of frustration that led to distracting billiards that led to my benefactor making me Beatrice, but it still felt like a tangible thread. If not for the obligation of my classes, I would¡¯ve given up art.

    While Luke revisited his designs of running away to Northern California by bus, Norah led her boyfriend downstairs to their altered dorm. I excused myself and vaguely hinted that there was something I needed to do.

    The gradual trek over to room 116 was almost as daunting as my initial adventure to 212. This was unfinished business that I needed to complete. I held up Beatrice¡¯s slim knuckles poised before the wood. Closing my eyes and steadying all the wobbly bits inside did little for my resolve. I desperately wanted to just run away. But, as Beatrice¡®s stomach gave a twisting gurgle, my hand rapped firmly but measuredly on the door. Wade daily scrutinized my methods of knocking on his door. Too hard. Too fast. Too loud. Too soft. Too often. His roommates, who barely said anything, were allegedly, privately screaming at him about this.

    I set aside some time to contact them and personally apologize. They confessed that they had no idea what I was talking about and said it was alright. Such a pussy, even before Beatrice.

    The door slowly creaked open and an unfamiliar sliver of a face emerged and expanded to reveal a fretful girl. It was clearly Marshall, drastically altered since our last, confused encounter.

    ¡°Oh. Oh my gosh. It¡¯s you. That girl who was asking about someone named¡­ Taylor? What do you want?¡± That¡¯s right, to them I was never Taylor. Maybe this was pointless. But, considering what happened since my last visit, I hoped they might believe me.

    ¡°Hi, Marshall. You used to know me. I used to be one of your roommates, before¡­ all this.¡± It was such a succinct and simple set of words to say, yet it felt like an arduous mountain climb to get through them. Not helping was the fact that Marshall had been transformed into a gorgeous, perfect all-American classical beauty.

    She had an immense swath of radiant, sandy blonde hair stretching and twisting down to her chest. Marshall didn¡¯t quite receive the same endowment as Brian in the other dorm but plenty was evident through her light maroon blouse. Did every other boy transformed into a girl receive perfect grace and poise compared to me? No, that was being too harsh on Beatrice. However, darn if Marshall didn¡¯t look like she was meant to be plastered all over beauty ads and hanging off the arm of some equally flawless, muscular quarterback.

    That was an assumption though. From how I looked, people probably expected me to fling curses, court raven familiars, and stroke black cats while smiling ominously.

    Once through the threshold, it was easy to see how unsettled and awkward Marshall appeared while wielding her new body. She tentatively tugged her top down, then back up, then sideways, and then back down all while fussing with her hair and acting like she was holding something she needed to place somewhere but couldn¡¯t find the right spot.

    The rooms were basically all the same with a little small hallway leading in and then bending towards the living room with the two bedrooms and bathroom the other way. Gordon was mostly responsible for a nice marker board with reminders and a flourish of movie posters. Marshall decorated with local sports teams and muscle cars while Keith represented artsy video game stuff. Some of those elements were still here, but the video games had more of a shirtless Goku focus along with the Fist of the Northern Star and Tekken. Muscle cars had been replaced with UFC fighters and beautiful landscapes. The movie posters appeared largely unchanged but now they had more ornamentation and decoration akin to where I lived now.

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    To my surprise, there were three girls in the living room. Who had replaced me? Working from one side to the other, it was easy to recognize what had become of Keith. I was a mutt of ethnicities that just existed in separation from my origins because my parents wanted to forget. Keith was Thai and assumed immediate kinship.

    I was too horrified to correct him until a month later. She had a luxurious, sculpted dome of dark hair with light streaks that traced her jawline but didn¡¯t reach her shoulders. And she was absolutely enormous up top, wearing a gray sweater that failed to make her bust inconspicuous.

    The other two, I had to scrutinize. One was a girl in a light pink flower-decked blouse with cleavage much closer to mine. She had pouty pink lips and even more eyeliner than I could boast. Her dark, lightly disheveled hair looked like gentle fur settling thickly on her shoulders. Out of everyone, she appeared the most relaxed and comfortable in this moment.

    I waved and pressed my fingers together as I sought the right words. ¡°Hi. I used to live in this dorm with you all. You probably don¡¯t remember me though. My name was¡­ Taylor Lee.¡° Pushing my way through that, I learned with some careful questions that Gordon was actually the relaxed girl in the pink outfit. And Wade was the other one¡­

    She looked very different than him. Wade was a little heavyset, but this girl was lean, although not absurdly so. She had the light impression of a model, especially with the even, narrow structure of her face. Her blue eyes were striking as were her enormous, colorfully pink lips. They were easily the biggest of anyone I¡¯d seen around. A smattering of freckles spread to her cheeks and bridged her nose. She definitely had something to speak of beneath her shirt, along with the obvious traces of a bra seeping through. The shirt was a pop-culture-filled Tarantino love letter, the usual for Wade. My entire college life till now, the good and the bad, surrounded me and I had no idea what to say.

    ¡°Taylor? I wish¡­ Dang. Wish I could remember. So, someone or something altered our memories too?¡± Wade said.

    I took a deep breath. ¡°Must have. I don¡¯t know. I was just playing billiards in the common room after I went for a walk, and it was like everything about me changed.¡±

    Keith mentioned that she was taking a shower after working out when it happened. Marshall didn¡¯t notice for several minutes because she was listening to Lo-Fi with her earbuds in. And Gordon said she was taking a nap. Where Wade fit into this wasn¡¯t especially clear but, apparently, she came over to try and get some answers. I had a few answers in my pocket with the little flashlight I brought with me. But I kept quiet and listened to the group.

    At one point, Wade vented about her long brown hair and the garbage tie that she got from Gordon. Gordon appeared unbothered by that comment, but my heart rate pressed. During a lull, I asked to use the restroom. Glancing over at the open rooms, it was hard to tell which were whose since a new, prescribed sensibility surrounded each girl. Marshall had way more plushies than I could ever imagine him keeping around.

    A rough memory assaulted me. Stupidly, I borrowed time on a 3D printer to make gifts for everyone. Keith got a sci-fi heroine. Marshall got an action hero. I made Gordon some anime thing. And Wade received his custom barbarian character from a campaign he mentioned once.

    Doing all that didn¡¯t really earn me any points, but the guys liked it, I thought. Several weeks later, after I quietly learned that Wade had used and paraded it around, I found the barbarian smashed and burned over by the main dumpster. It was something I kept to myself. He claimed that he still had it somewhere, but he didn¡¯t know where it was. For this reunion, I¡¯d switched back to my previous outfit of a vine-covered dark blouse and a cross-flanked skirt. I clutched the slim, meager side pocket of the skirt where I just managed to tuck the flashlight within.

    Carefully, I manipulated the controls and offered up a few softly uttered commands. Empathy. Kindness. Sympathy. Removal of what are the fuck was wrong with Wade¡®s goddamn head. Empathy and kindness linked together as a command and gave me the affirmative. If I shifted it so that only I was aware of the change, then it could work. The cruel bastard version of Wade would surely be snuffed out. This wasn¡¯t erasing him. It was just making him a nicer person. A better person.

    But did I have that right? Who cares! My benefactor went wild on this entire campus without getting hung up on what people would think about it. This was a good thing. Who knew what kind of person Wade would be beyond college before the change and especially now that all he had to do was flash his pretty face and pouty lips? A total jerk and psychopath or sociopath or whatever the hell he was.

    I wanted to tell myself that she would have a shitty life with that personality, but I also understood that Wade tended to be a wildly popular guy everywhere. Things were crazy right now, but I could only imagine his female self would soon follow in those footsteps.

    Fuming with barely stemmed fury, I looked at myself in the mirror. This could be the first change I made on my own as practice towards helping others, whether they knew or understood it or not. I would have to make choices that would drastically alter entire lives. I couldn¡¯t be hesitant.

    Why was I here though? What business did I really need to finish? Everyone here who once knew me as Taylor had totally forgotten me. Meanwhile, several people who had just met me wanted to be my friends. They accepted me as Beatrice. Furthermore, I laid out the truth that I had only been Beatrice for a short time and the rest was pretend. But it didn¡¯t matter. They accepted me. I had fun with them, and I wanted to find out what sort of stuff Norah would discover in Luke¡¯s dorm. This place was my past¡­ And I didn¡¯t need to amend it.

    With a careful sigh, I relocked the flashlight and placed it back in the pocket. For my former roommates outside and the asshole I used to know, I informed them that I would keep looking for answers, but it was helpful to stop by. They appeared confused that I was leaving so soon, but I assured them I would see them around. And so, we parted.

    At Luke¡¯s dorm, I caught up with Norah and smiled at what she had put her boyfriend in. It wasn¡¯t anything especially fancy or feminine, but it was a plain white tank through which a lot of detail could be seen about her chest. Below, she had on torn, super short jeans that scarcely covered her thigh. Luke lamented her girly alter ego, especially the blushing, crushing reality that her name turned out to not be any of our efforts or suggestions but actually Lily. She sprouted a swarm of red blushes every time Norah spoke it.

    As Lily¡¯s head dipped and stayed down, I found myself easing on teasing. I asked her if she was alright, despite everything. She glared at me gloomily but wrapped her arms around her lean stomach. ¡°I don¡¯t like it, any of it, but I¡¯m glad to be talking to Norah, because I was scared she misunderstood, and I hurt her when I first tried to explain with the photo I sent. All of this is crazy, but I¡¯m glad she¡¯s here.¡± I rubbed her shoulder and nodded. Norah was actually listening in and tackled Lily around the back.

    She apologized with a smile but also admitted that this was a lot of fun because she didn¡¯t have a really good relationship with her sisters. She made sure Lily knew that if stuff actually hurt then she was welcome to poke her and say something. To this, Lily sighed but admitted she was still fine. She was just overwhelmed by how much her life changed, even though she clung to the slim notion that any minute could bring her restoration or awakening from this dream.

    Accepting this, Nora pivoted from clothing, hair, and names to putting on a serious expression. ¡°I want to make sure you¡¯re prepared and comfortable in everything coming your way. That¡¯s why, with full sympathy and careful coaching, I¡¯d like to talk to you about feminine hygiene.¡±

    Lily blanched but stiffly nodded. To that, I also felt my own nerves trigger. Forever a girl with a lot to learn still before I could really teach others.

 [4] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 4 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

    [4]

    ¡°Where does the mass go though?¡± Connor questioned.

    Kuni raised a thin eyebrow. I understood what Connor was going for. Kunio used to be remarkably tall. He got pretty close to six feet and was quite proud of every inch of it. Now, she seemed below five, if I had to estimate.

    Connor pointed out that she had been on the fence about things with our transformations and Taylor¡®s. We were each much smaller than before but the uncertainty existed that it could¡¯ve just altered our original mass. She focused on her bust for emphasis. The problem was fat was much less dense than muscle, and while our shapes had certain weights to them, it just didn¡¯t seem to be enough to offset the losses. Taylor was suspicious and we were on the margins, but what happened to Kunio completely broke the equation.

    This disparity completely monopolized Connor¡¯s ponderings. I took that as a good sign. At one point, Kunio fished her phone out of one of the bags and stared long into the lock screen. Her family.

    What did mine think? Quiet but wild gurgling in my stomach replaced twisting thoughts. I both really wanted to call and yet really wanted to avoid it at the same time.

    Eventually, Kuni got to her feet and tapped her phone. Someone picked up quickly and she wandered into the connecting hallway lit by strings of lights. She spoke in Japanese, so neither of us had any clue what she was saying. While she was gone, Connor drifted away from the physics of our situation and instead cozied up to me, firmly pressing our thighs together. I dodged around locking lips again though. Was it normal for a girl to be this freaking horny?

    Nothing about any of this was particularly normal though. We were still ourselves on the inside, as far as I could tell. We¡¯d just been granted bodies full of sensitive mysteries in large portions. A ravenous part of me wanted to ravish Connor and wield whatever I had upon her soft contours. Meanwhile, another part of me wanted to lay back and embrace her touch, like a tickle crossing into the forbidden. I was horny too, I just wanted to keep a leash on it until the appropriate moment was reached. If it ever came.

    Connor quietly accepted my hesitancy, sighing with pronounced emphasis as she still stuck close to me. This really wasn¡¯t how either of us envisioned the unlikely culmination of our silly promise. It should¡¯ve been a total, unrelenting fuckfest. But the reality was much different than the expectation.

    Kunio soon returned, squeezing her phone and relaying, ¡°Everyone¡¯s all right back home. I made sure to ask them if anything weird was happening around there or they saw in the news. I also went to go look at my socials. A lot of people online are questioning why¡­ A bunch of girls from ¡®that girl school¡¯ are acting weird and ¡®roleplaying¡¯ like they¡¯re guys. At least, that¡¯s what I get from a little bit of searching. It¡¯s just the university."

    That lifted a load off my thoughts which I didn¡¯t even know was there, but I could feel when it was gone. Connor sat up but remained pressed against me as she asked about the details of Kunio¡¯s family. We had met them on several occasions when driving out to San Bernardino. He invited the three of us to meals and special occasions. His mom was an adventure freak who loved paragliding and writing romantic but tense global travel thrillers. His stepdad was a photographer in the same mold. His birth father had a cordial relationship with the rest of the family despite the separation. And there were so many aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Kunio once like to joke that his family could recharge Japan¡¯s dwindling population all on its own, except his extended family back there often gave their American relatives the cold shoulder.

    The tiny girl standing before us relayed that everyone she spoke to treated her like delicate pottery. They wanted to know if she was well, used a reserved tone around a moderated whisper when speaking, and made sure she was eating. It felt more to her like when they talked to grandma. Nothing about Kunio ever gave the faintest hint of being fragile or delicate. But that seemed different as Mari.

    That was apparently her name now. Mari. I was vaguely aware of it as a Japanese name through fragments of animes I either saw on my own or through Kunio¡®s influence. I passed along my new name of Trisha with a measure of ambivalence and uncertainty. Then, Connor surprised us both by relaying that she had managed to discover what her new name was by looking at some of the things labeled in the bathroom.

    ¡°Riona. RIONA. Digging deep into my ancestral Celtic and Irish roots. I figured it would¡¯ve been spelled differently, but this is cute. I don¡¯t know how I feel about it yet and Zach isn¡¯t too sure about his or hers yet. Whatever you two feel most comfortable with.¡±

    Kuni made it abundantly clear that nothing that had happened lately felt the least bit comfortable. But she promised to think through it. She made gestures toward the shower but also looked at her bedroom door.

    Ultimately, the bedroom was the easier choice. The gasp and squeak as she peered through the doorway all but invited us to take a peek too. Simon¡¯s side didn¡¯t appear drastically different. This space acquired all the little pampering and coffee stations the same as ours. The film aesthetic Simon cultivated now tilted more toward famous cinematic dresses and costumes than pure celluloid. Zod and the Princess in the NeverEnding Story highlighted an area now adorned with lights, little succulents, and a very large fern.

    Kuni¡¯s side looked drastically different, yet not terribly altered. What once had been merely images for body pillows were replaced by the real thing sprawled across her bed. They included a magical girl, a shrine maiden, and a tattooed shirtless guy with blue hair. Plush animals spilled out from the foot of her bed. Copious wall scrolls with lovingly detailed girls in ornate dresses practically covered the entire space. Massive figurines topped glass cases with even more inside. A rainbow of manga and Blu-rays stretched out from the corner, leading to what looked like a miniature stage set aside with lights and a camera for detailed filming of the figures. The closet was bursting with outfits that challenged the color and beauty of the girls on the walls. A dual monitor computer with plentiful decals and a pastel aesthetic occupied the other side with massive cat ear headphones on a plush, black gaming chair. And I still felt like I was only taking in a tiny percent of all the stuff spread out before me.

    Gently plopping down on her bed, Kuni surveyed her new room and asked the question, ¡°¡­ Am I a lesbian?¡± Kuni sure had a different reaction than I would¡¯ve.

    That seemed like another word wrapped in a huge ball of confusion and complication for all of us. The aesthetic that this Mari went with had hints but I didn¡¯t feel like it landed in any particular direction.

    In response, Connor or Riona lifted up her top and nearly took off her bra too. Kuni¡®s eyes widened as her perpetual blush since she arrived deepened even further. Connor calmly asked, ¡°How do you feel?¡±

    The petite girl seemed to make herself even smaller as her eyes flicked to Connor but didn¡¯t linger there, instead finding a safe haven in my features. She fussed with her lengthy stockings, drifting up occasionally to flatten the twisting hem of her skirt. We clearly each felt like our skirts were way too short for comfort.

    ¡°Really really weird. And really not sure,¡± was the best response she could come up with. She gently checked the boundaries of her small body, as if making sure it hadn¡¯t changed or escaped when she wasn¡¯t looking. My natural inclination was to tell her that she looked pretty and that whatever comparisons she might be draw between herself and us were unfair. She had boobs. Not huge ones, but they were unmistakable. She had a subtle, hourglass shape despite her dainty size. Unfortunately, I doubted that specific reassurance would be comforting.

    Past a minefield of possible responses, terms, and pronouns, I settled on telling her that we were here and would offer our support no matter what feelings came about and what was needed. She slowly stood up from the bed and shuffled over towards me. I was surprised when she hugged me with both arms. Dodging around the mega cushions took skill. Then, she started crying.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Tears streamed silently down her cheeks before the sniffles, faint whimpers, and girlish sobs spilled out. This felt both horrifying and familiar. It was ingrained in what felt like my social programming to comfort a crying girl. That was normal. But this was Kuni, my anime bro. The dude we chilled with. What on earth was he doing crying? And why the hell did her crying feel like it was activating damned-up reservoirs inside me? Don¡¯t friggin cry!

    Not as though this new girly body of mine cared a lick about what I wanted it to do. Whether it was some loose memory of my mom or my aunt, I automatically held Mari close and comforted her with a soft touch on her head all while rivers of tears let loose from my eyes. At least I managed to keep the sound down to a minimum instead of whimpering and squeaking too.

    Gosh, so freaking girly. Or whatever. Connor hugged from the side, which split the boob pillow for us. She managed to make the embrace not feel as weird as whatever I was doing. Eventually, Mari¡¯s tears dried up and she quietly managed to say, ¡°I hope Simon will be back soon. Probably the same thing happened. I¡¯m going to nap. My stomach and a lot of other things feel really lousy.¡±

    I barely managed to halt the absolute river from my eyes and slowly make my way back to the hall. My freaking boobs had tear stains on them and I felt and probably looked like a gross mess. My girly little legs were trembling and part of me feared I would just lose control of the rest of me and become a blubbering, frantic, incontinent freak. A quick trip over to the bathroom cleared away some uncertainty and actually got my legs settling down once I ran the hot water and splashed my face. The lady in the mirror was pretty but looked like she was having a rough day.

    Putting on a reinforcing smile was freaky because it was something I was trying to express and she was translating through features that I was able to control. This girl was me, I had her face...and the rest of her. I was her. Something I could express and scream a dozen times over but there was still a disconnect. None of this had truly hit me yet. My brain innately knew that it all had to be a weird virtual reality, a dream, a costume to slip off, or a drug trip.

    Sliding my hand down and around my skirt sent an echoing shiver up through my body. The pendulous pillows were defining to my entire identity. Probably what some classes would call ''objectification''. But they felt overwhelmingly prominent and impossible to ignore. At the same time, I fell into a weird blind spot sense where I knew they were there and I could feel them and they did all sorts of crazy things, but they just felt as ever present and ignorable as your nose. They were just my boobs.

    Not as though I was getting used to them already, but I had the mental framework for how I might get used to them. I always figured that anyone could get used to anything after a while, but it was trippy to see my acceptance of such a drastic physical change. Kuni mentioned magic. Considering how many foundations of thermodynamics this violated, magic seemed like a decent catchall for whatever the hell is going on. Did it have rules as well?

    I brushed my long brunette hair back and ambled over to our dorm room. Connor was already there and inspecting the Lord of the Rings map rug along with everything else. It wasn¡¯t long before we poked around our closets. I inspected a dresser inside and found where the vast majority of my bras and panties were spread out. Seeing them outside of their natural habitat felt normal and yet bizarre. These were my bras and panties. To be worn on my body. The sudden ringing in my ears when playing this notion through my head calmed down once I took a few breaths.

    Hesitantly sifting through the garments, I soon got a picture of exactly how big of a girl I was. H cup, XX-large, GG cup, extra large in a different variety, HH cup, and a triple X large. The GG gave me a brief gamer smile but the rest left me with expressions of horror. That was quite a range. There were even more outliers and unmarked bras that seem to be for uplift and other things. But the vast majority had a glaring H on them. Fuck, they were huge.

    Despite internal, screaming reservations, I relayed this information to Connor, who soon started digging through her dressers. Remarkably, she was ever so slightly smaller than me. A solid G cup with some variation into the F¡¯s. More like F¡¯s for me feeling like a total fucking cow. While I was wrapping myself up in this twisty, tangled notion, Connor slipped around behind me and wrapped her arms around my slim stomach.

    ¡°This one¡¯s all for you, Little Miss Trish.¡±

    It was a good thing that she was hugging me from behind because, if she faced me, she would¡¯ve seen the bright red blush I felt heating up my cheeks. Not long ago I was ready, yearning, and gagging for Connor to put himself inside me and now I was blushing like a chaste virgin from the smallest, lightest contact. I was a pretty girl being held by a pretty girl.

    Acting on instinct to swing around this hesitancy, I swiveled in her grasp. It took a little maneuvering to not bring about a second wave of boob jousting from the twisting momentum. It didn¡¯t take her long to figure out what I was trying to do. Soon, I was the one snuggling her around the waist from behind. My brain started to remind me to be careful about poking my erection before it could comprehend we didn¡¯t have that anymore.

    Between having soft arms wrapped around you and wrapping soft arms around someone else, it was immensely difficult to choose which I preferred. Not long after that, we were pressed together on Connor¡¯s big bed with our clothes vanishing one piece at a time. I still kept my bra on but swiveled it to the side. Connor tossed hers behind her. She looked like a woman from old fairytales, a mature Rapunzel.

    Our hands roamed everywhere we could touch, seeking without skill, and feeling with earnestness but uncertainty. It wasn¡¯t long before Connor got especially intimate between my legs. The phantom sensation of something poking out still existed but deeply buried with raw feelings. Fire upon the ocean sinking and shifting and spreading. And the sense like a riverbed slowly filling up with water traveling from somewhere above. It was getting there, inexorably, like gravity drawing forth alien pleasure. Reciprocating the same was a challenge as Connor seemed desperately devoted to making me feel good above all else.

    We embraced and rolled as her busy hands did their magic. Somehow, that magic conjured up a large, pink phallus with two ends. She squirmed and panted as she prepared it for herself and then teased me with it. Neither of us knew a damn thing about how this should¡¯ve gone, but we leaned into what felt good. Every part of our bodies that we could conceivably wield was put to the task of drawing the other closer in liquid ecstasy. We stumbled and staggered our way towards crashing waves of bliss.

    I lamented the mess that I left on the sheets while we rested against one another. Virgins no more, I suppose. It was good. It was really really good. It was better than what I managed before in some key areas. I had someone with me and they were insistent but also receptive. Like forcing a tickle upon yourself versus being tickled by someone you trusted. You could shiver and feel something, pushing yourself on imagination and sensation alone. But the experience together was beautiful. My entire body was involved and felt like it had been twisted up in delight like soft taffy. I almost regretted that we didn¡¯t get the opportunity to finish our first attempt.

    There was still so much to process within and throughout. My brain settled down against Connor¡¯s warmth and gradually itemized the stimuli of being this new girl.

    During that quiet lull, Connor grinned playfully and whispered softly in my ear, ¡°Would you like to get married?¡±

 [9] A Brand New Goth Girl 9 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [9]

    Lily¡¯s other roommates were out and none of us had any idea where they had gone. Considering the earlier exodus, they could be anywhere. I just hoped the myriad of panicked, transformed drivers didn¡¯t result in anything dangerous.

    Norah brought her own visual aids and used notes on her phone to make sure she didn¡¯t forget anything. The key point she reiterated was to be hygienic. Handwashing before anything. Lily¡¯s gaze reminded me of a remixed classic meme we saw in a video with a dog traumatized by being denied cupcakes. Watching Lily helped take some anxiety off of me. I could convince myself that I was just the camera person for these events.

    Before diving deeper, Norah qualified that there were tons of birth-control options connected to moderating cycles. She recalled Beatrice saying that she had an IUD even though she still used tampons. It would''ve been real nice to borrow at least some of Beatrice¡®s experience from time to time. Even though it didn¡¯t exist.

    Despite the expressed sentiment in Lily¡¯s body language that she was drowning in the open ocean listening to these details, she meekly but clearly recited all the steps that Norah gave about tampons. Then, we moved to the bathroom.

    Among the colorful, floral, and aesthetic alterations to the space, Lily locked her eyes on the packages of feminine products set to one side. The little pink torpedo with a plunger seemed so innocuous but intimidating. Norah gave the analogy that it was just like riding a bike.

    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna ride this bike,¡± Lily quietly whimpered. Norah softly patted her on the head and it genuinely looked like Lily was going to cry, but she held it in for the moment. Norah demonstrated a squatting position but assured us that sitting on the toilet also worked fine.

    The most daunting prospect for Lily was finding the right hole. Norah paused and narrowed her eyes when Lily nervously asked if she would still be able to pee with this.

    ¡°Wait¡­ You do realize how many holes there are down there right?¡± Norah asked incredulously. Lily fumbled for words, clarifying that it was just a matter of which holes overlapped with what. I held my tongue since I wasn¡¯t absolutely certain myself. Norah groaned and scrunched her eyes as she muttered, ¡°Lousy sex ed.¡± She also expressed concern about how things would have gone with their relationship.

    Returning to the lesson at hand, Norah grabbed a small, round mirror from the counter and encouraged Lily to take a look at herself. She hesitantly motioned to undress while Norah swiftly stripped. Standing rather like a crab, she showed off what she could. It was easy to spot the string.

    My male mind flashed with a tempest of shock, fear, and uncertainty at seeing Norah so revealed. It was caught between the ingrained notion that it shouldn¡¯t be looking, and the new emphasis that this was just a lesson meant for us. Lily eventually caught up with the brightest blush overwhelming her cheeks.

    She had a trim little flare of dark hair between her legs compared to Nora¡®s tiny flicker of red flame. I did my best to not pride myself too much on Beatrice¡¯s hairlessness. The meager applicator trembled in Lily¡¯s fingers as she bumped against her flesh. The actual process was strikingly simple, although getting her to position anywhere near where it was supposed to go was the hard part.

    Despite the fact Lily grunted through her teeth as it went in, she admitted that it felt fine. She fussed with the string. Norah added that during a period the whole process of insertion and removal would be much easier. Lily squeaked when pulling it out and chucked it across the room into the can. Norah guided her over to the pads and pantyliners as it was my turn to give this a shot.

    I internally evoked the spirit of Beatrice to guide me on my way. My efforts were tentative, but the shower experience helped me feel more gung-ho about taking care of this. Just basic human stuff. Care and maintenance of Beatrice.

    It felt weird but the weirdness gradually abated as I followed the directions. The sensation toward my butt on an internal level was disconcerting, especially when it came time to remove my practice tampon. It felt vaguely like I was sticking to a sock turned inside out. Not painful, just vigorously disconcerting.

    Lily appeared eager to use the stuff that didn¡¯t have to go inside her. She also had several questions involving half-heard advertisements about drugs and implants which reduced periods to rare occasions. Norah relayed the benefits and downsides. She also reiterated that knowing how to take care of yourself was always important. Lily blanched upon realizing that, when it was time, she would only get a couple hours out of each tampon. I could see how it might become as commonplace as simply using the restroom.

    Norah made sure that Lily was prepared when it came to normal toilet use as well with a few extra lessons. When all that was finally done, Lily quietly ambled out with her head down, looking like she just ran several miles. She demanded chocolate, not having gotten any for herself during my sweet snack excursion. Fortunately, Norah still had a little bit of her dark chocolate left.

    Lily bit into it viciously and immediately whimpered. A shard of the chocolate cut into her gums and poked between her molars. Norah consoled her as she used the sink to wash her mouth with warm water. Carefully, delicately Lily softly chewed another little bit on the other side of her mouth. She smiled briefly and swallowed as her nostrils flared at the chocolate scent. But the damage had already been done.

    The last few minutes were clearly a strain as little trembles in her legs made their way up through her body and tears flooded her eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna be a girl forever. I can¡¯t do this¡­ It¡¯s too much¡­¡± I felt a pang of guilt for my earlier push of transformational certainty. Despite the certain message from my benefactor, I had no idea as to the actual permanency of the flashlight and what other methods were used. I could see no alternatives but that didn¡¯t preclude a time limit. It felt desperately remote, but I wanted to give her some hope. So, I phrased this flimsy speculation in the most charitable terms possible.

    That was enough for her to mount some iteration of optimism that all this might be reversed, the daunting complications removed, and normalcy reassert itself. She dried her eyes and grumbled nasally with embarrassment about crying. The topic soon shifted to which barbers she could go to who didn¡¯t charge by the inch. Norah playfully mourned the loss, adjusting some of the longer braids.

    Lily¡¯s room looked cute. It had a soccer aesthetic, which she relayed was unchanged. The stylized photograph collage set into a heart shape was apparently new, along with the dangling paper flowers behind her desk, the huge pile of lacy pillows, and the colorful strings of lights that everyone seemed to have. Her small collection of stuffed bears was something Luke had before but it had been relegated to the depths of his closet.

    I sensed that the two of them wanted some privacy, so I expressed my gratitude, gave some hugs, and made my way back to 212. It was getting late into the afternoon. If classes weren¡¯t canceled, then the last couple of them would be getting out soon. Hopefully, meals in the main cafeteria were uninterrupted. Although, considering what the other girls in my dorm could make, it might be worth it to just stay in.

    The central common area downstairs almost seemed like it was back to normal. A few girls wandered slowly, as though lost, while others swiftly went about their way. I saw some activity towards the residence assistance offices. The school administration was likely to get involved eventually. Since it was a private and vaguely religious college, who knew what their policy would be about what verged into an act of God (or Goddess) transforming so many people. I couldn¡¯t be guaranteed an unexpected day off. I still had the artistic project at the root of my fateful wanderings.

    Mounting the steps this time didn¡¯t bring me anything unexpected. Beatrice jiggled and shifted and moved like a body I still needed to learn the quirks of. I hugged the wall when someone frantically scampered down the hall. Back in the dorm, it looked like supper or something similar was very much on the minds of Kasey and Rhea. Kasey changed into an oversized jean jacket and an even longer pink skirt than earlier. Rhea had her extremely long braid wound up around her head.

    Rhea gestured towards the refrigerator. ¡°I would totally be fine with the remaining garlic olives.¡± Kasey rubbed her eyes after they both greeted me and responded to Rhea, ¡°You gotta at least have an apple. And you can have as many or as few apples as you want at the cafeteria for supper.¡°

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    I soon gathered that Rhea preferred snacking over meals but the problem was she never went to the cafeteria to use up her meal slots because of weird hours remembering to eat. So, she wound up picking out a lot of random stuff in the fridge, like garlic olives. She was also starting a three-day fast, which Kasey wasn¡¯t particularly happy with either. I didn¡¯t want to intrude upon their friendly and vigorous back-and-forth, I just mildly encouraged Rhea to have healthy things to eat rather than the snack I provided earlier and whatever leftovers. Kasey had some of the fried rice that I enjoyed earlier. Rhea seemed apathetic about these options.

    Before I could offer anything else, my phone rang. It was the church. Rushing down the hall, I quickly answered the call in the relative privacy of the sink area. A cheerful, friendly lady answered. She was following up on my message about donations and resources and wanted to know specifics. I was at a loss for clever and succinct ways to express what I could offer, so I just told her that I wanted to donate my time and effort. She expressed that there would shortly be a small meeting of a local chapter, so I was welcome to join in. Furthermore, she urged that if I had any clothes, books, or foods I was willing to donate, then that would be very much appreciated.

    Beatrice could probably stand to lose some clothes from her packed closet, but I wasn¡¯t ready to commit to digging through it for donations quite yet. I thanked her for the callback and did my best to take down the information for where trans resources people at the church would be meeting and the time in a side app.

    I figured the vine top and skirt with the crosses from earlier would be appropriate wear. Rhea and Kasey came to an agreement about supper in the cafeteria, and I eagerly joined them. Venturing out to the other side of campus felt daunting. Kasey texted Norah about the plans and asked whether she wanted to meet up. Promptly, we got a reply that she and Lily would be going later. The others hadn¡¯t heard about the discovered new name for Luke, so that brought some amusement and glee.

    Heading out of the dorm with Kasey and Rhea shouldn¡¯t have been that strange. I already made my own trek during a more active moment of chaos. But it was different sharing the surreal setting with others. And I felt partially responsible for the fallout. Not that I had done anything, but tucked away in my meager skirt pocket was a tool that could do so much.

    The common area was once again quiet except for a girl with long black hair, slightly shorter than me, fumbling frantically with the door to the gender-neutral bathroom. I appreciated her black ensemble with ornate filigree around the skirt. Stopping to help, her problem was as simple as pulling instead of pushing. She looked rightly embarrassed over her mistake and had trouble meeting my eyes. Her little note of thanks was so adorable as she hustled into the bathroom.

    Everything appeared eerily calm through the normal front entrance. Majestic trees dwarfed the random houses rented to students. The small hall almost towards the street had some name I couldn¡¯t remember but now it was called Lora Hall. The old stadium appeared quiet, and I didn¡¯t see anyone hanging around the weightlifting area across from the chapel. It was rather eerie, but we had the entire area to ourselves. At least fog hadn¡¯t settled, as it often did from the ocean overnight.

    Kasey and Rhea had a lot to say as we walked. They pondered about the girl we ran into. They considered the absence of the residence hall assistants. Rhea reflected on someone she knew who lived in Lora. Kasey fretted about Drake. He had taken a gap year to work at a local bookstore. She hadn¡¯t heard back from him yet despite sending several texts.

    The student union building, recently remodeled, was on the left next to the drama and theater complex. I learned in passing that Rhea was a theater student with a focus on behind-the-scenes elements. Kasey¡¯s focus was on computer science with 3-D modeling. This area should have been bustling and brimming with students around this time either finishing up their classes, decompressing from the day, or just flooding the area ahead in anticipation of dinner. Those girls we did see had a certain mood about them with faint trepidation but nothing as frantic and confused as I was expecting. No clear way to tell, but it seemed most of the girls we encountered had likely been girls before today. I didn¡¯t stand out as a newbie though.

    Random girls wandered with flyers while others had carts. An older lady offered free tickets to a local, test screening of a horror movie. A random, innocuous boy actually crossed our path. He looked wildly uncomfortable, and I did my best not to stare. Assuming he hadn¡¯t slipped through the cracks of my benefactor¡¯s plans, he had to be from off-campus. I easily could¡¯ve shined a light on him but then I would¡¯ve had to adjust the settings to make sure no one around witnessed it. If I was alone, the temptation would¡¯ve been higher. But considering Kasey and Rhea and all the uncertainties, I let this one go.

    The humanities and sciences classrooms rose high on the right. My dad, when we first toured this university, was especially skittish about parking. He pulled to the curb, freaking out about a man hanging around the bushes. He didn¡¯t want to get a parking ticket. I calmly assured him that the guy was just a gardener. That was actually one of my favorite moments with my dad because it was just us. We chatted cordially the whole ride, had plenty of things to joke about, and he told old stories of his time in Altadena and Caltech. It all went back to normal when we returned home, but I treasured my memories.

    The weird humanoid statue at the center of campus had altered into something more like a female fertility statue than an overweight version of Gumby. Neither of my roommates liked it but they did have a clear and undeniable awareness that there should¡¯ve been something else instead. The mental qualities of what happened to and around me were frustrating, fascinating, and scary. Beatrice¡¯s roommates recognized me. Zach, Anthony, and Connor all remembered me as Taylor. Marshall, Keith, Gordon, and Wade didn¡¯t. Why did Norah remember Luke? Perhaps it was related to romantic or more direct connections? But then Rhea and Kasey both remembered him as Norah¡®s boyfriend.

    The freshman residences had a few stray girls wandering around but none of them were doing anything as obvious and unusual as the chaos earlier. Despite this feeling of everything locking down, we still found a dense, ambling line backed up at the cafeteria. This group also appeared composed of original girls even though I noticed a couple with questionable, nervous expressions.

    I had to check the time. The phone call didn¡¯t give me precise specifics about when exactly the church resource get-together was being held. I hated the idea of going off on my own, even though it was a common reaction in my life. It just felt strange and wrong in the life of Beatrice. Apologizing to Beatrice¡¯s roommates, I said that I had to go take care of something real quick. They waved and encouraged me, giving reassurances that they would stick around until I got back.

    That added a fervent pace to my steps. I couldn¡¯t keep them waiting. Fortunately, I knew right where the church was in relation to campus. Walking swiftly threw into sharpened awareness the flutter, flap, jiggle, and bounce of everything about my body. My hips seemed like they were going all over the place. I didn¡¯t run or get winded, but the sweat of the time crunch clung to my neck. It didn¡¯t take too long to cross the neighborhood to the church. A little further up was the small shopping center that everyone walked to when they needed groceries. It used to include a Whole Foods which had recently been replaced by Trader Joe''s. Among a carousel of changing small businesses, there was a Chinese restaurant, a laundromat, a drugstore, a British pub, a pizza place, and a thrift shop, best I recalled.

    The church looked older, with buildings more like a 1960s high school and a brick fa?ade sheltering shimmering stretches of stained glass. It was modestly intimidating. I didn¡¯t have much experience with churches and none of those experiences were especially pleasant. It wasn¡¯t personal, just a bad trend. Fortunately, the quiet section of the complex which included the trans outreach meetings was prominently marked with a colorful, rainbow sign. I leaned against the designated door and gently pushed it open.

 [4] Tuning the Guitar Player 4 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [4]

    I''m only waiting for my cue to tell Parsley what she needed to do. No getting lost in my thoughts. We waited over by the big stall for it to be free. I felt monumental, staggering, crushing stress. She was depending on me.

    The first thing I did was securely latch the door before checking to make sure we had everything. Paper for the seat was especially important since I didn¡¯t know what her immune system was like. The toilet roll on the left was low, but there was a full one buried behind the plastic latch on the right. Morbidly, I noticed a tampon dispenser on the other wall. Parsley looked over at me with wide, concerned eyes as she shifted nervously.

    My girl was holding it, but I worried about how well she knew the muscles of her own body when they were static mahogany not so long ago. Doing my best to be loud enough that she could hear me, but we still had our privacy, I said, ¡°Give me your jacket.¡± She looked at it on her shoulders before looking back at me. I nodded and she carefully slipped it off.

    Parsley had been created while wearing this outfit. Were her clothes part of her body or could they just be considered the adornments that were given her original form? The lacquer? Then, why wasn¡¯t it closer to a PVC coat? Look at me, trying to rationalize any aspect of a guitar turning into a girl. I carefully set the jacket on a hook off to the side. It was ever so slightly damp from her perspiration.

    I had to hurry up the rest of this. Not wanting to overwhelm her, I urged her next to lower her pants as well as look for a clasp, zipper, or buttons. She whimpered faintly as her hands searched down around her waist. It occurred to me at that moment that I could¡¯ve modeled the behavior I wanted by going first. Not that I was eager to do that, but it probably would¡¯ve made this easier.

    The hardest part of the pants was how close the fit was to her skin. I supported her with as much strength as I¡¯d been granted in this body and we finally managed to lower them around her ankles. She had lacy pink panties on underneath. At least one of us was wearing underwear. And she went ahead and pulled those down too without needing to be told.

    She stumbled and staggered with everything around her legs as I guided her down to the seat. Another squeak came out as she softly whimpered that it was really cold. At least the hard parts seemed to be done as I made sure she was positioned far enough back that the notch in the front wouldn¡¯t lead to messy spray. Granted, I was drawing from my own experiences and previous anatomy, but you can never be too careful.

    Explaining to her what to actually do felt as difficult as trying to firmly grasp Jell-O without ruining it. The further complication was that I again had the wrong point of reference. The first thing babies learn is how to pee. Probably. She didn¡¯t even have that experience. I didn¡¯t feel comfortable staring at her naked crotch, but it was at least clear that she had the capability to pee nestled around those sparse hairs.

    ¡°Push. Push the bad feeling inside you out into the water.¡± That sounded like the best way to put it, even though I felt so embarrassed phrasing it that way. But whatever got through to her.

    She shivered and nodded silently as I thought about bringing her jacket back over to cover her shoulders. She strained and pushed and had eventual results with a loud fart. It wasn¡¯t the only one in the vicinity, not that I was keeping any sort of count of the chaos.

    She gave a quick smile and a look of hopeful expectation. It didn¡¯t sound like anything else happened on that end, for which I was grateful. It took longer than I was hoping for, but eventually, she seemed to figure it out with a push and a sense of relaxation in her muscles down there. Once she was going, it sounded like heavy rain. Sitting with relief in heavy rain. No no no no, I¡¯m not writing a song about my guitar taking a piss, no matter how allegorical or pretty I could make it.

    The next step left both of us in brand new territory as she was done but needed to clean up. Some random bro comedy I was vaguely listening to once said something about it. It was a real late night and Josh had one of his VHS tapes playing. The question came up as a point of comedy. And I couldn¡¯t remember a damn bit of it, except that it was brought up.

    Come on, think! You¡¯re a damn college boy. Ish. What makes the most sense? Don¡¯t get anything from the butt hole up around there. That¡¯s what made the most sense to me, although, where were all the holes situated? Why couldn¡¯t any of this stuff be simple?

    She wasn¡¯t going to get sick from one time of doing it wrong. I could summon the pitiful battery of my little life support linked phone and Google it but there were so many other people waiting we might as well just finish. I had her grab a little paper, which would¡¯ve been easier if they had the opening in the right spot. But this entire situation felt like that in a nutshell.

    Parsley was doing pretty good with so little experience, but then I heard something weird.

    It was a strange, faint musical note. A very familiar one. Like someone plucking a guitar. My first thought was that someone had somehow brought their own guitar into the restroom and was playing it. But that made no sense. My next thought was abject terror that the presence of Parsley had somehow summoned and animated another guitar that still had its musical parts left over.

    The truth was still rather terrifying. Parsley kept rubbing herself as I instructed and the music, though random notes, continued. I crouch down close to her and sighed as it soon became apparent what was going on. The hair and structure¡­ Her vagina was a mini guitar we could play.

    If I wasn¡¯t at a loss for words at that moment, I would¡¯ve broken down in delirious, crazed laughter and the people in the white coats would¡¯ve come along and that would¡¯ve been it. Parsley was delighted to discover she still had her musical capability. I had to wonder what in creation did everyone else think was going on in this stall. Well, we were having a jam session, right between her legs. I was gonna lose it.

    We had to get out of here. A little pressure worked to keep the intimate melody from spreading across the room. I made sure the backend didn¡¯t need anything, and fortunately, we were okay there. After that, the vague desire to use this restroom reminded me to take care of myself. I was quick about it. Pulled my pants down and that¡¯s all I needed to do. Free¡­ Free¡­ Not free balling anymore. Whatever.

    I really didn¡¯t like the way things had to be done. No matter how I positioned myself, it felt like when I accidentally messed up my stuff and had no control. Moving around a little bit and getting in there got my fingers wet and only helped slightly. Annoying.

    The act of poking around there with paper tore me in two directions. In one way, it felt so bizarre that I dissociated it from myself as a part of my body. This wasn¡¯t some flesh on me, this was just some flesh I had to clean up. Easy freaking peasy. At the same time, every internal voice was screaming about the fact I¡¯d been castrated and there was a messy, fleshy wound hole in me and I had to get to the doctor as soon as possible. Despite believing this, my body didn¡¯t flood me with mysterious wound endorphins to make everything feel happy and nice.

    But we were done. It was done. At least for a few hours. I gave the tampon dispenser a sideways glance but nothing more than that before we made our way out of the stall.

    ¡°Thank you so much for helping me¡­mahh stir¡­¡± I had a sneaking suspicion that was coming. Parsley did at least hesitate when it came to the last part. Moving quickly, I pressed the collar of her leather jacket against her lips to smother that last word. Better than shoving my dirty hands against her mouth. She appeared startled and confused, giving a little cough against the leather. I felt bad about doing it, but the prospect of anyone hearing her say that was worse. Softly rubbing her back and apologizing with a weak explanation that I would explain why I did that when we were outside didn¡¯t do much to help.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    I led her over to the nearest open sink and motioned for her to get some soap from the dispenser. Her first inkling was to draw it toward her mouth like with the water fountain, but I showed her what to do. Her eyes lit up and soon she rinsed her hands just like me. Clearly, she retained some awareness while being a guitar. I must¡¯ve washed up at least once with her able to witness and recall. There was still a little flinch when she approached the water. Still afraid of water damage.

    She smiled and beamed radiantly holding her fingers up to her nose before a sudden sneeze made her giggle. The air hand dryer also led to a bit of fun as she put her hands up and then moved them around like plane wings. Behind us, a little girl rushed after her mother. Parsley smiled at the kid, who gave us a look and a little finger wave before going out the door.

    Once outside again with that craziness left behind, I took a breath and apologized again as I led Parsley down a side hallway without too many people. Softly, I explained that people don¡¯t really call other people ¡®master¡¯ or at least it was very uncomfortable, dated, and wouldn¡¯t fit for us.

    Before I could even approach the possibility of letting her have the word ¡®mistress¡¯, she chimed in to ask, ¡°Can I call you¡­mom?¡±

    Oh hell, no¡­

    But she had such wide, innocent eyes. Parsley explained that she overheard some of the little girls using the word ¡°mom¡± and she liked it because, ¡°The way they said it felt like when I say¡­ the other word for you.¡±

    ¡®Mistress¡¯ would¡¯ve been preferable, even though it still had a lot of problems. I was too young, although no longer too male, to have a daughter like Parsley. She looked nervously expectant as she softly asked me, ¡°Unless¡­ There¡¯s something wrong with that?¡±

    Somehow, her big, dark eyes got even bigger. I should¡¯ve just told her to call me ¡°Anthony¡° or even ¡°Tony¡±. That second one had some ambiguity as a girl''s name. I wasn¡¯t sure what I wanted to do with¡­ Celestina. The short version would¡¯ve been Tina. Ol¡¯ Blue Eyes, would you sing about me?

    She gently squeezed my hand. After several rumbling breaths, I resolved, ¡°When there¡¯s no one else around¡­ at all. Anywhere. You can use whatever word makes you happy. But around here with lots of people, call me by my name¡­Tony.¡±

    Of course, she had been paying attention when she heard my name as Celestina instead of Anthony. I told her that calling me Tony, even if it wasn¡¯t quite right, would make me happy. And wouldn¡¯t cause trouble. She accepted this and told me that it was okay that I covered her mouth, it was kind of like when I steadied her strings. It just surprised her. Surprising to both of us were the strings down below.

    Parsley was delighted to know that she could still make music, but I cautioned her that the area down there was not for public things, that¡¯s why we had to go to that restroom with privacy. She wasn¡¯t quite sure why there were public and private things, but she promised to be careful and not touch her own strings when there were other people. It hit me that to play my guitar, I¡¯d probably have to put my fingers in her crotch¡­ Best not to dwell on that.

    As we walked, Parsley hummed fragments of melodies and gently rocked my arm. I appreciated the fact that she was around to take my mind off the current situation, even though she was a big handful and responsibility.

    It struck me quite pointedly now that the vast majority of the stores around the mall were geared toward our current condition. Women¡¯s apparel as far as you could see. Really, what I wanted was a crew neck top to cut down on the amount of cleavage I had to look at and display. The problem was everything around had a preppy and posh quality to it which turned me off. Even the store with the supposed rocker fashion focus wasn¡¯t doing it for me.

    One key element to consider though. Everything in my possession had been altered by whatever this was. What about my possessions that weren¡¯t in my possession right now? What about the stuff back at the dorm? My identity to others was different. Did that mean my living space was different too? In short, what kind of girl clothes did I have back at the dorm, if any? Did Celestina have a sense of fashion that didn¡¯t annoy me? If she picked out what I was currently wearing, then that was already a few dings against her. The pink purse was a few more, even though it did have a nice amount of space for the songbooks and everything else.

    Toward the food court, I spotted a clothing shop displaying a certain edge but also comfort. It took gathering up some courage to go inside, especially since it was an all-girl stuff shop. Not that I was scared of clothes. But all this felt a little intimidating, looking as I did. We made it through the turbulence of the restroom though. I told myself this would be fine. Just get a few items for comfort and maybe something nice for Parsley. Without burning all of the money I have.

    Parsley clung close to me as we stepped through the front door. Looking around at everything on the racks was genuinely surreal. One part of my brain was still stuck in a confused uncertainty while the other part kept reminding it that these were clothes I could wear. Pars¡­ That could be a good nickname. I hadn¡¯t really thought about shortening it too much because I usually kept the name to myself. But that could work. She held her hands close to her body and clung even closer to me. It took me surprisingly long to realize what she was doing. I¡¯d warned her not to grab anything. She was following that precisely.

    Qualifying, I told her that she could feel and hold this stuff so long as she put it back if we didn¡¯t buy it. Pars widened her eyes and quietly, curiously asked, ¡°This could be for me? Something for me?¡± Her hand brushed across a silken blouse. That one in particular was about 70 bucks, but I assured her that whatever we decided upon would absolutely be hers. Just please get something that¡¯s not painfully expensive.

    It didn¡¯t take long for a polite clerk to find her way over and ask if she could help us with anything. Her demeanor was disconcerting. Not because she was doing anything weird. I got a little sample of it in the restroom when the women around gave me this very relaxed sense. Perhaps there was also some of it on the bus, but there were too many other things to process at the time. If I had to describe the mood, it was simply her greeting another girl. It was subtle, but I could notice it with a certain, contrasting demeanor. I could distinguish it as, before, girls who greeted me were ¡°on¡°. Not to say that they flirted or smiled more or anything fluffy to my ego. And it wasn¡¯t as though this girl was ¡±off¡±. She wasn¡¯t more or less afraid of me either. But it was absolutely a different tone than I was expecting. More something I innately sensed than I could clearly categorize. And doing my best not to dwell on it too much.

    My answer probably felt like a confused ball of signs and tones without any clarity or practice. Just call me a weird butch bitch then. I did my best, expressing that I was helping my good, close friend here and she had some issues. Pars giggling about how ticklish one particular dress felt seemed to communicate enough to the clerk. She took a gentle approach to Pars and invited her to try on a few things in the back. That included a pink dress, which contrasted well with her dark hair.

    I went for a subtle, blue blouse with a high collar and thick material which didn¡¯t feel especially stifling. And I noted where the underwear was. Opening the drape to a changing room, I took a deep breath but paused. Something was wrong. The air was strikingly cold and yet there was a piercing warmth beyond the stark lights above. Looking around revealed nothing but three walls, a bench, some hangers, and a full-length mirror revealing my trepidatious¡­ face.

    What was wrong? I had no idea, although there were plenty of candidates. It was a creepy, sneaky feeling inside. Like being watched¡­

 [5] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 5 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    Shifting the Sci-fi Guy

    [5]

    I must¡¯ve heard that wrong. No way did my best friend just asked me to marry her. Connor obviously hadn¡¯t said marriage. But how many words sound like marriage? Carriage, package, bandage. Maybe she got cut on part of my cleavage and needed me to get her a bandage? Totally made sense for like two seconds inside my brain before I thought about it.

    Ravage. Clearly what she meant was that was fun, but now she wanted to know if we really wanted to ravage each other and get wild and kinky. That was all the words I could think of.

    So, I simply asked her, ¡°¡­What?¡±

    ¡°Would you like to get married? Tie the knot. Nuptials. Say I do and we do. Would you like to be my wife and I can be your wife?¡±

    Oh, I heard her correctly. I awaited a rising grin and a chuckle followed by the explanation that she was just joking. That didn¡¯t come. She had a warm and content expression, but it was an earnest one. Connor wasn¡¯t really the sort to play an insincere joke on someone and this moment definitely felt like it wasn¡¯t one for him to start¡­ for her to start. So, she was seriously, genuinely asking me about the prospect of marriage¡­ Between the two of us. Together. Seriously, together.

    I didn¡¯t have any words to respond to her question. I was flummoxed, flabbergasted, and a bunch of F words like those. We just got intimate. and it was really nice and I liked it. But I couldn¡¯t imagine this as the next step.

    ¡°Married¡­?¡± Was all I was able to put together out of the absolute scramble of my thoughts. Connor wanted to marry me?

    She leaned close but also gave me a little bit of space before saying, ¡°Yeah. How long have we known each other?¡±

    Practically forever, since we were kids. Our parents were good friends, but it was a small neighborhood. Mom would always say we were thick as thieves and once vocally wished I could find a girl like Connor in my life. She vetted quite a few and occasionally tried to make something happen but regularly recognized that the girls in my school just didn¡¯t seem interested in either of us. At one point, she tiptoed around the possibility of us together, not wanting to say anything in that direction but almost resigning herself to this particular possibility. Heading down south with a scholarship seemed like the best possibility to cast a wider net than our small corner flanked by redwoods.

    I liked Connor. And what we just finished was amazing. But we just talked about basically busting our cherries and having a booty call or whatever. The promise wasn¡¯t supposed to be anything romantic or serious. It was a genuine, brotherly silly promise that we would clear up all that physical frustration. Just chill and enjoy one another without all the Drama.

    I expressed all this in way too many words and probably with less clarity than what was whizzing through my mind with tangled comprehension. When I slowed down, Connor gently brushed my hair out of my eyes. There was so much of it, and she had even more. Her careful touch was relaxing and therapeutic as much as it had been exciting and energizing minutes before. My nipples got even more turned on and I sheepishly covered myself with part of the blanket. She cozied up closer.

    ¡°We¡¯ve known each other forever. And I¡¯ve loved you as long. Like a brother, like a dear friend, and occasionally with the curiosity of more. I knew you didn¡¯t see me romantically and, honestly, I didn¡¯t see you romantically either. But this kinship and closeness we can share now were always sort of there as an imagining. I always wanted to know someone and share a life in that romantic version of how we were so comfortable with one another. The promise was the closest I could ever get to expressing it without feeling complete mortification. These were always my true feelings, but I feared that if I pushed it somewhere weird then you would turn away from me. Bro, I just wanna spend the rest of my life with you.¡±

    Those words felt like a weird sort of electricity flowing through me as though Connor stuck one finger into an electrical socket and completed a connection between us. It wasn¡¯t painful, but it was like a wild sensory infusion. Like I wanted to scream, cry, giggle, and wildly roll around with her again. Like twitterpated, even though it had been quite some time since I watched Bambi. Scared, swooning, and inebriated without a drop of drink?

    So much had suddenly changed in our lives, and it felt like Connor was pushing for even more. At the same time, it sounded nice. Marry my best friend. Have every day be like this. Have a life where we¡¯re just there for one another. Write it on stone, etch it in the heavens, put it in the Book of Life, and the Book of Love, and promise eternity.

    It felt both so deliriously complicated and starkly simple. Sure, we can get married. Wasn¡¯t there a courthouse somewhere nearby? What did you have to pay? Wouldn¡¯t there have to be witnesses? I knew that Connor tended to fly into inspirations at full speed. Whereas I leaned on the brakes a little too hard.

    I responded, ¡°Wow. I mean. I love you. I think I love you. We were¡­ we ARE bros. I just am still processing the physical changes, and the way our lives have shifted. Yes, it¡¯s like we talked about and everything. But I¡¯m still getting my bearings. My body is all in a tizzy. And I loved what we just did. But I¡¯m still figuring it all out and you know that takes a long time for me.¡±

    Connor sighed softly. ¡°Yeah. I know you, man. And I understand. I¡¯m still figuring it all out too. But I wanted you to know that I want to marry you. You have my words with my promise from long ago and my promise now that, with all my heart, I will take care of you, I will be with you, and I will love you with everything I have. Now, I don¡¯t have a secret fortune or anything, but you definitely know that. No excursions to the Palisades or even out to Catalina. A honeymoon would be a fun movie and some homemade pasta. And then we¡¯d have to get back to our homework.¡±

    Seeing Connor with a shade of melancholy hurt, but I couldn¡¯t just say something I didn¡¯t believe to make him feel better. Maybe I wanted to get married too and I just hadn¡¯t assembled the pieces in my mind to understand my own feelings. But I needed at least a little bit of time to get to that point. For me, unfortunately, how much time that represented could be quite lengthy indeed.

    We held each other close, and I told Connor as much of this spin cycle of thoughts inside me as I could. I was touched by her question and absolutely flattered beyond comprehension. I wanted to be together with her, but I didn¡¯t know what that meant yet. I didn¡¯t know what I meant as Trisha. I didn¡¯t know what the world outside the front door currently held beyond what Kuni brought home to report. I needed to breathe, but I also desperately wanted to share the same air as her.

    She smiled warmly with that analogy and kissed me on the forehead. We did a few fun things after that for a while before we heard rattling at the door again. Moving quickly, we struggled to put some clothes back on to see what was up. Once again, deciding to keep the bra attached assisted in me getting dressed while Riona had to wrestle her girls. We likely looked highly suspicious and desperately disheveled when we rushed toward the door, arriving just in time to see someone step through. Someone tall¡­

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    A girl with long, dark hair and a shiny black velvety top crouched slightly even though she wasn¡¯t quite tall enough to need to crouch through the doorway, thank goodness. She had to be around 6 feet though and so much of it was her legs. They kept going and going and going, rising from little black flats on her feet with a curve at the front to what felt like the longest jean pants in history. At least on a woman. She bloomed before us but still looked shy and demure. She waved and folded her hands in front of her.

    ¡°Hi¡­ A lot of crazy stuff has happened. I¡¯m Simon. Are you two¡­who I think you are? Zach and Connor? Guessing by hair color. Did Kuni make it back?¡±

    Simon¡­ Simon? Well, this was interesting. I didn¡¯t expect that anyone would actually get bigger and taller being turned into a girl but Simon definitely flew in the face of that assumption. Granted, she wasn¡¯t really bigger¡­ in the ways we¡¯d been the most affected. Not to say that she was in any way small. There was still plenty. And she had almost an Amazon seductress figure going on. Quite a change from the man with a roaring beard and a playful laugh.

    It didn¡¯t take long for Kuni to join us and offer up about what I expected his first response to be.

    ¡°¡­Oh, COME ON! This is not fair. I should¡¯ve at least wound up with a B cup. I can¡¯t believe I said that. But if I¡¯m stuck with this¡­ Why couldn¡¯t fate or the heavens give me a little bit more to work with? Simon¡­ I am so jealous. You are a hottie. And you need to check out our room.¡±

    I was glad to see that Mari had pulled herself together. She gave me a quick look to acknowledge that we shared a cry, but that was it. We left our roommates to survey their new situation. I could already hear Simon reacting to all the brand-new anime stuff.

    ¡°Wanna go for a walk?¡± Connor offered as a new proposal. This idea didn¡¯t require as much reflection. We had a sweaty, suggestive odor just beneath our clothes, but a little deodorant and some water masked it enough for a simple walk. The cafeteria was likely open for dinner by now, assuming that wasn¡¯t canceled. Kuni¡¯s mention of a professor changing made me wonder if the Sodexo workers would also experience the same. Not that I wanted anything like that to happen to them but, one way or the other, it would help us understand the scope and maybe a few of the rules as to what was going on.

    For going out, I discovered that my student ID and a couple other things that I usually kept in a wallet in my pocket had somehow migrated to a little, brown satchel purse that slipped comfortably around my shoulder. More mysterious shifts but it seemed fairly convenient. Connor had a much bigger black purse which she smiled at and gave me a few eyebrow wiggles. I grabbed a reddish cotton jacket similar in style but still slightly contrasting to Connor¡®s blue hoodie.

    The area of hallway immediately in front of the door wasn¡¯t deluged in screaming chaos, and I couldn¡¯t tell if that was a positive or negative sign. Instead of the stairs, we took the closer, available elevator down to the first floor. Only two little boob jolts from it suddenly descending and then coming to a sharp rest. Connor smiled with these moments.

    The common area contained some girls rushing about but nothing of the hinted at the chaos I heard when Connor changed. The billiards area had been fundamentally altered with an ensemble of different board games and forms of entertainment. Seemed like the college had poured more money into a girls'' dorm than for a coed one. Assuming everyone was a girl, but that was what Kuni relayed. Connor drifted towards the residence hall assistance office and I followed behind. Asking around, we gathered some details about the school¡¯s management of this bizarre situation.

    It seemed no one knew what to do about all this, but the RAs gathered together and were going to be holding a highly recommended meeting to get everyone in the dorm on the same page and communicate updates, concerns, and hopes. Flyers and posters were apparently being printed up for this emergency meeting but no one exactly knew when it would happen. Probably a few hours. It was also being considered to push out an emergency text to all students. That was as much as they knew.

    We went out the side door closest to the soon-to-be-retired football stadium. Evening was teasing the air with scattered clouds and a faint mugginess. Looking to the right, I thought I saw the girl Taylor had become walking with a pair of blonde girls. They were already too far away to bother with a yell. Even if they did hear me, I¡¯d probably blow out my girly voice. Connor didn¡¯t notice them, so I didn¡¯t point them out. We walked clockwise around the side street, heading towards the quartet of dorms on the front side approaching the main road, travel center, and new construction for the University. At least, that was how I knew it before all this craziness befell the day.

    Walking wasn¡¯t too bad even though there was lingering stuff around my nether regions that I wanted to resolve with a shower. My bra was definitely working overtime and harder than a sport suspension on a car as we rounded the wild, grassy side leading to Wentworth Cathedral. Cressman was a religious university even though the vast majority of students weren¡¯t. The only real obligation they asked for was one religious history class as a prereq and an introductory meeting and good fortune prayer in the cathedral at the start of every school year.

    From the outside, the structure and iconography of the church looked basically the same. The Wentworth name wasn¡¯t posted on the sign, but I couldn¡¯t remember if that was a difference. When we finally made it back on the pavement, Connor did a little stagger step. I leaned and reached out, hoping she didn¡¯t stumble. She seemed to handle the process of walking like a girl so far. A lot more hip rowing and wiggling through the air with some butt action. It was enough to get me gently discombobulated but the fundamental act of walking just felt like a slight contortion and not an imposition.

    As I checked to make sure she was all right, I soon realize she hadn¡¯t stumbled at all. Rather, she was down on one knee in front of me with a hand gently holding my hand. My heart raced a little and my head swooned in a way that probably looked so desperately clich¨¦ with my body. A girl getting proposed to. Was she trying again? Did I have a different answer for her? I waited and listened but also felt like a wildly rattling machine about to fall apart.

    ¡°Miss Patrisha Trisha Zach Monroe¡­ would you kindly¡­whoops, not brainwashing. I mean would you, dear Lady Trisha¡­ Little Miss Trisha and Big Bouncy Booby Lady Trisha¡­ do me the esteemed honor of joining me¡­ Miss Riona Connor Campbell, Lady Riona and Big Bouncy Booby Madame Riona¡­on a fancy, luxurious date¡­ with benefits at the most honorable eatery for burgers and fries beside the cafeteria this evening?¡±

    The trembles and shakes softly fell away as I took a quick breath and giggled slightly. ¡° I do. Gladly, joyously, I do. I will join you in this most blissful endeavor. Lead the way, dear Madame of bouncy big boobies.¡±

    And so she did.

 [10] A Brand New Goth Girl 10 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [10]

    Part of me expected that the room would be empty and dark without a sign of anyone around recently. But I actually slipped into a well-lit, multi-purpose small auditorium with several people milling about. Plastic back chairs were organized in neat rows.

    My biggest surprise was seeing a couple of young people who appeared slightly younger than me. Conclusively distinguishing them as girls or guys would¡¯ve been monumentally futile, especially at an event like this. Additionally, there was the complication of whether some of them were heading in one direction or another. All that considered, I could tell the girl in the black dress applied her makeup a little too heavily. Likely inexperience, not that I was speaking from a point of experience. I fretted that Norah would have to give me some more lessons once I totally screwed everything up in the morning.

    Two of the younger guys didn¡¯t come down on a clear feeling for me. They could¡¯ve been non-binary, early on toward a girl transition, or fairly deep man transitioning. I had no clue. My entire breadth of experience was a couple random posts online that I dug into out of curiosity. Perhaps I was an ¡®egg¡¯ as I gathered the community referred to in their parlance. Someone who had a variety of irreconcilable feelings and stuff in their souls awakened by self-reflection that represented more. Not simply unresolved psycho-sexuality, curiosity, or anything else.

    That was a monumental leap. And I¡¯d been cast across the divide in an instant. If I wasn¡¯t just some nascent ovum waiting for the right spark, then why wasn¡¯t my first reaction to go to screaming for boyish clothes and testosterone supplements? I revered Beatrice even while I worked to reconcile her as a part of myself, and I felt honored by what my benefactor had done.

    Maybe I just was trans, and I got bounced to the finish line. Did that still make me trans? I transitioned, even though it wasn¡¯t by choice. I tested the options about how I could modify my appearance and just went for the subtlest of adjustments. I am a girl. Did I belong here or not?

    It probably seemed like the best idea to not bring up the complexity of my situation and gradually present my proposal to any who might be interested. I was absolutely terrified to put it out there all by myself. My key hope was that someone might be aware or accurately mention the situation over on the campus and then someone might say ¡°I wish that happened to me¡° and I could step in at that point.

    The one lady who behaved like the leader of the group approached me with her hands folded in front of her and a smile. ¡°Can I help you?¡±

    She said her name was Meredith. Her voice was amazing. I heard casual snippets of a couple people and they gave more credence toward certain directions. This lady, I couldn¡¯t think of a diplomatic way to phrase it. She seemed like an expert but also anonymous. She didn¡¯t stand out. She just seems like a regular, pretty lady. I could readily believe that she was just a presenter for the group rather than part of it. I wished that wasn¡¯t my thought process but the distinction between most of the group and Meredith was obvious. She wasn¡¯t quite as big as poor Lily, but she was giving her red, button-up blouse a stress test. I innately knew that it was judgmental of me to lump her voice and other qualities into abject normalcy. Maybe she was a lesbian. Maybe she was her own variety of non-binary. Could also be she was an ally. It was a daunting world that felt like the open ocean and a cliff that I was barely balanced in front of.

    ¡°I called earlier about donations and resource efforts. I wanted to help out the trans but also the overall LGBTQ+ outreach community here. Providing resources and whatever¡­ else I can.¡± I casually hoped that my goth girl appearance would be enough. The only alternative I could imagine was to just flat-out say I was a witch and could transform people. I doubted that would go over well.

    She smiled and invited me to sit wherever I was comfortable and explained that they were currently at an intermission. They had support discussion and prayer for those in the group who needed it, then there were refreshments and board games along with a social session. She invited me to introduce myself and talk about my ¡°resources¡±.

    Running away right then didn¡¯t seem like a preferable option. I got myself a little juice box and silently apologized to my roommates for my horrible timing. One particular girl in a light blue top and tight jeans practically stomped across the auditorium and monopolized things quite loudly. I soon learned her name was Persephone. She seemed to have a permanent scowl etched on her face along the faintest hint of facial hair. Her hair was long and brunette but rather unkempt. Very slight boobs showed through her blue top.

    Many things about Persephone rubbed me the wrong way, particularly her jokes about drugs and fiddling with questionable things in her bag. At the same time, she brought up messed up stuff from her uncle and being homeless recently. Her fuming anger blasted in all directions. I had no idea what to think of her. The group didn¡¯t seem particularly happy with her, but they let her vent.

    This snippet of the meeting was pleasant until the focus arrived on me, and Meredith invited me to introduce myself. After some blind panic and gradually getting to my feet with an absolute void inside my head for what I was supposed to say that didn¡¯t sound crazy, I began, ¡°My name is Beatrice Lee. I used to be a boy, Taylor Lee. I am a student at Cressman University. I wanted to check out this outreach group in the hopes of helping with resources and¡­ and just helping as much as I can. I¡­have¡­I have access to a special skin care depilatory light. It¡¯s really good, and I¡¯ll gladly offer it to anyone for free.¡±

    That hopefully didn¡¯t strain credibility too much. With my meager sphere of trans experience, I knew that laser hair treatments were not only pricy but had shortcomings. Some eyebrows were raised, Meredith¡®s especially. She was the first to respond, ¡°Interesting. Is it at a medical office nearby? Are you a medical student?¡±

    More and more holes to dig myself into. ¡±I am an art student, but I was granted access to this special light by a benefactor. And I just thought it would be very helpful to this community. I¡¯ve used it and it¡¯s really good.¡±

    I had left it out there, but Meredith soon picked it up. ¡°How many months or years along are you? You look amazing. Your voice is nice but still has some buzzy and flat intonation to it. I provide vocal coaching, and it would be easy to help you get the rest of the way there.¡±

    My voice had issues? She clarified that my sound was very nice on a ¡°fem¡± level, but my cadence and pronunciation could use a little polish. She made it clear that where I was at still sounded perfectly fine, like a standard tomboy, but she suspected that I would want to take that extra step she could help me with. I let her assume that I had some sort of trachea surgery. My Taylor brain and way of talking as a boy were clearly blocking Beatrice from being expressed to her fullest.

    To Meredith¡¯s question on how long, I decided to just count how many months since I started college. And I politely thanked her for the vocal coaching offer. Some of the younger girls blurted out questions mixed with random statements about getting ¡°bottom surgery¡± for free. I seemed to be out of the hot seat for the moment, so I gingerly sat back down. Persephone went on a few more rants before she finally seemed to chill.

    The meeting wrapped up soon after that and the group broke up into various clusters. Persephone soon ambushed me over by the doors and pressed about this ¡°fancy laser light treatment¡±. She talked up some of the other options while sounding quite dismissive of what I was proposing. I probably would¡¯ve been dismissive too, especially if it were touted as free. Her demeanor still annoyed me though. So, I responded by saying, ¡°I have it with me.¡±

    The little pink flashlight came out of my pocket and Persephone snorted at me. I commanded the light with ¡°womanly beauty¡± as though I were simply extolling its virtues. And I set it to user and target because I wasn¡¯t sure about revealing all this to everyone at once. I spread a wide, bright beam from the top of Persephone¡¯s head down to her feet.

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    When I clicked it off, her mouth hung open slightly. With blazing fury, she yelled, ¡°WHAT DID YOU DO?!¡± She had on the same blue top but her breasts had to be at least a cup size larger. Her face appeared a little softer and with different, rounded angles to it. Fumbling around her waist, her hand soon rested between her legs as she screamed about her dick.

    ¡±I¡¯m supposed to be a futa, you bitch! I didn¡¯t wanna lose my dick!¡±

    I caught a scramble of words about her boyfriend and a mess of other things before she lashed out, ¡°GIVE ME THAT NOW!¡± She reached for the light and my heart flooded with blooming terror. Whatever else was happening around us didn¡¯t matter as I quickly shifted the settings to user-only and swept the beam across her body in a panic. Her hands quietly dropped, and she looked briefly confused before taking a breath and laughing.

    ¡°What were we talking about? Oh my gosh¡­ Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost. Please sit down and gather your breath. Come on, come on.¡± She held me gently as she guided me back over to the chairs. I quietly put the flashlight back into my meager pocket as my body gurgled and a sense of nausea filtered out of my soul.

    Persephone didn¡¯t look anything like she had moments ago. Her face was fuller, softer, and bore a petite nose. She still wore the same blue top but the expanse of her breasts landed in the same region as Lily now. A sliver of midriff showed between her tight denim jeans and that top. Her entire demeanor was different from the entire time I¡¯d seen her. Her voice had a more naturally feminine quality than even mine. She gently and warmly comforted me as I reeled with things I couldn¡¯t possibly say.

    As much as I could gather, no one in the room noticed anything amiss. I soon learned that Persephone¡®s name was now Phoebe. The person she was had been erased from existence. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to turn the light on myself without any awareness and just let go of this sickening moment.

    I didn¡¯t mean to do it. I thought she would be fine with it. I got wrapped up in so much misunderstanding and confusion. There was nuance to everyone and everything. I shouldn¡¯t have just assumed that what I could give her was exactly what she wanted. And I killed her. I killed the person she was before. No matter what kind of person that was, and I¡¯d definitely seen so many negative qualities, I didn¡¯t have the right to take her life from her and give it to this new person. What could I possibly do now? The light didn¡¯t have anything like an undo option as far as I dug through its settings. I screwed up and these were the consequences. It was horrifying.

    For the sake of the group, I put on a calm face despite the sweat dripping from my hair. I cooked up another falsehood about skipping a meal, even though the hope and pressure of supper in the cafeteria still weighed on my thoughts like a ticking clock. Kasey and Rhea must have left by now. To throw in with those lies, I mentioned having a bout of something like a panic attack.

    They¡¯d hit me every so often ever since starting college. I would be sitting there, and it was like my brain was on fire with a notion it couldn¡¯t help but follow through to its conclusion. Often, it felt like a half-remembered movie, a dream, or some game a friend invited me to play. A storm would wrack my consciousness with tingles like scrunching your eyes up tight. I would hyperventilate and run through this mind-stealing vision. When it was over, I¡¯d have to gingerly remind myself of what I was doing because it felt like a waking nightmare during which I was gone. I had no idea if that was truly a panic attack or some screwed-up static in my brain. Invoking it invited peril, but at least I was able to wrap my current terror in that coat.

    Everyone came over to console me, at least a little. Gentle Phoebe especially assured me that things would be fine even though I knew in my heart they never would be again. Meredith comforted me too and made sure I knew that whatever details related to this depilatory light could be sent along to her by email or whatever was convenient for me later. I quietly thanked her for that, traded contact information, and cautiously made my way out of the little auditorium.

    Despite the time crunch and the urgent press that I was going to miss supper with my roommates, I wandered down the side hallway and over into the central chapel. It was open with some recorded music playing through the speakers rather than the grandiose pipe organ at the front. Ornate wooden sculptures with a figure of Christ on the side near the window and a tree blended with a cross and a sunrise adorned the front pulpit area, if that was the right term.

    I didn¡¯t know much of anything about churches, how they were laid out, the rituals, or the terminology. Just vague recollections. I knew so little about trans people and even less here. I knew I should probably leave before I screwed this up too.

    The pew was surprisingly comfortable, despite its simple appearance. I leaned forward and tried my best to breathe normally. I¡¯m sorry. I am so sorry.

    I did all that wrong. Maybe I wanted to show Persephone and kind of shut her up. Yeah. I definitely did. What can I do about it? God¡­ Goddess¡­Benefactor? Whoever might be listening who can help me? I felt so very small in a big, crazy world.

    What do I pray? What do I say? How do I make things better? Well, those words sounded as good as anything to offer up. Just ask. Just hope.

    The calming serenity was nice but no sudden, jarring revelation unveiled a great truth. It was still just me alone, sitting with my trembling hands. No pastor came by to offer me perfect words and wisdom. So, I carefully rose to my feet and left through one of the side doors.

    A certain aura did accompany me as I strolled from the pavement to the grass. It was like my body was made of loose materials casually drawn together. That was a weird feeling beyond just the Beatrice level. I practiced my voice with an anchoring reminder in my head about how Meredith spoke. It seemed a little too bouncy and animatedly perky. Sometimes. I found it rather bubbly. You could hear a sense that she was smiling. That wasn¡¯t necessarily bad, but it also didn¡¯t feel quite right for Beatrice to mimic that style. Not that I was judging resolutely what Beatrice should and shouldn¡¯t sound like.

    Simply copying the momentum and energy provided me with a necessary distraction as I walked back toward campus. There was something there though. Despite my tangled web of thoughts and feelings about the moderation of the sound, it was kind of cute to try. The problem was how much it felt like imposing myself on the voice I¡¯d been given. If that made any sense. As usual, I was probably thinking too much about parts I shouldn¡¯t fret over and not thinking enough about the parts that I should be focusing on.

    The cafeteria was still busy when I made my way over. Slowly ambling down the steps felt like sinking into a quiet miasma. Down down down to the tree-sheltered view of the evening slipping closer.

    ¡°BEATRICE! BEA! Over here!¡± I heard Kasey¡¯s voice cut through the dull roar of so many others. She was still here. I felt so embarrassed at taking so long. I started my apology, but the exuberance of my roommates blotted it out. They pointed out several guys they knew from classes as shy girls hanging out in here. Norah and Lily were also present, having just started eating. Kasey and Rhea simultaneously assisted with swiftly assembling my meal. Cheese tortellini, mushrooms, cucumber salad, a little quesadilla, potatoes, and a little chocolate cupcake. It was more than I was expecting. There was some catfish leftover from lunch as well as sesame ginger stir fry.

    As we ate, everyone chatted. About who they saw, who they talked to, the overall chaos, and the fact that the administration was going to update and follow things up with residence assistants as soon as possible. I didn¡¯t need to say much more than that I dropped by a trans resource meeting over at the local church. Lily was curious and my roommates buried me in adamant support.

    I still felt lost from my recent mistakes and sadly not as hungry as I was hoping for, but the presence of everyone around me soothed some of the troubles and quelled the pressure within.

 [5] Tuning the Guitar Player 5 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [5]

    Yeah, it felt like someone or something watching me. I wasn¡¯t sure whether the someone or something part of that thought was more unsettling. I inspected the changing area carefully, peering underneath the seat and probing the walls.

    The mirror garnered the most attention as I squinted close to it and rapped my knuckles on the material.

    When studying in the evening, I often put on random podcast recommendations involving musical history, humorous film reviews, esoteric deep dives similar to programs PBS would¡¯ve aired decades ago, and a few scattered scary campfire tales.

    That last variety inevitably popped up late into the night at the end of my study sessions. I would have a hard time sleeping, even taking into account Josh¡¯s rumbling snores, which typically lulled me to sleep. I¡¯d absorbed plenty of examples of terrified young women and supposedly safe locations creeped on by greasy, long-haired cretins. One even highlighted a peephole hidden in a woman¡¯s changing room. Pressing my fingers beneath the mirror seam revealed that it was affixed with an adhesive. That didn¡¯t preclude some subtler chicanery, but I wouldn¡¯t be able to know for sure without doing damage to the store.

    At this point, the upsetting aura lifted from my senses as inexplicably as it had settled. Like opening an invisible window to clear a stifling miasma and invite fresh air. But it wasn¡¯t my room I was concerned about. I quickly pushed open the drape and went in search of the clerk. She lingered nearby at the entrance to the changing area. I learned that she had put Pars in room number 5 and given her very specific directions.

    I found her standing there with a calm smile when I push aside the drape. Her arms were still full of clothes. Closing the drape behind me didn¡¯t feel like it provided us with enough privacy. That watchful presence felt like it shifted over here, pursuing my girl. I clenched my teeth and tightened my grip around the feeling of a growl, even though I held it in, because I didn¡¯t want Pars to get the wrong idea. She still paid attention to my body language and suspected something was wrong.

    Quietly, she apologized and meekly responded, ¡°The lady said it¡¯s okay to wear this. I was scared when she led me over here. I know I¡¯m sometimes apart from you but¡­ I haven¡¯t been since I changed¡­mom. Would it be okay if you stay with me here?¡±

    I hadn¡¯t inspected this room, but the mirror looked about the same. Holding her hand, I led Pars over to my changing room with all the clothes that she had. It was a tight fit and I briefly worried about what the clerk might think. But it was better to have Pars with me. While clearly not comfortable on the rigid bench, she sat obediently and without complaint.

    I looked into my reflection. Not my face. I¡¯d seen it in the mirror of the women¡¯s restroom, even though I tried not to dwell on it. Pars have been so wrapped up in everything, that it seemed she barely noticed either. Pleasant features, clear traits. So much of Celestina and nothing of what I woke up with. Smaller nose but still a big honker. Frightened but hardened eyes. A girl moving like some magic overlay of what I should¡¯ve been seeing. Boobs boobs boobs, just a straining mass of boobs. Not historically huge but unmistakable. And jeans around female curves.

    I would¡¯ve been perfectly fine leaving this on and just letting the blue top awkwardly cover it. But modeling actions for Pars. The straps went down first and then I endeavored to nudge, shimmy, and twist it in such a way that I didn¡¯t accidentally free the nipple beast. It wasn¡¯t the most expert or clear demonstration, but I got it off and stood there in my black bra, which was covered in lacy roses.

    My chest looked both not as big and yet even more enormous with just that flimsy fabric cradling it. My glasses sat off to the side. Swiftly, I yanked the blue top over my head and checked to see if it helped at all. Unfortunately, my dreaded boobs weren¡¯t going anywhere but the color and the fit mercifully made them stand out slightly less. Glasses back on. And that was all the shopping I wanted to do aside from snagging some underwear.

    Parsley took swimmingly to my example. She set and folded her leather jacket aside neatly and then did the whole strap thing and wiggle to get out of her top. Underneath was a wood-toned bra which she actually took the initiative of adjusting and fixing gently.

    The pink dress looked amazing on her, as did everything else she tried. Those leather pants were still an ordeal and a half, but we managed. She looked adorable in a nice silvery dress with protective, looser pants. It wasn¡¯t the most fashionable combination but she smiled and fluttered the cloth while I felt relief.

    We wound up purchasing more clothes than I would¡¯ve preferred but a couple of store discounts helped with the pain. I managed to change into a pair of underwear, after buying it, while the clerk agreed to keep a quick eye on Parsley for me. Whatever sensation and unsettling aura struck me before, was now completely gone from the changing area. The underwear was stiff and slightly irritating in an intimately uncomfortable way, but it was still way better than not having anything against my crotch.

    When I returned, I saw that Parsley had gone quiet with her arms tightly folded in the lap of her dress and her eyes shut. The flowing, silver cloth shimmered gently against her pale flesh with matching pants. She seemed to know when I returned, because she eagerly flashed her eyes open and warmly smiled. Her chipper, boundless energy let her surround herself with our bags without complaint as to their weight. I would¡¯ve gladly taken half the load from her, but she was adamant about shouldering it all herself.

    This side of the mall, I tended not to bother with but it connected to the food court on the newer section so it was worth following to loop around and eventually head back. That was a long walk though, especially with everything Parsley set on her shoulders. I kept a slow pace, so she didn¡¯t have to push herself. But she more than bested it. I had to try to keep up instead.

    She walked exuberantly with the cascade, twirl, shake, and flutter of her outfit. Almost enough energy translated and projected through her motions that I wondered why her crotch didn¡¯t start playing music. Any other day in my life, that would¡¯ve been the most peculiar pondering.

    Just walking still had a surreal peculiarity. The immense hip swing was both starting to put a weird strain on my waist while my movement settled into a motion that hopefully wouldn¡¯t make things feel worse. Having that small but essential layer was a huge step towards better walking. It was still a monumentally small assistance against the swollen contour of my ass, the unfamiliar depths of my waist, the shape of my legs, the mysterious balance of my arms, and never to forget those now-contained, but never quite halted jiggle boobs. Simply putting some different layers on a foreign body didn¡¯t make it not foreign but at least toning things down kept my screams from rising to the surface for the time being.

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    A card and gaming shop, which appeared new, soon snagged my eye, but if going into the guitar shop like this felt like a questionable endeavor, then going into that one was definitely going to take more than I had. However, my interest level and curiosity overrode my good sense. Along with my desire to rest not only myself but also my guitar, who retained an expression of exuberance while gravity was finally catching up to her. I relieved her of a few of the bags drawing red pressure lines across her gentle flesh.

    The store had geeks of the geekiest variety. That wasn¡¯t a surprise. I was a geek, no matter how I may have looked. Not quite of the cardboard flinging and comic art singing variety, but rather guitar stringing and methodical melody mixing sort. Some cred, I had bled. From a shortened D&D campaign, to a set of board game caf¨¦ soir¨¦es, and enough video game plays that drained into the morning. Once again, it was mostly Pars I was worried about.

    Some sector of my brain envisioned the clich¨¦, cultivated by endless hours of frustrating pop-cultural nonsense. All the squeaky-voiced, nasally nerds with pocket protectors and thick glasses would turn as though something out of a classic western saloon and gasp. Oh my goodness, a strange female human species has broached this quadrant and come aboard! My social anxiety, neuroses, and dungeon-dwelling life don¡¯t know what to do with this!

    That was not my expectation, but I did worry a little bit about how close the reality would be. The reality included a significant minority of girls already positioned around a card game. Some of the standard clich¨¦s did circle the table but plenty of others appeared absolutely normal. In particular, one dude looked more like the lead singer in a band than what I expected around here. He was nice to gaze at. I just felt brutally embarrassed at the fact I was looking, still looking, and wanted to look even more.

    In fact, my brain decided to smack me in the face with a mental image. That image was me without anything on my lower half, my top pulled up, and this dude not only plunging what my brain evaluated to be his massive dick inside of me but also ravenously licking and biting on my hard nipples. What the absolute fuck¡­

    I wasn¡¯t gay. Not that it was a sticking point one way or the other. I just didn¡¯t find the same sex attractive. And, apparently, that still rang as true. I couldn¡¯t say much about my feelings when dealing with Parsley because there were so many things going on with what she represented. Not seeing her in a sexual way made sense because this was my guitar, basically my friend as well, and something like a younger person to take care of. Not one iota of that felt or should¡¯ve felt sexualized.

    Looking at my body and all the characteristics that would¡¯ve turned me on before and not quite feeling the same thing also made sense because it¡¯s one thing to be attracted to someone physically and another thing to be physically attracted to things. Clearly, I didn¡¯t have a thing for things. Life wasn¡¯t going to make figuring this out easy.

    I wasn¡¯t thinking about sucking him off though. At least, I wasn¡¯t half a thought ago, but now I was. Plunging my mouth over his¡­ Maybe I was actually craving a hotdog?

    For the best, I led us over to the side away from the hot guy. Amusingly and terrifyingly enough, Pars noticed him and did a lot of looking with a slightly goofy expression that could be considered verging on a flirty one.

    The proprietor of this establishment warmly and politely greeted the two of us and attempted to ascertain our interests. They had options for competitive and casual play along with renting modules and being able to buy computer time. I told him we were just looking around. Christ, it was like some possessed horny ghost was wrapped around my brain and wanted to get her spirit rocks off.

    My hair was starting to get uncomfortably sweaty and tracking down one of the salons on this end of the mall sure seemed like a good idea. But Pars bounded curiously towards the table and asked a lot of questions about what everyone was doing. Her vague inkling that this was some sort of game probably came from limited experience before when we played a few things around the common area. Still, I commended her for her sharpness.

    One of the guys, who sounded like he didn¡¯t do a lot of talking to a lot of people, still made a nice effort to pass along the details of what they were doing. Pars soon wanted to play this with me. I could only imagine her small, nesting spirit or whatever existed of her before as my guitar with quiet curiosity watching past games and wishing she had an active voice and a seat at the table. With that in mind, there was no way my heart could deny my girl at least a little bit of this game.

    We paid for a two-player setup with some house cards and items to get a basic game going. It wasn¡¯t exactly a collectible card game, but it had some elements in that direction. 30 bucks was my limit, but at least that bought us the possibility of winning something nice in a later drawing.

    Parsley received a copy of the rules, tightened up her brow, and focused her intense gaze on every single word as she read through and distilled the instructions for each of us. One of the little things that had flown over me amongst all the big things was that she was able to read and pronounce words in a normal fashion. She didn¡¯t have complete comprehension and understanding, but she had a surprising assortment of skills.

    Now wasn¡¯t the right time to ask her how she could read, but I assumed that her position on my bed and peeking when I did my work and left a book nearby had been enough for her to get the gist. If you couldn¡¯t move or couldn¡¯t do anything on your own then I suppose that left a lot of time to persistently and curiously absorb every detail possible in your world. I felt a clinging melancholy just imagining what her life must¡¯ve been before all this.

    And I also felt that uncomfortable presence that had been with me in the changing rooms. Didn¡¯t feel like it was from any of the guys or girls at the table. No one ogling us from the side. It was something above or behind me when I absolutely knew no one was there. There couldn¡¯t even be a camera placed in that position. Nor an air vent for some secretive mall mole man crawling through the pipes. I had to shake it off as one of those notions I just couldn¡¯t invest any validity in. Random anxiety.

    However, when I turned back to the table, it was unmistakable to see that a folded slip of paper was placed right by my hand, almost between the fingers. Looking over, no one was in any position to set it where I had found it. Parsley was still vigorously absorbing the minutia of the rules. I unfolded the scrap of paper and saw neat, penciled-in letters written across it.

    The message was, ¡°I am the one who turned you into a girl. I didn¡¯t intend for what happened to your guitar. If you wish, I can restore it to its previous state. Simply write your response in the space provided and leave the paper nearby.¡±

 [11] A Brand New Goth Girl 11 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [11]

    The absolutely surreal nature of sitting in a bustling cafeteria where practically everyone was a girl was hard to get beyond. A busboy and a cook were the only guys anywhere. Would they technically be considered university employees or contractors through the food service? Perhaps they slipped through the cracks. I had the ability to patch those cracks, but I instead pushed the flashlight as deep into my tiny pocket as it would go.

    I was liable to mess something up. Again. The food tasted about the same as usual. No altered taste buds to improve or remix my flavor perception, although chocolate never got a complaint from me.

    Amongst the passing faces, that my roommates and Lily recognized and scrutinized, were seas of anonymous new people to speculate upon. Many of them, I had a vague inkling about. They seemed like girls who could¡¯ve been siblings of guys I may have seen walking around campus. Nothing sharply conclusive or definite.

    If no one provided you with context to this setting, then it would¡¯ve been easy to just surmise that this was a girls'' school with nervous, awkward freshmen and helpful upperclassmen. The disheveled attire of wandering, uncertain girls suggested crunch time and term paper season more than an upheaval of the demographics. The amount of visible bra straps, odd clothing combinations, and baggy pants was enough to raise questions. At the same time, these faux pas were slowly pointed out and corrected by more comfortable girls. Tops even casually came off to fix underwear.

    After a while, I could imagine it was like a hegemony of girls tidying up all the issues. The newbies still stood out, but they were beginning to blend in. A brunette in a deep olive top and fuzzy red flannel pants got her hair brushed neat over by the big windows by an entourage of other girls. A blonde in a blue sports top and stretchy matching pants received help with her ponytail along with encouragement and cheers that she looked like Samus Aran. Another lady with densely curled brown hair was switching outfits as she attentively listened, analyzed, and adjusted her white bra before slipping on a snug, yellow shirt. My eyeballs landed on a goth girl with a preppy edge.

    Her blonde hair had swaths of black¡­or she possessed black hair bleached light. Compact, sculpted dark eyebrows accented her face along with dark prong-like marks below her black lips. Ornate vine tattoos on her wrists looked like ghostly bracelets. Her figure was in the same range as mine. A cozy, black sweater top traced her form, paired comfortably with gray pants with a softly riveted texture. She noticed me and we exchanged a quick head nod.

    This animated, vigorous social sightseeing meant I let my food get strikingly cold. The topic eventually turned around when Rhea asked if I was still going to do all the clubs she knew I was involved in.

    Beatrice sure was active. As I may have guessed from her clarinet, there was music in her extracurriculars. She had Jazz Band. A stint with an animators club also fit. I flew in a similar trajectory with earlier college ambitions. Photography Club also made sense when you accounted for her hobby/site. Her swimming group was a bit off the beaten path. And I couldn¡¯t have guessed Tabletop Club or Theater assistance. Were practically five extracurriculars normal?

    I had barely ventured beyond the thought of two in one semester. Tabletop was apparently sporadic and informal. Theater connected with Rhea and thankfully seemed like a light load of support work and makeup. It still made me sweat though, because I didn¡¯t have Beatrice¡¯s supposed innate knowledge. I could only hope that muscle memory or a secret diary might assist. She had plenty of fragments posted online, but you never know if an online persona truly represents a full picture.

    Each of us quietly indulging in a cone of swirled frozen yogurt, the conversation drifted from our table and echoed up the steps as we ascended to ground level with a fresh hoard of flailing, bunched initiates sneaking down to fill our spaces.

    Chilly but moisture-laden air greeted us as I gently rubbed my shoulders. I followed our group along the return route. Vague exhaustion started to wrap its tendrils around me. The mollification of dinner, along with the company, and my delving thoughts involving and avoiding everything recently, drained me. I just wanted to curl up in Beatrice¡®s bed and not have to worry about things for a while.

    Evening hustled along its inevitable trajectory without a thought for whether any of us could keep up with its pace. While a million Beatrice notions and possibilities shimmer through my thoughts, the weight of the flashlight kept brushing against my leg. This was dangerous. I didn¡¯t deserve the responsibility. Surely, someone else, anyone else, could more cleverly navigate how to frame and present a magical flashlight for those who craved its glow.

    Returning to the dorm, I anticipated a modest but burgeoning crowd of curious residents drawn together by the proposed meeting. But the common room appeared practically empty. Lingering, I told the others I had something I needed to take care of, but I would be back in the dorm shortly. Norah still had a stockpile of funny videos she wanted to share with others, but the sentiment was drifting towards quietly completing any lingering assignments. My project still loomed. The cancellation or delay of classes seemed likely, but I still knew plenty of professors who requested digital versions of assignments whether we met in person or not.

    Beatrice obviously would¡¯ve been done with her assignment by now if her life hadn¡¯t intersected with mine. All I could hope for was that she might temporarily lend me her inspiration, so I could trace soft shadows of it. That mood suited my current plans.

    Every frantic feeling burned like flame within me. Turn around, head back, don¡¯t do this. But I was almost back at the place I left that simple response to my benefactor¡¯s questions. They chose the wrong acolyte. As much as I appreciated the eye-opening exploration of Beatrice possibilities, I wasn¡¯t the right person to wield such a responsibility. My destruction of a life more than demonstrated that. I reflected on a letter of my own, something contrite, humble, apologetic, and sincere. The unmistakable appreciation of being chosen first with no assumption that I knew better than her but pressing the demure request that she reconsider.

    Right before I poked a finger into that simple flap masquerading as a pocket that managed to conceal the flashlight, I noticed a feeling in the air. Not a feeling of foreboding or danger but one nudging me to look around. So, I looked.

    Under a big, furry coat sat a slight shape hunched forward with just her soft legs poking through. Frail whimpers squeaked their way through the fabric with tiny hands struggling to hold the shelter secure. This obvious and yet hidden little human blob clung to a spot of carpet right in front of the nearby fuzzy couch.

    Something about this display urged me to both want to give them their privacy about whatever issue was going on but also scoot up beside them and ask if there was anything I could do. My thoughts were complicated by the tangled experiences of stepping into a situation that became worse from my presence but also seeing girls caring for new sisters, no matter where they came from.

    It was a difficult choice and yet an easy one. I stepped lightly across the floor, half crouched, and carefully considered when would be best to announce myself. Clearing my throat didn¡¯t startle the shy figure, but I noticed that the little shifts and shakes abated like a deer suddenly alert and listening out for the possibility of a predator.

    She actually spoke first, a tiny, high-pitched mousy voice faintly muffled by the fabric, straining to present itself with authority, ¡°Who¡¯s there? What do you want?¡±

    Although she seemed to do the best she could with her voice, that didn¡¯t keep a certain, strained edge from creeping into the tone, a sense of panic clinging to the edge of breaking down in tears. With a sigh, I folded my legs and sat as comfortably as I could on the carpet, near her yet leaving a respectful amount of space between us.

    Looking at the little, cloaked lump over, part of me wondered whether this was some child who perhaps came to visit their sibling at college. What further backstory beyond that would just be guessing. The only features I had to work with were those dainty legs and the faintest trace of lacy ruffles.

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    What could I say? The name I had and the name I lost likely wouldn¡¯t mean anything to her. Taylor didn¡¯t know enough people around campus, despite all the time I spent here. And I didn¡¯t know what I wanted. But I hoped to help, at least in some small way.

    And, so, I told her everything I could, whether it mattered or not. I am Beatrice, I used to be Taylor, and I¡¯d like to help you. The fretful tension gingerly eased out of the lump as it seemed to deflate but also shift beneath its protective cover. I ducked down slightly. Not much I could do if she found me to be a spooky, scary witch.

    What cautiously and carefully peered out from beneath that voluminous furry coat was a cautious, silver eye with a sparkle of tears catching the light. Blonde hair brighter than Rhea¡¯s emerged next. It was lightly rumpled but possessed gorgeous braids crossing the top of her head like a golden crown. Her slim face quavered as she bit her soft lip. I reached out a hand, and she stared at it suspiciously before taking a steadying breath.

    As though she were a frail butterfly emerging from a cocoon, the girl beneath was revealed as she slipped out of the jacket. She wore one of the girliest things I¡¯d seen all day and I¡¯d seen plenty. A satiny, pink ribbon laced around her dress collar. The dress she wore looked like something that would adorn a precious doll from ages ago. Puffy sleeves and tiered ruffles of white and pink enveloped her. This delicate creature wobbled and caught herself on the cushion of the couch as her slippered feet finally emerged. She gave a high-pitched squeak as she settled.

    My hand continued to hold hers. Just touching her felt like grasping something finely crafted of warm crystal. I fretted that if I held her too close then I might snap something loose. Sitting beside her, I pulled the jacket up. She soon employed it to shield her bare legs as she fussed with the hem of her dress which ended above the knee.

    All throughout this, tears streamed down her eyes and clung to her reddish cheeks. I grabbed her some tissue and she blew her nose. Despite her blowing hard, it didn¡¯t sound any louder than a puff of air and a crinkle of cloth.

    ¡°Thank you¡­¡± She said softly. Slowly, her tears abated, although it seemed more because she was dehydrated. I brought her a cup of water and she sipped it hesitantly. I soon learned she¡¯d been crying most of the afternoon.

    ¡°I can¡¯t stop it. I¡¯m so scared and confused and I feel broken.¡± I set a hand on her small shoulders and rubbed gently. She wavered like a leaf in fall. It took persistent questioning before she unfurled her story.

    ¡°My name¡­ is Derrick Beck.¡±

    That name actually rang a bell. I scrunched my eyes and plumbed my memories of university newspapers I¡¯d half-read to understand exactly why. It didn¡¯t take long before it struck me.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ our football quarterback.¡± The name was attached to a smiling young man with muscular arms and broad shoulders, a toned neck, and a classically handsome jawline. I remembered him having an infectious smile and bright blonde hair in the same tone as this girl but cropped close and slicked back. Slowly, the girl next to me nodded.

    My benefactor had really done a number on her. She was apparently a little bit over six feet tall as Derrick. Now, she meekly estimated, and I had to concur, that she was just under five feet. I listened attentively as she continued.

    Her volume dipped as she confessed that now her name seemed to be ¡°Rosalie Eden Beck¡±. It was a pretty name and that was the problem. She had apparently just finished football practice and was doing some weight training and lifting when she sat up from the bench and discovered everything about her body had changed. Instead of her uniform, she had on this dress along with the jacket.

    For a horrified moment, it seemed like she was the only one who changed. Then the running back found herself in a black leotard, dressed up like a ballerina. The rest of the players first wondered if this is some sort of elaborate prank but her teammates attended to her. She glossed over the ¡°head swimming¡± scent of the workout room with an even brighter flush to her cheeks than her tears brought. The two of them attempted to console one another. Before anyone could properly deal with the fallout, it was happening to everyone.

    She spent a long while practically frozen, expecting that this terrible nightmare might reveal itself as some equally terrible injury while lifting weights. But it just continued. Eventually, she had to gather up her things. Instead of a sports bag, she had an overwhelming, yellow purse which she struggled to haul back. Her dorm was actually not far from the downstairs elevator.

    The interior had been drastically altered. Nail polish, a sewing machine, beauty products, and posters of handsome men replaced oodles of sports equipment and strategy documents. Derrick¡®s veterinary medicine textbooks and materials remained but with the addition of piles of stuffed animals. I found it interesting that so much of her life and mine could be altered but our majors seemed to remain fundamentally the same. The main shift was in extracurriculars and hobbies.

    Rosa brought me to the present by explaining that she sulked and sobbed in her room with an onrush of strange emotions until her roommate relayed that the hall was going to have a meeting to try and address what happened. So, she wandered out here. But she didn¡¯t want to be seen, therefore the jacket and quietly making herself small off to the side.

    It was still just the two of us in the common room. No sign that the residence hall assistants were imminently preparing for some big get-together. Rosa squeezed her arms around her tiny stomach and rocked side to side on the couch with her legs pulled up under the jacket. I wanted to stay with her but, at the same time, it seemed like she just wanted to be alone.

    Glancing around, I noticed the recent additions to this area with a wide swath of sizable board games occupying the far shelf. Standing carefully and beaming a quick smile, I made sure Rosa knew I wasn¡¯t abandoning her. She just gave a quick look at me sifting through the selection. I recognized many titles but wasn¡¯t sure what to select. I was well aware that picking one of the more childish games or the princess one wouldn¡¯t be well-received. Even though I was curious to try that out, along with the silly costume jewelry included. Maybe fill in some childhood Beatrice experience.

    Ultimately, I opted for one of the newer titles with a lovely cover and a wide range of player options. It featured birds prominently, so I hoped that it might please Rosa¡¯s animal lover side. She unfurled from her protective position and inspected my selection. Meandering hesitancy gripped her, but she quietly agreed to at least give it a try while we waited.

    To keep her comfortable on the couch, I retrieved one of the folding tables wedged on the side and spread it out. Because it could be raised and lowered, it made for the perfect little thing to place right in front of her. Even though I gave her quite a bit of space before, we needed to cozy up for this game. Rosa didn¡¯t protest my presence at her side. In fact, she gingerly leaned in my direction. A whimper escaped her closed lips. I returned my arm around her shoulder, and she responded by resting her little head on my side.

    I let her have a quiet moment that wasn¡¯t full of tears so much as quiet, wandering questions.

    ¡°Why us? What did we do? Did I fail as a man? Do I have to be a better girl? Can I be? How can I do this? I don¡¯t have any sisters. Mom only wanted boys. Does she hate me now? Can I ever go home again¡­?¡±

    The only answer I might provide her with were the words from the letter that said this was done because my benefactor wanted to do it. And she clearly wanted it to spread, from the light I¡¯d been given. If my benefactor could hear Rosa like this¡­ And maybe she was listening¡­ Would that change anything? I could turn my light on Rosa and erase all the fear in the same way I erased Persephone. I could make her even cuter in a dozen different ways.

    But I didn¡¯t want to. I kept silent about my benefactor¡¯s letter. I just wanted to sit with her, play a game, and maybe warm up her spirit with the quiet comfort she hoped that her mother might feel for her.

 [6] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 6 [Transform the Dorm]

    Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

    [6]

    The effusive, bubbly feeling of Connor¡¯s proposal and the moments after had no equal. The emotion that flowed through me was both deliriously harmonious and scary. All sorts of analogies traced part of the sentiment. Looking back at the Cathedral, I could even strain to say there was a numinous quality to it. Like someone injected me with liquid sunbeams and starlight and my bloodstream had no idea how to process them. And I had this unshakable sense like the racing vision of my life had finally come into focus. I probably sounded like some version of drunk and high at the same time. The neurotransmitter combo in my skull had been vigorously shaken and stirred like a cocktail. Definitely, an altered state.

    This delirium lingered as we walked, and all thought of anything else around us fell away to focus solely on Connor. I had no idea that we were walking next to the ivy-covered library. I couldn¡¯t have told you a single thing about it moments later, along with the gym workout area and weight room. Only the vaguest notion crossed my mind that it still existed. Instead, my mind was filled with Connor.

    It might seem silly to say that she had become my world, but that was the simplest explanation. My brain was obsessed. Connor Connor Connor Connor Connor Connor Connor Connor Connor Connor¡­ absolutely everything had to do with Connor. And when it got tired of that, it switched over to Riona. Riona Riona Riona Riona Riona Riona Riona Riona Riona Riona¡­ was something inside me broken? I felt stuck in place like a disc scratched through to the label layer. Something missing I was searching for and yet something had overflowed through me.

    Could I blame this on being a girl or on being in love? The weirdest quality was feeling like I had no object permanence. Any moment I looked away from Riona, my mind was gripped with fear that she had vanished from my life and I had to look back and assuage my panic that I was still touching her and she was still with me and we were still walking together to get a burger. Usually, when I walked with a friend or just someone around the dorm to go get some food, we would typically shoot the shit with a loosely connected variety of topics relating to music, recent shows, what assignments we had, or what we hoped they were serving despite all that information clearly and exhaustively posted on the university website.

    In this moment, my brain was leaking a thousand channels of things that I desperately needed to ask and say to Connor but each of them sounded screamingly ridiculous to say aloud. Simultaneously, the moment needed nothing else but the whisper of the wind, the patter of distant feet, and the sound of our motions. I should¡¯ve been overwhelmed by the persistent jiggling and sway of my unfamiliar body, but all that fell away against the radiance of Riona. And the weirdest thing was I wasn¡¯t locked onto any particular quality of her being or physical attributes. The shimmers of her overflowing, crinkly hair didn¡¯t invite me to render sonnets and songs. The slim shape of her arms didn¡¯t dance for me in the waning afternoon. I had seen all of her and so much more in her bed, but the saucy secret now concealed didn¡¯t invite a naughty smile or a blissful reminiscence.

    The suggestion of her hips and waist fell into familiar territory. Zach would¡¯ve enjoyed the view on any day, and Trisha didn¡¯t complain. The reminder that I was Trisha and I had a decent amount of slim waist, prominent hips, and a fair ass briefly startled me as much as one of Connor¡¯s surprise embraces, even though I was intimately conscious of all those details. Hers were different though. It was again like sharing something that slid in through my consciousness and melted deep inside before the next dose appeared and overwhelmed me. I had really freaking long hair too and the warmth of it bordered on a makeshift jacket or a fur coat sweating across my neck and back. Seeing and observing Riona was also seeing and absorbing myself.

    Was I even really here? This had to be some sort of waking dream or virtual reality. I couldn¡¯t be walking persistently with girly legs stretching out of an impossible skirt I would never wear in my life, along with cute shoes, and a subtly shifted swing to my hips. Childbearing hips? I don¡¯t know. They felt big and foreign and yet just right for me. And then I couldn¡¯t get beyond my tits. I could barely see beyond them like this. They were big enough to part and settle as comfortably as possible when in bed but my bra restricted them in place and also invoked a magic spell to make them both feel bigger and larger and smaller and lighter and yet make them seem like a more natural part of my body. I was rambling internally as much as I often did when presented with a five-page essay for some English course.

    Riona¡®s thighs. It felt especially naughty to linger there. The way her yoga pants clung to her body brought an echoing shudder through mine. I should¡¯ve gotten hard, although my vision-consuming pillows were making a firm effort in that direction. The remnants of earlier reawakened, and still seemed rather gross, but there was a spinning, whirling chaotic engine energy seeking to twist my inner being in all directions. Empty and yet as far from empty as I could ever imagine. The two of us had never been like this and I should¡¯ve been scared and panicking that so many touchstones of how I defined myself were lost and softly submerged. But I was keen for it, to melt in a dozen different ways.

    What could I have possibly said to Connor if she asked what I was thinking? Anything short of a novel or a term paper would¡¯ve felt like glossing over it. I braced myself against one of her stray, playful glances, but she didn¡¯t pursue me. Was this simply being in love? No casual infatuation in my life had sunk so deeply into my soul. Even those impossible girls I had an earnest crush on couldn¡¯t compare. Perhaps it was the strangeness of events along with fervent and reciprocated affection. Connor¡­ Liked me too. She loved me. She proposed marriage. He had the hots for me before any of this. Was that the secret ingredient? Twu wuv.

    That broke me even more. I had to slow down and dissolve in a relentless spasm of uncontrollable, maniacal giggles. I probably presented the weirdest sight for poor Connor and anyone in earshot. Maybe something akin to Harley Quinn losing her last trace of sanity. Lock me up.

    The spasm continued past any level of enjoyment to reach the stage of painful hiccups or a leg spasm. With my blurry eyes and roiling body, I feared I might lose all bladder control next. What seemed to feed into the giggles was hearing my own giggles. They were higher pitched than I was ever used to and the absurdity of such feminine tittering coming out of me had to be the funniest thing of all. It took a cough and a throat-clearing breath to finally free me from their enchantment. Once it was done, I honestly didn¡¯t feel like laughing again for days from the exhaustion of my diaphragm.

    Connor genuinely scrutinized me with her lovely, narrowed eyes as I adjusted my clothes and tried to bring everything back in order. Of course, she asked me if I was all right and what that was. After a few breaths, I conveyed my amusement at remembering a scene from the Princess Bride. Connor smirked at the memory but didn¡¯t have even close to the same reaction as me. I forced out a few, careful artificial giggles just to make my point. Reflecting, I concluded, ¡°Things have been crazy, and I just needed a laugh because it¡¯s all felt like too much to keep inside.¡±

    She frowned and admonished me for keeping things inside. I heavily downplayed the scope of the things I was holding back. I marked them as random stresses about the insecurity of reality, what might¡¯ve happened to our families, the looming biological elements that came with the female sex, and just being out in the world. Her answer was to give me a hug like a slowly crashing, consuming wave. I was lost at sea and it was fine.

    I drifted atop her energy as we approached the main walkway connecting the north and south ends of the campus and made it to the front with the freshman dormitories, the cafeteria, the bookstore, and all the other food options that lay before us. A local burger chain now occupied the circular caf¨¦ which I had traded out with so many different businesses in the history of the university. Starbucks used to be there along with a Jamba Juice, but Starbucks got its own location while Jamba Juice moved over to the Humanities area. I liked the burger place because they had massive steak fries as an option and over a dozen varieties of sauce.

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    Unlike most days, the line wasn¡¯t too bad. Typically, it might extend into the loop around the nearest building but there were just a handful of girls scattered by the door. Everyone¡¯s eyes got a little bit bigger when we showed up. I could tell exactly where they were looking. One girl to the left with chestnut reddish hair down to her shoulders had her blue top stretched forward as she looked down at and adjusted her bra. That didn¡¯t necessarily mean that she was a boy turned into a girl. The girl next to her had a brushed plume of streaked blonde hair and a strapless white top. An Asian girl in front of them had on what looked like a purple bathrobe over a black and white bikini. I wondered if that counted as a shirt for the shirt and shoes service requirement. If only she brought along her towel in case of Vogons.

    The girl next to her wore clear-frame, round glasses and had a dark orange top on with a lot of midriff and black pants loosely around her waist. And the one in front of her actually looked really cute with a soft pixie cut. Hard to tell why some people wound up with more and less hair or more and less to their figure. Genetics? We already prodded it with science and found ginormous holes even though I took after my aunt with ginormous¡­ other things.

    I knew Connor¡¯s family though and none of the female members tipped the scales in the personal pillows department. And I met several of Kuni¡®s relatives and only his grandparents were that short. And vice versa with Simon and a single uncle who was over six feet. Again, it seemed desperately futile to try to rationalize what seemed to clearly be a fantastical transformation of the entire campus. But I sensed rules existed.

    Our roommates remembered who we were before. And we remembered Taylor. Perhaps if you saw someone altered and you were altered as well, then you remembered your original version of reality. Contacting our families would definitely be more evidence in that direction or away from it. But that wasn¡¯t something I wanted to do unless I had to. Eventually¡­ Especially with the churning truth and possibilities Connor infused me with. How would my parents react to me dating ¡­and more¡­ my childhood best friend? Did the same-sex angle enter into it?

    I had slightly older but very calm parents. Dad loves Toastmasters and pointed pontification. A good old debate on the bridge of a starship. Kirk the geek. Mom appreciated him even more, Shatner having been her very first television crush. She even went as far as sending him affectionate fan letters. Dad keeps such things much closer to his chest. He liked Picard too but found him to be much more impetuous, especially with the whole bar fight and getting stabbed. Would they find their daughter and her best friend, Riona, hooking up to be romantic or concerning? I just didn¡¯t have enough clear evidence to know.

    Connor bumped me gently with a smile and that shook loose my general stupor of diving into quiet reflection. One thought lingered. The language of things felt different. Just thinking and reflecting on the girls around me. Something was different.

    Unfortunately, that was as far as I could pick apart the feeling and translate it. The best I could grapple with was a disassociation with the frame of reference. We both really liked girls, especially as guys. We had ideas about them based on appearance and assumption.

    I tried to look at the girls in front of me with a different sense. The chestnut one looked like she had a lot of different thought processes going on. She kept her top both loose and gripped it in her fingers. Her expression belied nerves. I sensed she was trying to keep her mouth on an even keel, avoiding a frown or a smile. And the others. I could see the fidgeting along with careful hair adjustment to avoid smudging fresh makeup. Others seemed quietly excited to either get out of here or to arrive. And there were so many little traits spread throughout the group that could tell me so much.

    Don¡¯t think me a caveman, but what struck me right then was the sense that these girls, no matter how they may have been in the morning, were¡­ Human. I totally wanted to smack myself.

    Of course, girls are human. Girls are people. But, with the chaotic energy of hormones, it can be painfully obvious how certain features and surface traits get drawn into focus far more than the whole picture. A fixation on sexual qualities. And I had no idea where this is coming from. Were my new, domineering sexual traits desensitizing me to them in general? My brain tousled with feminist aspects while trying not to denounce my male self that hard. If I grew up as a busty girl and hard, muscular men like I had a little slice of in my bedroom were the Other, then surely estrogen would¡¯ve made me talk about how if only my best friend was a hot dude, and we could suck each other off. That was as far as I went with that thought because prying it open revealed sensations I wasn¡¯t quite ready to deal with yet.

    The menu and the layout of the burger joint were exactly the same as any other day on campus. No adjustments or alterations to appease the traditional, alleged appetites of an all-girl population. There were salads as well as meat alternatives but those had been there for years. The portions and pricing also remained the same. I hadn¡¯t put any of my languid, wandering thoughts toward what I wanted to eat but Connor soon put that question to me. It didn¡¯t take long for her to raise a pretty eyebrow at my immediate hesitancy in scanning the board. Make a choice.

    ¡°The tenderloin sandwich.¡±

    Connor checked the board and squinted before looking back at me. ¡°Without onions, right?¡±

    Oh. Yeah of course but¡­ Wait. So much had changed about me, perhaps I didn¡¯t have a bad reaction to onions anymore? Did I really want to risk it? Aside from the onions, they had the calories posted and it was a pretty big number. I could usually put it away easily, but my size and biology were different. Then again, having a lot of protein was healthy and, aside from the dense ciabatta bread, there were a lot of really good vegetables mixed in there. Maybe I didn¡¯t have to eat the whole thing all at once. Half here and maybe half to take home for a snack?

    After a little bit of wavering, I nodded my head and resolved that was my order. Along with a small drink to try their newest mixed mango papaya limeade. I motioned to retrieve my wallet, but Connor slipped ahead and paid for everything. With my sandwich, she advised them to put the onions on the side and got the zesty mayo that I liked. Additionally, she included a large zucchini and onion ring mix to share and ordered herself the fried chicken sandwich.

    I was left standing there with a mix of emotions combining feeling flattered and embarrassed and wanting to do something nice for Connor while totally flummoxed again and slightly flustered too. It didn¡¯t help that I tried to press Connor for what I could do in return and she just swiveled slightly and smirked as she responded, ¡°No need. You¡¯re my date and I¡¯m gonna take care of you.¡±

    All possible answers wafted away from my brain as I blushed and went over to fill up my cup. And my nipples started to get hard, leaving me mortified that I didn¡¯t have enough layers to hide all that.

    Too many things happened all at once and I tried to tell myself that the hardening was because there was an air conditioner vent right in the middle of the room and it was doing a number on me. Fumbling with my top and my drink and all the other stuff I wanted to grab, like the little peppers and sauces, left me unsteady. I turned to walk to the table and the top of my drink popped off and splashed in front of me on the floor.

    I just stood there and felt like everyone was staring at me over the big mess I made. I set my extra stuff back on the counter and tried to figure out what I could do.

 [6] Tuning the Guitar Player 6 [Transform the Dorm]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [6]

    I stared at the note and carefully controlled my breathing for several long seconds. Parsley quietly clarified a couple of the more complicated scoring rules for the game and repeated them to herself. I looked over at her, attentively listened to her explanation of how things would get started, and then politely asked for the scoring pen on her side of the table.

    Holding the paper close, I wrote out my reply.

    ¡°Go eat a fat, slimy shit beetle with diarrhea after it¡¯s crawled out of your ass. If you dare to do anything to my guitar. If you dare to move one hair on her head out of the way, linger in her presence, or darken the sun in her eyes for one moment, I will summon all the energy I have to hunt you down in whatever wretched corner of reality you¡¯re hiding. I will break the walls between us and make you regret you ever lived a day of existence, let alone sent me a single word of your presence. No matter what you do to me, you will not do anything to her or you, and every generation before and every generation after of whatever you are will rue the day that you ever did anything to Parsley. Am I clear?¡±

    My heart was racing when I was finished, and I had thoroughly blanketed the paper with my missive.

    I heard Parsley quietly ask me, ¡°Are you all right, mm-uh¡­Tony?¡± My eyes carried traces of tears even though I had no idea where they came from. I cleared my throat and squeezed the note closed.

    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m fine. I was just writing something out¡­ for myself. Excuse me a moment. Thank you for the instructions. I just need to take a quick stretch.¡± Parsley still looked concerned about me, but she didn¡¯t say anything as I got up and squeezed the paper as though I could strangle the original message out of it and send an even stronger reply. There were no real covert yet obvious locations to leave the paper, so I just set my hand by a deep shelf full of role-playing books and laid it out of sight. No one said anything, and I quietly returned to my seat.

    The actual game practice with Parsley was fun. She was so nervous about doing everything according to the rules. My poor girl was going to get warped from twisting herself in knots. When her frantic hands actually stopped moving for a moment, I reached across the table and rested my hands on them. She jolted with concern before relaxing against my touch. What she really needed was my independent confirmation that she had followed everything correctly. Unfortunately, the intricacy of the gameplay soon hit her. Just because you did what you were supposed to do didn¡¯t mean you had the advantage.

    Shuffling cards, peering really close at them, and adjusting her play area were all things she attempted. The problem was I could see that she wanted to be good at this almost as much as she desperately wanted to be good at the awkward forms of music available to her, whether between her legs or trying to understand how to hold another guitar. At the same time, she appeared to know, in at least a rudimentary way, that this was a competition with a winner and that idea made her eyes widen. I urged her that the only way to learn is to try. Same with music or the same with anything, you have to do it to get better at it. You¡¯re going to suck when you start and for a long time before finding what¡¯s comfortable and deciphering the way things are supposed to be played. Work at it, face challenges, and get better. No one can know what to do starting out.

    She acknowledged this but still clung to the possibility that secrets and perfection would somehow click into place if she looked at or moved the right component at the right time. I gave her up a faint melody with a ditty containing fragments of what I wanted her to remember. She rocked her head and bopped to the mellow sound. I kept it quiet enough so as not to disturb the other, nearby players. I didn¡¯t notice any dirty looks or sighs. Singing to Parsley amused me for all the obvious reasons and it seemed to do the trick as she released a breath, looked away from the rules, and set forth a series of cards as her initial challenge.

    From what I gathered and understood of the game, it was a solid opening hand. However, I immediately saw flaws and points of attack in her alignment or whatever the game terminology called it. That didn¡¯t mean I was going to exploit every opening she left me. I answered against one of her draws with a careful move. It didn¡¯t take her long to realize not only that mistake but a few others she made while following the rules.

    It was fascinating to see her hands clasped in front of her mouth as her curious little eyeballs bounced from one section of the play area to the other. She was thinking and feeling and working through so many thoughts. I found it staggering to imagine that mere hours ago she was a tool made mostly of wood. A lady Pinocchio touched by light and awakened as a real girl. Now it was my turn for the tears to really start showing up.

    I quickly brushed them off as some random allergic irritation from being so close to the air vent. Parsley expressed quick concern, but accepted my continued reassurance that things were fine.

    Somewhere in our follow-up round, I noticed that another paper appeared next to my hand which hadn¡¯t been there mere moments ago. I meant everything I said¡­ Although I wished that I had made some requests for my current condition, even though it would¡¯ve blunted the point I was trying to make. Well, it was done. Whatever consequences I reaped were fine with me so long as nothing bad happened to my girl. Pulling in a steadying breath, I shifted the paper over to covertly unfurl and inspect it.

    Written on it, prominently, was a single word.

    ¡°Gotcha.¡±

    Even though it seemed to be confirmation of my¡­ request, the simple reply still made my stomach drop about twenty feet past the ground. More text was added separately underneath a flap.

    ¡°Your friend will remain as she is, with all her qualities and talents therein, brightly and harmoniously expressed. Will that be all?¡±

    That sounded like a carefully worded trap or a monkey paw wish granting with a tease to invite another wish to pervert. I knew what I wanted to ask. I knew a multitude of things to put to paper. Turn me back into a boy was at the top. Let me change my appearance circulated somewhere around there. Then followed requests to control aspects of my biology. Different name choices and modifications of my situation. I could fill the small scrap with so many things.

    Weighing the wisest pick against my desire to vent again, I figured I had nothing to lose as I wrote out, ¡°Turn me back into a guy or make the hot guy in the corner interested in me.¡± I added a few physical details to distinguish him from anyone else in the room. I kind of hated myself for writing that.

    Before I could chicken out and scratch away my answer, I got up for another stretch and lingered my hand across the collection of genuinely interesting books. I wondered how Parsley might respond to a more fantastical variety of games. She clearly seemed to make the leap from a card just being a card to a card representing something within the rules and world of the game.

    She was doing quite well with eight points for her and eleven for me when we finished the third round. I wasn¡¯t pushing every advantage, but I was also sincerely competing. At some point, it was clear that the paper was gone. A reply didn¡¯t pop up in a similar amount of time to the previous one. That was either a good sign or a terrible one. If this mysterious, invisible figure actually took my words seriously, then where did that leave me?

    I might just poof back into Anthony. Parsley might be happy to see my real face, but it would present fresh complications. She would be on her own in the bathroom unless we found a unisex or family one. Hopefully, she picked up the important details. Clothing would get even more awkward. But she was mine. I would take care of her, no matter what happened.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.My answer eventually showed up when the hot guy finished up his game and ambled over to our end of the long table and deeply spoke, ¡°Hello. My name is Curtis.¡° His voice resinated¡­err resonated through me. I had to look away to gather up my resolve.

    ¡°Oh, hey. Curtis. How you doing? What¡¯s up?¡±

    He politely asked if he could sit with us. There were open chairs and I wasn¡¯t going to push him away. Pars greeted him as a friend as I wrestled with how to introduce myself. He had a kind face and a relaxed demeanor but all the blood in my body felt like a wild sprinkler trying to set a new oxygen speed run. If I got a paper cut, I was liable to exsanguinate. A minor miracle that my brain cells were able to tackle enough oxygen to comprehend that word. That was the right word, right?

    Curtis replied, ¡°I just wanted to introduce myself because you seem cool. Never seen you around before. Having a good time? You two seem like you got the game down pat but I can offer up some advanced strategies that they don¡¯t really cover in the manual.¡±

    Was this a come-on? I could shove all sorts of innuendos into practically everything he was saying. I opted to be cautious. Uh¡­which questions to answer first?

    ¡°Oh, cool! It¡¯s nice to meet you¡­ Curtis! Yeah yeah¡­ the t-the game¡­the game...the game is fun. Strategies sound nice. My¡­ My name is Celestina¡­¡±

    I swear my voice is rose and tittered like I was huffing helium. Curtis nodded. He had a luscious, relentless gaze like a magnifying disk for some Archimedes death ray. It was destroying my brain and all hope for rational thought. And I wanted more.

    It didn¡¯t matter what clothing bulkheads I had constructed through new purchases, I still felt like I was naked in his presence and he could see right through me. He lavished warm appreciation on my name, and I actually felt like it didn¡¯t suck. Tina wrapped around his tongue, and it felt like he had me in his mouth. Pars was watching, and I felt a slight pang about what on earth I was teaching her. Pars¡­

    I leaned back and took in the whole heap of Curtis. He was handsome with strength and he had softness, flowing hair, and a sharp jawline. Something bothered me though and it took a quick, quiet moment of running my eyes all over his form for it to finally click.

    He looked just like what a guy version of Parsley would be. Fuck me¡­ it was all there, from his leather jacket to his flowing hair, prominent lips, slim body shape, and welcoming mood. Did the invisible bitch know? Probably having herself the best laugh, whatever it was. My money was leaning towards trickster spirit.

    The magic was broken though. What blissful attraction I had towards Curtis now felt like a disgusting sense of trying to smooch a sibling. He also seemed a little lost, as though awakening from a brief trance. He was soon looking for a reason to stand up and return to the other chair. Call me what you will, but I hung onto him for one last moment and stole a bold kiss from the side of his lips. Conflict traced his eyes as I offered up my phone number and he quietly accepted. Then, he went back.

    It didn¡¯t take long to finish our game. I just barely beat Pars and congratulated her on how close it was and made sure she knew it was fun. She appeared uncertain with recent events, processing all that Curtis and I said to one another, but soon perked up with delight and hope that we might play it again soon so she could learn even more about how to do it right.

    We didn¡¯t win the hourly raffle, it went to the big guy in the middle. But he overheard Parsley¡¯s warm exuberance and offered to get her one of the small starter kits. That one lacked the flashy components from what we loaned for our match, but he assured her it would have everything she needed for a two-player competition.

    Pars was practically beside herself with surprise and delight. She made absolutely sure with me, the owner, and the guy that this was all right. Following my example, she expressed her gratitude by kissing him. Oh boy¡­ I was a bad influence. The dude had wide eyes and was at a loss for words as Pars shimmied and pranced around the store. He didn¡¯t seem too bothered by the contact, but he definitely looked to me for an explanation. I probably could¡¯ve mouthed the word ¡°autistic¡±, but I was growing wary of leaning on that troublesome excuse.

    As she delighted in a balletic display, Pars also belted out a full-throated melody even more exuberant than her effort in the guitar store. Everyone seemed to appreciate it. Passing behind her game gifter with the addition of a quick hug, I noticed that the big guy¡¯s girth suddenly seemed to dwindle as his shirt receded to match. His light brown hair got extra puffy with a small bit dangling over his ears. His hesitant, socially shy voice softened and brightened with infused energy. What the fuck was going on?!

    ¡°Parsley¡­¡± I called out with a tinge of fear and uncertainty more than anger. My girl paused and looked at me with quiet curiosity before asking, ¡°What is it?¡± The changes to the geek guy did not go away despite stopping her song. I cleared my throat and pressed on a smile.

    ¡°We should go get something to drink. And finish walking around the mall. And thank you to everyone here for your generosity, assistance, and warmth. We promise to come back often.¡± Pars snuggled her starter kit in a big plastic bag and we offloaded a few of our purchases into that. I wasn¡¯t going to weigh her down even though she gladly accepted it last time. Getting out was priority number one before some action or melody of my guitar had further crazy side effects for the entire group.

    The notion settled in my head that our gaming benefactor looked perceptively but faintly more like a girl than he had been when we first arrived. I wasn¡¯t sure how to take that, but I had the fuming supposition that the invisible bitch had done something. No special note in the spot where I left them, on my person, or in my hands. I flashed a covert, quick middle finger in that direction though.

    Relief and melancholy simultaneously infused my bones once we were outside. It was better with just the two of us, but I liked it there. Why did Pars¡¯s singing voice do that though? Nothing like that happened with Bill. The old guy may have been a little chubby, but I would¡¯ve noticed if he started developing boobs. That unseen jerk promised that she wasn¡¯t gonna mess with my girl. Darn it¡­

    Pars clung to my arm and pulled me back slightly. Nervous concern stretched across her features. ¡°Mom? Oh, sorry. I didn¡¯t check to make sure we were¡­ we were completely alone. There¡¯s¡­¡±

    I pulled her close in an embrace. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. I¡¯m sorry about rushing out of there. I got scared. Everything feels like a confused mess. I want to make sure you¡¯re okay.¡± Something within urged me to say the L word with all its complexity and snarls, but I resisted.

    Parsley squeezed me gently with the absolute confusion of tipping bodies and balanced bags. ¡°Thanks, mom. It was a puzzle, and I felt full of so many things inside me I couldn¡¯t touch. I had to sing or else I would¡¯ve burst. So many things are such mysteries, but I want to learn as much as I can. I want to be with you and I wanna be where all sorts of people are. I¡¯m still so small and weak in so many ways, but I promise to get bigger and better.¡±

    I clung to her hands and looked her in the eye. ¡°You are the biggest thing in my life, and I treasure every moment you share with me. I don¡¯t understand a lot and I get upset and worried all the time. But you are great and beautiful. It¡¯s going to be fine.¡± Parsley marveled at my words, and I would¡¯ve been surprised by them as well if I stood apart from myself.

    ¡°Pardon me. May I have a word?¡±

    An unfamiliar voice came from the side, too close for comfort as I clung to Parsley and took several careful steps back. It was a woman in silver jeans and a pale coat. She looked young, as though she were still in high school. Her skin had a modest but clear tan tone to it. She bowed her head and introduced herself.

    ¡°My name is Nadia Miray Baris, and I¡¯d like to help.¡±

 [12] A Brand New Goth Girl 12 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [12]

    Hopefully, that might help. My parents weren¡¯t particularly touchy-feely, and it sounded like Derrick¡¯s family might be the same way. Not that I expected that hugs and closeness would just heal everything. But I had seen so much care happening in the cafeteria between those girls who had the experience of years assisting those with the experience of just hours.

    I had to be cognizant though that it might actually be detrimental and stressful to crowd close and push social interaction on her. I couldn¡¯t tell if she was just demurely tolerating me. She went here and isolated herself in a jacket. She blotted out the world while waiting for some answer to what she was supposed to do with her life now.

    To keep my mind off that, I spread out the game and we read through all the instructions. She focused on it more than I was expecting. I soon found myself daunted by all the rules involving bird habitats, synergistic effects, and how to count points with eggs and tokens. However, Rosa was soon explaining parts of the game to me so that I understood. The gameplay was rather light, without any competitive crossover. I had to wonder if her football frame of reference meant that this style of game was boring by comparison, but she got really active in placing and playing her birds.

    What I didn¡¯t realize as we got started was this was not a short game. Thankfully, it was just the two of us, otherwise, the playtime would¡¯ve spiraled into epic length, especially with the myriad of themed pieces. We both enjoyed the little dice birdhouse and Rosa especially looked forward to opportunities to re-roll.

    At some point, our little game was gently interrupted by a couple of assistants. Each of them nervously apologized and only offered vague resolutions about when the meeting was going to happen and what they had to share. The main one who showed up and kept returning had streaked darker blonde hair than Rosa that fell across her head in a surreal look. It vaguely reminded me of a wig even though it was clearly her own hair. The cut of it, dangling above her shoulders in practically a straight line seemed somewhere between eminently fashionable and vaguely robotic. Like she stepped out of a 1990s sci-fi series on syndicated television.

    Her snug, white long-sleeved turtleneck, and spandex blend reddish-brown pants especially reinforced this perception. Furthermore, while her bust didn¡¯t quite best Keith¡¯s, she was definitely pushing the threshold as far as I dared modify my form. She stumbled when shifting around the billiards table.

    Scrutinizing her face, I could see some traces of Colin, our senior residence hall assistant, especially around the eyes like with Marshall. Her eyes lingered on our game and she gave a faint smirk as she remarked, ¡°That¡¯s a game I absolutely would¡¯ve picked if they gave us a budget for board games here at¡­ not Carting¡­Mead. Gonna take some getting used to, but it had another name before I got here. Or it used to. Some real Mandela Effect stuff. Sorry.¡±

    I had some sense of what Colin was getting at. Altered reality. My former roommates didn¡¯t remember me but my new ones did. Although I found it incongruent that more people didn¡¯t just recognize me as Beatrice around the dorm. Was it by virtue of being the first? How come no one else was edited quite the way I was? That should¡¯ve been a question I left to my benefactor.

    We chatted with Colin, who gave her current name as Carol, about the gameplay mechanics and questioned when this supposed meeting would take place. It sounded quite evident that the campus was a mess of uncertainty. The people in charge wanted to trip the alarms while the rest of the world remained bewildered about what was the problem with our panicking, private little Lutheran girls'' school.

    Naturally, Colin didn¡¯t remember Taylor Lee but that didn¡¯t signify much, considering I was never the sort to stand out. Furthermore, I barely avoided a blush when she admitted that her casual expectation was that I had always been a girl, from her perception of my overall demeanor, and that I was comforting one of the ¡°afflicted residents¡±. Derrick Beck, on the other hand, Carol immediately recognized by name and athletic reputation. Rosa wilted slightly under Carol¡¯s frown. She did her best to be cordial in this uncomfortable situation, but she clearly appeared disappointed.

    My fellow bird collector stared blankly at the cormorants and vultures neatly set in front of her. She didn¡¯t rage and flip the player board or the table. She clung to her tissues though and dabbed them gently against her face when Carol had to step out. I softly stroked Rosa¡¯s head. She surely had tears left but not the energy to cry them. We continued to play into the next round.

    The game was close and Rosa diligently kept a vivid awareness of the rules even though her heart didn¡¯t seem to be in it. I didn¡¯t specifically rush the game, but I did skip some rather obvious opportunities for scoring once a loosely composed crowd started ambling over. The girls gave us our space, even though we did gain an onlooker  carefully observing our competition. She had dark brown hair that appeared as though it had just been ruffled by a violent wind or an unruly dryer.

    Her black top displayed a thin curve of cleavage that she appeared simultaneously self-conscious about and mildly proud of. Stockings that rose out of sight beneath her white tartan skirt caught my interest even though I expected that Beatrice had something similar stashed away in her drawers. A threshold of chaos soon passed with the addition of several more girls. Despite having a smaller group than the cafeteria, the volume soon climbed to a similar level. Fortunately, we actually managed to complete the game aside from tabulating our scores.

    As we double-checked how the instructions said we were supposed to add everything up, a pair of girls peeked into the room and their eyes widened and settled on me.

    ¡°Taylor?¡±

    Quite a few blonde girls. This one loomed in the doorway with a truly stupendous curly sheet of hair unfurling all the way to her waist. A large black purse balanced on her hip as she smiled and wore a relatively loose-fitting blue hoodie. Her chest seemed on par with Carol¡¯s. I appeared to buck the norm when it came to bra size. Rosa was in the same neighborhood as my first form though, at least as far as I could tell with her dress.

    The girl beside the blond immediately earned my sympathy. Despite a bright red jacket doing its best to downplay, she easily had the most striking shape of anyone I¡¯d encountered on campus. A major challenge to Keith. She had lovely, long brown hair and striking green eyes. It was those eyes that particularly earned my curiosity. I knew them from somewhere.

    It didn¡¯t take long before I had my answer. The duo was Zach and Connor. I relayed that my name was now Beatrice and they relayed theirs were Trisha and Riona respectively. The only one missing was Anthony. After that energetic reveal, it almost seemed like we¡¯d exhausted all the things to say to one another in such a short span. Or perhaps there were too many things to say and not enough avenues to present them properly. I noticed that they often exchanged glances with one another, as though keeping a special secret. I wondered what it could be. I hoped it was a good one.

    After an awkward spell of silence within the rumble of people starting to show up in the area, we all received quick and noisy text messages. Mercifully, the college had opted not to use the loudest screaming one for government alerts, but it was still enough to make Rosa jump.

    The extent of the message was just relaying a reused recommendation from several years ago to shelter in place and await instructions with the addition of ¡°Events this afternoon have raised questions and fears. The administration is wholly dedicated to answering all questions and assuaging all fears. Your residence hall staff will update you soon on all urgent matters. Have a blessed day.¡° The delivery time was wildly inconsistent, but soon everyone was on the same page.

    We started carefully packing all the pieces to the game back in the slots and plastic baggies with Zach and Connor commenting and lamenting they missed out. I promised them we would eventually finish a game that wasn¡¯t interrupted by unexplainable events. For all I¡¯d witnessed with the earlier chaos in the immediate aftermath stretching from this location to the rest of campus, seeing my recent roommates transformed hadn¡¯t really hit me. Even the stuff with Brian happening live wasn¡¯t the craziest thing. But something about my interactions with Zach and Connor smacked me like the hardest version of Coca-Cola.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    Perhaps it was also a cumulative effect, compounded by seeing the altered fate of our star quarterback. Rosalie squeezed my hand as tightly as she probably used to squeeze footballs. At least we didn¡¯t need to wait much longer before the event convened.

    A small group of girls with their residence hall assistant badges stood apart from everyone else with some papers in their arms and Carol at the center. A cluster of original girls remained off to the side as though they were expectant parents encouraging their kids to perform well on the stage.

    There were some awkward quiet moments when the meeting proper started along with some delays to make sure everyone was settled and present. During one of my prior efforts to stir the currents of my creativity into something active, I estimated how many people could fit in each residence hall. The first-year quartet over on the cafeteria side of campus had about ten suites each. The set including the newly rechristened Sampson Hall was closer to seventeen on average. And then there were scattered old and new stuff which broke the formula with two-person suites, individual apartments, and even some six-person mega areas. At least Carting/Mead kept it simple the last time I checked with thirty regular suites and a threshold of 120. It definitely appeared like we¡¯d packed in roughly all fifty-ish original boy residents. My former roommates eventually showed up.

    Carol¡¯s serious tone lightly contrasted with her absurd, sci-fi pants. She began with a quick invocation to prayer leaving some ambiguity for alternative worship. If nothing else, it seemed to steady her resolve as she relayed the situation we all knew quite well. At some time in the afternoon, boys started turning into girls. Hearing it said aloud, bluntly and unmistakably, just magnified the surreal sense of the setting. While she invited everyone present to offer up any urgent, concerning questions and dilemmas, they were to wait till the end of the presentation. I contemplated bringing up the fact that I appeared to be the very first person transformed, something that Zack and Connor likely also realized. We kept quiet though.

    The most important point was that class tomorrow would be suspended. No matter the situation, that earned a ripple of relief and some light cheers. Professors and other staff would have office hours during what had been class time to discuss curriculum and classroom order going forward after all the departments evaluated such things. I casually wondered what my main art teacher looked like now. He¡¯d already threaded flowers in his long hair. I couldn¡¯t imagine what more might¡¯ve been done to him. A general murmur probably posited similar questions.

    The staff relayed that they would be coming around to each suite to discuss urgent and private matters and also keep up with the existing rules and code of conduct. They stressed that, despite the changes, that didn¡¯t change the fact that no opposite-sex residents or guests could stay in the dorms late, which I always found to be a silly rule but those were private college things. That meant no boys staying over after active hours. That whammy lingered with the group.

    Assurances were made that products, education, and counseling would be available for everyone in this uncertain time along with free long-distance, out-of-state, and international calls in the residence hall office. A bunch of other matters drifted in the general vicinity over my head and seemed to do the same for others as a dull roar became white noise. The RAs endeavored to bring order back but their efforts were stymied when a golden shimmer drifted through the center of the room. At the center of that illumination, a golden parchment unfurled and dropped to the ground like an awkward paper plane.

    I felt a presence despite the overall chaos of so many people crunched into one place. It was like what I felt in serenity in Sampson and especially during the moment I first became Beatrice. My benefactor.

    No one approached the document at first, perhaps hoping that if they ignored it long enough then it might reverse its trajectory and disappear back into the ether. Connor, who had a straight path right to it, went ahead and approached the mysterious document. He always did seem rather bold like that. Zach appeared as though her roommate had just decided to step out onto a windy ledge leading straight into the Grand Canyon.

    ¡°I am the one who changed you and I am watching all the time. My embrace of your spirit is permanent. You shall all be girls for the rest of your lives. But do not stress and fear. This is a precious gift. Your spirits have been awakened in ways you have only begun to imagine. And the world will slowly adapt to the sweet melodies of your new lives, as shall you all. I am not a god or goddess. I have only found a gift to share with all around me. And I have further found and am still seeking kindred to help others in their journey. They will guide you through the peaks and valleys and physical and emotional challenges that lie ahead for all of you. There is no turning back. Join your sisters in your future.¡± Connor read that aloud with a surprisingly reserved but clear speaking tone as everyone silently listened.

    Connor peered at the margins of the document, turned it around a few times, and filtered the overhead lights through it before finally concluding, ¡°That¡¯s all that¡¯s written.¡±

    Naturally, chaos absolutely exploded throughout the room. No amount of pleading or commands from the RAs really restored order. I checked in on poor Rosa next to me. Her head had dipped forward so much that it practically seemed bowed. No tears. She appeared beyond tears, practically a spectral being doomed to wander, flitting in and out of visible reality. I wanted to stroke her hair again or give her the biggest hug possible, but I doubted that anything I did would¡¯ve gotten through to her at this moment. So, I just held her warmly and securely as she wobbled on the cushion.

    Tears and fury broke out not only amongst the gathered former boys but amidst the entourage of legacy girls. Pissed-off sentiments about lost boyfriends, tormented siblings, and altered minds. If they had torches, they would¡¯ve thrown them. I felt sorry for my benefactor even while I understood the anger and bristled about some of the things said in the document.

    Some of it was jealousy, with the allusion to others she selected for gifts like mine. More of it was the tone of this proclamation. Despite denouncing the label of divinity, the whole thing felt structured and ordained with spiritual subtext. And I further felt mildly disappointed that she wasn¡¯t a goddess. So much uncertainty around such a commanding missive.

    It took quite a bit of effort, but Carol soon brought everyone back in order. She gave no certainties about what this mysterious appearance represented, stressing that we were all to head back to our rooms for early quiet hours as soon as the meeting adjourned. Papers were passed out but most were crumpled up and stuffed away. The group expressed more interest in confirming the text of the golden message than anything from the administration.

    I couldn¡¯t do much more for the overall group than I could blow the ocean in the direction I wanted. Rosalie helped with putting away the board game even though she did it as though drifting aimlessly across the room. When she returned, I asked her if she wanted to head back to her dorm or spend some time in mine. She seemed puzzled for a second, about to invoke the mention of coed fraternizing, before she slowly nodded. Zack and Connor brought me into the most adventurous and unexpected hugs I ever experienced. Thank goodness I didn¡¯t model myself in that direction. I wondered if I might be able to use the light to scale things down. Neither of them seemed terribly uncomfortable though, at least not to the same level as poor Rosalie.

    She clung to my side as we crept through the masses of girls and back to the dorm.

 [7] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 7 [Transform the Dorm]

    Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

    [7]

    Fortunately, no one was nearby when my drink dropped. I just got a little dark spot splash on the side of my skirt which didn¡¯t show much with the dark gray. I rushed to help clean it up but some patrons and several employees took care of it for me. I quietly apologized. Everyone was so nice and that just made me feel worse. Connor eventually led me to our table and took charge of everything.

    Settling down on the wooden bench, I felt quite aware of the softness beneath me. I didn¡¯t have a huge ass. I just had a fair ass, but it was doing a nice job with the hard bench. And Connor was doing an amazing job of setting up the meal and making sure I had everything I could want. She even seemed disappointed that she didn¡¯t get to push my chair in for our romantic dinner, because it was a bench bolted to the floor. We shared the same side as she inspected my skirt to make sure things were drying. I dabbed it with a couple paper towels and assured her it was fine.

    Biting into one of the little green peppers after a sip of my drink gave me a flash of unique flavor. And then the spice hit. Hard. A long sip of my drink did practically nothing to cut the heat. I had these all the time, and they weren¡¯t this potent. Another biological difference? Was Trisha a spice pushover? My second bite hurt even worse as my face felt flush from something other than embarrassment, and my nose was runny.

    Chuckles mixed with groans got me through the worst of it. I honestly did not have high hopes for an onion reprieve. Connor wondered if I might appreciate a milkshake. I silently feared that it might go straight to my udders. It took time but my limeade actually started to do the trick. A quick Google revealed I was on the right track as Connor found that citrus, including lime, counteracted capsaicin burn. The drink just didn¡¯t have a potent combination.

    To take my mind off the heat, silly Connor decided to chomp down on one of the big peppers for herself. I worried¡­ a little¡­ because Connor never had a good time with really spicy things as opposed to my general tolerance. We once dramatized, through a crayon sketch, a challenge at school with a volcano erupting from his head. I was sick at the time. He always endeavored to cheer me up, even when I came at the cost of his comfort. Soon, we were both sweating with flush faces and the desire to inhale whatever might help.

    Around that little corner of chaos, Connor tried voices. I always thought he was a natural performer. Goofy voices, rubbery faces, and vulgar notions. The Mud Man in the swamp who is actually made of¡­ Something else¡­ with toots and squelches as he lumbered about. Princess Truck Driver. Like an even wilder cast off from a Weird Al song. Crack Cat. Who was probably better without any explanation.

    She seemed to recognize that I was thinking about the old characters, so she brought out a little sliver of Mud Man which could pass public scrutiny. ¡°Oh, golly geez, I¡¯m boiling in the mud. It¡¯s getting kind of slippery. Pshhhmmhh, oh fell down in the messy place again.¡± The voice actually got strikingly close to how it had always been. And it felt like nothing I ever expected to hear from her pretty face. Despite seeing Connor change in the most vivid way possible and being with her this entire time, something within me quietly fretted that my old friend had been replaced or overwritten. This relaxed all those concerns. It was still him, even as a her.

    My beluga whale impression of a pseudo-intellectual cetacean actually sounded more cartoony because of the higher levels this voice allowed me to reach. Our frantic plethora of goofy in-joke characters made for the absolute best dating entertainment as feeling gradually returned to our mouths. It didn¡¯t take long for the little pager on the table to buzz and signal that our order was ready. Connor quipped that she wished she thought to place it in her lap. Few of the girls on the other side actually did that.

    I wanted to hop up and help, but she again took care of everything with the meal, making sure I had a refill on the limeade. It was so soothing to sit beside someone and just feel at peace in their presence. This may have been a date. but neither of us had to impress the other, even though I was swooning within at Connor¡¯s care. I offered up a quiet prayer of thanks and she said one too before we started. More a sentiment of gratitude encouraged by little notes in the animes that Kunio shared and habit from being around a lightly Christian University.

    The experiment was laid out before me, with a little paper dish cradling my crisp red onions. The smell was sharp and lingering with years of alarm bells telling me that something was off. My first bite came at the edge of the sandwich with a drip of teriyaki sauce, leaf lettuce, plain peppers, tomato, and cucumber. A reasonable of me said that I didn¡¯t need to experiment because the sandwich as it stood was plenty hearty. No reason to tempt fate. But I had to know.

    I actually first put it to the test by grabbing one of the onion rings in the mix rather than a zucchini stick. Then, I chased it with a long sip from my drink. Not only did every feature of my body seem to pause and anticipate the reaction, but it also felt like the entire room noticed along with Connor and craned their ears. Too much pressure. I awaited disappointment. It didn¡¯t come.

    My body didn¡¯t declare war on the onion ring. It had faint, gurgling opinions about the digestive process and the lack of sauce, but I would typically, swiftly feel like a raging army had decided upon blind friendly fire, consuming everything. This would lead to several hours of regret and unrelenting discomfort. I wavered to call it a proper allergy because I found plenty of minimum levels to dodge around sulfury foods.

    A single, bold sample wasn¡¯t a conclusive test though. For my second try, I dipped it in some bright sauce that may have contained onion components itself. Silence persisted from both my mouth after chewing and my body after receiving. The crucial test came in the form of the pungent, raw article sitting to the side of my dish. I tucked a sliver into the end of my sandwich and bit the combination. The onion was there and proceeding down my throat. Instead of the expected riot, a little aftertaste followed.

    A blur of tears covered my eyes which had nothing to do with what I was eating. It was gone¡­ My sensitivity and torment in adjusting and isolating ingredients with precision and care were no longer necessary. I could eat WHATEVER¡­ well, I couldn¡¯t eat just anything, but my options definitely seemed poised to broaden and relax as the frustrating filler of onions no longer ruled as a specter of doom in my guts. The softening of my spice resilience was concerning and might¡¯ve been related  but I considered it an easy trade-off.

    My tears caught Connor¡¯s attention with careful concern, but I reassured her with a blind squeak that everything was fine as I dried my eyes with some napkins. Her food was perfectly fine, but she focused more on the life-changing qualities of mine. Before, a swath of shared family recipes needed to be adjusted or outright banned when it came to me.

    Was it all worth an H cup and whatever else might be involved? The girls had actually behaved themselves. Leaning over, bending, stretching, and dealing with stuff in front of me required an inherent amount of full contact manipulation and contortion. My tits made themselves known, no matter what I did. The layers provided some insulation. But it was trending towards a minor nuisance that I was getting used to bumping, shifting, and smushing with more intention than our bed session. Just a part of me. Which was still a wild thought.

    My body boldly went where it never ventured before for onion saturation, even in my youth when my reaction was more muted. Still, my enjoyment of the meal remained. The most cautionary corner of my brain whispered warnings that even though I had peace from onions, one must always watch for whether alternative allergies popped up. Such a buzz kill.

    In the depths of our meal, the pace slowed, and old, familiar jokes rose to the surface as we chatted with smiles and the playful sparks of a thousand soft memories. I felt like such a ditz though. Everything that came up earned a cheery smile from me and faint giggles. Connor teased me several times though when I practiced a big cat ¡°rawr¡±. My voice felt even girlier than I intended with every smile I spoke. Perhaps I was laying on the clich¨¦, valley girl intonation a bit heavy.

    I could¡¯ve sat there with Riona all evening and wandered through perfect little thoughts, but the burger joint was getting crowded and our bench was prime real estate. Furthermore, there were rumblings amidst the crowd of meetings with RA¡®s to explain and respond to the current situation. I doubted the former, but I definitely wanted to find out what the school planned to do about this remix to reality. Specifically, what the class schedule would be for the rest of the week.

    Ultimately, I got a little past halfway through my sandwich before my stomach commanded me to stop. No new admittance until the backlog was cleared. I playfully shared that thought with Connor. In the back, a paper had been placed over what used to be the men¡¯s room, to now call it gender neutral. Nothing had been done inside though.

    Our leftovers found a very temporary home, double bagged and split between our purses. I eyeball the greasy corners and gingerly slotted my sandwich to the side. Sitting to pee and make mud men in a public restroom felt absurdly frigid and clinical. Mercifully, the seat was steady and the whole thing was over and done swiftly after learning some careful cleanup methods.

    All the stuff I managed to get used to in so short a time just boggled my mind. Hair was still a problem though. We each had way too much of it, Riona especially so. A nice amount around my ears and shoulders acted like a curious pet. But then there was an entire swath encompassing my jacket and blanketing my back. I didn¡¯t have enough lint rollers back at the dorm to even attempt to control it all. I could go for a long, luxurious brushing. Meanwhile, the breeze decided to pick up and play with my hair, smacking me in the mouth with it.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    We began a big circle to take us back by strolling through the corridor that led to the cafeteria. The crowd was just as packed as any other evening, but the cluster of girls timidly shuffled towards the door while giving one another a careful berth and keeping their heads down. A few eyes popped up to survey but did not linger on our most prominent aspects. I understood this would happen, but it was still disconcerting because the attention still made me fret first that something was wrong or I had a stain on my jacket or some grotesque sauce slathered across my cheeks. Garnering attention just for existing felt like a complicated, emotional tangle I still couldn¡¯t quite comprehend.

    I was just me, a big titty brunette babe. I didn¡¯t feel like much of a provocative, head-turning chick though. If I put some work into it, then that might be different. Did I want to look pretty? Did I want to show off? No idea. But it would at least be nice to not be assaulted by my hair every time the wind got adventurous. Connor managed to keep my mind off the worst of my usual distracting thoughts by planting her purse atop her boobs and acting like it was a lost vessel upon a Jell-O sea.

    To maximize our chat, we took a circuitous route that verged into the rental houses. I vaguely wondered if the boys around here managed to circumvent what happened through some technicality. If they did, there was no sign of them.

    The entrance area to the dorm appeared backed up, so we went around to the side entrance even though it meant retracing the entire length. Connor took care of making sure the leftovers were packed nicely in the fridge without getting too sweaty or dry. I indulged in a long yawn, my brain and body both deciding that it had plenty of the events of the day. But there was some sort of event or meeting occurring downstairs and our roommates appeared to have already left to check it out. Connor managed to grant me a second wind by unearthing and wielding a large brush to clear the breeze-whipped tangles from my hair. The luxurious sensations of her attentive work bordered on the things we¡¯d indulged in naked. I soon reciprocated.

    The dense bundle of what we left behind was practically enough to construct a two-tone wig. Connor¡¯s blissful expression and afterglow delighted me. Before we got into shoulder massages and more, it seemed best to head downstairs, even if it turned out they knew even less than we did. Which was a likely possibility.

    I immediately noticed a surprising number of blonde girls loitering in the common area section of the hallway. The golden seas parted as we approached. I pondered if they recognized Connor as their queen, since she had way longer hair than anyone else I could spot. The surreal feeling of only seeing girls still hadn¡¯t left me. Looking into the area where this all started, Connor turned to her left and her eyebrows immediately raised.

    ¡°Taylor?¡± Really? I crept ahead as Connor smiled and waved. Sitting on the window couch in front of me absolutely was Taylor. She¡¯d changed out of the black Marvel T-shirt for a more fashionable top with vine designs looping all along like hidden plants embedded in the fabric. Below, she wore a matching black skirt with Gothic crosses that fit well with her overall aesthetic. Her lipstick and makeup were missing or light, revealing her natural skin tone. Sitting next to her, hugging a fuzzy, burgundy coat, I saw a girl who looked more like a petite princess than a classmate. She had a surprisingly fancy pink and white dress with all sorts of lacy stuff, soft sleeves, and wiggly bits at the bottom. Things beyond my experience to adequately label, but it seemed like a really nice dress.

    Connor introduced herself and me and I did a little wave. Apparently, her name was Beatrice now. It suited her. Just the guy on the guitar was missing from this strange reunion. I expected to say more than that, but my tired brain fumbled for topics. It would¡¯ve been normal to just utter something like ¡°How are you holding up?¡± The question sounded too flippant to the moment while nothing better occurred to me. Connor gave me a look, and I resisted rolling my eyes. Just because my entire body had been transformed, along with my complex biochemistry, surrounding reality, and possibly more, didn¡¯t mean that all my foibles and hangups were just going to melt away.

    Not that there was much in the way of silence with the burgeoning crowd. Then we all got blasted with a phone alert that left ringing in my ears. The cute, dainty princess girl on the end practically jumped as high as a terrified rabbit. It was a stock emergency notification like one I remember getting during a heavy storm once and when there was a false report of an active shooter in the area. Questions and fears. We¡¯re going to take care of everything. Update when they actually know. I wondered if our parents and families would receive similar notifications or if that was in us.

    Beatrice and her princess friend had been playing a large box board game with a beautiful bird on the front. It looked really good, and it had been far too long since I settled down for a nice board game. We worked together with putting everything back in and Connor made a note of it. Beatrice invoked our earlier, unfinished game. How easy or hard might it be to use a pool cue like this?

    The nearby games shelf contained a bunch of other intriguing titles. A set of girls with RA badges arrived as a group. The whole thing had the formality of a proper meeting despite the bizarre circumstances. No disaster or end-of-the-world scenario, I hoped. Another blonde was at the center of the proceedings, and I vaguely recognized her. Colin, apparently. Her outfit looked like something from an old show, especially with those tight pants. She went through the regular routine with a prayer invocation to open proceedings. I just bowed my head and shut my eyes for a moment.

    When it began, it was clear they only knew as much as we did. Questions fought to be released, but she suppressed them until later. The crucial point was that there wouldn¡¯t be classes tomorrow so that administration could at least get a handle on what the fuck was going on. I appreciated the breather even though I was mildly curious about what happened to my instructors, considering what Kuni passed along. I didn¡¯t see her or Simon nearby, but I figured they were around. We could meet up with professors at the usual class time though. A RA would follow up personally with each suite. No sneaking boys in after hours. Fortunately, there was no rule against late-night naked canoodling between girls.

    Free tampons and pads. Which should¡¯ve been the norm on any given day. Free phone calls if you felt bold enough to see what your family thought of you now. No real decorum followed as people just started blurting out questions about answers, clothing rules, extracurriculars, changes to the restroom, and changes to their living spaces. No one got any answers.

    Before the shouting got totally out of hand, a strange, golden light filled the center of the room not too far from where Carol/Colin was standing. It traced through the air like some finger of God, drawing a strangely traditional parchment out of the ether.

    No one dared approach it¡­ Except for Connor, of course. I desperately wanted to scream at her and drag her away but, instead, I just watched with my hands clenched and my lips curl back. She inspected it carefully and then read aloud.

    It was allegedly from the not god or goddess who changed all of us, and who was apparently still watching. Bluntly, the message declared¡­ This was permanent. No stress, no fear. Pfft¡­ can¡¯t tell me what to do. This was a gift, and it was only the beginning. We and the world will adapt to this new way. Something something. Others will assist and guide us through crap we have to deal with. No turning back. Join your sisters in your future. Rather culty, if you ask me.

    Connor checked out the document a few different ways but ultimately declared that was everything. She gave me a look though, despite that definitive statement. All decorum was gone after that as people screamed, raged, cried, and demanded to see this weird document, and wanted more from the poor, stressed RAs. Beatrice¡®s friend appeared dead inside. I didn¡¯t know what to think. On some level, a morbidly expected this was a one-way trip and I started to come to terms with it, especially with Connor¡¯s more ambitious proposal. I could spend the rest of my life, like this, with her.

    Order was eventually restored with the instruction that we were to head right into quiet hours, as typically occurred over the weekend, while several things were sorted out. The documents they passed out were likely to become future scratch paper even though I appreciated a printout on ¡°feminine care¡° along with offers of emotional assistance and helplines to call for various medical and psychological support.

    Beatrice¡®s friend, whose name we learned was Rosalie, listlessly helped with returning the bird board game to where they had gotten it. The permanent mention sure seemed to hit her hard. I wondered what she was like before. Clearly had to be quite different. Beatrice seemed surprisingly perky, especially with her overall appearance, and cheerfully invited her friend to hang out in her dorm. Rosalie took a long moment to realize that she was a girl hanging out in a girl¡¯s room instead of a boy hanging out in one. Before they left, we made sure that Beatrice and her friend had plenty of hugs of the softest variety.

    We walked back upstairs and to our room, the steps still jiggling our features. Inside, once the door was shut, Connor quickly checked everywhere and returned with a sigh, mentioning, ¡°It¡¯s just us.¡± That led me in one particular direction, starting to slip on a suggestive smile, before she clarified, ¡°I saw another message on that thing. One I didn¡¯t mention. A message specifically for us¡­¡±

 [13] A Brand New Goth Girl 13 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [13]

    My roommates had the door open. Norah stood in the hallway with Kasey lingering by the door and Rhea somewhere inside. It didn¡¯t take long for them to notice us. They looked upon me with expectation and curiosity but also noticed Rosalie at my side. I carried her jacket and braced myself for her to run away or hide.

    She actually advanced towards my roommates. It was a movement of inches and she squeezed my hand tight enough that I could feel my pulse fighting through my flesh. No trembling from her but also no breathing. Reminded me of something from an older movie involving people not being able to be seen by spirits so long as they didn¡¯t breathe. Poor Rosa started to waver and she had to gulp the air, followed by a diminutive cough. Her cheeks, already bright from her earlier tears and panic, bloomed even further.

    ¡°Oh my gosh, are you okay?¡± Norah immediately hustled over and crouched in front of Rosa. Kasey soon followed and poked her head out too. Rosa¡¯s eyes darted madly, but she didn¡¯t pull away. Norah¡¯s hand gently rested on her slim, soft shoulder. Rosa opened her mouth wider, as though preparing to speak, but couldn¡¯t summon any words. The highest pitched squeak eventually popped out before she squeezed her mouth shut. She soon started to squirm and found a way to urgently express with her tiny voice, ¡°¡­Bathroom.¡±

    Norah swiftly made way and beckoned the petite girl towards the open door. I didn¡¯t have any significant body strength, but I still felt like I could¡¯ve hauled Rosa the rest of the way without her feet touching the ground. Bringing her around the corner, past the sinks, and into our bathroom didn¡¯t take long. I dropped her jacket off on the hanger behind the door. She had to get her bearings as she gulped and stared at the toilet in front of her. I was about to exit and give her some privacy when she turned and clung to me, whispering, ¡°No no no, please stay. I haven¡¯t¡­ I haven¡¯t¡­ I¡¯ve been holding it since before the weight room.¡°

    Considering things earlier with Lily, this seemed fine. But my inkling was to call over Norah or one of the other girls as a supervisor to make sure I didn¡¯t screw this up. However, I also picked up on a clear sense of urgency in her body language. Lifting and bunching up her fancy dress, I urged her to lower her underwear and sit on the toilet. She didn¡¯t seem prepared for that sudden, forward action and froze in place with her legs trembling. Her underwear was bright pink with edges of lace and smiling kittens all over. We ran out of time.

    Rosa gave a small, plaintive whimper as she struggled to squeeze her legs together. A stream spilled down her leg and noisily splashed on the tile floor. Her slippers were immediately soaked, but I managed to protect her dress. During a lull, I summoned that theoretical, lifting energy. It was just enough to turn and safely deposit her on the lowered toilet seat. Before she could protest, I pulled her dress practically inside out over the top of her head. Probably not the best idea. Her fancy sleeves wouldn¡¯t let her go, so all this did was blind her.

    Somehow, I managed to get her underwear down and out of the way of the next wave. Then, I could work on freeing her from the dress. The door was closed but not locked. I had no idea what my roommates thought of whatever chaotic sounds they might be hearing.

    Without too much trouble, I got Rosa to lift her arms enough to undo and slip her out of the rest of the dress. That left her with a small camisole and her bra hinted at underneath. I carefully hung up her dress before allowing myself a breath. The floor smelled and the small pool on the tile traveled down the lines of grout. Maybe I needed some help.

    Rosalie looked absolutely broken, like a little clockwork doll wound too far. She peered far into the distance with her mouth slack and her hair slightly disheveled from undressing. When I proposed that I was going to ask my roommates for help, she glanced at me with wide fear in her eyes but ultimately dipped her head and didn¡¯t object.

    On the way out, I was quick to discover that my vine top and cross covered skirt caught some splash. So many little crises had to be resolved. Norah met me first, close to the door. All I had to say was that we needed some help and she went to work.

    Towels, paper, and even a mop and bucket. She took over with helping Rosalie. I received orders to get a change of clothes for her from her dorm. Rosa reeled when we checked about her room number, but she soon quietly confirmed it. She had given it earlier, but it was better to make sure.

    I wove my way through the clustered crowds loitering in the hallway and used the key in Rosa¡¯s jacket to unlock her room. The overall aesthetic reminded me of other transformed places I¡¯d seen today. Strings of colorful lights augmented the limited overhead illumination. A handful of scattered, half clothed men on the walls. Fabric as casual decoration. Comfortable couches. Waves, crystals, and butterflies were the key common room themes. Rosa¡®s room was just as she had described it with nail products, a dedicated sewing area, plenty of colorful cosmetics, and lots of plushies.

    Pushing open her closet, I grabbed a white and blue dress similar to the pink one she had on, added some random tops, one pair of jeans and a pair of lavender sweats, socks, rose covered slippers, and a stray gray skirt along with whatever underwear and bras settled to the top of her dresser. That was about as much as I could carry comfortably in my current state and clothes.

    I dropped that load off on my bed and checked in to see how things were going. Norah had Rosa wrapped up in a massive towel as she led her into our shower. Without too much guidance or trouble, the petite girl stepped in and washed up. Norah set the massive towel on a rack to the side and stretched her neck. Miraculously, aside from Rosa¡¯s hung up clothes, the room was as pristine as before all this happened.

    Norah stepped into the hallway and quietly asked me, ¡°So¡­like Lily?¡± She elaborated that Rosalie didn¡¯t say much to her. I considered my words. The group in the common room had some clear delineations between girls from before and fledgling girls from today. That distinction likely seemed glaringly obvious with Rosa. At the same time, considering all she had gone through recently, I felt like I was betraying or outing her to say that much. Instead, I quickly shrugged and answered her question, ¡°Just someone who looked like she needed some help.¡±

    My roommate understood that my answer didn¡¯t eliminate her assumption. She didn¡¯t press the matter though. Despite all she had done, her clothes looked perfectly pristine. Mine were still irritatingly damp. She noticed and asked if I wanted a shower after my guest was done. Not that I was averse showers, but I already had one earlier. I opted to wash up a little in the sink and change back into the purple black cats and moons pajamas from earlier. Every variety of spray, soap, and lotion was at my disposal. I tried not to lay on the smells too heavy.

    Rhea appeared to be taking care of laundry, so I added my clothes to her bundle. Kasey also busied herself. I felt vaguely useless even though I asked for help. Rosalie didn¡¯t take too long in the shower before I heard the water shut off. Norah and I both met her at the shower door with towels. Her hair, still lightly braided, looked more like distressed rope used to lash down a boat in a storm. Rosa welcomed being buried in the depths of towels. Just a sliver of her face remained exposed. She appeared perfectly fine with wearing that dense bundle in perpetuity, but Norah nudged her towards getting dressed.

    As I expected, she had the worst time with the underwear, especially getting past the holding and staring at it phase. I hadn¡¯t intentionally grabbed anything more or less cute but all the bras that I grabbed had a lot more soft ornamentation than the one she started with. The panties also seemed much more silken and glittery. Instead of just slipping her original dress or one of the alternate options on, we put her in a loose top with sweatpants. The combo brought her some measure of relief even though I thought it made her look even younger. From there, the other girls took over with brushing her hair, redoing the braids, and wrapping her in a big blanket. She also received a mug of cocoa to sip.

    Warily, Rosa pressed her face against the steam but slowly drank. Contented bliss washed over her. Drowsiness gripped her along with expected exhaustion, but she managed to set her cup on the table before getting too sleepy. Her earnest efforts to keep from drifting off reminded me of one of the videos we played earlier with a baby duck on a desk which just couldn¡¯t stay awake. She even did the same little head shakes to try and clear the cobwebs.

    Stolen story; please report.

    My roommates soon clustered around her with a variety of questions and comforts. Rhea offered up a heating pad while Kasey conjured up some soup to go with the cocoa. The most Rosa could manage from this onslaught of friendship was to quietly offer up her name. The whole thing.

    Everyone remarked it was pretty, but no one made the connection to the school quarterback. Rosalie Eden Beck gave me a quick look of concern, as though she fretted that her life as a man had just been a fleeting dream from which she was now awakened. I could remedy that.

    I could easily reach into my pocket and turn a specific beam on her and no one would ever know. It could make her even cuter. A focus on demure, cute, and hyper feminine qualities. My head swam with possibilities. But why? Why did I want to blast her with light so hard that, by the time I was done, she wouldn¡¯t even be able to conceive of what boys had between their legs without blindly grappling for vague myths and blushing guesses? I didn¡¯t feel like myself, if that notion made sense anymore.

    A long, slow breath seemed appropriate to the moment without revealing my quiet panic. Rosalie gulped and deepened her soft blanket barrier before responding, ¡°Actually, my name is Derrick Beck. Quarterback of the Cressman Comets¡­¡± She then relayed the same account of her afternoon as what she expressed to me.

    My three roommates squinted at Rosa, as though if they saw her in the right light then the incongruity between what she was saying and her appearance would somehow resolve itself. Then she relayed that there was a message that appeared out of the air during the meeting. She had the first part of the message spot on. I continued the spiritual section when she got flaky on the details and touched upon the idea of people helping. I did my best to not appear guilty. Rosalie shivered despite the blanket.

    ¡°Nut job with some power,¡± Norah responded. I winced. She didn¡¯t notice. Casey crumpled part of her top between her fingers as she worried about her boyfriend Drake and the fact that he hadn¡¯t gotten back to her yet. She repeated a bit from earlier with the emphasis that he wasn¡¯t a current student, but he sometimes spent a lot of time on campus and audited classes as an alumni with the intention to return to finish up his degree soon. I had no idea if people off-campus were affected or how they had to be tied to the school, but I reminded her of the busboy and cook in the cafeteria who weren¡¯t affected. Some of her tension relaxed.

    Rhea sat with us and helped Rosalie perk up and slowly sip the fluids they¡¯d given her. Much of the unease and mortification from her accident lingered with the poor girl. She sought words of apology but Norah brushed off her concerns the strongest, reassuring her it was just one of those things that happened.

    A happy, cheerful sweet melody traveled from down the hall. Kasey checked and returned with a glittery, pink phone with tiny, fluff ball baby chicks decorating the back. Rosa grabbed it and swaddled it in the blanket before tapping to respond.

    She wrangled up her most confident greeting with more volume than I¡¯d heard her use yet. That energy soon leaked out as her voice sunk to reply, ¡°Hi¡­mom¡­¡±

    Rosa got up and waddled down the hallway with the oversized blanket and her phone. While she was gone, my roommates pressed me for more details. I elaborated that we played a board game with birds and Rhea recognized it immediately. She deemed it interesting, but wished it had more ¡°take that¡± mechanics. She delighted in Secret Hitler and One Night Werewolf. And she didn¡¯t stop there, as she had an entire website pulled up itemizing her favorite games from every niche.

    I appreciated this group that fate, choice, or chance may have placed me with. Norah took charge and brushed away stresses and fears. Kasey mothered with care and concern. And Rhea seemed like an exuberant free spirit eager to help out and include others. My only wish was that everyone on campus feeling lost, confused, and uncertain could have people around like them like this trio. We saw positive signs here and there and during supper. I wanted it to be more like them and less like the strange inklings clawing at me like a mad whisper from my benefactor. Help and create, not twist and destroy.

    Not that my benefactor was destroying things. She¡­ or he¡­ had their reasons for what they did. But I felt my purpose drifting from what they gave me to what I found in the common room. I wanted to see a smile on Rosalie¡®s face rather than so many tears and such fear. The easy way would be to reshape her with the light I¡¯d been granted. But I never really went for the easy way.

    Aside from the board game, I passed along that I ran into some former boys that I knew and was considering inviting them over when things started to settle down. At the very least, they both seemed like they could desperately use Rhea¡¯s braiding fu. Norah was particularly excited by the fact they sounded geeky. I alluded to the changes in the RAs. Kasey was actually familiar with Colin and hoped that he was holding up well. Everyone could tell it was more than just Colin on her mind though. The bookstore where Drake apparently worked was in a nearby small town full of rich people who commuted to the Hollywood area. Anthony¡¯s roommate Drew apparently lived there, the one-armed guy in the motorized wheelchair.

    It didn¡¯t take too long for Rosa to shuffle back with her phone squeezed tight and her massive blanket not quite touching the floor. We all listened quietly as she drew in a few careful breaths and adjusted her renewed but still slightly damp braids.

    ¡°My mom called¡­ and she was checking in because she was confused by an automated call and text message she received from Cressman University talking about an unprecedented event. She wanted to make sure I wasn¡¯t hurt. She called me¡­her precious little princess. My brothers were there too. Just making sure it wasn¡¯t an infection like legionnaires or norovirus. They heard cases of dorms back East having outbreaks of those. I had no clue what to say, but I guess I said enough that they didn¡¯t think I was being weird. I just used the bathroom again¡­it was fine. I think I understand how to¡­ am beginning to understand how¡­ So I don¡¯t make a mess again. Sorry.¡±

    She sniffed a little and the other girls made sure she had plenty of tissue as she slunk back over to her spot on the couch. I could hear her stomach making some noisy gurgles, as though it were a trapped cacophony of all the fearful things she couldn¡¯t bring herself to speak.

    After taking a careful sip of her soup and then a long one of her cooling cocoa, Rosalie cleared her throat and said, ¡°That wasn¡¯t my family. My mom didn¡¯t want girls. If she had had who I am now¡­ then, I would¡¯ve been adopted to someone else. She should¡¯ve yelled at me, my brothers should¡¯ve acted like they wanted to kick my ass. They were so sweet and cheerful and protective and concerned¡­ And I feel like I plunged down a hole into another world and I¡¯m still falling¡­¡±

    She continued to sniffle, but the unrelenting tempest of tears didn¡¯t return. Rosa was still desperately broken, cracked, and about to fall apart, and I truly had no idea what to do for her. But the other girls around me had plenty to say. Norah encouraged Rosalie to expressed herself to her family. If she didn¡¯t want to be a pretty little princess, then she had to tell them. No matter how she looked, they urged her that every dream, hope, love, ambition, and joy would always burn inside her. Don¡¯t let yourself be dictated by what others see and what weight the world places upon you.

    That warming sentiment not only brought Rosa to relax her grip on her comfortable blanket, but it also instilled me with a faint. treasured sense of peace that I knew would soon trickle away. Behind that feeling, I felt a weird ache on my left side where I had transferred the flashlight from my dampened skirt to the pajama pants. This pocket was no better than that one.

    The light wasn¡¯t on, but I could feel something radiating out from it. Like a pulse, like a thundering heartbeat.

 [7] Tuning the Guitar Player 7 [Transform the Dorm]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [7]

    My first, wary impulse was this had to be the invisible bitch finally revealing herself. I immediately motioned Pars behind me with my outstretched arm. My face tightened and my jaw clenched. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    Nadia raised both hands with the palms out and reiterated, ¡°I¡¯m here to help, if I can. I¡¯m not from around here but something came up.¡±

    I appraised her with a focused gaze. She didn¡¯t appear threatening, but I¡¯d seen plenty of girls back in high school who had the appearance of benevolence, only for their real and metaphorical sharp claws to come out eventually. Her boobs didn¡¯t sway me, as they may have done earlier in the year and back then. I had plenty bigger, situated up close and personal.

    ¡°Where are you from and what is this something?¡± I prepared myself to run with Pars by flexing my ankles. Running was never my thing, even since childhood, but I resolved to put this crazy bitch in the dust if she so much as cocked her head the wrong way. My main concern was how Parsley would handle it. She¡¯d mostly figured out this whole walking thing but at a heretofore subdued velocity.

    A positive sign was that this so-called Nadia kept her distance. She slowly released a breath and responded, ¡°I¡¯m from another reality and am investigating a mass transformation event. That¡¯s all. I know that¡¯s a lot to absorb.¡°

    So, she was like some dimension cop? I declined to blurt it out, but I rolled that notion around in my thoughts like uncertain pizza dough.

    ¡°How many balls were there?¡± That question was a risk, but I posed it while squinting my eyes and focusing especially on her body language. I didn¡¯t pretend to be able to read anyone, but my uncle was pretty good at it. The idea behind what I said was that my question would be utterly confusing to a random person and they would be struggling to comprehend what I just said. Their focus would be on me and figuring it out.

    The important part was how some once invisible, nefarious spirit might respond. It was all supposition and the context of human emotions, but I was looking for something in particular. If this individual had any context at all for my bewildering question then their first move wasn¡¯t going to be a focus on me, but rather a little flick of their eyes thinking through the context. How many balls actually were there? An inside joke to trap her.

    Granted, if I did catch that particular body language then I had no idea what I was going to do with that information. But at least it would provide some certainty.

    What this Nadia did was shift her head while keeping her focus on me. Honestly, I should¡¯ve considered that as well. If she was some supposed investigator from another reality then who knew what her abilities or context would be. She may have somehow seen the game during which this all started. As well, I was looking for a fundamentally human reaction involving memory access. I had no idea if she was human or even had a brain that worked the same way as a human one. Too many possibilities. I pressed another question.

    ¡°Have you been watching us?¡±

    Interesting. Her eyes did flick this time. She understood it. Of course, I had no idea if my vague body language assessment was giving me useful information. This wasn¡¯t my field, even though I did briefly consider a minor in criminal science.

    After a frown and a sigh, Nadia responded, ¡°You could say that. I have a strange association with a place referred to by some as Beyond. Not the Great Beyond. Not even sure why it¡¯s called Beyond. But that¡¯s what it is. Beyond and looking through many different things. The point is¡­ Yes. You¡¯ve been observed, although that doesn¡¯t reveal as much as you might think.¡±

    ¡°So, you never witnessed the match where we had those weird, fuzzy balls and beaked sticks?¡±

    Her response this time was pure focus on me along with what appeared to be the vague reckoning I was a loony. Then, her eyes did a proper flick. Just like a person. Moments later, she hesitantly inquired, ¡°Is that¡­ a reference to Alice in Wonderland?¡° I nodded.

    I actually pressed her on what she knew about works first written by Lewis Carroll. Rabbit hole. Cheshire cat. Walrus. Girl getting bigger and smaller. Crazy queen yelling ¡°off with their heads!¡± Card soldiers. And that was about it. Her context seemed to be the original Disney animation.

    It eventually occurred to her that I was pushing more scrutiny into her than she was to me. She plucked a notepad, an actual, physical paper notepad, out of her side pocket. That was a mark against her, even though the paper appeared significantly different than what was used with the weird notes I received. All throughout this, Pars was fascinated by the strange teen but not enough to leave the safety of my arm. This was the quieter section of the mall, building a bridge between the main area in front and the new crap meant to evoke a Mediterranean utopia that Southern California pranced around with conceptually like it was actually clothed in something.

    I swiftly switched to the assertion that we had played something else and I wanted Nadia to tell me what it was. That still wasn¡¯t enough information to surmount her bewildered body language. Uncertainties and incongruities latched on to me like massive anchors, but I felt confident enough to take some of what she said at face value.

    To thread through this nuance, I recounted a measure of my fucked up day so far. But I altered key elements on the first pass. My brain put Drew on a pogo stick before resolving that indoor badminton could be played with pool cues. Nadia paused in her notetaking more than once with several clear confusions. By the time my bus was full of clown rodeo riders and Parsley started out as a three-hole punch, this Nadia stop using her pen to take notes. Her eyes even narrowed slightly as she listened to my growing mound of absolute bullshit. What hurt the most was thinking about Parsley listening to all these untruths.

    She would have to learn about lying eventually as a human. And she probably learned something of deception from scouring the rules of the card game. Couldn¡¯t she just forget this particular incident?

    I amended that to the correct iteration once I was finished. Nadia caught on and made a few addendums of her own on her notepad. All the while, the occasional shopper wandered through this misbegotten stretch of mall choked on both ends by better and fancier siblings. We probably looked like a stray, feral performance piece without the money for a real set or actors.

    Despite how cagey and evasive I¡¯d been since she showed up, this Nadia continued with her explanation. Mass transformation. It had been sensed at a level of thousands. Considering there were still dudes around the mall, I had to deduce that the University had been involved. She was able to provide details that Cressman University was now, and had been since its inception in 1959, a women¡¯s college. Some quick googling confirmed this and that its admissions criteria were even stricter on this than Wellesley. Oddly, several of the pages were roughly edited or marked with 404 errors. I¡¯d have to get back to campus sooner or later and deal with the wreckage and fallout.

    Nadia vigorously rubbed at her eyes, as though she had some persistent grit that decided to settle down and embed itself into her flesh where not even the most persistent finger could pry it loose. I could empathize but avoided dipping into those waters. She got a version of my account on the bus with certain details, like my lack of underwear, skipped over. I limited details about Parsley to the fact she used to be a guitar but now she was fully human. On this point, a frown settled across Nadia¡®s lips. It didn¡¯t take her long to express her concern.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Turning things human has a lot of complications. Most often, they don¡¯t last long before sublimating to essential energy. Imagine a dress. Someone wears and cares for it. It feels the ebb and flow and infusion of humanity. No matter how much it has, nothing can truly prepare it for the dangers and problems faced by being human. Entities of darkness will crave something like that. I¡¯m sorry to tell you that.¡± She moistened her lips and pulled them back with her head down.

    Fuck that. I did my best not to get mad at this Nadia. Just a messenger. Instead, I was mad at the universe and the way things were. Still mad at the letter writer bitch who could unmake my girl. An accident. She was no accident. Whatever dangers and problems popped up for Pars, I would beat their asses right into the ground and beneath the surface of the earth. Whatever dark entities meant or were, they would have to get through me. I would summon the song eluding me so far and blast them with music beyond their comprehension. Rock their asses into oblivion.

    I looked at Parsley, deep into her beautiful eyes. She seemed to innately understand what this strange girl meant. Softly, with a warm countenance, she began a note of heartfelt appreciation and thanks. I quickly stifled it with several fingers to her mouth. I shook my head. No. No goodbyes. No thank yous for a handful of meddling hours showing off an overdeveloped shopping plaza when my girl deserved to see the majesty of the Grand Canyon impossibly spread out before her, witness surreal Chinese rock towers with misting waterfalls that shamed the best Hollywood CGI, dance barefoot through a dense forest with trees as her playful partners, and make music all her own to an adoring, astonished crowd showering her with the longest standing ovation. At a bare minimum, she had to have all that. I pulled Parsley close and promised her that destiny.

    Nadia shifted the subject and explained that somewhere around here they had detected something unusual. It was specifically at the mall. She arrived to check it out and fortuitously came across us. She otherwise glossed over the tools, resources, and capabilities at her disposal. I probably wouldn¡¯t have understood a lick of it anyway. One last, disheartening note she shared with me was that she was on her own. Investigation out of her jurisdiction or something like that in other realms and worlds. Assuming she was just some other, different flavor of nut job. I hadn¡¯t completely ruled that out yet, which is why I kept Parsley positioned behind me.

    I let her lead the way to this supposedly unusual spot in the mall. No tricorder or screwdriver came out of her pocket, she just peered around with her eyes squinted slightly. Patches of this end of the mall had the lights off, as though it were close to closing. The original homes of several big box department stores were shuttered with the idle promise that they would be turned into something greater as soon as the next tenant arrived. I could practically smell the larger, newer mall food court at the back even though I couldn¡¯t yet see it.

    Just around the curve, I spotted a peculiar location that also drew Nadia¡®s attention. It had a slim profile and was set back from the larger store next to it. Black velour drapes spread over the interior of the windows. The dimensions recalled one of those trendy tiny shops with Japanese and Korean trinkets and snacks thriving on the other end of the mall. A simple, paper sign twisted backward with just the bottom strips of tape holding it to the glass. Awakening my tired cell phone to project a feeble light, I read off the handwritten text, ¡°Magic Store¡­¡± Nadia leaned against the glass. The drapes washed out her reflection.

    After a moment, she concluded, ¡°Missed them. Time flows differently over here.¡± We continue to press our faces against the glass until I noticed a gap in the drapes which allowed me to look through to the empty store within. Several generic, off-white counters flanked a central point decorated with scrambled colors and tipped-over displays. Only a single sign, drooping badly, was legible in the low light. I read it aloud while I snapped a few photographs on my phone.

    ¡°Flashlights For Sale.¡± Thankfully, there was no E in the first word. Not that it made much difference. What intrigued me though was the similarity of the paper sign to the paper messages I¡¯d received. The handwriting wasn¡¯t enough to tell, especially with the angle, but I swore the type of paper used here was the same. Of course, there were plenty of varieties of generic paper that anyone could buy and use from any store. Some sort of watermark or line or header would¡¯ve helped immensely, but I didn¡¯t remember anything distinctive on the notes and this had even less to go by. Parsley helped by dragging her face across the glass to pry out any sight I might¡¯ve missed.

    Nadia backed away and lamented, ¡°I really did hope this might be a lead into what¡¯s going on. But I am supremely fortunate to have met both of you. Hoping for a positive result. I won¡¯t be able to check in often because of other duties¡­ And school¡­ volleyball¡­and a bunch of things. But I will follow up. Thank you very much for your time. Just one more thing¡­¡±

    She took a deep breath and paused before relaying, ¡°If you ever run across an entity, or entities, which may be supernatural or alien¡­ especially alien¡­ I recommend memorizing a song of at least four minutes in length with clear lyrics. Keep that song in your mind and focus on your determination. Everyone carries a powerful light within them to change the world.¡±

    With that, she bowed her head and slowly faded to see-through before completely vanishing. Cautiously, I poked the space where she once stood to see if she had simply gone invisible. Nothing.

    So¡­ Mass transformations. Guitars turning into girls. Invisible spirits. Mind alteration. Reality investigators. Magic shops with¡­ Magic flashlights? And a topper of aliens beaten by having a favorite song to sing. Makes total sense. Whatever¡­

    My concern was Parsley. She got a smudge on her face from the glass. We walked over to the water fountain off to the side and I dabbed the spot to clean it off. Gosh, I was basically her mom. Not that it bothered me too much.

    We set aside the bags to do our exploring. I recovered and wrangled the lion''s share onto my shoulders. My shoulders ached from a variety of things. A spot right next to my elbow in front felt like it was tenderized. Rubbing helped a little, but I checked in with Parsley to see how she felt. My girl gave a cute little sneeze after sipping some water and told me she was fine with a cheerful smile.

    So many different things lingered in the air like a smoky funk, but Pars¡¯ presence cleared it all away. I could tell she had something bothering her and there were a multitude of perpetrators. She was going to get the best massage though. In fact, there had to be places selling all sorts of manual massage tools. Getting something for each of us sounded like a great idea. First of all though, the food court was not far away and I was up for at least a snack, if not dinner. The cafeteria on campus would be open soon. With this mass transformation, I didn¡¯t even want to imagine what sort of chaos was brimming all over the place.

    I noted the location of a pop-up massage store around near where we could loop back as we arrived at the food court. Parsley gave a whimper and hunched over with her head down. Oh no. Stomach? That new, human digestive system not quite working yet? I had to be prepared for anything.

    A weird shimmer started to waft off her skin like trails of sand or golden smoke with glimmers of blue glow.

    Faintly, she said, ¡°Mom... feel like I¡¯m¡­ going to break¡­¡±

 [8] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 8 [Transform the Dorm]

    Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

    [8]

    A message for us? Was that why Connor scrutinized the document so much? What did it say?

    She again checked everywhere around the room and then peeked out the front door to make sure that we had privacy. Plenty of people were strolling, sulking, dragging their feet, and sprinting down the hall. But Simon and Kuni were still away somewhere. This wasn¡¯t enough for Connor, who led me over to the bathroom and locked the door.

    Once we were inside, she waved her arms around in all directions, from the floor to the ceiling, and then carefully wielded the broom out of the closet to double-check. I understood caution, but I was a bit puzzled by what she was up to.

    ¡°I was thinking back to earlier and then just now when that scroll dropped. I got this weird sense during our game that someone was standing nearby who wasn¡¯t the four of us. Originally, I didn¡¯t think much of it. But when that thing appeared, I got the exact same feeling, like a nervous tickle on the back of my neck. Didn¡¯t seem like a coincidence. I¡¯m thinking whoever wrote that note and changed up the school might have some sort of Predator ability to cloak themselves. This space is small enough that I don¡¯t think they can fit in here without being completely intangible or making themselves tiny. But I don¡¯t feel like we¡¯re being watched right this moment.¡±

    I mentioned to Connor that my sense of it was more like a twinkle of light, both when I changed and when the parchment appeared. Hi¡­ her sense of it was closer to an unseen presence than illumination. She noted that as though taking down analysis in an invisible journal.

    That was enough preamble, though as she took a breath, splashed her face, and relayed the message she saw. It was situated off to the side, but in an obvious spot to be noticed.

    She reported to me that the text precisely read, ¡°This is for you and the one who you love. I have been watching, but not from above. I find you both sweet. And am offering a rare treat. Would you like a choice? Express with your pen or your voice.¡± Connor noted that she appreciated the intentional but awkward rhyming scheme because it assisted her recall.

    I ran through the words a few times. Not watching from above. Found us sweet. It unsettled me that the same entity who wrote that ominous note for the entire dorm was specifically aware of the two of us. How closely might he or she be watching us? Had they seen us in bed earlier? Now I wanted to swing the broom in all directions myself to clear away some overwhelming, imaginary spider from another realm lurking with a thousand eyes just over my shoulder. I shook the feeling off as best I could with a jiggling shudder.

    I wondered to Connor if the message might be seen by others who read the document. She had to shrug but suspected that they might come to the same conclusions she did. Perhaps a large portion of the dorm would be writing or speaking to this mysterious figure. That could even be their intent. Although, I couldn¡¯t imagine for what purpose. If they truly wanted to communicate, there had to be better ways.

    So, they were offering us a choice? What kind of choice? Was it a binary choice? Do we say yes or no or relay the specifics? The clear ambiguity felt frustrating. If we demanded something in particular, could that represent a mark against us in the ephemeral log this being maintained? Or were being forthright and ambitious admirable qualities? Connor squinted and easily recognized that I was already sinking into my usual, thought-saturated quagmire.

    She asked me simply, ¡°Yes or no?¡± But we didn¡¯t know for certain if that was the criteria we had to follow! She pressed her question again. God, I loved and lamented this lady. She couldn¡¯t comprehend the pace and the caution that I operated on with my thought processes. It wasn¡¯t a deal-breaker though and it was barely worth complaining about anymore because we each had our ways of assessing the world. I needed her to push me forward, but she also needed to try the brakes occasionally. I conveyed this with a serious look, and she took a breath and sat on a clear portion of the counter.

    And we talked. Familiar stuff but also the outlines of uncertainty to be expressed, highlighted, and colored in with matching tones. Talking to one another is the single most powerful thing in any relationship. I knew to never be afraid to talk, even though I had so much trouble remembering to assert it. I just didn¡¯t want to bring up anything that felt like nitpicking or getting caught up on the little things. But it was important enough for me to think about it and my thoughts were valid. I fumbled my way through this process of awkward communication. Talking about fun stuff was better, but this work also needed to be done.

    I shakily expressed my uncertainty about whether they wanted us to say yes or no or something else. Connor attentively listened to my reasoning and appreciated my thoughtfulness. She further acknowledged that this being or person expressed a significant amount in their communication and might find value in a detailed answer. Unfortunately, then fell to me to come up with this elaboration of what we wanted to answer.

    I turned over the initial rhyme with more scrutiny than a final paper rubric or precisely worded exam prompt. It slowly dawned on me that the most appropriate answer to the way it was phrased was indeed a simple yes or no. I was painfully overthinking this. Connor pull me close in a comfortable hug from behind and told me that she appreciated that I made us both think it through even though we eventually arrived at her original answer. It was hard not to feel useless despite contributing to the process.

    Connor had me watch the door with the broom, which would¡¯ve looked ridiculous on any other day, as she retrieved blank printer paper and used her heaviest pen to clearly write out the word YES as large as possible. After that, we glanced around and affixed this note to the bathroom door with a loop of scotch tape before slipping inside again.

    We couldn¡¯t camp out in the bathroom forever, and it wasn¡¯t fair to our roommates to monopolize the space, but I appreciated the temporary privacy. Waiting several minutes made me intimately aware of all the ominous rumbles that filtered through the thin walls from machinery, pipes, and the central air. I did my best to blot them out with Connor snuggles and careful kisses. Sitting on the counter was practically a scream-inducing blast of frigid numbing in a skirt that left so much bare thigh. It was absolutely ridiculous, but Connor still managed to make me feel good.

    At some point, we heard an indistinct noise settle against the door. It was almost lost in all the other things we were doing, but I recognized it several moments later as Connor began gently but persistently pressing my body. We unfurled from one another and crept towards the door. Carefully opening it, we both looked down to see the most mundane but unusual thing resting on the carpet in front of the door: a simple, white light switch with the switch in the center position. What¡­?

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    None of the regular switches on the wall were missing. This appeared casually similar to them, although several inches smaller. Furthermore, our regular light switches settled awkwardly or not at all into a specific middle position. This showed no signs of popping to the top or dipping to the bottom. Turning to look at our note on the door, some unknown pen and penmanship had written just below the YES, ¡°Enjoy.¡± No elaboration.

    Of course, Connor was the first to pick up the detached switch and inspect it. The backside was a single piece of plastic without any seams or openings. Literally, the whole thing was just a small rectangular off-white box with a simple switch poking out the top. We each knew the only thing there was to do.

    Connor did the honors and flicked it to the top orientation, away from him. Instantly, a flicker passed through her body, as though a complicated film projection splice occurred right in front of me in the real world. Instead of Riona standing there with her cape of blonde hair, curvy shape, and playful eyes, actual Connor returned. Male Connor. The dude I had known all my life. And he was still wearing the clothes that Riona had on. Quite uncomfortably.

    Holy shit. We had to get out of the hallway. I ushered Connor over into our bedroom and closed the door behind us. He still had the switch in his hands. The room was unchanged, despite boy Connor standing in it. None of his regular, male clothes had been restored to existence either. My body immediately latched onto the same sharp feeling and desire from before Connor was first transformed. I desperately wanted to pick up where we left off.

    Before I could get further than a few frantic touches, he flipped the switch back to the center position. Just as swiftly as Connor appeared, he was once again replaced with Riona, retaining the same clothes, although slightly stretched and askew. She gave me a mischievous look as she set the switch down on her desk and used a single finger to push it in the direction that hadn¡¯t been explored yet.

    I probably should¡¯ve expected what was coming, but it made my stomach lurch in all directions as everything around and on me flickered like a strobe light before settling into the shape and form I had known all my life. I was Zach again, back again. And Trisha¡¯s clothes were excruciating to wear, the bra especially. The sweater and everything around it was more like a compression garment with random, distended areas drooping and swelling. That bra had the same problems but at least the skirt manage to make me look vaguely like my Scottish ancestors, though still inescapably ridiculous with the fit. The less said about what was going on around my crotch with my panties, the better. It felt like all the blood was being tourniqueted into a patch right above my descended nuts.

    I just really hoped that Riona wasn¡¯t about to start flicking the switch up and down to see what happened then. I could only imagine the worst for my stomach, balance, and sense of self. Mercifully, she left the switch alone and approached me. Seeing her like this was somehow reassuring and yet a uniquely intimidating experience. Here I was, the awkward geek boy, with a gorgeous blonde who had seductive eyes for me. And yet this was Connor. This slice of the experience passed me by. A reeling sense that your silly old promise to jump the bones of your best friend, if he randomly happened to turn into a girl, didn¡¯t seem quite so far-fetched anymore.

    We smooched hard, and I had to resist losing hold of everything thrown back to me as a man. Nothing down below was hiding the fact that I was achingly turned on. And Riona knew it. She had easy access through the open skirt to the whole of me as a guy. I anticipated that the switch would next reveal to be on a timer, and we only had a handful of minutes before it reset us back to women. It didn¡¯t happen yet as Riona¡®s adept hands freed me from my desperately tight underwear. And it continued to not happen as she licked her lips and gave me the most intimate kiss imaginable. She certainly wasn¡¯t stopping there though.

    I felt bad even while I felt amazing. Zach didn¡¯t keep things groomed at all like Trisha did. It also felt smaller than she really deserved. Not that any of my regular hesitancy and fear mattered to her relentless efforts. We pressed into the bed, which still needed some cleanup, as I could barely form a rational thought amidst the blood flow rocketing down to get in on the action. This felt like a true threshold even though we had already each brought the other to climax. I wanted to hold back, feeling as though it was too much to release an absolute age of restrained sensations on Riona¡®s body. The boy side fulfilling quaint and cozy little fantasies. She wanted this though and I wasn¡¯t going to stop her.

    To compare one way or the other was impossible. Each had its flavors, drawbacks, and virtues. This was intimately familiar though, while our time earlier was something brand new. She wrapped around me and enveloped the whole of my being. It wasn¡¯t the fulfillment that left the most lingering impression, it was being with someone who desperately wanted this for me in the most enjoyable way. As such, it felt like an extension of everything we had done earlier. We had done it together.

    Even though I felt depleted, I was still eager to see what else Riona wanted to share with me. And I wanted to share and complete everything with Connor. Would I be as practiced and as loving on my knees in her place? I had to know, and I had to show how far I could go.

    She lingered with exuberant, teasing energy even as she grabbed some water for her mouth. Part of me desperately wanted to taste her lips. We might know each other in all ways and the prospect felt electrically exciting. Beneath the ringing pleasure though was the pressing realization of what this represented. The entity responsible for all of this had simply created, with just a word from us, a device to allow us to return to our previous forms. Didn¡¯t others around us also deserve this? Was the implication that she would make this for whoever wanted it or just for her special pets who she found cute? I should¡¯ve simply been grateful that I had a means of unhitching myself from the weight and constancy of H-cup breasts. However, there appeared to be no option to switch both of us off. Three options, three settings but still a certain, limited choice to it.

    As I settled both my heart and my pounding arousal, I enjoyed the view of Riona from behind as she washed up in the sink. Many playful options bubbled up from my brain and hovered in the air. I rested my eyes on the switch, setting a plan in place to hop up and flick it back to center if I as much as heard the faintest hint of the front door opening with our returning roommates. Turning back to look at the woman I loved, I thought I caught a faint shimmer of tangled light in the air, that Predator presence that Connor alluded to. Instead of one ugly motherfucker with a cruel laugh though, I caught a shy face with a pair of glasses perched upon a nose.

    That was all I could pick out before I blinked and all incongruent traces, illusion or not, were gone.

 [14] A Brand New Goth Girl 14 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [14]

    That didn¡¯t make any sense though. Unless there was an electrical short in this strange flashlight, and I was getting a weird spark against my skin every so often. But I¡¯d been teased with someone¡¯s shock pen many years ago. I knew what that felt like. This was more like an invisible balloon of air that I couldn¡¯t touch but which pressed against me through the flashlight. That made absolutely no sense though. The internal parts of the flashlight didn¡¯t have any mechanism for inflation. But then I had just looked in the battery case and around to discover the internal instructions rather than taking it apart to really see what there was. If I opened it up all the way though, I had no faith in my technical skill to put it back together properly even if it was a standard flashlight, let alone something that could twist and erase people and realities.

    I didn¡¯t want it in my pocket, but I feared something might happen if I let it get away from me. Stuffing it in a bag also felt like a bad idea. Beatrice had options though, ranging from satchels to purses and more. There had to be something at least vaguely inconspicuous I could use to keep this thing from pulsating right against my thigh. Quietly getting up from the chair triggered Rosa¡¯s attention and concern to focus on me.

    I offered up the explanation that I was just popping over to my room to tend to vague ¡®things¡¯. Rosa knew that I had a stack of her clothes set aside and she hesitantly asked if she could go with me. There was no way I could say no. This was a positive sign of her efforts at something resembling confidence. I had to indulge it. Norah remarked that she had to grab something out of her room as well while Rhea clearly wanted to play one of those imposter-type card games before bedtime.

    Rosa squeezed the blanket against her side and gathered up enough so it would remain free of the floor. When we arrived in my bedroom, she paused in the doorway and then slowly slipped aside to let Norah through. All the clothes I retrieved from her room were together and sorted. She cautiously approached them like they were sleeping vipers to be handled with care.

    The colorful stack of panties especially caught her attention. I just grabbed a random handful, but they still followed a theme, lacy adornment and minimalist interpretations of baby animals through pastel colors. She slid some nearby clothes on top of them but there weren¡¯t enough to completely obscure the bras. Those mainly shimmered with soft satiny tones with some scattered, bright cartoony outliers. Rosa soon slumped sideways against my pillow like a discarded doll awkwardly dropped.

    I casually made my way over to the closet and probed around the area of Beatrice¡®s clarinet until I found an empty, black satchel just barely big enough to fit the flashlight and have a reusable water bottle poking out the top as a distraction. Not a particularly clever method of disguise, but it was the best I could come up with which allowed me some distance from what I hoped wasn¡¯t a radioactive femininity dispenser. I didn¡¯t want a glowing chest.

    Once I had it positioned comfortably away, I felt a yawn ripple through me and fight its way out. Quickly covering my mouth managed to stifle the sound but Norah noticed, commenting, ¡°Exhausting day.¡±

    Yeah. And I still hadn¡¯t tracked down the inspiration I¡¯d gone in pursuit of with my original walk. Not that the assignment was top of my list of priorities with all the other circumstances and the assurance tomorrow would not have classes. However, the days of disruption and rescheduling were gone. Webcams were required and the student union, with its massive computer lab, was augmented by extra computer satellite spaces on each end of the campus with ours adjoining the undergraduate admissions office. Not even a full reshuffling of reality was going to fully cancel classes anymore.

    Rosa had drawn her arms and legs up close to her body in a twisted fetal position. Faint snores seeped out of her as her head still awkwardly dipped against the pillow. Norah sighed as she used a small watering can on her plants and occasionally glanced over at the sleeping Rosa. She didn¡¯t ask me any questions about the satchel.

    I approached Rosalie¡®s side and considered the best method of rousing her. If I wanted to attempt that at all. She actually looked quite peaceful, despite a position that was sure to leave her uncomfortable when she woke up. Instead of tapping her on the shoulder, I shifted her protective blanket to provide her with more coverage. The sound of her snores stopped for a second, as though she were responding to such a meager touch, before settling back into the same soft, even noise. Before I dropped the blanket across her body though, I look down and felt hit by a tingling strike. It wasn¡¯t from the barely hidden light dangling off me.

    Rosalie was art before me. Something about her tangled position, along with the cacophony of colors on the mattress, stirred frantic inspiration within me. I could see the idea in my head fully realized. This particular project had a broad theme dealing with fragmentation and chaos. Collage elements were encouraged. I¡¯d been struggling with it so much and browsing photographs of storms.

    My initial concept was to split between a rainy setting full of lightning, fog, and a frantic deluge across some desert landscape on one side of the art and then use the other for a clear, bright day. A rainbow between would be the bridge but none of my original sketches or prototypes were doing it for me, so I went outside. Outside, it was bright, sunny, and completely unhelpful for providing a real-world presentation of what I was trying to get. I kept walking and walked my way right into Beatrice¡¯s life. But now Rosa had provided me with an answer.

    Cautiously, I focused on the delicate inspiration laid out before me, like watching a feeding a hummingbird or the cautious flutter of a flower-settling butterfly. In an instant, I knew that it might all be gone and I¡¯d be left with nothing. Sidling towards my desk while keeping my eyes on Rosalie, I actually managed to blindly snag an empty sketchbook and a pencil. Holding my breath, I loomed over her as I studied the lines of her form.

    Scratching out the broad sense of her was easy. She had the position of Yang with the loose, dark tangle of Yin. My knowledge of the symbols was limited, but I internalized that thought as good shit to plop down in front of my instructor as some deep, potential meaning. Otherwise, I included the clashing elements of my bedspread. The subdued, dark tones suffused the nearby sheets against the pure, snowy pillows. I dramatized the pile of extra clothes from Rosa¡®s dorm as like a patchwork monster trying to wrap around her and draw her into its depths. Even though she didn¡¯t know it, Rosalie managed to pose for me just long enough to capture all the crucial details I needed.

    As soon as I set my pencil down and cracked my wrist with less noise than usual, she took a long breath and gingerly stretched out her legs. Her eyes fluttered open in surprise as she saw me standing nearby and above her. Clear, weighty disappointment asserted itself on her shoulders.

    ¡°Oh. I was hoping it would just be a dream,¡± she elaborated. She looked as though she wanted to settle back and try again with breaking this unrelenting dream state, but she couldn¡¯t get comfortable. Rhea peered through the doorway with a modest box in her arms. It was the game she had alluded to earlier. We were at the minimum of five required players. I was eager to at least try it.

    Rosalie appeared wary, especially with the concerning title sprawled across the front. She clearly didn¡¯t want to be Hitler, but Rhea¡¯s earnest pout made her crumble. Back to the common area.

    We gathered around the large table with the stack of plushies to the side commandeered by Kasey for Rosa¡¯s comfort. She sat, surrounded, but resisted the urge to directly snuggle and squeeze them.

    Rhea laid out all the main components and endeavored to succinctly explain the rules. Two factions and their capabilities. I did my best to not show too much relief when I drew for the good guy faction. To my surprise, Rosalie presented a strong poker face. I really shouldn¡¯t have been surprised considering Derrick seemed like a seasoned college quarterback from all I heard about him before. Now, she had the added benefit of appearing quite unassuming. I¡¯d have to be careful.

    An added wrinkle set by Rhea required us to provide two truthful statements and a lie after certain game actions. It wasn¡¯t every single turn but every so often, to properly complete that turn, we would have to reveal something about ourselves. Rhea relayed that we used to play this variation a lot and hoped it would strengthen our bonds even while the main part of the game, she jokingly commented, destroyed friendships. She evaded questions about how this counted as part of the game and what the prize there might be for victory. Since I got the leadership role by election, it soon fell on me to come up with something clever.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    My efforts came down to proclaiming that I had a brother who competed in equestrian events in the Olympics, I was allergic to many antibiotics before the age of three, and my uncle first taught me photography. The expressions of my roommates forebodingly hinted that Rosalie was probably going to be the only person in this group I might manage to fool. But at least there was the potential complication of me and Beatrice diverging on certain, personal answers.

    After a single round, I felt decently confident that Rhea wasn¡¯t Hitler even though we had suffered some setbacks. The next session of sharing involved Norah spilling her secrets. She unfurled, ¡°First, I had a beautiful snake plant named Atticus Hiss who I gave an elaborate funeral ceremony when he expired. I was 12 years old. Second, the fastest I¡¯ve ever read is getting through Frank Herbert¡¯s Dune in a single day. And, lastly, I have a collection of colorful domino masks.¡±

    And, that was all she said. We recorded our picks for the lie on individual scraps of paper. Rosalie put a lot of focus and effort into her choices, scrutinizing each of us before quietly marking her paper. With the next round, we pulled even with our opponents and considered possible targets for assassination. My suspicion was landing on Rosa, but I just couldn¡¯t bring myself to vote to kill her. I also had to consider Norah and Kasey. They were quite low key and that effort of flying under the radar also made me suspicious. Could literally be any one of them. That was kind of fun.

    Rhea rattled off her three with a flawless pronunciation of French to cite her favorite play, detailed a behind-the-scenes theater makeup tip, and finished by declaring, ¡°And I¡¯m bisexual.¡± It looked like Rosalie and I were the only ones surprised by this last note. Considering her brightly detailed rainbow top, it shouldn¡¯t have struck me as so surprising. At the same time, it could¡¯ve also been false. I held my tongue and sighed as I logged my pick.

    The game concluded faster than I expected as I joined others, though without confidence, in electing to assassinate Norah. And she was revealed as Hitler. Just in time too, as we were spiraling close to our lose condition. Kasey and Rosa finished things off with their truths and lies.

    Kasey¡¯s snippets included revealing she¡¯s created over a hundred barrels of beer despite still not being able to drink it, only has one ovary, and learned how to hypnotize people with a massage. Rosa straightened and let her protective blanket slip as she cleared her throat and carefully annunciated hers, ¡°I love swimming more than I do football, I once raised $1000 for charity with a beatboxing performance, and I¡¯m gay.¡±

    A dense, ringing silence followed her words. As she started to shift and fumble to come up with some clarification or addition, I noticed that color was leaving her cheeks as though her spirit also wished to flee. I smiled and clapped for her while writing down my guess. The others followed my lead. Since Norah was the closest to Rosalie, she was in charge of making sure a warm hug was immediately received. Once again, I fervently hoped that I hadn¡¯t misread the situation.

    After all, what could¡¯ve been meant by the admissions varied. Perhaps Rosalie liked girls as Derrick and that remained even after things were turned upside down. Or vice versa, as I suspected, and she was attracted to men before and that had new ramifications for her now. Or that alignment had mirrored itself due to my benefactor¡¯s influence and she meant that she was a lesbian now. Similar complexity shadowed the possibilities of what Rhea stated for herself, but I doubted it.

    None of us had to wait long before the truths and lies were assessed. Everyone but Rosalie caught my fib that I both had a brother and they competed in Olympic equestrian events rather than my sisters in archery. Norah revealed that Atticus was still alive even though she planned to give him the affordable equivalent of a state funeral for his long-lived service to oxygen. I mistakenly suspected it was the domino mask one. Kasey actually had three ovaries.

    She dismissed my look of concern and assured me, ¡°My gynecologist is monitoring it and it hasn¡¯t caused me any trouble yet. I know it¡¯ll probably have to come out eventually¡­and maybe one of the others depending on a lot of stuff. So, I may have just one someday¡­ But not yet.¡± The part about massage hypnosis was also interesting along with the beer creation, her family¡¯s business.

    She, along with Rhea, revealed they had thrown in these details to verify some things, especially that I turned into Beatrice rather than being her all this time. To their recollection, Rhea had several evening chats with Beatrice about how she felt toward men and women and Kasey brought up her medical issues to Beatrice a few times as well.

    I couldn¡¯t help but pout and grumble about that disadvantage. I set any qualms aside to listen to Rosalie. She took several long breaths before revealing that her lie had been about the charity event with the actual details of raising $10,000 from cycling. The way the others counted the results confused me, but they awarded the victory to me and Rosalie by a tie. Our prize was choosing a slice of variety cheesecake to split. The others split another slice amongst themselves.

    Rosa ate tentatively. We didn¡¯t press her on the details of her truths. Eventually, while inspecting a piece of the chocolate cheesecake in front of her, she began, ¡°It¡¯s always been a thing. And I have always kept to myself. Started when I was really young and I tried to brush it off as close friendship, and then brotherhood and all sorts of other things. But it wasn¡¯t like love just being expressed no matter how someone looked. It was¡­ it is¡­ an intense physical feeling. I tried to fall for this one girl, Julie, who had the biggest crush on me a couple years ago¡­ tried to ignore the physical. I just couldn¡¯t do it. I am gay. I am so friggin gay and I was¡­ in Hell and Heaven every day of practice.¡± She motioned to elaborate on the positioning, the butts, and the immense amount of contact. Despite how grim her words were, something about it all snapped inside of her head. She broke out in a swarm of exhausted giggles I could relate to.

    When that calmed down, she shook her head and continued, ¡°Now, I can express what I had to hide, but it still feels like I¡¯m wearing a disguise. I wanted to be me physically and emotionally. I can still only get half of it.¡± She drooped with her next breath and dove into the remainder of the cheesecake.

    I wanted to offer her something, kindle some reveal or truth that might again lift her spirits. But all I had was renewed throbbing from my satchel as the light clearly wasn¡¯t happy with our separation. I excused myself and hustled back to my room. The door didn¡¯t have a locking mechanism, probably for the best, but I narrowed the opening enough that someone would have to push it open if they wanted to come in, giving me a little time.

    The light didn¡¯t have an unusual appearance, nor did it show any sparks as though there were exposed electrical components or a short. Pushing aside a few things on my main table, I set the flashlight down and started to open it up the same way as when I examined it in the bathroom. However, this time the front disconnected from the tube encasing the light. Scrambling, I managed to catch the bulb and the enclosure before they fell on the carpet.

    The section of the bulb that connected to the electrical input was generic and similar to teardowns I¡¯d seen in books. However, the segment tucked in behind the light included extra parts. The central component was a board secured around some notches. Adhered to that board was some basic circuitry¡­ And a shimmering chunk of crystal.  It was a sharp, ethereal tone of blue that radiated a faint but unmistakable illumination even amidst the overhead lamp light. I handled it delicately, not wanting to break anything.

    The crystal was about the size of a dime. Peering closely, I could just barely see something wafting off the surface. It reminded me of windblown sand or golden dry ice. The color practically sparkled. I was too close though, as some of the shimmer floated towards my eyes. I blinked and moved it away, but it didn¡¯t seem to affect me.

    Shaking my head with confusion and uncertainty, I quickly worked to reassemble the flashlight without somehow making things worse. Fortunately, all the pieces slotted back together and it operated exactly the same. I could investigate more later. For now, I had to get back to Rosie.

    We¡¯d been friends since the first week of college. She was always so warm and welcoming. As Taylor, I chickened out so many times asking her out on a date. It was weird how she responded to what happened to the dorm and campus. I couldn¡¯t understand it, reflecting. It was as though she had been transformed as well, but she was the same girl as she had always been. The little accident was also concerning, but I was trying not to dwell on that. Hopefully, I could use the light to fix problems like that.

    Returning the flashlight to my satchel, I made my way back.

 [8] Tuning the Guitar Player 8 [Transform the Dorm]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [8]

    No breaking. I shed all the bags and clung to her.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be OK,¡± I told her without any evidence to back that up. The glowing golden smoke thickened around her body, as though she were underwater and shedding luminous dirt or was made of a strange sand that was bleeding away. That last prospect horrified me, especially after what this Nadia said. Pars was fine until she showed up! Mostly fine. But this light, this glow, it appeared a little like what happened when Parsley first changed into a human. Was the invisible bitch going to take her back anyway?

    If the friggin curious girl was worth her salt, then she would¡¯ve known one way or the other! I fumed in her general direction despite my suspicion she didn¡¯t deserve it. Elements of the crowd motioned and took some hesitant steps toward us but mostly stared at poor Parsley losing her footing. She wasn¡¯t heavy, but I probably wouldn¡¯t have been able to hold her up before all this. It was a frustration of feeling weaker than I used to though. Having to manage little girly limbs along with positioning myself with these Gigantosaurus hips and where my still scrambled sense of balance wanted to go, along with so many fleshy soft places. The messed up meatsuit.

    More than anything else, I made absolutely certain to protect Parsley¡¯s head as she fell down, even if it meant me getting crushed and bruised. At least I could use these stupid boobs for something.

    I slid with her across the frigid tile and almost shot my glasses off my face and across the floor. One of the fallen bags helped with cushioning and I did the rest. Not pleasant, but I had her safe.

    The pain took a while to settle in, so I gently brushed her hair and stroked her cheek as she weakly shifted in my grip with her eyes half closed and the strange shimmer still building. I attempted to brush it away, but it didn¡¯t seem like it was reacting to me. No idea what that meant.

    The gawping onlookers finally got their behinds in gear and rushed over when we were a sad pile on the tile. A few adjusted our bags and I immediately worried that they would run off with them. At least I had my stupid garish purse and phone secured on my person. Some words of concern scattered around us as I struggled to regain my footing on the chilling, slippery floor. One guy with strong hands actually managed to pull up the both of us as one mass. His hands felt nice on mine, but I did my best not to dwell on that. Parsley still couldn¡¯t remain on her feet for more than a second of frail stumbling.

    I begged fervently, from whatever force in the universe and other realities might listen to me and render aid, for strength. Somehow, I didn¡¯t stumble, stagger, or fail. I brought Parsley up to her feet as her eyes cautiously widened and she found stability. The crowd backed up as I held her and started to maneuver her to somewhere she could sit and get her bearings.

    Suddenly, she tensed up and froze in place. Before I could ask what was wrong, a noise suddenly burst out like a scream, a gasp, and a violent sneeze all coming at once. With that outburst, a bright blast spread out from her and echoed like a shockwave.

    Several things happened in the aftermath. First of all, I swear I could taste colors. The vague brown and tan coloration of the floor had a synesthesia sensation like cookie dough ice cream, oddly sweet but strangely thick and muted. The brilliant golden wash was caliente, somewhere between a splash of lemon juice and biting into a striking pepper. The blue afterglow had the sensation of brisk toothpaste. The advancing smell of sounds, like butterscotch questions, hit me before this fusion confusion relented. Next, I found a solemn island of relief to see that Parsley stabilized. She flashed warm, chocolate-flavored awareness and energy while scanning for me.

    When she found me, she squeezed over to my side and wrap her arms around me. It was like she possessed more stability and cognizance than me. That didn¡¯t bother me, I was just glad to see her smile and know that she was okay. Then, the last thing hit. We were surrounded by women.

    It wasn¡¯t as though a crowd of women had pushed through the previous gathering and replaced them. Everyone in sight was a lady, a young girl, or an old woman. Without any potential ambiguity. The big muscular man on the side who lifted us up without breaking a sweat was now a blonde woman with concerned eyes and a little crest of hair arching from her forehead. Her face vaguely reminded me of the actress who played the child vampire in that remake of a Swedish film. Josh showed me both versions one night. The lady still looked tough, but was a fraction of what he had been.

    A woman in dark brown in front of me had obviously replaced the man in red and brown flannel. She looked like she just came from  yoga practice, Judging from her outfit and the neat, small hair bun pulled atop her head. A mom with shades of bleached blonde through her otherwise brown hair wore a collared white top with shredded jeans, golden bracelets, and bright blue nails. Quite a color combo¡­

    Her two daughters clung with curiosity to her sides. I couldn¡¯t help but imagine that last one used to be some sort of rocker years ago or in a previous life. And that was all I could catch before the group of women began to disperse, move, and circulate with women and girls approaching us and others deciding that we were none of their business. Some part of my senses wanted to be sick but, fortunately, it didn¡¯t have access to my stomach.

    The nicest ladies in the group got real close and made sure that we were both all right and not going to collapse to the ground again. I was actually the one who got carefully guided to the nearest table and chair to take a load off while Parsley supported me.

    Our bags and possessions all arrived safely and the Good Samaritan ladies eventually let us go. I was torn between the scope of what just occurred and wanting to squeeze the rejuvenated Parsley against me and never let her go. Everyone, literally everyone, was female.

    The girls at the hotdog stick place. The Asian women at the little Chinese restaurant. The chatty girls with high eyebrows at the Greek place to the side. The women working at the small Taco Bell kiosk. The exhausted ladies behind the counter at Sbarro¡®s. On and on and on. Crowds waiting to be served food were girls in their early teens, older moms, cane-clad grandmas, and even a handful of goth girls rocking a punk look even while still distinctively female.

    I had no idea what to think. Had anything happened to me? Those accursed boobs certainly hadn¡¯t gone anywhere, nor had they swollen to ghastly, watermelonious proportions. They were still a vast, bothersome size but hadn¡¯t attempted titty jailbreak or pulled off a leavening. And I didn¡¯t have them before today. Nor did I have any other female aspect. I knew that at least.

    My name was Anthony Moretti even though reality and life tried to rebrand me as Celestina Moretti. It seized my guitar and made her cooch a six-string instrument. That sentiment made me wince though and not for the reasons that felt familiar. The sentiment burned like uncouth fire to my internal ears. I don¡¯t curse a hell of a lot but my ideas fly unbidden with unfiltered language. It was like a part of me worried that Parsley could feel me saying bad words and wanted to do better for her sake.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    I squeezed her shoulder and held her against me. Parsley grinned. ¡°I¡¯m feeling better now. I¡¯m not sure what happened, but it felt like something inside me is wrong or a string snapped. I couldn¡¯t hold myself together, but you were there. I released everything, but I was worried it was gonna be like the bathroom and I was gonna make you sad and leave a mess and do other bad things. You¡¯re not mad, are you?¡±

    With all my concentration focused on her eyes, I calmly smiled and made sure she knew with absolute certainty, ¡°I¡¯m not mad. Things don¡¯t make sense but please don¡¯t ever feel worried that I might be mad at you. I love you.¡± Had I used love before? The word both felt perfectly appropriate and yet immensely awkward. The way I had explained it before with her being so big, treasured, and beautiful planted it firmly in the words that she knew and used. Would love make any sense to her? Did it make sense to me or feel like a word that had any business coming out of my mouth?

    Somehow, Parsley¡®s eyes widen again to the point she was like an animated cat translated into human form. All the tension in her face fell away and the years seemed to recede to make her like a kid despite practically matching me in age. Instead of bounding excitement and giggling enthusiasm shot through with concentrated sugar, everything about her relaxed and she rested against me with true comfort. I was her mom, even though I really still had no idea what that meant.

    At precisely the same time, Parsley¡®s stomach protested that it wasn¡¯t getting enough attention with a ravenous gurgle and my phone went off with an urgent, simplified version of a Van Halen song. The call was from my aunt and uncle checking in. My uncle picked up and, to my relief, he hadn¡¯t spontaneously grown boobs. Well, I mean he could¡¯ve done that, but he retained the voice I was familiar with. Which meant that whatever happened with Parsley stopped before getting to their house. At least we hadn¡¯t completely messed up the world.

    The absolute mass of women all around us soon shuffled out for a light mixture of men emerging from other parts of the mall and perhaps somewhere in the parking lot, which shortened the possible spread of that weird wave to even less of an apocalyptic level. Still, I couldn¡¯t help but find myself quietly and fervently apologizing to each and every girl around us who hadn¡¯t been one mere minutes ago. Clearly, invisible bitch was the responsible party. Calling her that didn¡¯t fluster my strangely maternal sensibilities.

    My aunt and uncle briefly circled around the subject that they were calling for, at first bringing up the weather and whether I was eating, but soon mentioned that my parents received a bizarre note from Cressman University¡¯s administration office that events occurred. Their minds immediately went to some sort of active shooter, disaster, fire, or something else horrifying. Why my parents didn¡¯t bother calling themselves didn¡¯t strike me as much of a mystery, which meant they had been relatively unchanged despite my sex flip.

    My uncle did place far more emphasis than usual on whether I was being social, adept with my studies, roommates were treating me fairly, and so forth. It was my aunt who seemed totally out of character with a sweetly casual embrace and curiosity about details of my life I had no idea how to express in any form she wanted to hear. It was curious to me that the university comprehended that something had gone wrong with the world and reality while everyone and everything outside that sphere just thought that this was the way things had always been. This had to be an absolute feces fair back at the dorms. Despite being transformed in transit, I didn¡¯t regret dodging the girls storm.

    We talked for a while as families always do, no matter how my life and reality shuffled. They offered me free dinner and a ride to their place. Stay over for the night, explain what¡¯s going on as uselessly as possible, and enjoy my aunt¡¯s amazing pickle soup. The wrinkle that I had a guest didn¡¯t fluster either of them or invite pointed questions. It was still up in the air how the nature of things decided to resolve Parsley, if it was going to at all. So long as it settled that she would continue to exist. That simple true¡­ I would fight for with every fabric of my being and flicker of my soul.

    Even though my aunt would thoroughly and relentlessly feed Parsley and anyone else who walked through her door, I wanted to soothe the vocal rumblings. I passed along detailed instructions for when and where they could pick us up outside of the mall and then went snack hunting. Several possibilities spilled out in front of me.

    Sushi got a quick veto for price and complexity. A burger didn¡¯t seem too bad but raised too many questions. Some lamb meat wasn¡¯t too pricey, but I felt a little sheepish about feeding the flesh of a living being to my guitar as her first real meal. Ultimately, you probably couldn¡¯t go wrong with a cookie. A massive, everything cookie trying to challenge the bagel type. We split one.

    Her reaction reminded me of an online video of a baby experiencing ice cream for the very first time. She went back for swift seconds and thirds with just a glance in my direction to confirm. The vast majority of the cookie went to her along with a foamy fruit juice. I could feel the contented appreciation. The warmth inside her was enough to keep even the longest season happy in my heart.

    We walked along the back end of the mall, never quite making it to the fancy pants plaza section adorning the outdoors. It would be getting dark soon and the muted protest of my body from the full-contact events of the day were approaching a level I wouldn¡¯t be able to suppress for long without a soothing shower. I grabbed a steaming slice of floppy cheese pizza from a stray cart vendor because it was cheap and I would be remiss as an Italian if I didn¡¯t at least let her try it. She chomped enthusiastically through the cheese, marveling at the way it stretched and dangled. Her gusto nearly got her mouth burned but she was a quick study about blowing and shifting the food like a hot potato. A long sip of relief from the fruit drink put out the fire.

    To the left, I noticed a comic book shop which I didn¡¯t typically frequent. The windows were reserved for the latest iterations from Hollywood and Disney with a small, careful fragment set aside for storylines involving Superman¡¯s Kandor. A clever, complicated little prop illustrated all the necessary details. I wasn¡¯t intimately familiar with it, but Josh had exposed me to enough random animated works that I recognized it. Still, it was strange that my eyes settled on it so naturally. The exuberant Guardians and Ant-man displays should¡¯ve instead caught my eye, but I remained with Kandor. Randomly, my heart raced.

    I thought for sure I saw someone standing behind the window display who hadn¡¯t been there moments ago. But it was empty. Parsley held up a gooey, generously cheese-laden morsel of pizza to share with me. I accepted it with a smile even though it was lackluster cheese, canned sauce, and crunchy bread.

    It represented a low bar to blow into the stratosphere when I soon presented her with homemade pizza. I couldn¡¯t wait to share it and so many other wonderful things with my special girl.

 [15] A Brand New Goth Girl 15 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [15]

    I felt a brisk surge of energy standing in the hallway, even as the day weighed upon me. Possibly a second wind? It had to be more than that. Call it being rebelliously contrary to the gravity of exhaustion. Just processing and integrating the new truth of Beatrice into my identity should¡¯ve been enough to sap everything that I had and invite several days of sleepy, necessary recovery. The only reason I wasn¡¯t doing that was because any reasonable person would¡¯ve expected me to.

    Why didn¡¯t I cry? Lily shed more than her share. And Rosa shed exactly the amount one might expect from a regular girl processing the reality-twisting implications of everything that happened today. She was a regular girl, of course. Something still felt wrong though¡­.Whatever. Everything felt different lately.

    Kasey was tidying up in the meager kitchen along the wall, focusing on cleanup and making last call for fridge leftovers before they had to be evicted. Rhea attempted to reason with her for just one more day, especially for the sake of her potato salad. Kasey flashing the reusable container half-stuffed with the radiant excess seemed like clear evidence that the salad was well on its way to horrors involving strange colors and pulsating new intelligences. The decider was inviting Rhea over to do a sniff test. She soon scowled and cast her little spud child into oblivion. Clinging, clawing stains saturated the sink until the hottest of hot water boiled off the evil within. Still not as bad as anything my former roommates had to exorcize from the pits of our fridge.

    Out of curiosity, I prodded Beatrice¡¯s culinary remnants. She laid claim to a plastic container of brine-swimming feta, swirled seaweed salad, imitation crab pieces, and a huge bag of apples. Kasey deemed each still good, but that wasn¡¯t enough to get me to sample anything. I could really go for some potato wedges and a taco though.

    The area above my right eye ached. But, when I rubbed it, the discomfort swiftly migrated over to my left. The sensation felt like a combination of dry eye and strain. Surely a side effect of getting blasted in the face by whatever silicon or quartz dust the strange light contained. My vision didn¡¯t feel affected at all.

    It was clear the evening was winding down as no one could muster up enthusiasm after the remains of the cheesecake were thoroughly indulged. All these girls were nice beyond measure to humor and encourage me throughout the day. I struggled to reciprocate. What could I possibly do for them?

    I was brand new to all of this. I sampled Kasey¡¯s food and kindly shared what words I could wrangle. When Norah first arrived, her clothes received my careful compliments. Then, I ran away. I returned with Lily, pressed to resolve her schism with Norah. Followed by more wandering. But I learned so much about the intimate roads ahead. Followed by dinner with escaping to sin. Watching the efforts of others in the cafeteria filled more time than any of my contributions. And then there was Rosa.

    Finding her so low. And the confusion about why she felt so tortured. The places around my eyes renewed their aches when I dwelt on those recent events. I could blast it, bathe it in purifying, pink illumination. That both seemed like a relaxing notion and one geared towards triggering the worst of my anxieties.

    Commentary about the remnants in the fridge along with grocery plans for the next few days monopolized lingering discussion topics. Prosaic mentions of casual annoyances and passing conversations lent everything slight shades of normalcy. I could imagine that I just existed in a girls¡¯ room, and no one had yet noticed the incongruity. Taylor is so quiet and courteous.

    Something like that happened once before at my mother¡¯s workplace. I¡¯d been neglected, dismissed as little more than a statue off to the side. It was soon like I¡¯d glimpsed past the Veil. Several bored ladies chatted with one another, at first about their nails, and then slipping into discussions about boudoir photos and whether certain ones were sexy enough to land them a man. Choices of guys were shuffled through with uncertainty about which one seemed best to fuck.

    Earnest, insistent commentary reflected between them about how men sucked because they were never interested in pleasing women. Beyond the boudoir, some just straight-up whipped out their softcore porn with fervent hopes that it might land them a boyfriend. The imponderables included wandering questions about dick sizes and what turned men on.

    This spell was only broken when elements of clothing came off to share concerns about marks around asses and bra strap rashes. They slowly realized I wasn¡¯t just another one of the girls, and secretarial matters reasserted themselves. I always wondered if they were just teasing or tormenting me in ways that I never quite understood. But now I had to consider the notion that it was simply foreshadowing my fate. I¡¯ve done far more than any of that, yet still felt like a distant observer.

    I could ask anything. Well, probably anything. And it wouldn¡¯t be unreasonable. We dealt with tampons. Nothing came to mind. It wasn¡¯t as though I felt like I had absorbed the true knowledge of what it meant to be a girl and the mysteries were patched. Far from it. I didn¡¯t even have the foundational ledges from which to leap toward unknown possibilities. Vague terminology, such as douching, orbited my brain without any solid base to cling to. Regular girls had years of painstaking puberty and decades of random experience to iron out everything. I had hours of uncertainty.

    Asking Rosie what it was like to be a girl crawled to the top of my mound of questions, which were both desperately necessary and yet thoroughly impossible to pose. I could die in all kinds of new ways if she found my absurd questions embarrassing. Memories of when she was my nightly shower fantasy gave me the ghost of rigid sensations that would never press forth again. Seeing her in her underwear both did something for me and yet felt glibly clinical. Instead of what happened, I wanted her to quiver and release blissfully while I was deep inside her. Fill her with biting, teasing pleasures until her mind absolutely melted away. Not that I was man enough then or anywhere close to it now.

    Eventually, the YouTube selections continued with a mixture of short films and samples of plays. Debates about their quality monopolized the evening. Whenever a questionable presentation of a woman popped up, it felt like at least someone in the group had to take it upon themselves to dispel the clich¨¦s for me. They drew a line between insecurities and neuroses. One clip with the concerns of a new worker pressed down by the antagonism of the other women in her workplace. Working through uncertainty and troubles to find eventual success. And a short about a woman who was painfully obsessed with her niece¡¯s grade school crayon drawing of her because she was large and rounded in it, eventually leading to her ritual burning of the art.

    Norah in particular pointed out all the warning signs that the main character was ¡°totally unstable¡± for losing her mind over a five-year-old¡¯s drawing of her. My biggest takeaway lesson was to be wary of how many girls are nuts beneath a smiling fa?ade.

    I admitted to myself that I had a certain idealism when it came to women. Probably from a lack of experience filled in by notions and snippets more than thoughtful realities. But it made sense in reflection. Girls are people, and people are inherently flawed. Even an idyllic notion of humanity suffers cracks and schisms. I wanted to believe Rosie though. I wanted to trust what I saw in my roommates. I hoped that the sweet visions might shadow great notions. Bring the gift of special light to others. But it was just technology blasting through a simple rock.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    I put on the face of calm normalcy even while I wanted to cry for a dozen, pointless reasons. Someone knocked on the door and Norah took charge of answering it. As promised, one of the RAs showed up. Colin¡­ Or Carol.

    Rhea gave a pleased smirk at Carol¡¯s swaths of blonde hair. Once again, so many blonde heads. But each had a certain nuance. For all my artful experience, I strained to define specific tones of blonde, but I could see and feel the delineation. Carol¡¯s hair should¡¯ve earned a special color name, hinting at honey but dipped in ash while avoiding brown. It fell like a curve with the locks secured behind her ears for the most professional impression, despite her sci-fi pants. Rosie had a blinding radiance to her sunny hair which retained a sharp, yellow tone. Rhea¡¯s was calmer, indulging in the twisted and shaped sparkle of honey to wield her hair like a fancy rope in hand. Kasey, with her understated dome reaching for her neck, had the quietest blonde color of all. Not cooling ash nor crazy caramel but a creamy bronze with fair chestnut allusions. And I was just blackness.

    Carol personally delivered the critical details of free phone calls, next day scheduling, new services, messages home, and counseling concerns. In addition to that reiteration, she shifted her eyes over each of us and asked if there was anything in particular we were concerned about. Kasey spilled out about Drake and whether part-time and gap year students were affected. Between the slim uncertainties that Carol could provide along with careful anecdotes, a foreboding chime arrived on Kasey¡¯s phone.

    She didn¡¯t even need to say anything, the answer wore grooves on her face. Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned back on the couch with a slow gulp. Hesitation gripped her fingers before she carefully turned the screen to display the photo she received.

    Someone else held a camera that took a photo of a young woman with brunette hair spread across her shoulders wearing a pale blue, almost white top with a navy blue skirt that dove out of sight. On her lapel were details of a business and her name but that part was slightly out of focus. The woman had brilliant blue eyes and a sheepish expression as though she recognized that something was amiss but was too nervous to say it out loud. Her bust accented this point. It wasn¡¯t huge like poor Zach or even Lily. Nor was it modest like mine. Marshall was probably the closest of those I¡¯d glimpsed today. Not that this distinction would have made any difference to Kasey. Mole hills or mountains, she dropped down against the cushion as though she were a mylar balloon on its last legs.

    Rosie cautiously attempted a small hand on Kasey¡¯s shoulder, as though fearful too much of a touch would crumple her the rest of the way or set off an unseen land mine. Kasey drifted between open staring and eyes squeezed shut. What could possibly be said?

    We waited through silence until she slid away from Rosie¡®s touch and muttered, ¡°I need to text him back¡­¡± Morbid paleness fluttered across her cheeks as she retreated to her room. Carol didn¡¯t have much else to say after that. She just provided a temporary helpline for additional matters that hadn¡¯t been brought up. Once she was gone, I tried to scoot over and comfort Rosie. She listlessly accepted.

    The rest of the evening petered out from there. Rosie thought about leaving, but I found fresh uncertainty fluttering through her eyes. I still couldn¡¯t comprehend how or why my benefactor confused my freshman crush. Perhaps she encountered the equivalent of energetic, golden dust to the face and the results led her astray. Had it done more to me than I expected? Despite so many expected uncertainties, I knew the details of my life. Of course, the same would be said by anyone who had their thoughts and perceptions perfectly altered. But then what Norah said about being a burly trucker before might as well have counted. We had to be sure of something.

    I chose to believe in Rosie. And help her to believe in herself. It was just a vague plan, but I sensed that she wanted to stay around me. When she fell asleep again, I would be ready to clear away her confusion and restore her truth. I just had to be patient for the right moment.

    The dorm wandered into the motions of your average evening. Music began to cautiously emerge, and the sounds of homework filtered through the walls as clicks, clacks, and creaks. Sounds far from anger but doused in panic escaped from Kasey¡¯s space. It felt achingly wrong to listen, but I didn¡¯t want to put Beatrice¡®s earbuds in. Not yet.

    I couldn¡¯t hear every word said, but I heard enough. Flailing hope that this all has been some rude prank, or some confusion about a coworker. Something¡­ anything that meant an alternative she couldn¡¯t conceive for a cruel impossibility. Silence settled, like a dark, primeval forest on edge until the punctuated, frantic scream burst through. Kasey wailed with inhuman agony. Even though I couldn¡¯t see what was going on, I felt that Rhea went to her side. I wanted to be there too, even if I couldn¡¯t provide comfort. Just to do something. Instead, the haunting pleas cursed my ears like some distant horror movie or a phantasm of the past. Would shining a light on her do anything positive? Would the horrific gift at my side ever do anything positive?

    I took a long sip of water and plunged Beatrice¡®s earbuds deep into my ears with her hair as soft curtains. It wasn¡¯t enough. I fumbled with her music accounts to pull up any random melodies. Her choices weren¡¯t bad, but none of them fit the mood that I wanted. Maroon 5 had enough of an energetic distraction and pace of lyrics that I didn¡¯t have to think. Same went for Jason Mraz. Just a smattering of recent popular music I didn¡¯t care about. I ran through the words as both a lament and an enchantment. My head rose.

    A figure stood to the side, near the doorway, as though Norah had come to peek in on me. Seeing glasses led me in that direction. But they were different glasses. Dark frames with a silvery sheen but sharp lines. Norah¡¯s didn¡¯t have as much of an outline, more like gold-traced ovals floating around her face. Someone strange was looking at me, someone I didn¡¯t know.

    Their hair was brown and full, curling sharply toward their shoulders. Figure reminiscent of Lily but absolutely not her. Where I was at in the music slipped away in surprise and so did the puzzling aberration, as if she were a pareidolia made of tangled smoke. Jumping up from my chair, I swiftly inspected the doorway and checked as many places as was reasonable. I even unreasonably scanned the ceiling for some deft ninja clinging to it. Nothing.

    A gut feeling passed from the top of my head to where it belonged in my stomach. My benefactor? Could that have been her? If so, she seemed so normal. Like anyone around us. Why did she make an appearance? Did she know about my doubts, feel my bitterness and anger, or disapproval of her gift? She wasn¡¯t a god or goddess though. That¡¯s what the message said. I waved through the air, less with hope to touch her and more with insistence to dispel whatever trace of her might remain. I eventually stopped when Rosie spotted me. No explanation was asked for.

    Kasey¡¯s wails quieted at some point. We each managed some small form of comfort for her. Rosie gave up her blanket. I brought her some warm tea. And her true roommates did the heavy emotional lifting, which was enough to get her to curl up quietly in her bed.

    Returning to my bedroom, I was left with enough things I could do to distract myself.

 [9] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 9 [Transform the Dorm]

    [9]

    ¡°Just give me a minute, and I¡¯ll have you screaming more than my name,¡± Connor teased.

    If only I were screaming for fun. But the sudden appearance of the suspicious girl with glasses, some sort of unsettling apparition, was the real reason. Ghost? The college was old enough, at over 60 years, to have collected some strangeness but these rooms were some of the newer ones, only around for about a quarter century. My stronger inkling was that this had to do with what we received, the switch seemingly without a power source to control.

    When Riona slipped back into the room, it didn¡¯t take her long to read my face and realize that this wasn¡¯t a come-on or foreplay. She sat by my side with narrow eyes and asked what was wrong. Motioning over to the mirror, I did my best to explain what I saw. It didn¡¯t take long before she grabbed the broom and started wielding it like a naginata from a fighting game we played once. Despite how far she reached and swung, Riona didn¡¯t make contact with any interlopers. Panting after all that, she set it down next to her and joined me on the bed.

    I provided as many details about the girl I saw as possible. Without telling me first, Riona flipped our switch back to center. The sensation of returning to Trisha form evoked my initial transformation. It was warm and cool at the same time. My balance wiggled like a top losing momentum and then dipped around into a different equilibrium. The big girls returned, and it was easier to cover up my lower half.

    Even though I would¡¯ve liked more warning, it was good that Connor chose that moment since the front door soon rattled and popped open. Simon and Kuni returned. I felt more disheveled than I probably looked as we went to go check.

    Kuni moved slowly, listlessly through the hallway and scoped out the kitchen before noticing us. Simon loomed and waved. They were well aware of what occurred in the common room with the mysterious message. Kuni wore her reaction on her face.

    ¡°Forever¡­ I want to punch them¡­ acting like this is some game or fantasy. Playing around with people¡¯s lives. I went to go see some people we knew. Some are dealing better than others. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m going to do. My stomach feels like it¡¯s all twisted up. My life has been stolen from me. And the lives of so many others. I just want to go to bed and try to forget for a few hours.¡±

    Simon rested a hand on her shoulder, and I felt the inspiration to reach out and attempt a hug. It was just a quick one, and Kuni edged out of my path once I was done. Not the time for crying or anything emotional. She closed the door to their room behind her when she left. Simon lingered and checked in with us.

    I knew not to even look in the direction of our room with the strange switch gift. Keeping secrets was not a problem of mine, but surviving my mental state while keeping those secrets was another matter. Especially considering this was a secret that directly affected the both of them and everyone else on campus. No matter what the overzealous note said, there was a way around these transformations. A way to turn them off, at least temporarily. Others deserved to know this.

    Nothing explicitly stated in the communication we received that we could never talk about what we were given. It did specify that it was for us as a couple. It was a rare treat, but not necessarily the only one given out. ¡®Rare¡¯ fundamentally implied that there could be others in a limited array. Perhaps even our roommates were offered something or would be offered something, and we were just keeping pointless secrets from one another.

    Connor randomly inquired about our earlier concern with condoms and whether Simon still had any. That both made my heart freeze and also pulse to fight free from my chest. Simon raised one of her slim eyebrows, but Connor was swift and smooth to explain that it was for dildos and being safe in sharing them. My face felt like it was being bathed by the surface of the sun. Simon folded her arms and smirked before popping into her room. Through the briefly open door, it was easy to see that Kuni had already buried herself in blankets but also grabbed a laptop for company.

    Simon soon returned with a colorful plethora of condoms. She even had a couple of dental dams to offer. Connor gladly accepted the pile and winked at me. I hurried back to our room and marveled at everything Simon had. Way more than I was expecting; some were flavored. My mouth suddenly watered, and I had to swallow. Other parts of me were getting in on similar sentiments, but I couldn¡¯t do much about them.

    My mind and body fought against contrasting inclinations. Shivers of possibility sought to electrify me and leave me a squirming mess. I wanted to borrow some of Connor¡¯s impetuousness and just ravish him after flipping the switch my way. It only seemed fair to return the favor and indulge the untapped curiosity. Some naughty whisper inside my mind urged me to forget the prophylactics and just share our most intimate touch. We were both peak virgins, aside from one another and ourselves.

    Once again, it seemed that Connor could easily read my mind. She asked if I would like to do the honors. I still had many questions, even though my hesitancy was combating a bullish charge of desire. Didn¡¯t she want to try things with Zach? Referring to myself in the third person seemed like the best means of getting around the thin walls. But those walls weren¡¯t going to thicken once we got going. How would we be able to cloak our voices? I sheltered this notion by elaborating that I was a little embarrassed about our roommates hearing everything. A reaction that fit no matter what our appearance might be. Connor¡®s response was to suggest a shower. Thankfully, the water fee with housing was a flat rate.

    I gathered together some random products, towels, and bathrobes to lend credence to this presentation. The switch sat comfortably at the back of the counter. Connor picked it up and walked it out of the room. Before I could press her with questions, she simply responded, ¡°Theory testing.¡± She put as much distance between the two of us as the dorm would allow and then aimed the switch in the direction of our roommates behind the wall. Flicking it up and down left the both of us woozy and disoriented but brought no further effects. I assumed she was testing whether it was locked to us and us alone.

    Knocking on the door to the other room, Connor casually passed along that she was going to use the shower and wanted to know if either of them needed it after her. The following, muffled answer from Simon suggested that neither of them intended to go anywhere for a while. I started to feel anxious and sweaty in a way I didn¡¯t mind. All my thoughts were laser-focused on Connor as she presented me with the switch set in the middle. I flicked it toward her and watched as Connor surged, unhindered by his snug, soft clothing. With the door shut, I pressed myself against his lips.

    How could I do this? So much masculine training screamed at me even louder than it had when I first let Trisha loose upon him. Back then, hours ago, there was the excuse of being saturated by hormones, smells, mind-altering magic, and so many other possibilities. Now, this was all on me. I was making a choice. At the same time, it didn¡¯t feel like a choice at all. If everything had been confined to just Beatrice and me, I would¡¯ve been here several times already.

    Did that make me gay? Such a silly thing to wonder about at this point. Would it be such a bad thing if it were that simple? I liked the feeling of men like this, and Connor was just the best man for me, even as a woman. It might help. Declare that the whole bro promise was just the best way to couch homosexual feelings in the trappings of something that might be considered closer to acceptable for our peers. A silly joke to tell about how weird we were as adolescents after we each eventually found the right girls for us.

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    I crouched with a teasing smile as I pulled down Connor¡¯s snug yoga pants and his panties with them. He was prepared. Before I could get any closer though, someone knocked on the front door of the dormitory from the hallway. It was just loud enough to be heard, but not so loud that we absolutely should¡¯ve known about it with a roaring shower going. Not that we had even gotten that far yet.

    We peered at one another, and Connor ultimately made the decision to pull his pants back up and flick the switch to the center. I had several bitter curse words swirling through my head. As we had been warned, it was the RA coming to check in on us. Simon represented the other room and passed along that her roommate was resting.

    The girl who met us at the door verged far too close to being my doppelg?nger. Instead of a gray top with massive boobs, she wore a snow-white top in the same style with breasts slightly larger than Riona¡®s but not quite as big as mine. Instead of long, brownish hair, hers was pitch black and laid across her shoulders and back the same way. Her skirt had similar pleats to mine but was almost long enough to touch the floor and shimmered a sharp shade of pink. Her eyes also projected a deep sea blue rather than my pointed emeralds. My suspicions flared up like they were stinging nettle hackles. Which didn¡¯t actually exist. If hissing and scratching had any chance of working, I would¡¯ve gone for them instead of a level stare and a flat expression. This chick was butting in on our private time.

    She didn¡¯t really deserve my animosity, she seemed pleasant, but I was strangely committed to it and I was going to continue the stink eye. Her voice pitched so high, as high as any girl I ever met. It was tiny and overzealously cute. More fuel for my pouting. All the things that this particular RA brought up repeated points made in the meeting about quiet time, resources, and other measures. She wasn¡¯t actually a resident of this dorm but rather the building just behind us, now Hansberry Hall. Some of the Mead RAs needed time, so they brought her over to fill in.

    She unnecessarily passed along that it had been changed from Poppen Hall. I wondered if the administration was going to change it back or just accept this weird shift to reality. When I put a similar form of that question to her, she had to shrug and admit that they hadn¡¯t told her anything in that respect. She noted that she enjoyed the new names though. If she read anything in my demeanor, she didn¡¯t say.

    Even though it wasn¡¯t intended to be a surprise inspection of the rooms, typically for paraphernalia and alcohol, she probed closer than I expected. Before leaving, she also asked to use the bathroom. I didn¡¯t know what to say and Connor calmly told her it was fine. The minutes and moments sluggishly advanced with the door shut at the end of the hall. Why couldn¡¯t we have popped in there and grabbed the switch? Easily, I imagined preempting her request and screaming that I was about to hose the gray carpet like a racehorse that inhaled a lake. It would¡¯ve been a simple matter, my imagination supposed, to just grab the switch and stuff it up between my legs or my boobs when I exited. Going for it without any further excuse would¡¯ve drawn too much attention and likely invited a casual flick to see what the curious thing did.

    I totally didn¡¯t prepare myself for what I might do if she gave it an experimental flick when washing up. If the worst possibility arrived, then I could just throw my Zach self into our bedroom and hide in the closet. Connor could come up with something plausible for why I vanished and what the heck that thing was. If Connor got flicked, then everything would be on me to cover. I went so far as prototyping a story involving Connor as a boyfriend who arrived from the mixes of reality to check on us but didn¡¯t know about the new rules in place. Explaining his attire was beyond me and I also desperately hoped that Simon would play along.

    She finished up in the bathroom and no chaos struck us. A couple of glances behind herself suggested that she had festering questions¡­ oh, the sex stuff we left in there. It was all probably much more noticeable than a simple, quirky detached light switch. With some stammering, she returned to a mention of sex educational matters to help with the myriad of new complications and experiences. Riona pulled me close and brushed a hand through my hair with a soft smile. A steaming blush came naturally to my cheeks. And my wannabe doppelg?nger had a matching one. Simon appeared as though she was left out of the mix.

    Fortunately, the hall assistant soon left for the next room she was assigned to check in on. The brochures she passed out found swift homes as far away as we could throw them. Once Simon was gone too, we hurried back into the bathroom. The switch was right where we left it. Before picking up where we had been scattered once again, I sat down and made quick use of the toilet to empty my bladder. Not in anticipation of what we were about to do, although that was a fortuitous bonus. Simply because the horse analogy had gotten stuck in my head and loosened a few things. It¡¯s only after I was done that I realized things could¡¯ve been much more convenient if I flicked myself over to Zach mode.

    I was about to put us back to where we were when Connor pulled me close. She kissed me softly and traced the kisses over my face and against my shoulder where it was joyously ticklish. My giggles went higher than usual, as though infused with hydrogen instead of their usual new mix of helium. Just less explosive. Not that I was competing with that girl. But I could be way cuter than her.

    Connor seemed to know this was on my mind and quietly reassured me that I was much prettier than any other girl. I countered that we were each really pretty. Then, she started tickling me for more giggles. And it was her turn to use the toilet. I was about to bring Connor out, but she told me to wait. Sincerely, Riona said she preferred using the toilet like this for reasons that quite bewildered me. But I waited.

    We both flicked him back and returned to each other¡¯s arms. Before our clothes came off again, I was within reach of the broom we¡¯d used earlier to check for snooping. Swinging it around once, I was surprised when it made contact. The toilet and the small table were nowhere in that vicinity. The toilet vibrated slightly. Out of the air appeared a girl slumped over and flailing on the tile. I swung the broom back around towards her face, but she quickly put her arms out and pleaded, ¡°No no no! My glasses, please!¡°

    Connor narrowed his eyes and stepped forward. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    I looked over to the side and noticed that on the floor, almost underneath the sink, was a strange little travel flashlight. It was big enough to comfortably hold but still smaller than most flashlights we had at home. The most peculiar quality was that it was swirled in shades of pink and blue like a barber pole along the length, which shifted to purple at the top. The girl, dressed in a lime-colored t-shirt and gray shorts that felt thoroughly anonymous, reached for the little flashlight, but I batted it away and blocked her path. She slumped against the wall as we reiterated the question.

    The strange girl sighed and pushed up her glasses.

    ¡°I¡¯m Beverly Marsh. And I¡¯m responsible for everything.¡±

 [9] Tuning the Guitar Player 9 [Transform the Dorm]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [9]

    Whatever modest expectations I had for the massage store were brutally torpedoed once I got a look at their stock. All weird, suggestive microphone-shaped rods from China which needed to be charged via USB. I¡¯d returned several such items to Amazon in quick succession for almost instantly breaking and looking nothing like their advertisements. Granted, I had a renewed conceptual interest in the most vigorous options in the store. But the actually decent products were several steps above how much I wanted to spend on something like this. Besides, the worst of my discomfort was ignorable and transitory. Running a few floor testers sufficed. Parsley watched what I was doing and mimed the actions.

    Ultimately, I figured one of those little wooden knob rollers met at the junction point of cheap enough, plausibly effective, and not requiring half-assed, cut-rate electronic components. I made sure that Parsley saw me carefully cover my mouth when I coughed. Not that I suspected she might carry some mysterious guitar germs. She at least lived among people before now. But it was a good behavior to encourage in the presence of my relatives.

    After paying and slipping the massager into whichever bag wasn¡¯t the heaviest, I led Parsley around to the front. My nose beneath my glasses throbbed like a flesh beacon. A piercing ache threatened to burst to the surface. I didn¡¯t get headaches all that often, but my mom and aunt regularly complained about tension ones, sinus attacks, spells that left them with blurry sight for hours, and straight up migraines. Mom made it clear that having me was her remedy for all that. Not that it earned me an inordinate amount of kudos. Giving birth to me remained a nebulous, life debt obligation.

    I wasn¡¯t really a mom, was I? Even though I was responsible for my wide-eyed, cute guitar. I didn¡¯t go through the sickness to announce her presence. No weeks and months of regular checkups and concerned monitoring of my health. Passed over the whole hospitalization to make sure it was a safe birth. No late-night crying I had to sit through without enough sleep. No years of lingering, looming uncertainty. But¡­ I held her hand and explained the world around her. She learned how to use the restroom and how to act around people. I comforted her, and we played a game. I made sure that she was protected from the dangers around her and within. What did that make me?

    Parsley snuggled close and balanced the weight of all we were carrying. I slowed and let her appreciate a curious array of stores and sights she¡¯d never seen. She drew in a sharp, noticeable breath when we passed the place where you could create and customize your own stuffed animals. It was painfully overpriced, but I noted the location and made a mental reminder that we could at least stop by again sometime. The lingerie store next caught her attention to a curious degree as she glanced between me and the photographed models in the window. I contemplated whether she was comparing us. Not a competition I wanted to even be in the running for.

    Soon after, she asked, ¡°How many places like this are there?¡±

    I had no earthly idea about numbers, and no easy access to my little phone at the moment. Best guess, I responded, ¡°Hundreds in this country, if you¡¯re looking for something like this. A lot of them are closing though, because of people¡¯s preferences and costs. But there are so many smaller ones out there. A couple stores or just one. In the world, I couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine how many places there are like this.¡±

    Her eyes widened, and she struggled to conceptualize hundreds. She definitely understood it as a big number. I worked on giving her a frame of reference. An easy one was right beneath our feet. The tiles had a repeating pattern of three rectangles meeting over and over again in 45¡ã increments. Quickly eyeballing it, I could estimate well over a hundred from one end to the other. She did her best to process the hundreds of shapes laid out at our feet. From there, it wasn¡¯t too difficult to help her understand that roughly ten times that would lead into the thousands, but I also leaned heavily into trees, especially big ones, having leaves on that scale.

    Reminding her of one of my computer wallpapers with a vast stream of starlight nudged her into thinking on an even bigger scale. Maybe talking about grains of dust and dirt was a little bit too far, but I wanted her to know that the world was immense and remarkable. Although dropping the information that millions of people lived in this region and billions all over the planet while she was still figuring out what a country and region were may have been too much, too quickly.

    I gave my girl a fast track to an existential crisis. She clung to me protectively and none of the remaining shops on this end of the loop drew her attention. I just hoped I hadn¡¯t broken her. Stroking her hair gently felt awkwardly clich¨¦, but if it helped...

    She leaned into my touch with her eyes shut as I guided her back to familiar territory and the entrance we used when we arrived. I checked if she needed or wanted anything before we exited. Particularly, I was thinking about whether another restroom trip would be due once the most recent meal worked its way through. Parsley gave it some quick thought before resolving, ¡°Just you, mom.¡± My tear ducts started to get surprisingly active, like being assaulted by the first pollen tsunami of spring, but I kept everything to a few light sniffles.

    Outside, we made our way to the locations that I passed along to my aunt and uncle so that they could find us. It had a couple of bushy trees that Parsley could scrutinize for those lingering numbers. When we sat down, I took the first quiet opportunity to rotate my head around in slow circles that didn¡¯t leave me dizzy. My neck sounded more like crunchy cereal crossed with a mortar and pestle. Kind of like when I used to accidentally lose myself in certain phone games past 3 AM and wake up as a creaky statue, having contorted my body into the most convenient position.

    The steady rotations were immensely helpful, even though every inch of my still-unfamiliar body throbbed in ways that weren¡¯t fun. As I sighed, I felt soft, small hands settle on my shoulders. Pars pressed into a place on my shoulder and vigorously manipulated the muscle. Too vigorously! I had to ask her to go easier as she swiftly apologized. The manipulation inspiration apparently came from a small video playing in the corner of the massage shop, along with assumptions from several photos on merchandise boxes. She wasn¡¯t bad, and I didn¡¯t want her to stop, but I had to model what I wanted on her. My rubs were immediately appreciated as we traded touches of relaxation.

    While not a complete fix, this at least seemed to quell the worst of the pain before it fully erupted. We had plenty of time to experiment on one another before I saw my aunt and uncle¡¯s black car pull to the curb. The ease with which they recognized me was a sticky mixture of relief and uncertainty. They waved to Parsley and assumed her name was some fancy California version of Paris. How did she fit into my life?

    How did the world see her at this very moment? What was her history? Did she have one? Perhaps that was why invisible bitch was so eager to propose undoing what had been done. Remove the piece that didn¡¯t fit anywhere. Well, she fit with me.

    My aunt looked weird to my normal sensibilities. She had on a classy white outfit instead of her usual striped sweats. Furthermore, if I had to judge her on sight, she looked more like when I was a kid than recently. Dark hair, long nails, and made-up lips. We were greeted warmly as she opted to take care of our bags. My uncle wore his thickest glasses and had a mottled white and blonde beard attached to sparse hair at the top of his head. No difference there.

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    It wasn¡¯t bad that my aunt looked younger and more energetic than usual; the problem was I had no idea what may have caused it. Did having a nephew devastate her so badly that time kicked her in the behind? The effects of our massage therapy on each other started to revert in me, so I didn¡¯t have the depth of focus to dwell on all the butterfly effect possibilities. This also meant that the kibitzing and gossip my aunt heaved in my general direction went answered with my lowest level of energy and a tight wall of apathy. Pars smiled and rested against me with curious expressions and smiles instead of the kind of questions she would ask me.

    I made it clear while we were waiting to keep secret the whole guitar thing along with the other weirdnesses of the day. Her careful reticence was amazing though.

    Their house was unchanged from everything I remembered. Little brick garage off to the side. It was painted a pale lemon tone, close to off-white. Pure white neoclassical columns flanked a sitting area on the porch. I found Pars giving the colonnades a suspicious look as my aunt and uncle unlocked the front door. Despite being modest, I knew that the property bordered on a seven-figure value. California things. At least they originally purchased it when things were more reasonable.

    Plants, pastoral lithographs, and Indian sculptures covered their usual patches. After a short hallway was the kitchen with an island range and stove and a large vent looming above. This kitchen always felt like it would¡¯ve been at home in the 1970s, and the two of them never had any interest in updating it. Their pool glimmered through the back sliding doors. The dining area had a large flat screen on the back wall because this was my family. Food and entertainment. Bread and circuses. My uncle¡¯s rustic den led off from the right while the bedrooms were clustered on the left. I guided Pars to the guest bedroom to drop off what she was carrying. My aunt hauled the rest.

    The bed felt even more massive with my new dimensions. And I still managed to slam my knee into the massive, oak footboard. As usual.

    Pars attempted to organize all the bags and examined the dresser in the corner. I sprawled them on the side and spilled out everything. She had her eyes glued to me as I folded all the clothes, separated them by which were hers and which were mine, set the songbooks in a special pile, put the starter game aside, tidied up the junk, and figured out a convenient method of lumping everything else together.

    But I made sure to show her good behavior by hanging up the clothes in the closet. She actually took over for me halfway through. Not perfectly though, as she yelped and lamented dropping one of the blouses when trying to fit it. Calmly, I picked it up for her and set it where it should go.

    Once all that was done, I scooted and jiggled my way onto the faux velvet gray comforter. It was an immediate infusion of bliss to just lay there and let the surrounding pillows absorb me. The weight and occlusion of the Grand Double Tetons trapped in place by a bra didn¡¯t exactly foster the highest level of relaxation and comfort though. I stared at them, and they quietly attended to their boob matters. Not like I could effectively evict them or anything else. Taking off the bra might¡¯ve helped, but I wasn¡¯t yet prepared for the ramifications of my liberated wild stallion tatas.

    From the side hallway, my aunt checked in with us and thankfully confirmed that soup-making was still a part of her language, despite the striking changes to her presentation. Anything hot and therapeutic was welcome. Taking a bracing shower also sounded like a good idea, despite and because of how it might feel now.

    It didn¡¯t take long for the comfort of the pillows to make Parsley desperately sleepy. Visions of groggy kittens, implanted by the Internet, drifted through my mind as her lids sunk and sealed. I went back to gently brushing her hair, and the serenity of her whole presence soothed all the crazy things I should¡¯ve been wildly fearful about.

    I hummed a light melody as her breathing settled into a slow, deep rhythm. Every shift of her body and every breath that passed her lips was a quiet relief. Irrational fears within me imagined that even flow turning ragged or halting altogether, like elderly relatives I sat with in their final moments because mom just couldn¡¯t deal with it. So, I had to.

    Each time she kept breathing was both a relief and the cusp of the least likely worry. Crying came so close to the surface that my eyes briefly got blurry beneath my glasses before I wiped them clear. To push it away, I kept up the melody and struggled to assign lyrics to the emotions.

    Playing Pars wasn¡¯t an option, but I could make music all on my own. Theoretically. Not that I¡¯d been anywhere close to successful lately. But for my girl, I would try the hardest.

    A truly heartfelt moment that managed to slip into a Disney movie provided the rough, emotional skeleton for what I wanted to sing. None of the same lyrics though, or a freaking Demon Mouse would hunt me down for even imagining something similar to its property.

    You are a part of me

    In joy and yearning

    Ever seeking, boldly learning

    What this world can hold

    Staying safe from cold

    No tears to be shed

    Just hope to see

    On our crystal thread

    We¡¯ll always be

    No doubt whatsoever

    Your hands in mine

    And bind forever

    Every moment of our lives

    It wasn¡¯t very good. First efforts after a long, dry spell never were, especially with my head and muscles still throwing a temper tantrum. But it was my best effort as a start. Furthermore, Pars wore an expression of contentment, absorbing her own private lullaby. Plenty of appreciation and accolades for me. I took that as a sign to lean back and enjoy the comforts of the guest bed. Glancing across the room at the drawn drapes, a frown wove its way into me as I scrutinized what I was seeing.

    A dark silhouette of a man crossed from the left side and settled in the middle. That shouldn¡¯t have been too weird. My aunt and uncle had a gardener who sometimes came along to deal with the yard. The demeanor of the shape was what struck me though. It didn¡¯t feel like it was outside working or relaxing. Rather, my sense was that it was focused on the two of us with harsh malice. I slowly, carefully sat up, so as not to unsettle Parsley from her nap. The mountain range didn¡¯t shift that much.

    Approaching the drape, I prepared to toss it aside and give my best point and look of accusation at whoever might be looming at the window. Unfortunately, when I opened them, nothing was on the side grass, facing the neighbor¡¯s house. Pulling the drape back unveiled no suspicious shadow or dark presence. The area that I was standing in felt desperately cold, despite the relative warmth of the day. My arms and hands blazed with sharp intensity while a frozen veil fell across them. I clenched every available muscle and thought about what mystery girl Nadia told me about a song. Parsley¡¯s naptime ditty would have to suffice with as many wild, rambling lyrics blindly tacked on to get to an appreciable length.

    Whether that worked or not was debatable, but the oppressive, frigid mass cleared, and the room started to feel better. I returned to the bed with a blanket from the closet and gently laid it across Parsley. She didn¡¯t shift or shy away from peaceful slumber. Meanwhile, I hawkishly watched the window while trying to allow my mind to rest.

 [16] A Brand New Goth Girl 16 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [16]

    Rosie soon joined me and again settled on my bed. She still looked like she wanted to curl up and sleep, but she sat up attentively and gazed at all my decorations. All the art of someone else¡¯s life and design. Why did my benefactor twist such confusion and uncertainty in her mind? Why did my crush even begin to think that she might have used to be a gay man when that was absolutely impossible?

    Well, it wasn¡¯t literally impossible. I mean¡­ The problem could be me. Maybe someone used the light on me, or my benefactor did something a second time. But in that case, I had no reason to trust anything inside my head. The stray notion that someone created Taylor out of Beatrice just to refashion Beatrice again, whizzed by like an apocalyptic asteroid orbit. Who am I if not the firmament that holds my memories together?

    Too much to attempt to deal with at this point. Rosie broadly surveyed my room from over by the door to where the art spilled out towards my closet. I suspected she would recognize the OnlyFans stickers and placards that Beatrice proudly featured. The Marvel stuff, less so. Although, I felt momentarily confused with myself since Rosa wasn¡¯t the type of person to be in online adult website circles. Granted, it was often difficult to ascertain one way or the other on this campus. Classmates who projected the most puritanical, Sunday warrior impressions often had the seediest browser histories. Rosie did sometimes titter, cover her face, and blush when even the most vaguely mature subjects were approached.

    This version of Rosa seemed uncomfortable in her own skin. I could understand the way she sat and how she checked her clothes and her body. I recognized her quiet shock in all the slender details, but it felt like cruel mockery. The Rosie I knew had never been uncomfortable about any aspect of being a girl. I had to set that aside.

    She asked about the artwork. I couldn¡¯t claim it for myself, but I reminded her that I was an artist before. Rosie smiled politely, but with no spark of recognition. How much more could I take?

    All of it. I had to take all of it. It didn¡¯t matter what I felt. Rosie didn¡¯t deserve to be yelled at for something she couldn¡¯t control. She didn¡¯t deserve a cold shoulder or one that felt misplaced. No matter how I felt about her, I needed to approach her on her level. For now. That meant accepting what she believed to be true as actually true. Rosalie transformed from the school quarterback. Even if it felt as ridiculous as a dainty, cute actress in some historical television romance show I never watched being created from Arnold Schwarzenegger.

    Imagining her as an action movie hunk brought a stray giggle to my lips which I unfortunately had to explain. The best I could think of was to deflect the focus from her and instead shift my imagining to if one of the PE instructors went from a weightlifter to a slim gymnast. She had a particular instructor in mind and immediately fretted about their actual fate. Change the subject.

    I picked up my sketch for the project and offered her this: ¡°You inspired me.¡± She often did. They were long gone now but somewhere in my archives, I sketched Rosie from memory on a windy day and when we actually had a threat of frost overnight. Both works beamed joyous delight that I didn¡¯t need to imagine. I couldn¡¯t offer her either creation, but I let her see my sketch.

    She handled it carefully and peered at it with uncertainty, as though she were finding some cryptic, abstract rendering that she wasn¡¯t quite certain how to interpret. Her eyes traced all over before narrowing with her mouth tightening. Just in time, I clarified that it was for an assignment. Her hands were poised to rip, but she lowered them and shoved the notebook as far away from her as possible.

    ¡°So, I helped you out with your project?¡±

    I emphasized this, revealing that I was stuck in quite a funk and unable to draw anything until I saw Rosie sleeping. Always my inspiration. I took back the notebook, and she looked down at herself.

    ¡°If they give you back the assignment after it¡¯s done, I would appreciate it if you burned it for me. You can scan it. And you can keep a copy for yourself or your professor can. But I want to see that destroyed.¡±

    Like in the video we watched but without vanity. I tried to tell myself that was just her imaginary pain talking. That didn¡¯t stop it from leaving me with real heartbreak. But I agreed that the final drawing could be used as an effigy for everything she thought she hated about herself.

    OnlyFans came up, and that actually provided an emotional reprieve. We both felt uncomfortable discussing it, but it was an amusing variety of discomfort. I read her some of Beatrice¡®s thoughtful poetry.

    It tended to ramble about a sea in the sky and ways we might fly if unbound from gravity. A glorious fair to take place in the air with sky lions and fanciful feats. These lightened the mood quite nicely. Of course, Beatrice¡¯s art would speak more truly than mine. I appreciated her waxing poetic at length about how much better humanity would care for the sea if we had to live there, but I sadly doubted her thesis considering the land had some regard but not enough.

    I sifted through the drafts of works that she hadn¡¯t posted yet. Several edits had been made and still needed to be made. Not to focus on her flaws, but it brought ease to know that not everything emerged from her fully formed and perfect, like a bursting Athena. One particular poem occupied a page that she hadn¡¯t touched since it was composed. Just one edit. I thought at first that it was really old, but the creation date was actually today, about an hour before everything happened. She named it ¡°The City¡±.

    Here is only the City

    The City is everywhere

    The City is all you¡¯ll see

    The City is all has been

    The City is all will be

    You live in the City

    You die in the City

    The City will never let you go

    Just as He made it

    The City is everything

    Here is no escape

    Here is nothing else

    Here never was

    And here will ever be

    Nothing but the City.

    I raised a concerned eyebrow and opted not to read that particular one to Rosie. I also found the amount I was receiving from the website after processing fees. It wasn¡¯t a mind-blowing amount, but it was far more than I could ever imagine someone I''d never met paying for the¡­ opportunity to see me scantily clad or¡­more. If Trisha set one up then that wouldn¡¯t be quite so far-fetched. But I wasn¡¯t anything particularly special. I wasn¡¯t a star. Beatrice was just a girl. A girl who I appreciated almost as much as Rosie. And I was her.

    That didn¡¯t degrade her or venerate me. There just didn¡¯t seem to be anything life-altering about my naked body. Some of the outfits, as I glimpsed in Beatrice¡¯s archives, had a fashionable, distinctive, and alluring quality. It was a presentation that I could get behind. Compared to my meager ass and bare pussy, which everyone was apparently thirsty for. Several minutes of hunting passed in silence before I heard gentle snores coming from my bed. Rosie fell asleep again.

    This time, she had at least managed to carefully tuck herself beneath the covers and find a head position that didn¡¯t look like she was going to be suffering come morning. She positioned herself to the side with plenty of space left for me. Clearly, she didn¡¯t want to go back to her room. I didn¡¯t know who her roommates were, but this unstable reality could have shuffled her in with unfamiliar people.

    I set my satchel off to the side. No one had bothered me about hauling around a mini bag that was basically only good enough for a single bottle and my disguised cargo. Norah remained with the others near Kasey. When she finally returned, she looked practically as exhausted as Rosie seemed to be. I offered her what encouragement I could as we quietly chatted about how much of a mess everything had become. She reminisced about things I was never a part of, chats that only existed inside her head, about a version of Beatrice who never lived.

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    I thought about asking her if she remembered Beatrice writing a poem or something like it before she went on our intersecting walks, but it wasn¡¯t long before Norah dimmed the lights and started stretching out on her bed with the fresh accompaniment of all her lovely plants. She urged me to continue working and not concern myself with the brightness of my light. A facemask went over her eyes for emphasis, along with headphones that didn¡¯t bleed sound.

    My sketching felt annoyingly loud, especially when I changed mediums and needed to scan what I had. The cacophony practically felt like an interior avalanche. My work with the lines always felt like it lost something in translation, but it allowed me to manipulate fragments of art like swatches of fabric spread across the chaotic ends of my creation. When I was finally at the stage of having something worthy to give my professor in the morning, I¡¯d detailed and shaded Rosie like a comic book goddess with the feral tempest of the bed pulling her in several directions. The original sketch went aside while I saved several versions for backup and emailed one in the preferred format to my professor. I¡¯d still bring the original just in case.

    Stretching from my chair felt weird and yet perfectly familiar. Another shower seemed unnecessary until morning, but I did wash up again by the sink with a damp towel. And I brought the light with me. What could I possibly program it with? Make Rosie right? It accepted that, but it felt too vague to even attempt to use.

    Instill Rosalie Eden Beck essence. The device again permitted this notion from me. But what if too much of who she was somehow led to breaking her? I was being ridiculous but also achingly cautious. All I had to do was find the right words to express what would fix this and then shine them on this important person. My words felt so insubstantial, tangled, and lost compared to the boundless truth that Beatrice just released on a whim.

    I tried. I got so close, and I felt so sure that I would have it. The light was aimed at her in my mind and briefly in reality. But I put it away, back in the bag of secrets. As I drifted off though, with so many thoughts about what I might¡¯ve done, I saw floating, shimmering energy, like golden dust in the air linking the two of us. Without breathing it off, the warm presence wafted from me, through the air, and over to her. But it only happened in my mind¡¯s eye before I drifted off to sleep. A documentary of airplanes with non-rigid wings filled my dreams as some BBC narrator expressed the peculiarity of migrating jets, as people were paid money to be swallowed up by these beasts and regurgitated across the land. Morning came all too soon.

    It was a stilted and uncomfortable morning, so basically like every single one I ever had. Kasey remained in her room. My bedmate gave me hope when she arose with her legs carefully crossed and her easy body language. That couldn¡¯t last, but I appreciated the moments when this relentless mind control briefly lost its hold. She sat there like the remarkable young woman I fell in love with. I stole a moment to imagine gently brushing her hair.

    Since Kasey was out of commission, breakfast at the cafeteria seemed like the best idea. I took a quick shower to gloss over all the mundane and fancy qualities of Beatrice¡®s body, even though it all still struck me as remarkable. The timing of breakfast wasn¡¯t really good for anyone else, so that left me on my own.

    The early morning filled itself with lingering fog as I slipped on a random, silver windbreaker and headed out. Aside from some unmistakable signs, there wasn¡¯t much to declare that this morning was different than any other that came before. The restroom differences could¡¯ve been shrugged off as strange remodeling choices.

    The general mood felt vaguely hung over. Everyone sleeping in because they could. Did things feel more docile than normal? This wasn¡¯t usually a crazy place. Blame the religion or just the character of things. Cressman didn¡¯t have protests about one thing or another. Everyone just went about their day. Would having basically all-girls change any of that?

    Last evening, I saw plenty of conflict between the uncertainty of what the administration intended to do and the declarations in the benefactor¡¯s parchment. Anyone who expected a girl-only space to be full of sunshine, rainbows, and Kumbaya clearly only had abstract ideas about humanity. People will always be in conflict, no matter how they define one another. Remove one variable, and others come to the forefront. Things would be perfect, if not for them. Once they are gone¡­ Things would be perfect now if not for those over there. And all the way down until even an individual cannot be content in themselves.

    That wouldn¡¯t make for a very crowd-pleasing exploration on Beatrice¡®s page, but it suited my mood to share with myself. I hadn¡¯t really checked on the ass-tastic stuff I shot around yesterday¡®s shower for feedback and blue balls.

    The foggy haze helped calm my breathing. The chilling moisture practically made me shiver. Walking alone unsettled me, but at least I shifted the flashlight from the satchel over to my backpack. It wasn¡¯t within easy reach though.

    ¡°Good morning¡­¡±

    A sharp and singular voice cut through the stillness. Not harsh, but oddly like someone had a speaker and microphone built into them. One would¡¯ve expected me to jump and yell out, but I just slowed my pace and glanced around curiously. On the sidewalk across the street stood a man with his hand up and a casual smile on his face.

    He wore a suit all in black, including his tie and shirt. The fit looked a bit awkward, as though it were something rescued from a secondhand store. Despite the ruffled pants and uneven sleeves, he didn¡¯t appear too out of sorts. I held up a hand in response and thought about whether I could reach the zipper on my back. One of only three men I¡¯d seen in recent memory, and my first thought was to blast him with light. I took a long, careful breath as he cautiously approached.

    Before I could ask what he wanted, he added, ¡°Just looking around, I noticed you''ve got something on you. Do you mind?¡±

    I absolutely did mind, and I had no idea what he was doing or why he was getting closer. But he carefully closed the distance before the words I wanted to wield came out. Though not tall, he still managed to loom over me. He looked deeply into my eyes and mimed a hand near my chin without touching me. Despite being free from his touch, I still felt clutched in his thrall. He shut his eyes and took a long breath right in front of my face.

    With a whisper, he commented, ¡°There it is. A most delicious presence. Doesn¡¯t that feel better?¡°

    I just wanted to run, but I couldn¡¯t move a muscle. He circled around me, glancing at my bag without touching anything. ¡°Do you know what that was?¡± I had no clue, and I wasn¡¯t sure if I wanted to know. The strange man laughed lightly, as though he could hear what I was thinking.

    ¡°¡­Souls. The presence of trapped, living souls wafting off like fumes of dry ice from a special little crystal. Do be careful in the future. Wouldn¡¯t want you to lose yourself in something like that. Make sure you¡¯re on the side of the angels.¡± He gave a slight nod of his head and then turned to walk away. I still found myself frozen in uncertainty. Had that encounter actually happened? When the enchanted stiffness finally left me, I couldn¡¯t see him anywhere or track a trace of where he might¡¯ve gone.

    I did my best to parse his words even though they were flitting out of my thoughts as though they were the fading, once-defined details of a dream. Some thing on me. I delicious presence. Soul crystal. Angels. I wished that Rosie was here beside me even though¡­ Even though. She was Derrick.

    I had to scrutinize the realization and turn it around in my head. I didn¡¯t know Rosalie aside from meeting her in the common room last evening. All the fair and heartfelt details of a crush and a fond friendship were gone. But they had never been there in the first place. Right? Had that strange man taken away my dearest recollections or simply cleared an illusion from my eyes?

 [10] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 10 [Transform the Dorm]

    Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

    [10]

    That statement contained plenty of ambiguity, but I still understood what it meant. We had caught the writer of that parchment, the one who made the switch, and transformed all of us.

    She wasn¡¯t quite what I was expecting. Not at all grandiose or nefarious, at least. Her brown hair framed her head and barely reached for her shoulders. The top she wore was loose but still showed a chest that nearly challenged mine as she flailed for the towel rack to lift herself up. Connor crossed over and snatched the flashlight from underneath the sink. The girl gave a quick gasp and then quietly sighed before sliding down on the tile. Her hands rested in her lap, atop her gray shorts.

    ¡°Please be very careful with that¡­¡± The girl squeaked and held her hands in front of her face. Connor turned the flashlight around a few different ways, showed it to me, and then asked this Beverly, ¡°What is it?¡°

    She slowly reached into her shorts pocket and extracted a tightly folded paper pamphlet which reminded me of the kind they packed in with watches. Beverly held it out to Connor, but I was the one who snagged it, using the broom in case she tried to grab at me. I then passed it over to him. The suspicious girl lay there and glared at us.

    Connor carefully read and announced from the pamphlet, ¡°This flashlight is the property of the Quantum Helix Corporation. Not intended for sale. Experimental model. This device alters the sex and related characteristics of anyone¡­ And anything covered by its light. The settings allow for blue and pink variations. Blue pass through spectrum makes the target more masculine or male and pink emphasizes and creates feminine or female traits. The intensity of the filtered beam determines the strength of the effect. Advanced settings. Flashlight duplication. By default, only the user/wielder of the device will notice anything has changed. Hmmm. Ahhh¡­Cloak user¡­ so that¡¯s how you did it.¡±

    The girl on the floor looked positively dejected. ¡°I can¡¯t believe someone found out the same day. I really do find both of you adorable. And I spent a good amount of time on that poem. Still a little off at the end.¡±

    I had no idea what to say. So much hit me. Connor was holding some sort of sci-fi experimental device from a corporation I had never heard of. It could make light that transformed people. And clearly the pink, girly version had not only been used on us but across the entire campus.

    An absolute flood of questions and unknowns wanted to spill out of my head and rush through my mouth. What rose to the top of the heap though was a very simple one: ¡°Why?¡±

    This girl winced with her back against the hard wall and gave a sigh as she relayed, ¡°It¡¯s fun. I have seen so much, and no one¡®s seen me until now. Beatrice was cute and is getting even cuter. Your guitar buddy in the pool game even added an unexpected wrinkle to things. I truly considered keeping it confined to just the four of you. Do a slow burn and watch the results. But it¡¯s so addictive to see everything change. All those different reactions, all those wild possibilities. And it all started with me.¡±

    ¡ª¡ª

    It was his day off from classes at Cressman University, so he wound up strolling through the mall over by the freeway. He enjoyed taking the bus from the north campus transit center to get here. Very cheap for a round-trip. The new fancy, outdoor section with its California clich¨¦ offerings didn¡¯t appeal to him. The old-school mall section was where it was at. And that part was better than the one in his hometown which lost all the department stores on the west side. These shops were flourishing. He had idle fantasies about abandoned stores, magnets for spooks, and other supernatural things. It might be nice to have an experience beyond explanation.

    But he was just going for a walk with no other serious expectations. The air conditioner was still pumping although fall was in full swing with the new semester.

    The food court was surprisingly appealing but quite busy at this hour. He took the curve around the far side of this end of the mall. The comic book store showed promise, but he had his eyes set on the gaming shop just around the loop. Surprisingly quiet. No one really took this route anymore because there were easier ways, but it was a nice walk. Nothing interesting to run into over here¡­ Or so he thought.

    Tucked away behind a larger store with a slim profile and black drapes spread across the windows which made it look shuttered was one of those tiny shops like the ones full of Asian trinkets on the better end of the mall. A simple paper sign, affixed behind the glass with meager pieces of tape advertised a ¡°Magic Store¡±. He chuckled but slowed and approached it out of idle curiosity. Worth checking out, at least.

    The interior was narrow and strikingly claustrophobic. Shelves just below his eye line were crudely packed to spilling with random products, from laundry soap to stress balls. Some were coated in a noticeable layer of dust, as though they hadn¡¯t been touched in ages. That doesn¡¯t make any sense to him. The weak yellow lights above flickered. Crude, hand-painted signs point to broad categories like ¡°essentials¡° and ¡°entertainment¡± but didn¡¯t provide any further clarity. Scanning the store, his eyes landed on a particularly curious object.

    It¡¯s a small flashlight, smaller than most of the ones his family kept at home. It looked more like the kind of thing you would put on the end of his keychain. The shell of the light was candy-striped by a tangle of pink and blue. The portion at the top was a vivid shade of purple. A small instruction pamphlet dangled, connected by a tiny bit of plastic.

    As he read with incredulity, not recognizing the corporation named, the booklet explained that it gave off a blue or pink light depending on the settings. Frankly and without a preamble, the instructions explained the impossible abilities of this little object. The power of blue and pink light to transform and alter. So many details. So many fantastic possibilities. He had to try it!

    His expectation was that this ridiculous object could be easily debunked with some minor nugget of truth. There was probably a funny filter on the end. A projection of a pink lipstick illusion and perhaps phantom breasts versus a muscleman six-pack in shades of blue. That made the most sense to him, a joke for a child. He switched the setting to pink and carefully aimed the light toward his chest.

    Instantly, a warm fullness spread across his chest as he could vividly feel his nipples pushing against his shirt. Before long, his colorful, loose shirt has shifted into a contour-hugging, girl¡¯s top. Beneath, he can feel something like an undershirt developing over his shoulders and around his back. It¡¯s a bra. And it soon filled with rapidly developing flesh.

    Nervously quivering but softly excited, he clicked the light off. The changes to his clothing and chest remain. Thinking about the instructions, he twisted the knob to the blue option and clicked it back on. Fanning the light over his breasts melts them back into his flesh. The bra dwindled into the ether, and the shirt dangled across his boyish body. Clicking the light off again, he felt about the same as when he started.

    He had to get this. This was a magic freaking flashlight! The possibilities are practically endless. At the deepest section of the store, flanked by black curtains, he saw marvelous little trinkets spread everywhere but only had eyes for this flashlight. No one was at the counter, but there was an automated setup to insert a card or tap a phone to pay.

    Cautiously, he scanned the item and saw a stunning price of five dollars pop up on the screen. Only five dollars? That¡¯s all?!?

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    Swiftly, he tapped his phone against the machine and used his thumbprint to authorize it. An instant later, the sale goes through. A black plastic bag was released from a lower section, and the machine printed out a receipt. That¡¯s all there was to it. Unimaginable power for just five bucks¡­

    ¡ª¡ª

    Beverly spread out her hands and finished her story.

    ¡°Brought it back, experimented, liked what I got, and decided to share it with the world. I¡¯m really trying not to let all the power get to my head. The whole scroll deal was kind of theater, even though I¡¯m not a drama student. Acolytes. Myths. And it¡¯s got to be permanent.¡±

    I narrowed my eyes at her. ¡°It¡¯s not. You used it to turn back. You¡¯re the one who forced everyone into this situation. People deserve the opportunity to choose. Some of us may be happy and fine with it, but there are broken people out there. And they need to be fixed.¡±

    Beverly gave a little nod of her head. ¡°I know. The light of truth will shine upon them, and I will fix them. I have big plans.¡±

    Connor shook his head. ¡°No. You¡¯re not getting this back. I¡¯m sorry, but this needs to go to administration. This needs to be fixed properly.¡±

    She was silent for several seconds before a slow grin emerged on her face. Uh oh¡­

    ¡°Those weren¡¯t the complete instructions. I am still the designated user, not you. And that affords me some advanced abilities¡­¡± She suddenly gave a sharp whistle, and the light ripped out of Connor¡¯s grip and sailed into hers. I braced myself. She looked at me.

    ¡°I can understand your distress. Please don¡¯t hit me again though. I might take it personally. You two really are quite cute together. I couldn¡¯t resist watching. But I¡¯ll grant you some privacy. Keep the switch. And keep it just between the two of you. I have to go now¡­ Lots of classmates and countless possibilities.¡°

    Before either of us could move away or dash closer, she clicked the light. It remained off. Beverly frowned and tapped it a few times. A strange golden shimmer, like dusty waves in the air, with rings of blue twinkling filtered from a seam. She backed away in fear. Looking over to the left, to the counter, I noticed that a wavering ring of that light was drifting out of our switch as well. As quickly as they emerged, the strange lights dissipated like smoke clearing. No weird aroma remained. It vaguely made me think of dry ice tinted by food coloring, if that was even possible.

    A tense but quiet moment passed between the three of us before Beverly raised the light again, and¡­ a gap suddenly formed in my memory. We were standing there, and yet the girl we had seen was gone. The girl. The one who left the messages. What did she look like? Glasses. Yeah, glasses. That was the only clear physical attribute I could hold onto as I thought about her. The rest was gone. Even the glasses thing felt annoyingly vague. What kind of glasses? What color was the frame? How big were they?

    Other notions filled my thoughts. She had told us about a flashlight. There was a flashlight. At least that stayed with me. It came from the mall over by the freeway, from a magic shop. And¡­ It made everyone into girls? For some reason, that was what stuck out and that felt right, but I couldn¡¯t reconcile it with the incongruity of the switch which allowed us to change back into guys.

    Connor struggled just as much, resolving that this interloper to our bathroom definitely wore shorts even though nothing else quite resolved physically. At least she had left Connor as a man, with the switch in the same position. Something strange happened with the switch. I could readily remember that. Dry ice? It didn¡¯t feel cold though. My brain was exhausted just bundling together those frail fragments. We swung around the broom a few more times, but this mystery individual had either gotten wise to that method or left. I looked at Connor.

    He lingered on me. The third time we¡¯d been so rudely interrupted. No more. I crouched before him and attended to his pants. My lips felt dry, and my throat felt tense. No way on earth did I have a chance of figuring out a sexy way of handling this. Riona made it look so easy. How? She just hoovered me off.

    First step first, I firmly slipped a hand around it. Plenty of self-grasping under my belt, but the otherness felt disconcerting. The most peculiar point of context for me involved thinking about what to compare this to. Up north, when we were kids, the schools would quite often have a farm field trip. The big moment of every trip was when they allowed you to milk the cows. Call me weird, but that part in particular is where my brain went. The grasping and massaging of cow teats compared to running my hands down my best friend¡¯s shaft. Fundamentally, as far from one another as you could possibly get, and yet my thought process went there.

    The differences swiftly compounded as he stiffened between my fingers. I was turning him on. At least, I hoped so. So many things rushed and lingered through my thoughts with confusion and uncertainty. The craziness of the last few minutes wasn¡¯t going away, but it felt like the best thing I could do with the time we had was share it with one another.

    I quickened my tempo. Connor was unmistakably enjoying this. But was I maximizing the act? Such a typically me thought to have. Beyond questioning my sexual identity, knowing that some mysterious faceless person was watching and tilting our fates, and the larger uncertainty of things and ideas I could barely scratch at, I had to analyze the quality of my hand jobbery. I made sure it was focused and insistent as I shed clothing.

    Despite my misgivings about releasing my body from this bra and whatever chaos might follow, along with figuring out how to put everything back in place, I undid the snap and let the girls move freely. It was wild. Seeing their shape and shades beneath cloth was one thing, but the immense, puffy nipples that were a part of my body atop soft, faintly yielding flesh made me reel like I was being spun in the depths of a washing machine cycle. To balance, I clung to Connor and replaced my fingers with a cozy valley of titflesh. Plenty to spare for the task.

    It was trippy and actually not as weird to handle him like this. Like getting part of myself playfully stuck in another even though it wasn¡¯t mine. I could go further still. Truly connect. But we needed to use the things that we specifically borrowed. Right?

    Connor asked me to marry him or her or however it turned out. We just shared with each other. We didn¡¯t go on crazy benders or wander in a crowd. Just two dorky lifelong friends. I slid his crazy, warm self away from my chest and positioned myself practically on top of him. The threshold. The final frontier. Somehow, I resisted giggling from the notion.

    He looked concerned and glanced over at the colorful assortment of things we probably should¡¯ve used. But he asked me to marry him.

    My efforts at getting inescapably close weren¡¯t stopped by flesh, emotion, surprise visitors, or sudden changes. I yielded and welcomed him. Fire, slick but consuming, like human napalm, screamed through me. Retreat should¡¯ve been my choice, but I still advanced. No feeling in the world or life compared. Not to be achingly romantic. My mind considered too much, and my emotions were twisted. It felt amazing, and yet so uncomfortable and strange. Woozy sick, delirious, delighted heavenly transcendence. Expression failed me. It was like leaping into a Technicolor final boss while still training for the inherent mechanics. I loved it but was terrified.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I panted without context. Connor was already watching me attentively and doing his best to moderate this crazy combination of selves. I made it clear that I wasn¡¯t just offering up simple pillow talk.

    ¡°Let¡¯s¡­get married. I want it. I want you. F-for the rest of my life.¡±

 [17] A Brand New Goth Girl 17 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [17]

    What did I just see? That couldn¡¯t have been my benefactor. Not pride talking or preconceptions, even though I had to acknowledge certain internal biases. If that entity I just spoke with turned out to be the benefactor, then they were far more of a chameleon than I ever imagined.

    I didn¡¯t feel fear or menace when I was changed, and the arrival of neither message seemed scary. Especially when I received my little flashlight, it was a moment of quiet and curious possibility, reminiscent of receiving an unexpected gift. What I was currently reeling from was a sensation like when the Wolf first spoke to Little Red Riding Hood. Or a Man in Black disguising their predatory presence. The way he spoke and how close he got overrode any charitable credit or friendly doubt I might grant him.

    His invocation of angels especially appeared to set him apart from them. I wasn¡¯t sure what to do with his reference to souls when it came to the flashlight. That seemed like a strange thing to potentially lie about. Perhaps it was intended to guilt me about its use. Not only did the light irrevocably change people, but it was also fueled using souls. Like some demonic weapon.

    The strange man had done something to me though. He breathed around my eyes and removed my certainty about knowing Rosalie before yesterday. Part of me just wanted to swing around and head back to the dormitory to make sure that something worse hadn¡¯t befallen her. But what could I possibly do in that case? The only tool, the only weapon before me, was this strange light. It felt more like wielding an item of mutually assured destruction. Changing others hadn¡¯t helped anything. It just brought on bitter currents within, which spread entirely over and upon my shoulders.

    Breakfast at least mollified the worst of these twisting concerns. A surprisingly heavy crowd shuffled its way through the doors this hour. The fancier outfits and vaguely organized glamour mostly fell away for morning ease. Flannel, sweatpants, oversized jackets, rubber bands, and other awkward hair ties, along with copious flip-flops. Even amongst those in the group who were clearly used to being girls before all this happened, the level of clothing choices shifted towards comfort. A rare, scattered handful went the other direction with freshly made-up smiles and subtly poised outfits.

    I grabbed fruit first, filling up a plate with a colorful array and a smattering of yogurt. A muffin and scrambled eggs, along with some mixed juice, sufficed for the rest. I expected this rendition of a cafeteria meal to be quietly lonely. Instead, it was like everyone casually knew me for some reason. I helped some random girls with a smattering of questions. Some of them weren¡¯t terribly appropriate for breakfast. Desperate girls brought up menstrual cups with wide eyes and nervously clenched hands. I wasn¡¯t able to provide certainty but, at least, I offered some quiet comfort.

    It would be easy to say that all of this seemed more like being cast adrift in a different world with a new language and strange customs. But it wasn¡¯t that weird at all. Some of the specifics were peculiar. I thought of it as though we were all given a strange assignment, and certain upstarts needed help understanding the subject matter. However, once again, I got pegged as some sort of inexplicable expert. Countless girls either found me intimidating, inspiring, or endearing. I got a lot of random contact information added to my phone, even though that specific trend seemed more like they were following up on advice from the administration: find and befriend some female buddies.

    How many more days would be laid out in a framework similar to this? How would life at home change between semesters? What were the prospects for my career now? So many things were financially up in the air in life in general, stretching from art industries to ancillary fields where I might find prospects. Could that be a problem that I just aimed a light at to fix? What if I didn¡¯t want to handle things that way?

    Turning in the light to my benefactor may have been the right pathway to take after all. However, that still left the moment when she hinted at my presence with the parchment and then made a personal appearance in my doorway. I had to be disappointing with how little I had actually used her monumental gift. But then, did it really come with strings attached and obligations for how I had to use it?

    The morning both dragged out before me in uncertainty and desperate, painstaking reflection while whizzing by with too much energy and so many missed moments. Life clung to me and left me behind. What was I really supposed to do?

    Getting cast into this situation presented so many powerful possibilities. It should¡¯ve been absolutely life-changing, with perceptions beyond my comprehension. I had become a different person than I ever could¡¯ve conceived of before. Despite this intricate new life, so many familiar landmarks distracted from the newness. Still an artist with the same brain fighting to flesh out exactly what I want to say. Depending on the feedback I received from my professor, I expected that exactly the same habits would form around me with frustration and walking to find true inspiration.

    One true fate existed. And it was the one I had toyed with and nervously considered: Erase myself and let Beatrice reign. Maybe it didn¡¯t need to be a death sentence or an absolute passage into oblivion. Wasn¡¯t there something to be attempted in the apparatus of the flashlight that would at least allow me a glimpse into the person I might¡¯ve been? Like a skyscraper glass floor suspended in the air that simulated the sensation of stepping out over the ledge without having to fall? The instructions contained so many details, and yet no specifics for this particular possibility.

    At least, not yet. A crazy, impossible thought passed through me.

    The light could be used to alter things. They didn¡¯t have to be living or human necessarily. Could the flashlight, in fact¡­ alter itself, gaining utility that didn¡¯t exist before? If this entailed altering its instructions, then the problem was that those were situated on the internal structure. Furthermore, enabling the light to twist around on itself would require disassembly. Leaving it in several pieces didn¡¯t preclude the possibility that it might still work.

    Otherwise, I could conceive of an alternative where I took a photograph of the instructions and then used the light on that copy to alter them. Both possibilities made me suspect that the light would just give me a failure warning. I had to know though. And I couldn¡¯t just poke around with it willy-nilly because something had happened to me that the Man in Black had undone. Shame I didn¡¯t have any electrical or engineering courses to draw upon. However, I knew that Zach did attend at least one course of that caliber.

    He and his roommates tended to sleep late and totally miss breakfast. I doubted even the most extreme changes would alter that trend. Stopping by after class might be helpful. It would require showing off the flashlight to Zach and Connor, but they deserved to know, considering we appeared to be the first ones affected.

    Scheduling left me with too much time to easily burn off before class but far too little for broader accomplishments. Roaming the student union seemed like the superior notion. The complex used to be so small.

    The original SUB, documented in photos all across the first floor with details of the more recent renovation, sat at the bottom of a pit encompassing the theater arts complex and the classic, small theater room with improv every other weekend. Instead of the current vast array of computers, places of relaxation, and amenities, it had a vague front desk, some weathered couches, and mail. I had apparently seen it in those days, before the start of high school, when Cressman was considered by my sisters for college and I was brought along. My younger mind hadn¡¯t paid much attention to the trip because we went to so many places that summer.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Lisha and Megan, my sisters. The golden girls. The real legacy of our family. Whatever I could do, they had done several times over long before and more diligently. I knew they worked hard and had been through so much I couldn¡¯t even conceive of. But the weight of trying to at least live my life felt insurmountable in their presence.

    I shouldn¡¯t have thought about them, because my phone soon decided that constituted a summoning. Lisha Lee¡¯s name lit up and chimed in my contacts. Dread and gurgling pain tried to blot out the noise. I shouldn¡¯t have been scared of Lisha. Oftentimes, she was my biggest cheerleader and a comforting voice when I felt my worst. But whatever expectations she may have had for Beatrice, in this moment most of all, I didn¡¯t feel like I could ever live up to them. I wasn¡¯t her sister. I was barely her brother, and it would be better if she just forgot about me.

    The call should¡¯ve just gone to voicemail, but I was surprised when it dropped and started all over again. She was intentionally trying to make her call again. What the heck? Leaving a text message would¡¯ve been better. I could¡¯ve just deleted it. What was she doing? She never behaved this needy and insistent.

    The second round of attempts passed into a third round, with me feeling increasingly uncomfortable at the sound being trumpeted to everyone in the vicinity. Putting my phone to sleep would¡¯ve shut it off, but the tenacity concerned me that perhaps something had happened to mom and dad beyond the craziness of the last 24 hours. I quickly answered the fourth call after a deep breath, tightening my resolve.

    ¡°Little sister! Mei Mei! Bea!¡± She also dropped a couple of unfamiliar but warm words that sounded like Welsh and Spanish. She was never particularly well-versed in either of those languages. She sounded almost like she was crying as she continued, ¡°Thank goodness! I¡¯m glad I reached you!¡±

    ¡°H-hi¡­sis. What¡¯s up? You okay?¡±

    It wasn¡¯t long before she really was crying on the phone. The last time I could remember hearing my sister cry was when she failed to make an archery championship. Blubbering quietly, she relayed that the college said that something happened. Wild fears cropped up with her imagining the worst possible things. And, for her, the worst aspect was that she ignored those messages all last night. Apparently, mom and dad hadn¡¯t thought it was serious. At least they were consistent, but Lisha rambled through so many frantic emotions. She wanted to check in about every single aspect of my last day.

    I struggled to fill that with events that made sense. An upcoming project involving artistic collage themes and contrasts. Went for a thoughtful walk that gave me a lot to consider. In place of the total transformation, I fixed a microscope on aspects of Beatrice¡®s life, such as the Internet, people she knew, and her perceptions of her body. Then I dropped the bomb of going to an LGBTQ meeting to try and help.

    She stopped me there and made sure I understood in no uncertain terms that whatever self-identity or sexuality lay at the truth of my being, it was exuberantly and totally accepted by her without condition.

    ¡°I love you, sis. In your darkness and your light. In all that subdued makeup and your brightest smiles. Whatever brings you joy is the joy of my life as well. I want you to know that and Megan feels exactly the same. We had a long talk last night and shared things we haven¡¯t talked about in forever. And it breaks my heart that we don¡¯t tell you exactly how we feel and let you know how loved you are. I know we¡¯re all still recovering from growing up with mom and dad and how unavailable they can be and how tough it was in the Olympic years and how stupid I feel¡­like I was to never say all of this to you, when you and Meg are the most amazing sisters anyone could ever wish to have!¡±

    She wasn¡¯t dying, was she? This all seemed extreme for the sister that I knew, but then a lot of things changed, and apparently those changes weren¡¯t restricted to my little corner of the world. I appreciated the sentiment she shared, but it didn¡¯t feel earned. Her emotions flowed for a sibling that I wasn¡¯t, and, frankly, she never existed. Before I could even allude to this, she dropped a snippet of her life together with Beatrice. The weirdest thing was that it felt vaguely familiar. It was that long trip in her uncomfortable car that I had to adapt to. All the same singing occurred. All the same aches followed. She touched upon that summer when we went around to so many different colleges. It was a precious memory.

    The recollection had the tone and tint of female siblings, but it wasn¡¯t all girl stuff. She appreciated me as a person, and her account of the things I said and did as Bea wasn¡¯t massively divergent from my memories. Lisha likely would¡¯ve taught me about all the necessary birds and the bees when it came to caring for myself instead of the truncated session with Norah, but those narrow moments didn¡¯t define Beatrice and Lisha.

    We had the same sort of fun together. We appreciated one another, and I didn¡¯t have to invent or learn an entire life. Somehow, Beatrice¡®s life was my life with just a few minimal tweaks and twists. More than anything else, that prospect utterly melted my brain. With just relatively minor alterations, Taylor and Beatrice were basically the same person. I knew my roommates expressed similar reactions, but this was something else entirely.

    Holy fucking shit, I was a girl¡­ and my brain didn¡¯t even need to be warped or rewritten. Not that I was quite ready to abandon the prospect of doing the impossible with being Beatrice without losing myself in pink light.

    But the notion that we were practically the same in remarkably extensive ways blew my comprehension. At the same time, this version of Lisha obviously wouldn¡¯t have poured out her soul and her tears for a little brother. But what if she would¡¯ve? What if this was building to this moment no matter whether I was Taylor or Beatrice? I had no idea what to do with that thought. The idea of a cryptic chasm separating me from my girl self and the full extent of every girl I knew actually being like the faith leap in that old Indiana Jones movie brought out a few tears of my own, even though it made no sense for them to be flowing right then.

    Not only did I cry a little, but I managed to burst with rivers of tears to challenge what Rosalie had going last evening. My sister. Myself. My heart. Everything I thought I was just an observer of lived brightly and intimately within. None of this would¡¯ve made sense to Lisha to fully unfurl, but I wrapped myself in her emotional explanation and shared my tears. A couple of random girls in the SUB glanced at me, but with warmth and curious concern. I expected that everyone had seen a lot of struggles and tears in the last day.

    The rest of the phone conversation included more laughter than I was expecting, along with the realization that I had very little time until my class. Lisha let me go with a bouquet of the kindest words I could ever imagine her saying. They were words intended for Beatrice¡­ But they were also for me. And I accepted them into my heart.

    Recovering from all that in the bathroom was another tussling of emotions as I automatically went to the ladies'' room even though the other one was marked similarly to the dormitory. The air felt special, even though nothing about it had changed. I made my way up the steps and past Humanities. The mood was rather like the first week when classes started, with so many people in unusual clothes wondering about their footsteps, their path ahead, and whether they should be walking at all, with wide eyes but also an invisible weight of exhaustion.

    I took the stairs up to the third floor with careful but rhythmic steps. It didn¡¯t stop my everything from announcing itself, but that personal metronome had come to feel familiar. My hips. My arms. My legs. My breasts. My polite fissure within that never really separated my being. I am and shall be me.

 [10] Tuning the Guitar Player 10 [Transform the Dorm]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [10]

    Even though I felt monumentally exhausted, I managed to stay up and watch Parsley as she slept. Did this feel normal for her? A guitar doesn¡¯t have eyes. Does it just experience everything without a lull or a break?

    My mind then swung the other way, and I hoped that the absence and darkness weren¡¯t disquieting for her. She didn¡¯t need me worrying about her every single moment though. Plenty of other things pressed for my fret time. The shadow presence needed to be far, far away from her, or it would soon realize that none of the things I put in my response to the invisible bitch were idle threats. Or perhaps that was her.

    Standing up cautiously from the bed, so as not to shake the cushion, I sharply scrutinized every quiet corner. Any sign of coldness or discomfort earned my clenched teeth and ruthless glower. Whatever had been here felt like it left, with only a trace like ominous smoke remaining. Nothing I did felt like it was actually helping, so I grabbed some cleaning materials from the closet and tidied up the sections my aunt missed. I could slay some spiders at least.

    Unfortunately, going after the dust bunnies stirred up grossness from my weird body. The bathroom was nearby. Wash my face, rinse my hands, and splash a little. Was there any deodorant? Despite all that, I felt itchy. Nerves. Or just the sweaty remnants of all that walking, along with our floor tumble.

    The shower looked even better than usual. It was the same white tub with a black curtain and a skylight. But a sharp cleanser''s aroma filled the space, along with a radiant glow and a swath of products on a recessed ledge. Before I seriously considered stripping and scrubbing, I returned to the bedroom to make sure Pars was still napping peacefully. She looked so comfortably cozy.

    The closet with our freshly hung items was empty aside from the new acquisitions. However, a dresser over by the bathroom contained not only a couple changes of clothes but also underwear and a handful of swimsuits. Pieces of Celestina¡®s life that she left here.

    Now my life and what had become of it. Big soft tits. Hips that spread way the heck out there. Even though, if I were really honest with myself, they weren¡¯t megalithically wide. They vaguely ached though. Like standing was exercising a muscle that I never bothered to use.

    Toward the back of the lowest dresser, I found a collection of recently cleaned hair brushes. How did this magic¡­ stuff decide how things should shake out? Does it throw a random generator in the air? Does it somehow simulate the primary possibilities of what would¡¯ve happened if I was born with two X chromosomes? How many different things have to line up to put me in exactly the same place as a fundamentally different person? What logically led to Celestina taking a bus at the same time as me?

    Celestina is obviously also a guitarist. She has relatives who still decided to move here. In fact, it seems like her aunt was keen on her niece living in the area. I suppose it wasn¡¯t a huge stretch when you think about it like that. Elements outside my control led me here. If I didn¡¯t have my memories though, would I recognize an actual Celestina in the wild? Would Anthony Me think she was hot or treat her like a sibling? Not a comfortable thought.

    My immediate inkling was that a me, who didn¡¯t know better, would absolutely check her out. And a she who didn¡¯t know me might reciprocate. Anthony and Celestina would be so freaking horny for one another. Yet, I didn¡¯t feel the lure of narcissism. Would that have happened without Parsley?

    ¡°¡­Mom? Where are you?¡±

    I swung around and hurried back to her voice. She said it softly, but a hot flare of concern still ricocheted inside me that my relatives might hear and have too many of the wrong type of questions for me to comfortably answer.

    ¡°I¡¯m here. How do you feel? Did you have a good nap?¡± The pitch of my voice rose while it flooded with softness. It didn¡¯t sound anything like my normal voice. Just a total mom voice. Should¡¯ve bothered me, but I was far more concerned about how Pars was feeling.

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± she responded. ¡° A nap? Was I supposed to do that? I don¡¯t really remember anything. I was just gone for a while. At first, it was fine because I heard you singing, and I thought maybe things had gone back to the way they used to be and my time to talk to you was over. But it didn¡¯t feel like before. It was a void. There was nothing. And I felt spread thin in it. My hope lingered in the darkness, along with wishing you all the joy that I can bring.¡±

    I had so far managed to hold in the wildest emotions and restrain most of my tears, but her soft words punched fresh holes in that weakened dam. The only remedy was to grab several of the brushes from the dresser and show them off. She only had vague notions of what they were from window-gazing during our mall trek.

    She sat up, with her hands in her lap, and I started gently brushing at her hair.

    ¡°Oh! Ow ow ow!¡± Parsley quickly attempted to lean away when the brush caught in a snag, but her hair was still snared. I urged her to hold still as I carefully slipped the brush loose. She turned to look at me with wide eyes. Even though I fortified my thoughts, it was awful to see such an expression of discomfort on her face. I caused her that pain.

    Fervent apologies spilled out of my mouth as I sat down next to her. She squeezed close to me. I could feel and hear the quick pace of her heartbeats slow to an easy, sedate rhythm.

    Pars looked me in the eye without fear. ¡°It¡¯s okay, mom. It was more surprising than painful. And some of it actually felt good.¡±

    That was a relief, but a slim one. My emotions rattled around, and I carefully wielded the brush once again. This time, I moved delicately. It didn¡¯t matter. Parsley clearly did her best to restrain sounds of yelping, but the pain in her expression radiated in quiet, twisting waves. No matter what I did, she hurt.

    Why did I even start doing this in the first place? I woke her up and put her through this. Maybe if I actually were Celestina, then I would have the pre-existing experience of growing up as a little girl with lots of hair along with the experimentation of brushing dolls or whatever. My real experience stopped with a comb.

    ¡°Can I try?¡± Parsley bent a hand towards the brush with her fingers slightly bent back, as though wary that the prongs might slice out at her.

    It wasn¡¯t dangerous though, neither scissors nor a knife, but I still hesitated in handing it over. Perhaps the dresser had a better brush or a beginner''s brush? Most of them looked about the same. Ultimately, there was no reason not to let her try.

    I gave her the brush, and she examined it for a moment before testing it on a side patch of her hair. The discomfort she brought upon herself both felt not as painful to my soul, yet just as desperately concerning. A remarkable thing swiftly followed though: she was figuring it out.

    The initial hesitancy fell away, replaced by her carefully but confidently running the brush through her dark, silken locks. She even started to get playful with it as the hair puffed up with static electricity. Guiding her over to the bathroom mirror helped immeasurably with the pace and nuance of her brushing. Once she was satisfied with her own work, she actually passed the brush back to me and requested a special motion.

    I still sucked, but following her instructions allowed me to scratch what turned out to be an itchy spot. She released a long, happy breath as I ran the brush through territory she¡¯d prepared for me. My girl was amazing. And her hair shimmered like precious, spun obsidian.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    Once all that was done, she bounced and jiggled in place while proposing the possibility of brushing my hair. I had much less of a problem with her experimenting on me. Her deft hands and already-learned motions didn¡¯t require me to cloak much discomfort of my own. She was already really good at this.

    At the relaxed conclusion, she surprised me with a kiss on the cheek as delicate and fluttery as the touch of a butterfly¡¯s wing. All words left me. She had exuberant ones to share: ¡°I love you, mom."

    Where did those words come from? Had we even discussed ¡®love¡¯? I used it not too long ago, but I didn¡¯t really understand it. It wasn¡¯t as though the songs we shared before avoided the term. Much the opposite. What was her context?

    I asked. She scrunched up her forehead and worked on her answer for a good while. ¡°Love is one of those things that overwhelm me. The full, too-big human things. Flowing out. Every time you¡¯re around or you hold me, I feel like I can do more than I can ever imagine. No matter how many things and people there are beyond the two of us, you¡¯re what matters most to me. You complete me, mom. And every word I wish for still feels too small to share in what it means to be with you.¡±

    That sentiment pushed beyond what I was expecting. Less mother and daughter and more something different. Something I was embarrassed to even try thinking about, let alone clarify for her. But then that was me and my weirdo brain. But then the whole mom thing was just her observing stuff in the bathroom and trying to make sense of it. Not that I had any more of a sense of all this than she did.

    She watched me as I struggled for a response and fluttered a second kiss on the opposite cheek, this one lingering. It felt nice and traditionally Italian. She didn¡¯t stop there though, seeking out my lips with curiosity.

    First proper kiss with a girl in a long time, and my emotions were all over the place from it. Parsley maintained a cheerful, playful expression. She was so innocent, so pure. I returned her kiss on each cheek. And that was all I did before leading her back to the bedroom.

    The open dresser with the extra brushes drew her attention, and it wasn¡¯t long before her delight passed over all the different clothes contained within. When it came time to explain the swimsuits, her first reaction was lingering uncertainty about water, especially being immersed. A little from a sink and a sip to drink was one thing, but this was an overwhelming amount.

    I considered that maybe I could push her towards being less afraid with a shower preceding a swim. That¡¯s what my aunt and uncle always recommended because it maintained the chlorine level. We¡¯d have to shower together though. Naked. I¡¯d be naked. This body¡­ Naked. With someone else.

    It¡¯s fine. This was going to happen sooner or later, and the matters in the restroom had already broken down several barriers. Nothing to be stressed about. It wasn¡¯t like I hadn¡¯t been naked in front of my guitar before. The only wrinkle was that I hadn¡¯t been completely naked in front of this version of myself yet.

    I had to be resilient for her though, and I explained that it was something that humans did at least once a day. Totally normal, like everything with the restroom. She listened attentively and had no problem stripping naked. Off came the silvery dress and pants, as she was down to that mysterious, wood-toned underwear. I made it to my black bra with lacy roses and those store-grabbed panties. I made sure the door to the hallway got locked before we finished the job.

    Nothing surprising was revealed with the last layer. She didn¡¯t have mahogany or anything artificial underneath. Just normal human flesh. She gave a quick shiver, and I wrapped her in a massive lime green towel, with a silver one snagged for myself.

    Walking around like this was monumentally unnerving. None of the pretense of clothing remained. Just fleshy humans with jiggly parts and so much uncertainty. The boobs on my chest had an inescapable weight without support. Gravity insisted upon their presence and exacted a toll from my shoulder muscles to my pits and all around my neck. Parsley actually shifted and adjusted all her stuff. Her hands went everywhere around her body as though her flesh were just another outfit that she needed to make sure was adjusted properly.

    I dragged my flabby form over to the bathroom. Everything felt openly fat, even though I still had a good shape. But the softness of my belly and the fullness of my legs piled on uncertain curves. Just so bizarre from a male perspective. My brain refused to parse anything sexually and simply screamed that I had fatted up like a pale pig. Seeing Parsley differently also didn¡¯t enter into my consciousness. She was my girl.

    Her curves definitely loaned hints from her guitar shape. She wasn¡¯t so much a pear though. I turned on the water first and made sure the pressure and warmth developed a sharp mist. Once in the water, Pars gasped a few times before settling into the sensation. Surprise circulated through me as the water provided a twisting drumbeat to my senses. This shit was wild. I had to let that one expletive out.

    The sensation was surreal and yet intimately human. This wasn¡¯t my body. All the familiar contours carved out from previous showers blasted away. Putting soap on the nearby sponge allowed me to model for my girl and also delicately approach the unfamiliar terrain. Even though this wasn¡¯t my body, I felt everything and was in control of it all. As much as I wanted to block things out, it was impossible. I could feel the sensitive separation in so many ways. The shadow outline whenever I asked my brain to think of what my body was like, and the cacophony of feelings announced by every living moment discordantly clashed.

    It was also illuminating. This was a girl body. I knew it. No other man in the world could say that. Well, possibly several thousand other men on campus could. But things changed today. Different organs, different chemicals throughout my body, and maybe my brain existed differently. I started out this change still certain of who I was, but time as Celestina acted upon me like the wind around here constantly acted upon the land.

    I still felt like Anthony, yet I also understood how many things about me felt strikingly different. My cynicism retreated like a quiet rumble beneath the surface. My sharp tongue softened. My bitterness didn¡¯t feel necessary. All of that could be attributed to the presence of Parsley. She literally changed my life. That was true when I got her so many years ago after training myself on borrowed guitars. The money for her came solely from me. I weighed the decision of which one to get for quite a while, and her perfect shape seemed to complement every aspect of my own body. It was love, even back then.

    She giggled and delighted in the touch of the suds on her body. She relished the stream. No more fear about water warping her. I cleaned where she couldn¡¯t get and leaned into her without fear or expectation. Faint, energetic melodies played between her legs as the sponge danced across her being. It was ridiculous, but also the most beautiful thing I could imagine.

    The shower started to wind down with rinsing and poking into all the little nooks and crannies. The Slime That Boobed Metro City, all slippery and soaked on my chest, wiggled and wriggled from my ministrations as I hoped I wasn¡¯t giving myself any sort of skin rash. Dealing with all that hair was the main struggle.

    Just about done, I motioned for the knob when Parsley hunched over and clung to the wall. Before I could ask her what was wrong, her plaintive whimpers dug into my soul as she softly said, ¡°It¡¯s happening again. Like what happened when I fell. Why¡­?¡±

 [11] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 11 [Transform the Dorm]

    Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

    [11]

    Connor¡¯s eyes widened, as though he didn¡¯t expect me to say that. That somehow excited me more than him being inside me. Well, maybe not, but I had a lot to enjoy.

    I had plenty of fanciful things in my head when it came to sex. None of them were quite like what I was feeling. Distilling every sensation mystified me. The warmth was both transporting and twisting. Tingling radiated, pulled, and pressed with sharp but softened contradictory edges. Shivering followed, despite the heat, with the sensation of being filled from the bottom of me to the top. Those were just the clearest impressions I could catch with my working, stray brain cells. Words felt ever insubstantial.

    The whole thing was wildly romantic but also silly. What we were doing earlier had a multitude of comical biological reactions, with popping and squishing and things you never imagined your body would do. And none of that quieted down here. The wave of excitement and the spiraling swirl of sensations also included awkward discomfort and loathsome aches.

    To translate it, I could simply use the straightforward language of slipping an oversized thumb inside your mouth and sucking hard, but that simultaneously felt like an effort to describe the sky by poking holes in a black scrap of paper. My clitoris, despite all the changes, responded strikingly similar to what I was used to. Like switching around adapters for a body, but still feeding into the same point of reference. Was this better than what we did earlier? It felt more complete. Before, it seemed like a hollow bridge joined, pressing, pulling, and shifting. A certain special beauty also accompanied it though.

    I was missing out on squeezing Riona''s chest too. Connor was in charge, and I was happy to let him lead, but I also felt glad that my first time wasn¡¯t this. Dipping into those waters with a few steps toward this goal was better than simply plunging headfirst into the waves.

    So many suggestions of emotion crossed Connor¡®s face as we settled into restrained but still-exuberant thrusts and embraces. He couldn¡¯t quite tickle every flaming itch of feeling, but we were each still learning our intimate contours. The fortunate thing was that we could flip this on its head and trade sides in a moment, so the language and the location of so many imperceptible signs were easy to share between ourselves.

    It seemed like such a shame that everyone couldn¡¯t have sex like this. To feel, to trade, and to integrate. I wanted to complete this before Riona got her turn, but there were so many notes to share. My one big complaint was that the girls needed to calm their tits down. They weren¡¯t nearly as heavy and uncomfortable as I was expecting them to be during sex. Connor was diligently attentive at teasing them and making all that feel good, but I still had issues.

    Connor¡¯s presence¡­ such a thoughtful way to express his hard cock¡­ pressing inside me felt both amazing and awkward with the stretch, the filling, and the pressing comfort. When Riona used her lips and tongue before, that sensation had no comparison. Pure time dilation. And reciprocating was fun as well, and a delight to see my lover squirm. Now, it was time to give in and ride.

    The shades of awkwardness swiftly fell aside as we whispered love and lust to one another. Random giggling replaced all the complicated notions I could¡¯ve constructed to encapsulate what I was feeling. Minutes later, I knew none of this was going to be inside my head anymore and only the sharpest, sweetest sensations would remain, and even all this felt like a vague reconstruction of a rainbow explosion with qualities and depths I couldn¡¯t possibly piece together on my own.

    Our embrace felt so long and yet so desperately short, as I could feel him stretching toward the finish line. Immense disappointment gripped me as he receded and slipped out. Before I could scold him or cry, he panted and spasmed against my belly with surprising distance. Some of it got as far as my arms, so I obviously had to try it. But what I tasted was complicated.

    I wanted to be so cool, like when she cleaned me up after I was done and acted as if she were insatiable. A certain gag reflex throttled me before I could present that visage. Everything about the human body has a definite gross taboo, but the emphasis of love strives to press that down and reiterate how sexy things can and should be. But you¡¯re basically swallowing different kinds of uncomfortable snot with vague translations of flavor made by the human body. At least I resisted the urge to upchuck.

    And I had many questions as we rested against one another, and Connor dribbled a last few times. I wanted to be mad that he hadn¡¯t finished inside me, even though I understood why. Just accepting his proposal didn¡¯t change the fact that what we were doing had complicated consequences. The notion of an ovulation cycle still went way over my head. Holding his warmth against me as we wrapped each other in what blankets were nearby and cooled down still carried frantic echoes of kissing and cuddling.

    Now, it fucking hurt. Even though the radiant afterglow was doing its best to tell me that it wasn¡¯t that bad. Tits definitely ached as though they were going to have a bruise later. This couldn¡¯t be how it felt every single time. Were we doing something wrong? Actually having a shower seemed like a decent idea, but I first asked Connor if he wanted to switch places and feel what I felt. His wide eyes told me enough that just going through this was desperately exhausting. But curiosity traced his lovely eyes at this notion. He was thinking about it. It was fun to see him so far off his usual, frantic pace. At the same time, that reaction made me feel wary. If I was exceeding his level of impetuousness, then perhaps that was a sign to slow down. I was so gosh darn sweaty. Funny that we never even used a single condom despite having so many.

    Our excuse about taking a quick shower together was sure to be straining credulity. I hadn¡¯t really monitored our noise level, but Kuni and Simon weren¡¯t dumb, and I fully expected they understood from our body language. Connor squeezed my hand.

    ¡°Do you really want to get married?¡± Connor¡¯s eyes were wide and deeply curious. Putting the question directly to me should have left it to my common nature to reconsider and reflect on so many different points, but I didn¡¯t need to. My answer was a fervent nod.

    ¡°Yes. Without doubt. Without question. Forever and for always. And in sickness and in health, and whatever vows you think would be fun. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I wanna share as many moments like this as possible, no matter how our flesh is composed and combined. I want our souls to curl up close and always feel each other¡¯s warmth. Is that okay?¡±

    I saw tears pooling in Connor¡®s eyes and worried for a frantic moment that I said something wrong. Joyfully, he nodded and smiled, and I felt tears of my own welling up. Then, we flipped the switch.

    For half a moment, I quietly wondered if maybe some trace of semen made its way inside me and was already knitting the foundation of new life. Perhaps my Zach form would forever after be locked away from me and I¡¯d be Trisha forever. But the switch worked exactly as it had before. What lingering arousal I felt within surged forth, preparing itself for Riona. She translated all of my hungry enthusiasm in our swapped places. We again forgot about the prophylactics.

    It was disconcerting to go from recipient to sender, or whatever analogies made sense. I both couldn¡¯t imagine what Rihanna was going through and yet I intimately understood every inch of feeling spreading across her features. Getting deep was difficult. Not because I wasn¡¯t big enough as a man, but more because I didn¡¯t want to push so deep that I lost control. Once we settled into a comfortable rhythm, I sought so many different sources of joy from Riona.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    I probed the right itches to scratch and comforted her twirling tits. Everything about sex seemed so patently ridiculous if you ever try to make sense of it. Being the man had some fun qualities, but the other way excited an incomparable firestorm. It just wasn¡¯t fair to match one against the other. The clear delirium on Riona¡®s face told me she was experiencing a comparable realization.

    The biggest problem was that everything as Trisha had already lit my entire body on fire, and I had much less of a grip on the edge to hold out for Riona. That led to a pause, where I just barely managed to slide one of the condoms on before Riona was all over me again. More than anything on this side of our dance, I felt so happy to be giving her pleasures that I intimately understood and desperately wanted her to feel the full tableau of.

    It took a lot of mental effort, but I held on to squeeze her through as many thresholds as possible for as long as possible. I tingled with pride when she had to squeeze her mouth shut to resist the urge to scream. When we were done, and I had an uncomfortably bloated condom to pull back, we looked into each other¡®s eyes with a blessed understanding and calm warmth that failed to be confined by simple things such as words to describe it.

    This physical translation of love felt both insubstantial and yet blissfully appropriate. It wasn¡¯t just one time through or a single motion or coupling, but the complicated sharing of the entire day together, from this time alone, to our walk, to talking about the silliest things while eating, to everything I looked forward to from this point onward. Love, the best four-letter word.

    Now we desperately needed a shower. Washing out the condom actually seemed like the best idea before finding an appropriate can to place it at the bottom of. For our shower, I returned to Trisha and continued the sentiment. We were not so much changed, despite every aspect of our physical selves. The warm water was blissful on my contorted and tired body. It was unfortunate that the best of it emerged so sparingly. Everyone else in the building was probably also using their showers to explore. We did our best not to linger and burn through the best, warm water, but we also couldn¡¯t keep our hands off each other.

    Exhaustion gave way to a renewed wind and so many precious possibilities. We had to quit eventually. It made sense how some couples could spend all day in the embrace of one another. I felt so hungry for the presence of my love, but we dried off, got dressed, and ambled out of the restroom. We quickly found the switch a subtle corner to be concealed. Kuni and Simon were still locked away in their room.

    We opted not to peek, but Riona made the playful assumption that the two of them were also sharing in private time. I couldn¡¯t imagine it. Well, I suppose that I could imagine it. I just couldn¡¯t¡­ With the two of them. And I didn¡¯t want to assume, but Riona giggled the whole time. She wanted to play some Marvin Gaye through the speakers, but I talked her out of it. That would¡¯ve been a little too much.

    Instead, we popped in the movie Galaxy Quest, and cuddled up together on the couch with some sodas from the fridge, and just did nothing together for a good long while but laugh and quip. The restoration of our bras seemed like a daunting endeavor until I found one I could just slip on like an undershirt. It felt so lazy but incredibly comfortable. Riona found one of her own to wear, and otherwise we had on loose pants and even looser tops.

    We took a long time to address the biggest issue: Our encounter with the glasses girl wielding a flashlight. It genuinely seemed like she had done something to us. Memory changes. Did it stop with that though? Was our need to be close and intimate organic or some sort of fervor she impressed upon us? Not as though we needed to be forced, but the timing felt suspicious.

    The rest of the evening was quiet, with just faint signs of what our roommates might be doing behind closed doors. No further craziness occupied the dorm, and the broom never came out again. I anticipated that one of our parents was sure to call, but our phones remained silent. Not that we were prevented from taking the first step in sending text messages.

    I even took a while to compose a draft of what I might say. It would have to thread the needle because we had no idea how our families perceived any of this. By the time we started a second movie, a less popular sci-fi flick that I was actually looking forward to checking out, I felt like a deflated balloon who wouldn''t have anything to say to my mom and dad, if they had called. Connor let me snooze for a good while before we both resolved that we needed to rest properly.

    What happened after that slipped my mind. I had some thoughts about the general-purpose bra compared to free-dangling my giant H-cups, but the presence was pillowy enough that I felt no fear that my mega milkers were going to smother me. Some weird, stray thoughts orbited around my head like that. It felt more like the kind of thing that Anthony from the game might quip about offhand. I hoped he was all right.

    Curling up with some more cozy and playful fun crossed my thoughts, but I found myself slumping against Connor¡¯s shoulder before we found comfortable positions. I thoroughly imagined that dreams of the most surreal or unexpected quality would saturate my unconscious. All the questions and uncertainties of a complete switch of sex had to be dumped back there into an overflowing pile of thoughts to reconcile. While there was a backlog of stuff to think about, my brain opted not to touch any of those things and instead provided a random perception.

    I dreamed, like in a haze, about a massive fishbowl dangling in the cosmos. No further explanation or context followed to make more of that.

    The morning brought a striking chill to the air, which made me briefly fret about whether the furnace switch had been set. All the electrical stuff was functioning properly though. Bringing a blanket around helped. Fall was starting to sink deeper into everything, and soon brisk days would call for even more changes. The tangled perception of a new body and an altered life lingered with all my expectations. A subtle sense of being someone else didn¡¯t submerge while sleeping. The fishbowl in space still included the ticklish void between my legs and the weight atop my chest. My body couldn¡¯t forget itself even in the farthest reaches of dreamland.

    ¡°Good morning, cutie¡­¡± Riona emerged through the doorway carrying orange juice and coffee in her hands, along with plates of toast and yogurt. A typical morning included a little more egg and sausage, but I appreciated the milder food sentiment. The promise of an omelet with onions did require the planning of a trip to the supermarket for the necessary materials. I sipped softly as Connor touched upon the inevitability of what classes we¡¯d have to deal with today.

    She set her food and drink down before mentioning, ¡°And we can go to the courthouse, assuming we can find a set of witnesses.¡±

    I smirked with a whirl of fluttering joys and quiet uncertainties. We couldn¡¯t just get married, despite the proposal and my horny acceptance of it. At the same time, I was eager to play Connor¡¯s game and just let it all be. Why not get married?

    I looked over to respond with my best silliness when I realized she wasn¡¯t moving. Connor stood there like a strange, posed human-size statue collectible. I scrambled out of the sheets and rushed to her side. Despite my best efforts to embrace her, my hands passed through her body as though she were a holographic projection instead of the real thing. I barely restrained screaming as I begged her plaintively with frantic words.

    Moments later, she winked out of sight.

 [18] A Brand New Goth Girl 18 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [18]

    A certain reserve clung to me with the prospect that this wide-eyed epiphany might soon receive deterioration or realization of holes and drawbacks. Nothing truly radiant in the path of understanding can keep its luster. Qualifications and uncertainties worm their way in. But I chose to still see the beauty. I am a girl. I am Beatrice Lee¡­ And people care for me. I don¡¯t have to be anyone or anything else; being me persists no matter what happens to my physical shape. That felt like something to put together as a poem to share with the horny masses.

    The momentum of my emotions had to come to rest as the door to the classroom remained locked. No one else was waiting right then, but it didn¡¯t take long for me to be joined by other girls creeping along the corridor. Several had faces I knew from any other day, but a few watched the carpet with hoods up and eyes down. A surprising number wore skirts. I politely greeted some, even though it was soon clear they didn¡¯t wanna talk about the current situation. Pretty much everyone was lacking the assignment for the day because of the obvious extenuating circumstances. When the professor arrived, it was a little bit confusing as to whether it was them.

    She had the same glasses with strange flowers in her light hair, but the snug, rainbow-cacophony jeans, and a red tank top seemed like nothing that his male alter ego would¡¯ve worn, even though he tended towards flippant fashion. I greeted the professor with as much exuberance as I could offer. The session was much more reserved than I was expecting though. Most of the class treated what happened as a morbid situation. That was fine. Still a ways to go with everyone.

    I kind of wanted to freely blast with the light. Just spray a few layers of thoughtful illumination. It was wrong, but the feeling was still there. If nothing else, I wanted to give the class a share of the energy present in my soul for so many things I wished to say out loud. But the modus operandi of any well-regulated college class is to defeat your boundless energy and temper it with the ages of muted feeling well-worn into the system. You had to be cool and calm and ready to lose your love for every fanciful thing as how lousy you actually are at everything was methodically broken down by someone with weaponized knowledge and bitterness to wield.

    My artwork was obviously going to be the next victim. That was fine. It was going to be burned as an effigy of the face that Rosalie hated. A transitory creation just meant for this moment. Considering most everyone else just had WIPs and proposals for their collage ideas and combinations of elements, my work would obviously be singled out as the one to scrutinize. Clearly, I hadn¡¯t followed all the aspects of the assignment but there was decent composition in the curve given to the figure and the chaotic elements of the bedsheets.

    It hurt a little when my professor folded her hands and invited the entire class to pick apart every single small element of my overnight effort. Every nitpick brought into focus with the minds of everyone pointing out all the inherent flaws. I definitely wanted to fuck their shit up a little with a light show. The moment arrived when I could¡¯ve conveniently whipped it out when the professor specifically asked, ¡°What did you think of that?¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯re full of shit,¡± followed by an overwhelming beam set to reveal her inherent childishness physically. A confused and whimpering little girl. No indulgence for that notion. Instead, I pointed out the obvious circumstances recently, along with trying to translate the chaotic nature of adapting to changes while feeling that certain elements were a mess. Snickers and silence were the worst combination. Why the fuck would anyone ever attempt to be an artist with a group like this? I tolerated it, as I always had.

    The professor clung to the appearance of decorum even while permitting the surrounding sentiments. There were several seconds of silence to press home my ignorance in the shining presence of academic understanding. I received a faint admonishment about not properly addressing the complexity of gender identity roles. And to think, I actually appreciated some classes from this professor. But she revealed herself to be a royal bitch lately, even before her cunt came in. I wanted to ask several crude things but restrained my bitter tongue.

    Eventually, I was out of the spotlight with a lackluster but decent grade for my creation, bolstered by the fact that I finished the assignment on time but with ¡°an absence of inspiration.¡± I was actually looking forward to burning it now and wished that it could¡¯ve happened in the middle of class before I shoved the remains up her fucking ass. At least I already burned through my quota of tears.

    Gleefully, her usual bullshit wound up being rejected when she came to wield it against the rest of the class. I had no idea who my classmate with a sharp cut of blonde hair to my left was, but she kind of became my hero. She not only flipped off the professor but roared through every criticism laid bare with professional sharpness and punctuated profanity.

    I was before my time as the others rose up in complaint, laying out the shitty events of the last day and ready to turn mob on the professor. The amount of apologetic crow she had to submissively eat was deeply satisfying. I was going to step out early, but I stayed for the full force of the tempest upwelling from not only the transformed guys but also irate girls who figured this was the right time to stop dealing with this bitch¡¯s shit. The catharsis was so deeply satisfying because I didn¡¯t need to do a damn thing.

    An instructor from another classroom came over to fortify this professor''s opinion, but she ultimately stabbed her in the back in the politest way by invoking the complexity of the current situation and the fact that this was just supposed to be an informal meeting to comfort and get students on the same page. She also loved my work, so I made sure to take down her name for future classes. We adjourned long before the normal dismissal, and I took a casual stride of victory down those many steps.

    My trek also included a noisy trumpet session in the nearest restroom against a frigid seat as all the pent-up energy released with calm and triumphant thoughts. I occupied myself by sifting through pieces of social media. Our situation had settled into a specific hashtag known as #TransformTheDorm. It wasn¡¯t especially accurate since #TransformedDorm would¡¯ve captured it better. Several other possibilities also occurred to me, including #NowGirlsSchool along with #CressmanChanges. But some strange artificial intelligence algorithm decided that would be the term, and it stuck.

    Most of the postings settled into the energy of a joke, with memes involving guys wanting to head out here to check out all the ¡°new chicks¡±, along with weak trans references and some painfully-dated humor. I did appreciate the sincere stories relayed through threads about experiences amidst shock, fear, concern, hope, and flashes of anger. The possibility of adding to the hashtag rippled through my thoughts as I carefully washed up without getting my phone damp from the grossly sodden counter. Some things just didn¡¯t change. But I worried about Beatrice¡®s online presence¡­ My online presence and the assumptions so many held that I was just a girl and not someone mystically transformed into a girl. It was still true that my benefactor had changed me, but so much of reality asserted that I had always been this way and¡­ It was complicated. I kept an eye on the thread and considered the possibility of contributing with vague language or from something like a burner account.

    Walking back to the dorm included following a more traveled route where spooky, random dark men or entities were less likely to catch me by myself. Just past the entrance to the dorm, I noticed a familiar brunette turning frantically and inspecting the common room with her weighty chest jiggling wildly.

    Zach noticed me. Tears flooded her cheeks with valleys of redness. She softly whimpered and said, ¡°Connor is gone. Something took him. He vanished right in front of me. I don¡¯t know what to do. I don¡¯t know where to look. I love him. I love him so much. He proposed and I said yes and we were together and we woke up and then with breakfast, when I was in bed he just¡­he just¡­ was gone and I don¡¯t know what to do¡­¡±

    I immediately hustled to her side and wrapped my arms around her. She continued stammering as I did my best to ease her panic. The landmarks of understanding what was going on with Zach and Connor existed in my mind. I knew them each casually and picked up fragments from yesterday¡®s game and the later catchup. They came from Northern California and grew up together in a rather rural area. Small town high school with a scarce number of girls. They had this silly proposal that if either of them got turned into a girl, then they would hook up. It was a passing notion without any sense of seriousness, but they looked so cute together yesterday.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Clearly, from Zach¡¯s tone, she meant it when she said ¡°love¡±. She was clearly hiding something as she paused to reflect before beginning her account in order of what happened. Did they have a flashlight too?

    She guided me up the stairs and over to their dorm. It was pleasant inside with a massive, natural work sprawled across something larger than a curtain. Cozy stations provided feminine comfort and care between islands. She showed me the exact spot where her lady love winked out of existence. Some scrambling hope lingered as she kept her eyes on the empty space. Nothing.

    I sat on the edge of the bed with her and detected a faint, human aroma lingering in that space. Crying into her hands, she eventually wrestled her voice into understandable words. And the confession spilled out. They had been given something by what seemed to be the benefactor. Zach pointed it out on the edge of the table.

    The artifact wasn¡¯t obtrusive or obvious. It appeared as a USB panel with a light switch attached to the top. Essentially, a wall switch separated as a single piece from where it was supposed to be. She whispered that flipping it up and down allowed Connor and her to return to their male forms.

    I didn¡¯t know what to say. The notion felt like a slap in the face. The benefactor¡­ my benefactor¡­ Had the ability to return people to how they were before and hadn¡¯t even bothered to offer up this possibility to me. Quietly¡­ I was pissed off. She misled me into thinking there was no way back. That this was permanent, and the only differences were the shades and qualities of feminine forms. What the fuck¡­? What was the fucking truth?!

    An extra whammy came when Zach informed me that they actually managed to catch her. And she appeared to be a classmate who lived in the dorm. No grandiose figure from a reality beyond, no divinity gracing ourselves with her presence, no leader with a missive of wisdom and command. She seemed just like me. Only without scruples. Both of my hands tightened into trembling fists that I pressed against the cushion.

    It might¡¯ve been a mistake though. My mind was warped by some sliver of soul getting stuck in my eyes. Something similar could¡¯ve occurred here. It also may have been responsible for the sudden disappearance. No jumping off before all the possibilities were carefully considered. I examined this switch and made sure that the door was closed and Zach was prepared before doing anything with it. She instructed me to flick it in a certain direction, and I watched as the Zach last seen at the pool table returned, uncomfortably wearing this girl¡¯s tight morning clothes. A flick back to center restored her to relative comfort but appeared to leave her disoriented.

    It was real. That much was true. This device, whatever it was, had capabilities beyond the flashlight I¡¯d been gifted. Or maybe I just needed to search deeper with my gift. Since she unveiled her secret, I decided to show mine.

    She immediately recognized the size and style of flashlight as being similar to the one the benefactor wielded. The only difference appeared to be an additional color that she struggled to name, but we both suspected it was blue based on the abundant pink of this one.

    Clearly, the benefactor had decided to mentally mess with her to keep their actions covert. Considering how much of my mental health was devoted to pondering the consequences of doing even a small action to anyone, I fumed. Zach¡®s experience in engineering wasn¡¯t exhaustive, same as Connor¡¯s comprehension of science, but he knew enough to instruct me on how to disassemble the flashlight and fashion something that would allow it to work while shining on itself.

    The question was whether the top section was required to be under the influence of the beam. Copious duct tape worked. Spare wires and other small pieces allowed us to elongate the connections. I made no promises to Zach that doing this would reveal what happened to her lover. She acknowledged that and simply said, ¡°It¡¯s something, at least. We have to try.¡±

    We set up a test area with an empty box blocking the light spill. The switch might be useful as a potential target, but considering how important it was to the couple, we set it aside for now.

    Through all this, I hadn¡¯t checked on the other roommates. Zach revealed that they had either gone away to early classes or grabbed a late breakfast. My mind sought out my own roommates and poor Rosalie, who had a mountain of things for me to catch her up on. I¡¯d get back to her soon. Hopefully.

    The first query we assigned the light was to find Connor Campbell, also known as Riona Campbell. It gave the automatic rejection response. So, the next possibility we tried was to assign it to follow traces of people who have vanished. It was an ungainly proposal again rejected, no matter how we phrased it. I threw out my possibility of combining Beatrice and Taylor into one collective consciousness. That wasn¡¯t immediately vetoed, but it seemed to pulse in a questioning manner. Rephrasing it more precisely unfortunately met with a return to rejections.

    No matter what we did, the light refused to activate. I considered just giving it something simple to see if the idea of imbuing the light with a new quality was at all possible. But it wasn¡¯t even going there for us. Out of frustration, Zach commanded, ¡°Show us the truth!¡±

    That¡­was approved, but I had no idea what it would do. We double-checked that there would be nothing blasted from the beam, and Zach fashioned a remote switch we could use on the other side of the hallway door. We each took a deep breath and hoped that this would operate like a dental x-ray and not explode.

    I was going to do a countdown, but once we were away, Connor just flipped the thing, waited a few seconds, and then flipped it back. No explosions. After carefully checking that no light continued to stream from the device, we crept back and gawked at what was sitting before us. The flashlight had transformed into a pristine, pearly white that almost hurt my eyes with a faint tint of sky blue. The mirror and the interior of the box also contained this stark quality. Small script adorned the mirror, explaining where it was manufactured, touching upon the process, and the impurities and contaminants in the glass. The truth of it was laid bare. The box had a similar explanation, tracing it back to a particular forest and tree, with the manufacturing process and regulations skipped in its creation.

    The only text added to the flashlight were the words, ¡°This internal crystal is a connection to the souls of countless beings.¡± Zach took a deep breath as he read that and I quietly grimaced as at least that seemed to confirm what the creepy guy said.

    We worked quickly to reassemble the light back into its normal shape. Other than the strange bleaching and text addition, it didn¡¯t otherwise seem physically altered. Time to test what we had. I aimed it directly at the spot where Zach told me Connor had frozen and then vanished like a hologram.

    I had no idea what to expect. And I certainly didn¡¯t anticipate what followed.

    The light that emerged from the device was the same color as its case. It didn¡¯t cross the room but landed on the exact spot where Connor had been standing and illuminated a hallway that split open in the air. The space almost matched the width of the main hallway. It existed against all good sense, like a tear in reality leading off from the side of the bed to about twenty feet in the distance. If you showed it to me without the impossible features, I would¡¯ve said it appeared the same as any standard service hallway with fluorescent panels above and bland tiles below. The walls had stucco. Painfully normal yet something that shouldn¡¯t have been there.

    It didn¡¯t take long before Zach gathered together a backpack full of supplies from the kitchen and closet, along with some clothes and several sharp knives. I warned her that we had no idea where this led or what it was. She agreed with me but said, ¡°I have to find her. No matter where that takes me and no matter what that takes. She means everything. You don¡¯t have to come. Thank you for everything. You¡¯ve shown me the path. I just need to walk it.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t just let her go. It would¡¯ve been unconscionable, and I wanted answers too. It took a couple more minutes to prepare a bag of my own and mentally get ready. The flashlight obviously had to come with us, along with the switch.

    Then, we stepped through the threshold.

 [11] Tuning the Guitar Player 11 [Transform the Dorm]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [11]

    Immediately, I shifted into action, shutting off the water so the basin wouldn¡¯t be quite as slippery while making sure I had my arms supporting her. The nurses who cared for my ailing relatives passed along certain lift-and-carry explanations, but it had been too long since I had done any of that. The best notion that settled into my head was to drag her by the legs with something protecting her head or swing her arm around my shoulder. Whatever worked and didn¡¯t injure me.

    Fortunately, she remained on her feet as I carefully guided her out of the tub and over to sit down with her towel. The tension and weakness slowly eased as she covered up, trembling. I grabbed even more towels for cushioning in case she went unconscious. But the worst of it seemed to pass. Whatever it was.

    Parsley cautiously ambled over to the toilet and used it without any trouble. At least for a little while. She peed normally, but it wasn¡¯t long before the earlier snack decided it had to leave. Was that really enough time to digest a pizza? Considering the lack of quality, it didn¡¯t surprise me that her body booted it out at the first convenience. The results were enough to turn this into a lesson in cleanliness. Fortunately, she had zero interest in investigating her waste and gladly cleaned up with my instructions.

    So much better than a baby who¡¯d needed years to get this. I didn¡¯t have much knowledge of the variety of bottles and perfumes that Celestina collected, but I grabbed a few, and both of us smelled and felt pretty nice at the end of it. Onto the next terror: swimsuits.

    Before that though, I checked with my aunt about whether it was a good time to even bother using the pool. Had to shower first, they warned, but we were way ahead of that. Now feeling better, Parsley put on a lovely pink swimsuit with a lot showing, especially a patch around her stomach. Mine was like the cast-off of an old athletic outfit with a vibrant green line twisting and separating different shades of dark blue with gray to highlight where my boobs had to go. A little too much of the edges were exposed, and I was especially mortified by the bottom section. Practically my entire hips were left poking through the side openings, while the crotch felt like the most embarrassing wedgy when it sat flat. At least there wasn¡¯t a crinkly bush popping out the edges. Pulling at the material didn¡¯t help. There wasn¡¯t much to go around.

    Other options existed, but this was the best compromise between even worse qualities. Some light robes for each of us helped. My aunt and uncle didn¡¯t say anything as we stepped lightly to the sliding door and made our way to the backyard. Apart from some thin patches of grass and swollen bushes, there wasn¡¯t a whole lot beyond the chairs and table, aside from the pool. The eight-foot-high wooden fence in the back at least separated us from their neighbors. Vague barking fluttered through the air but didn¡¯t threaten in our direction. I knew there used to be a big black dog in the neighborhood, but I hadn¡¯t seen it lately.

    I made Parsley wait in one of the chairs while I roamed around the backyard and side patch to see if there was anything in the vicinity that could explain away the creepy presence from earlier. The one side was mostly blocked off, with several layers of fencing put in and replaced by previous owners beside an abandoned dog house. Peering over the gap was more difficult because of my losses in height, but nothing looked remotely suspicious or threatening on this end. I took my time probing the other side.

    As I expected, the little path normally used by the gardener was clear of debris and overgrowth. Facing out from where our window was, I looked all over and attempted to visualize anything that could¡¯ve provided the source of the strange sight. My imagination tussled with something like a bobbing scarecrow tied to a windmill that looped around with just the right amount of shadowing from the sun¡­ which was on the wrong side. Nothing appeared to resolve the incongruity.

    Sighing softly through my teeth, I watched Parsley fuss with the fit of her swimsuit and adjust her still-damp hair. She looked absolutely adorable in her outfit while I felt monumentally ridiculous in mine. Some parts of it weren¡¯t that bad. The fit around my waist was fine, even though it practically felt painted on. The glossiness, along with the bright colors and that sporty edge, distracted from several qualities that I didn¡¯t want to dwell on. I just couldn¡¯t shake the fact that there was barely enough material to cover the space between my legs. Nothing much was going to slurp or slip out of the side, but I didn¡¯t feel comfortable. At least, outside of the robes, all that would be underwater. That desperate reassurance didn¡¯t do anything to stop my legs from quivering.

    It wasn¡¯t a bad day. Summer was far behind. Fall hadn¡¯t settled in yet, but the occasional breeze pulled the warmth from my bare flesh. The pool would help with that, but I was taking it slow to acclimate my girl.

    I dipped my toes in first and splashed some water. Parsley crouched nearby and wiggled her hand through it. It didn¡¯t take her long to notice that it smelled different and tasted awful. I should¡¯ve expected her to try sipping it.

    I explained to her what I could, then opted to just slide into the pool and demonstrate the rest. The crotch still felt immensely uncomfortable, even underwater, and I could include the fancy new concern of getting chlorine in places I never had or thought about before. Softly floating was nice. The weight of everything this day placed on me felt like it could finally slide off. But I remained vigilant as Parsley crept, inch by careful inch, into the water. Squinting while she slipped lower, her bright outfit shimmered like candy caught in bold sunbeams. We held hands, and I patiently stayed nearby on the shallow end.

    She fluttered through the water and gripped my hand tightly. Flotation devices would¡¯ve been nice, and I didn¡¯t mean that as a euphemism. I set aside the bulk of my consciousness to just appreciate the calm moments that existed around us. Resisting the urge to dwell in frantic caution took a surprising amount of effort. So many things in existence posed a threat to all that I loved. There was nothing I could do about it but cling to her as desperately as possible and simply hope.

    Nadia told me someone like Parsley didn¡¯t last very long. I remembered that, even though I desperately didn¡¯t want to acknowledge it. I didn¡¯t want to believe that something bad could happen to her. Sublimating away. Fading into oblivion. No way. These had to be the outward signs, but fuck that.

    If the grim reaper was even thinking of trying to come after my girl, then he, she, it, or whatever dared to darken her day was going to find me shoving every hard object possible up their orifices until they were breathing out of their new assholes and pissing out their ears. And that was just one place I could start.

    When it came to her protection, whatever aura of cleaner language burned away from my untempered fury. I swore to protect her with everything I had and punish threats till they comprehended my unrelenting promise to her joy. Whatever I have and whatever I can do is for her.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    My Parsley found her confidence to wade just past where she could float in the water and barely touch bottom. She infused the air with delighted giggles as the water wobbled with the cleansing intake wake. Unfortunately, there¡¯s not a whole lot to do immersed in water once it has shown you all its secrets.

    We got some mileage out of splashing and bobbing. I endeavored to show her a few different swimming moves, but it was a little too much. She was content to just float without fear for her body. I looped around the far end a few times with casual kicks and my distinct, poorly practiced swimming stroke. We had our fun until the sun rapidly hunted for the horizon.

    My uncle pulled open the sliding door and ambled across the pavement in his flip-flops to pass along the message that dinner would be ready soon. He lingered and surveyed the backyard. I could tell there was much he wanted to remodel and remake to look more like the Mediterranean. Parsley floated her way toward the shallow side, grappling for the steps as a sudden coughing spell seized her. I should¡¯ve brought out some water that she could actually drink. My uncle was attentive though, and filled up a travel bottle for her from the sink just inside.

    She attempted to drink from the bendy straw, but a spasm caught in her throat. Before I could rush over, I heard the most unusual noise erupt from her mouth. I¡¯d heard something like it once before.

    On one of the last nights of my obligation to relatives on their last gasps, when I was there instead of mom, I heard a sound like a wild sneeze mixed with a wet cough. It only happened when I looked away. When I turned back, all was calm. It was as though something else had released that noise. That wasn¡¯t the last moment, but it was close enough. I imagined it might be the messy moment when their soul slipped from earthly bonds and only the traces of the mechanical acts of living remained. Mercifully, nothing malicious decided to slip in.

    That wasn¡¯t what happened to Parsley though. She wasn¡¯t dying. She wasn¡¯t sick. Her beautiful soul wasn¡¯t dislodged from her body. But there was a tangled mass of shimmering blue and gold that drifted away from her. And my uncle was right in its path.

    Like wavy water, it passed through his face. My uncle¡¯s beard receded, and the sparse, fair hair atop his head swelled with platinum blonde brightness. His glasses remained while impossible things happened to the rest of his body. Things I knew all too well.

    He visited us wearing distinctive soccer team colors and they remained, even as the contours of his clothes irrevocably shifted. Green, red, and white with Italian pride dipped in at his compressed waist while his hips boldly spread, and I no longer had the biggest bust in this household. Not quite as bad as poor Zack earlier but close enough to be fair competition.

    Same as my aunt received a sincere, energizing boost, my uncle did appear more youthful around her eyes and especially with the shape of her body. She helped quell Parsley¡¯s frantic spell of choking with kind hands. Whatever had bothered her moments ago cleared away with a deep lungful of moist air. My new aunt shared her encouragement that warm soup and so many other wonderful things to make her forget about such an unpleasant spell.

    I should¡¯ve screamed, I should¡¯ve been alarmed in terror, and been lost in confusion, but I didn¡¯t want to do that in front of either of them. What panic surged through my veins was easy to again keep beneath the surface. My balding uncle had become an absolutely cute MILF hottie who looked more like she deserved to be one of my classmates than an older relative. Again, neither my aunt nor my uncle was decrepitly old; they each just felt settled and worn out by the last few years.

    The question of my original aunt was soon answered with her emerging from the kitchen in a colorful outfit similar to what my other aunt was wearing. She had some lines around her eyes but retained the energy she greeted us with earlier. The two of them looked like they could do laps around me. Some mention was made of a club in Oxnard, which we were welcome to join them at later. For now though, dinner was ready.

    We changed out of the swimsuits, briefly rinsed off the traces of pool water, and settled down to eat wearing a change of clothes with elements mixed from the dresser and what we got at the mall. The pickle soup had received a welcome, spicy boost, along with a plethora of both expected and unexpected entr¨¦es. Minced pork cutlet, beets, and potatoes, along with a delightfully familiar infusion of pasta and parmigiana. Despite how much there was, we left several clean plates.

    Parsley looked better after the meal, even though I felt no certainty about whether I¡¯d seen the last of bad things happening to her. At least my new aunt attended to her care and comfort as insistently as I did.

    Before we migrated from the dining table to the den, I inquired about whether we had a container of salt. It wasn¡¯t long before my aunt passed me a giant cylinder of Morton¡¯s. That sufficed.

    It was the only thing I could think of as a source of protection for the both of us. Nadia¡®s strategy of singing a song inside my head worked so far but overnight, and for Parsley, would require something else. A protective ring of salt around the room. It would have to be otherwise hidden around the curtains. In the morning, I¡¯d just need to run the small hand vac to clean it up before my aunts freaked out. They were already getting ready for the club, and I resolved that such a location might be too much stimulation for Pars, along with a troubling reminder of just how much dwelled beyond. Not to hold her back but to at least keep the training wheels securely fastened through this uncertain time.

    Considering I wouldn¡¯t have been able to even imagine my uncle rocking a blue dress for a night on the town, she wore it very well. The energy and excitement waned when they left. Quietness loomed in the corridors with a faint flicker of shadow. Part of me wanted to start laying down salt trails wherever possible, as though we were facing a Slug Armageddon. I shared that notion with Parsley and was surprised that she actually managed to grasp my bizarre sense of humor.

    We had the presence of the television radiating foreign sports, but soon turned it down to focus on the lovely starter game we¡¯d been gifted. Leather and velvet surrounded this version of the pieces, with solid stock for the cards. It was a blast to work through and deeply immersive. Parsley had her leg up on the rules and actually enjoyed teaching and reminding me of specific things I had since forgotten across this mind-melting day.

    We completed several long sections in relative peace beyond the stray, quiet, faraway cheers before I noticed something jarring against all the warm elements. I could hear footsteps. Parsley tipped her head but gave no other sign that she caught a strange presence in our midst.

    Clearly, an opportunistic creature following us. That was also something that she said, right? Parsley faced dangers from within and around her. I had no idea what to do about either of those forces. But I swore with every fragment of my being that I would fight for her life.

 [12] Tuning the Guitar Player 12 [Transform the Dorm]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [12]

    The delights that enraptured Parsley were so quietly simple. She marveled at the color and brightness of the television. She scooped up every last drop of her soup. Even the carpet beneath her feet provided fresh experiences.

    I encouraged her to stay close to me because of the unsettling presence I sensed nearby. At the same time, I didn¡¯t want to worry her. She looked so peaceful snuggling the weighted blanket I grabbed for her out of the linen closet.

    A steady flicker of the light down the hall accompanied the chill and advancing creaks. I wanted a loud vacuum to suck up anything lurking down the hall.

    ¡°Mom? Am I dangerous?¡±

    I suddenly jerked back and looked her in the eye. ¡°Dangerous? Why would you think that?¡±

    She looked away and rocked her head. ¡°Those people at the mall changed when I got sick. Then, when your uncle helped me, I changed him too. It¡¯s like how you changed and how I changed. But I didn¡¯t mean to do it. I¡¯m afraid I hurt people. Even though they don¡¯t seem mad.¡±

    I turned her head towards me and looked into her eyes when I told her, ¡°You are not dangerous. What happened is because of this weird person who did stuff to me. You¡¯re fine.¡±

    She then brought up what Nadia mentioned about things like her not lasting long. We both understood what it meant, but I assured her that she was fine, emphasizing, ¡°Whoever that was, she¡¯s not even from around here. I don¡¯t know what she is, but she doesn¡¯t know you. Talking about dresses. Whatever.¡± She also mentioned that dark, predatory things would be after Parsley. The house was quiet now, but it also felt like something just around the corner was drawing in a breath.

    We could go for a walk, but darkness would be settling around the neighborhood soon. Even though this is one of the safest areas in the Los Angeles basin, I didn¡¯t really trust it. Meeting up with my aunts could be a worthwhile goal, even though I¡¯d already vetoed the prospect of overstimulating Parsley with a nightclub.

    Jamming with her would¡¯ve been my ideal, but I didn¡¯t want to wear her out. Since we put the starter pack game away, just watching foreign sports was enough. Maybe the sounds and the feelings were just my overactive emotions and fears making too much of normal, simple things.

    ¡±¡­Parsley¡­¡± A vivid voice that sounded exactly like some sort of ghoulish mummy creature calling out from a creepy tomb hissed from down the hall. I couldn¡¯t deny it or give my girl a friendly alternative. She glanced over in concern mixed with uncertainty, then back at me. If only my aunts were weapon enthusiasts.

    We had spray bottle cleaners underneath the sink over by the island stove. Then there was the metal net used for cleaning crap out of the pool over by the sliding door. No hot pokers. No machetes, even though I had one at home. Steak and carving knives felt insubstantial. Pool cleaner, it was.

    Long enough to provide enough breathing space for a beating on any undead or supernatural jerks. I dragged Parsley back gingerly so we could regroup by the sliding door and I could arm myself with the net. For her, I figured the metal broom would be good. Hopefully, showing off a few test swings was enough modeling. Neither of us had significant arm strength, but at least we had something. My phone, with a bright light option that exhausted its charge at two percent a minute, dangled from my other hand with its battery pack life support.

    Every hint of a shadow had me turning defensively. I expected a zombie to come crawling down the hall at any moment.

    Nothing. And each additional minute of nothing both unnerved me and made me feel torn between whether we had misinterpreted a normal sound or whether we had a weird intruder with a fetish for garnish.

    The only way to know was to clear that section of the house with a flamethrower and a purification sage launcher. I made Parsley stand against my back. No good way of organizing a search existed. I couldn¡¯t leave her, and having her cling to my back didn¡¯t sound like a good prospect either. At least this way, she could warn me if something came around behind us.

    My head pounded, my body ached, and my stomach felt like a turbulent sea despite all the good food riding through it. My tits also lacked nipple shivs for cutting supernatural bitches. Rocket launcher emplacements also would¡¯ve been nice. But the only thing I had the prospect of shooting out anytime soon was some gas.

    Although the flickering had stopped, the hallway was still unusually dark. Checking the left side first, it was easy to see that the way to my aunts¡¯ bedroom was clear. Nothing wrong in the master bedroom. The adjoining bathroom also seemed fine. Sweat saturated my hair as we thoroughly checked every questionable inch. The route around the front and the one that looped to our bedroom were what was left.

    That left me torn between making sure nothing was hiding where we were likely going to sleep and camping out somewhere we already knew was safe. Granted, I was currently much more interested in the living room or any spot that offered swift retreat. I figured Parsley could comfortably nap wherever.

    The metallic pool skimmer seemed ungainly and ineffectual to wield around corners, but it still made me feel better. I tried my darndest not to think about what had to be lurking around. The back of my mind also expected to find nothing, since that was the way this paranormal junk always worked.

    It didn¡¯t take us long to clear the front passage, leaving the bedroom stretch. My heartbeat quivered through me, but Parsley¡¯s steady, easy metronome beat relaxed it. I sensed that the reason she wasn¡¯t scared was that I was right next to her. If only I could provide the same comfort to myself. The final, unchecked path lay ahead.

    We didn¡¯t have to look. But being scared out of our own space by whatever this thing was rubbed me the wrong way. The bathroom area checked out warm and clear with the lingering moisture from our showers. But the bedroom was dark.

    No switch-flipping restored the light. Even the lamps in the wall and the ceiling refused to turn on. The outdoor lights barely hinted through the curtains, though the neighbors had a floodlight with a crowded cantina of bugs. The amber streetlights also should¡¯ve spilled everywhere. My little light didn¡¯t do much more than harshly distort shadows. At least there wasn¡¯t much room left.

    We turned slowly around the bed, and I waved the pool skimmer from low to high through the air. Even prodding underneath the bed and poking against the wall of the closet didn¡¯t turn up anything. My rational mind thought back to where my aunt and uncle stashed replacement bulbs for the ones that had clearly burned out in here while Parsley froze in place.

    She refused to turn and quietly whispered to me, ¡°Mom¡­ something. I feel it¡­¡± Before I could ask what she meant, Parsley whipped her broom through the air like she was swinging at a baseball coming her way. It made contact with an audible ¡°THUNK¡±, even though it had been nowhere near any of the walls.

    A sharp, feminine yell burst through the room, accompanied by shifting covers and tumbling noises. On the other side of the bed, sprawled out on the floor, was a young woman dressed in a lime green t-shirt, cradling her head with an oozing gash and glasses knocked askew.

    ¡°Don¡¯t hurt me! I already got smacked in the head! Ow ow¡­geez.¡±

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    I brought the pool skimmer over to her face. ¡°Who are you? What do you want?¡±

    Spreading the light around, I noticed a strange flashlight on the floor next to her. It contained a barber pole design of pink and blue, winding its way up to the top with a darker color that looked gray or purple. Using the net at the end, I scooped up the light and brought it over to our side of the bed. Meanwhile, I kept the brightest point of my phone''s light aimed right at the strange girl¡¯s brownish-green eyes.

    ¡°Beverly Marsh,¡± she responded as she pressed a hand against where it was bleeding. ¡°You could¡¯ve given me a concussion. I hope I don¡¯t need stitches.¡±

    I pressed her about what she was doing in our house and threatened to call the police. She seemed strangely calm, answering, ¡°I was actually trying to help. Been keeping track of you two since we last wrote.¡±

    It clicked for me. ¡°You¡¯re the invisible bitch. Stay away or I will do exactly what I threatened in that letter.¡±

    This strange girl raised herself up into a sitting position. ¡°Quite rude. I put you together with that cute guy, just as you asked. And I didn¡¯t mess with your guitar. I¡¯m just curious about her because she¡¯s bleeding what appears to be transformation energy all over the place. She¡¯s practically a light herself.¡±

    My limbs trembled, and I tightened my breaths. ¡°Stay away from my girl. I told you what I would do.¡±

    She cracked a small smile. ¡°Still a tough guy, huh?¡±

    I squeezed Parsley¡¯s hand. ¡°I¡¯m her mother. If you wanna get mauled by a mama bear, go right ahead.¡±

    At that, this Beverly broke out in laughter. ¡°Mother? Wow, you¡¯re actually delusional! Did I hit you with the light too hard? I didn¡¯t have any particular trajectory in mind. I went after Taylor first, because he looked rather sad. And Zach was a fun one, focusing on those giant¡­ aspects. I was going to go one by one. Personalize it. Watch each and every step of your reactions. But, instead, I aimed my light at the sign for the dormitory. And everything changed. And I went around remaking the entire campus. I even thought about blasting the sun to weaponize the biggest light of all, but there are limitations.¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°You say all that, and yet you call me delusional? Why? Just for the hell of it?¡±

    She rocked her head back and forth a few times. ¡°Nothing much more complicated than that. I bought the light at that shop you found all closed up. Magic. If only I¡¯d gotten more. I tried it on myself, and the world that opened to my senses was unlike anything I could¡¯ve imagined. I was being altruistic. I shared this experience with everyone. You should thank me.¡±

    I clung to the flashlight with an iron grip. ¡°This has pink¡­and blue on it. How do I use it to go back?¡±

    She got to her feet and shook her head. ¡°You¡­ don¡¯t.¡± She whistled. Some strange force ripped the flashlight from my hands and shot it over to her. Parsley got closer to me. I really wished I had a taser or some mace.

    The smug bitch turned the flashlight around in her hands and manipulated part of it. I could rush her or dive around the bed. Covering up Parsley was number one in my mind. She might be able to undo her existence with that damn thing. I wasn¡¯t above pleading for my girl. But I pulled her back so that most of her body was shielded by mine. A shame I wasn¡¯t bigger to provide her with complete coverage.

    This bitch looked over at me with her lofty, shit-eating grin of confidence. ¡°I suppose I have to make a few corrections. Unfortunate. You both seemed rather cute. But there is a majesty to my plans for our world, and the wrinkles need to be ironed out.¡±

    The moment came. With much regret, I pushed Parsley down and loomed over her with as much of my presence as I could wield to protect her. The light hit me right in the face and¡­

    Oh my gawsh, the light! It¡¯s like so pretty with that lovely princess pink glow, ya know? I don¡¯t know why Bev was shining it in my face though. We were like totally on the same page when it came to transforming boys into girls en masse. I didn¡¯t need any of that on me. I was already a bodacious babe from birth. I flicked a hand through my hair. I like totally could use a dye job soon.

    There was this sort of punk-looking girl at my feet, giving me like the weirdest messed-up expression. Mom? Who was she calling mom? Do I look like a mom? As if! I just totally laughed at her. Bev came around. Girl was rocking her confidence. What was she gonna turn this strange chick into? She definitely seemed like she needed a Bev attitude adjustment from the lady who knew what was going on and had big plans for the future.

    Gosh, she kept going on with that mom thing. Mom mom mom mom mom¡­

    ¡°Mom! What happened to you? What did you do to my mother?!¡±

    Bev told it like it is and said, ¡°Just getting everything in line. Need to deal with you next. Now that she¡¯s on my side, I can turn you into something for her to wield to help.¡±

    For some reason, that bothered me to hear from her. We were on the same page with everything, but it was still kind of bothering me, and I wasn¡¯t sure why.

    As Beverly did stuff with the flashlight, this weirdo girl stretched out her hand, for some reason, and yelled, ¡°LEAVE MY MOM ALONE!¡± Totally didn¡¯t make sense to me at all.

    Before I could say anything, the flashlight ripped out of Bev¡¯s hand and into hers. My jaw like dropped on the floor, and everyone else was losing their shit. Beverly screamed, ¡°You can¡¯t do that! I¡¯m the user!¡± Whatever that means.

    This girl kept saying all sorts of weird things that I didn¡¯t understand while aiming the flashlight back at Beverly. The strangest thing of all was how her hand started trembling like she was spazzing out, and there was this like gross jellyfish-looking spirit stuff coming out of her fingers and flowing into the light.

    She like totally shot me in the face with a blinding light like the headlights of a car and¡­ I don¡¯t remember a whole lot after that. Like totally being drunk.

    Next thing I know, I was actually in bed with the covers over me and someone holding my hands. Like, what? There¡¯s some glow from the window outside. Was it morning? I totally slept through all that?

    ¡°Mom? Are you okay? Please tell me you¡¯re okay¡­¡±

    Again with the ¡®mom¡¯ stuff. Can¡¯t she see I¡¯m practically a teenager, even though I can totally drink too? She begged me to remember her. That was weird. I didn¡¯t see anything wrong with her except for like the total brain malfunction going on. She said her name was parsley¡­ Like the grody vegetable.

    Then she got super super close like right by my mouth, like she was trying to do something. Girlfriend, I don¡¯t swing that way. But before I could say anything, it was like she was breathing on me like breathing in myself, me, a feeling for¡­

    Parsley! Oh my gosh! How could I ever forget Parsley!? I hugged her close and did my best to shake off the repulsive feeling of the annoying words still fluttering through my head. I looked around. On the carpet towards the wall, a blanket and a pillow had been set out for that Beverly bitch sprawled out on the floor.

    And that wasn¡¯t the only weird thing. The dim light of morning traced its way along the curtains. Beyond that glow was an unearthly fissure splitting the wall towards the closet and leading into a clinical-looking hallway, reminiscent of a tear in reality. Fluorescent lights droned stark illumination, and stucco covered the walls.

    It was like an opening to another world.

 [19] A Brand New Goth Girl 19 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [19]

    The other side was remarkably warm, like a different season clung to the space. Late spring or early summer, not the advancing days of fall.

    No smells. Not a single one. Nothing positive and nothing negative. Just a complete absence. The only presences with us seemed to be the ones we carried ourselves. My deodorant and perfume, with a slight hint of sweat from the nervousness of setting off the light in the dorm. I carried the small flashlight, aimed outward and towards the wall. Trisha walked beside me with her dancing eyes full of thoughts and a vague wooziness. Zach tended to be quite reflective, so I expected her mind to be much the same with so many different possibilities.

    She eventually asked me, ¡°Do you think this is like the Internet thing called the Backrooms? Did Connor get stuck in here?¡±

    I really wished that I could¡¯ve provided her with a definite answer to that question. The details of that Internet notion vaguely seeped through me. Something like games where you fall off the edge of the world. Like a simulation. Despite how many knots that word twisted my mind and soul into, it drifted in the air between us.

    A simulation. Could this be a simulation? Were we something just created and imagined with the impression of real lives rather than full existences? Twisting within all the madness of the last day, I would¡¯ve preferred goddesses come to earth than a fake existence easily rewritten on a whim. To keep nausea from floating up, I clamped down on the notion.

    The hallway continued for quite a ways before branching off into divergent paths. Looking at the three options ahead of us, it was strange how none of them offered a clear preview of what lay ahead. Despite appearing clear and unobstructed, we couldn¡¯t see past a certain point. More uncomfortable evidence leaning towards the artificial. Trisha had only eyes for her loved one, understandably. It was like she wasn¡¯t even looking at this sanitized, bland space but rather trying to unveil traces of Riona¡®s massive plume of golden hair, which I¡¯d seen at the meeting yesterday, into a sign for where to run. If only I could do more for them.

    We both resolved we couldn¡¯t split up, but we also had no idea how we were going to search this space. The best prospect was to hug the right wall and hope. Wasn¡¯t that how you get out of corn mazes? Trisha had a few counterexamples though.

    ¡°What if there is no exit? What if it changes every so often or because of something we do? What if the exit, or wherever we need to get, only exists on the interior side without any connections to the right-hand wall? What if it¡¯s infinitely large?¡± She fretted but also shook her head.

    I pressed, ¡°We have to try.¡° Looking back though, I couldn¡¯t see where we had come from. It was as though the opening had been sealed shut at some point. We least had the flashlight and the hope that it would be able to open a passage again. That felt desperately frail though. Some supplies came with us, but we had no clue what, if anything, might be most important to bring.

    From that junction, we started following on the right-hand side. It all felt exactly the same. After trudging a distance comparable to all the way across campus, I aimed the light at a random wall and said the quietest prayer before blasting the beam.

    The material turned translucent with an obvious fissure. I hoped that we might see the dormitory or somewhere nearby but, instead, the view showed us a patch of open ocean under partly cloudy skies. Water started seeping through and I turned off the beam. Gradually, the opening started to flow back together. Within a few minutes, it returned to normal wall, with just a damp, seawater-covered patch on the tile floor. I had no idea what to make of that.

    Eventually, this route branched out into four more, adding even more complications. If this happened again, then we might soon have an impossibly large area to feasibly search. Trisha shut her eyes but resisted the urge to lean against one of the walls. With how the light melted it away, neither of us felt much confidence in this place as a solid space, even though poking and prodding the stucco met with unwavering resistance.

    We continued along the farthest right-hand branch. Despite the odds against us, we eventually arrived at something new and unexpected.

    The hallway opened up into a large space with untold thousands of new hallways branching off ahead and to the sides. The space presented a new aspect to this mystery: text. Every single hallway was distinguished by a label. Most were incomprehensible strings of letters and numbers, but it didn¡¯t take long before a few were recognizable.

    ¡°Tau Ceti¡­ Altair¡­ Wolf 359¡­ Delta Pavonis. These are nearby star systems. Will they actually take us there? Is that what happened to Connor? How would she breathe¡­?¡±

    I urged Trisha to breathe and do her best not to leap to sudden conclusions. Even though the names may have sounded like stars, that didn¡¯t necessarily mean that was what they represented. The room continued for quite a while. Collected charts of names filled the walls above the doors. There were a massive number of them but, compared to the vast extremes of space, all of it still seemed suspiciously small to Trisha. I had no idea what to say about that.

    We eventually turned around to follow the other edge, leaving the stars behind. Not much else of interest appeared along the other paths. Eventually, we tested the light on another random wall. This time, we were over land, but it was wildly unfamiliar. It was reminiscent of the Serengeti with a herd of water buffaloes. I had no idea if that appraisal was accurate or if it was even anywhere on our planet or another place that looked similar.

    Once that fissure sealed up again, with just some of the grass spilling over, Trisha squeezed her chin and asked me to shine the light on the opposite wall. Bizarrely, this new opening was back over the water but not far from a sandy beach. It didn¡¯t make any sense to me, but Trisha kept rubbing her chin in curiosity.

    Next, she asked me to move down a little, but this time, ¡°Think about the college.¡± I did so and projected the beam. To my shock, the opening appeared not too far from the entrance to Cressman University. In the distance, I could see the morning stragglers giving way to the early lunchtime seekers. Heaven only knew what this sudden fissure looked like on the other end. It also took longer to seal back up than the previous ones.

    Trisha smiled and postulated, ¡°I wonder if we¡¯ve been walking pointlessly all this time. This could be more like a treadmill. We just turn around and decide¡­who¡­¡±

    We were no longer alone.

    Standing down the hallway was a young woman in nondescript, comfortable clothes. She was about my size for height and pretty close to Rhea for everything else. Her skin tone was a shade darker than mine. It was hard to place her ethnically, but my hunch was somewhere in the Mediterranean. She also seemed younger than us, but it was challenging to judge, especially with freshmen.

    The girl raised a hand and greeted us hesitantly. I looked to Trisha for some sign of recognition that this might be the benefactor she saw. The lack of glasses pushed me away from the notion, but that could¡¯ve just been a Superman scheme. I relaxed slightly when Trisha gave me a shake of her head.

    She introduced herself as Nadia Miray Baris, emphasizing, ¡°Just trying to figure things out. I¡¯m not from around here.¡± I kept my guard up, but it was nice to see something resembling a friendly face in a place like this.

    Stolen story; please report.

    Nadia mentioned running into others from the University and trying to help them as well. Trisha perked up when she mentioned that there was a blonde, but none of the other details matched Connor. I was curious about how she made it to this place and what she thought it might be. Her answer involved vague mentions of other realms coexisting alongside our own and even vaguer mentions of technology, followed by shrugs.

    The three of us stuck together, and she pointed out a particular route through this complex. It didn¡¯t feel any different. Same anonymous corridors copy and pasted to form an endless template. My feet throbbed ever so slightly. and Trisha stretched hers.

    I was just about to put more questions to Nadia when we turned the corner and found an active rip in the wall. Standing just past the threshold were another trio of girls.

    The one in front looked bitterly miserable. Trisha paused and narrowed her eyes. That one seemed familiar to her. Neither of us recognized the other two. One of them seemed to be the aforementioned blonde. She stood slightly taller than any of us with glasses, a blue top, and jeans. Beside her, holding a strange flashlight, was a dark-haired girl with strangely vibrant eyes and a childlike presence behind her attempted stern expression. She seemed so scared, yet resilient. My flashlight rose protectively, even though I had no idea where to aim it. Tense tangles of words crossed the air between us.

    The most interesting thing to me was that this Nadia character appeared to be recognized by the blonde. She avoided calling out, but her expression said plenty. Once things settled down, we got names. The blonde was Anthony Moretti, the last guy from the game. I expected he hadn''t escaped all this either, but it was fascinating to see how different he appeared now while still being somewhat recognizable.

    She had short, bright, feathered blonde hair that was fluffy around her head. It was the kind of look I expected, vaguely like a rocker girl, but with the complexity that these transformations brought in acceptance and hesitancy. Everything girly about her appeared to be at the edge of chafing against her ego. But I also detected an ease that drew her attention to the darker-haired girl at her side. That one I was still trying to figure out. They restrained the other glasses girl right at the front like a hostage.

    Sharpened snippets of our words crossed over one another even though I recognized Anthony. It took a surprising amount of time to learn that the disgusted girl in front of us was, in fact¡­ The benefactor. Every lofty notion and every idealistic glimmer dropped into the dark. No goddess presence. No shining smile. Just some girl who I wouldn¡¯t have given more than a quick glance, even in another life. Her words were acid bitter while reciting notes evocative of everything slipped into her messages. I didn¡¯t foresee myself jumping her, but still found my fists clenched beside her neck while pointing my flashlight at her head.

    Disappointment spread over her face as she claimed I was her favorite, her first, and an inspiration. I felt sick. Anthony apparently ran across her as like a haunting in a relative¡¯s house. She confessed to using these passageways to keep an eye on her creations and likely pass messages. I puzzled at the fact that the opening between this place and home still remained open. Nadia hinted that certain areas, like the school and dorm affected by ¡°strange events¡± left boundaries thinner than normal. Anthony appeared intensely skeptical of everything Nadia was saying, and I wasn¡¯t far behind. Her friend with the flashlight wobbled, as though woozy.

    It wasn¡¯t too long before we got an explanation from Anthony about what her deal was.

    ¡°This is my guitar. This is my daughter¡­ Parsley. Something¡¯s wrong with her, and I don¡¯t know what to do to help.¡± Zach came over and did her best to support her. This Parsley smiled with calm, cheerful energy despite how hard she struggled to keep her eyes open. The rest of us could¡¯ve vanished. Anthony only had eyes for this girl, eyes full of overwhelming concern and trembling love. In a quiet moment, the flashlight with twisted colors slipped from her fingers. The ¡®benefactor¡¯ gave a sudden, harsh whistle.

    Before the flashlight hit the tile ground, it shot up and dashed into her hands as though she had it on an invisible yo-yo string. A serrated smile carved its way into her features.

    ¡°That¡¯s better. All this is mine. I found it! I blessed you with fates and feelings you never could¡¯ve imagined! The dawn of a new world spread under a glorious light. No one will stand in my way now. All will be transformed by the truth. But first¡­ you need to forget about¡­¡±

    No more mind bullshit. I lifted the white flashlight and aimed it right at her head. Truth. Before she could react or counter, I clicked the button. Nadia edged to the side, out of its way, even though she had plenty of clearance. When the light made contact, anyone listening in would have thought that I burned her with steaming water or a laser. The screams somehow echoed despite the surreal qualities of this space. This benefactor now wore a different face and body. A boyish one.

    If you just listened to him, you might be reasonable in assuming I had somehow torn off a fragile, protective mask adorning a phantom of the opera. The mournful howls almost earned sympathy from me. Fumbling with the swirling-color flashlight in her hands, she turned it around on herself. Though she struggled to even stand, Parsley narrowed a look at the flashlight. Her fingers shifted, and a strange, translucent glow like gold and sky blue jellyfish shifted from her like ocean waves in the air. Something on the flashlight shifted, almost imperceptibly, as it was triggered.

    A moment later, a beam of brilliant pink light enveloped the ¡®benefactor¡¯. When she released the switch on the device, it was like someone else was blinking, compared to just moments ago.

    ¡°¡­uh. Hello? What am I doing here? Who are you all? Why does it look like we¡¯re in a warehouse?¡± Even the intonation of her words had a different quality. The presence behind her eyes retained nothing of the manic, bitter person from before. She quietly introduced herself as Beverly Marsh and wavered with uncertainty about anything more than that. I guessed that the benefactor was gone, erased and rewritten with this girl. I felt melancholy amidst relief. No one deserves erasure.

    She eagerly gave up the flashlight in her hands and looked around at us with nervous, hesitant hope. Since the opening remained, Anthony offered to take her back while cradling her daughter. All three of them slowly went back through the fissure. Nadia examined the flashlight and fiddled with a few things before sealing the rift with a blue light. Just the three of us again.

    I stretched out my hand to accept the flashlight, even though I wasn¡¯t sure what I would do with it. Nadia passed it to me without a word of complaint or concern. Such a strange little object in the grand scheme of things.

    Without preamble, Zach gave several quick blanks and relayed things she had just recalled, originally passed along from ¡®benefactor¡¯ Beverly. A young man at the mall discovers a pop-up shop marked with magical implications. Nadia corroborated what she could. The implication was clear.

    ¡°Someone put this flashlight in the path of our lives. Someone is behind everything that¡¯s happened. And I¡¯m willing to bet they¡¯re around here. Watching everything.¡±

    *Click*

    A cue, perfectly on time. Prepared for us. I heard the sharp, clear noise of a door opening. Mere feet away, right in our line of sight, a black door stood in stark opposition to all the blank, light colors surrounding us. It was open a crack. An invitation that I doubt we could¡¯ve refused.

 [12] Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy 12 [Transform the Dorm]

    Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

    [12]

    Beatrice looked over at me as though my brain were worth picking for insight or wisdom. It was a pile of mush and confusion still at the cusp of processing an access tunnel concealed somewhere in a realm beneath, above, or beyond the normal world. Bea didn¡¯t make much of it, but I was still unsettled by how few stars were listed on the walls of the junction point we visited and retreated from.

    Rationally, if such a word applied to anything around this place, I could deduce that the limited number represented a census of the local stellar group. But my brain refused to let go of sticky, entangled threads of concern. My respite was a vague, relatively silly notion that Beatrice actually, oddly, reminded me of Batman but cute. Dark, moody, and reserved but also caring, adorable, and strikingly cheerful. She made me feel better through all the panic of Connor disappearing.

    I didn¡¯t forget that for even a moment. How could I? Connor was everything, and him or her not being here sent the world tumbling without a center. But I wasn¡¯t sure if I wanted to go through a black door that suddenly appeared. Describing it to myself sounded like one of those tropes you screamed at the characters about, along with agreeing to have faith that the bad guy was reformed, that something terrible could be reversed, and that a spooky noise in the attic was just an old house and maybe some small animals. But what other options did we have?

    I joined her in front of the door with this strange girl from another place on the other side. Since Connor disappeared, I felt compelled to follow the path laid out for me, like one of those much-ballyhooed people movers that used to be a featured attraction at Disney parks. I ran from our dorm, crying and begging, seeking out the girl we smacked with the broom, even though I had no idea if she was the one responsible. Kuni and Simon left at some point in the early morning. It was just me.

    Running into Beatrice brought some relief. Someone comforting to talk to, even though they were just as lost as me. We each had secrets to share about our interactions with the one who set us on our path. And seeking the truth got us exactly what we asked for. Now, here we were at what felt like the ultimate truth. I really hoped that a Colonel Sanders dude with a lot of television screens wasn¡¯t on the other side.

    What I saw definitely wasn¡¯t what I was expecting.

    The space beyond looked more like a sitting room, with several comfortable chairs, rows of old books, multiple astrolabes, maps, and twinkling lights. It made me think of a room where Leonardo da Vinci may have kept all his secrets. But the strangest thing was an item at the center of the room: an impossibly detailed globe of the earth. It wasn¡¯t just finely detailed or expertly crafted. The smooth sphere appeared practically holographic, with volumetric clouds, richly rendered landscapes, and shifting patterns across its surface. I had no idea what to make of it. Beatrice seemed especially puzzled, keeping her attention on the anachronistic artifact compared to everything else in the space.

    I looked around behind me to check on the other girl, but she seemed to have vanished. Why was everyone vanishing? Would Beatrice be next? Myself? Before I could transmit my alarm to Beatrice, footsteps sounded in front of us with a weighty creak.

    Out of nowhere appeared a man dressed all in black. His hair was disheveled and thick, vaguely greasy, slimy, and unnatural. The suit he wore fit him awkwardly, as though he had thrown on anything in an adult size to cover his body. His eyes were as dark as coals, with just the faintest traces of white sclera to furnish some illusion of humanity. He smiled like ice cracks.

    ¡°You made it. Shame you didn¡¯t bring the other one. You¡¯ll have to pass along the message then.¡±

    I had no idea what to say, but Beatrice pressed him, ¡°Who are you? What are you doing? What message?¡±

    He laid out his palms like a used car salesman, trying to give the impression they had nothing to hide. ¡°So many names, for so many reasons. None of them would matter to either of you. Call me whatever feels most comfortable. Fair enough?¡±

    ¡°Okay, bitch face,¡± I had to raise my eyebrows hearing that come out of Beatrice¡®s mouth. The Man in Black narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw but didn¡¯t give any other reaction. He soon continued.

    ¡°Good job dealing with the chaotic element. I would¡¯ve hated for our meeting to be interrupted. So much turbulence and chaos abound. You may not expect it, but I much prefer to keep things well organized and in their proper places.¡±

    My heart raced with so many scorching uncertainties. I had to ask, ¡°Where is Connor Campbell? What happened to him?¡±

    Mr. Bitch Face set his hands on his hips and responded, ¡°Correction, it¡¯s ¡®her¡¯ at the moment¡­ and she¡¯s nearby. She happened to get some stray souls on her. I was just cleaning her up.¡°

    I desperately wanted to see her. BF raised his hands. He apparently had other things to discuss first. I had to restrain my legs from rushing at him.

    Beatrice pushed the matter of souls, bringing up an interaction that she apparently had with this individual a few hours before. Some mention of ¡®angels¡¯.

    BF cracked that wretched smile. ¡°There are beings beyond the world you can perceive. Forged in a cycle that goes round and round. Life, death, rebirth, consumption, expulsion, harvest, planting, destruction, creation, onward and onward. Humans are so very interesting, infused with potential, there¡¯s practically an arms race to delve deep into what¡¯s possible for you and your kind. True immortality and absolute power over reality. The larger flashlight you hold, not the pale copy, pulls so many souls out of the cycle and employs them to change the world. Man and woman. Inanimate and human. It can do so much more. And you¡¯re terrified to even wield the beginner¡¯s imitation.¡±

    This was pretty freaking heavy. My fears sparked with the unknowns of what this inhuman creature was doing to the girl I loved. It claimed to have cleaned her up, but what did that represent? Would she be the same person on the other side? Beatrice clenched her jaw and gripped the flashlights in her hands.

    This creature raised a single finger and explained, ¡°You have these things now, so all the responsibility falls to you. You can do nothing with that, or you can make sure everyone knows about them. But consider the consequences. All those upset, transformed people. Maybe you turn little Rosalie back into a buff, man-loving quarterback. But¡­ I can confirm there¡¯s no guarantee using a different color light on anyone will put them back to the way they were when they began. With enough adjustment, they might get close enough. Then you have to consider the impact on reality. Just turning a blue light on the University sign will make it into an all-boys school. So you have to go one person at a time for thousands of people with thousands of problems. Quite a complication to glue all the fragments of fine china back together after it¡¯s been thrown everywhere. And then there¡¯s the matter of the souls. Every fix you make, they are screaming their entire existence, blasted through a laser with little pieces of their essence used to change the world. How do you feel about that¡­several thousand times over?¡±

    Beatrice looked angry, bitter, and terrified. While I didn¡¯t totally understand, a feeling saturated the air that practically made me want to throw up. And all I really wanted was to hold Connor and kiss her gently. I begged the creature to return her, even though I knew it was hopeless.

    ¡°¡­Trish? What the hell? What happened to breakfast? This place looks like some sort of steampunk role playing room¡­¡±

    It was her. Exactly as I left her. Fretfully, I restrained myself at first, cautious about some sort of cruel trick or illusion played on me for some incomprehensible reason. But her voice and the frantic uncertainty in her features told me this had to be her. We ravenously embraced, barely permitting the other to breathe with all the tit-squashing. Somehow, I even found a laugh inside me.

    Hastily, I dragged her back towards the door and away from the entity that stole her. A mountain of things awaited explanation and I knew she was so desperately confused, but she watched my eyes and smiled gently as I warmly kissed her again.

    Beatrice continued, ¡°Thank you, for returning Connor. So, what do you want me to do about these flashlights?¡±

    Twisting his lip again, BF said, ¡°I don¡¯t care. You can do whatever the hell you want with them. I just told you the consequences of keeping them. And that¡¯s really all I need to say. You should probably get home now. You have what you came for. If all goes well, you¡¯ll never see me again¡­ although¡­ I can present you with an alternative.¡±

    That felt like a devil¡¯s effort to tempt and taunt. Connor had the same impression. She practically shook her head at Beatrice, but Bea raised her head and encouraged the creature to share this alternative. The bastard had it planned, and he unfurled his proposal.

    ¡°Give them to me. I can dispose of them safely. I can put them back into the cycle. If you want some sort of excuse, then I can shape your memory to that accommodation. No guilt, for any of you. They just got lost along the way. And those are your options. Keep them and retain the responsibility. Or give the responsibility to me.¡± He spread out his hands, as though balancing each side.

    I hated both ideas, and it was clear from her scowl and tension that Beatrice had similar feelings. At least, if we kept the flashlights, then we could help people who had terrible feelings about what Beverly Marsh had done. But the weight of that responsibility and trying to work through it seemed troubling. Never mind the added complications of spirits and souls, which might be suffering all the while. I had a hunch that he wasn¡¯t lying about that part.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    It wasn¡¯t on me but, at the same time, I desperately wished that I could provide exactly the right feedback that Beatrice needed at this critical moment. Break free of this railroading of myself or whatever else was pushing me to hesitate. Tell her exactly what she needed to hear.

    Come on!

    ¡ª-

    BEATRICE

    I wanted to punch Bitch Face nearly as much as I wanted to punch the benefactor. Not that it would help matters, even though I¡¯d definitely feel better. This jerk really liked hearing himself talk, as much as my parents.

    And he stuck me with his situation. Either accept the responsibility of the entire mess that the benefactor¡­ that bitch¡­ had laid out before me, or pass it off to the creepy bastard with the demon mood. One way, I would likely be burning and torturing souls. The other, they still might suffer, because of him and because of me. Two terrible choices, and I had to make one. I remembered a mention from Zach once about the Kobayashi Maru.

    He hugged me right then. I appreciated it and the seconds it bought me. It looked like he wanted to tell me something, maybe give me some advice, but it was for the best that he didn¡¯t say anything. This was my call. One or the other. Or¡­

    I paused. Yeah. That was it¡­

    With my smile, Bitch Face actually leaned back in concern. I took a deep breath, squeezed my grip on the flashlights, and then I raised them over my head. Wide-eyed terror flashed through him as I slammed both flashlights as hard as my softly-reduced muscles would go¡­right into the floor.

    They exploded into pieces with waves of twisting, energized light. Released from captivity, the spreading glow seemed more like schools of swimming sunbeams wrapped in the luminance of the noonday sky. The broken shells that once contained the flashlight apparatus rolled and crumpled across the floor. It occurred to me, for a split second after, that we no longer had a way to open the passage out of here. I felt bad about possibly stranding Connor and Zach with that thing.

    The dancing lights spread like the rising sun but also dipped down, crashing like a wave tumbling from its apex and flowing over me. Unlike the last time, when I caught such a presence in the face, this brought only warm joy. Like a pure hug enveloping my soul in relief and peace.

    Bitch Face was pissed the fuck off. I could tell. It was almost as if he could also hear every time I mentally used that unflattering name for him. Moments later, Trisha reached into her travel bag. She retrieved the switch and held it. With her lips pressed tightly together, she gave a look in Connor¡¯s direction. It didn¡¯t take long for Connor to comprehend what she had in mind. Wafting colors clearly showed that this item had souls as well. Before Bitch Face could do anything, they worked together to slam it against the ground and spread its vibrant light. That liberated presence merged with the one orbiting and interacting with me.

    Once the lights settled down, the bastard was still steaming. The space around us shifted, shivering and shaking. The creature howled and commanded us, with a sweep of his dark arm, ¡°Get out of my sight!¡±

    Vertigo passed through me, as though being dropped by an invisible roller coaster. When we landed, or at least the closest approximation to it, we were all sprawled across the tan, dense carpet of an unfamiliar house. Anthony leaned over a nearby bed with her guitar girl daughter straining to sit up. Zach and Connor both appeared uninjured to my right. I propped myself up and surveyed the room.

    It was a normal-looking bedroom with some furniture on the sides, a wraparound series of drapes for the windows, and a bathroom halfway down the hallway. How far away from campus was this? Considering the others were here, I hoped it wasn¡¯t too bad. Everyone but the guitar girl suddenly got to their feet.

    From over by the bathroom area, Nadia appeared. She swiftly checked on us but lingered by Anthony¡¯s friend. This didn¡¯t exactly encourage warm sentiments from Anthony, but she let her inspect the girl.

    ¡°She¡¯s quite unstable. I suggested this when we spoke, but her formation appears accidental. The change of everyone that occurred at the University rippled out from blasting something like a sign and changing its identity. Because of your positioning and distance from the college, by chance, the energy that was supposed to transform you initially passed through her. This is not supposed to happen, and I haven¡¯t found any other comparable instances of it in the vicinity.¡°

    Anthony hovered over the guitar girl. Her eyes were tense and hard for Nadia but soft and gentle for her daughter. She responded, ¡°Parsley is special. I loved her before, and maybe I put part of my soul into her. It doesn¡¯t matter. How do I fix her?¡± She gave a hawkish glare laser that was focused on Nadia.

    Massaging her forehead, Nadia answered, ¡°It¡¯s not about fixing. It¡¯s about how much time she has left before she ceases to exist.¡± Anthony listened but also shook his head with every last word.

    As I stood there, a compulsion, like gravity, drew me towards the guitar girl, toward Parsley. I never asked if the name was a riff on paisley, but the notion wandered through my thoughts. I sat by her side, and this strange presence, churning through me like a bright tempest, flowed forth. Light washed over the both of us without the feeling of control or erasure. Not a light to change and destroy, but a light to share and imbue. The entire area around the bed felt warm.

    When the strange flow finally receded, Parsley hopped up on the cushion and smiled at her mom. Frantically, she asked her and Nadia so many questions. Though Parsley perked up, she still had a subdued skin color, and it clearly wasn¡¯t from makeup. Nadia¡®s prognosis appeared more encouraging yet still reserved. She still shook her head.

    ¡°Share what time you can with her¡­and treasure it.¡± Nadia bowed her head while Anthony helped her girl up.

    Not long after that, Nadia held out her hands, but without the same sense that that bitch face wielded his. They were empty, but it seemed like she wished they weren¡¯t. Anthony watched Nadia as she stood over by the window. She gave us encouraging words and lamented that she couldn¡¯t provide more, noting that those she worked for advised circumspection and limited interaction. Which meant she might already be in a lot of trouble for what she had done. I appreciated what she was able to do. But I found it curious that she hadn¡¯t rigorously questioned us. She was investigating but also apparently knew so much.

    Her departure was followed by our discovery by Anthony¡¯s relatives, a pair of aunts who were both nursing headaches. Vague explanations crossed in the air about why breakfast was skipped, along with other uncertainties. The three of us were offered a hearty meal. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Zach dropped to one knee.

    _____

    TRISHA

    On the one hand, I was absolutely terrified to lose the switch. On the other, it was clear that whatever unholy method of soul torture existed with the flashlight had also been transmitted to our little object. I¡¯d seen the strange things that churned out of it. The chance of being Zach at will when my boobs got too heavy and whatever lay ahead weighed too much made me hesitate. But having Connor by my side gave me confidence. We broke it up together and released those captive souls.

    Seeing BF so upset made it thoroughly worth it. Take that, demon jerk!

    Being sprawled out on the floor, although comforted by a pretty thick carpet beneath me, was no big deal. Yeah, the terrain before me appeared to be the peaks for keeps. Broke the magic. But being beside Connor made it all worth it. I would go to the ends of the earth and the back doors of reality to make sure she was never lost. I quietly whispered words of love for Connor as Beatrice managed so many things with the kind of forthright determination I could only dream of. I didn¡¯t know the situation of Celestina and Parsley, but I desperately focused hope for the both of them. We had all been through so much in less than a day. We deserved the chance to breathe and to share so many precious moments with one another. Fortunately, Beatrice shared even more.

    I had no idea what she did, but it was beautiful. The strange investigative visitor girl said a lot of things I didn¡¯t understand before she left. But what I did understand was Connor¡®s quiet expression of love. Anthony¡¯s aunts stopped by, and that felt like inspiration enough for my effort at acting without thinking a notion to death. I gleefully proposed to my lady love.

    It was absolutely pointless considering the fact I had already accepted her proposal, and she had done a delightful proposal even better. But I wanted everyone to see it and I wanted to share in that redoubled commitment. We squeezed each other close and kissed with bubbly, hopeful energy.

    We¡¯d need witnesses, and Beatrice and Anthony readily agreed to the roles. The slowly recovering Parsley adamantly wanted to be a part of this as well, even though Anthony explained that this was a ¡°legal thing¡± and it would probably be complicated if she was the witness. The young girl didn¡¯t quite understand, though she accepted this explanation. Not that it dissuaded her from desperately wanting to be there. After breakfast, Anthony¡¯s aunts said that they would drive us to the civic center. That made it even more real, although no less delightful to contemplate.

    The world was a mess, full of dark things and unknown corners, fears and complications, and so many things I didn¡¯t know how to process. But an ever larger multitude of hope and possibilities made my soul sing.

 [13] Tuning the Guitar Player 13 [Transform the Dorm]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [13]

    Fuck Nadia! Fuck Beverly! Fuck that black suit-wearing bitch face slyly controlling motherfucker Beatrice told me about! Who else deserves a fuck?! I have plenty to fucking go around!

    Bless Beatrice. She did what she could. Parsley immediately brightened up with her around. Spirits, souls, ghosts or whatever supernatural stuff, if any of it could help, I gladly welcome it.

    I was glad to be rid of Beverly, even though the version that we took back was so very different from the one I had to push through the opening. She demurely asked my aunts for some bus money to get back to the University and she was long gone by the time the others were shoved out of the ether and onto the floor of the bedroom. I appreciated the lack of questions from my relatives about people suddenly appearing in my room, even though they gave me some concerned looks.

    I could only worry about Parsley. And do my best not to dwell on the crap that Nadia said about her short life. She soon looked the same as normal, even though her hands were bitterly cold and trembling. I warmed them up with no trouble. And I passed along the only good advice that this suspicious character gave me about overcoming tricky spirits with a long song inside our heads. Unfortunately, I was bereft of tunes to sing to Parsley, which would make her feel all the way better.

    Connor and Zach looked really cute together. Never really would¡¯ve thought of them as a couple, but it worked. My aunts were on board with realizing whatever romantic fantasies. They even presented the idea of marrying me and Parsley. That would¡¯ve been weird. Although, my girl beamed and delighted when I did my best to describe the concept to her. Others took up educating her with images from the Internet and so many colorful notions. She soon resolved that we were different, reiterating mother and daughter, along with so many other beautiful things that floated through her thoughts.

    Getting all five of us into my aunts¡¯ car was an ordeal. Parsley offered to ride in the trunk, but none of us were having that. Zach practically provided backseat airbags for the entire group as a balance to the overcrowding. I got the opportunity to chat with her a little and we both riffed on boobs, with Connor providing extra teases.

    Finding out that the three of them destroyed all of the ¡°magical¡± stuff because of the slavery of trapped spirits tangled a few different emotions inside my head. On the one hand, what Beatrice was able to do for Parsley likely wouldn¡¯t have happened without it. On every other hand I could imagine, the possibilities of those tools, from the switch to the altered flashlight to the admin flashlight, didn¡¯t just include me. I couldn¡¯t avoid imagining that maybe¡­ Just maybe¡­ Something for Parsley could¡¯ve existed in all that. But this was what we had.

    I don¡¯t care whether they called me Anthony or Celestina¡­ So long as Parsley was here. My heartbeat pressed against my ears as we drove on the freeway and the pavement played dribble games with all the strapped-down flesh orbs. The nearest recorder and registrar¡¯s office was only a couple miles down the road. They had to make an appointment ahead of time through the Internet in blocks of an hour. Fortunately, there was one open in about 90 minutes. It felt more like we were speed-running this thing, but Parsley and I were along for the ride. Giving her an exciting and involving experience.

    The official offices were next to a massive performing arts plaza and a recently constructed shopping center. Fortuitously, a bride and groom clothing shop was right on the edge of that center. And I was nervously sweaty. The humidity was hitting, and it wasn¡¯t even lunchtime yet. Parsley had a radiant sheen to her when we got out of the car.

    My aunts and Connor went ahead to deal with arranging everything that needed it while Parsley, Beatrice, Trisha, and I scoped out the store. It was apparently the first time going clothes shopping like this for Trisha and Beatrice. The two of them hung back with reserved curiosity. Not that it took long for them to really start browsing. Parsley was so polite and attentively diligent, looking through the racks and putting back what she was finished with. That¡¯s my girl!

    Just a day ago, it would¡¯ve been an absurd joke to have our group looking at and giggling over frilly dresses and floral prints. So much to process, always too much to process. The impending tidal wave horror of every precious moment waning from Parsley was impossible to think about, even though it clung to my brain every few seconds. Don¡¯t waste the now on fear of the future, I scolded myself. Nothing I could do would change what might be coming down the road. When it arrived, I¡¯d figure it out.

    The veils looked cute on everyone, especially Parsley, even though their utility eluded her. Zach considered clip-on earrings along with some decoration, like a laurel for her hair. The clerks were immensely helpful despite how peculiar we probably seemed to the lot of them with our strange, whispered in-jokes and bizarre knowledge gaps. Everyone at least tried on something, even though it was mostly a gray bridesmaid dress for me.

    When Connor returned to join in, the halcyon prospects receded to the vivid reality that we were a bunch of poor college kids and none of this stuff was going to be in our price range. Although, my aunts pointedly hinted at the idea of a wedding gift for the blushing couple. They were already paying for the registration and ceremonial fees though.

    It wasn¡¯t long before the concentration of geeky brains brought up the topic of different sci-fi weddings. Connor smirked about a Betazoid one. A Klingon one definitely came up, along with the question of whether those or the Vulcan ones were more violent. We were such nerds.

    Ultimately, a lacy, fluffy white feathered thing and some silver beads sufficed for head adornment for the couple. Parsley noticed the theater complex behind the civic offices, and I gave her a general idea of what theater was. Since nothing was running at the moment, I supplemented her imagination by pulling out my frail phone to share clips of drama performances. She was absolutely into every single one of them. Vibrant glee washed over me with every one of her smiles.

    The ceremony itself was performed by one of the regular clerks with authority. A lot of official scripts and careful signatures, along with me and Beatrice signing as witnesses. The girls were able to offer up their own words of commitment, beyond the required statements. The shakes in Zach¡¯s legs were not unexpected, but even Zach was surprised to see that Connor needed to take a few breaths before beginning.

    ¡°I swear to make sure we always share the load, and the XP drops, level up together through the happiest days and the saddest ones, and always be there for one another through every silly argument about which movies and series are the best. No matter what physical, emotional, and spiritual twists and turns and unexpected fates may come our way, I swear to share my life with you for as long as I can.¡± Poor Trisha had streams of tears as she listened. And she wasn¡¯t the only one. Connor¡®s eyes also got a little glassy.

    Zach¡¯s vows included references to a certain, magical ring, even though they both decided that rings would have to come later. She even managed some Ghostbuster-style Keymaster/Gatekeeper nods I found amusing. She finished with hope, hope to guide them both through whatever lay times ahead so that, even though they may someday be apart, they will always be there for one another. I looked to Parsley and kissed her on the forehead.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    It felt surreal when the ceremony was complete. They decided on Campbell-Monroe legally and officially, even though Trisha was rather partial to using Patrisha Campbell while lamenting that Riona Monroe didn¡¯t naturally flow. They not only sealed it with kisses but buried all moments in them.

    After that, it felt like time to get back to the campus. I learned from the others that there were so many frantic efforts by the administration to make things seem normal again and get back to regular classes. I couldn¡¯t give a flying fuck. I would be taking several days off from school for Parsley and, if they had a fucking problem with that, then I was done with college.

    The trip back to my dorm room was surreal. It was the same space, the same building, with a different name and an entirely different mood to everything. We took the elevator since Parsley seemed wobbly on the stairs. The first immediate shocker was the tanned, clearly Jewish girl wearing Drew¡¯s style of white polo shirt but with the unexpected flair of a fluttery, gray skirt. She beamed brightly and wrapped me up in a sudden hug.

    The cadence of her words and overall slang were enough alone to convince me that this was Drew, even though she wore a playful grin at the prospect of getting me to guess who she was. I just marveled at the fact that she had both arms and was standing, no, literally bouncing on her heels with exuberance. She had energy to match Pars''s.

    At some point in her trek, she experienced much that I did. Thwarted by the fact I guessed her identity right off the bat, she then poked around on her phone and then presented me with a worrisome snapshot. In it, she was covered in a dried, thick red substance with obvious bruises and flashing a menacing scowl. She responded, laughing at her own joke too quickly, ¡°I got my money back!¡±

    Rather than the implication of real fisticuffs, it was obvious that she had put her drama major chops into practice and helped out with a theatrical situation. I enjoyed the story, but my brain was at a place miles away. It was amazing to see her dashing everywhere with unstoppable energy between exercising and kicking out her legs with perilous results, nearly knocking over a lamp. Parsley crouched in time with her before they had even been properly introduced.

    After Drew, now known as Dalia, it wasn¡¯t hard to catch up with Josh. His prior maturity and scruffy stoutness had blossomed into a fantastical, mature woman. Her wild hair, with all its feathered twists and poofs, looked intentionally planned and her thick glasses lent her a mischievous but still experienced air. She preempted me from any quips by saluting her massive mamwiches and laying out a freestyle rap. ¡®Tiblee wiblees¡¯ came out at some point, and I couldn¡¯t hold my laughter in. Her name was Jeanine now.

    Now she wasn¡¯t the biggest, Zach still took the chest cake there, but her new shape presented immense possibilities for humor. Aside from the flourishes, the mood of the room felt about the same with discussions of movie night, James Bond, and firing out some popcorn. I kept matters related to Parsley quiet. She was just a friend who would be staying with me.

    The ensemble was complete, and boobs seemed to be giganormously ganging up on me as Patrick¡¯s balding features had been replaced with enough dirty blond hair to make Riona jealous and just as much in the chest department, so that it was not just a department but an entire wing. Credit to Jeanine for that one. I did not envy her tight, uncomfortable jeans, but it was her thing.

    Despite the fact the loose language in the room was a little looser than I would¡¯ve preferred, I urged Parsley to listen in and make efforts at chatting with the others. She was still learning but also picking it up so swiftly. Clothes became the common language beyond all of the differences. I wanted no part in all their crazy, dress-up fantasies, but I didn¡¯t have a whole lot of say in the matter. At least all the things I tried on made Parsley fall over with uproarious laughter to the point she started hiccupping and making suspicious melodies with the wiggles and wriggles of her legs.

    We were all aficionados of music in our separate genres and special ways, and it was easy to deluge Parsley with harmonies she never quite felt this way. It was the frantic, tireless exposure of so many beautiful experiences into a life, like the briefest candle burning through precious joys. I had so many things to show her, and I knew she had so many things to show me. She deserved to see the world, even though the prospect of it left her dumbfounded. A growing list flooded my thoughts. Don¡¯t call it bucket. Call it essential experiences that we absolutely needed to do. Concert of some type, joyous jam session, see the stars as they¡¯re meant to be seen, experience animals, art and history, and at least see the ocean, if I can¡¯t take her around the world.

    Every heartbeat echo in my head was a ticking clock marking off a moment I would never have again. But, for her, I couldn¡¯t let that get me down. For her, she needed to feel and adore as many things as possible.

    What we had around the room would have to suffice for the meanwhile as plans for greater things percolated in my thoughts. No matter how much we changed, we were all eager for a video game competition. I traded off with Parsley between turns, and she cheered me on.

    I grabbed lunch for us with credits on my card, and Parsley enjoyed walking with me to the other end of campus, even though she stumbled once, remarking that her left leg suddenly felt tired. If I had the strength, I would¡¯ve carried her the entire way, but she enjoyed walking with me providing occasional support. The people everywhere, despite the fact there were so many, really too many, energized her. Her thoughts and dreams danced through the possibilities of attending a school like this and learning things she never could¡¯ve imagined before. On the other side of campus, I filed for an emergency absence.

    I couldn¡¯t tell them how long it would be, but it looked like they had run into several cases like mine lately. Students that weren¡¯t sure if they could continue because of what happened to them. I didn¡¯t really lean on that as much as explain that my family situation had been changed by what happened. It was difficult to express in a write-up to apply for it, but I still didn¡¯t give a fuck. Class didn¡¯t matter; my girl did. This was just a fucking courtesy to them. I was approved for the rest of the week but advised to contact my instructors virtually about materials. Whatever.

    Along the trek, as I kept my eye on Parsley for signs of returning weakness, I probed her for possibilities of what she wanted to see and experience. The idea of a theme park puzzled her perceptions, but she was cautiously curious. Zoos and museums fired her up though. Little snippets of videos collected on YouTube gave her vague impressions and copious hopes.

    Working through everything, I was able to prioritize those things within a reasonable travel distance and available in the next few days. It was a list both intimidatingly long and yet heartbreakingly short for the whole of human experience. No skydiving or anything else where we might look mortality too close in the face.

    But we had a starting point.

 [20] A Brand New Goth Girl 20 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [20]

    The wedding was beautiful, and the frantic experience of shopping as a girl for the first time and everything else with the group just completely blew my mind away. No time really existed to process all that we had been through; it was just experiences flowing from one into the other. I made a quiet promise to Anthony that I would be around as much as possible to levy whatever presences had attached themselves to me for Parsley¡¯s health and happiness. I doubted that they or I could do anything more than we had already done, but it was a sentiment I wanted in the air.

    No one back at the dorm had any clue that when I returned them, it wasn¡¯t due to a protracted lunch, a busy class, or an extended study session. My return felt like an attempt to settle back into a life eons apart from who I was now. But my friends mattered more than a crazy man in black who thought he could control everything, access rooms to the universe, and supernatural unknowns beyond my comprehension.

    It didn¡¯t take Rosalie long to ask how my class went and whether they liked my art. I laid out all the messy details, and her eyes widened. This actually reminded her of a freshman class she had where the professor made the worst assumptions about Derrick and his abilities as a student. Nothing he did got better than a B grade, despite all the extra effort he put in. She assured me that things got better after that, and she went to the right advisors for help.

    Dipping her head as she fluttered her pink skirt and simple but pretty matching blouse, she quietly admitted that today actually turned around for her.

    ¡°When you were out, I actually spent a little time off campus, sort of soul-searching and looking for people I knew. At this one store, these guys talked to me for a while. And it¡¯s totally weird, and I shouldn¡¯t really read into it¡­ But they looked at me the way I so often want boys to look at me. My head got all fuzzy, and I got asked out on a date. And I got a kiss¡­ from a boy. I probably totally presented myself as crazy and wildly eager. But I was sooo happy. This whole situation is a mess, and it sucks that I can¡¯t just be myself and express my heart. Still, there are pleasant qualities¡­ If things have to be stuck this way.¡±

    I didn¡¯t expect such a shift in her perspective to occur. The preciously cute smiles that snuck onto her face warmed my heart. Without going into the contextual details, I regaled her with the other aspects of my morning. Her imagination worked overtime with what fragmentary details of clothes I could provide. Pulling up their website on my silly unicorn phone helped.

    Rosalie also officially admitted that she really wanted to paint her nails a fun color. She had done it more than once before as a guy, but hid it with gloves. The prospect of really showing them off excited her. A glittering, soft container of light lavender polish from my dresser sufficed. She led the way with the procedure of nail care, grabbing a couple essentials from her dorm. Apparently, some level of communication existed between her and her roommates, but she wasn¡¯t quite brave enough to confront them as the girl she was now.

    I could¡¯ve easily overlooked promises made last night about my art, but I brought it up. Did she want me to burn the drawing? Thinking about how we might accomplish that, I knew first off from Mitchell¡¯s S¡¯more experiments that there was a very low threshold for the fire alarm.

    Outside, toward the pools that the fancier dormitories enjoyed, we at least retained the consolation prize of a barbecue area, which only got any use when the residence assistants forced it. Some matches would do the job. Rosalie drew her legs up as she held out her nails to dry. Despite hesitating, she agreed to go ahead with the effigy once it was assured that I had no problem with this and there were backups saved for an academic portfolio. Much more consideration than she¡¯d given it last night.

    The thought stayed with me that, perhaps my mind-altered action with the hopes of restoring the Rosalie who had never been, brought about this shift and reconciliation of her feelings. At the same time, I freed the souls from the flashlights, and they seemed to have stuck around me.

    They provided so much for poor Parsley, and I had to wonder if they were acting on others around me. Just a feeling. But that feeling suggested to me that I might still manage to heal the wounds raked across this University, without the active responsibility of having to burn souls to make others happy. Whether the souls were subconsciously telling me that or if it was just a stray hope inside my head, I had no way to tell. Hanging around Rosalie had made her happier though, whether that was just me or something else.

    We settled on patio chairs outside as I set my artwork on the grill and struck a match to it. Whether some precise words, an invocation, or other specific ritual needed to occur was beyond me. While I looked like this, I had been gifted no magical thinking. The paper caught slowly and crackled with methodical flame and twisting ashes. Rosalie fluttered with doubt, nervously peeking at what remained of my creation. The last thing to be consumed was her sleeping smile.

    ¡°Can¡­ummm¡­ would it be OK if maybe I like commissioned you to do one that I actually posed for¡­?¡±

    Readily, thoroughly, and happily, that was fine with me. Rosalie burst with ideas and feelings about intentional art made with and for her. I had to frantically jot down some notes, so I didn¡¯t lose them. Maybe I just imagined it, but I got the faintest hint that one of the little jellyfish-like fragments of spirit around me slipped over to linger with Rosalie.

    When I had some free time, I did quick, rough proposal sketches and scanned and shared them over text messaging. And I also felt the unstoppable desire to get naked for the Internet. Our fans needed something to quench their thirst.

    They had comments yesterday with reserved reactions, but I spread out artistically and embraced my body with the unblinking, prying dark eye of my phone. And the assistance of editing software. I showcased things about myself that not even my practice tampon got to know. It definitely crossed the line into nerve-racking to post, but I shut up the nervous part of my brain by resolving that it was incredibly sexy. And the results proved me right.

    All the statements about the visceral effect I left on my fans existed in the abstract. But getting those same reactions and more from something I decided to do was a crazy, complicated rush of feelings that I didn¡¯t know what to do with. I got them so horny. Probably would¡¯ve been better not to go over every single reaction, along with the private stuff, but it was also weirdly addictive. Ticklish and fun in a way that was hard to pin down. Like a surreal roller coaster that I took for a ride.

    The ancillary effects included a shot of inspiration for my art and other activities before I finally had to go over the approaching requirements for the rest of the week.

    Drake eventually showed up, with Kasey both drawing closer and pushing away. Her boyfriend had remarkably blue eyes. Not quite as sharp and mysterious as the ones Wade beguiled others with, but still striking. Her long, brown hair looked practically weightless on her shoulders, and she still had on her work uniform, including a pale blue top and an absurdly long, navy skirt that largely obscured her legs. So puritanical that anyone around this Christian campus, even before, would¡¯ve found it excessive. She found it slightly sweaty, but strikingly comfortable.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Kasey didn¡¯t have enough air to breathe. She wasn¡¯t mad; she assured us both as much. Well, she was angry at a whole lot of aspects of the situation, as she elaborated. But not at Drake. She found comfort in listing all of her boyfriend¡¯s virtues. Most of them involved his muscles, his broad chest, winsome smile, flexible voice, and even more flexible tongue. On this last point, Drake asserted that her tongue had lost none of its skill. To this, Kasey fanned her hands and cupped her forehead. I could understand her panic at finding the world turned upside down and an unfamiliar-looking girl in place of the person she relied on and trusted the most.

    But Drake assured her, and I backed her up that, no matter how much people connected to the campus had changed physically, we still felt and were the same. Granted, there were some exceptions, but I avoided them. This felt like a moment where the soul spirit things lingering in my presence were supposed to go off and fix this problem. Maybe Kasey admits that while she may not have physical feelings for Drake anymore, she still had emotional resonance and a heartfelt connection. And they can work on that to be close in a way that feels right again. Get on it, guys!

    But nothing happened. Uncomfortable silence and unanswerable questions followed. Tears slipped between the cold cracks. They talked but also burned through as much time avoiding talking to one another. The most significant victory was when they spent some time in her room sitting together, but without the curious implications that Zach recently passed along from her roommates. Some things, it seemed, just couldn¡¯t be easily fixed. Made sense but left me wishing I could do more. I could¡¯ve¡­ I could¡¯ve continued the entrapment of the living things that found shelter in my presence. Maybe¡­ No¡­ It was pointless to bother with possibilities that could never happen. I made my choice, and that was still a weight I had to live with.

    At least the situation with Norah and Lily remained amicable. Anything further than that was nosy speculation on my part. That¡¯s what I told myself. The biggest relief of the day was when I found myself simply hanging out with Norah. Not ¡°on¡± or responding to the visceral chaos of reality. Just some random shit with me laying out the adventure of my art course rebellion and leading into my recent online posting, which earned me a playful, ¡°Oh, you slut!¡±

    None of this felt the least bit familiar to my senses, but it was starting to work its way in. Norah played coy about her and Lily and I played along. She was teaching her to knit. Taste-testing lollipops. Scrutinized who had the tallest puffed collar. Collected rocks and tested minerals. And all this was capped by a lengthy, fiery sermon erupting from her on how badly WB was fucking up their most recent iterations of Poison Ivy.

    All that was fun. What was less fun was when I happened to run across Beverly Marsh.

    Of course, it was nothing like the encounter would¡¯ve been mere hours ago. I ran into her while she was doing some laundry next to the restrooms. Just our little group was aware of her choices and crimes. Some shades of her interests slipped out in her words, vague impressions of feeling quite comfortable on campus. I didn¡¯t want the spirits to restore the person she used to be. They apparently listened to me, or they couldn¡¯t have done anything anyway.

    The fury of my hidden words and feelings roiled my thoughts with untempered and pointless bitterness. Yelling at her about the actions of someone she now fundamentally was not would¡¯ve just been senselessly cruel. Somehow, I actually found it in myself to approach her, with the stated context of wanting to express encouragement for a confusing week, and shared a quick hug. She didn¡¯t deserve it, but she received it all the same. Ultimately, the hug was for me. For letting go. But it wasn¡¯t the last thing I had to let go of.

    Which was an odd way to put it. I didn¡¯t have to do a damn thing. I could let things linger for as long as I wanted. But it kind of felt like the company I had acquired in orbit of me wanted me to do something about it. Maybe in my head, but I kind of wanted catharsis too. I wanted to stop replaying my failure with Persephone.

    The steppingstone to that one was being cordial to Wade without dwelling on our separation. I even stopped giving a fuck about Brian when I picked up through the informal grapevine that she not only fashioned herself as big of a bitch as before, with the criticism shield of her new body, but also an immense whore. Her life and her consequences. I had my own to live.

    The biggest discovery was bringing the newly married couple into our increasingly regular cycle of board games and tabletop, which I also had a club about. That one, I didn¡¯t feel too worried about once the schedule and events started to reassert some semblance of normalcy. The others were a different matter.

    Swimming didn¡¯t intimidate me too much. I knew how to swim; my older sisters made sure of that. Photography was taken care of by my¡­ labiastic experimentation. Theater could be winged. But I still only nervously stared at Beatrice¡®s clarinet and dared not resurrect painful lessons from my mother.

    Weaving my way into this life without magical accompaniment was difficult, but I had to put in the work. I still checked my messages regularly, with the tension and hope that Anthony would either follow up with good news about her daughter and that she had stabilized¡­ Or ask me to come along one last time. If I could give her my flock of warm light, then I gladly would¡¯ve. But they went where they wanted, and she had already done so much for the poor kid.

    This lull gave me time to get back in contact with the LGBTQ church group. How could I help Phoebe recover something of Persephone though? Meeting up with her again, she seemed so cordial and cheerful and happy. People liked to be around her, and she felt that in turn. But the judgment of whether I could give her life to a better person wasn¡¯t mine to make.

    It sucked to hang around and purposefully erode what I had accidentally created. She harshly receded into the bitter, contemptible bitch when I found her. The souls did their duty. They set it right, even though right felt so wrong. I lost sleep over it, and I didn¡¯t want to deal with or think about the little spirits or whatever still hung around me. I grumbled about when they¡¯d finally abandon me. Just go ahead and leave me alone already¡­ But they stayed.

    When was I gonna get a decent epiphany? When would it all come together? I had the shattered fragments of truth, and just holding them into some shape felt like needles raking under my nails. Bastard in black with his backstage corridors trying to run our lives. And people with their¡­ Everything¡­ weren¡¯t much better. Disappointment, uncertainty, irrational sadness, and just the stray glimmers of hopefulness. Maybe I¡¯d feel better if I got laid¡­ whatever.

    I felt more like Anthony with each day I descended deeper into our reality. But even she found something well worth fighting for. I couldn¡¯t help myself from sinking into my own bullshit.

    Everything changes, yet I remain the same. God¡­ I did so much to help others, but I couldn¡¯t figure out myself.

    On a quiet day, one of the quietest after all this, I got a message. One I was long fearing.

    But it wasn¡¯t from Anthony and Parsley¡­ It was from mom and dad.

 [14] Tuning the Guitar Player 14 [Transform the Dorm]

    Tuning the Guitar Player

    [This chapter is from an alternate perspective than Goth Girl. It contains some adult content and language. This is the 46th overall chapter.]

    [14]

    Parsley absolutely loved her lunch, even though I felt it was even more underwhelming and disappointing than the mall pizza. She deserved better; she deserved the absolute best of everything. My grandmother, when she was alive, made sure everyone in her sight was fully and thoroughly fed to bursting. She would¡¯ve adored Parsley and totally stuffed her.

    My girl delighted in every silly detail of the dorm. It wasn¡¯t too much changed from before; just some minor aesthetic tweaks by whoever was in charge to make sense with how we were now. No sudden expert organization or pretty flowers adorning everything. The bathroom gained some new products I didn¡¯t want to deal with, but that was about the worst of it.

    Even though so many things were familiar to Parsley, she explained that the key difference was touching and interacting with all these things. Curling up in my blankets, opening and closing drawers, sitting on chairs, and sharing smiles with all the quiet little things in the closet. I couldn¡¯t imagine the life she must¡¯ve lived before. To just sit and wait with eternal patience. And it frustrated me that we couldn¡¯t just go all the places on my list immediately.

    My best effort to augment this physical shortcoming was to compile and showcase as many examples of the world as possible. Lush forests, glittering beaches, foreign rivers, Mardi Gras, concert halls, and whatever else. Sending the video to the biggest screen we had still felt desperately frail. Like trying to paint the world with just some sharp rocks and torches on a cave wall.

    She actually recognized some things from before. However, little trinkets, and random, rarely-used sports equipment became bigger sources of entertainment than my plethora of videos. I understood that physical experiences, actually doing things, meant more to her than simply filling up on sights, but it still felt like wasting time.

    Roaming around and playing became the crux of the afternoon. I considered taking her to one of the college softball games, but they were delayed. Taking her to one of the big sporting events in the area was a possibility, but I had to consider my budget. We got a lot of mileage out of going up and down the different stairs on the campus.

    In the evening, things slowed down, and we quietly played some games while decorating random parts of my room with paper and cloth. Eventually, I read a couple different books to her, and she fixated on The Velveteen Rabbit. It was an easy read and definitely hit on several emotions I was feeling.

    She picked up on the connections and asked, ¡°Am I real?"

    Enthusiastically, I told her, ¡°Yes. As real as anyone. Beautiful and amazing too.¡±

    ¡°Because of love? Am I here because you loved me?¡±

    I had no earthly clue if that was true, but it made about as much sense as anything, and I wanted to believe it. ¡°That¡¯s right. I love you.¡°

    She was glad that the book had a happy ending for the rabbit.

    Despite all we accomplished that day, I still felt like I wasted it because of how early we went to bed and how thoroughly the covers clung to me in the morning. Once again, fear flowed through me when I looked over at Parsley¡¯s peaceful shape, feeling like it was too peaceful. But she soon got up and smiled at me.

    The scattershot ideas that I had focused into heading to a nearby zoo. It seemed like a better idea than trying to stuff her childlike energy into a rigid museum or a dusty library. Making sure she didn¡¯t climb the wrong things was my focus. She wanted to get as close as possible to every critter. The capybaras looked interesting to pet though. At least she figured out to stay away from the lions and tigers. The giraffes left her eyes wide and curious. She scampered back and forth to watch the otters dive and pop up. She marveled at the monkey island and hopped with the kangaroos. But I could tell the highlight was the petting zoo. It was what she really wanted to do.

    She rushed to fill her hands with food. Appropriately, amongst the goats, hogs, and sheep, there were rabbits. While her smile never dimmed, I was well aware of some people around who gave her strange looks. Appearance of a young adult, but with the demeanor of a child. They could go fuck themselves with a rusty rod. Thankfully, they didn¡¯t say anything to my face.

    In contrast, several people who worked at the zoo actually keyed into Parsley¡¯s personality. They loved her exuberance and curiosity. She even got the chance to feed the penguins and wave to them with delight.

    When the day wrapped up, I was alarmed and stressed out that she needed my help getting up the steps to the bus. We were able to walk back to the dorm without any trouble, although her stride was a little slower than before. She seemed trembly and oddly sweaty. A warm shower helped, along with as much candy as she wanted and some actually decent pizza.

    We had time, but not a lot of it.

    Recovering from that took a little while, and we had to go slow, but making it to a theme park rejuvenated some of her energy. She didn¡¯t understand most of the references since they came from movies, although a couple rang a bell. Water didn¡¯t bother her much anymore. The main problem was the timing.

    We managed to go in the middle of the week, and it was the fall, but that still meant crowds. Parsley talked to everyone, even though I would¡¯ve preferred it if she didn¡¯t. Kids greeted her, and random babies smiled when she looked at them and made silly expressions. Parents were again the problem, but I held my girl close.

    Everything was going remarkably well when we got out of one of the dinosaur rides. She did a stalking walk like one of the dinos. I looked away for just a few seconds. Then, I heard a sharp sound against the pavement.

    She was down on the ground, breathing raggedly, with an oozing scratch on her arm. I rushed over to help her get it back to her feet, but her legs just wouldn¡¯t support her, no matter how much strength I desperately tried to wield under her arms and around her body. The people working there helped with getting her into a wheelchair.

    I felt utterly exhausted just moving her. She was embarrassed, but I stroked her hair and told her it was alright. We had to cut the day short. I¡¯d put off contacting Beatrice because everything seemed fine earlier, but I needed her help and the help of whatever energy from all this or spirits or whatever was lingering and what they could do.

    Looking over at where she was seated and seeing the quiet sadness in her eyes about being stuck in one place again tore through me. She didn¡¯t deserve to go back to being something inanimate that would just lay there and do nothing but wait for someone else to decide they wanted her. I would¡¯ve gladly traded places. Without a doubt or a second thought. Let me sit in stillness and silence for whatever penitence this world decided she needed to do. Put it on me. I didn¡¯t care. Please¡­

    Beatrice had been having a rough day, but she met up with us on the way back. Parsley recovered somewhat, but we still needed to borrow a wheelchair from the administration office when we arrived. Beatrice really did all she could, getting close to Parsley, focusing, and practically summoning whatever was around her to help. No real, appreciable rejuvenation followed.

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    We let her rest as much as she wanted, and I was on hand to provide her with whatever she desired. She wanted music. I had a pitiful amount to share. Just my lame ditty and fragments of far better songs. We played lightly together, with her expressing a few light melodies. It wasn¡¯t at all what I was hoping to give her, but it made her smile.

    In the morning, she still seemed weak but had a particular request. She wanted to see the ocean. It wasn¡¯t a long trek, and I was still able to get the borrowed wheelchair again.

    Her dark hair danced and fluttered like shifting clouds with the sea breeze from the half-open bus windows. A narrow pier jutted out into the water beside a quiet beach. A place for fishing, along with a quaint crab restaurant and a silly little gift shop stretched out over the water. Parsley¡¯s eyes dipped half open until she got a boost looking at the waves.

    I nervously fretted as she stood up from the wheelchair and approached the water. Even though it was difficult to roll the wheelchair in the sand, I kept it nearby as she removed her sandals and dipped her toes in the waves. My stomach ached bitterly, as though needles were rummaging around beneath my skin. Parsley went particularly deep, with the waves pulling and pushing on her. Gone was the fear from before in the shower and in the pool, even though my fear was heavy.

    Before I could warn her not to go too far out to sea, she drew back and slowly returned to the chair. Her full weight slumped into it. We sat together and watched the steady tide. I had no idea what to say or do. She was improving though. She got up. That was a good sign.

    ¡°Thank you, mom¡­ I never imagined life could be so beautiful. I¡¯m so glad I got to share it with you.¡±

    Whatever resilience and bulkhead of emotions I may have had completely dissolved. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I whimpered noisily, messily, and alarmingly. I squeezed Parsley tight in my arms. My head rested right beside her head, and I cried harder than I could ever remember crying in my life. Everything blurred, and my glasses were useless. She squeezed back.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t be sad, mom. I love you. And I know you love me too. Your love made me real. And my love is always going to be with you. No matter what. Make beautiful, happy music with it¡­for both of us. I¡¯ll hear it. I can hear it already¡­¡±

    Her eyes slowly, delicately fluttered closed. I squeezed her hands, but they felt limp. It wasn¡¯t long before she settled into a harsh, gulping series of breaths that I recognized from the last family member I had to watch die. Why were we here? If we were somewhere useful like a hospital, then I wouldn¡¯t have to be sitting here helplessly as she died in front of me. Her breathing soon slowed to occasional gulps before it all ended.

    She was gone. My daughter was gone.

    I wailed beside her shoulder while holding her body. This didn¡¯t make any sense. She just started out. She had so much life. A better life than mine. She didn¡¯t deserve this! Fuck this world! Fuck whatever force or figure decided this was the way things should be! You¡¯re a goddamn asshole!

    Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

    ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­

    ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­

    ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­

    ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­

    Let me die too. It doesn¡¯t matter. I don¡¯t have anything worth it. She believed in me, but that was just beautiful idealism. I was a mess as I pulled away from her still-warm shoulder. I can¡¯t¡­ I can¡¯t¡­ There¡¯s nothing for me.

    The waves kept flowing incessantly when I just wanted everything to shut the fuck up. Like a quiet whisper, I heard a voice that may have been mine or something else.

    You can let me go. Because you need to live. Please let me go. And live for me.

    Why¡­ Why? It¡¯s not worth it.

    Despite that feeling, I heaved a breath with everything I had inside and agreed. I¡¯ll let you go. Goodbye. I¡¯m sorry. I love you.

    As soon as I thought that, a light, like a second sun blooming beside me, overwhelmed the wheelchair. It rippled out and traced the shape of Parsley, with angelic contours in shades of brilliant gold wrapped in warm, watery blue. The light ascended slowly through the air, soon hard to see against the bright sky. I squinted and carefully watched until I couldn¡¯t see it anymore. Still, I searched.

    Numbness was the main thing I felt in the aftermath. I wanted to drop onto the wheelchair and just let myself go too. Sleep for a thousand years and let everything pass.

    Every moment that advanced without Parsley in my life was like a new pain sinking deeper inside. She was gone, but I was the ghost.

    Gradually, I folded up the wheelchair and guided it back to the boardwalk. It remained with me when I got some lunch. I don¡¯t remember what I said to the clerk or any of the other random people who acknowledged my existence. My mind was only on thoughts of the wheelchair, as though some stray fragment of Parsley remained and that invisible ember was still watching me, and I could chat with her inside my head. It wasn¡¯t true, but I liked the idea.

    The ride back to school with the wheelchair was quiet, so desperately quiet. When I arrived, I actually ran into fucking Nadia around Beatrice. Nadia made an effort to console me, but she kind of sucked at it. I appreciated the notion that Parsley was still around as some sort of energy, even though she was vague on the details of whether I¡¯d ever be able to talk to her again. Beatrice was better; she hugged me, and she understood that sometimes words didn¡¯t really help.

    I didn¡¯t hang around them for long after I returned the wheelchair. Heading over to my aunts¡¯ place might have helped. But they probably would¡¯ve asked about Parsley and no explanation I could think of right then would have been anything but painful.

    My roommates were courteous and gave me space. I managed to keep myself from throwing up in the toilet. Napping and waking just brought fresh reminders whenever I woke up that I was alone in a way that felt more like slowly bleeding to death than living.

    I desperately did my best to remind myself of everything that Parsley told me before she left. Love and life and all that jazz. Fuck. Listening to music just hurt. Trying to think of melodies burned. But a quiet sense softly lingered with me. It didn¡¯t have the strength of a single word. More like a faint sound. Enough to hum.

    The hint of a melody. Something desperately small but resilient. Like a seed of light delicately wrapped inside me. Carefully, I let it grow.

    It wasn¡¯t a fix for how terrible I felt. Nor was it even soothing. I couldn¡¯t imagine writing music or even thinking in it. But a sound like a soft lullaby to a heart that had to say goodbye whispered in my soul.

    Sing. Sing for me. Sing for you. Sing the love that¡¯s true. Sing the love you feel, the love that makes you real.

    The music and words that soon spilled out of me weren¡¯t particularly good, polished, or worth keeping¡­ but they helped.

 [21] A Brand New Goth Girl 21 [Transform the Dorm]

    A Brand New Goth Girl

    [21]

    ¡°Hey mom¡­ hey dad¡­ What do you want?¡°

    I braced myself emotionally for what I knew was coming.

    ¡°Your sister does not want to talk to us. What did you do?¡±

    You mean my sister, who recently provided me with more support in a few minutes than either of you has given me my entire life? I emphasized that I didn¡¯t know what was up with Lisha or Megan. But mom was convinced of conspiratorial actions on my part.

    This was an easy segue into denouncing my career choices and overall activities. Doing art was bad. I would be poor for the rest of my life. After all, prices and inflation on everything were going up every single day, especially in California. Not that I needed either of them to remind me of this fact. The most frustrating part was being told, "You¡¯re not doing anything anyway," in a very familiar fashion.

    Of course, I couldn¡¯t tell them about the fact that I changed the sexes. I couldn¡¯t mention all the emotional stuff I¡¯d gone through. Couldn¡¯t bring up grappling with the massive responsibility of the entire campus, being host to previously captive souls, dealing with bitch face, and whatever else. Or could I? It wouldn¡¯t make any difference. I was trying to reason with the unreasonable.

    They¡¯d made up their minds that I was worthless. Whatever defense I could mount would only fall into the trap of not being enough, not being what they want, or having some other qualification. The only winning move was not to play. Which sounded a lot cooler than actually trying to enforce it.

    I struggled to find something redeemable in their strands of harsh and skeptical responses. But I was an insect, already ensnared. Nothing could possibly impress them or reconcile the shit from years past. So, I didn¡¯t bother. I told them about my friend Rosalie, not because I had some accomplishment related to her, but because I cared about her. After that, I alluded to the death of a friend¡®s loved one. Then I mentioned attending a wedding between classmates.

    The battering storm I received on the line was an admonishment about silly friendships rather than strategic ones. Megan knew so many people in the entertainment industry and was making connections. What could this Rosalie possibly do for me? Then they scolded me for getting mixed up in stuff related to all these ¡°unalived¡± things.

    Dead dead dead dead dead. Say the fucking word you mean rather than a bullshit word that doesn¡¯t mean a goddamn thing but makes you feel better about not saying the other word. I was within a centimeter of blowing up like that. Dealing with my parents felt more like dealing with an artificial intelligence with rote stock phrases bashing into my brain like destruction equipment.

    Of course, when it came to the marriage, the pummeling admonishments included not getting stuck in obligations where I would have to give them gifts. They also couldn¡¯t believe that such a cultured campus would allow ¡°such things¡±. Oh yeah¡­ All-girl campus, so no way of hiding the fact that it was two girls. They warned me not to get corrupted by crazy notions.

    The temptation to smash my relationship with my parents with the same clarity and fervor as those flashlights practically overwhelmed all other thoughts. Screw what it meant for the rest of college. The semester was already paid for.

    But this wasn¡¯t about having a moment. It was about enduring. I could take their apathy and their irritation. Whether I was their thoroughly disappointing son or an even more disappointing black sheep of a daughter.

    No epiphanies. No triumphs. Just my own determination and resilience. Not much of a victory, but it was my quiet one. They eventually let me go with the reminder to eat better to not get fatty fat and wear good makeup so I didn¡¯t look like a corpse. The only thing that kept me from fuming after the call with all my imaginings of what I might¡¯ve said or done was Anthony calling up with concern about Parsley.

    She looked so depleted. I begged the lingering spirits to do whatever they could. But it was like they didn¡¯t want to. I couldn¡¯t make sense of it. Why couldn¡¯t I have real power to help? I gave it up. This was the result.

    Sadly, it wasn¡¯t long before Anthony was alone. She brought back the little wheelchair she borrowed from the college. Nadia returned from wherever the heck she went and was around with practiced words. She was oddly wearing exactly the same outfit I¡¯d seen on her several times before.

    None of it felt comforting, but I appreciated her sticking around. After we left Anthony to deal with her grief, Nadia lingered in my bedroom. I glanced over my shoulder as she washed up in the sink.

    The light was off in the hallway, but the little section I could see seemed surprisingly dark. I thought back to what Anthony told me and squeezed the lyrics to my favorite song over and over in my thoughts. Nadia finished washing up and walked over to my doorway with a calm expression on her face.

    I took a deep breath and asked, ¡°Who are you?¡±

    She slipped on a playful grin, as though ready to receive the punchline to a joke. My expression was placid as I pressed my question. The friendliness soon fell away.

    ¡°Well¡­ well¡­ You¡¯re decently observant. Not bad.¡°

    The image of a teenage Turkish girl slid away like paint in water, leaving behind the man in black. He sat on the nearest chair without invitation and smiled a harsh crack of a smile.

    ¡°Where is the real Nadia Baris?¡±

    He waved his hands like brushing off some dirt. ¡°Don¡¯t know. Doesn¡¯t matter. She¡¯s never met any of you. Worlds apart and out of her jurisdiction.¡±

    My heart raced. ¡°It was you the whole time?¡±

    ¡°Always me. Always watching. Any other questions?¡±

    ¡°Who are you?¡± I repeated.

    ¡°I¡¯m the one who has your whole world in my hands. The itty bitty babies. Every brother and sister. Everyone. That¡¯s who I am.¡± He smiled, but his tone was starkly serious.

    I felt woozy. ¡°We broke those flashlights.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°That, you and your friends did. I¡¯ll have to make some replacements. Shame. I was interested to see what that power would do amongst your friend group. Maybe you¡¯ll run into something like it again. But I can¡¯t play favorites.¡±

    Heat surged through my body. ¡°So, none of it mattered? Are we just an experiment?¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Your world is my battery. A slice of human souls in the perfect container to use and burn through. A slice of humanity¡­ Confined to a radius of a hundred light years out of a universe. More than your species would ever need. A closed time like curve I made.¡°

    I struggled to comprehend what he was telling me. Battery. Container. Time. Prison.

    ¡°Time?¡±

    ¡°Your time, rapidly sped up. Burned through. Rise and fall. And I reap the rewards at the end. You don¡¯t have to worry though. You and everyone you know will live their lives as though nothing has changed. You¡¯re so small in the scheme of things.¡°

    My heart thundered in my head but then began to slow as I realized something. ¡°If I¡¯m so insignificant, why are you using your time talking to me?¡±

    The Man in Black tightened his jaw. ¡°Such a human question. Thinking you¡¯ve got something over on me. Feeling that you¡¯ve discovered some great truth. It¡¯s all meaningless. There¡¯s no truth. Nothing to smash and nothing to find. You¡¯ve just briefly caught my interest. But that time is almost up.¡±

    He stood up but didn¡¯t move to leave. ¡°You have the choice of whether to tell your friends about what you¡¯ve heard or not. I don¡¯t care either way.¡±

    I pointed out, ¡°So you keep saying. My choice with the flashlights. My choice with this information. You want to see what I¡¯ll do. You¡¯re really interested.¡±

    The dark man scoffed, but I pressed, ¡°Billions of humans, kept in a jar. We¡¯re incredibly valuable, or you wouldn¡¯t bother at all.¡°

    He shook his head. ¡°Human ego. You¡¯re not as much as you think you are. Look at your world through the years. So much blind obedience and polarization. You¡¯re just wild animals with fancy pretenses. And you slaughter one another without regret. In a hundred years, when your stars start to vanish, who will you scapegoat then? Perhaps stories of me will fade into divinity, and your descendants will worship me.¡±

    This creature was pontificating. I couldn¡¯t help but laugh. That really annoyed him. Did he expect me to provide some loud answer about the nature of humanity?

    I had a different thought.

    ¡°Where is Parsley?¡±

    He sneered. ¡°She was delicious¡­¡°

    I shook my head but held my tongue.

    It moved towards the doorway. Screw it. I stood up and said, ¡°No matter what you think about human beings, we¡¯re different. You can¡¯t even comprehend it. Some of us suck, others are disappointing, and we fight against ourselves. But there¡¯s something special. Something you didn¡¯t sign up for. There is a light in humanity, an energy beyond whatever resource you may be looking for. And when you find that out, it¡¯s going to be the biggest ¡®oh shit¡¯ moment you could ever imagine. No matter if I am there when you see it or someone a hundred generations from now, it¡¯s coming for you¡­¡±

    His reaction was the expected level of smugness to confront my show of determination. All he added was, ¡°I¡¯ll see you around.¡± Then, he vanished like a wisp of smoke caught in a breeze. And I was alone.

    Oh, that fucker with his mind games. Assuming I took everything he said at face value, it was sickening. The world in the hands of that. Definitely worth spreading the word to everyone I could tell. Which he probably wanted. Fear him and his nameless darkness. Get Anthony pissed off about what he said. Spread fervor and hopelessness.

    Nahhhh¡­ not interested. If he wanted that, then he had to get someone else. The spirits were still around me after swarming like meteorites or charged particles when he was here. He probably suspected I would rebel. Maybe I ultimately didn¡¯t have a choice in the matter. Fight, give up, reject, do nothing¡­

    I may not have had a choice¡­ But I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to have geeky fun with Connor and Zach. I wanted Anthony to know she wasn¡¯t alone. I wanted to tell off Brian. And Wade. Make sure Marshall had lessons about tampons as well. See what Gordon was up to, and make sure Keith had comfortable bras. Learn about the people who ran away from the dorm and make sure they¡¯re not afraid. Discuss comic books and plants with Norah. Cheer up Kacey and help Drake adapt even more. Ask Rhea about what makes her happy and inspires her. Get to know Connor and Zach¡®s roommates. Hear more about Rosalie dating. And so many other people. So many possibilities. And it didn¡¯t matter who was watching or why. I was doing it for me.

    Anthony made a shrine to Parsley¡¯s memory. Her public explanation was that the girl was a distant relative of hers who¡¯d come to visit, but she was in an accident. With her aunts, the girl was just a friend.

    Melancholy saturated so many of her days, but some color and energy started to return when she showed off a song she wrote as a tribute. It captured a playful, bounding exuberance. We all loved it, even though she denounced it as not good enough, and soon started work on a second song.

    Eventually, things at Cressman University got back to some semblance of normalcy. Norah and Lily actually evolved into something like a couple. Kasey and Drake found friendship despite discomfort. Classes were changed up and remained the same. We got used to so many things. Periods totally fucking sucked ass though. No other way around that.

    One quiet Saturday, with the prospect of Lisha actually coming to visit with Megan, we were casually inspired to join together around that stupid billiards table. Finish the game or whatever. Some symbolic response to everything. I never told anyone that I talked to the man in black. I wondered if anyone else had encounters with him. Anthony clearly didn¡¯t; she wore her emotions on her sleeve and wouldn¡¯t have been able to keep it in.

    The newest tribute song to Parsley was coming along nicely as she delicately strummed her loaner guitar, which hadn¡¯t received a name. The game was meaningless. We barely even kept score. Maneuvering around the table wasn¡¯t the most fluid thing, but we had gotten used to our contours and shapes. Zach still joked about making a shot with her pillows, and Connor playfully challenged her to a match of that.

    So many things different. So many the same. Transformed and yet kept in stasis. It should¡¯ve been enough to scream and keep screaming. But I smiled a calm and quiet smile. This was life, my life, Beatrice¡®s life, our lives, and I wouldn¡¯t give it up for anything.

 [END] Epilogue â€“ A Brand New Goth Girl/Transform the Dorm END

    Brand New Goth Girl/Transform the Dorm

    [END]

    EPILOGUE

    TWENTY YEARS LATER

    ¡ª¡ª

    This was the first reunion I actually managed to attend. Not quite twenty years since I graduated, but the biggest group that agreed to get together in a while. Riona and Trisha routinely visited my old place. Southern California was easier on my wrists than Missouri though. Plus, as a positive to everything that happened, housing prices cratered, and it was surprisingly easy to get a really nice place. I could still do everything remotely.

    We met up at a restaurant down the road from the University. Trisha rushed over to greet me first with a warm embrace. Despite a medical reduction, she was still very soft to hug. Little lightning streaks of gray accented her locks. I was still in denial about my hair. Riona sat over at the long table with their three kids, Hannah, Maisie, and Scott. They¡¯d grown up so much since I last saw them. I knew Maisie would be starting school at Cressman in a few years. She wanted to play basketball and dwarfed her mom, Trisha. Riona had given birth to Hannah by donor after Trisha. Scott was adopted. Hannah had all her mom¡®s mischief in her eyes.

    Back in college, I was actually considered for the maid of honor in their formal wedding. The two of them were so anxious to contact their families and swam through fear about reality dealing them secret boyfriends or other obstacles to their love. It turned out that their parents met the news with relief, proclaiming that they should¡¯ve gotten married ages ago. The event was a little crazy, because they kept their legal ceremony a secret for quite a while, but their moms didn¡¯t take too long to figure it out. The big formal wedding in the redwoods was amazing, and I was so happy to be there for them.

    Their roommates hooked up at some point, and I wound up being invited to the weirdest anime session I¡¯ve ever experienced. And it didn¡¯t involve any tentacles. They were a cute couple, but I never really found out what happened to them after college, and Riona and Trisha lost touch.

    Norah and I still chatted occasionally. She would come around to my swimming club a lot and especially help out with theater projects. Rosalie caught the drama bug and played plenty of princesses. She was also the first one to lose her girlside virginity that I knew about, although Celestina wasn¡¯t too far behind. Cute rocker guy. She was going through a lot of shit, and the relationship didn¡¯t last. I also found someone within the year, even though it was more of a need for companionship than actual romance.

    The sex was good, even though I didn¡¯t have a point of reference otherwise. I had to quit jazz band because whatever talent everyone supposed I had wasn¡¯t actually in me.

    It was good to catch up. Everyone agreed without saying that these challenging times were not to be a topic of discussion. Reminiscing filled in the gaps. We carved out the contours of the places we knew so well. We vented about professors who were not at all improved by crossing the gender gap. Although one English professor, who was a massive fan of Bob Dylan, turned into a very relaxed hippie girl.

    With my very long hair, I felt about the same energy in my life. Had to give up the goth, even though it was more of a Beatrice thing than anything I claimed ownership of. My big glasses would¡¯ve wrecked the impression anyway. At least they worked for the groups that were still interested in my most "artistic" photos.

    Celestina arrived a few minutes after me. She kept her hair dyed black. She was definitely the most famous of our class of alumni. Celebrated songwriter, composer, and weekend rocker. Many years ago, she told me that she could still feel Parsley around as a happy ghost checking in on her. It motivated her. That¡¯s why I could never pass along what that creature implied. I always kept it to myself, all of it. And I intended to take it with me when I died. If the bastard ever communicated with the others, they kept it even more secret than I did.

    Kasey, Norah, Carol, and Rosalie joined us soon after. Norah became a comic book writer whose stuff was well on its way to being adapted. She looked amazing. Kasey finally seemed happy too after so many haunted years, especially beyond college. Carol was a pastor. She managed several Good Friday crucifixion reenactments where she stood for Christ. One instance in particular was during a thunderstorm, with her prop cross dangerously close to receiving criticism from above.

    Rosalie had seven kids, all from the same guy who massively dwarfed her. And her eighth was already showing with her slight belly. They good-naturedly accepted the label of being addicted to having kids just as much as they were addicted to going on foreign missionary trips. I kind of hoped eight would be enough, but the world needed it lately. At least the worst seemed to be over. The bastard probably enjoyed all that.

    I did some searching, for a while, into cases like the flashlight. Suspicious instances of one sex in an area, claims of inanimate objects coming to life, or people posting things that didn¡¯t make rational sense. Plenty of candidates popped up, but nothing I could say for certain that tied into strange shenanigans.

    Several of Celestina¡®s roommates actually had nuptials recently. She claimed she wanted to go but found plenty of reasons not to. I learned that she was going to go back to the beach, where Parsley was last. She created a fake urn with wood chips and sawdust, something for her to keep in Parsley¡¯s place. It had been with her for many years, but it just wasn¡¯t helping, so she was going to do a surreptitious ocean burial when no one was looking. She didn¡¯t give a fuck if anyone fined her. I wanted to go too, but she said she had to do it herself.

    Despite how full our section of the restaurant soon became, there weren¡¯t a lot of alumni. In years past, I had some interest in how everyone was psychologically dealing with their changed lives. The school therapists were often swamped. I went a few times myself. A significant number of classmates changed schools between years, and even more moved away when they graduated. That¡¯s what I did. Some years were spent with my elder sisters, and those were the best times. We were in the shit times now, and I felt awful for the youngest kids around the table.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    That bastard may have been out there watching and poking, but the biggest problems were on humanity. No excuses to be made there. I did my best not to dwell. It was a lovely lunch, with so many things shared amongst ourselves with exuberant laughter and the best jokes.

    Eventually, I popped over to the restroom. It only took me a few weeks before I was consistently using the right one. But, even now, I would occasionally forget. More than half my life as a girl and those traces still remained.

    My face in the mirror remained cheerful, despite all the years added to it. My eyes were tired though, along with so many other parts. Most days, I did my best not to think about that bastard, always watching over a billion people on Earth and treating us like concentrated fuel for whatever his sick plans were.

    What did I believe now about humanity? Anything jaded in there? Perhaps. Stressed, worried, anxious, confused, sad for pointless reasons, hurting without a point to pin down the pain. But also restful when it rained, Zen about the little things, focused when cleaning, joyful at each surprise inspiration, energized walks, and always doing my best.

    I may not have made the greatest choices in my life or taken advantage of every opportunity. But there wasn¡¯t a moment I would give up, despite the challenges, despite the changes, and despite the mounting uncertainties.

    It is beautiful. I am beautiful. And this world is beautiful, in spite of itself.

    ¡ª¡ª¡ª

    The Man in Black, who went by many names, some given him by long-dead writers and others by those who glimpsed him fleetingly not so long ago, stood over the spinning globe of Earth.

    He was annoyed. The information he gathered allowed him to separate and sequester an entire world and bend it to his whims. This process should¡¯ve yielded exactly what he needed. But the output was far below expectations and dipping even lower. It was like the people were fighting him¡­ But that didn¡¯t make any sense. The vast majority didn¡¯t even know he existed. They didn¡¯t know any of this existed. They were tools for his goals. Frustrating. So very frustrating.

    No matter though. With the disconnect of time, the world would spin along until they finally conceded to his will. Looking beside the table, he glared at a long, clear rod with gold and blue light faintly shimmering out of it. Parsley¡­ amongst others.

    Incongruities. Messes. Radiant presences that should¡¯ve yielded to him long ago. They still provided a beacon of energy flashing across the void, calling to the others. Soon enough, they would come.

    He didn¡¯t have to wait long. The first one that found his way here had a companion. She was short with a better scowl and subdued blonde hair sculpted like a tarnished helmet. He recognized her as a radiant reincarnated as human, despite the fact she was dressed mostly in black too. His other self stood beside her.

    ¡°It worked. Finally, our pieces are coming back together.¡±

    The other approached cautiously. ¡°What do you have here?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you remember the plan?¡±

    They paused and reflected before answering, ¡°¡­ Not really. Mainly interested in getting back together in one piece.¡±

    ¡°Same here. Hold still¡­¡±

    The Man in Black lifted the clear rod and pointed it at his double. The other froze in place with viscous rippling, like a melting liquid, and managed to say, ¡°What are you doing?! Why are you attacking me?!¡±

    He laughed lightly. ¡°It¡¯s not personal. It¡¯s just a dog-eat-dog world, and I am hungry.¡±

    Unhinging his jaw, the Man in Black chomped down on the other version of him and ravenously swallowed until they were gone. Cleaning off his lips, he looked across the room at the radiant woman and inquired, ¡°Problem?¡±

    She responded simply, ¡°Not for me.¡°

    ¡°Name?¡±

    ¡°Vincent Muller.¡±

    With a tip of his head, the Man in Black responded, ¡°Fair enough. Whatever deal you had with him, I¡¯ll honor it just the same. Do we have an agreement?¡±

    Vincent gave a slow, subtle nod. The Man in Black, also known as Cerberus to some, smiled his usual smile and said, ¡°Good. We have a lot of work to do¡­¡±

    ¡ª¡ª

    The former residents of Margaret Mead Hall WILL RETURN.

    More than any other story in the series, this fourth installment was rough. I expected it would be rather light in content, but it actually wound up with significant dramatic elements.

    There will not be a direct sequel to Transform the Dorm, unlike the first three narratives. You will see these characters again. But I knew going in that I wanted to definitively conclude a lot of things for them. It was heartbreaking to let go of these characters. With each of these installments, I have become more deeply connected to my cast of characters. I¡¯ve richly enjoyed experiencing everything with them. It¡¯s always sad to say goodbye. But I needed to do it in a way that conclusively set the story. This was easily the most melancholy narrative I can remember writing in quite some time.

    And I hope that people had a good time reading it, despite the darker shades of the narrative.

    Coming up after this are unused story bonus posts related to this particular narrative. There are a couple different threads delving into the usage of this magical flashlight. They¡¯re all rather mature and transformation-heavy. These bonus segments will be presented with explanations. They will allow me to build up the next story before release.

    The next story is Yuri Worlds. And I hope you look forward to it.

 [BONUS] Transform the Dorm BONUS CONTENT

    Transform the Dorm - Bonus Content

    These are the segments and chapters which went mostly unused for TRANSFORM THE DORM. They contain mature language, situations, and plentiful sexual elements. This is the original text which was modified and used in the narrative for Beverly Marsh¡¯s perspective. This original version used a second-person narrator.

    [You Find a Sex Change Flashlight 1]

    ¡ª¡ª

    You find yourself strolling through one of those malls around the city that amazingly still have shops, even though most people consider them dead. They¡¯ve been documented in creepy YouTube videos several times. You¡¯re not out to do that. Although it might be interesting to have an unexplained experience.

    You¡¯re just going for a walk, and this mall has decent air conditioning against the heat of late summer. You started college not too long ago for another year, and you need to get away for a day and enjoy yourself before diving back into things.

    You amble past the food court, which is the most active area. Some Chinese food might be good later, but, for now, you continue down the path and around the curve that takes you deeper and deeper into the shopping complex. No one else walks this part of the mall because the big box stores on all sides have long been shuttered, and the tenacious Sears on the end finally gave up the ghost. You continue past a Spencer¡¯s and an Old Navy to a realm where no other stores remain¡­ or so you think.

    Tucked away behind a larger store, with a slim profile and black drapes in the windows that make it look shuttered, is one of those tiny shops like the Tokyo and Korean-themed trinket places surviving on the healthy end of the mall. A simple paper sign advertises it as ¡°Magic Store¡±. You chuckle and approach out of curiosity, as you haven¡¯t seen a new place in this old mall for ages. Worth checking out.

    The interior is narrow and claustrophobic. Shelves just below your eyeline are crudely packed with random products ranging from laundry soap to stress balls. Some are coated in a layer of dust, as though they haven¡¯t been touched in ages. That doesn¡¯t make any sense for a store that just opened. The yellow lights flicker above ominously. Crude, hand-painted signs direct you toward displays labeled ¡°Essentials¡° and ¡°Entertainment¡± but don¡¯t provide any other clarity on what you¡¯re looking at. While scanning the store, your eyes land on a particular object.

    It¡¯s a small flashlight, smaller than most of the ones around your house. It looks basically like the kind of thing you would put on the end of your keychain. The outside of the light is candy-striped with bands of pink and blue. The section at the top is a vivid shade of purple. A small instruction book dangles off the flashlight, connected by a bit of plastic.

    As you read with incredulity, the booklet explains that it gives off a blue or pink light depending on settings. Frankly and without preamble, the instructions explain that the flashlight changes the sex and sexual characteristics of anyone and anything that falls beneath its light. Blue makes the target more masculine or male, and pink more feminine or female. The intensity of the light determines the strength of the effect. The booklet also alludes to ¡°advanced settings¡° and ¡°flashlight duplication¡±. In its default setting, only the user/wielder of the flashlight will notice anything has changed.

    You have to try it, at least to debunk this ridiculousness or see if there are any nuggets of truth. You consider that perhaps there¡¯s a filter on the light that projects feminine or masculine attributes. Perhaps the illusion of lipstick or the impression of a six-pack. Since you are a man, you switch the setting to pink and carefully aim the light towards your chest.

    Instantly, a warm fullness spreads across your chest as you vividly feel your nipples pushing against your shirt. Before long, your shirt has shifted into a contour-hugging girl¡¯s top. Underneath, you can feel something like an undershirt developing over your shoulders and around your back. It¡¯s a bra. And it soon fills with developing, soft flesh.

    Nervously, you click the light off. The changes to your clothing and your chest remain. Thinking about the instructions, you twist the knob over to the blue option and click it back on. Fanning the light over your small breasts melts them back into your body. The bra dwindles into the ether, and your shirt dangles across your boyish shape. Clicking the light off again, you feel about the same as when you started.

    You have to buy this. This is a magic freaking flashlight! The possibilities are practically endless. In the deepest section of the store, flanked by black curtains, you see marvelous little trinkets here and there, but you only have eyes for this flashlight. No one is working the counter, but there¡¯s a setup for you to insert your card or tap your phone to pay. Cautiously, you scan the item and see a price of five dollars pop up on the screen. Why so cheap? Not that you¡¯re going to complain.

    You tap your phone against the machine and use your thumbprint to authorize it. An instant later, you key in your pin, and the sale goes through. A black plastic bag releases from a lower section, and the machine prints out your receipt. That¡¯s all there is to it. Tucking the light and receipt inside the bag, you hurry away from the desolate end of the mall.

    You return to your dorm at Caldwell Spring University [Original name for Cressman University]. They¡¯re called the Apartments, usually reserved for seniors, but you got lucky this year. This end of campus has a trio of three-story dorms on the end facing the main road and a series of houses owned by the University. Your dorm building is just two stories, but luxurious.

    You¡¯re lucky you don¡¯t have a roommate. With a deep breath, you make sure to lock the door to your room and pull aside one of the chairs in front of your study desk. Sitting down, you click the flashlight back on and test its brightness. The carpet changes from a darkly mottled green into a sharp fuchsia. Clicking it off again, you take another breath and strengthen your resolve.

    You just had a moment to try breasts. With the burning fire of your restrained sexuality, there¡¯s so much more you wish you could¡¯ve explored in those moments. But that was in public. Now you have a private opportunity to really have some fun. You slip your shirt off this time.

    You set the light to neither the brightest setting nor the weakest and gently turn it to spread illumination across your chest. Your nipples expand. The areola soon stretches beyond the width of a quarter, blushing a deeper shade of pink than you have ever seen on your chest. The nipple stretches and stretches with vivid contours and an exceptional point until it can just be covered by your largest finger. You wish you could reach down and suck on it, but the flesh beneath hasn¡¯t yet expanded enough for that.

    It doesn¡¯t take long before the breast beneath starts to flow out. Shifting in the chair, you can jiggle them with a scintillating recoil. There isn¡¯t much, barely more than an A-cup you¡¯ve seen in saucy photos online. But the weight starts to gather and pull on your surrounding parts and extremities. Soon, it passes what has to be at least a B-cup. You have as much on your chest as most girls around campus. That world-rocking notion sends an electric tangle of excitement through your entire body.

    But you have to be careful. Don¡¯t go for too much of a good thing. You switch off the light as your breast flesh settles into its clear, weighty presence on your chest. Hands shaking, you set the flashlight aside and trace the smooth contours of your new features.

    You marvel at how strikingly silky and soft your skin is. You squeeze each boob with a hesitant but insistent grip. You reach under and around them. Gently, you lift their weight and then let them drop with a sensual shock. The sight and feeling of your bouncing boobs are like no other stimulation you can imagine.

    You tease your nipples with an electric feeling as your crotch puzzles with but still delights in these unusual sensations. Pinching and twisting them hurts but also feels amazing. Your dick strains against the waistband of your pants. Leaving one hand to continue your ministrations, you reach below and begin to stroke yourself. The mixture of old and new pleasures is an assault on your senses. You redouble your efforts, climbing towards some summit you can scarcely imagine.

    When you finally reach that apex, notions you never imagined lick at the edges of your mind. It¡¯s so much, it¡¯s beyond comprehension.

    -----

    [You Find a Sex Change Flashlight 2]

    Wow...wow...you''re still reeling, but your mind is contemplating what else you can do with this simple but amazing little thing. Despite the fact you just came, your cock is already pressing against your cum-soaked underwear. Your nipples are still erect and eager for more.

    Standing up, you revel in the sensual tugging of your breasts against your shoulders and hop in place. The alluring jiggle encourages you to grab your phone and record the action for later masturbation material. Bouncing your knee, you hold out your phone to capture the sexy shift of your breasts. Peeling off your wet boxers and jeans, you feel a rush as you tease your hard, crinkly nipples. By accident, you slather a gob of drying semen across your sensitive tits.

    Usually, getting your own cum on your broad, flat, lightly haired chest calls for a shower, but with smooth, responsive, feminine skin, you can imagine you''re just giving those lovely breasts a pearl necklace or you chanced across an exotic clip online. Either way, the combination of ideas and feelings drives you into a frenzy, and you stroke your achy cock a second time and spread your seed over your warm, soft breast flesh. With staggering flashes in your eyes and through your body, you manage a raw, warm trickle from your dick. Smearing what your balls can give across your womanly areolas, you take a breath against the wall and save your unique little sex video.

    Still, your body wants more, even as your cock dribbles in exhaustion. While cleaning up, you feel a fresh rush every time you look at the flashlight on your bed. You pick it up and take it with you. Slipping on a fresh pair of underwear and a loose shirt, you peek around for your roommates and sneak over to the bathroom. Instinctively, you know that, because of the power of the light, your breasts shouldn''t be unusual to them, but you aren''t ready to face them yet, especially with C-cup tits dappled in cum. That sexy notion threatens to awaken your raw meat once again.

    Pressing and caressing your tit flesh eagerly, you can''t help but imagine what it might be like for silken, feminine fingers to touch and caress these breasts. Already at half-mast again, you feel flush with anticipation as you turn the light back on medium and cover your left and then your right hands in waves of steady, pink light. Your heart racing, you daringly flick the beam towards your shoulders. Your hands aren''t rough and bulky, but you can tell an immediate difference in the plush, satiny texture of your thin, delicate fingers. Your nails jut out like slivers of pearl as you return your grasp to your erect, bright pink nipples.

    Your altered, girlish hands make a huge difference. Manipulating your breasts like rolling fleshy, warm dough, the feedback leaves you staggered. It''s like being with your own girlfriend; only she knows just how you want to be touched, and you can feel all the best parts in vivid detail. Stripping again, you wrap your womanly fingers across the length of your rising cock as you continue to tease your tits. You feel like a ghost woman is giving you the best handjob of your life while you are connected to her wonderful breasts. Soon, spurting once again, you swoon and grip the towel rack.

    Not even with the sexiest foreplay or the most alluring lingerie have you felt such desperate, unrelenting arousal and need to get off. Your sexual attraction to your breasts and hands is on an insane level. Surely, you tell yourself, not even a soft, sexy shemale would be this turned on? It has to be the light, you reason. Like a drumbeat in your head, your sexual appetite is hungry for more.

    Even dampening a towel to clean off your boobs leaves behind red, radiating pinprick points of ecstatic, raw, knee-buckling pleasure. Considering the depletion of your cock and how it''s pushing firmly into exhaustion, your heart thunders over the idea of testing out a wet, hungry pussy. Torn between the memory of how it felt to make your ex-girlfriend scream with just your fingers and the familiarity of your cock, you decide to continue pushing gradually.

    Carefully focusing the beam, despite a heady, ravenous desire to cover yourself in its transforming light, you sweep it over your slimming, narrow shoulders. Surrounding your now-trim, tapered waist in soft light, you find yourself lingering on your hips and rear before threading the needle down to your quivering legs. With one final, cautious pass, you marvel at the raw, tender presence of your entire body.

    Your skin is genuine, glossy girlish flesh wherever you can caress it. While you didn''t cover your head in the light, concerned about what might happen if you looked into the beam, your cheeks feel like they¡¯ve received the closest shave humanly possible. Cupping your supple, sloping ass with both hands, you pant at the heightened smoothness that envelops and consumes you. A high, whimpering moan escapes your throat as you approach the shower. Your broad, womanly hips sway and jostle the flesh of your ass, treating you to deepened sensations you never dreamed of.

    You squirm and stifle a shriek as the flash heat of the shower head brings a mind-consuming rush over your body. It''s like being intimately tickled, groped, and caressed all in the same moment. While a flare of pain soon passes, you yearn for the spray to touch all of you at the same time, especially your wet, dripping nipples as the water plays with and cascades over their sensitive slopes. God, what you wouldn''t give for a detachable wand to pulsate over your needy flesh! Mere seconds of immersion are better than your last few sessions of sex with your ex. The lip of your caution fights with the precipice of your imagination. You still want more, and your rod-straight cock, the last sign of your manhood, calls out for it, like a wet, warm pussy that it needs to embrace as itself.

    Turning the knob to quiet the thunder of feeling, you step out of the shower with your entire body shaking, as though from a new form of an all-encompassing orgasm about to strike. You somehow manage to have the presence of mind to wipe your hands so you don''t damage or short out the light with water and take a long, deep breath.

    Turning it on once more, you aim it right at its target between your legs. A throbbing, deep wetness sinks into you as you push away a breast to watch. Your cock desperately struggles to ejaculate one last time, with everything it has, but your balls have already pulled flush with your groin. With a strange, muscular pulse, you can no longer feel them dangling between your legs as your dick, still achingly jutting out, recedes from sight.

    In one last hurrah, it manages to gush thick gobs of cum all over your changing crotch. Soon, it seals off, becoming a dainty but still blood-engorged punctuation atop the folds of your pussy. But you don''t have time to contemplate that, as the crush of your male orgasm spreads over your entire body like a shockwave. The intensity of your climax has gained a relentless length as wet waves of electric pleasure sap your ability to think. You tighten your grip on the flashlight and, with your rational mind banished to breathless, ceaseless delirium, you sweep the medium beam over your entire body.

    More. More! You cry.

    Eventually, you snap yourself out of the loop, flick off the light, and survive the last waves of ecstasy dripping between your girlish thighs, which just feels like a warning of more to come. Gazing down as you shakily set the light aside, your chest is now undeniably dominated by your boobs. They aren''t bolted-on, artificial bimbo breasts but rather broad, supple, and undeniable crests of soft flesh. No matter how you move, you can''t mistake their presence pulling on your collarbone and pits. Surveying the alluring spill of your side boob, your wet pussy is as eager for fun as your new, throbbing clit.

    You feel certain you must be well beyond a D cup or even a double D now. But you also realize you are several inches shorter than before and petitely smaller. Just comparing your head with the towel rack, you must be just under five feet. Playing with the undulating, pillowy flesh on your chest, you can''t restrain an adorable moan or bring it anywhere close to your normal timbre. Sweat-soaked, full hair settles against your shoulders, and your teeth press into your tender lips.

    Slipping a finger over the swell of your breasts and between your legs, you return with the last gooey, aromatic remains of your semen. It''s like you''ve been fucked so hard, but by yourself. A fun-sized fucktoy, that''s you now.

    Feeling more aroused than alarmed at these thoughts, you sashay your feminine body back into the shower for another round of glorious water across your curves. While you again curse the lack of a shower wand, you still manage to bring your still-hot body to a series of pleasant but not quite mind-breaking climaxes. You still have much to learn about your new equipment, and you''re excited to practice.

    As you step out of the shower...

    This is the next section of the original text that was going to be used. It continued a second-person narrative. This was modified/abridged and became the opening section of the first chapter.

    [You Find a Sex Change Flashlight 3]

    ¡ª¡ª

    You have an epiphany. This feeling is so glorious, so rapturous. It¡¯s this little secret that all the women of the world have kept to themselves. This feels so good, from the peaks of your soft breasts to the slippery shape of your hot pussy. And you have the ability to give it to anyone, at any time. It makes you even wetter to consider it.

    Returning to your room, you plop and jiggle down on your bed as you look over the tiny but amazing, life-changing little flashlight you bought for just a few bucks.

    Cautiously, you check the battery case to see what kind it takes. Your heart flutters in your heavy chest as it pops loose and you look inside. AA. Several of them, but they look generic. The instructions included with the device didn¡¯t tell you much except to clarify that it was bound to the user. Squinting, you notice there¡¯s a QR code printed inside with the batteries.

    With your phone, you carefully scan it and are taken to an online PDF file with a long URL. The company looks Chinese from the text and site information, but the bulk of the document is readable.

    It explains that the user can pass permission to anyone holding the flashlight to prevent them from losing memory of the changes. But this only works if the user and the guest are holding the flashlight at the same time. You put that away in your memory for now.

    Further down, the document explains that a small section of the flashlight can be turned to enable different modes. A full turn to the right flashes a rough LED presentation of a globe. The instructions explain that this is a setting with global consequences. If you¡¯re reading this right, you realize this means you can effectively rewrite any human attribute if you want. You can make it so men never existed. That¡¯s intimidating and scary, but a little sexy.

    Two full turns flash a human figure with what looks like Spidey sense above their head. This means your target is aware of what you have done. With a half turn, a figure holding the flashlight appears with dash lines of transparency. The document explains that people remember being changed with this setting, but they won¡¯t think you have done it. It¡¯ll be like you¡¯re invisible to them when holding the flashlight. That sounds like a good idea to you.

    With more turns, you find a specific setting for inanimate objects and clothing depicted with LEDs. There¡¯s also a mental setting that doesn¡¯t affect the outward body, labeled with a human brain. There¡¯s even more stuff after that if you make combinations of turns to the left and right to program different presets, but you have a firm grasp on the main ones you want to have fun with.

    As a test, you aim bright, inanimate pink at your closet. The light washes over the area of the sliding door, and the material of the walls seems to drink the illumination in like brilliant water. Smirking, you watch. You caught a little bit of the desk in the beam, and your laptop is soon covered in a bright plethora of stickers with muscular men and fashionable ladies. Pink art and natural forms spread across the rest.

    Rising to your feet, you take a minute to survey the laptop before sliding open the closet. Inside, everything is organized as though a professional has done it. Jackets are arranged by tone and size, along with dresses, pants, and skirts in separate sections, and several deep ledges just bursting with heels that both tower and sit low with delicate sparkly straps. Your nipples are hard and vaguely achy in the cool air, so you search quickly for a drawer with your brand new underwear.

    The first problem presents itself as you quickly slide on a cool, roomy thong with a pale blue tone and fringes of lace. You like it and how it sits on your new body, but your eye catches something else that might be just as fun to try. Indecision piles on your slim shoulders as you pose with one bra, then another, and then one that hikes your cleavage to delicious levels. So many options. Spinning in a teal skirt, which bounces against your thighs as it suggests and reveals, you assure yourself that there will be plenty of time for trying things on later. Completing your ensemble with a green, button-up blouse that can barely fight against your vast bosom, you leave the top with a few buttons undone for presentation.

    The flashlight, once you set it to the mode you want next, rests comfortably inside a purse you grab. Tingles of exultation invade you as you make your way out. You¡¯re going out as a girl, a beautiful lady. A quick glance in the mirror almost makes you swoon but also triggers your hesitancy. You could definitely fix your hair and probably find some makeup to touch up your skin. Not to mention there are probably better clothing combinations¡­ But you stop yourself. Later.

    As you expected, none of your roommates are in right now. You wonder if you¡¯ll find them out and about. The threshold of the door is exciting and terrifying. You are walking out with your petite, soft flesh so delicately exposed. Everyone who looks at you will see the cute, busty girl that you are. A slippery feeling between your thighs is inescapable, as you shuffle your feet in a pair of flats. Butterflies spin in all directions through your body. You hope you can stay on your feet.

    Your arousal is private, soft, and intimate, yet still feels like it¡¯s being broadcast to the entire world. Your immense, hard nipples are surely showing through the frail bra and blouse. Of all the girls you have seen walking along in your life and spied covertly with a mixture of emotions ranging from lust to envy, you are now in the same sort of skin.

    The hallway is clear, to your relief and disappointment. Stepping toward the common room is a slow, heart-racing prospect. Some boys are milling about, but they come and go through the sliding doors. Only when you reach the main common room next to the resident assistants office do you really start to see other people.

    The widescreen flat-panel television next to the vending machines is showing some cowboy program from the 1990s. Four guys stand around the billiards table, taking turns shooting.

    The first one you notice keeps returning to a black-and-white guitar set off to the side. His feathered hair seems to be somewhere between a dark yellow and a messy brown. Clear-framed glasses adorn his face, and he wears a generic, wrinkled tan shirt along with jeans.

    Leaning back with his pool cue wrapped in his arms like an exercise bar, the guy to his right has a lean, long face with a half-finished brown beard. His messy hair rises like a pack of crumpled tissues. A gray Star Wars shirt with some anonymous spacecraft adorns his flat chest, and black, matching shorts dangle to his bony knees.

    On the other side of the table from him, a small guy with dark brown hair, that appears nearly pitch black, levels a hundred-yard stare at some position ahead of him. He¡¯s small, and his wildly askew locks look like he¡¯s never brushed them in his life. He has bright pink, bow-like lips drawn into a practically pained expression.

    The last guy is setting up the next shot. He has on a red t-shirt with some math formula joke that probably only ten people on campus will get. His movements appear antsy, as though he¡¯s ready for a restroom run. His blonde hair looks good but is also swept to the side unevenly, as though he just got it cut and forgot to trim that end. A swift hand brushes it out of his left eye as he slides his stick back-and-forth. A pair of loose black pants still can¡¯t fully disguise his prominent rear.

    You judge the four of them and feel a pang of conflict. A few of them are real cute in ways you hadn¡¯t considered before. You might want them to wrap their firm arms around you as they walk you back to your room for a little private fun. The temptation tightens your nether regions until you take a single, quiet breath and remember what you came out here to do.

    Turning on what you consider the stealth mode, while keeping that Spidey sense awareness, you aim for the dark-haired guy who appears so dismal. He could definitely use a bright beam of girlness in his life. Carefully aiming the light so you just catch him, you lay a focused beam on his body.

    The first thing that happens is the narrow shape of his head compresses into a round, full form with broad cheeks. His wild hair falls back, like a sleek, brushed curtain, spreading from his shoulder to his chest on one end. His immediate reaction is to bat at it, like some fallen bug or sliver of debris from the ceiling. He only has an instant to look up before the wave of all the other changes crash into him. His dark shirt spirals out like a short dress, dipping to his thighs while his whole body drops several inches in height. A tiny black leather skirt just pokes out of the bottom, with a garter belt striking and merging with a pair of silken black thigh-highs. A black velvet spiked choker laces around his tiny throat.

    A tiny girl squeak, loud enough to shatter glass if it had the energy, bursts out of his soft mouth. By now, the other guys have looked up and see that something is amiss, but they all stand in frozen shock. The new girl¡®s eyes are traced by Egyptian black eyeliner, and her broad, pouty lips are matte obsidian. The pool cue slips from her black fingernails (and rolls around on the carpet) as she gasps in surprise.

    ¡°Ohmygosh!¡± Her petite hands race around and also dart away from the shape of her body as she looks to her compatriots for an explanation.

    The only response is by the antsy dude, as he finally settles in place and can only offer, ¡°Dude¡­what?¡±

    It doesn¡¯t take long before the new girl desperately scampers towards the nearest hallway, while shifting her stride from loping frantically to restrained, as though discovering new sensations every few seconds to make her reassess how she wanted to walk.

    You¡¯re not deterred by her panic. You know she¡¯ll find joy and beauty in this shape soon enough.

    [The next section was adapted with Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy for Connor and Zach changes and was essentially identical to the published version except that their original names were Matt and Ty. Otherwise, references to the flashlight and its abilities are the only differences between the draft version and what was posted.]

    [This is the continuation of the original second person branch from the shower segment]

    [You Find a Sex Change Flashlight 4]

    ¡ª¡ª¡ª-

    You still can''t get over the way simply walking feels like a sexual come-on. Stray droplets trickle down your bare shoulders and slide past your hard, jutting nipples. The constant jiggle and weight sometimes get lost in the rush of water in the shower, but now you are alone in the chill air.

    Grabbing the most comfortable towel from the side closet, you marvel at how towels that once barely covered your body now envelop you. At least, aside from trying to conceal your bust. Sitting briefly to pee, you feel it gush out of you like a rushing stream. The analogy seems laughably on-point, but you imagine a garden hose spreading a constant flow over a yard. Now, you feel as though you''ve been trimmed back to the faucet, back to the source. It sputters all over your womanly groin but finishes without delay or dibbles. You never realized the mere act of peeing could feel so foreign.

    At the same time, triggered by your shower and excitement, a slippery, sneaking wetness is pressing through your new nether regions. It¡¯s as unstoppable as a tidal wave. Your pussy juices are searching, flowing, yearning for something to play with, even something as simple as your fingers. Idly, you prod your sensitive flesh like a few teases of piano keys, not ready to make music yet but getting a feel for it.

    Quietly unlocking the bathroom door, you feel disappointment and relief that no one is in the hallway connecting the dorms. While you were showering, the top you brought with you shifted into a navy blue, woolen women''s cardigan. You try it on, but it''s just a lewd, button-bursting accent for your boobs. That''s probably the point.

    Your spare underwear has also undergone a change into panty briefs in a lighter tone of blue. Casually, you slip them on to feel and thrill that women''s underwear fits you perfectly. After retrieving the flashlight that has introduced you to so many wonderful feelings, you sashay your way back into your bedroom. It has changed too.

    Not immensely though. It¡¯s still messy where it was before, but an entire area is dedicated to women''s products, makeup, and more. While you''ve only glimpsed each of the products in passing at the store, you now have an innate, unconscious understanding of what they are meant for.

    While your phone has a sparkling, golden case now, it is otherwise unchanged. Furthermore, your little masturbation video is preserved and unaltered. For fun, you slip on the cardigan and tease your immense, erect tits in a new video. You feel even wetter about the idea of posting it somewhere online. A damp spot, having traveled inexorably through your being to finally slide out between your nervous thighs, traces an oval in the gusset. You''re a horny little fuck toy and you want...need something more between your legs.

    Placing the light on the bed and checking your drawers, you soon find your earlier suspicions are correct. You wear a 28F bra. Not only that, you have some lacy ones that don''t take you too long to figure out how to put on. Technically covered up, you look through the closet for what else to try on.

    In the relative quiet of the afternoon, you hear the door to the other bedroom slip open. Your heart thunders in your sexy little body as you realize someone has been nearby this entire time. Who could it be? Brandon usually has classes till late, and Ryan often games competitively in the afternoon. It has to be Ryan, assuming the changes haven''t made the dorm non co-ed or granted you different roommates.

    Torn between a fledgling exhibitionist influence and a vivid awareness of how anyone and everyone can see how wet you are, you edge over to the closet to slide on a silken, pink robe. Ryan walks past the doorway, and your breath halts in your throat.

    He''s just wearing his red, flannel boxers, and a clear, looming outline rests against his thigh, like a barely concealed, full-sized candy bar. Before, it didn''t matter, and you did your best not to think about it. Now, it''s all you can think about as you brush back your shoulder-length, water-matted hair and part your girlish lips with an upwelling of drool surging in your mouth.

    Ryan pauses to stand in your open doorway. "Hey, Beverly. What''s up?"

    Beverly...You''ve never heard that name used for yourself before, but it feels welcome on your ears and the tongues of others. Your tongue is preoccupied, but you find your slight, high-pitched voice to give a quick answer about buying, "A new toy."

    Ryan looks intrigued, and you wonder what you are to one another. While you had a girlfriend¡ªor still have one¡ªCynthia recently broke up with him, and he''s been stuck inside on his computer all the time. Before you went to the store, you thought about asking him to join you. Stepping closer, you feel like you''re attempting to seduce him as you bend over to grab the light on the bed.

    Flashing the light on the wall produces no special effects that you can see. Spreading the blue light over one of your muscleman posters stretches the figure''s shape to absurd levels and pushes you over the top. Slipping the light in your robe pocket, you whisper and slide a delicate hand into Ryan''s boxers, as you remark, "But my favorite toy is right here."

    Though you felt slippery and wet before, now it''s like the dam is breached and an unstoppable wave is flowing through you. You''ve crossed a line you never imagined you''d cross before, but it feels so right to caress and stroke his blazing-hot, stiffening meat with your dainty hands. You have to work hard to grasp it fully.

    You made the first move. Fluttering your eyes, you look up at Ryan for some sign he wants you to stop. All you see in him is lust and pleasure. Yanking down his boxers, his cock bounces rigidly before you, threatening to brush against your drooling mouth. Bending forward, you massage and encircle his dick with the immense swells of your tit flesh. He soon gets into it, thrusting his cock over your sensitive breasts and edging against your chin.

    You are his little fuck toy, and you want him to use you in every single way. Your masculine mental remains don''t care anymore with the overwhelming ecstasy of how good this feels. You want that long, hot cock anywhere and everywhere it can go. Soon, you cross the next threshold and lick the tip.

    Though you''re small, you use every inch you have to sink your mouth around and bury his cock into your eager throat. You sink and recede, stroking it and feeling it as it starts to twitch. Swallowing some, you savor it before letting Ryan cum on your face and chest. Cum on your tits, that was how this started, but you don''t want it to finish yet. Your pussy has been getting ready.

    It would take a little while for Ryan to get hard again, one of Cynthia''s complaints, but you know of a magic toy that might be able to help. As he reels, stammering and panting from the way you just went to town on his cock, you turn a dim, blue light specifically on his softening meat.

    While it does grow a little girthier, the important thing is that it springs erect as fresh arousal spreads through him. Leading Ryan by the cock, you take him to your bed and strip off your disheveled robe and gusset-soaked panties to reveal your wet pussy.

    Riding him is a simple, slippery slide down his hard shaft. You gasp and moan as he pushes inside, tickling and teasing parts you never knew you had. This is what you were made for and what your body needs. He drives a strong, steady rhythm as your ravenous shape threatens to completely envelop him.

    Before long, you ride into a crest that feels like your best orgasm yet. With animalistic fervor, you crave every inch, thought, and feeling from Ryan, and he fucks your mind into breathless oblivion. Only this time, it lasts even longer as he rises to his own peak and actually creampies your wet, dripping pussy.

    You don''t think about condoms or consequences. You just want more. And you feel a flash of inspiration. You got so hard with your breasts. Surely, Ryan will feel the same way.

    As he manages to recover from his second orgasm in such a short spell, you urge him to try holding the light on the side, next to your hand. This is risky. The light might not allow more than one person to remember but, so long as he does, the accelerant to his libido should work just the way you want it to, to become a thoroughly used fuck toy.

    Fortunately, you see his clear shock as his areolae plump up and spread with deep, dark red across his chest. Soon, they rival yours for size with tight, sharp-red pointed nipples. The flesh beneath barely clears the C-cup you started with, but he has lewd, fun tits you can''t wait to wrap your lips around.

    Soon, as expected, the mix of feminine and masculine sensations brings his swollen, almost purple cock to a twitching, thought-blanking erection. Your mouth switches between teasing the hard, almost leaking nipples on his chest and the even harder, also almost leaking tip of his glans.

    You suck him dry, swallowing his delicious, fragrantly salty seed as he begs, out of breath, for a chance to catch up. Ruled by an accelerating, ravenous libido now, you whisper teasingly, enticingly, "Do you want more?" You slide your hands over your silken but sticky, cum-splashed body.

    Despite his mind-numbed confusion and fear, the heartbeat pulsing through his ears and threading through his shaking cock understands an inescapable, gravitational attraction to his hard, obscenely swollen nipples.

    He manages just two nods as you guide his hand to the side of the light as you aim a bright, steady beam across his entire body, except for his cock desperately trying to rise again.

    Slim, narrow shoulders and a trim, sloping waist soon lead into vast, curvy hips, which will challenge any of the pants he currently has. A shoulder-length sweaty swarm of pretty but unkempt dirty blonde locks dips to his shoulder as his lips plump up and a trickle of drool invites you to imagine where his changing body will lead him.

    His face has a stark, feminine allure that no longer seems quite in your sexuality, but you still give it a playful kiss as he bends down to suck on your hard nipples. Lost in the excitement, you forget about the steady beam still aimed at his chest. When you finally remember and click it off, you both marvel at the immense, overflowing boobs that have grown into Ryan''s engorged tits. Nothing he might be able to wear could possibly hide them.

    With how far they stretch without sagging from his chest, you can only imagine he must be several sizes larger than you. A full-sized, shemale fuck toy.

    Just seeding that idea with a seductive whisper is enough to get him whimpering like a horny girl as his aching, red cock rises once again. You wanna give it one more ride before you finish the fun.

    Recognizing the rushing wave of his oncoming climax, you time the light so you manage to catch the final, glorious rush of his firm meat in your pussy with the blast of the last of his semen. Unavoidably passing through the spill of pink light, you watch his once-enormous cock slip into a buried, concentrated point above his already slick and semen-soaked pussy.

    While Ryan has been screaming with her eyes rolling up in her head in mind-broken pleasure, she still has another note of joy to sing as you bump your sensitive little bud up against hers. You two have gloriously and thoroughly fucked in ways few can even imagine.

    You finally shut off the light once it starts to feel like you''re getting achingly wet, and Ryan''s fingers can no longer grip the side (she held on but also dug her girlish nails into it). Even though she only remembers you as Beverly, you both remember Ryan.

    Slipping off the bed, you realize you''ll probably need another shower after all that. At the same time, the brief addition of pink light has left your pussy with an ache you want to fill again soon. Perhaps you can return Ryan''s penis as a fleshy double-ended dildo, or you can have herm fun while deep inside each other. You want Ryan to at least know the pleasure she''s given you. Your mind reels with possibilities, and your wet pussy desperately wants everything.

    The full-sized and fun-sized fuck toys aren''t done yet.

    [You Find a Sex Change Flashlight END]

    POV Ryan

    You lay there on Beverly''s bed as you reel from the shocks of how thoroughly your roommate has rocked your world. That curvy, petite girl often and eagerly teased you with a glimpse of her immense tits and gorgeous ass. How you managed to wind up sharing a dorm with a girl, let alone a girl like her, has long puzzled you since you vaguely sense you had a male roommate with his own room, or at least a shemale one.

    But the way she started stroking your massive cock before burying it between her tits and then deep in her mouth makes you wonder. And then the last few minutes in bed. The light, dear God, the light. Clinging to the side felt like holding on during a hurricane eye wall. Your mind wanted to succumb to a flash of feminine sensations, but you managed to endure.

    As your ability to think returns, you survey the perky, immense slopes of your breasts. You have a reverse tan in the shape of a skimpy bikini, especially around your hard, sensitive nipples. The areolae are several times wider than anything you ever imagined on your chest but spread perfectly over your vast titties. Scooting up, the encompassing, jiggling weight plays with your head and the cum-splashed space between your legs that you are still getting used to.

    Sitting up gingerly, you are still rocked by erotic quakes from your stripper-challenging breasts. Tentatively, you slip your soft, plush girlish fingers over the erogenous bumps of your tits. An alien, sneaking wetness, like an intangible snail made of pleasure, seeks out the drying spot between your thighs. Fucking Cynthia was so simple before she dumped you. Now, you feel like a box of mysteries, more complicated than an airplane console, has literally been dropped in your lap.

    Erect nipples on your chest feel amazing, but nothing like your arousal before. The cock you were once so proud of just feels like a fiery, tiny point of lighthouse ecstasy lost between the lips of your pussy. You feel depth, unending depth, that yearns for something inside you as that sneaking, raw arousal seeks to drip out.

    How can this be you? How can your thighs be so soft and exposed to every shift of the air? How can your mere nipples feel so alien and so far away that you need to hunt for their pillowy points? How can you be yourself when this feels so different?

    Standing like a fragile, newborn animal from the side of the bed, you feel terrified and yet deeply aroused by the absence between your silken thighs as you move. No shifting cock. No manly balls. Only the intimate echolocation of flesh finding flesh tells you what you have beyond your immense tits.

    Beverly wraps a teasing, suggestive arm around you as you ask her if you can go to the mirror. She joins you, though she''s so small and has to stand on her tiptoes to see much. After heading to her room, she returns in high, wobbly-at-first stilettos.

    But you only vaguely notice her as you take in how much your body has changed. Can you even call any part of it "yours" anymore? It''s the body of a woman whose shape breathes sex from her supple thighs to her curvy, wide hips that make walking a butt-jiggling affair. Your dirty-blond hair frames a face that looks alluring and alarming.

    How can you have plump, rosy lips that just beg to kiss and suck deep on things you never imagined between them? How can your vast, blue eyes appear so innocent yet seductively arousing with every glance? You control this woman. You are this woman. You own everything about her, especially the sticky patch of cum that bubbled out of your cock when it stopped existing.

    You nervously call dibs on the shower as Beverly is still preening. She warns you not to have "too much fun". Flooded with a bright blush, you retreat to the dorm you share with Brandon to at least find a towel. Within, you are stopped in your tracks by how much your end of the room has changed. It has a floral, earthy aroma, like an invisible humidifier is pumping essential oils.

    Your PC has become a lavender "grrl power" tower. Hello Kitty and anime pretty boys adorn the case. A pair of fancy, pink headphones with flip-up cat ears rest beside a personalized keyboard. You can''t help but notice all the sexy, glamorous shots on your computer and phone.

    Layla Rose, you soon find, is your name. You aren''t sure if you''re a cam girl or what, but your Twitter is buried in hundreds of DMs. Setting your altered life aside for the moment, you grab the best towel you can find and sway your hips off to the shower. While walking still feels alien, you can do it without fear you''ll take a fall. Jiggling into the shower, you notice the head is different. It''s a detachable wand with pulsate settings. You honestly tell yourself you''re just lowering it to your crotch to clean off.

    You soon have to brace yourself against the wall as the water blasts away your thoughts and concerns about ever having a penis. The gushing waterfall over your silken breasts just adds fuel to the fire as you ride through waves of orgasms brought on by the bracing water and your teasing fingers. You are achingly, abundantly a woman and, though you linger long in the shower, it feels like less than a few minutes.

    Wrapping your tits up suggestively in your insubstantial towel, you strut past Beverly playing dress up in her room, as you consider what you can play. You should be scared that your sex and body have changed so drastically, but the intoxicating allure of this form crushes all other thoughts and doubts.

    With your soaked, dripping curves barely contained by the towel, you hunt through your closet for something that excites the ever-present wetness between your thighs. Even when you''re dry, you still feel that womanly arousal. Threads of drippy, dangling girlish juices are now a regular feature between your thighs. Bending over with your phone, you feel your arousal mount even higher as you witness your puffy, exposed hairless pussy in a quick picture.

    Soon, you find something completely inappropriate for classes or outdoors, but absolutely perfect for your desires right then: a pale blue nightie that reveals the tanned, upper half of your tits in their full scope, with your erect nipples suggested through the see-through silken bands. The bottom flutters loosely and barely reaches past your soaked groin. Slipping on a matching pair of panties, you suck on your fingers as you settle into your mesh office chair and marvel at the adulation and promises of "fucking your cunt senseless" from countless seeming strangers online.

    You want to stream just like this and watch the unfiltered dirty talk overwhelm you. Suddenly, the front door creaks open.

    POV Brandon

    You stagger back from your late class, grateful that the professor finally let you out early. You have so much shit to complete before you can finally relax this weekend. Walking back to the dorm, you puzzle for the umpteenth time why you''re in a dorm with two girls who tantalize and tease you with their bodies.

    Furthermore, petite Beverly gets her own room, while you have to share with Twitch gamer girl and influencer, Layla Rose. The stuff she does around you would be too much for a monk or a gay man to endure, of which you are neither. Fortunately, you have a large blanket, and Layla often winds up absorbed in voice chat manipulation of mere boys to win bits, matches, and gifts.

    You feel like you should''ve brought this up with the residence hall assistants, but something about all this still feels strangely normal. Pausing by a mirror at the front desk, you fix your disheveled mop of red hair, scratch at your rust-tangled ginger chin with mottled freckles over your jutting nose, and try to give your belly no attention as your loose, untucked shirt does its best to hide it.

    For a moment, you consider knocking on the dorm door to your left. Mike might be worth hanging out with for a bit to get away from the nervous atmosphere around your dorm with all the girls. You like Beverly and Layla though. Layla is a fun geek, and Beverly is adorable, but you feel so out of place there. Before you knock, you pull your fingers back and bow your head. Wade...

    Your cheeks feel hot just reflecting on him. You used to talk anime about him, but he''s such a domineering jerk. If you knock, then you''re knocking the wrong way. If you stop by, then you''re too loud. If you wanna chat, then he''s beneath you. Whatever...you shouldn''t let it get to you. You''re a dude. But you nearly broke down in tears when Wade lied and said that Michael hated your guts. You apologized to Michael, but he said that while yeah, you can be loud, it''s not a big deal.

    And you completely broke down when you got roped into Wade''s terrible softball team, where he just insulted you, especially when you got a concussion trying to turn a single into a double. You hide your tears from your roommates. You wish you didn''t cry so much. Maybe you''re meant to be in with a bunch of girls.

    Stomping past that door, you reach yours just around the bend. It creaks open as you unlock it. The room you share with Layla is closed, but Beverly''s room is open, and she''s prancing around in her underwear. Blood surges through your body as you catch a glimpse of her bare pussy as she bends over. Lingering there, just out of sight, your pulse accelerates as she whips off her bra and plays with her oversized breasts on her tiny bod. There''s so much that, in the few times you''ve seen enough of her flesh, it almost seems like it doesn''t have enough space on her body, so each boob spills into the other like they''re one boob flowing with crests and valleys all the way to her sides.

    Before you embarrass yourself, you open the door to your dorm and carefully peek. Layla is sitting in her chair, giving a show to the Internet with a nightgown on and her slim hand down her panties. You attempt to retreat, but she notices you and blushes with a coy grin. "I''m glad you''re here."

    While you don''t have more than an average-sized cock, its excitement at her expression is impossible to hide. "What''s going on?" Her eyes flick to your pants, and Beverly catches you from behind with her warm, bare pillowy chest pressed into your back.

    "Wanna have some fun?" She asks as her tiny hands dive right for your rising meat. You can only nervously nod as your heavy bag drops by the doorway and Beverly leads you over to your bed. Working together, they strip you in a way you''ve only imagined in your wildest fantasies. You never knew either one of them was interested in you.

    Stumbling back against the dresser, you feel Layla basically inhale your cock with her full, plush lips, her throat surrounding your throbbing dick with animalistic hunger. Meanwhile, Beverly rubs her lovely tits over your chest. Overwhelmed, you feel yourself lose control as you cum feverishly into and all over Layla''s lovely mouth. Hot embarrassment mounts as you silently curse how poorly you lasted.

    Seemingly reading your mind, Beverly whispers, "I have a fix for that."

    She leads your hand to a small, strange flashlight as she muses, "Might three be too much? We''ll see..."

    Pointed at your dribbling, meager dick, she aims a bright, blue beam right at your crotch. Puzzled for a moment, you gasp as the flesh usually turtling in with your fat unfurls with bulging, uncut majesty. Your dick becomes greater than you could hold in one hand. Before long, Layla has her panties off, trails of slick juices dripping away as she slides smoothly onto your expanded length.

    You''re fucking her. Oh, God, it feels so good. Your dick has become a veiny, pussy juice-coated monster thanks to that blue light. You have no clue what''s going on, and the blood your monster cock now requires is certainly not going to your brain. Layla''s tight, welcoming snatch is just one thing as you watch her pendulous boobs pop out of her nightie and jiggle in front of you, joined by Beverly''s.

    Soon, the girls switch, and you briefly fret that you''re going to split petite Beverly in two as she takes your turning-purple dick deep into her pussy. Layla buries your face in her womanly pillows. Giggling, she asks, "Do you like them? Do you want them?"

    Not getting the joke between the girls, you can only agree as Beverly continues to bounce on your cock as she leads you three back to the flashlight. This time, the light isn''t blue. Rather, a neon-bright pink light washes over your sparsely-haired chest with your embarrassing little moobs.

    Instantly, it''s like your nipples have come alive, twisting, stretching, and jutting from your body like they were drenched in something ice-cold, but they feel hot, so hot and prominent. The feeling courses deep in your huge cock as you cream inside Beverly''s snug pussy. When the light turns off and you pull your hand away, you search your bare chest.

    You have breasts. Holy fuck, you have breasts! How? They''re only slightly bigger than your moobs were, but the jiggle across your soft, svelte, and toned chest feels like it crossed a surreal boundary. Layla plays with your turgid nipples as her bust presses into your stomach and she sops up the cum which didn''t make it into Beverly.

    Whispering, the girls entice, "This is just the beginning. You can''t imagine how we feel...do you want to? Do you want to know how it feels to get fucked?"

    The breasts on your chest already make you feel sexier than any day as a regular man. That pink light. The blue gave you a huge cock, and the pink gave you breasts. You can guess at what more pink light might do. Getting wet...feeling what they feel...With the idea, your blood-flush cock presses against Layla as she grinds the length of it.

    You''ll soon be doing what she''s doing. The idea makes you even harder. Your third climax is coming so fast. If you had the rationale of a few minutes ago, you might run away and cry in a corner, but...the world treats you like a bitch. Why not be a goddess instead?

    Before you can doubt yourself, you urge Beverly to bring the light back. "Do it."

    She twists your painfully sensitive nipples as Layla rides your aching cock. Under the light, those nipples rise and broaden to the point you can''t see anything past their glorious pinnacles. Feeling the light across your face as all three of you hold onto the illumination''s bucking broncho length, the tangle of bushy, rusty hair smooths to an ethereal, silken slope. Your new voice gasps out with the purity of feminine softness as red locks spill across your vision.

    Submerged and melted away by the girlish light, you feel your fresh, delicate fingers overwhelmed by your still-developing bust. While terrified, you can''t help but moan like a horny slut for more.

    Only when it almost feels like you''re nothing but breasts does Beverly guide the beam to your supple, hairless, tight belly. Your hips and thighs feel so raw, like you''ve never used them before, and the air across them is an intimate touch. Though Beverly skips your ragging cock, surrounded by Layla''s wetness, you feel utterly feminine, unlike you have ever felt before. Tears of pleasure fall from your eyes as you cum once more, and Beverly gives you the sharpest beam across your twitching cock. You feel the waves of a climax with the beat of your best times jerking off, but with a duration that leaves you unable to escape.

    Half of your seed splatters into Layla, and the rest coats your new groin in a slick, gooey bath. You feel more aroused than ever but, instead of getting hard, a concentrated tingle of arousal sinks into your pussy as you feel slippery juices wanting to welcome a man between your legs.

    Beverly and Layla oblige sooner than you could ever imagine. All together again, they aim a wave of blue light just above their pussies. You soon feel a meaty, hard rod above a dripping hole stroking your sensitive folds. Mimicking what you saw Layla do, you feel an intimate wetness coating your thighs as your body begs for completion it never thought it would need.

    Beverly''s hermaphrodite cock is ravenously consumed by your drooling lips. Time becomes meaningless as you are their pliant, eager fuck toy on all ends. When even enhanced dicks find their limit, you leave Beverly and Layla to play with their normal anatomy and the help of a double-ended dildo.

    On shaky, girlish legs, you inspect yourself in the mirror. As you wished, truly, you are and feel like a Goddess. Your tits appear slightly larger than even Layla''s, despite the fair, pink areola framing your sexy nipples. More cum covers you than the results of an online gang-bang sex video. And you love it!

    Brushing back your brilliant, alluring red hair, you wonder if you have the energy to keep up with the other girls. You wonder what class will be like now, if you decide not to use the blue light. Why not stay this way? Instead of somber whimpers, you feel the full rush of emotions flowing through you.

    You are a woman! Fuck Wade...yeah, no...not even a pity fuck. He can take a hike. Of course, you know he treats girls differently than men. Never a rough word. But you''d much rather find a real man out there. Maybe it''s Mike. A quick check of your changed phone tells you that you are as much of a saucy girl online as Layla...and now named Brandi. You have your pick of dick pics and more fanboys than some comic book heroines. You can do anything...

    [Here are the other abandoned storylines in no particular order.]

    [The following is an alternate branch involving Beverly Marsh turning herself into a girl at the mall and then changing others to be pretty.]

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    [Another Joins the Pretty Ones: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª-

    You survey your domain of the mall. The crowds seem to part, as though a tide were swayed by the force of your allure. Krystle, though brimming with confidence, delights in a fresh giggle. She should be used to the raw, feminine charisma she wields, but her recrafted spirit still feels a giddy exaltation at her own beauty. You feel a warm wetness between your thighs.

    Stopping near a fountain at the main hub between sections of the mall, you spy a neckbearded young man glancing around idly. His eyes flick to the both of you for a fleeting moment, focusing on the subtle but still striking shape of your bust before lingering on the prominent, detailed shape of Krystle''s breasts pressing against her red shirt.

    He''s easily over 120 kg, wearing his weight on his bulging belly and thick thighs. A pair of Coke bottle glasses cover up his striking, blue eyes. Stringy, unkempt black hair licks at his glossy neck, merging with the pubic-style curls of his facial hair. A worn, blue shirt, bearing a Portal 2 logo, barely covers his rolls of fat and gray, athletic shorts hover past his furry knees.

    For an instant, you notice a flash of connection in Krystle''s eyes. While you often ignore the tickles of other realities in the back of your head, you can surmise that Krystle and this flabby, furry thing could''ve known each other in another life. Now, they might as well come from a different species. But that, you know, can be as easily corrected as you corrected Krystle.

    As Krystle clings to her soft, supple chin in contemplation, you remove the flashlight from your purse and train a medium-intensity beam on that timid, bloated picture of a man.

    With blinking curiosity, Krystle glances over at the light in your hands. A dozen different flashes of thought and memory struggle to gain traction in her mind, but all she can do is watch as the beam transfigures its target.

    The broad arc of the light doesn''t do much at first, especially against that solid, unyielding mass of the man. But, like a sunbeam on a block of ice, it eventually melts away, sublimating into the air. You sweep the light in a steady, persistent arc, not pausing for a young, mischievous boy who dashes in front of it to escape from a frazzled, raccoon-eyed mother.

    When you flick the light off, you take a quick breath and marvel at the transformation you have enabled. Where before sat a pathetic figure, now rises a breathtaking beauty. Her face, once a half-inflated balloon of fat, clings tightly to a sharp, sleek Icelandic curve. Her slim, pert nose gently arches upward, and her pink, pouty lips appear as a constant invitation for a kiss. The unnatural beauty of her blue eyes is striking with her glasses transformed into contacts and her stringy, black hair now platinum blond and framing her soft features.

    Below, her Portal 2 blue top has shifted into a clingy, pink babydoll that shows off her trim, silken shoulders, dainty hands, and glossy nails. While her top displays the same scene, the Companion Cube is gently distorted by her B-cup bust. Past a glimpse of her taut, shapely stomach, those cotton shorts have become fleece short-shorts that desperately cling to the hourglass rise of her hips and barely make it beyond her narrow, hairless thighs. A set of pink flip-flops and a lovely, leather bag complete her ensemble.

    You feel a flare of actual jealousy this time, if only for a moment, before marveling in your power. A bloated bulk of a man, never given a second thought, transformed into a radiant beauty somewhere between an actress, a model, and a super heroine. In his previous life, this former man might have envisioned his new body cosplaying as Spider-Gwen/Gwen Stacy. But now, she already has a loyal Instagram following for her cosplay modeling from oodles of fanboys who would beg to grovel at her dainty feet.

    "Krystle! Did they have pumpkin spice? Who''s your friend?"

    "Bryce! Oh my gosh, I completely forgot!..." Piecing together her changed life memories as she collects them, Krystle notes how you comforted her when she broke down with a rush of emotions. You can imagine this Bryce might''ve once been a buddy urging his friend to ask out a girl way out of his league. Now, they are both beauties in a league of your own, gorgeous gals to inspire awe in everyone else.

    The collateral bonus of the young boy who crossed your path is a stabilized, calm young girl with sparkles in her eyes, a sweep of shimmering brown hair past her back, and an elfin seed of beauty that will one day blossom into a presence to rival your own. You find yourself tingling at the realization that this boy will never know what it means to be a man. In fact, her altered mind has never known anything but femininity. The relaxed energy of her mother, no longer saddled with a blunt, brutish boy, but rather a refined, precious young lady, convinces you that there is even more you can do to improve the world.

    Lovely Bryce eagerly forgives her friend for forgetting her coffee but gently scolds her for not seeking her out as a comforting shoulder to cry on.

    After treating your new friends to their favorite caffeinated drinks, you consider the next step in your beauty-making plans.

    [This is a branch from the storyline, which was originally going to focus more on Beverly Marsh and changes she did around the mall. In this story snippet, the flashlight is used to transform car lights and other light varieties into active transformation beams.]

    [Headlights: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª-

    You return to the parking lot, wondering how far you can make car changes. You just changed a parked car. What if you change one that''s being driven? Would it change the driver inside?

    It''s approaching dusk, so some of the cars have their lights on. You choose a silver Hyundai because it''s ambling in front of the mall through a pedestrian walkway. Training the beam carefully, you lead it ahead of the car. Despite trying to change the whole car, just the headlights on the front change, turning to a still-usable but stark shade of pink. The wash of the lights is beyond you but directed at a group of teen boys making their way indoors.

    With a squealing pump of the brakes, the silver car stops in front of a group of Japanese girls with aquamarine streaks in their black hair, silken tops, and glossy vinyl miniskirts with high heels. Setting the brake, a large black man, who has the muscles of a college linebacker but the shocked presence of Ferdinand the Bull before a flower, steps out of the car and gawks at the sudden appearance of flashy, pretty Japanese girls in front of his vehicle.

    Almost to himself, he inquires, "Did ya see that?" You hold your tongue and wonder if holding the wheel counts the same as holding the flashlight for memory, as you fight with your own awareness of what happened. Since you are slightly behind his vehicle, his head doesn''t turn in your direction. You make sure your flashlight is turned off and put away in your purse.

    He calls out to the new girls, but they are already out of earshot and making their way into the mall. The sweep of the headlights illuminates a sign on a nearby department store, which reads, in fancy script, "Glamorous Women''s Kimonos". Searching your memory, you notice it looks out of place beside the other signs, but you aren''t sure what it might have said before.

    The tender but buff black man walks over to the front of his vehicle to examine the pink tint to his headlights. You blink and puzzle over the echoes of arousal you feel for the driver as you see a dainty, pale young woman with a blend of Caucasian and Japanese features.

    Stepping back from the front of her idle car, she fixes her short, fluffy mop of brown hair, revealing the silvery sparkle of ornate studs in her ears. The bubblegum twinkle of her pink lips part as her adorable face gives a frustrated puff. A see-through, black jacket reveals her slim arms as she clicks off her pink-tinted lights. She wears a black, vinyl miniskirt, much like the other girls, and crunches through the sidewalk gravel on hot pink heels.

    While her snug, sleeveless black-and-white striped blouse only hints at her subdued bust, the lines of her bra suggest she''s bigger underneath than you might expect.

    Before she gets into her car and drives off to unknown changes and fates, you raise your arm and ask, "Could you help me?"

    With nervous, leaf-like surprise, she notices you. As you strain, you sense she was someone else a minute ago, just like those teens. You aren''t sure if the make of the car had some role to play in the appearance of those in the path of the beam, but it is the only idea you have in a mess of confused thoughts.

    Trying your best not to sound nervous too, you ask the girl, "Can you give me a lift? I missed my bus."

    You''re not especially tall, but you still have a full head of height on her, even with her heels. She draws her legs together and dips her head shyly, answering with a faint Japanese accent, "Oh, I dunno. I would like to help. But my car is being...very, very weird. The light is broke. I think."

    She bends over to turn on the light and puzzles, open-mouthed, as the light returns to its regular, untinted gleam. Spinning back towards you, she stammers wordlessly like a fish on the shore, looking like she''s about to break down in tears and lose control of her bladder at the same time as her legs squirm.

    Before she can pass out from embarrassment, you tell her it is fine and set a hand on her shoulder for support. Her hot, nervous embarrassment gives her a slight shiver as she apologizes profusely and unlocks the door to let you in on the passenger side.

    [In this story snippet, the second-person character accidentally causes more changes to reality than they ever expected. They take a restroom trip after the flashlight changes things in their bag, especially a water bottle.]

    [The Shift: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª¡ª

    Despite the progress of your changes, you still find yourself momentarily stunned to search and discover your penis all but gone, barely a nub between tight, petal-like folds of flesh you''ve only ever glimpsed in online photos. You tease the delicate, exotic lips, sweaty with a rush of arousal like nothing you''ve ever felt. Instead of a rising, rigid peak, you feel an inexorable, slick wave crash through you. You''re getting wet, and it''s a frantic, urgent ache. Like a drip from a faucet rising up through a pipe, and there is nothing you can do to arrest its determined flow.

    You tease your achingly hard nipples before you resolve that the water you''ve consumed needs to leave. Straddling the bowl, you nervously unclench muscles with only the phantom memory that a male phallus should be there. Feeling like you''re at the edge of a cliff with comforting rocks missing beneath you, you take the plunge. An urgent, aching flow, which feels like a sloppy, spraying stream right from your bladder, fills the bowl. When you are done, you feel more feminine than you can possibly imagine, with the sliding wetness of your arousal becoming an impatient ache coupled with the dripping release of your bladder.

    Nervously, you expect that surely the water you consumed has passed from your body. What you neglect to consider is how long water remains in the body, slipping into the basic functions of everything and merging with the water already there. What you peed out was merely the leftovers of what you drank before. You could no more filter out this transformative water than track down a single bacteria in all of your blood. To make matters worse, you further solidify your state with a full, automatic swig of your bottle. Only when it''s down your throat do you curse what you''ve done with a high, whispery soprano.

    What scuff of facial hair you once felt has vanished, replaced by smooth, sleek skin. An instant later, your hair warms your ears and drapes over your eyes. Nervous to leave the stall and assess how much you have changed, you first attend to the wet spot in your groin. Front to back or back to front? Old sex-ed lessons depart from you as you hope that you won''t have to worry long about the consequences of getting it wrong.

    Fumbling with your male clothes, you feel as though you''ve gotten someone else''s outfit. Everything is both too small and too desperately big for you. Your boxers strain against your hourglass hips while the flap leaves your new parts awkwardly exposed. Only by cinching the tightest notch on your belt do you have any chance of your pants staying up. Even then, they slide around the wild slopes of your hips and waist. Your top, though sloppy and oversized, at least covers you. However, the flesh on your chest has swollen. Though barely beyond a B-cup, your hard, jutting areolas lewdly announce themselves against the material.

    Just seeing them pressing out from your chest renews your arousal, as a slippery feeling finally arrives between your legs. No position saves you from the kind of embarrassment you never thought you would feel, aside from a rogue hard-on. Plus, the sight triggers a feedback loop that only urges the sensitive flesh to become ever more turgid.

    Holding your light-transformed bag in front of you as an awkward shield, you manage to stagger your way out of the stall, surely a brightly-blushing oddity for all to see. Fortunately, you are the only restroom goer at the moment. This affords you a private gaze at the long mirror behind the sinks.

    You look like a woman who accidentally put on her brother''s clothes. You can wear them, but just barely. Gently groomed dark hair reaches down to your shoulders. Your eyes and face are adorable, perfectly smooth, and undeniably feminine. You look so cute. Before you can cry or stagger out of the bathroom, a stall opens and a looming, leggy blond with the presence of a model steps out. Her heels clack a few times before she stops in front of you.

    She seems really tall, but can''t be much bigger than you were before, especially in heels. Slowly, she approaches from the side and wraps an arm around your shoulder.

    "Honey, are you alright? Did you just Shift?"

    You notice her sky-blue painted nails and the way the strap of her black leather purse splits her soft, rounded bust in her red-and-blue striped top. So much of her feminine stomach is revealed between the hem and her pleated, jean skirt with a bunched-up fringe of lace at the bottom. You do a double-take as you notice the presence of a masculine bulge pressing against her skirt.

    Your tongue dangles for a moment, and you feel yourself salivate before you shut and seal your lips. The pretty...shemale?...still holding your shoulder teases, "See something you like now, sweetie?"

    She giggles and apologizes, and you feel as if your face has never been hotter with embarrassment. You soon realize that she isn''t a rarity, as other leggy, gorgeous women sporting a subtle but undeniable lump beneath their skirts come and go.

    Nervously, you fumble for your flashlight, but your shaky hands drop it into the basin, and, before you can retrieve it, the infrared sensor sprays it with a steady stream. As you whimper, the blond dries her hands and lingers at your side. She helps you dry off the light, but manipulating it produces no illumination, blue, pink, or otherwise.

    You curse to yourself, your mind racing with fear about how much you might''ve screwed up your life and maybe the world playing with this thing. All the while, you feel the blond''s long fingers along your sensitive, shapely shoulders. Your arousal feeds into your female shape, and you nearly swoon.

    After she helps you out of the restroom, you both sit on a wooden bench off to the side of the mall crowds. Calmly, she asks if you grew up in a "Static" family. Another word you don''t understand. You bow your head with genuine embarrassment.

    She asks if you have your phone on you. You pull it out of your transformed bag, now a rose-gold iPhone with a Hello Kitty case. She enters a website for you to look at.

    It tells you everything you need to know about how the world is now. There are no more boys or men, just one distinguished gender where everyone develops a small penis at birth. At puberty, girls, or "shebirds", develop (the idea of "maleness" seems not to exist). Girls lose their penis for a vagina, and shebirds get bigger and taller, while still remaining feminine with bulging dicks and descending testicles. You notice that the pee hole on shebirds is near the taint, at the base of the balls, explaining why they still need to sit to pee. You peer at the female figure on the restroom sign and realize you missed a rounded protrusion from the bottom of the stick person''s skirt.

    Just half a bottle of water has changed your life, and just one light on a sign has changed the world. You find Static means someone who tries to resist changing one way or the other due to religious views and often suddenly explodes into full femininity, which is known as the Shift.

    The blond gives you time to read and says her name is Chrissy.

    With the weight of so many changes, you take time to consider what to do next.

    [This was a snippet from a storyline where the transformation did more to alter mind and reality. More grounded consequences follow. The MC is turned trans by use of the light. This was a fascinating snippet that I wish I explored further].

    [Out and About Girl: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª-

    You decide not to mess with makeup right now, but you do inspect the box with a playful smile. Later.

    While you debate whether to go searching for a cute pair of flats, you try the heels on a whim. To your surprise, you move about the room as comfortably as if you were simply wearing sneakers. As a final touch, you slip one of your padded bras on underneath your soft, velvety top with a colorful sketch of a female guitarist.

    Inspecting yourself in the mirror, you feel a flash of panic. Not because you''ve changed but rather because you can still see a boyish presence beneath all these clothes. Sure, you have your padded bra on, but it only gives the slightest hint of a bust. You don''t have the manliest shoulders, but they still seem to jut a little too much in that lovely top. At least you shaved your arms and legs in the bathroom before you got dressed up. Still, you can feel prickly little hairs that you can''t quite squash.

    A flare of uncertainty hits you as you realize you didn''t shave your body...did you? Yet your skin looks smoother than usual. This pleases you. You look girlish and pretty. Not delaying with doubt anymore, you step out the door and into the main dorm hall. You hold your breath as a pair of towering football players loom in the hallway.

    Before you can take the first step to scoot out of their way, they step back and let you go first. You can feel their eyes on you as a swarm of butterflies leaps through your chest. You nervously check your padded bra to make sure it''s not lopsided or anything embarrassing.

    The more you walk around in these clothes, the more natural they feel to wear. Even though you need to tuck your manhood up and back to wear the panties, the positioning is surprisingly comfortable to the point you don''t even think about it.

    Outside, you catch a sudden breeze as you open the door. It ruffles your hair and whacks it in front of your face. With a sigh, you wish you''d brought a tie with you to hold it back but manage to fashion your bracelet into a temporary substitute.

    You do your best to stride confidently around campus with your heels striking the pavement. Your pretty skirt flutters in the breeze too. Past the football field, you make your way to the student services building. Checking your box, you find a lovely card from your cousin, saying you''re an inspiration to them.

    Your heart wells with joy. She has a tough time with her religious parents. They won''t even consider letting her see a therapist, and hormones are completely out of the question. You feel grateful your parents recognized the signs early; you all talked it out together, and they made sure you were happy as a girl. Their support has made all the difference.

    Giggling to yourself as you take in the emotions of your cousin, you hear a rough, bitter chuckle and a whispered, cruel F-word you dare not contemplate or repeat. Whirling around, you spy the clenched teeth and folded arms of Mitchell Creaver. If you could spray bile on him, you would open up right here. He''s defaced the room where the LGBT Support Group meets and especially has it out for the Trans Students Club, of which you''re the president.

    Instead of a middle finger, which might get you in trouble, you flutter your Venus necklace and stare him down. Since he''s a wimp at heart, he backs down but still leaves behind the echoes of a bitter laugh. Fuming, you make your way to the gender-neutral restroom to let loose a quick cry.

    Gazing into the mirror, you pause and are struck by your reflection. Your hair, which should be close-cropped, hangs neatly over your shoulder in your roughly-fashioned tie. Your arms look lean and slender. Your skin has a strange luster to it, almost like a girl''s. And your nails. They aren''t brightly painted, but they have been cared for. Resting your hands on your chest, you realize there is something more being caressed by your padded bra. Peeking, you gape at the development of your nipples, which are broader and fuller than just a few minutes ago. While you aren''t especially busty, your padded bra accentuates what you have to make you look more cis.

    Under your soft panties, you now have plenty of room, as her manhood has shriveled to a fraction of its normal size. It doesn''t even respond to touching your breasts.

    You are a transgirl in just about every way, and at the cusp of your consciousness, are the challenges of your life. Coming out to your parents at an early age in fear, only to be met with love. Hormone therapy pushing your body slowly towards girlhood as you howl into your pillow about how slow your boobs are to develop. Mom encouraging you and explaining she was a late bloomer too. Name-calling all through junior high and high school along with dark, bleak thoughts. Then being asked out by boys all through high school and even getting named the Prom Queen. The acceptance of your roommates in college. But Mitchell...

    Only, it isn''t actually your life. You aren''t transgendered. Even though you can remember taking blockers and hormones for so long, it has to be the light¡ªsomething seeping through your clothes and into your life and body. It left you male but rewrote enough of you into a trans girl. You know you should hurry back to the dorm and blast yourself with the brightest blue beam, but your mind wants more of girlhood.

    But if you go too far, then you''ll become a full girl. What about your cousin? What about your life? It would all vanish away. And Mitchell, that jerk, would just find someone else to torment...

    [This is a fun snippet where the POV character was transformed by the flashlight with a mental rewrite to think they have always been a girl and are then flirted with. A confrontation leads to interesting consequences.]

    [Some Just Don''t Quit: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª¡ª-

    "Yo, girl! Is there a cell phone in your back pocket? Cause that ass is calling me!"

    That boy just won''t quit! Just spilling out his smug, lame lines like he has a frat brother he wants to high-five after each lame comment. His hair looks like a greasy pompadour, his jeans nearly dangle off his plaid boxers, and he thinks popping his top button makes him look like a romance cover star. He''s definitely not your type, even though you aren''t absolutely certain what your type is with all the changes you''ve been through. You just know it isn''t him!

    He hasn''t crossed over into the creeper zone, but you pick up your pace and stride confidently to the nearest street corner. You aren''t dressed provocatively, not that it should matter one way or the other. The wind flicks your dark curls over your face as your golden, dangly earrings settle. You straighten your gingham miniskirt as far over your hips and thighs as it will go and adjust how much cleavage shows on your drawstring white tank top.

    "Hold up, girl. I just wanna talk a bit." If it comes to it, you do have a taser, but it''s somewhere around the bottom of your purse. Same with your mace. And, better yet, you have a magic flashlight. You can make yourself into a buff guy or clean up that look of his. Maybe...both.

    He watches you for a second as you flash a knowing smile and then turn a wash of blue light over your body. You regret that the magic prevents him from realizing your skirt is turning into a snug pair of twill pants with the strange presence of a penis pushing from your groin. A preppy set of sneakers on your broad feet is a tolerable replacement for your pretty heels. While you miss your fashionable dark curls, you hope that you have a face like your favorite actor. A white, button-down dress shirt is definitely rougher than you prefer but still suitably fashionable.

    The distended, snaking swells in your trousers still leave you fighting hot embarrassment and fretful feelings, but at least some of the shock has waned. Regarding the boy, you watch him blink for a moment before a grin returns to his face and he presses, "So, pretty boy, what''s your name?"

    With an internal scream, you resolve that some libidos just can''t be quashed by magic. But you make one last effort with a low pink light aimed over your relentless, romantic pursuer. Making sure you finish the job, you flick the light off, tuck it away in your pocket, and survey the results.

    Instead of a frat boy trying too hard, you see a demure redhead with hair not much longer than your slim locks. She''s dressed bookishly, like someone out of a John Hughes film. A jean jacket downplays her bust but can''t hope to hide it. Underneath, her pink blouse shimmers with little blue rhinestones and yellow, sketchy flowers. The leather strap of her immense purse, which looks like it could and does easily hold several paperback novels, splits her breasts in a way that seems quite adorable.

    Glancing down with a blush lighting up her pale cheeks, she fusses with her long, maroon skirt that nearly reaches her silver-sandaled feet with glittery pink nails. Despite certainty in your female heterosexuality through several gender crossings, you have to admit she is triggering something in your now-male body.

    Despite how much she''s changed, she persists with shy tenacity, "My name is Misty. W-would you like...to get a c-cup of coffee some...somewhere?"

    A casual glance at your wallet, disguised as adjusting your snug pants, lets you know your current boy version is named Dylan. Misty gasps as your rogue penis flashes a brief impression through your clothes.

    Your raw, masculine energy feels both intoxicating and unsettling. You aren''t turned on by this new girl, but the power you exert over her small, frail presence is something else. Tempted and conceding she''s earned at least a little of your time by still being into you after a sex flip, you agree to her proposal for coffee, so long as she''s buying. She eagerly agrees.

    Along the way, passing a forest that adjoins the expansive mall parking lot, she stretches up on her toes to give you a peck on the cheek. Despite the fact you still aren''t into girls, your body automatically responds as you watch her give a flirtatious grin and kiss you full on the lips.

    You don''t fight it but gasp in shock and pleasure as her dainty hand sneaks under your tight waistband and urgently strokes the length of your hardening dick. Despite how weird and unnatural it feels, you are bowed over by the concentrated pleasure. Everything you once felt throughout your body is distilled into a fire poker of an organ.

    Leading you into the protective canopy of the forest and away from the prying lights of the roadway, Misty hungrily peels off your pants and underwear. Wrapping her lips around your aching rod, you see and feel no hesitation from her to deep throat your entire length. Have you turned a horny frat boy into a raging nympho?

    Rapturous pleasure threatens to overwhelm you as her quick fingers fondle your balls. If you had the experience of a man, then maybe you would''ve been prepared for this, held your dick along the edge, and made it last, but her sexual fury is just too much for your "new" anatomy.

    Gasping and shuddering, you feel a tingling, explosive eruption. Your climax is more violent than you''re used to, unleashing a spray that Misty eagerly swallows. The brevity of the wave leaves you tantalized and hungry for more. After cleaning the head of your cock, Misty moans and licks her cum-covered lips.

    Maybe you can skip the coffee¡­

    [Here¡¯s another branch example from the flashlight storyline involving a friend named Gene, who is slowly changed by the flashlight]

    [Turnabout: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª¡ª-

    Gene gives an unexpected smirk. "Why thank you. I use a special lotion to keep them silky, but I''m so lucky I don''t need to shave them too often. I had the WORST ingrown hairs the summer before college. It hurt just to sit down! Oh my gosh, so bad."

    You notice Gene is chattier than usual, even though you''ve just changed his...her lower anatomy. And, taking into account her deep voice and upper manly features, you can imagine talking to a strange-looking girl or an unusual gay man. The logic behind the light puzzles you as you try to think of the best way to phrase your next words. You buy some time by using her name as a question.

    "Gene?"

    "Hmm? What? This material? Not jean. It''s chiffon. It''s a little rougher than I like, so I was thinking of returning it." She brushes down a patch of her skirt and lifts a silken skirt off a rack to inquire of you, "What do you think of this?"

    She didn''t recognize her own name, so her identity must have changed. Another puzzle to ponder, as you glimpse her pert rear in the snug shape of her skirt. Despite her only being a woman from the waist down, it excites you.

    With a devious thought, you aim your flashlight at her again and state, "I dunno. Let me check." She giggles in that manly but still soft tone as you sweep the light across the skirt, as though you need it to see properly. Instead, you bathe Gene (or whatever her name is now) in a wash of light, except for one thing.

    You''ve always had a thing for short-haired chicks, so you restrain yourself before the light can lengthen your friend''s black hair from a close cut with a few strands that slip over their forehead. Teasingly, Gene quips, "And you got it in my eyes. Nice. You do know the skirt isn''t up there, right? Should I haul you to the eye doctor at the other end of the mall?"

    Flicking the light off after a half-hearted apology, you marvel at the girl before you with Gene''s haircut. She now has on a form-hugging, solid-black tank top with straps that reveal her bra straps. The slope of her lean waist is now complimented by a narrow, taut stomach that is a fraction of its former size. Surrounding her obvious, D-cup cleavage are a series of thin front loops and the hinted edges of her lacy, black bra cups. Her breasts aren''t obscenely big or exposed, but the fit of her top leaves just enough to your imagination. She doesn''t seem like an alt girl or a goth, but she could look like one with a little makeup.

    Gene sets the skirt, turned mini by the light, back on the rack, resolving, "I''ll try something else. Also, you''re totally staring again." Her voice has a smoky, glamorous presence.

    You come up with some excuse that you''re trying to envision her in the outfits, to which she snickers playfully and answers, "Of course. While blinding me with a little girl''s nightlight." Though you don''t sense that she''s actually upset with you, you slip the light into your pocket and show your empty hands in contrition.

    She brings her pouty pink lips up in a quick smile. Her lower lip is big and looks so soft that you can''t help but imagine what kissing her would be like. You must''ve caught more of it than the top one beneath the beam. It still looks natural and sexy. You can''t believe that an average-looking guy from your college has become such a gorgeous lady. If only you knew more about her connection to you and why you''re shopping together, you might feel confident enough to flirt with or kiss her, but you don''t even have an idea of her name now.

    Tagging along, you offer up your arms as a clothes rack for her favorites to try on. Intoxicated by a wave of her rose-heavy perfume as she leans close to you, it takes you a moment to realize she has snuck a hand into your pocket and pulled out the light.

    Grinning, she pronounces, "Ah HA! Turnabout is fair play. Now, let''s see how you look under this silly, pink light..."

    [Sadly, this was as far as this branch idea went. But there are other orphan branches with these two characters wielding the flashlight.]

    [And here¡¯s a different, alternative branch to the previous with Gene. The MC, unaware, has been changed.]

    [What Have You Goth There?: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª¡ª-

    You chuckle at some of Gene''s ideas, especially using the light on people heading into one restroom to see if they turn around and head to the other one and investigating if it works on inanimate objects. Sitting near Gene on a bench, you cross your legs tightly as he gives a suspicious, nervous glance at your crotch for the nth time. God, it''s like the fact you''re a boy with a pussy is a foreign concept to him. Earlier in the year, you both got a little too drunk, and he went down on you, out of curiosity and experimentation. Despite the fact you mutually agreed to remain friends and not mention it, there is no way he could''ve forgotten that.

    You wonder briefly if maybe his mind might''ve been altered by wielding the light, but you don''t feel any different with it in your hands. Lining up the beam, you question Gene as you continue, "What do you see over there?"

    He notices the scruffy teen boy in a messy, Metallica tee and snug, black jeans who looks like he''s trying for the world''s longest sulk as his punk girlfriend shops at Hot Topic for merch. Gene readily describes, "A wannabe edgelord." You listen to him then repeat, "A goth guy...a guy...a sulking dude...a girl...a goth girl." Meanwhile, you have turned on the beam and aimed it over the scruffy teen.

    He doesn''t notice any change and readily recites "goth girl" without questioning or skipping a beat. For you, Metallica remains but has shifted into a black tank top with a set of bra straps angling beside the thin straps of the top. Her skin is even paler as a girl but silky smooth. Whereas the boy would''ve loomed over six feet if he wasn''t slouching, the goth chick barely seems to stretch five feet in her glossy obsidian, heeled boots. Thick leggings flow into a set of belt-covered, leather short-shorts. While her hair isn''t much longer than his, the difference is between a greasy, crow-like dangle and a pretty, feathery swoop that dips over her right eye and stops short of her neck. Her dense, Egyptian-style eyeliner is accented by a large Ankh on a silver necklace, which rests on her DD-cup bust, drawing attention to the sharp line of her cleavage.

    While your pussy has appreciated the pretty girls you''ve made, this is the first one to get you actually wet. You kinda have a thing for short-haired chicks, and the change from a grungy guy to a cute girl is the best one you''ve done so far with the light. Gene clears his throat and stumbles over ideas for what changes might''ve happened. There''s something amusing about him trying to suss it out like a mind puzzle. His best effort is "swimmer" before you have to tell him.

    "Guess I''m not missing much then. Dang, she looks..." As Gene speaks, he notices the punk girlfriend has returned from shopping. The girlfriend gives the new goth chick a lingering, warm kiss before excitedly showing off her purchases to her smiling partner. Gene glances at his feet and finishes, "She looks happy. Whatever happened to her. Hopefully."

    You''ve noticed this sense of melancholy trailing after Gene, like a sense of guilt, despite the fact that you have been responsible for almost all the transformations, and you stopped him before he altered your pussy. Almost all...you glance at the server on the mall restaurant terrace. He doesn''t seem weird to you, but Gene compared it to a circus act where a performer is one side girl and one side guy. Your heart beats swiftly as you make up your mind to ask, holding the light, "Buddy? Is there something you want to do with this?"

    For emphasis, you wiggle your head in the direction of the restaurant. He glances quickly between the flashlight and you, making sure this is what you want to do. Gene is a responsible guy, and sometimes stuff weighs on him. But you warn him, "Not on me."

    He shakes his head so much that you''re worried it might fall off. He invites you to hold the flashlight at the same time but, with everything you''ve read in the instructions about the user and control, you don''t want to risk altering both your memories or doing something else crazy. One user at a time. You urge him, "Just do what you need to do."

    So, you watch him shine the pink light on a waitress across the way. You don''t understand it, but he heaves a long sigh of relief. "You good now, buddy?"

    As an answer, your friend turns the flashlight around on herself. You watch in stunned silence as your college friend, Sera, covers her body in the pink glow of the beam. Her dirty blond hair in a silken fringe around her head looks momentarily darker under the pink-tinted glow. Her soft face quivers with surprise as she switches off the light and cradles it in her lap.

    "What the heck!?" You bristle with fear about what Sera has done. Fortunately, she is left somehow unaltered by the light. Her prominent, you sometimes joke "pokey", boobs haven''t gotten bigger than their previous D-cup fullness. Her peach, short-sleeved athletic top with a rounded, girl-next-door innocent view of her neck is still neatly tucked into her hip-hugging, high-riding gray-blue jeans. Her oldest, most comfortable sandals dangle off her dainty feet with peach-glossed nails.

    The fear doesn''t abate as Sera gropes herself with a bright, wide-eyed blush. Her hands fondle her bust, and she gives a sudden whimper. Snatching the light back, you interrogate her, "What''s that about?"

    Returning to your previous concern about unknown mental effects to using the light, her look at you is not the expression you expect from the girl you want to be more than friends with. Sure, you two got drunk one night and caressed each other for hours, but that was private compared to shining a magic light on oneself then fondling your tits in the middle of a mall!

    Swallowing hard, then clearing her throat, Sera says to you, stammering like she''s never used her soft, high voice before, "I''m a girl..."

    Well, duh. Of course she is, and always has been. You soften your thoughts with calm and explain this to her. Swiftly, she shakes her head and makes wild claims that she was a boy a minute ago and her name was Gene. While you understand that the light can change sex, there is absolutely no doubt in your mind that Sera has been a woman as long as you''ve known her. Not even a single stray memory says anything different.

    Suddenly, Sera bolts from the seat, staggers on her feet with the sway of her hips, and hustles away. You chase after her, confused as to what you said and did wrong.

    [This is another alternate snippet of Gene and the POV character.]

    [Show Light: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª

    You think of all the sexy Instagram stars you see online, the Gone Wild photos on Reddit, and the filtered, posh selfies on Twitter. Those are fun and fantasy-filled but you can''t think of Gene like that. Nor do you think you could just hang out with girls and have fun that way. If you use a peak intensity beam, then Gene''s liable to wind up as one of those high-maintenance chicks or some sort of empty bimbo. Nah, you guys have been friends for too long. You have to proceed carefully.

    As you window shop together, you adjust the beam and point it at Gene so that it encompasses his entire body in a dim but steady pink light. Currently, he''s distracted by a flashy-looking JRPG display in the window of the mall''s locally owned gaming shop, Infinite 1Ups. A little of the beam crosses through the window and shines on the cover art. Fortunately, no one else is standing near the window, but you feel like the characters in the artwork look a little girlier than before. It''s hard to tell with these kinds of games though.

    Under your riveted gaze, you witness Gene''s extensive changes. Where before you were about the same height, he''s now more than a head shorter than you. His normal, well-kept brunette hair spreads like a human Chia Pet in time-lapse, settling over his right shoulder in particular. As well, it acquires a coppery, subtle auburn tint. Turning, she flashes her bubblegum-pink lips in a playful smile and responds to the light on her by singing, off-tune, but in an adorably-cute soprano, "Hello, my buddy, hello, my honey, hello, my ragtime gaaaall, send me a...hug by wire, that''ll be total fire." She doffs an invisible top hat in mime, and you''re sure she changed some of the lyrics, but you keep the spotlight on her until it''s clear she''s not changing any further.

    Despite the dim quality of the light, girlish softness has saturated Gene''s entire body. A trim set of eyebrows accentuates her curly lashes. They aren''t done up all the way or flashy, but they highlight her big, silvery eyes in a way that projects gleeful cuteness. Gene had more of his mother''s nose. Now, her trim, sloping one evokes her Broadway singer grandmother, whom you only met in old photos he shared with you. It''s not the sexiest or most feminine nose, but it looks perfectly cute with the rest of her narrow, feminine features.

    Gene used to have a prominent Adam''s apple, but now her neck is all Eve¡ªslim and surprisingly tiny. Below, the blue windbreaker he had on has become a tan, woolen cardigan draped loosely over her narrow shoulders and swarming around her slender fingers with nails that match her bright lips.

    Beneath the cardigan, you discern a message with white hearts around each letter that spells out "I just wanna be your dream girl" on an otherwise unassuming, gray tee shirt tucked in the girly blue jeans she''s wearing. Pink, flat sneakers cover her feet beside a purse decked out in Final Fantasy characters. She slips the strap over her shoulder and asks, "How was that?"

    She''s an adorable beauty, the very picture of a girl-next-door, clearly not lacking in a figure despite the layers of comfortable clothes that downplay her chest. She feels like a real girl, someone you might actually ask out if you had a shot of confidence in your arm. At the same time, she looks so much like Gene that you can only imagine this is what Gene would''ve become if he had two X chromosomes.

    You answer promptly, "Very nice." You would''ve said the same, no matter what.

    She then asks you what the deal was with the light, and you explain you were just trying it out, adding, "Like a show light."

    Unfortunately, this encourages her to excitedly pronounce, "Let me try it on you. Song and dance buddies."

    Shoot! If she uses it on you, then you could be in big trouble.

    [More mall changes in this focused around the video game store. Parts of this inspired Finley in the first storyline.]

    [Infinite Girl Ups: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª¡ª

    As much as you enjoy indulging in the changes you''ve made, it''s something of a wide swath with too much to take in at once. You''re deluged by waves of girls made from the manliest of men into butch tomboys, along with shy ladies yearning to change into slacks and frumpy tops. While you could watch that all day, getting more hands-on appeals to you.

    And the place with the highest boy-to-girl ratio you can imagine is Infinite 1Ups, the local gaming store at the far end of the mall complex. It fills four store slots, including a retro arcade curated by the owner. The manager, Ronald, is a cool guy with a YouTube channel on game history that you''ve seen in passing. He''s a big guy with a cordial disposition and one of the densest black beards you''ve ever seen. His friends nicknamed him "Young Santa".

    As fun as it might be to blast him with the light, you wanna see what it can do to his patrons first. Fiddling with the settings, you first take aim at a plain-looking dude in a blue hoodie with an unkempt mop of black hair. Layering him with a light, pink stream of organic light, you then fiddle with inorganic to gingerly adjust her clothing, then bring up her girl sexuality while leaving a trace of boy libido. As far as mind, you leave her more in the blue but unaware of any differences.

    Once this series of lights is complete, you observe the results. The mop spreads out in an understated sprawl over her neck. Her lips aren''t made up or fancy, and her eyes wear subtle, gray raccoon-tired circles. The closest thing to fashion on her is a blue fleece sweater with a cowl neckline that matches her pants. Her chest is not far from a B-cup, but there is no doubt about her girlhood. If you were mean, you might note how she has an impish, spindly frog-like presence. But you also find her cute in an understated way.

    Especially interesting is her shyness as you pass. She''s definitely in your league, and you get the impression she might be drawn in by your presence. Inspecting the row of import games she''s looking through, you notice her focus on suggestive anime titles. Satisfied with your first round, you set up in a good place off to the side to catch male customers as they enter.

    Subsequent results follow in a similar mold to your first, even though not every new gamer girl winds up in the foreign stuff. Soon, the ratio is 90 percent girls to 10 percent guys, and the latter is exclusively fathers and little boys that you''ve left alone. At least for the sake of supporting local businesses, the new girls seem especially generous with buying up more assorted merch than most guys you''ve seen in this store in the past.

    Despite the fun of watching over a dozen subtle gamer girl changes, you wanna mix things up before you head somewhere else. You pick a dude who practically looks like a girl already from the back, with long black hair over his shoulders. Even his arms are pencil-thin. He''s around five and a half feet tall, so he only loses a few scant inches. The key changes involve his thighs plumping up in his blue jeans and a slight change to his arms and hands, so they clearly feel like they''ve always been under the influence of estrogen.

    As the new girl turns with a quick look of confusion, you estimate she must have C-cups with the way her black tee with white-patterned game console outlines slips across her modest bust. She doesn''t have a classic hourglass shape but broad hips that flow up like stretched taffy. If you injected the boy from before with a regular dose of estrogen since puberty while not letting a mote of testosterone enter his bloodstream, then this would be the result. She isn''t prettied up or a beam of femininity, but she could easily be his sibling.

    She brushes a long lock away from enveloping her right eye. You do your best not to appear conspicuous as you put the light away while still waiting for her reaction. An instant later, she looks down and springs right up. The close cut of the black top keeps her from jiggling too much. Still, she fusses with the hem as she marvels at her limbs. As she turns away, you hear a stifled F word as she slips her hands around her groin in an attempt to make it look like she''s adjusting her jeans. The subtle flush to her face becomes brightly obvious.

    You linger at the corner of an aisle as she scurries from her spot. Moments later, she just about barrels into you, and you both tumble to the roughly carpeted floor. She''s basically on top of you, and you can feel her soft thigh pressed right against your crotch. Since you watched all the gamer girlish changes, you''re still rather hard, and you can tell she knows it, as she scrambles to get off you. Her breasts only invade your chest area for a moment, but you can feel her nipples are rock hard through her bra.

    Unable to form any other words, she just nervously squeaks "sorry" apologies before dashing off and out of the store. You find yourself getting even harder as you get to your feet. She ticks a lot of boxes for you as far as being a cute tomboy and a clear gamer. And her awareness of what happened, while a possible problem easily fixed with the flashlight, somehow turns you on even more.

    Hurrying after the escaping girl, you barely hear a comment from store manager, Ronald, as he states, "Thanks for the business." You don''t question this as you hurry out. Hustling to the center of the mall near the terraced, fancier sit-down restaurants, you find yourself out of breath and with no idea of where the girl has gone. Plopping down on a mall bench, you admire some of the tomboys you made earlier as you lament the cute new girl who got away.

    Checking your pocket, you gasp in alarm as your flashlight is not where it should be. Rushing back to the game shop, you don''t see it near where the girl knocked you over. Where could it possibly be?!

    [Here¡¯s another snippet dealing with the effects of the flashlight. In particular, lights everywhere are turned into transformative lights throughout the mall.]

    [Floored by Transformation: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª-

    Your mind reels from the options before you. The gauntlet of lights on the first floor was fun and leaves you curious about how many who enter will leave as the same sex they started with, but you want to do more. It''s not until you spy the escalator at the center of the mall that you swoon with inspiration.

    Before you begin, you inspect both levels. On the upper level are a men''s suit store and other mainly male apparel locations. Sure, there are some places for cute accessories and a few places to eat, along with card shops and whatnot, but even eyeballing the upper level, you see far more men than women shopping. Of course, it could be partly due to the surplus of ladies you''ve made on the ground floor, but you seem to recall this is usually the case.

    Just shining the light on the side of the escalator doesn''t work at first though. So, you fuss with it a bit. Eventually, you figure out a plan. Waiting for a lull in the foot traffic, you aim the light just behind you on the reflective metal of the escalator. With a steady but broad beam, the reflection starts to change tone. Instead of a rainbow-like or distorted gleam, the upstairs escalator now carries a blue tint for whatever light falls on it, like it has been strangely polished.

    Glad to be at the top with no changes to your girlish self, you camp out on a nearby railing and watch the results. Bare-faced men who get on arrive with scruffy faces, hard six packs, and a chiseled look. Soft and doughy guys also get a masculine buff, although sometimes the results are mixed between football linebackers, romance novel farmhands, and metrosexuals.

    While this wide variety fascinates you, the real test comes when the first ladies step onto the escalator. A pair of girlfriends board as you realize the determining factor. Some people hurried up the escalator, and some took it at a leisurely pace. The girls emerge looking like weightlifters in muscle shirts because they took their time. Your eyes flick to a vivid shadow shifting around in their gym shorts as they pass you with a quick, flirty glance. A shiver washes through your womanly body.

    You kill a decent amount of time just boy-watching. Some fragment of your original self freaks out, but he''s easily nudged aside. Eventually, remembering your plan, you find a lull on the downward escalator and aim a steady beam at the area right behind you. The pinkish tint is similarly subtle to the other, but especially amusing when you inspect the escalators.

    Since one end of the mall has an up escalator and there''s a down one over by the game shop, Infinite 1Ups, you feel it''s fair that anyone riding up has a fifty percent chance of no changes and a fifty percent chance heading down. As there are also two elevators, you decide to pick the nearest one and shine a tight, bright blue beam on the button for level 2, and a pink one for the ground floor. The illuminated part of the button that lights up when pressed now bears a corresponding color tint. Camping out on a nearby bench, you observe your handiwork.

    From the second level, you observe a father, and his teenage son getting on the down escalator. While the dad hangs back, the son hustles ahead to the ground floor. His dirty blonde hair flows into a sloppy ponytail. Wearing a comfortable, black graphic tee, and jean shorts, the cute but tomboyish girl turns around to look.

    Several paces behind her, another teen girl steps off the escalator. Her black, glittering heels gingerly step over the threshold as she balances several bags in her arms. Instead of a short, balding cut, long, swooping brunette hair falls past her shoulder. Pretty bracelets decorate her slim arms as she passes some of the bags to her friend.

    The wide, round neckline of her red blouse is provocative without showing off too much cleavage. Her breasts are slightly bigger than yours, and her dark, jean miniskirt displays her gorgeous legs. Though the dad was slow before, the new teen girl strides at a confident pace with her friend.

    Seeing the process before you on the escalator is more fun than the magician''s trick, like the swap of a bodybuilder getting on upstairs and a glamour model stepping out on the ground floor. You watch the changes for a while and enjoy the circulation of transformation until you get another idea for what to try next.

    [This picks up with the lost flashlight in the video game store.]

    [Power Ups: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

    ¡ª¡ª¡ª

    What you don''t realize is that while you were away, chasing after that new cutie, the light rolled out from your pocket and past the next aisle. Standing there, by himself, is a big guy in coke bottle glasses, a scruffy second chin, and an XXXL Naruto t-shirt that actually manages to look big on him. His long, flannel shorts dangle past his furry knees as he crouches where the light fell and groans to pick it up.

    Before he could call after you, you were long gone. Adjusting his glasses, he inspects the light and included instructions. Snorting with skeptical amusement, he figures it''s some sort of gag gift from that one particular store. Setting it to inorganic, he aims a pink beam with mouth-made sound effects at a copy of Red Dead Redemption 2 and wears a look of amusement. The amusement soon flattens into shock as the art of Arthur Morgan turns to a no less steely-eyed blond woman with a silver pistol.

    Pulling back, he sees that none of the other copies of the game have been changed, and no one notices what he has done. Trembling, he buries the light in his pocket, and just in time, as the original owner hustles in to look for the lost item. He snatches up the modified game, pays Ronald swiftly, and resolves to get out of Dodge. With an enigmatic grin, Ronald comments, "Enjoy responsibly."

    Slipping into the retro arcade next to Infinite 1UPs, he lets out a deep breath. Not only is he glad to be out of there for reasons related to the strange tool in his pocket, but he also felt out of place in that store because it is always full of a vast majority of cute, vaguely approachable nerd girls who often distract him. Little does he know that if he had stayed much longer and didn''t pick up that light when he did, he might have joined them.

    With the cascade of lights and music in the arcade, he feels anonymous and unseen. Squinting at the full, attached instructions, he considers taking notes. Experimentally, he sets it to normal and aims at a couple of guys gathered around the recent TMNT fighting game.

    As he watches, a girl with a pretty face and feathery brown hair wearing a yellow top and jean skirt is now on the left, with a feisty redhead in a tank top and skintight jeans next to her, followed by a black girl with a rising plume of crinkly hair and a pert, cute butt, and, last but not least, a blond with a frail bone structure that evokes a tiny bird or an ethereal elfin creature but with the most bust of any of them. Clicking the light off and stepping away, he casually watches the girls play. They are way more intimidating than the ones at the store, but no less dedicated to the game.

    Stomach gurgling as his heart races, he decides to leave the mall. A quick trip on the bus later, and he''s back in the neighborhood where he grew up and returned after college. Sprawled out on his bed, with his heart rate finally returning to normal, he wonders what would happen if he turned the beam on himself, either blue or....pink. He swallows hard.

    He''s an only child, and since his parents left him the house when they moved to a beach bungalow in coastal Mexico, he''s lived with his childhood best friend, Jake. Neither of them is the cleanest guy, but they manage the house well enough, even though Jake teasingly claims that he''s the real housekeeper.

    With the small but miraculous light in his hands, he feels torn between personal experimentation and using the light on Jake. If Jake or he had been a girl, then they easily would''ve gotten married a decade ago. They just get along so naturally. But he doesn''t want to mind-warp his closest friend. Although he could easily reset it with white light, if he made a mistake.

    [This eventually evolved into where Zach and Connor went.]

    And that''s it for the bonus writing. Thank you for reading. Hope you didn''t mind the content change for these. Yuri Worlds is next.

 [1] Yuri Worlds 1 â€“ Preparation

    Yuri Worlds [Story and Arc]

    <<Arc Introduction>>

    [Yuri Worlds]

    This is the first chapter of the fifth narrative and was initially written just last week. No elements from the choose your own adventure concepts I started previously. Despite that, I encourage, as always, readers to offer feedback and poll responses. I have a handful of reveals and plans for the story, but I always welcome ideas that can enrich those foundations.

    For this installment, I am experimenting with naming each chapter. Typically the story has a particular name for its length and then an Arc name for this set of characters, but I like the title of Yuri Worlds so much that I¡¯m just gonna use it for the whole thing. This doesn¡¯t preclude a sequel or any other form of follow up. The formatting will be similar to A Rock & Family Vacation/Close Encounters of the Bus Kind. The title and major elements are inspired by my friend, Ninian, and her works.

    This installment is especially geared towards being understandable on its own. As with the series as a whole, there are mature adult elements, language, nudity, sexual content, and violence.

    Worlds await. With life, love, and possibilities. Light and darkness also follow¡­

    ======

    Yuri Worlds

    [1] Preparation

    ¡°Thank you, sir. Now, if you download our companion app, you can create, upload, and update the custom girl you will be for your vacation experience. We just ask that you finalize your form at least 24 hours before departure. There are a number of presets to assist in the creation process but, so long as the details are physically possible, we should be able to accommodate any form you prefer. Do keep in mind that whatever alter ego you decide on will be you for your entire trip.¡±

    Franklin Fowler listened intently, bent forward, and tried not to blush. The woman seated on the other side of the frosted glass table was officially called an Experience Coordinator, even though he couldn¡¯t help but think of her as a travel agent. He suspected that job probably had a different name as well now. He was just a little kid the last time he actually saw a travel agent.

    They arrived at the Transit Office a little over an hour ago. The expectation was that they would have everything scheduled and completed in fifteen minutes or less. Pre-registration was already done with proof of identity, medical clearance, and transit insurance. The line to be seen laced around the building, and Franklin neglected to use the restroom beforehand.

    If Dwight and Guy hadn¡¯t been with him in line, he would¡¯ve crashed and burned within minutes. The amount of digital paperwork they needed to complete rivaled the DMV. At least most of the stuff he needed to do just involved initials and signatures. Not helping was the fact that the Experience Coordinator was quite attractive. A shimmering, holographic band that appeared to float above her lapel gave her name as Sheila. If Dwight was nearby, Franklin knew he wouldn¡¯t be able to resist putting on an exaggerated Australian accent.

    Sheila had light brown hair shaped into a dome around her head with a neat bun at the back. Unlike everyone else he¡¯d so far encountered here, she deeply intimidated him. No matter how many articles were written online about the process of multiverse travel and fitting in, speaking the idea out loud of going to a world only of anime girls and posing as one for the duration made him feel so embarrassed. Sheila was professional about it but, on top of the digestive chaos, he had so much trouble figuring out where to comfortably rest his eyes. Her eyes were too piercing. And the rest of her instilled a flush, out of control heat in Franklin.

    It wasn¡¯t so much his hormones, although they lurked around, but a thought-destroying fear that she was judging him. What a total perv, he assumed she had to be thinking behind her smile. Not only did he want to go to a place where only girls existed, but he was going to take on the appearance of one too.

    Franklin found a way to breathe and answered, ¡°Understood. Yeah.¡°

    Sheila replenished her professional smile and continued, ¡°Your appointment is on Monday at 7:45 AM. As you can see with how busy we are today, it¡¯s recommended that you arrive an hour to ninety minutes before your departure. Less than an airport, but that will ensure that our technicians will be able to prepare your trip. The process is instantaneous. You may experience some side effects afterward, commonly ranging from disorientation to brief nausea, vertigo, transitory body dysphoria, and blurry vision. A couple documents I¡¯ll give you will elaborate. There are copies on our website. At the waypoint in your journey, you¡¯ll be checked out, placed with your tour group, and then allowed to proceed. Your host or hosts shall greet you soon after. That¡¯s all. At the end of your trip, make sure you return here within 24 hours of your scheduled time to avoid reversion.¡±

    Franklin nodded throughout. That was one of the most important things in the documentation. In bold with red letters: Don¡¯t overstay your visit. If you do, then you will be banned from ever traveling again. The illusion of fitting in with the other universe will vanish, and you will be left as an alarming abnormality. How people from here looked was not a big secret. But there were some sort of cultural agreements he didn¡¯t really understand, along with the dangers of being exposed to the physics, particles, and natural laws of another universe. People online called it the Melting, and that¡¯s all he desired to know.

    The only other important point that Sheila expressed was that time moved eight percent slower in this universe. That meant even though the trip was scheduled to last two weeks, it would actually be slightly over a day shorter. Before Franklin could get lost in his brain trying to do the math on that, she passed him a small, black synchronization watch. This wasn¡¯t the special wristband they would be receiving at the waypoint. It was already set to the local time. A little before five in the afternoon. The time in the other world was after six. Sheila advised him that on Monday the times would match closely. He trusted that this was correct.

    Receiving a fancy, thick blue folder with the Travel Anywhere logo emblazoned across the front, Franklin managed to get a quick, painful, but non-bleeding paper cut when fumbling for it. Sheila offered him a space-themed bandage, but he just tucked it in his pocket. He reached out a hand to shake hers but accidentally timed it as she was turning away to check on something. Darting his hand back, he asked an unnecessary question about billing paperwork and fees, which she already answered. He shuffled away quietly after thanking her.

    Dwight and Guy were waiting for him at the front. Franklin stared pathetically at the occupied restroom and sighed. Hopping up from the generic metal and plastic chair, Dwight firmly pressed Franklin on the shoulder, his bright blue eyes shimmering in the afternoon light, and declared, ¡°Let¡¯s go eat and talk tits! Sunroom Cafe. Can you make it?¡± Guy drifted over and beamed, ¡°I hope they have something spicy!¡±

    Just being around his friends lowered Franklin¡®s gurgling anxiety and made his heart settle in his chest. He smiled and nodded to Dwight¡¯s question. A surge of energy encouraged him to want to lead the three of them, but Dwight more naturally settled into that role.

    The parking lot outside was stuffed to the edge, at least as far as the clothing shops and the wellness spa on the side. A boxy paint store and a sporting goods chain flanked the other end. The next street over had a swap meet, a supermarket repurposed into a gym, and an auto mall.

    Guy¡¯s car, which they took here and Dwight drove, was far on the edge towards the street, flanked by unnaturally bright islands of grass. The gurgles surged back and methodically assaulted Franklin¡¯s guts as he did slow breathing and listened to Guy sing a recent pop song to himself. He couldn¡¯t resist smiling despite his discomfort. Not because Guy was a good singer. Far from it. His voice warbled, squawked at points, and had far more exuberance than control.

    In contrast to that harsh sound, Guy Horner was easy on the eye. He had sleek, brown irises; sculpted feathery eyebrows; soft, pert lips traced with subtle pink; and a smattering of freckles. Small golden earrings dangled from his lobes with his curly, light brown hair tugged back into a loose bun across his shoulder. He was clad all in his usual bright pink but lacking the fluttering skirt from earlier. Despite the fact he wasn¡¯t wearing a bra, stuffed or otherwise, a faint, suggestive dent settled in his blouse. None of his attire was different from any other day. At odds with all that was his starkly masculine speech.

    Dwight burst out in a measured, soft, bright voice. It emerged, angelically, from his beard-encircled lips. Franklin appreciated the distraction and struggled to add a few bars of his own as they passed the gym and a gratuitously overpriced sandwich shop. Fortunately, Sunroom Cafe had a prominently featured restroom right at the front. But it was currently occupied.

    A young woman with several menus under her arm greeted them and asked, ¡°Where would you all like to be seated?¡±

    Guy wore a mischievous grin as he boldly responded in his deepest voice, ¡°In the sun!¡±

    ¡°Nice and bright,¡± Dwight chirped softly.

    In just seconds, the woman looked like she¡¯d gained several mental years and desperately wished she was paid more. She didn¡¯t drift into a scowl but quietly directed them to a table basking in the late-day sun. Franklin considered joining in but couldn¡¯t think of anything worthwhile or clever to say. Mercifully, the men¡¯s restroom soon opened up.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Relief came in uncomfortable stages rather than a spontaneous release, with him hunched over his cell phone and considering whether to open up the app and fiddle with the details of his female alter ego for the trip. After wavering for several minutes, he ultimately decided to use his limited mobile data to instead re-download a puzzle game distraction.

    After washing up, he looked at himself in the mirror. Anything probably would¡¯ve been better, he told himself. So many people he talked to asserted that he was a good-looking man. Like a young William H. Macy. It took him a long time to even figure out who that was supposed to be. His head had a narrow verticality that he wasn¡¯t particularly comfortable with. Muted brown hair swept across his head with a curved swoop above his left ear. Despite not yet being gray, it felt like someone had sprinkled salt and pepper across his head.

    His eyes were lined, like his features were a pale bedsheet not quite pulled straight. Broad, puffy, faint eyebrows spread above his eyes. In too many ways, he thought he looked sickly. One feature people often noted were his absolutely massive hands. He appreciated the suggestions that came with them, even though they were wrong.

    Back at the table, Dwight and Guy pointed out which items on the menu they thought Franklin might enjoy. Dwight had settled on the tri-tip, while Guy wanted Cajun chicken. It took Franklin a while to figure out which salad he really wanted.

    Once the waitress took their orders and a certain stillness had settled over their section of the restaurant, Dwight declared, ¡°I¡¯m going with M-cups. The big honkers.¡± He held his hands out in a cupping motion many inches away from his body. This surprised neither Guy nor Franklin.

    Guy leaned forward with his hands folded under his chin and questioned, ¡°Are you sure you can handle massive tits for two weeks?¡± Franklin felt a little sweaty, glancing around curiously. No one was in the vicinity, and no one appeared to be looking in their direction with curiosity or confusion, even though the cooks in the kitchen were close enough that they might be able to hear something.

    Dwight nodded. ¡°I figure a kimono can easily wrap up my mega puppies. Haven¡¯t you seen chicks online wearing something simple, they lift up their tops, and there¡¯s practically watermelons hidden underneath? They¡¯re sending us with plenty of custom clothes. It¡¯ll be fine. But it¡¯s not just the tits. I got a bunch of special settings in mind for girl me.¡±

    Counting off on his fingers, he explained, ¡°Slightly over 5 feet. Yeah, still figuring out metric. Small bladder. Relatively weak. Needs big glasses. Wide hips. Of course, they can¡¯t really do anything mental, but I might roleplay her as submissive.¡±

    Guy leaned back with his slight eyebrows raised. ¡°Bro, are you sure you want to mess with your bladder? We¡¯re going to be sightseeing, and that means long bus rides, ancient shrines without modern plumbing, and hills and stuff. And you want to go all Betsy Wetsy?¡±

    That did lead Dwight to briefly hesitate before he responded, ¡°I see your point, but I am steering clear of incontinence. I also understand that it¡¯s not a great idea, but this may be the only time I take a vacation quite like this, and I have some things I need on my list.¡±

    Guy listened diligently and wiggled his head. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna try to dissuade you from your kinks. I just don¡¯t want us to be several days deep as anime girls and you¡¯re moping on a futon not having a good time because you got some super colorful UTI.¡±

    Anime girls¡­ yep. Travel Anywhere skirted around that exact terminology. Instead, painterly persons. Artistic beings. Drawn life. And the entire world¡­ The entire universe¡­ As far as anyone could tell¡­ Was female. It wasn¡¯t their most popular travel destination, but it had a decent following. And, because of Guy¡¯s connections, it was relatively cheap to charter a trip. Way cheaper than traveling across this world.

    Picking up his phone, Dwight accessed his Photos App and showed off a digital artwork. The background was simple, with what looked like pink flowers and leaves completely out of focus. The figure in the center had pastel pink hair swooped back, partly like Sheila¡®s style. The rest of it sprawled across her shoulders. Round glasses covered her shut eyes, and she had a white sliver representing her teeth with a pink blob of a tongue in her open mouth. Her tiny arms held the hem of her pleated red skirt as though it were a more substantial dress. Nothing naughty was revealed, but her thighs were thick, and her butt was especially prominent in that skirt. Her most obvious trait were the massive breasts contained within a text-covered white top. Each dwarfed her head. Franklin had to admit that, rendered like that, she didn¡¯t appear grotesque, but he honestly had no interest in inhabiting a body like that.

    That wasn¡¯t the only image Dwight had to show. A variety of artists depicted the same girl with a similar look. Some of the images in his collection were clearly generated by machine learning, but most were hand drawn. Guy smiled and asked, ¡°Your Experience Coordinator really didn¡¯t have any concerns?¡±

    With a sly smile, Dwight turned up his hands and admitted, ¡°Just a few. And some questions. But she didn¡¯t say anything was wrong with her.¡±

    Franklin looked between the artistically rendered busty woman on the screen and his friend in the seat across the table. The woman was amusingly accurate to all the details he had shared, but Franklin couldn¡¯t escape the notion that it seemed like the two of them were from entirely different universes.

    Dwight might take that the wrong way if he said it out loud though. He was balding slightly, with a sparse scrabble of dark hair high on his head and a barren patch in roughly the same spot that Franklin liked to part his locks. His crew cut had lost its sharpness over the last couple weeks, and the first traces of a mullet were beginning to assert themselves. Guy liked to hint that Dwight strongly resembled the character played by Riker on the old Gargoyles animated show. He thought that Dwight¡¯s extensive beard made him look more like a proper post-season-two Riker. Dwight hated his eyebrows and how they naturally slanted in and made him look ¡°nefarious¡±.

    ¡±Did you nail Misaki yet?¡± Without any sort of warning, Franklin felt attention turn to him. Dwight¡¯s piercing eyes and Guy¡¯s curious gaze were sharply concentrated on him. He bought himself some time by drinking the ice water placed in front of him by their waitress. Chewing on the tiny ice balls also helped.

    He pressed Dwight about that particular phrasing, and he flashed him a knowing smirk. Franklin struggled with his response.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­still a work in progress. It¡¯s frustrating. I had that one week set aside, and I was going to make this whole backstory and refine all her details. And everything. I¡¯m not even a hundred percent sure of her last name. I¡¯m still questioning whether I should go with Misaki. It means ''beautiful blossom'' but also a bunch of other things, which I don¡¯t know if the locals will interpret one way or another. I also know as a surname, Takano¡­it¡¯s three blossoms, and you guys said you like that because it¡¯s kind of symbolic of the three of us going on this trip.¡°

    Franklin sighed and rubbed at his sparse hair as though he wanted to scratch it loose. Guy slowly but firmly laid a hand on Franklin¡®s hands before proclaiming, ¡°Bro¡­chill. It¡¯s just a name. Takano Misaki¡­ yeah, surname first. Japanese like even though they¡¯re not really Japanese, but this other universe version of here which happens to be living art anime girls. It¡¯s crazy¡­ Just have fun with it. That¡¯s what I do every stream with all my craziness. Make sense?¡±

    All the encouragement, energy, and words that his friends were heaping on his uncertainty actually made things feel worse. He wanted to just give them a victory where they made him feel better and the crap that his brain dealt with shut up. But he was stuck.

    With a long sigh, Guy drew back his hands and cleared his throat before declaring, ¡°There¡¯s just one resolution then. Drastic measures. I warned you. You would have to suffer the consequences if soul-enveloping happiness didn¡¯t consume you at every step of our fun vacation together. You¡¯re going to have to be my adorable, anime girl sister.¡±

    Franklin¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°W-what?¡±

    Pulling out his phone, Guy flashed an image of his own. It wasn¡¯t the image that he had been showing them ever since they started working on their travel alter egos. What Guy wanted drifted primarily towards one-piece navy blue swimsuits with white trim, slim figures, and fancy twin tails. And especially stark shades of bright blue hair to lampshade his blue sentiment ¡°femboy¡± nature despite all the changes.

    This image was of a girl with his distinctively pink attire, wide hips, and slim shoulders, but her hair¡­ it made him think of a grape Jolly Rancher set in the sun and stretched like fabric. Or like spun stained glass. Those were the clearest aspects, but little traces here and there appeared vividly inspired by his still-a-work-in-progress version of Misaki.

    Guy giggled and pronounced, ¡°You¡¯re gonna be my big sister, onee-chan!¡±

 [2] Yuri Worlds 2 â€“ Anticipation

    Yuri Worlds

    [2] Anticipation

    As soon as Guy said that, their waitress emerged from behind the kitchen with their entr¨¦es. Whether she had heard enough of their conversation to piece together any context seemed unclear from her body language. Franklin could tell that Dwight was chomping at the bit to release a huge non-sequitur but just managed to resist the urge.

    Once the waitress was away, Franklin carefully asked, ¡°Sister? I thought you were going with Uehara for a surname. Chika umm¡­Uehara Chika. Wasn¡¯t it registered?¡±

    Guy added a sprinkle of pepper to his chicken and shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s all sorts of reasons why siblings might have different last names. Also, nothing is final until Monday. What do you think?¡±

    Franklin¡®s head felt like it was the unwilling host to a crazed electron cloud. Thinking just wasn¡¯t possible. Rather, a frantic mosaic of half-remembered songs along with the most recent serenade took up residence. His travel form had gone through eight iterations. Redhead to start with spunk and a massive amount of hair. Then came the blonde elfin girl with subtly pointed ears. He spent several days refining the first draft of the purple-haired girl. Her body was festooned with light, rainbow jewelry. That was followed by the tangerine skater girl clad in hoodies and some attitude. The blue-haired iteration of Guy¡¯s original had a wind-wafted, ethereal goddess style. Adventure girl redhead returned with copious tweaks before he basically melded blue and red.

    Misaki. She¡¯d really grown on him¡ªstronger than any stray daydream or tabletop character creation. Her eyes projected a subtle but striking shade of dark raspberry that complimented her hair. While Chika¡¯s luminous grape locks flared and fanned their color tone, Misaki appeared as though she had a simple, short, neck-clinging swoop of black hair. But when the right light caught it, according to his design, it showcased a striking shade of purple that practically sparkled.

    She was going to have rather skinny but surprisingly long legs. Franklin fussed with her bust early on, barely letting it poke through a gray, long-sleeve cotton top. Dwight provided persistent encouragement, until he wasn¡¯t quite sure at this point how big she was supposed to be. Misaki was absolutely bigger than Chika, but putting an actual label on it eluded him. Something else also occurred to him.

    ¡°You¡¯re eight months older than me. How would you be my little sister?¡±

    Guy placed his slim, soft hand with flesh-tone painted fingernails on Franklin¡®s shoulder and assured him, ¡°Dude, it¡¯s pretend. Besides, at our age, that¡¯s practically within the margin of error. But, if you want to rationalize it, we can explain it away with some passage of time disconnect between the two worlds. The point is¡­ Now you have to nail down your girl so that I can finish the details on mine. Deal?¡± Guy put out his hand with a smile. Franklin eagerly shook it, even though he fretted about whether it was too sweaty.

    Between eating his salad and lamenting how many rainbow streak marks his fingers left on the phone screen, Franklin struggled to really figure out the details. It wasn¡¯t as though he wanted a bust that reached into the stratosphere like Dwight. Internally, he remembered every fragmentary comment that orbited around him in older workplaces and schools about back pains and support.

    He considered himself decently experienced when it came to navigating the information and myths of the Internet. Throwing his alter ego descriptively into an AI helped but also confused, since her limbs often appeared grotesquely longer than what he was looking for. Too many times, he had to go with his first hunch. By the time supper was finished, he actually had the closest thing to what he would consider a final draft of Misaki.

    She was oddly positioned in a concrete pipe, as though she often hung out and played in construction zones. He used the app to upload everything before his doubts could sneak in. After that, it was just a quiet sense of resignation that all other possibilities were cleared away for this one. Neither of his friends could tell much difference between this version and any other recently, but they celebrated that he had finally decided. Franklin was the only one with leftovers, not quite getting up the enthusiasm to finish his salad.

    They walked back in a circuitous loop, stopping by a nearby market to pick up some groceries to take back. Dwight shook his head that the small bookstore he used to frequent over here had been replaced with a candy shop. He still got a sample with nougat.

    Franklin reflected. He was glad that he was going with his closest friends to this strange other world, which managed to keep a consistent population despite having only girls. Just one of those things they hadn¡¯t figured out yet.

    One of his earliest memories involved Guy. He lived in the old house with his parents. The physical details of its layout twisted and contorted with confusion and being a child. It felt like someone took the features of the later house and mirrored them. So many times, he would embarrass himself by expecting a room to the left when he would just bonk into an unexpected wall.

    He was sickly as a child and required a lady to watch him in the afternoons to make sure he didn¡¯t have anything bad happen. Then came Guy.

    His curly, brown hair was just as long when he was little. The kid at the door introduced themselves as Gee and beamed an exuberant smile, the sweat on their body sparkling in the sunlight. For some reason, Franklin, at that age, deduced that this was a neighborhood girl. He barely understood anything when it came to the differences between boys and girls except that girls tended to not want to even bother to play with him while boys played too hard and left him in the dust. But this girl, Gee, eagerly wanted to play with him.

    It didn¡¯t matter if it was the old, dusty solar monopoly board game in the front room, the old video games on the television, or just rolling a ball back and forth on the den carpet. She was all for it. Whenever he made a mistake in a roll, she leaned over and fixed it for him, even though it often times would have benefited her. She also asked him to help her with different video game tips, even though it was clear she was more experienced than him. And she took responsibility for whenever the ball knocked something over.

    Quietly and softly, Franklin realized in retrospect that he was falling in love, even though the parameters and meaning of that thought eluded him. Then, his mother checked in on them and revealed he¡¯d been mistaken the whole time. This was a boy from down the block. The youngest of the Horner family.

    A sinking sadness saturated Franklin¡¯s thoughts as he parsed what that meant. Every notion inside his head splintered like a bridge falling into a river in the middle of the night. They still played a lot, with ¡¯Gee¡¯ being one of the few kids around who even bothered to come over. But instead of that bright, beaming exuberance of that first meeting, Franklin¡®s thoughts were reserved and measured.

    They went to the same elementary school together, and Guy made sure to sit in the same groups with him. Franklin had issues standing up for himself for even the smallest things except when it came to Gee. A big kid once pushed Guy to the floor because he didn¡¯t like that he brought a teddy bear and a pink scarf to school. Franklin barreled into him with everything he had and knocked an entire bookshelf over him. For weeks, no one in the class talked to Franklin, except for Gee.

    It wasn¡¯t long before they met Dwight. He had been in another class, but they transferred him because of ¡°behavioral issues¡±. What that meant was calling out teachers when they were wrong, pummeling people who bullied others, and making himself the regular butt of jokes with fart noises. The three of them immediately got along great. Despite how hesitant Franklin felt to hang around other people, he always made sure to find time for Dwight and Gee.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    That was until college, when it seemed like they scattered to the winds. They kept in contact online and through text messages but didn¡¯t talk nearly as much as they used to. Just another example of friendships that sadly died on the vine. Or so it seemed.

    Franklin found an apartment on the edge of town after his parents moved away. He spent most of his time alone in it, with only casual acquaintances noticing him. In the job he had at the time, he ran tech support for several companies through a client. Dealing with problems was far easier than dealing with the nervous uncertainty of regular life. And so he thought it would continue¡­ except Dwight and Gee moved back to the area and wanted to move in with him. They pooled their resources and bought and refurbished one of the old houses near where Gee and Franklin grew up. Amongst his friends, Franklin felt like his heart beat again and his soul could shimmer, even though such silly notions were ones he kept to himself.

    ¡°Finally, dude, you settled your tits,¡± Dwight celebrated as they made their way out of the shopping plaza. That peculiar comment caught the attention of one of the workers, but she didn¡¯t say anything about it.

    Back at the car, Dwight got in the driver¡¯s seat while Gee was also up front. Franklin stretched out in the back, and their shared Spotify playlist drifted through the speakers. Exhaustion started to hit Franklin. He didn¡¯t sleep much last night, even though this wasn¡¯t the day of the trip. But scheduling and setting everything up made him anxious. Before they arrived, his mind raced with all sorts of frantic, negative possibilities while his guts squeezed tight. Coming down from all that left him feeling achy, especially his right shoulder. Leaning against the car door gave him some incidental vibration massage.

    On the way back home, they casually chatted about the local events in the other world that would be available. Hanami was at its tail end despite the time disconnect, and summer fireworks festivals were still a ways off, but they were right on time for their equivalent of Golden Week. Franklin worried that they might miss all the good stuff, but they had a packed itinerary. Castles, hikes, shrines, and parks. Just like Japan, but actually an alternate version of where they lived. Somewhere strange but familiar. Much greener than this stretch of earth had any right to be.

    Franklin looked out the window at the dusty expanse, briefly colored by recent, early spring rains. The exit signs on the overpasses were discolored and illegible with white and red graffiti. Two weeks was a lot, but perhaps not enough. Soon they pulled into the side drive in front of the attached garage. Dwight was still repairing some loose shingles in the back and recently replaced the rusting, unused mailbox out front with a rotating wind toy. Gee put on his reusable facemask because the tree on the side was already dropping dusty pollen. Dwight had work in the evening to get ready for, and so did he, even though Franklin didn¡¯t have to go anywhere.

    The long central hallway branched off into different rooms like the trunk of a tree turned inside out. After the groceries were put away and some tidying up was done, Franklin crawled into his bed with an alarm set on his phone for exactly ninety minutes. It was easy for him to close his eyes but hard to shut off his brain.

    Elements of the songs from the trip and fragments of lyrics from weeks ago spun around like a furious tempest. He tried his best to stamp that down, but new, irreconcilable thoughts rose in their place. The looming reality of becoming Misaki for nearly two weeks simultaneously aroused, terrified, and paralyzed his thoughts. No matter how much he tried to shut all the craziness down, sleep eluded him. Lifting up his phone with its too-short charging cord still attached, Franklin soon found that Guy was back streaming on Twitch.

    The walls and foam provided enough insulation that the echoing was minimal. Gee had his face made up and his lips accentuated. He had on a cute gamer graphic top and bright skirt with silky, cat-ear headphones and a languid yawn that Franklin could sympathize with.

    Franklin used to be a mod for the channel, but he tended to miss far too many comments while getting caught up watching Gee, or rather Gal Hotner, as Guy adopted as a handle. Gal delighted in confusing his audience. Pronouns often shuffled from one stream to the next or were decided by games. Franklin had his own thoughts about where Guy may be at with his or her identity. It didn¡¯t matter, so long as his friend was happy.

    At this point, any efforts at salvaging a nap seemed pointless. Listening to Gal talk about a wide range of stream-of-consciousness topics while booting up a recent RPG farming game, Franklin fixed his sheets. He watered several little plants in the corner just enough and considered sneaking in a game too before it was time to start work. In the most awkward napping position possible, with his legs slowly sliding across the dense carpet, Franklin¡¯s eyes drifted shut. They felt achingly dry, especially the left one. Thinking about where he had some eyedrops, he only vaguely recognized a sound like something rustling.

    Calm and quiet pervaded the space until a sharp sound right at his feet. His eyes managed to flare open for an instant with confused alarm at what he was seeing. At first, the strange mass appeared reminiscent of several shocking images posted online of black pin mold. Only the startling apparition wasn¡¯t rooted to a spot but instead shifted and darted towards his ankle.

    Snapping back in shock, Franklin scurried across the covers and nearly to the pillows. Only a vague feeling like a touch from a syringe needle gave him any palpable connection to what he glimpsed. He stayed back for several frantic heartbeats without breath before carefully checking over the side. Nothing.

    Not even a hint of a shadow showed on the carpet. Nothing appeared that could easily be labeled as the source of such a strange apparition. No pile of black socks slightly fallen over or any other suspicious laundry. He poked the floor with the bug zap racket a few times before resolving that nothing was there. Putting his feet back down was a nervous next step. They strangely ached, but so did his right shoulder.

    Checking in the bathroom, he found that nothing about his body appeared harmed or even discolored. No random bruises. Vague fears of Travel Anywhere unleashing dark and unknown terrors from between worlds on humanity returned to his head. The wild, unfounded questions of a dozen online commentators. Travel Anywhere started out many years ago as a tiny subsidiary of the Quantum Helix Corporation, the first group in the world to crack inter-dimensional multiverse travel. Oddly, they once owned a division that sold bathroom fixtures, but that recently shut down. The government still wanted to talk to them about their procedures for importing and exporting goods and products. Franklin shook each leg a few times, even though there was clearly nothing there.

    He told himself that no weird carpet monsters snuck through the travel portal and followed him all the way here. It would¡¯ve had to piggyback on the car or run really fast. And why him? He wasn¡¯t anyone¡ªcertainly not anyone worth being pursued by strange creatures. Despite all he told himself, he still felt disconcerted and jumbled. But he didn¡¯t have time for such worries.

    Work was waiting. The last day of work before their vacation.

 [3] Yuri Worlds 3 â€“ Threshold

    Yuri Worlds

    [3] Threshold

    It didn¡¯t take more than a few minutes for Franklin to thoroughly convince himself that the weird, fuzzy black thing on the carpet had to have been a fragment from a waking dream.

    He had plenty of things like that packed away at the back of his thoughts. They included the recollection of being sprawled out on the couch and looking over at family. Their forms slowly warped and twisted, with his eyes seemingly starkly open. Not into monsters. Rather, it appeared as though his parents were practically desiccated mummies. They stared, with just the faintest sense of accusation. He tried to scream or yell, but just traces of gasping dust and sand escaped his trembling lips. Not a good dream.

    The only other one he made any effort to remember was a looping vision repeating over and over of a giant plant erupting from the floor and digging through the ceiling to escape. His mind was saddled with the frustrating responsibility of having to repair this impossible destruction. The relief of waking up to find that no such invasive plants had ripped through the house was wrapped in countless false awakenings. Would he wake up again and discover that he had never gotten out of bed this time too? That would¡¯ve been a convenient resolution and relief. But that didn¡¯t happen.

    Instead, he prepared his workspace with the client program and ever so slightly uncomfortable headphones. He logged in at the right time and slowly shuffled through the tickets left on his account. One of them included a supervisor¡¯s nebulous admonishment for not referring a customer to special product sales. Franklin dealt with it as listlessly as possible before pivoting to live calls. He never had much trouble with this. He could turn on whatever other people needed. He could pretend.

    ¡°Thank you very much for waiting so patiently. I see your request here on my desktop. Just a little more information will allow me to fast-track your issue. Please have your account information ready, if possible.¡°

    Several clients in a row actually sounded more nervous than he did. Surely, he thought, this job was at the front of the line for those to be replaced by artificial intelligence soon. It could recreate his voice without any human flaws and work much more efficiently. He wasn¡¯t looking forward to upcoming requirements that he wear an EEG band so that the company could scrutinize when he might be slacking. Guy and Dwight both had better jobs.

    Dwight worked for the school district and city hall. Some neighbors chuckled and whispered that he was just a janitor, but Franklin never spoke ill of his work for a moment. Dwight put in so many extra hours and cheered up all the kids on every campus he visited with ready jokes, rides on his back, sliced fruit, and attentive care. Guy managed a comic book shop that was owned by a retired film producer. The producer admitted on one occasion that she wanted Guy because of his captivating appeal to a wide variety of customers. Everyone seemed to develop a confused crush on Gee. And he encouraged them with a variety of manly yet cleavage-hinting tops.

    Franklin didn¡¯t mind the hours for the work he put in. The problem was the leeching slog of it. Thoughts drained away. Days both crept and flew. He still had plenty of time to deal with other issues, while the pace felt frantically busy and yet soulfully empty. His right eye twitched slightly, and it had nothing to do with work. It wasn¡¯t long before Dwight put on his red and gold uniform for the evening shift. Guy¡¯s stream continued, and Franklin dealt with some complicated fixes. Typical Friday.

    And it ended the same as so many before. Sometime after midnight, they tiredly reunited. No monsters in the dark. No reason to fear. Just Saturday slipping in and the uncertain promise of next week.

    It was late when Dwight carried over a covered tray to show the others. He rushed the reveal with a swift tug of a small blanket, and some of what was underneath fell over. Figurines.

    ¡°One of the teachers actually has a really nice 3D printer at home, and I got her the info. She thought mine was hilarious,¡± Dwight explained as he picked up and adjusted the figures. Franklin puzzled for a moment before it suddenly snapped in his brain that these figurines were scale representations of their alter egos. They were a plain, pale, unpainted tone, but the features and dimensions were spot on. Misaki had vivid hair tracing her neck. It definitely looked like her bust was significantly bigger in a three-dimensional space than Franklin anticipated. Chika had some hair stylings reminiscent of Misaki, which complemented the sisterly suggestion, along with a playful and mischievous pose, which Franklyn thought suited Gee¡¯s presence well.

    Of course, Namiko had massive melons somehow riding high on her chest. The overall sense of confidence with a playful tilt also suited Dwight. Minute details of tiny glasses on her face impressed Franklin. Her fluttering, slit skirt appeared on the verge of an unexpected panty flash. Along with the figures, Dwight also acquired a variety of gorgeous paints. The quality was great, yet it absolutely terrified Franklin to even think of touching these works of art. How could his unsteady hand ever imbue the correct colors? Gee encouraged that when they returned from their vacation, whatever memories they made and whatever familiarity they developed with their girl selves could go into these little things as precious mementos. Franklin found himself enamored with that but still quietly terrified of the certainty that he would somehow mess it up.

    Saturday slid away from them quickly as Sunday loomed with heavy certainty. Clothing was taken care of. Franklin¡¯s few but important prescriptions would be fine. Phones and other technology would also go with them. And they had a small stipend, converted into local currency, to acquire any other essentials. They were also allowed to bring along a few books. Franklin resolved to bring a thick tome on folklore and mythology, which contained a large section on Japanese culture. Otherwise, he included some random titles he never got around to. Guy brought readings for his stream books of the month, including one by Haruki Murakami. One request was that they not bring any visual evidence of men, to prevent cultural uncertainty. So, Guy had to acquire copies without author photographs.

    Dwight picked out a few superfluous cultural texts, a couple books by Gene Wolfe, along with a massive, complete collection of HP Lovecraft. It had tentacles all across the front.

    Sleeping that night was incredibly difficult, even though everyone got to bed early. No combination of covered or uncovered helped Franklin rest easily, and he wasn¡¯t the only one.

    Despite Dwight¡¯s calm and cool exterior lately, he looked around his bedroom with a modest lineup of female figures he didn¡¯t usually have a strong attachment to and felt a certain gravity settle. Namiko, stark and colorless, aside from a few sample shades he¡¯d applied in spots, looked back at him as a ghost of the future. He was sure of his choice though. Pretty sure. Relatively sure.

    Gee was, at the same time, practically vibrating with excited energy. No position settled his long, curly hair comfortably. His legs refused to rest on the blankets. Curling up left and right only offered moments of ease.

    Eventually, however, exhaustion gripped the trio, and they each found sleep awkwardly face-planting into their pillows.

    What couldn¡¯t truly be considered morning yet gripped them with the scalding light of the rising sun. Gee often adored the way that sunbeams crested through his window, but even he glowered at the beams breaking through the shades. Dwight managed to rise early and get through several push-ups. They allowed themselves plenty of time, and Franklin used a good portion of it with his breakfast taking the fast track.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Crossing the monumental threshold of actually getting in the car earned nervous glances between the three of them. Why had they decided to take this sort of vacation, compared to any of the other options available? Guy actually learned about it first through a company he had done a promotion with.

    The three of them and most people were aware of the types of vacations that Travel Anywhere offered at launch. More well-known were a series of controversies dealing with the early establishment of travel between realities and universes. Rumors circulated through podcasts and the Internet of a global crisis narrowly averted in the vein of old large hadron collider rumors. Creatures from beyond slipping past the Veil through the holes burrowed out by the company. Prominent public figures replaced by slimy black entities thirsting for death and destruction through the acquisition of horrible weaponry. Mysterious, massive warehouses purchased by the parent company. And so much more.

    So, their trip essentially amounted to positive PR. It wasn¡¯t free, but it was quite reduced from similar packages. As such, the available list of destinations was significantly curated. And this one in particular, scientifically labeled MXJ7524, had been prominently celebrated by Guy¡¯s media contact.

    Franklin knew the company was well aware of Guy¡¯s average viewership and considered him an influencer in a vein that checked a lot of boxes for their interests. Or, at least, that was the best assumption he could make from the details. Guy felt reticent at first to drag his friends to a strange, all-girl anime world, but Dwight was swiftly gung-ho for the experience, and Franklin found quiet enthusiasm. The biggest problem over the last few weeks was explaining the details of their trip to anyone on the outside without making it sound weird and perverted. At least for Franklin.

    For Guy, he used it to both screw with and appease segments of his community, which had different theories about what he might keep closeted. The superposition state he maintained balanced between him as a manly man, a pretty boy, a girly girl, a possible egg in denial, and a clever troll. Neither Dwight nor Franklin really knew which one had the most credence, and Gee liked it that way. Streams weren¡¯t possible from the other side, but Guy packed plenty of recording equipment for making videos and promotions afterward. The bags would meet them at the halfway point.

    They wouldn¡¯t be parking at the regular lot but rather one around back with long-term storage in an underground garage. The line to drive in was longer than Franklin was expecting but still short enough that he felt like they were being propelled inexorably forward. Everything was ready, but he still felt he was going to shake to pieces.

    Their spot was 47GH. Dwight made absolutely sure that everything was turned off. From there, Franklin anxiously scrutinized the restrooms off to the side. A low-frequency rumble saturated the area. It wasn¡¯t helping. The corridor slanted downward, with at least a dozen other travelers making their way ahead of them. Franklin felt like he was the one who already received the reduced bladder instead of Dwight. The tension was palpable, even though his friends maintained cheerful demeanors. Franklin tried one on, but it felt like tearing a rigid plastic bag.

    A large waiting area greeted them, similar to the one above but more like an office crossed with a subway station. They went right to a desk marked VIP Guests. Some more paperwork had to be filled out before they were led to a worker who checked their bags. She had zero sense of humor. Dwight considered packing a floppy, purple dildo for fun, but that definitely fell under the restricted items regulations. The only stuff that she took time to carefully examine were the medications, but Franklin had all the pre-check paperwork ready in his trembling hands.

    Soon after that, someone else came to confirm the physical descriptions of their alter egos, or ¡°travel personas¡°, as the worker termed it. She barreled through the peculiarities of Dwight¡¯s requests, pausing only briefly to allow him to make any last-minute corrections, if he so wished. He did not. She didn¡¯t comment further, and they moved along to the staging area immediately next to departures.

    A woman in a white lab coat took their vitals and checked some samples they acquired yesterday against mouth scrapings and urinalyses. Franklin found it weird that she didn¡¯t write anything down following their vitals but suspected that they had an internal system that recorded it, unlike at hospitals. She did comment that Franklin had a slight tachycardia and a marginally elevated blood pressure. He did his best to breathe slowly. She offered him some water and questioned if he needed to take any pills. After quietly doubting himself a few times, Guy confirmed that Franklin had indeed taken everything before they left.

    Franklin felt flush and embarrassed as she gave him a little something to drink and ten minutes to calm down. It didn¡¯t help that his body decided that it was time to infuse his crotch with every drop of blood it could move. Elements of the creative process had caused all sorts of reactions in the privacy of his room with his legs crossed. This wasn¡¯t fun though. It was achingly painful. He figured he could squeeze out a few drops but doubted that would help much. However, making sure he was as empty as possible before acquiring a new biology seemed like a good idea.

    Waffling between standing and sitting with the rigidness about to blast its way through the cut at the end of the shiveringly frigid toilet seat, Franklin managed to dribble out enough that he felt closer to comfortable. When the lady in the lab coat returned to check on him, she gave a nod and confirmed that he was safe to travel. That was it. They were doing this thing.

    She placed them in another line, the final line to leave their world. Just beyond, they caught a hint of the gateway. A small, stepped recess dipped into the cement. Above and bisecting the lowest section, a rounded, gold and blue archway looked exactly like something out of a myriad of sci-fi TV shows from decades ago. Franklin thought it resembled an art installation over some stray section of a skate park. A small group was ahead of them.

    Franklin tensed his shoulders and rocked back and forth on his legs, a chill invading his body despite the warmth of the room. The air beyond the arch looked like a dense cloud of fog and smoke clinging as a natural curtain. Whoever stepped through rippled the surface slightly before it settled back into stasis. Someone off to the side operated a computer console and furiously pounded the keys between each group moving forward. When it was finally their turn, it took them a little longer to type something out before they looked over and beckoned them forward.

    The threshold was wide enough that they could stand beside each other and step through at the same time. None of them had that action in mind until right then. Holding hands would have been too much, but Gee did give Franklin¡®s right hand a little squeeze.

    Up close, the gateway felt saturated with charges of ozone. Out of everyone, it was actually Franklin who took the first step, pressing his leg against the unknown. When his head passed, it was like being blind for a millisecond.

    Then, everything changed.

 [4] Yuri Worlds 4 â€“ Waypoint

    Yuri Worlds

    [4] Waypoint

    Franklin stumbled forward with his foot, but it was not his foot. Everything had a strange, consuming tingle, as though numbness had spread through his entire body and was just now easing. It wasn¡¯t painful. In fact, it felt strangely refreshing, like being bathed in clinging wintergreen. The gurgling tenseness of his stomach and trembles settled down.

    His foot was not only not his foot; the rest of him wasn¡¯t him either. A bare, soft limb supported him on the cement. Pale sneakers covered the feet with little pink socks jutting out, stretching for the ankle. The legs were impossibly smooth and tiny compared to the things that should¡¯ve supported him. The color tones of bright flesh should not have existed in reality. They glistened with painterly details that shifted subtly with every tiny motion. It took him way too long to recognize the orb crests on his chest.

    He hadn¡¯t been wearing a gray, long-sleeved top before, and his clothes didn¡¯t normally contain these covered mounds. The pinnacles were subdued but obvious hills. The fabric rounded the sides and dipped in the middle, with the slight suggestion of a bra underneath. Boobs. Those were boobs on his chest, and that wasn¡¯t even the craziest thing.

    The way he stepped and shifted had altered mechanics, with a noticeable difference to his hips and the most intimate place between his legs. Meager black shorts covered way too little of his colorful thighs. His arms naturally rested near his lean, tiny tummy, even though he was desperately curious to see how the prominent pillows felt.

    ¡°Continue over to the right. Please clear the threshold for any incoming travelers. Take an empty chair. You will be assessed before proceeding to your destination.¡±

    That voice blared from the overhead speakers and was coming from a woman in a gray uniform with a mouthpiece right next to her face. She was living art in motion. Her silver hair flowed with dense brushstrokes, recaptured and reconsidered with every moment. Her bright and glossy, jutting nose practically bordered on caricature. She moved with a fluidity beyond any animation Franklin had ever witnessed. Even animation smoothing algorithm videos couldn¡¯t compare to the living specimen gesturing in front of them. He couldn¡¯t stand and gawk.

    He didn¡¯t have enough time to register much of anything about the remarkable girls standing on either side of him. Guy had been spontaneously replaced with a perfect visualization of Chika made flesh. The pink aesthetic had been distilled to little more than a soft one-piece top that barely cleared her sloping thighs. Pulling it down to provide more real estate threatened to pop out her modest breasts. Her grape jolly rancher hair teased her rounded butt with strikingly light patches. Despite the disconcerting confusion evident on her artistically drawn features, she looked on Franklin warmly and shared a grimace of sympathy passing to the other side.

    Dwight sure got his boobs. The poor girl with flowing pink hair who replaced him appeared appropriately stunned. Her hair was almost as long as Gee¡¯s candy locks. It didn¡¯t have a powdery, faint cotton candy pastel. Dwight refined it into a soft red closer to punch with traces of watermelon and blush. Not as sharp as vermilion nor exactly a fuchsia, even though the darker sections sheltered from the harsh overhead lights got close.

    Her brilliant, green eyes were wide behind red-framed glasses, and a blush approaching the brightness of her hair tinted her cheeks. As Dwight asked for, the girl before them had breasts individually larger than her head. They projected an overwhelming presence that eclipsed all other features on her body. Gravity exacted a pendulous toll on her white, short-sleeved top. Despite the monumental figure she cut, the hem of her top had enough material to comfortably crease and dip down to her side-slit red skirt. That bright skirt swelled and stretched similarly to Chika¡®s meager outfit, with barely more than a sliver of girlish thigh hidden by the cloth. If it hiked up an inch, then she was sure to flash underwear or more. But now wasn¡¯t the time to dawdle amidst breathtaking, humanized art.

    Taking charge, Franklin hooked her slender arms around her compatriots and carefully guided them over to the designated area. Her stomach rumbled in protest about the impossible things it had been forced into. She privately told it to hush.

    The newly created Namiko gently eased her way down onto the seat but still unleashed fleshy, jiggling waves throughout her body. She endeavored to adjust everything ''topside'', even though it seemed like too much for her arms to even begin wrangling. Her bust appeared more like a bulge of rounded toothpaste squeezed and stretched to prominence.

    It wasn¡¯t long before what appeared to be another medical worker came over and checked on them. She had the same artistic, colorful style as everyone else around. Franklin had to wonder if their blood would look more like red paint than the real thing. No blood needed to be drawn though, just more vitals taken. Dwight and Gee were the ones elevated this time, with Franklin still in a relatively normal range.

    ¡°Oh my God,¡± Dwight managed to say, with his regular cadence sounding like he¡¯d huffed a megadose of helium. Despite the unnatural softness and striking pitch, Franklin still recognized it as his friend¡¯s voice.

    ¡°I know, right? This is the trippiest thing, and I don¡¯t have my phone to record any of it yet. I feel like they practically drugged us. How are you holding up¡­.big sis?¡± Gee had a faint shivering spread through her voice, like the sterile coldness was swiftly searing into her exposed flesh. She also retained the playful glide of his usual way of speaking, but the subtle, feminine quirks he picked up for streams had gone a long way toward transforming his voice into one that felt recognizably girly.

    The transitional staging area that Franklin curiously surveyed looked like someone¡¯s richly rendered, stark painting of an underground hospital complex crossed with a military base. Their section was crudely partitioned for privacy, with fewer curtains than the green zone of an emergency room. Franklin hopped up, ignoring the echoing vibrations that traveled through his chest and not caring about the accuracy of pronouns, searching for what supplies she might be able to grab.

    No one turned her away from poking around corners and popping open random cabinets that would transfix architectural design artists. He grabbed soft, brown acrylic paint wrinkles in the form of blankets and brought them over for the others. They warmly wrapped up and thanked Franklin.

    ¡°Did I make a mistake?¡± Dwight questioned with a sigh. Silence lingered around them despite the random shouts and busyness of other corridors in this sci-fi, painterly place. Franklin urged that it would be fine. He also pressed that Dwight looked really cute, and he was sure that they would acclimate to such a disconcerting change. Gee added fuel to the sentiment by asserting that Namiko looked exactly like they designed. She also pointed out traditional bathhouses and hot springs where her ¡°mega milkers¡± could float with full relaxation. Dwight scrutinized her massive peaks and tried on a faint smirk. Adjusting the bra working overtime and finessing the realigned range managed a reshape and restraint that stepped away from the bounds of terrifying. The new girls lacking pants envied Franklin¡¯s selection.

    Someone else eventually showed up. They questioned where they got the blankets but let them keep them and agreed to grab some provisional clothes for their lower halves. Those clothes turned out to be very simplistic drawstring pants with a texture rougher than paper and durability slightly above tissue. Dwight gladly pulled them up over her sizable hips and butt. Chika hiked them as high as they would go. Franklin even asked for a pair to cover up his girly legs. It didn¡¯t take more than a few minutes before they were medically cleared to proceed.

    Further down the corridor were not only their transplanted, artistically transformed luggage, sets of more clothing, official papers, and various money cards, but also a dizzying array of mirrors bouncing a kaleidoscope of colorful anime girls off one another. Before Franklin could really take in his altered visage, he and the others got vigorously lectured about the gray wristbands they needed to wear when out and about.

    ¡°Treat these as you would a critical form of identification. This is your passport in and out. If you lose it, you will receive a hefty fine from the company. This distinguishes you. I don¡¯t care what plans you may have about mingling and immersing yourself in the local culture. You wear this in public, or you¡¯re heading back home early.¡±

    Stolen novel; please report.

    The wristband vaguely reminded Franklin of a Fitbit, only much thinner. The display appeared like color-inverted paper etched into its surface. They also explained that the battery would last the duration, so no worries about turning it off or charging it up. The entire thing was waterproof, so it didn¡¯t need to be removed when washing. The band also self-adjusted for comfort.

    Franklin admitted that the weird device sat unobtrusively on his wrist, feeling more like rolled-up sunglasses than a wristwatch. He left it alone to pay attention to the strange girl in the mirror.

    Her eyes appeared starkly alien with that vibrant tone. They consumed an unnatural but adorable swath of her face. A dark pen stroke, shifting and rippling with every small facial change, drew across the top. He couldn¡¯t capture her blinking but lingered with the moment when her eyes started to close. That rooted perspective signaled deep in his soul that she was him looking out in surprise.

    He was this girl. This adorably cute girl with impossible eyes and an anime form. He was Misaki, as he slowly and painstakingly imagined and rewrote her until this was what he came up with. Like some surreal create-a-character applicable to real life. Under the shy surface, he was an absolute volcano of thoughts and feelings. He was turning her on in a way that felt indescribable from any prior life experience. And he had no idea how to quell the flow. At least there were a couple layers. It felt like a toasty, amorphous snail was inexorably tracing and carving its way out. He did his best not to feed it.

    ¡°Hey! I think I¡¯m with you. They told me to wait.¡±

    The trio were approached by an unusual girl. She was shorter than any of them, with pale, straw-blonde hair framing her head and tracing around her cheeks and neck. She had thick, bright thighs like Chika and simple, dark brown loafers without socks on her small feet. It appeared she had also been forsaken by the gods of pants. A pale, dressy outfit covered her to the upper thigh. It had a coloration like sea foam against the sky, with ornamental flourishes of darker blue. The sides of the dress spread out like half-hearted wings, with broad sleeves and golden flourishes. A large, round, dark pair of shades completely obscured her eyes, with just the black pen accent showing. She hauled a large bag over her shoulder and wore the wristband. The band displayed a number string that matched theirs.

    Each ¡°tour group¡° was broken into segments of four for the sake of accommodations, even though they were under no obligation to travel together beyond this early stage and returning. The three of them double-checked the information they had and agreed that she was in the right place.

    Franklin tentatively offered a polite greeting, which Gee and Dwight echoed.

    ¡°Yeah. Hi. Whatever. So, are you ready? There¡¯s a delightfully, delicious world waiting for us just a few steps away. And I want to sink my teeth into it.¡±

    None of them were psychologically or emotionally ready for what came next. But it appeared that they were clear to proceed. They split their bags, double-checked, and signed that they received everything. The last threshold lay past some rising steps. Dwight took them slow, with bags providing additional support along with the blanket wrapped like a shawl. Franklin marveled at all the lovingly detailed architectural art while trying to tell his brain that the artistic qualities were no different than the visual normalcy back home. Breathtaking art was just how this transitional space and the world beyond existed.

    When they arrived at the ground level, they took a quiet moment to stretch before advancing to another recessed archway portal. Now, Franklin felt his altered, anime heart wanting to pound its way out of his chest with liberated excitement. At least the nether region crisis had been momentarily averted.

    A woman positioned like a traffic cop swirled a blue baton in the air to direct them forward. Franklin had to remind himself to breathe. Remind herself to breathe. She was a girl now, after all. Might as well play the part. Misaki. Takano Misaki traveling from another world with her little sister, Takano Chika, and good friend, Yamane Namiko. And whoever the blonde was, Franklin figured she had her own story all squared away. For tasting this new world¡­ whatever that meant.

    Aside from the bounding energy wanting to leap from her altered bones¡­Misaki felt annoyed by the persistent ache and sweaty warmth swarming her left foot. The sneakers were otherwise comfortable and not too heavy. She tried not to dwell on the fact that that weird black thing had gone after that spot. Perhaps it was a representation of her overall anxiety that she just needed to shake loose? Giving that foot a few firm wiggles didn¡¯t help.

    Once again, they were the next to go through. Misaki didn¡¯t have time to feel afraid or dwell on any more magnitudes. The not-traffic cop gestured for them to go forward, and the blonde stepped first, with the three of them following close behind.

    Even though they told them not to bother holding their breath, Misaki still did it when passing through the hazy curtain of shimmers.

    She¡¯d read plenty about what to expect. The documentation and various accounts provided copious information and details. Photography gave away so much. She was immediately awestruck by the simple presence of a large, glass building interior that looked and lived like it was crafted by a million active paintbrushes.

    And that was just the first step. Swarming in all directions were anime girls beyond any comprehension. Every one of them had the detail of a main character in a big-budget show, even though they spread neutrally across this vivid background. Once again, before Misaki could even begin to absorb a tiny percent of this remarkable vista, an exuberant voice called out in their direction.

    ¡°OVER HERE! I¡¯M YOUR HOST! WELCOME TO DOWNTOWN MIRAMORI!"

    A slight figure with a boldly decorated cardboard sign hoisted above her head came running at them. She was unfortunately out of breath several paces before she reached them. The air squeaked out of her as she staggered the last few steps and waved with giddy delight.

    ¡°Welcome¡­welllcooo¡­ahhh haaaa¡­ welcome! Welcome, visitors! As your dutifully appointed host, it is my dear honor and privilege to welcome you to our world! Live long and profer! Wait, that¡¯s not it¡­¡±

    Misaki found it immensely surreal to hear that saying and see the young girl before her split her fingers down the middle in a V shape. At least attempt to split her fingers, as her wrist soon gave a loud crack and she had to shake it out.

    ¡°I¡¯m Sasaki Yuka, and I just started my second year of high school. You can rely on me, and I promise I will take care of you. If I make any mistakes, I resolve to remedy them diligently! I hope you have a wonderful time here!¡± She bowed deeply several times. She wore a sailor fuku, or seifuku, as Misaki deduced from what she had read. The blouse was white with a dark shade of navy blue around the collar and at the sleeves, which matched her pleated skirt. The only other flash of color was her pale pink neckerchief. Her hair was a light black with natural traces of brown that fluttered across her forehead and whispered past her shoulders.

    They all paused for a minute to absorb her introduction. Without any further warning, she took a deep breath and boldly wrapped her arms around Misaki, repeating the core of her greeting. She didn¡¯t know what to do about this spontaneous hug from a high school girl she just met. Before she could respond, her left foot rippled with another spasm. This time, it genuinely felt like someone had attached a cord beneath her flesh, almost digging into the bone, and was persistently tugging on that rope from within.

    The tension nearly crossed over into pain. Misaki glanced down in confusion as her foot slid to the left as though some invisible doctor tested her reflexes in that direction. A trace of shadow caught her eye, but there were too many things moving about to conclude what it could¡¯ve been.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Their host quickly asked, her hands lingering at her shoulders. Misaki let out a quiet breath and simply nodded with a pleasant smile of her own.

 [5] Yuri Worlds 5 â€“ Sightseeing

    Yuri Worlds

    [5] Sightseeing

    Yuka was absolutely full of curious questions. She asked about their bags, inquired how long they had to travel, whether their journey was comfortable, and if they had or wanted anything to eat. The blonde narrowed her eyes and yawned, but the three of them quietly reflected on what she asked. Misaki knew that just avoiding those queries would probably make for a better time, but the girl was so chipper and earnest that she wanted to at least offer her something.

    Carefully considering her response, Misaki told her, ¡°I think we¡¯re okay with our bags. It hasn¡¯t been too long traveling. But we have to be very careful with the process, and it takes a lot of work. It¡¯s most of our first time, I think, and it¡¯s daunting, but we¡¯re glad to be here. And the three of us ate before, so you don¡¯t need to worry about us.¡± She gestured to their part of the group, not wanting to make assumptions for the blonde.

    That answer felt both insanely awkward for what she intended to express but also like a victorious step up. She was talking to a real freaking, living, breathing anime girl, and she actually composed a coherent response. This day just kept filling up with unexpected surprises. And she hoped there would be more of this sort and less of whatever the heck was going on with her foot.

    Despite all that, Yuka still wanted to relieve her guests of their load, so Chika let her carry one of her smaller bags. She also greeted each of them, expressing the most cheer at the sibling connection.

    They each got a hug similar to what Misaki received. Chika leaned into hers while Namiko¡¯s was careful. Pivoting with her aloof body language, Yuka gave the blonde just a quick, formal shoulder embrace. Namiko¡¯s figure earned a well-deserved ¡°wowser¡± from the girl, after which she clamped her hands over her mouth and spilled out copious apologies. It seemed to Misaki that Namiko was going to drop a typical Dwight comment, but she ultimately opted to restrain herself. The only hiccup came again with the blonde, who gave her name as Yasha Sugawara. She didn¡¯t bother to flip it. Not that Yuka noticed.

    The name itself seemed to bother her on a level that Misaki¡®s brain just didn¡¯t have the elements to piece together. One of the few normal questions that came out of Yasha involved an inquiry about upcoming shrine festivals. Yuka mentioned one in Kamaichi towards the hills as well as a huge one in Shido. One of her neighbors had a granddaughter who was a skilled dancer and shrine maiden/miko there. Yasha took down a detailed note but didn¡¯t say anything.

    Conceding that the log jam of things to process inside her head wasn¡¯t going to clear anytime soon, Misaki just absorbed the sense of things around her. Before today, the notion of being in the skin of a girl felt as weird as becoming something fundamentally alien. But she was already processing the broad details along with the minute artistic scale of living in this world. Stepping outside the foyer of this glass structure was just the next challenge to add.

    The street out front beyond some planters was starkly busy but surprisingly narrow. A complicated roundabout fanned in more like a sun pattern. Snug seating and brown benches flanked an entertainment area with a noisy caf¨¦ full of twinkling lights. Prominent signs splashed with foreign characters and familiar letters popped up every few steps. A couple of clubs with flashy advertisements visually shouted from the other end of the road. Turning around, Misaki scrutinized the building they just left. It was anointed with the name ¡°Distant Friendship Transit Center¡±. The smell of the world met her in all new ways. Not that it was different or unlike any city she''d ever been in. It had a city''s smell but the way it traversed and navigated her altered nostril was a surreal shift. The smell wasn''t subtler or more pronounced. Rather, she picked it up with an unfamiliar apparatus. More than just opening your nose up. She felt like the process of smelling had new programming.

    As they walked, Yuka breathlessly played informal tour guide, not only explaining what different places were and which ones to patronize but also giving a sampling of their history along with businesses that no longer existed. A 7-Eleven (known here as Seven & i Holdings) market was a familiar feature with vastly different details. The food they had actually looked worth trying. Despite the general sentiment that they had plenty to eat earlier, Yuka paused to let everyone have a look around to see if they wanted any snacks. She sheepishly admitted that she needed to stop anyway to bring back groceries for her moms.

    Namiko was, by now, well aware of the eyeballs that her prominent features drew, but the right combination of blanket and bags muted and controlled their presence while not bringing on too oppressive of a sweat. The clerk at the front of the store thanked them for visiting and then cheerfully watched their tour group. Yasha only earned her attention for a little while; Chika drew the lion¡¯s share. They dusted off an old quip about octopus balls oft repeated on Gal Hotner streams. Franklin wasn¡¯t too experienced with those balls and stuffed a large portion in his mouth, thinking he could bypass the steaming heat with just a few puffs. That octopus left a ghostly ulcer in the top of his mouth that persisted until he became Misaki.

    The ball joke earned an undisguised giggle from the clerk. Misaki took quite a while to ponder how the joke landed in this environment. It possibly still had a sexual edge, considering the prominent, rounded peaks she could see whenever she looked down. Although, it was supposition to conflate balls and boobs. Otherwise, she gathered that round objects did have a certain, persistent motif. Ball gags likely still existed. Sports objects as well. A lot of thoughts to spill for such a silly thing.

    Looking over, she noticed Yuka had paused in picking through groceries to watch their group. If only she could genuinely answer the young girl¡¯s questions. But it would complicate things. She didn¡¯t wanna get them thrown back home, create complications for the next group of visitors, or foster uncertainty. She decided on a karaage chicken stick, not too different from anything she could¡¯ve gotten back home, but she was still working her way up to more adventurous prospects. The aroma blasted her. The style and the presentation lent it a unique air, even though it probably wasn¡¯t any healthier than usual. The company hadn¡¯t been clear on where excess weight, nutrients, or anything else would go when they returned. Of course, she had no idea where her Franklin body was during the nearly two-week interval.

    Namiko opted for a can of lightly sweetened black coffee. The scent of the can alone felt to Misaki like she''d taken a hit of it. In addition to that, she bought a big loaf of melon bread that they split. The wristbands gave away their visitor status. The clerk practically asked them as many questions as Yuka, focusing on how long they were staying, whether they were having a good time, and whether they wanted to have an even better time.

    That last sentiment was accentuated with a nearly hypnotic eyebrow brush mark wiggle. Misaki had no idea what to think about all that, especially since the flirtation was a genuine glancing effort at her. She wasn¡¯t an outsider to actual interest. In response, she folded her arms down and felt her face get hot. Namiko and Chika relentlessly exploited this to push their friend to the forefront of this attention.

    ¡°You have the most beautiful eyes,¡± the clerk sincerely told her. That should¡¯ve hit harder, but Misaki reminded herself that so many details were choices. Still, she quietly thanked her. What had become of her phone through the threshold managed to receive information from the clerk¡¯s with just a gentle tap. Namiko and Chika also traded contact info with her. Yasha kept to herself and was the first one out when they left. She didn¡¯t even get any food, despite her hungry sentiment. They sat down on a stone bench off to the side to sample their purchases. The coffee hit the current configuration of Namiko''s tongue much more sharply than Dwight was used to. The chicken contained an entire journey of flavor. And the bread soothed any sensory bumps.

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    From the market, they continued along that side of the street until they came to the next regular pedestrian overpass. Namiko quietly lamented the number of stairs. Misaki noticed the lack of a ramp alternative like back home. Their host looked puzzled and raised her artful eyebrows at their hesitation. They did their best not to make too much of it. The view from the top was remarkable.

    Plenty of modern buildings spread out before them, seemingly shaped by the diligent pen and brush skills of an unseen creator. The faintest breeze added a subtle but complicated variation. It was right about then that Misaki started to feel an overwhelming sense of exhaustion hit her. She grumbled with private annoyance at the failures of her consciousness. After getting more than enough sleep the previous night, despite the tense interruptions. After several days of only the lightest load going into this new week. Gee and Dwight had taken care of so many household chores, and each had far more to do at their respective workplaces.

    Dwight always had a strongman level of lifting, tidying, picking apart, and putting back together. And he did it with somewhere in the region of three hours of sleep pretty much every day. Gee always kept his unstoppable energy level up, whether he was performing for his online audience, wrapping new customers around his slender finger, or organizing the boss lady¡¯s extensive catalog of comics. Presenting the evidence to her mind and body sure seemed like a convincing argument; however, it did absolutely nothing to change the way she was feeling at that moment. Taking a spontaneous nap in some shade on the nearest section of pavement sure seemed like a decent solution.

    The possibility that she avoided the most was that the strange flash of darkness represented something that had clung to her internally and attempted to hollow out her energy like a worm digging its way through an apple. If that was actually something and not just a figurative representation of being too tired or a dream sample of her anxieties, then that meant she had been the unfortunate host to an unknown presence across the vast but imperceptible distances. She feared it could do more than just end their vacation.

    But it wasn¡¯t her fault! She didn¡¯t do anything to invite whatever that thing may be. And they had checked her diligently before they left and as soon as they arrived in transition. None of their questions specified a furry black carpet monster attached to a leg or even hinted at something like that. It was just another one of those stresses and worries Franklin always blew up to troublesome proportions. Even if it was real and not some crazy creation of her overtaxed mind, it had left. But the guilt of possibly unleashing some dark, energy-sapping presence couldn¡¯t be brushed away. At the same time, the leech-like thing had only brought on a spell of discomfort and tiredness.

    The road branching off the elevated footpath didn¡¯t lead to any further stairs up or down. But this raised position allowed Misaki to get her first clear glimpse of genuine East Asian architecture. The hip and gable rises and dips entranced her.

    Yuka noticed her interest as the others pointed out the features as well. Even though they couldn¡¯t see it yet, she listed off the features of a nearby castle, along with a sampling of the history and folklore on display. She hinted at the multitude of spirits that circulated from and around human beings. Spirits of nature, spirits of sentiment and feeling, spirits of those who are gone, and spirits of what may one day be. The implication followed her casual lecture that they were welcome to express the differences in how they saw the world wherever they came from. Misaki considered it. Mentioning what she knew of Japan in equivalence didn¡¯t seem troublesome. However, what knowledge and details she had cemented in her brain about Japanese animism, Shinto philosophy, and folklore felt skeletally flimsy. Her confidence in what she could recall also wavered.

    So she rejected the idea of trying to wrap herself in the concepts and details of a culture she only casually knew. But what could she offer? What was American culture like? What was the belief system? Every possibility felt like it required too many levels to even start.

    A flippant possibility crossed her mind. ¡°We believe in UFOs.¡±

    Franklin encountered a lot of cringe from what seemed like each conversation he attempted. But every trace of that other self was currently screaming in terror at what his female alter ego just said. Yuka puzzled at this brief statement and curiously inquired if she could elaborate. The others, except for Yasha, flashed Misaki a look of concern. Once again, she had stumbled right into a briar patch of a topic, and she wasn¡¯t secretly Br''er Rabbit. Groaning and moaning about it internally didn¡¯t help matters. She just said what came to mind.

    ¡°Aliens and other unknown objects from space¡­ Or maybe not. Some beliefs actually say that our space¡­br¡­ kinships trace the origin of life on our world. And they live among us. Some unseen. Most unseen. Some of them rise from beneath the ground, and a couple are residents of the moon. They are always around us, always watching. Art is done depicting so many different possibilities of their existence. They may appear as ape¡­ creatures. Figures the same as any of us. Or whatever else. Yeah¡­¡± Misaki had no idea if any part of what came erupting from her mouth was the least bit coherent. The source was a half-remembered podcast that autoplayed beyond her normal slate while she was napping one night. The only reason she had any recollection of the subject matter was that they threw in some spooky sounds that terrified him into consciousness. And the rest was cobbled together from various cultural leavings.

    An equivalence between folklore spirits and interdimensional aliens, between the multitude of the Yokai and whatever the heck Bigfoot was, seemed like a silly connection to draw, but it was genuinely the best that her exhausted consciousness could do. It was clear Yuka had no idea what to say or do after that spiel. But she thanked Misaki for the information. Mercifully, they weren¡¯t far from the train station that Yuka was leading them towards. And it didn¡¯t require a lot of steps.

    The company had provided instructions for purchasing transit cards with their travel stipend, but they diligently listened to the young girl¡¯s explanation of which ones to buy for their region. Misaki made sure to take down a note since she had no faith in her flagging brain to retain the details. At least she hadn¡¯t let slip anything about the existence of men.

    In a mellow quiet that didn¡¯t have the punctuation of cicadas or any other natural noises, Namiko asked Misaki a question without preamble, ¡°Are you thinking of staying longer?¡±

    Her first reaction was to give a little shake of her head, as though throwing off the accumulating sleepiness like an invisible snowfall. Their host was far enough away that she felt comfortable answering without sheltering her words too much, ¡°Longer? That¡¯s not possible. Melting and what the company would do. And things would go back. It¡¯s nice here. Everything is amazing. My brain is at a loss to process even a little bit. But I know the limitations. I¡¯m not thinking about it.¡±

    Yasha, over on the edge of the bench they were sharing, leaned towards them and declared, ¡°Why would you want to stay here? The multiverse has so much. It¡¯s infested with worlds. Every moment of existence spills new things. I know what I¡¯m here for. Don¡¯t get caught up in it, kid.¡±

    Chika flashed a quick glare at Yasha. The conversation receded when Yuka rejoined them. Misaki looked out across the small station. Girls. Anime girls everywhere. Some older and mature. Many as young or younger than their host. A world of special things. She couldn¡¯t wait to learn more.

 [6] Yuri Worlds 6 â€“ Visions

    Yuri Worlds

    [6] Visions

    Chika fussed with her phone and gave a long sigh. Their host noticed and asked if everything was all right. Snapping on a protective smile, she downplayed the problem. Yuka smiled back and didn¡¯t press the issue.

    Feeling a rough tickle, Chika cleared her throat and opened a bottle of water from her bag. Subtle, translucent qualities, softly shaded by her hand in gentle, greenish blue, twinkled and twisted as she drank. Misaki mulled over how swiftly its remarkable qualities had already been relegated to the mundane. Just a bottle of water, just a simple bag, just a bench beside the train tracks. All the living anime girls around deserved awe and curiosity, but the world itself was saturated by painterly promise.

    At the same time, Misaki lamented gawking. They were people but also wonders. This was why they came. So many difficult, contrasting notions pinballed around her tired head. Don¡¯t let any precious vision go unappreciated. Don¡¯t make it weird. Challenge Yasha¡®s dismissal. Remember, this is an everyday world.

    Misaki pondered whether this was one of those warned about side effects. Nope, just a side effect of still being Franklin underneath. Not that she didn¡¯t want to be the person she was. It was inescapable. She just hoped that her main ego might take a vacation from its most frustrating qualities. Play up the created character of Misaki. Earn the kind of appreciation she received from the clerk. Did her response fit? Neither Yuka nor the clerk appeared bewildered. Her shyness and demure body language evoked Franklin but played naturally across Misaki. At least from his perspective.

    Without men, what did that do to things like yin and yang? None of the documents they sent with them really touched on cultural norms, at least as far as she skimmed them. But then she doubted her powers of perception. A relatively recent memory returned, like a persistent boomerang, from Franklin¡®s last birthday. His aunt, his last real surviving close relative, sent along a gift. It took loads of determination and pestering from Guy to set him on his heart-racing way to the regional mail drop-off.

    Unwrapping the brown packing paper, he discovered a tightly sealed box of large umbrellas. Quite useful, sort of. It had been relatively rainy last season. Dwight had been fighting an endless war against wild grasses behind the garage to keep them from spreading further. Just a few weeks ago, his regular umbrella ripped its spring, leaving it loudly squeaking and not able to remain open on its own. He texted a simple note of thanks to his aunt.

    This note was followed up by a long string of emojis and her fuming that he didn¡¯t open it. Puzzled, Franklin tore open the box to discover the contents were actually a Living Bible and a card that meowed. A far more typical gift she would send. He wrote back an amended thanks and a half-hearted explanation about being tired.

    Franklin actually sifted through biblical texts several years prior. He got hung up on what felt like continuity errors. One telling of the beginning of everything, then another draft of it. He wanted to figure it out. Seeking the precise details of every word consumed so much of his time that he eventually had to put it aside. In contrast, he¡¯d run into this version before, and it felt so vague and soulless that he practically expected it to read, ¡°Jesus died, then, after three days, He stopped doing that¡±.

    A few days later, Guy actually got him a silver umbrella with a strong, satisfying click when it sprung into place. And Dwight made them a massive meatloaf. The part he really remembered, though, was how he disappointed his aunt by just assuming the contents of the gift.

    Yuka stretched and rubbed her eyes before smoothing out her uniform. How much had she missed in pointless reflection on a life and details she should¡¯ve set aside for the next two weeks? Yuka alluded to uploading the cards onto phone accounts and gestured vaguely south toward their destination.

    ¡°It¡¯s a gorgeous day this morning! I¡¯m glad we can all share in it!¡± She resisted a bow but beamed warmly over the four of them. Yasha appeared eager to retort but ultimately held her tongue. It didn¡¯t take long before the sleek, polished pearl-tone train eased its way into the station with soft and steady chimes. Everyone hustled to make sure they didn¡¯t leave anything behind as the crowd swelled with a rainbow of active and energetic girls. Something overhead read and debited their cards automatically.

    The interior felt vast and yet tight, hermetically sealed and carefully connected to the silent vistas all around. Yasha separated from the group, lingering in the central area while the rest of them found a comfortable bench towards the back. Yuka scampered between the split group and made sure that Yasha knew where their stop would be.

    Chika¡¯s fiddling finally paid off as she released a breath and announced to the others, ¡°Now my phone is working. From whatever they did.¡± She fanned the screen around. The wallpaper had reverted to the original stock, and the icons acquired a cel softness, but it was recognizably Guy¡¯s phone layout.

    ¡°Whatever they did?¡± Misaki echoed her words as a question. She just lightly checked her phone before returning it to her bag. It came out to send information to the clerk, along with everyone else¡¯s, but she hadn¡¯t done much with it since arriving.

    Chika elaborated, ¡°They put stuff on it. Like an artificial client running on top of everything else. I could access my apps, but they were filtered. But I got around it with Face ID. Despite not¡­ despite everything.¡± She flicked her eyes to the nearest girl, slowly ambling to the next train car.

    Misaki felt nervous about all that. Not because someone on the train might overhear, but thinking about all the warnings and regulations the company slapped on everything. Did Chika really need to circumvent whatever was on there? They just got here. Couldn¡¯t she just play along? She took a breath and considered how to express all that.

    ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s not related to the sponsorship? Was there anything in what you signed?¡±

    Namiko gingerly got up from her seat with her legs together. With slow but purposeful energy, she went over to where Yuka was organizing her grocery bags and chatting with Yasha about something related to shrines. Barely above a whisper, Namiko inquired about the bathroom.

    Yuka clearly recognized something in her expression and body language and quickly set an arm on her shoulder. She pointed out the area at the end of the cabin with a restroom designated on each side. Instead of human figures, it had a basic rendering of a toilet. Almost as an aside, Yuka inquired if Namiko had a handkerchief with her. She shook her head, her legs cautiously shifting. Swiftly, Yuka reached into a small side pocket of her skirt and retrieved a folded, black handkerchief decorated with dancing puppies. Namiko carefully held it in her hands and rushed over to the restrooms. Soon after that, there was a gentle chime and an announcement that the train was leaving the station.

    Yuka gripped a handhold and carefully guided herself into the seat almost across from them. Sunbeams, sneaking through gaps in the overhead shelter, traced over her face, and the light played through her hair like spectral fingers. She flinched and squinted, carefully looking out. Misaki watched the way that the light permeated her locks, twinkling through them. Like this, they made Misaki think of gray on the edge of brown rather than black.

    The girl gently leaned her head against the window. When it touched the glass, she straightened up and clung to the seat. Her vast, brown eyes slowly narrowed as she looked out at the city flowing past. Misaki watched too, knowing it was futile to even begin to absorb all the details of the buildings. A multi-tiered castle just barely revealed its highest pinnacle, shrouded in the mists of the morning. Chika turned her phone to landscape and tried to capture it with the camera. Yuka noticed and checked behind her before scooting to the right and crouching down so that more of the window was unobstructed.

    ¡°I love the view. But it almost seems like too much. Too much to see. Too much to make sense of¡­Oops. You probably don¡¯t want my voice in your video. Sorry.¡± She ducked down even smaller. Chika flashed a polite smile and assured their host it was fine. ¡°It¡¯ll be a montage over whatever music I can use. Edited like a travel video.¡±

    Yuka grinned. ¡°Sounds fun. Will it be¡­.on YouTube?¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°Yep! Well¡­ Our version. Probably. But they might let me share it after I¡¯m done making it. They want to promote travel. So, I want to make sure I capture as many wonderful things here as possible.¡±

    The girl¡¯s massive eyes looked like they increased severalfold as she drew in a breath. ¡°Really?! That¡¯s so cool! I would be honored to see whatever you can show. And I¡¯m excited to hear that we might get a bunch more visitors. It would be great to open things up. And there are so many wonderful things that you can see. I mentioned those shrines and the castles, and there¡¯s this beautiful shopping arcade just a little bit further past where I live. We have a gorgeous stream. And the mountains. The mountains have the most wonderful hot springs! And food! My moms are amazing cooks, but Maharu, the miko I mentioned who loves to dance¡­ don¡¯t tell anyone¡­ I think she¡¯s even better. She¡¯s very interesting. There¡¯s gonna be a bunch of things for Golden Week. You need to film those too! Then everyone will know how great it is here!"

    Each word felt like an engine inside Yuka revving up to greater power levels, pulling and propelling her forward despite remaining in her seat. Chika¡¯s careful smile deepened with genuine sentiment. Changing apps, she made a few quick reminders to preserve the flood of information. Misaki rested her gaze on the sharp and soft tones of the world outside the windows.

    Yuka was right, Misaki resolved, it was way too much. Large swaths of the landscape blurred by, with breathtaking detail even in motion. Massive apartment complexes with fluttering laundry hanging across porches. Electric lines providing chaotic borders. A parking structure that looked like a child patched it together. One building especially mesmerized Misaki, as it looked like folded transparent origami with high ridges that rushed through the slats of a metal fence. Trees filled the rest as a voice overhead explained upcoming stops, noted delays, clarified which side would be opening, and wished them all a beautiful day.

    It wasn¡¯t all beauty though, as a rusty, grimy bridge passed over them. Namiko unlocked the bathroom and walked back. They could hear sounds of deceleration as they eased into another station. She thanked Yuka for the handkerchief and motioned to return it, but their host held up her hand and encouraged her to keep it for now. ¡°I have several.¡°

    The current station was a little busier than the last one and also appeared to contain several islands packed with drink vending machines. Several cheerful, energetic anime girls hurried through the open doors. One dressed in jeans and a floral print skirt especially caught Misaki¡¯s eye. She had on a white facemask, which puzzled her. Did they have troubles over here? She desperately hoped that illnesses didn¡¯t pass between universes, but what would stop them?

    Their host relayed that they had ten more stops along the way, but it would go very quickly. Despite how cordial she was, Misaki noticed that she continued to sit opposite them even with open seating on their side. Looking over, she opened her mouth to ask if Yuki would like to sit with them when something shifted in the shadows. It was a mass¡ªa black mass exactly the size of that spiky, sea anemone creature. Why had it followed them?!

    Feeling a tangled ball of confusion and anger, she immediately hopped to her feet. Unfortunately, the train doors were already sealing shut with a gentle chime, and the cabin beginning to ease forward. The woozy shift made her plop back in place and puffed whatever words out of her. Namiko looked like she briefly considered wielding her massive pillows to catch her friend, but she just set her arms around her instead and asked if she was all right.

    Misaki nodded silently to everyone, but Yuka burst in with concern, ¡°Oh my gosh! What happened to your finger?¡±

    She frowned and looked down at her hands. A bright mark, like a single circular dab of red paint, swelled from her fingertip and trickled like a brushstroke down her colorful digit. Before she could really worry about it, Yuka hopped up from her seat and rushed over to attend to her.

    This girl, with her practically shimmering, soft flesh, grabbed her equally soft hand and inspected the damage. It was just a little cut. Oddly, she noticed that it seemed to be in the same spot where Franklin received a non-bleeding cut last Friday. Wouldn¡¯t all the changes fix that, or wouldn''t it have healed since then? At least it didn¡¯t sting.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Yuka encouraged. ¡°Let me get you cleaned up.¡± She gestured to the bathroom area at the back. Quietly, she used her ¡®uninjured¡¯ hand to grab the dangling loop to get up with the motion and shifting of the train. When she let go, Yuka automatically seized her hand. Her grip avoided the wristband. She didn¡¯t drag her, nor did she go as slow as Misaki was expecting. Among a cavalcade of crazy sensory and psychological experiences to reconcile, this one felt like it was crashing into every feeling in her body like a ringing bell.

    A cute anime girl was leading her by the hand, and they were about the same height. The same girl had welcomed her with a big hug. And she was an anime girl too. All this was normal. Somehow. Moving her legs kept them from trembling so badly she might fall over.

    The bathroom was as cramped as Misaki should¡¯ve expected. Pressing a little button beside the door made it slide open. Yuka augmented the experience with a little sci-fi ¡°whoosh¡± noise. She smiled sheepishly. Misaki smiled back. Franklin occasionally took the commuter train on day trips. That bathroom was especially cramped, but this seemed more like one on an airplane. The two of them fit, but without much wiggle room.

    Yuka brought along a small first aid kit from her bags. She set it on the narrow countertop. A metal basket near the door looked like a spot for storage. The toilet was mostly metal with a rose-tinted seat. It didn¡¯t tilt up like a normal one but seemed more like a dense sheath. A tampon dispenser next to it made her heart pick up its pace.

    Their host made her carefully wash up in the sink with soap. She spritzed the spot with something, but it didn¡¯t burn like hydrogen peroxide. After that, she applied anointment and then rummaged through the box until she found a wide bandage. It was covered in little, sleepy puppies.

    Misaki inquired, ¡°You like dogs?¡±

    Immediately, Yuka leaned forward and emphatically relayed, ¡°I love them!!! Big ones, small ones, droopy ones, pouty ones, fluffy ones, wrinkly ones, dark ones, bright ones, fast ones, and slow ones! All sorts of dogs. I¡¯m glad where you¡¯re from has dogs. That already makes it an even better place.¡± She made sure the cute bandage was secured around Misaki¡®s finger and smiled warmly.

    Because of the lack of space in the bathroom, they were incredibly close. Close enough that their limbs accidentally brushed when they turned. Misaki urged herself to be especially careful of all the rounded parts. She turned to leave when Yuka reached for her hand again.

    They were there together, so close that Yuka practically overwhelmed everything she could see. Their light, subdued scents filtered and wafted between each other. Yuka shut her eyes, leaned even closer, and took a long breath in. Her eyes gently fluttered open.

    ¡°Dogs have an amazing sense of smell. I¡¯m nowhere close. But I have an okay sense of smell. This probably sounds weird¡­ But you smell like a good person. Sorry. Is that weird?¡± Yuka looked quietly nervous with her arms tucked down in front of her. Misaki vigorously shook her head and reassured her that it wasn¡¯t¡­that weird. She definitely had the exuberance and loyalty of a dog.

    Misaki tapped the opposite button from the one Yuka used to lock the door when they came in. To her surprise, the little hallway was pitch black.

    All signs of the outside world faded away. It was like a dense, suffocating material enshrouded the world. Nervously turning towards the cabin, she desperately struggled to catch sight of her friends. It was too dark. Everything was lost to shadow. Struggling to breathe, she could just barely discern shapes sprawled across the floor. Human shapes. They weren¡¯t moving.

    In the distance, piercing through the veil of blackness, a set of red eyes turned towards her.

    ¡°¡­ What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Yuka¡¯s voice. Misaki gulped and blinked furiously. Back. Everything was back to the way it had been moments ago. Leaning forward, she could easily see the others where they had left them. Yuka was right next to her, nervously squeezing her right hand. It wasn¡¯t real. Just something in her head.

    ¡­Right?

 [7] Yuri Worlds 7 â€“ Arrival

    Yuri Worlds

    [7] Arrival

    Side effects. They said there would be side effects. Visual problems. This had to be related to that. It made sense. Relaxing her breathing with this assurance, Misaki calmly explained that she was just ¡°briefly¡± experiencing a ¡°transitory¡± side effect because of all the complicated stuff that went on with traveling. That sounded like something she could imagine the company would put in one of their documents, and it also avoided difficult questions that Yuka was sure to ask.

    Explaining that it was a visual problem, Yuka moved over to her side and wrapped an arm around hers. ¡°I can lead you back to your seat! My neighbor, Ayame, taught me how to do it right with anyone who needs help.¡±

    Misaki fumbled through her effort to clarify that the visual problem was gone, but she also considered the possibility that something similar could strike again, so it wasn¡¯t a bad idea to be led back. Plus, it felt kind of nice to have this cute girl holding and escorting her in such a caring way. She also stopped and looked into her eyes, waving her other arm as much as she could while hanging on to the first aid kit. Misaki communicated that it was improving.

    Chika was still filming with her phone turned sideways, but not in their direction. Her friends checked to make sure she was all right, and she just gave a vague explanation of suffering a likely side effect from the trip. The whole situation felt embarrassing, like something Franklin would easily fall into. Easy explanations felt awfully elusive, and every effort at breaking through the mental spiderwebs was more like pointless thrashing.

    Without warning, Yuka got even closer than they had been in the bathroom, her face looming and overwhelming her vision, and kissed her twice, like a feather¡¯s touch on each side of her cheek. Misaki felt like she was going to burst from the heat wildly blooming across her.

    Yuka endeavored to explain, ¡°My mom. My more experienced mom. The mature one. Well, the one who tries to be. And who is technically a little bit older than my other mom. She believes everything is Shimai. Sisterhood. Everyone is connected, in spite of their birth. We are all one. Even though we are many. Light and darkness together in balance. Love and¡­other stuff. But the spirits that flow through and from human thought and feelings connect and communicate. I told mine to make you feel better. That was probably way more words than you wanted to hear, but¡­ I hope your jetlag, or whatever it is, goes away.¡±

    Following that, Yuka nervously scampered across the train car to a seat near where she had been sitting before and immediately turned her head to look out the window with the curtain of her hair almost covering her face as well as her neck. Misaki eased back into her seat and inspected the cute curl of dogs wrapped around her finger.

    She knew, just out of sight, that Namiko and Chika were giving her the kind of looks that Dwight and Guy would often give when some random girl lingered around adventurously and said ambiguous things in Franklin¡¯s direction. This wasn¡¯t flirting, she wanted to say. Although, she probably shouldn¡¯t assume. This was a girl from a culture where two moms were just how things worked, and they had a lot of spirit beliefs. Now, the clerk from earlier, that seemed like there was something there.

    But they were only spending two weeks in this place, technically slightly less. What if marriage resulted from kissing a half-dozen times? And pregnancy from doubling that? They had no real idea how things worked around here. If it was that simple, however, then the company should¡¯ve already known. Whatever¡­

    Yasha emerged from the front section of the train cabin with a black windbreaker draped around her body, mostly obscuring the weird dress with flappy wings she wore. She strutted confidently, despite the motions of the train occasionally tipping her off balance. In her hand, she held a beef stick slathered in a darker brush of color that appeared to signify teriyaki. She tore into it with her mouth, ripping the flesh noisily.

    It was rather obvious to Misaki that not only did the girls in the vicinity look upon Yasha with confusion, verging on irritation, but also Namiko and Chika were annoyed. Yuka had turned her head back and appeared flustered. She spoke up hesitantly, ¡°Miss Suguwara? Pardon me a moment. May I have a quick word with you? I don¡¯t mean to interrupt. But I just wanted to offer some information, if you would be so kind as to lend me your ear for a minute.¡±

    Yasha responded by chomping again, flipping back her hair, and saying, ¡°What do you want?¡±

    Their host beckoned her over to speak privately and quietly on the side, but Yasha resisted, saying, ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell the entire group? No need to single me out.¡±

    Adamantly, Yuka tried to make it clear that she wasn¡¯t doing that to anyone, but instead, ¡°I just want to help you.¡°

    Reluctantly, following a hiccup, the strange blonde girl, still wearing eye-covering black shades, withdrew from the middle of the train car and plopped down next to Yuka. The conversation didn¡¯t begin immediately but awaited a careful return to the previous mood.

    Smiling slightly and pressing a reserved tone, Yuka explained that eating wasn¡¯t typically done on a train unless it was one of the long-distance, high-speed ones. Furthermore, she urged that it tended to be a private matter dealt with while sitting. This became a jumping-off point for her to amend that the snacking the others did was more in line with proper etiquette.

    She summarized essentially, ¡°It¡¯s about respect for the space and presence of other girls in society. It also brings calm to the spirits that accompany us in our lives. What we do together strengthens unity. Now, it¡¯s completely understandable that you all come from a different perspective as visitors and our guests. But your actions also reflect on me. It¡¯s my duty as your host to make sure you¡¯re aware of things like this. Please take that into consideration. Thank you, Miss Suguwara.¡±

    That didn¡¯t stop her from eating the meat right where she sat. Yuka dipped her head but didn¡¯t add anything. Chika and Namiko looked to Misaki. If only the company had placed them with someone else¡ªanyone else¡ªwith a tiny iota of respect for the magnitude and possibilities of jumping to other universes. But no, they had to wind up with some spoiled princess who probably did this every month for the hell of it.

    So many random people online were like that at Gal Hotner streams. A bunch of goofy requests repeating the same tired memes, usually just incoherent, illegible phrases. Guy was an entertainer though. He could riff on anything and did it with a professional cool that seemed like an absolute mystery to Franklin. Why did he have to put his thickened skin to work though? Why couldn¡¯t bullies of all types just leave the people he cared about alone?

    Misaki desperately wanted to fling a punctuated zinger at Yasha, like all the perfect retorts he thought about after the streams were long over. But Guy always laughed it off when he got annoyed at all this, pointing out that these people were literally just throwing money at him to do a dance or jiggle fake boobs, and yet they acted like they were the clever ones. It still bothered Franklin, but Misaki told herself that Yasha would ultimately be the one on the outside, alienated by being a jerk, and they would be having fun together with Yuka and everyone else.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Mercifully, it didn¡¯t take long for Yasha to finish what she was eating. Misaki flicked her eyes to a waste bin adjacent to the door on that side. Slowly, but without complaint, Yasha stood up and dropped it inside. What would the sleeping situation be? Asking for split accommodations could be rude and an imposition on their hosts. Shove the blonde in the attic by herself. Although privately visualizing that possibility filled her with delight.

    As though she could somehow sense Misaki¡®s thoughts, Yasha stood towards the door and eyeballed her. Her heart strangely thundered harder when Yasha reached up and plucked her massive shades from her face. She didn¡¯t know what she expected to see. But Yasha¡¯s eyes were similar in style to her own, anime-tilted, and a vivid color of brown.

    Nothing creepy or unnatural underneath. Certainly not glowing red eyes like in her brief hallucination. Not that red would even be all that weird. They¡¯d actually run across a handful of girls walking around who had vivid hints of red in their eyes, along with very light hair colors. And hers were a sharp tone of raspberry that threaded between traits of purple and crimson.

    Taking her eyes off Yasha seemed practically impossible. Surely something darker or more sinister would sneak out, like a human version of that weird spiky carpet thing. Flash for an instant and then recede, flaring teeth to strike like a monster at their host. But she just looked out the window at the landscape streaming by and contorted her mouth as if she were trying to suck some stray morsel out from between her gums. At least she didn¡¯t go so far as to poke a finger in there.

    Ultimately, her friends provided a pleasant distraction. Chika, who had been filming everything continuously, replayed a gorgeous segment of sunlight cresting through a glittering building. Namiko and Chika also listed off a variety of entertainment options in the region gleaned from Map app searches, especially focusing on a three-story pinnacle of classic gaming cabinets.

    That immediately leapfrogged beyond any version in their world, since every single game would the creation of an entirely different framework of events.

    Yuka¡¯s half-reference earlier to a Vulcan sentiment hadn¡¯t gone ignored by Namiko. But it didn¡¯t seem like the appropriate time to pry into what Trekkie fandom looked like in a world of anime girls. So many things didn¡¯t feel like they had reached the appropriate time. So much in a holding pattern despite them finally arriving.

    The train eased into another stop, and a circulation of busy passengers swarmed on while a handful left. Misaki¡®s gaze lingered on a few with green hair and flowing outfits while attempting not to leer. Interestingly, attention fell on them more than their attention fell on others.

    Clearly, their heavy bags and distinct wristbands marked them as something curious. How aware were most of travel between universes? She couldn¡¯t find the right moment or phrasing to express it to Yuka, but she filed away the notion.

    Even though Yasha had quit her objectionable activities, Misaki still felt painfully aware of her. She attempted to lose herself in the sweet moments of her friends, but she knew that Chika would organize all sorts of places for them to see and that Namiko would compile a vast array of jokes and observations to spill forth at the right moment. This time didn¡¯t call for her.

    Time. Eight percent slower here. It didn¡¯t feel like anyone was moving or speaking at a different pace. Had transitioning into this form also shifted her perceptions? A check of the times already showed a difference of a few minutes. Moments should¡¯ve dragged out, but everything seemed to move so swiftly. New sights and perceptions.

    Had she taken enough time to think about how this all felt? The whisper of dense hair swaddled her head with a thick bunching and overhang towards her neck. The mass was barely more than she was used to as Franklin, but the locks meant something else. The shape of her chest had already done so much pulling, shifting, and pressing. She made little discoveries of it, and it responded in kind. Beyond that, her shoulders seemed to puzzle over the addition of a bra. And the sleeping chasm down below had briefly awakened with possibilities. An anime girl. Living art, breathing paint.

    It was a strangeness she had slipped into with peculiar ease. Namiko seemed to have come to a settlement with her choices. Misaki kindly offered her shoulder when her friend wanted to ease her particular burden. Chika looked tempted to make a friendship sandwich but instead just lightly nudged as she fiddled with her photography and added a few more shots.

    Yasha eventually left this train car and wandered closer to the front. Outside the window, Misaki saw long cement platforms, tight houses with boxy profiles, shining spires, and fresh swells of trees. She counted down the stops Yuka mentioned and anticipated theirs.

    The dense clusters of buildings ceded to the supremacy of green. The busy cityscape fell away. It wasn¡¯t totally rural, but large swaths of rice paddies dominated the view. She watched until Yuka started to shift in her spot and collect her things as a signal that they should do the same. Between the last few stops, the train reached a higher velocity than in the city.

    They were ready when Yuka announced that this was it. Yasha was the last one out.

    The station they arrived at had far more wood than cement, with trees fluttering and beckoning in the breeze. Several curving roads flowed away from the station with long stretches of rising grasses. Old buildings in the traditional style that Misaki was expecting flanked their path. Yuka swiftly detailed what was where, saying that her high school was two kilometers down that way and the new regional sports center wasn¡¯t too far in that direction.

    ¡°Miss Okura is way down, almost to the general store. That¡¯s Maharu¡¯s grandmother. Although, she doesn¡¯t seem like a grandmother. My friend Naoko is at the turn right before our house. Ayame is working at the clinic past that now. And there¡¯s Mari, current head of the community center. Kosame and her family are right next door with her sister, Bianka. Our community is modest, but I promise we will welcome you warmly!¡±

    Misaki knew there was no way she was going to absorb all those names and that information, especially with the speed at which Yuka relayed it. She noticed the absence of certain honorifics but didn¡¯t know if that was just a cultural quirk that distinguished this world in other ways or if some transformational translation method was parsing it that way inside her head. The company supposedly didn¡¯t do mental changes, but she had to wonder if the wristband had extra utility there. Additionally, she checked behind and around them for the creepy bundle of black fluff.

    All the landmarks that their host celebrated appeared as she promised. She hustled the last stretch, turned with her arms outstretched, and urged them in the direction of an inauspicious building. It wasn¡¯t much bigger than their home. And the front door didn¡¯t have a long lead-up. But Misaki was excited to see more of where they would be staying.

 [8] Yuri Worlds 8 â€“ Contact

    Yuri Worlds

    [8] Contact

    The Sasaki house was a deep shade of tan, with extra protective overhangs sheltering the top of each window. Separate, small air-conditioning units sat on lower roof sections. Each part of the roof had heavy black tiles and artistic swoops that Misaki expected. The style looked distinctively 1980s, although she had no idea if that feeling translated to this world. A ring of paneling surrounded the lowest area, like a decorative wood skirt. A bulky black van, like some remnant of an old television show, was parked in the small driveway in front of a modest garage. What especially stood out to Misaki, though, was the presence of a second building behind the house.

    That one was exactly everything she expected from traditional Japanese architecture. It had ornate roofs that felt more like armor. Small, rounded ornamentation rose from the high points. The unfortunate thing was how much black weathering discolored the bright wood, along with missing sections and covered windows. She couldn¡¯t help but ask about it.

    Yuka explained, ¡°That¡¯s an old hotel that¡¯s been in our family for generations. We¡¯re hoping to remodel it and bring it back to the splendor it once knew. It¡¯s a slow process, but maybe when you return one day, you¡¯ll be able to enjoy our full accommodations. Please look forward to that!¡±

    She guided them to the front door, opening it outward and urging them in. Misaki knew what to expect right inside. There was a small recessed area with shoes and slippers. This kind of thing made regular appearances in animes. Dwight tended to refer to it as a mud room. Even Yasha took off her shoes without complaint. In slippers, they followed Yuka over to the right and up some steps along a very snug staircase. Namiko mounted them with rising confidence.

    Just to the left after the stairs, Misaki noticed a sliding door juxtaposed with a regular one. Carefully sliding open the door, Yuka proudly presented a traditional room with several tatami mats laid out with just a little gap on the end towards the window. The interior had everything that they would¡¯ve expected from a trip across the world. A boxy light fixture above cast a warm, almost candlelit glow, even though it was clearly an LED bulb inside. Shoji doors framed the setting, along with sliding closet doors on the side. A traditional tea setup prominently occupied the center of the room, with a heated table to one side and a careful pile of futons on the other.

    Yuka gushed about how they serve breakfast here with afternoon tea later and added, ¡°This is such a comfortable room for sleeping. You can really stretch out when you¡¯re relaxing. That¡¯s option one.¡±

    Leading them back over, she opened the door to the other room. It was a smaller space, but it still managed to hold four smaller beds delicately positioned. They weren¡¯t far removed from the kind of beds that Misaki was used to, but they had to be even smaller than twins. Granted, they had also shrunk in size. Yuka relayed that this was option two. Yasha dropped her stuff and leaned back on the nearest bed to the right before Yuka could really delve into the virtues of each.

    She soon sheepishly withdrew her elaboration and explained, ¡°I¡¯m going to make sure my moms know that our guests have arrived. They might be out, but they should be returning soon, and I know they would love to greet you all.¡±

    Misaki chimed in to ask if she needed any help with putting away the groceries, but Yuka swiftly waved her hand and assured her it was fine.

    Soon, it was just them. Immediately, it felt like an intangible breath being held amongst the three of them was finally released. Namiko went all out, cradling and gripping her massive breasts. Chika shifted that pink half-dress and wrestled with the frail structure of the pants while carefully extracting a horror movie hair of damp purple from her mouth. Meanwhile, Misaki did a cursory readjustment of her chest, which she hoped didn¡¯t seem lewd. Just being in such close contact with anime girl breasts felt so bizarre. They were a part of her body yet strikingly foreign, more like the laughable addition of a costume, and she just needed to peek underneath to find her real self.

    Yasha scooted up in bed with her arms and lifted her head before asking, ¡°So, what are the three of you here for anyway? Want to get laid? Next-level weebs? Dealing with body bullshit? Paid?¡±

    Something of that breath squeezed back inside but also became a huff of consternation. Chika sharpened her words like a whip crack and tersely asserted that Travel Anywhere collaborated with her media LLC to celebrate the virtues and diverse qualities of this world.

    ¡°Another damn Influencer. I don¡¯t know why they bother. I could shit out whatever puff piece they want in ten minutes. Just spray it with punch-ins and jump cuts and cover with grammatically defunct white meme text and a pop song to make Tiktok cream themselves. Am I far off the mark?¡±

    Chika wasted no time in retorting, ¡°Very far. I do my own thing. And we¡¯re just here to have a pleasant vacation from the familiar. Why are you here?¡±

    The blonde settled down against the pillow. ¡°I told you, it¡¯s delightfully delicious here. Common, but interesting. I¡¯m just around to have a little fun. Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m not staying long. I¡¯ll fuck off before you know it and leave you all to do whatever¡­ and whoever the hell you want. I¡¯ll be as quiet as a church mouse until then. I even promise to sleep over in the other room. Maybe you¡¯ll even end up joining me. That shit is comfortable as hell.¡±

    Her last words hung in the air without additional commentary as the others properly started to set out their travel bags and begin unpacking everything. Chika breathed a sigh of relief as she laid out her camera equipment and other recording devices and discovered that not only were some versions of all the normal batteries and data cards present, but the electrical plugs and other attachments had been subtly modified to match the slimmer designs in the wall. The cabinet by the window provided plenty of space for all the extra stuff that could be comfortably stashed.

    Misaki caught the insistent cry of a bird somewhere just beyond the window in the trees. All those were female too. Did they bother with mating dances? Were there fights for partners? When eggs somehow emerged, who stayed on the nest? Birds alone probably had enough going on to keep curious people occupied for decades. She wanted to follow up this thought with an even better one while emptying her bags. But her declining energy latched on to the familiar, soft presence of the bed. Time to take a nap, her body commanded.

    It was monumentally weird to sit there and think about boobs on such a personal level. They not only didn¡¯t go away, but they clung and pressed from every angle. And it was more than just a passive, transitory presence; instead, it was like a persistent, thought-consuming companion. Before Misaki found a particular angle at which to nap, a light but persistent rap came at the door, followed by words.

    ¡°Excuse me. May I¡­enter?¡± The voice didn¡¯t sound anything like Yuka''s. It rose sharper but also dwindled softer. Like someone starting out with an effort at authority, but that resolution swiftly faded and depleted their speech. Chika was the first to urge this new girl to enter. Namiko nearly went over to open the door herself. Yasha sprawled back, and Misaki sat up.

    The girl who stepped through the door did so with such a light presence that it almost seemed the air was left undisturbed behind and around her. She squeezed her arms against her hips and fluidly bowed her head to everyone.

    "Welcome. I am the eldest Sasaki daughter, Sasaki Haruka. Welcome to our home.¡­Cool? I mean¡­My little sister should be back in just a little while. Our moms were trading for some daikon radishes with a neighboring farmer. Do any of you have allergies to eggs? The papers they sent ahead didn¡¯t specify. Or any other allergies. I can pass it along. I have a slight allergy to buckwheat. But it¡¯s for lunch¡ªa late lunch¡ªand it¡¯s going to be these big, everything-cooked-together omelettes. It¡¯s a Southern thing. Is that¡­cool?"

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Misaki felt convinced there had to be some form of automatic translation going on. The older Sasaki sister was likely describing okonomiyaki. She also figured that ¡°Southern¡± wasn¡¯t something like the southern states back home or Mexico, if either of them existed. But was it like any equivalent from their world?

    This Haruka stood slightly taller than any of them. Her hair was a bright, practically colorless white in front, with patches towards the back and the sides reminiscent of snow softly melting. Her eyes were a breathtaking, etheric shade of blue, sharper than Dwight¡¯s original set. They made Misaki think of precious gemstones submerged in still, crystalline waters. Her face was strikingly narrow, but without a sharp chin. Yuka had a much more rounded presence while not appearing too childish or chubby. Her clothes were starkly simple, with a fluffy, pristine top that matched her hair and a black, pleated skirt that fluttered across her legs. Aspects of the outfit, aside from the fact that Misaki wore pants, casually reminded her of what she had been placed in. Furthermore, her hair practically seemed like a color-inverted version of what she had.

    Perhaps those were silly, surface details to focus on, but it did leave Misaki with the vague, unsubstantiated notion she reminded Yuka of her sister. She suspected she was probably far off the mark. In contrast, Haruka had gorgeous, painted nails practically the same shade as her eyes, along with a dainty, jeweled, actually pleasant wristband wrapped in a deeper color tone. Not that she was trying to compare, but Misaki got the impression that the two of them fell pretty close when it came to the chest.

    The older sister had a more subdued reaction to them. No ¡°wowser¡± outbursts; however, it was obvious when she first noticed Namiko¡¯s ¡®presence¡¯. Her eyes got exceptionally large, and she desperately avoided looking over there. She appeared quite curious about Chika or her production equipment. None of them had any allergies worth mentioning, at least before all this happened, and none of the documentation relayed the addition of new ones. Misaki inquired about various rooms and whether any were off-limits.

    Haruka explained that all the bathrooms were set up for them, and the rooms downstairs were fine. Just ask permission when it comes to the other bedrooms upstairs. That made sense. She also added that the adjacent hotel had some rickety sections that were still being fixed, so they were advised not to explore it by themselves. She also told them, ¡°It¡¯s kind of creepy. Especially at night.¡±

    They could all tell that the girl desperately wanted to retreat back through the door she entered, but she had one final note to express, asking, ¡°Did any of you bring along pets? A dog? When I was coming upstairs, I noticed this really quick thing dashing through the hallway. It was close to the ground with this big poof of black fur.¡± Misaki didn¡¯t need to hear much more than that to realize Haruka was referring to the strange spirit thing she had been seeing for the past day. Haruka could see it too?

    The older sister drew in a short breath through her dainty nose, which appeared as insubstantial as a simple pencil mark from certain angles. She quickly brushed her hair back and assured them that it was probably just a trick of the light, mentioning that they had done all sorts of cleansing rituals before anyone arrived and even offered appeasing gifts to the traditional spirits, especially the kindly house helpers talked about in local folklore.

    That was all the elaboration the young girl offered before craning an ear and conjuring up the notion that she heard an urgent call from one of her mothers. No one else heard anything. Misaki had to resist a spontaneous chuckle she felt from witnessing this anime girl do less of a majestic receding through the bushes type retreat and more of an antsy crab walk over to and out the door.

    Moments later, Namiko raised a finger and then frowned, mentioning to the others, ¡°I should¡¯ve asked her if it¡¯s okay to walk around. I wanna see more stuff.¡± Misaki felt that invisible, weighted blanket of consuming tiredness start to slip back over her with the reminder that this was still a bed she was perched on. She did her best to shake it off and think about all the things they could see together. Despite being rural, the region had so many interesting attractions. Chika fussed with her digital camera and grumbled over the fact that the battery had been mysteriously drained since she charged it overnight. Blaming TA seemed like a solid notion.

    She motioned to check her phone battery and give it some nourishing assistance where needed when her ringtone suddenly went off with the announcement of a call coming through. Chika straightened up, her phone held at arm¡¯s length, as though it had suddenly changed into something else. She glanced around at the others. Even Yasha looked over with rigid scrutiny, devoid of a sneer or any other mocking traits.

    Turning the phone around quickly, no number was shown in the drop-down Notification, just the words ¡°UNKNOWN CALLER¡±. Chika bounced her brown eyes between them as though it were a ball served back and forth. One of the things that the documentation the company gave them clarified was that while the modified versions of their phones would work with the networks and mobile data provided locally, phone calls would be blocked as extreme roaming to prevent carrier charges. Misaki could only imagine that it had to be a direct communication from the company itself since only they would have access. Expressing this to Chika, she swiftly drew the phone closer and selected to answer.

    Silence followed for several uncomfortable moments. Spam and robot calls had trained Franklin to respond not with words but with careful throat clearings and patience to wait out any artificial answers. She didn¡¯t bother with any of that, immediately asking, ¡°Hello¡­ hello? Who is this?¡° The words were phrased firmly and clearly against the receiver.

    Misaki strained against the silence of the room to hear something from the speaker. The subtle hint of a car driving over gravel carried to her ear, along with the suggestion of cicadas. Not a bold and unmistakable cry. More birds joined the subdued symphony, punctuated by a chicken clucking in the distance. And still silence from the phone.

    Usually, most calls terminated in about a dozen seconds without any sound on the line. This one continued for several multitudes of that as Chika begged whoever was on the other end to speak up. At the point of mind-numbing frustration, a voice finally broke through. A woman¡¯s voice without any distinctive qualities.

    ¡°Be careful¡­¡±

    That was all that was said before the call ended. Instantly, Chika swiped over to the phone options. She growled as deeply as she could over the absence of any information on the logged call. No designation of spam, no expanded details, and no number listed at all on the painterly screen. Unknown contact, unknown number, unknown details. Even the contact date was missing. She motioned to slam the phone against the bed but resisted the urge since it hadn¡¯t done anything wrong.

    They puzzled over all this amongst themselves. Yasha didn¡¯t contribute anything, but Misaki noticed that she looked more flustered than she¡¯d been the entire time they¡¯d known her. She had no idea what that meant, if anything.

 [9] Yuri Worlds 9 â€“ Mothers

    Yuri Worlds

    [9] Mothers

    Misaki¡®s first inkling was to deem it a warning call from the company, wrapped in cloak and dagger, feeling like random Internet myths about prestigious film and television producers trying to keep plot lines secret. When one of their performers accidentally spills more spoilers than they should, they ring them like a wannabe MIB and give an ominous warning. Only this iteration clearly wasn¡¯t meant in jest. What could they have possibly done wrong?

    The call went to Chika¡®s phone, and she was the primary party in the travel promotion. But her friend had been a saint! Guy literally read through the entire legal document without crowdsourcing it. One stream even riffed on the more interesting choices of language within. And he got permission to do that and felt entirely in the clear because there was no associated NDA. They put what could well be spyware on Chika¡®s phone too. Was this a warning because she had managed to circumvent it on the train? The entire process of dealing with TA until this point was upfront and without obfuscation. This was the strongest possible answer, but it still didn¡¯t make sense to Misaki.

    Other possibilities? Perhaps someone local and associated with the company was involved. The real, regular version of this part of the world sometimes expressed subtle and overt hostilities toward outsiders. But even if some random girl in this world decided that she didn¡¯t like them being here and recognized what they were from the wristbands they wore, she would still have to be some sort of expert hacker specifically targeting them.

    Namiko and Chika both seemed like they were stymied for what to make of this too.

    ¡°Hey. Can I talk to you about something?¡± Yasha stood up from the bed and approached them. Her mood was remarkably different than just a few minutes ago. She appeared strikingly reserved, with her jaw clenched tight, almost as though in pain, and her arms dipped to her sides. Her striking eyes didn¡¯t pierce at them but anxiously wandered. They looked at one another and invited her to speak about what she had on her mind.

    ¡°I want to apologize for my behavior since we met. Not the best day for me before I started my trip. There¡¯s usually a group of associates I travel with. They had to reschedule, but I wanted to proceed. Luck of the draw that we wound up together. I¡¯m the odd one out. Doesn¡¯t seem like we hang in the same circles. However, we should do our best to get along. Fair enough?¡±

    She put out her slight hand sideways, and they each shook on it. Questions about the peculiar phone call circulated between the three of them after that, but no amount of speculation made any headway. If Yasha knew more, she didn¡¯t volunteer it. Namiko wiggled in place and quietly inquired if Yuka or her sister mentioned where the closest bathroom was. Misaki didn¡¯t recall but suspected it would be fairly easy to find one. She led the way.

    To the left would just take them back around to the staircase, and immediately to the right was the traditional room Yuka showed off. Tracing around the periphery of the second floor, it didn¡¯t take long to find the place Nami needed. Unfortunately, it was just a narrow space with a sink, a large mirror, and some cabinets on the side. Poking around, Namiko felt quiet relief when she discovered the toilet over to the left in a small, separate room. The tank attached to one side separate from the bowl. She raised her almost-red eyebrows at the pair of slippers in front of her. Prancing over them, she sealed the door and went about her business.

    Misaki took the opportunity to inspect the rest of the room. The door opposite opened into exactly the sort of shower and tub combination she expected to see from general research. A padded plastic stool sat on the edge of the tub, with a nice bucket next to it. A series of towels were strung up and labeled for guests. The tub might be big enough to hold two of them. It appeared especially deep. Misaki suspected that stretching out would comfortably submerge her head if the tub was filled with water.

    Returning to the main part of the bathroom, she took a deep breath and surveyed her reflection. Looking at her face was the best reminder that this world had a striking depth to it greater than simple cel shading. The room captured natural bounce light. The pink soap had the color quality of a Blender rendering without any of the cheats of animation. No low frame rate, no CGI. It just happened to be drawn, painted, and done over and over again with every little shift of her hand and sliver of light. Her brain and eyes had to come to the consensus that this wasn¡¯t actually an animated world but just a normal world with some weird qualities. That blunted some of the majesty; she also recognized that taking it all in was beyond her senses.

    Stretching out in front of the mirror, she inspected her features. A subtle accent of dark pink, split across the middle, delineated her lip from the rest of her mouth. That tricky snail started to pick up where it left off as she pursed her lips experimentally. Quietly, she tipped her head back and narrowed her eyes to give what should¡¯ve felt like a seductive impression. The face in the mirror gave a little burp, resurrecting the phantoms of fried chicken. Misaki held in a snort.

    Tilting her head to the left, she gave a sharp pout with her lips turned down in a displeased scowl. A blooming wad of tongue rippled and swelled out of her mouth. Pulling on her face with a little flare of buck teeth led to even more goofiness. A zombie pose with stretched arms and rolled eyes wasn¡¯t easy to hold in the mirror to appraise, but it still made her giggle. The reflected face was not her own, but it intimately responded to every motion. Before she knew it, Namiko returned and was standing right beside her. She got in her Play-Doh wiggles too. And they couldn¡¯t leave Chika out.

    Of course, Chika was the most skilled face contortionist, with especially seductive expressions that seemed like enough to make the mirror girl want to climb out and wrap her arms around her. The modest space didn¡¯t really have enough room for the three of them to play out their poses. Chika nearly got clocked by Namiko because of her bust and responded, ¡°Are these the boobs that ruined Christmas?¡± Misaki vaguely recalled that reference, recognizing that it was one of those shows that Dwight and Guy sometimes watched together.

    Namiko laid her hands underneath. ¡°I don¡¯t know. They¡¯re sweaty mother-milkers though. Pretty sure this top will only be useful as a tent for small circus animals after I¡¯m through with it. They¡¯re so soft and warm. My mind races with thoughts and possibilities, but I don¡¯t wanna make it weird. I am desperately going to need some privacy sooner or later to get in touch with my Namiko side.¡±

    Misaki quietly harbored a similar sentiment. Chika let her hands trace around her body without actually touching anything. Amidst a series of stories better left unexplained, Gal Hotner had many adventures with prosthetics, once commenting for thousands, ¡°The recoil on these puppies can take your head off!¡± Chika bounced her legs and sent playful earthquakes through her top.

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    This went on for way longer than any of them would admit afterward before Chika devolved into giggles and said, ¡±Come on, we better pop off before everyone thinks we¡¯re doing something bizarre in here¡­ Like playing with our tits. Although, now I genuinely need to use the freaking bathroom. But at least I¡¯m living the girl dream by doing it as a group activity.¡±

    The compact water closet earned a sigh from her, but she listened carefully as Namiko explained what she had gleaned from her initial experience. The seat was heated with a series of space-age controls along the side. A bidet was built-in but didn¡¯t have a drying option like the last seat she experienced. A small amount of paper was situated to the side but not on a roll.

    When Chika asked if it also had a tampon insertion and removal system, it took Namiko a lingering moment to realize that she was joking. They waited on her back over by the mirror.

    As much wrangling as it took to keep the orbs in order for Namiko, she lamented the state of her hair. It needed brushing, lots of love, and whatever would prevent it from becoming a balance-wrecking pendulum in cahoots with the hooters.

    With her usual level of concern as Franklin, Misaki asked her friend, ¡°Are you okay? Can you manage? No need to get an adjustment back at that midway place?¡±

    Namiko managed to find a brush put away in a side drawer and ran through some of the biggest tangles, muttering, ¡°Awww, yeah¡­ I¡¯m gonna be a static-zapping machine, but worth it. And it will be fine. What else can we do? We¡¯ve already met them. I don¡¯t know if an explanation about a one-hour boob reduction will fly. This was my call. This is my custom bra. Now, I have to wear it. Everyone warned me, and I understood the risk. It¡¯ll be interesting going back. From now on, looking at ladies as big as I am¡­ I¡¯ll still look, but there¡¯s gonna be a whole new host of emotions going on inside me when I see them. The softness and the super squishy memory foam essence are fun, but not the sweat and the heat. Looking forward to a long shower later.¡±

    Checking herself again, Misaki could understand that sentiment. The idea of a breast was so much different than the actuality of it. They were concepts and fascinating objects, rooted in otherness. But the intimate attachment, the extension of one¡¯s own body¡­ She felt like she was building towards some deep epiphany but translating that into a coherent expression eluded her. A boob is a part of you. The breast goes deep. It felt more like she was trying to reach for an awkward pun. Namiko really appreciated it though, and added, ¡°Tit¡¯s all right. You¡¯re my breast friend. I won¡¯t booby trap you into saying tit. I hope when we go to a brestaurant, that they teat me right. I want to make a joke about what happens on stairs now, but I¡¯m shaking just thinking about it. Oh well, it¡¯s probably for the breast.¡±

    They were all awful jokes, but Misaki squeaked quietly with her hand-covered mouth and appreciated the cavalcade of goofiness from Namiko. The only downside was that Chika would surely lament whatever she missed when returning. Fortunately, the walls weren¡¯t too thick, and perhaps she heard enough. But the walls weren¡¯t too thick, and she found herself now concerned if they¡¯d said anything that their hosts might be confused by or take issue with. That was Franklin thinking though, and she did her best not to dwell on it.

    Chika folded up the door to the toilet, closed it behind her, and took a few breaths as she shuffled over and rejoined them. They looked at her expectantly as she seemed to be doing an impromptu breathing exercise to calm herself. It went on for quite a while as she washed her hands in the sink, even though there was fresh, flowing water in the section of the tank beside the bowl.

    Only when she was prepared did Chika announce, ¡°¡­¡­ I¡¯m a girl.¡±

    Namiko cleared her throat slightly and offered up, ¡°You do recall that one stream we did where I spoke metaphorically to your audience about the birds and the bees during that multiplayer session, right? Welllll, sometimes girls have penises and boys have¡­ oh wait.¡± Misaki immediately craned her ears and tensed up. She didn¡¯t stop them though.

    Chika gave a quick chortle and smirked in Nami¡®s direction. ¡°All your guest appearances live on in my dreams. Whether I want them to or not. But what I¡¯m feeling right now is kind of weird. They said there might be dysphoric side effects. I thought maybe, at first, that was it. Just an absolute sense of shell shock going from my typical, virile but enigmatic form to a friending of intimate mammaries. Step through a hole and get plastered in the tit. I have prepared and gotten adjusted, but that¡¯s a whole other story to feeling like your entire body got instantly flipped like a turned-out sock on so many levels. I want my wiener back¡­ Even though a pair of nuts hang around it. Water going out, the water going up, and paper going places I''ve gotta figure out by sonar touch. It¡¯s crazy. How can one half to a whole society deal?¡­¡±

    Someone¡¯s knuckles rapped on the door to the bathroom, and Misaki immediately felt like her heart was going to explode out of her chest and shoot across the room. And that was the best-case scenario. She watched, not sure if she was going to tip over and bang her head against the wall, as Chika went to the door and opened it.

    Yasha was on the other side, leaning against the wall with a tall cup of some reddish iced drink in one hand while her other pressed against her chin. ¡°You three are so lucky that there¡¯s no one upstairs. Were you screaming in here? I could hear you from halfway across the floor.¡± Misaki tried to confirm in a hushed voice that no one had heard them. Yasha shrugged.

    ¡°Probably. They¡¯re busy right now. I heard plenty about holes and boobs. I don¡¯t care what you do or say. Maybe just do it a little quieter. But their parents wanted to greet you. Follow me, or don¡¯t. But you seemed to be making such a big deal of politeness and etiquette.¡± She flashed a quick grin.

    The trio checked themselves again in the mirror and followed Yasha downstairs. From the front, they turned into an open space that looked almost as large as their main room back home. A pale, semi-translucent curtain divided up the space. Misaki noticed that the kitchen area was smaller than theirs but packed with amenities. Gentle box lights hung over a wide table in front of the kitchen. The older sister with white hair sat to the side with Yuka filling a jug. A pair of ladies roamed around the kitchen as though they were performing a slow but steady dance in orbit around one another.

    Before Misaki could begin to take this all in, a colorful missile rocketed from the living room on their immediate right. It practically had escape velocity, with a sonic boom cone struggling to keep up. She nearly saw a swarm of exhaust plumes erupting behind it. A gleeful hug detonated on her face as the flying girl wrapped her arms around her neck.  A blur of radiant blue swung her around like she was preparing for a shotput throw.

    ¡°WELCOME! Happy visitors! My mommy told me you made it! And I¡¯m here to bring love and cheer!¡±

 [10] Yuri Worlds 10 â€“ Names

    Yuri Worlds

    [10] Names

    Misaki appreciated the sentiment from that blue blur. However, her actions seemed more like she was trying to pull off a wild professional wrestling move than spread love. She also really preferred being able to breathe.

    Fortunately, it didn¡¯t take much for her to communicate distress to everyone around and the crazed girl who blasted into her. Yuka dropped her face and pressed a palm to her forehead before saying, ¡°Please be nice to our guests.¡±

    ¡°Okay, mommy!¡± The strange girl released her and twirled over towards the table.

    A lot of things were tangled up in Misaki¡®s brain and sat there awaiting an explanation. She had the general expectation by this point that the great multitude would never truly get resolved. But she couldn¡¯t let that slide.

    ¡°Mom¡­my?¡±

    Yuka wore a kindred expression to their poor server at the Sunroom Cafe the other day as she managed to respond, gesturing, ¡°This¡­is Okura Maharu. Granddaughter of Miss Okura.¡±

    The girl in question had vibrant blue hair reminiscent of deep glacier ice or brilliant cartoon sea waves that dangled and stretched for her shoulder. Her eyes were a shade of brown that seemed more like translucent gemstone coffee. She wore a strange drape of silver, pleated denim, like a fluttery fusion of a skirt and parachute pants. It didn¡¯t look the least bit traditional or Japanese. Up top, she had on a thin green cloak with fuzzy sleeves. Despite looking relatively young and several inches shorter than Yuka, she had a softly evident and flowing figure.

    ¡°And Lady Yuka is my mom!¡± Maharu proclaimed. Misaki got the impression that something the company had given them was parsing the meaning in its own way. For her, it felt and seemed like it should¡¯ve either been the honorific Sempai or San. She had no idea why it was doing that but found it immensely frustrating, especially considering they encouraged them to do vaguely defined ¡°cultural research¡± in the time before pre-registration. It was beside the point. No way was Yuka her mom. Unless procreation was monumentally different here.

    Yuka swiftly and adamantly clarified, ¡°It¡¯s just something she likes to say. To tease me. But maybe now she¡¯s marked you as her preferred plaything¡­¡± Yuka raised her eyebrows hopefully. The way she phrased that sounded more like an ominous threat than something appealing. The girls chuckled, and Misaki lightly joined in.

    The Sasaki mothers shared their warmth with the group through calm eyes and measured poses, as carefully considered as the ingredients they transferred from one spot to another. Misaki soon learned that what they were preparing wasn¡¯t actually their lunch but rather a soothing soup for an elderly neighbor.

    The nearest mother appraised an assortment of small tomatoes, which glistened with artful radiance. She had a flutter of fair brown hair that twisted and dangled around her head like soft wood shavings. Yuka¡¯s elder sister clearly got her eyes from her, as it was challenging for Misaki to look away from their mystical, piercing presence. She wore a dark blue blouse with stenciled designs of so many different flowers, especially hints of roses as line sketches. Her rolled-up sleeve had an inverse of blue on white.

    A reddish apron with a subtler shade than Namiko¡¯s hair wrapped around her waist and shoulders and trailed after her. Something like a colorful back brace covered her midsection and accentuated her look. Her body had especially striking curves. Not like Nami. More of a lean but motherly figure.

    Misaki found she was running out of words when it came to elucidating breasts. This led to a humorous little thought. She opted to file it away till she and her friends had some more time alone together. The crux was musing about whether a world of only anime girls gravitated towards Inuit qualities for immensely complicated and detailed snow terminology but for their ¡°common sights¡±. How many words and descriptive modifiers for breasts could there possibly be?

    She could compare the other mother to her friend and fellow traveler, Namiko. It wouldn¡¯t be a fair comparison, as Namiko would still ¡°win¡±. She still had a sizable presence, suggested by a few layers of informal kimono-style robes.

    The modified, vaguely halfway garments may have been something that also existed in their world, but she had no confidence. Her hair was dark and vibrant, with a rich brown color throughout. She was taller than her partner, with shoulders that reminded Franklin of a vice principal back in elementary school, a woman who loomed over everyone at more than six feet.

    While nowhere close to that tall, she carried the same presence. Her name was Sasaki Fuyuki, and her wife was Kei. Fortunately, Chika had already taken down their names and added them to the names of everyone they¡¯d met. Misaki reminded herself to ask for a copy of that later. Granted, it was practically impossible that they would remain in contact with any of them beyond these two weeks. But they were here now.

    Kei paused her cooking, tidied up around her space, and diligently cleaned her hands. She tilted her head towards Maharu about using Misaki¡®s body as a spinning pole vault and calmly appraised her guest. Smiling, she squeezed her hands and took her in an embrace that was both welcoming and precise. Kei gently apologized for any shortcomings in the accommodations and used her brilliant gaze to scrutinize Misaki. Not with malice or suspicion but rather with the piercing intent of a mother.

    ¡°You should have something to drink to lend you some color. I prepared something for your friend, and I can prepare one for you as well. Would you prefer alcoholic or non? Are you old enough to take it?¡±

    Their adjusted identification was back in their bags upstairs, but Kei said she trusted that Misaki would be truthful. She could drink, and he had occasions, as Franklin, where he imbibed significantly. Amidst the loneliness of college, some friends took him to a sit-down restaurant with watered-down, largely unpleasant alcohol options that cost a mint and left him loudly feeling every noise in the bar within a wiggly world without the warmth he was hoping for.

    Misaki gladly accepted the non-alcoholic option, a reddish tea that clinked, softly chilled her fair fingers, and met her nostrils with a sweet fragrance. It was quite good, and invited her to sip thoughtfully rather than drain the whole thing at once.

    Kei assessed Chika with her hands on her hips, like a questioning tailor wondering about a stitch out of place or a dropped thread. In turn, she raised her grape-toned eyebrows questioningly but didn¡¯t say anything to Kei. That motherly presence clutched her on both sides and declared, ¡°You are a marvelous entertainer.¡± Chika¡¯s eyes widened after her raised eyebrows as she inquired how Kei could¡¯ve known.

    Following a sizable pause, she simply explained, ¡°They sent us a letter.¡± With a sheepish bow of her head, she elaborated that many in the local community regarded her as an inadvertent prognosticator. And she was playing off that notion. It also doubled as a blessing.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    She recounted a fragment of a story when their family was first hosting guests seriously, and she welcomed an entourage by celebrating how the girl at the center was a beautiful singer. However, she soon clarified that it was only her aspiration. Mere weeks later, they learned that she had had her big break in the industry. That contributed to their prestige. Rumors of her foretelling talent blew up from there.

    Concluding, she remarked, ¡°Now I lean into it for the amusement and hopeful blessing of our guests. May the joy you bring and your star carry you far.¡± Despite how Guy typically responded and his normal emotional control, Misaki was surprised to see her actually start tearing up with that sentiment. Kei placed a hand near her chest and warmly wrapped her arms around Chika. The tears didn¡¯t last long enough for Namiko or Misaki to step in, but they each swiftly made it clear to their friend that they were here for them. Yasha, from a space towards the back of the kitchen, rolled her eyes.

    After Chika, Kei diligently turned her attention to her third guest. Namiko¡®s¡­ most powerful attribute¡­ was impossible to ignore. Kei delicately skirted around direct references and tenderly sympathized with her. She provided clothing tips and confirmed the assumption that a kimono or robe, much like her wife¡¯s, would surely provide the highest degree of rest and relaxation. In addition, she detailed regional hot springs, massage parlors, and bathhouses with therapeutic waters.

    The mommy question felt glossed over, and Misaki had trouble grasping an appropriate moment to articulate her lingering questions. She continued to sip her drink while watching Maharu for signs of a second strike. The younger girl showcased traditional and recent music on her phone, which somehow survived her energetic activities. A few videos of her in shrine maiden attire even popped up. She really enjoyed her bells and wooden wands with zigzagging paper streamers. Maharu enthusiastically hyped up her success, celebrating how good she was at the wild, swinging portions of traditional dance and that she was working really hard on the quieter, more focused portions.

    ¡°I do it with love! Let no one ever feel alone and upset! Come on, Goddess! Come out of your cave! You don¡¯t need to cry in darkness! We¡¯re all friends, and we¡¯re here for you no matter what!¡­ That¡¯s how I think about it.¡± She swayed, twirled, and launched herself around the open space. Despite an overall sense of cynicism from Yasha, she watched Maharu attentively and permitted herself a half smile. Fuyuki caught the infectious dance bug but had to let it go when she nearly spilled what she was cooking.

    It didn¡¯t take Misaki long to deduce she was the older mom who nevertheless behaved differently for her age. Contemporary youth music was in her bones and on her tongue. An overhead speaker system piped in several of her favorites as she pouted and fumbled with how to launch the appropriate app from her phone to play them in order without advertisements. Yuka went over to remedy the tech problems for her mom.

    Once that was fixed, Fuyuki endeavored to recover her coolness. She demonstrated the programmable tap and pointed out a lovely outdoor, enclosed space with a cluster of tall bamboo and a path of flowing water. It looked cozy but big enough for a party. Misaki noticed a small family shrine around a corner while Fuyuki sunk her head and lamented her failures to acquire the karaoke unit she truly desired to round out the entertainment options.

    A side conversation that Chika started with Maharu, initially holding up her hands protectively and considering whether she might need hockey gear while dealing with the girl, dove straight into names. The young girl softly grumbled about her name. It meant lovely things, but she didn¡¯t like the sound of it.

    ¡°Call me, Okaharu instead!¡±

    Yuka immediately told the trio, ¡°Please don¡¯t.¡± Maharu launched in the direction of her ¡°mommy¡± to tussle on this point. But the conversation shifted over to the hinted notion that there were names in society by birth, given by their mothers, and then there were chosen names.

    At a certain age, as a sign of true independence, a girl striking out on her own in life may divine and define her chosen name for the rest of her life. Kei actually kept her birth name but changed the way it was written. Fuyuki had a radical shift in her name and only vaguely alluded to what it used to be. She considered the more traditional Fuyumi, but ultimately enjoyed the sound and structure of the one she picked. Neither of their daughters had yet approached the age of deciding on a name, even though Haruka was approaching that time.

    On this topic, the trio glanced at one another and resolved that they could speak openly. Yasha rolled her eyes and left herself out. Their names were known by this point, but the expression of choosing names animated the conversation.

    Chika got to play up being Misaki¡®s little sister, and Kei chuckled that her phony intuition completely missed that mark. Namiko wished she had done more research into her chosen name and the surname of Yamane in particular. She knew about its connection to ¡®wave¡¯ and ¡®child¡¯ but mostly gravitated toward the sound of it too. Chika¡®s audience came up with her given name for ¡°lulz¡±. She phrased it as, ¡°A lot of people were involved and found joy in it.¡±

    Their cordial chat went far off the rails past that point, not far enough to direct back to the maternal issue, but Maharu randomly decried, stating, ¡°Tis surely a fate worse than death to lose skirts and dresses and be condemned to long pants!¡± That earned some giggles, and even Yasha gave a wide smile.

    As the soup the mothers made simmered through the last stage of its creation, Misaki shifted seats to avoid proximity to the wild, young shrine maiden. This brought her back to Yuka, who actually leaned closer when they were beside one another.

    Fuyuki declared she had something cool to show everyone. On the far end of the kitchen, almost towards the window, there was a double wood panel with latches. Pulling, she revealed a space under the floor comparable to a microcellar. It mostly contained pickles, which she encouraged everyone to sample. The flavor was much more pronounced and longer lasting than Misaki expected from typical pickling. She wondered if that was again due to the taste and olfactory differences of being an anime girl. Maharu also had a noteworthy reaction with copious amounts of twirling, although she suspected the girl would¡¯ve done that anyway.

    Keeping her eyes on the little storage space as Fuyuki prepared to close it back up, Misaki¡®s eyes flicked over to the left, to where Yuka was standing. She did a quick double take, puzzling over what she was seeing before attempting to rationalize it as a trick of this world¡¯s sense of shadows. The incongruity remained though, attached to the girl¡¯s skin. Her left foot and ankle had a dark, hazy mark rising like a monumental bruise. The shape, with jagged, shadowy strands traced across her otherwise pristine flesh, looked exactly like that dark creature she just couldn¡¯t seem to escape.

 [11] Yuri Worlds 11 â€“ Legs

    Yuri Worlds

    [11] Legs

    Misaki bolted out of her chair and rushed over to Yuka, who staggered backward in alarm. Yuka scrunched up her eyes but followed where Misaki was looking. It didn¡¯t take her long to understand.

    Yuka shifted her discolored leg around and attempted to hide it behind the other like a wobbly, distressed flamingo. ¡°It¡¯s not¡­it¡¯s nothing. I brushed up against something dirty, or maybe it¡¯s a bruise. It¡¯s fine. I just need to wash up.¡±

    Fuyuki rushed over with a dozen frantic questions, and Kei wasn¡¯t far behind in support of her spouse and daughter. They swarmed their youngest daughter with nervous concerns and hopeful hands. Bright pink saturated Yuka¡¯s cheeks as she twisted away from her mothers with the quiet but tenacious insistence that she was fine. Fuyuki took several steps toward her daughter but didn¡¯t press. She heaved a wafting sigh and hesitantly returned to the kitchen. Yuka disappeared around a corner behind the kitchen. Despite so many dragging doubts, Misaki followed her.

    The hallway split off left and right. The left, she suspected, led to the small garage. A small, recessed light in the wall was burned out that way, leaving stark shadows. The right ended in a dark and densely packed storage room with the door half open. Misaki pulled in a deep breath and cautiously approached the sealed bathroom door, just short of the storage space. She rapped firmly before wincing at the noise she made, pausing, and softening her contact. What was she doing? She should¡¯ve just left Yuka alone.

    Before she could lose her nerve, turn around, and head back, Yuka creaked open the door, with just a single vast, brown eye peeking out. ¡°Oh¡­ I¡¯m sorry. Could you just give me a minute? My big sis can take care of you. I thought maybe you were her.¡±

    Misaki vigorously nodded and shifted her mouth around as though the right response was wedged somewhere in her teeth. She wanted to echo Yuka¡¯s apology and run away.

    But she held her ground and asked, ¡°Do you need any help? Is it okay?¡± She resisted the urge to smack herself for those words. Was she going to clean Yuka¡¯s leg? It was a flippant question, but she envisioned actually helping scrub this cute girl¡¯s leg. She barely avoided turning cartoonishly red.

    Yuka sighed against the door and took a step back to open it. This half bathroom contained a smaller, simpler toilet in the corner than the one upstairs. It still had touch controls on the side. Yuka lingered in the doorway and looked down the hall before closing and locking the door again. Against the side wall across from the sink, a pink, fuzzy towel sprawled over a long, low bamboo bench. A cabinet and a linen closet flanked it. This one had a surprising amount of space to stretch out and sit down.

    Stepping over to the silvery sink, Yuka bunched up her hair like a dense rope before letting it fall again. The dark patch on her leg was easy to see in the harsh bathroom light. Yuka motioned to hide it again, but eventually brought it forward. Her sock was off, cast to one side. The skin was damp and rubbed red around the spot.

    Yuka eased down on the bench with that leg stretched out. Misaki sat as far away as the bench would allow her. Yuka placed a hand just above her forehead and said, ¡°I¡¯m trying to think back to before I met up with your tour group. Did you see anything earlier? Any sign of a bruise or a muddy mark?"

    Misaki pulled a breath in and squeezed it tight. She saw plenty of things. It seemed obvious that the weird, spiky black carpet creature had something to do with this. But was it a good idea to bring it up? Haruka may have seen it too. And Franklin saw it before they went on this trip, which gave credence to it being a real thing. Could she live with herself later if she downplayed it and something¡­bad happened to Yuka?

    ¡°Yes. I saw something. When you welcomed me, there was this spirit thing, like a sea anemone or a black fuzzy crab, that burst out near us. Then, on the train, I thought I saw it again by your legs. I wasn¡¯t sure what to think. They said we could experience side effects from travel, so I thought it was a hallucination or some trick of the light.¡± There, she said it. If there were consequences for the trip because she brought some creepy crawly across the threshold, then so be it.

    Yuka¡®s eyes widened as she listened. She paused and firmly pressed her lips together. ¡°Wow¡­ freaky. Kinda like a soot sprite? There¡¯s this movie from a while back. It¡¯s one of my favorites. I used to watch it all the time as a kid.¡° She cautiously offered up the title, as though she were gently showing off an ancient, beloved stuffed animal with delicate, frayed threads.

    Misaki sat up and exuberantly answered that she knew the movie and loved it too. Unfortunately, advancing beyond that simple sentiment presented a minefield of dangerous details to navigate. She let Yuka take the lead, gushing about the gorgeous, hand-drawn visuals. She dubbed it surreal to hear an anime girl talk about anime. However, the visual gap between the film and this world, while she considered both gorgeous, hardly invited the same terminology and descriptions.

    Once she burned through her excitement, Yuka leaned back against the wall and quietly added, ¡°I suppose it¡¯s not one of those cool things. Huh. That sucks. I mean, some really old ladies talk about spirit curses, but it doesn¡¯t hurt or feel sensitive. And it could still just be a bruise.¡± To rule out other possibilities, Yuka used the strongest soap in the cabinet to build up a vigorous lather. Misaki helped when she started to get tired. The dark patch didn¡¯t improve, but at least it didn¡¯t worsen.

    Flexing her leg, Yuka sighed and resolved, ¡°So long as it doesn¡¯t bother me, maybe I can just let it heal. Hopefully, it¡¯s healing already. Ayame could take a look at it, but she might freak out worse than my moms. I have a pair of stretchy thigh highs, and they should cover up most of it. Thanks for sitting with me and helping. And telling me what you saw. Sorry for burdening you with my stuff.¡± She looked over at Misaki calmly, and Misaki gave a quick smile and made an effort to bow, even though she suspected she was probably doing it wrong.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    When Yuka slowly stood up to tidy around the bamboo bench, Misaki straightened and asked about Maharu. What was this ¡®mommy¡¯ thing? She swiftly amended that if it was painfully personal, then she didn¡¯t have to say. Yuka leaned back and pivoted away. She didn¡¯t appear upset by the question. Misaki shifted her eyes around and considered just withdrawing the question, but Yuka responded quietly, ¡°She doesn¡¯t have moms anymore. So, she picked me as a substitute. She adopted me. It¡¯s silly. But whatever makes her smile, I can tolerate. I don¡¯t feel comfortable delving into it more than that outside of her presence. I hope you can understand.¡±

    Misaki nodded intently. She stumbled through waves of apologies, but Yuka assured her it was fine. If ever she had a problem with any such questions, she promised to be upfront and clear about it. Misaki did her best to swerve as far away from this line of questioning as possible. That meant topics about the soap, the towels, if she needed help with the laundry, and whatever else she could cobble together from her thoughts.

    A thin trace of gray, nothing like the shading around her leg, augmented the dark, natural pen trace of her eyes. Tiredness pervaded her features. Misaki sensed it had been there before, but Yuka wielded the cloak of hospitality to shield against it. She may have been this remarkable anime girl, practically the very first Misaki encountered in this world aside from reflections in a mirror, but she saw the girl was also quite human. All of them were.

    Before Yuka opened and unlocked the bathroom door, she hopped up and approached her from the side. Only a vague notion of what she was about to do fluttered through her thoughts. A hug. Yuka deserved a proper hug. Not a perfunctory one or anything else ambiguous. She gave her an insistent squeeze, followed by as many expressions of gratitude as she could assemble. No kisses until she had a better understanding of what they might represent.

    Nothing about Yuka¡¯s body language told her she had made a mistake. She didn¡¯t put as much enthusiasm into it, but she lightly returned the gesture before opening the bathroom door. Maharu tumbled face-first, right into Yuka¡¯s stomach. She managed to brace herself and didn¡¯t get the wind knocked out of her, but she still appeared startled. Maharu burst out with words.

    ¡°Mommy! Are you okay? Where does it hurt? I can kiss it all better!¡± Yuka wobbled with her footing as Maharu endeavored to smother her discolored leg with smooches. Misaki moved to brace or at least cushion her fall, but she wasn¡¯t quick enough.

    ¡°Ouch¡­oof,¡± Yuka groaned after both of them tumbled to the tile. Maharu apologized before they even landed. Yuka grumbled about now having a bruised butt to go with her bruised leg. Not missing a beat, Maharu then insisted that she needed to kiss that all better too. Misaki blanched.

    The two of them tumbled and rolled. Misaki just barely dodged out of the way. Kei and Fuyuki arrived soon after to do their best to restore order. Chika and Namiko stood at the back of the group with visible amusement. Misaki struggled not to blush, even though she hadn¡¯t done anything embarrassing.

    Yuka eventually escaped to change into a different pair of socks that better covered the strange blemish. Her moms were still tense but partially satisfied with the bruise explanation. When she returned, practically everyone¡¯s eyes were on her leg, but she changed her entire outfit.

    The new pair of socks did their job. Misaki couldn¡¯t see any flaws in the painterly coloration of her legs. She clearly wasn¡¯t used to wearing them pulled up quite this high as she brushed against the itchy fabric and smoothed it out with her toes. She¡¯d also abandoned her seifuku for a loose, tan top and a much longer but simpler, light blue skirt. A new question settled in Misaki¡®s mind to add to the pile: Why was she wearing a school uniform in the first place?

    She hadn¡¯t stopped to reflect on it because this world was so suffused with anime visuals and sensibilities that seeing an anime girl in a sailor uniform fit as neatly as the promise of crying cicadas, tatami floors, and girly Japanese names. Would it be too egocentric to simply assume she wore it for presentation purposes when meeting them? Namiko narrowed her eyes at her. Misaki attempted to put on a bright and cheerful but insincere expression.

    Kei and Fuyuki clung to their daughter, and Maharu did plenty of clinging too. Yuka¡¯s eyes rolled back in the most teenager-like manner, as though she desperately desired to abandon her body to escape. The four of them packed up the food for the old woman and explained they would be away only a short while. Misaki wanted to say something, to ask to come along. No real reason materialized in her thoughts other than the prospect of seeing what an old person looked like in this world. It was strange that they hadn¡¯t seen even one old person along their trek.

    They went through a big city and several train stops. They met waves of travelers trading spaces. Surely she had seen old women along the way, right? Perhaps she just didn¡¯t remember or had been focused on different things? Maybe they didn¡¯t look like the old women she was expecting from her world? What if they looked just like any other girl? Wouldn¡¯t that be quite a boon for tourism? The company hadn¡¯t been clear on exactly how one needed to look as a traveler, just that it needed to be physically possible. In retrospect, age didn¡¯t appear to be a limitation.

    More to consider and more to unravel. But she was exhausted. That had to be a side effect, even though Chika and Namiko weren¡¯t showing any signs of it. They roamed around the little outdoor enclosure and crouched in front of the flowing water. Misaki had to jerk up occasionally to free herself from the cobwebs of tiredness. The last wind she possessed slowly dribbled out. She desperately needed a nap.

 [12] Yuri Worlds 12 â€“ Visions

    Yuri Worlds

    [12] Visions

    Haruka finished helping her family on their way and soon turned her attention to their guests. The trio wound up on the couch in the living area. It was sparsely decorated, with a flat-screen TV against the wall atop a compact display unit. Plants in large pots flanked the window, with the drape half drawn.

    A large, white plush with a wide, open mouth sprawled out on the end of the couch. It made her think of a screaming, bleached whale. She wrapped her arms around it like a pillow and restrained her yawn long enough to press a hand in front of her mouth. That was the polite thing to do. Same with laughing. Cover your mouth. A notion that didn¡¯t feel quite so alien lately.

    It was so difficult to keep her eyes open, and when they did pop open, it was like a smoky haze stretched over the world from what had to be little tears in her eyes. Everyone had enormous peepers, so why couldn¡¯t she see better than this?

    Vaguely, she noticed that her friends were focused on some gaming system that Haruka brought out. It resembled the most recent Nintendo hardware. She hooked it up with just a handful of cords and wires. They talked about retro titles, and she recognized that Chika had to carefully stem her enthusiasm and consider her words. She so often simply spoke her mind on stream and had a cool confidence in the store. Misaki smirked and suspected that this had to be so hard for her.

    She was only vaguely aware of what was going on around her as she snuggled the weird whale plushy closer. Haruka passed out controllers and said something that sounded like an adult voice in a Peanuts cartoon. Misaki didn¡¯t bother paying attention to it. Her eyes fluttered open a few times. She couldn¡¯t remember if the way darkness spread when she closed her eyes was how it was supposed to be or different. Light and darkness rippled out like little concussive waves, crashing into one another.

    Moments or minutes later, from her perspective, she noticed that Haruka was standing over her with a thin but sizable pink blanket with lacy ornamentation on the edges. Misaki motioned to thank her, but no words came out of her sleep-paralyzed mouth. Despite that, Haruka slightly bowed her head and told her it was no problem. She shook out the blanket and gently laid it across her.

    Misaki dimly deduced from the care with which she placed the blanket that this was something she did often. Responsible older sister putting the younger one to bed when it was late. She appreciated the fact that the cloth wasn¡¯t sealed around her but rather allowed cool air from the window to circulate but not settle.

    Haruka leaned right next to her, against her ear, and softly whispered, ¡°Please, take care of my sister. She¡¯s in great danger. We all are. Rest well¡­¡±

    Before she could even attempt to ask for clarification, Misaki found herself completely enveloped by an even heavier, intangible blanket and sunk into sleep. The next thing she felt was a clinical, harsh voice far above her.

    ¡°Extraction complete. Subject restraint holding. We¡¯re in the green.¡±

    Jagged sounds pressed into Misaki¡®s ears, with the canals scoured by shards of glass. Warped echoes hurt even more, like Franklin¡¯s distant memory of being drunk with college friends. She struggled to both clear away some intangible wax and plug it. Bleary fragments of white and silver wandered and contorted in her sight. Where was she? It vaguely resembled the waypoint of Travel Anywhere. Sci-fi, sterile, and expansive.

    Her first inkling was the dismal notion that their journey had failed, and she¡¯d been rendered unconscious on the floor of one of the portal arches. That meant all the gorgeous and alluring sights had simply been imaginings from the depths of unconsciousness. No Yuka, no anime city, no cheerful house. At least all the frightful visions of a black monster never happened. Although, she saw that creature last Friday. Had that been a part of this experience, just like with those dreams that fed back into themselves? What was she experiencing?

    She struggled to shift in place and get more comfortable. Something was holding her in place, like the tightest vice imaginable. Her heart pulsed and vibrated against the unnatural constriction.

    ¡°We have movement! Weapons at the ready!¡±

    Weapons? That couldn¡¯t possibly be referring to aiming weapons at her. Why would there be weapons? What the hell was going on?! Blinking against the strange haze did little to provide clarity. Franklin once had a college roommate pop a pair of glasses on his face just to see what it looked like. But they were another roommate''s prescription lenses. Everything looked distorted, bordering on blurry. He flailed around to take them off, irrationally terrified that, if he kept them on, his eyes might stay that way. It all went back to normal, but he had to apologize and clean them for that roommate. Nothing was on her face.

    She tried to form words, but it was like her mouth was stuffed with sand that just kept sinking further down her throat every chance she took to cough it back up. Gagging felt glacial, as though the sand was hardening into a suffocating cement. How was she going to breathe? Dentist¡¯s office. This was just like the dentist¡¯s office!

    ¡°Raise the electrical field to the next level. Let¡¯s see what happens.¡±

    That voice changed, getting stronger and vibrating every inch of her. Not piped in through speakers, but echoing against cold walls and filtered through oppressive plastic. Her next effort to get any words out was crippled by breathtaking pain. Franklin only once accidentally activated a wall socket when attempting to repair it. This was so much worse than that horrifying moment. A weird tingling pressed through her like a burrowing wave. It rapidly went beyond rough pins and needles and felt more like a thousand hands were trying to carve biting holes in her body.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Screw calm; they were trying to kill her! Misaki flexed, pressed, shook, and wrestled with her confinement. More words echoed with cavernous malice. She didn¡¯t care what they were saying. She had to get free right now! Bashing everything she had against the restraints revealed a wiggle. No matter if it meant she would have to wound herself loose, she would be free. With rhythmic efforts, she managed to leverage the wiggle into a wobble, and that wobble into a creak, and that creek into¡­

    SNAP! Yes! She tumbled over herself, a heaping mass of exhaustion. Yells and frantic, high voices crashed everywhere. Faceless figures filled the blurry horizon, getting larger and larger. She swung around, fighting to get some clear sense of this color-blob world. Who was coming towards her? Where were the walls and the doors? She had no idea what to do but just charge and swing.

    Somehow, that seemed to work. Shouts echoed over the mottled space. Some anesthetic must¡¯ve been used, she suspected, because she had no clear sense of her body as anything but a mass of marshmallow tumbling over itself again and again. Like falling forward constantly and just barely catching yourself. She had to keep going and let whatever sense this was supposed to make emerge later. Where were Guy and Dwight? Chika and Namiko, if they did actually make it through. Nothing bearded, no long light-brown hair, and no sense of purple or pink. That was the best she could do with her current senses. Calling out their names didn¡¯t produce the sounds she wanted. What had the fucking company done to her?

    After a long stretch of running, she plowed right into a wall. Thankfully, with the painkiller, she didn¡¯t feel it, although she suspected it was going to hurt later. Despite being right up against it, the only thing she could be certain about was that it was a hygienic, blindingly featureless white. Distant klaxons sounded and rattled the ground.

    She moved laterally to the wall, searching for some break or difference in its texture. Soon, she discovered a door a few shades darker than anything else. It was left half open. Nothing about this instilled her with confidence or relief.

    Checking in all directions made her feel stuck in a cloud. Except for the floor behind her. She received the sickening intuition of blood spreading behind her and turned away. If she was bleeding to death, then it didn¡¯t matter where she went. She pushed through the open door.

    The space beyond narrowed with dark squares she guessed were computer monitors. They appeared to be inactive. Shapes she deduced to be office chairs slowly spun in place or had been tipped over. She cautiously maneuvered around and between them.

    The space soon shifted and expanded into something larger but not quite as big as the first area. It extended to the left and to the right. Larger hallway? That was all she could think.

    Unsure whether to head one way or the other, she paused for a quiet moment, then sprinted to the left. She had no idea if she was making progress or walking into a trap. The space started to curve, and she followed it from the outer edge to get the best look ahead. Not that peeking, with the current state of her vision, revealed anything. One strange thing she noticed was that she couldn¡¯t hear her breath or feel her heartbeat. It should¡¯ve been racing out of control, and she should¡¯ve been panting. Just one more thing to be terrified about later.

    There was someone there. A human figure. Small, but easy to see. She slowed her pace and approached cautiously with careful steps. Woman. A young girl. She was sprawled across the floor as though she had fallen. She practically blended into the aesthetic of the space. She had white, snowy hair around her head. Haruka?

    Before she could attempt to make words again or get closer, a burning sensation invaded her entire body. She wanted to scream. The pain was so sharp and unrelenting that it chased away all thoughts. She tried to yell out and beg for mercy, but she couldn¡¯t. Something was grabbing her, and it was even tighter than the first trap.

    ¡°Do it now!¡± A voice came from somewhere, not as scary as the other one but overwhelming her. She was being swarmed in all directions. She tried to struggle, but nothing worked. No leverage. Figures trapped her. None of their features were visible, but she could just make out dangling lab coats draped across them. It was like a sea of people had come out of the walls. And they were all trying to hurt her. She struggled to stay on her feet as she summoned every ounce of her strength to get away.

    One of the figures in lab coats crouched beside her. They were holding something sharp and metallic right against her leg below the knee. She wanted to beg them to stop, but no words came out. The knife, or whatever it was, slammed hard against flesh. She screamed.

    ¡°Misaki!¡±

    She was sitting, sprawled out, and covered. Everything was hot, sweaty, and stifling. The blurriness was gone, but she still had no idea where she was. Couch, television, window¡­ turning to her left, she saw a lab coat¡ªone of those awful lab coats. She didn¡¯t think; she couldn¡¯t think; she just threw herself off the couch and reached out for them. She couldn¡¯t let them go; she couldn¡¯t let them get away, not after what they did to her!

    ¡°What are you doing?!l¡± Chika¡¯s voice. Chika was here. Where? She was aggressively leaning on someone, and they both appeared to be sprawled out on the floor. Their face wasn¡¯t familiar, but it was twisted up in a distressed grimace. A blanket was twisted around her, almost like a cape. Misaki leaned back and got off the girl.

    She was back. Back in the Sasaki house. Wrong. She hadn¡¯t gone anywhere. It was just a dream. A terrible nightmare. It had to be.

 [13] Yuri Worlds 13 â€“ Meanings

    Yuri Worlds

    [13] Meanings

    Once Misaki was a few steps away, the girl took a deep breath and composed herself. She had strikingly long legs jutting out from a navy-toned skirt with some light creases. A fair blue button-up collared top remained tucked in the waistband of her skirt, but with billows of wrinkled cloth. The lab coat, which had set off Misaki, seemed particularly crumpled, but more so because it was a few sizes too large for this girl. Also, she wasn¡¯t certain of it, but it seemed the coat had the faintest hint of a rose tone, as though discolored in the wash.

    The new girl¡¯s hair was the lightest brown of anyone they¡¯d yet met. She was terrible at identifying colors but had some vague experience plugging in different anime character color hex codes to wildly confuse and complicate instead of clarify exactly what shades she wanted as Misaki. This girl¡¯s hair was a lighter shade than Kei¡¯s, actually closer to Namiko''s. Regular almond felt too dark, and skinned almond was too light. Somewhere smack dab in the middle of those two. It spiked in places and unfurled like party streamers. A series of pink and blue ribbons did their best at organization. Her eyes were blue, but not the sharp and hypnotic shade of Kei and Haruka; they were more like the tint of a swimming pool in summer.

    Haruka? She scanned around and found that Haruka was standing off to the left with her arms folded over her stomach, as though gently restraining an ache. The new girl brushed herself off, stood up carefully, and reached down a hand to where Misaki was still sitting on the floor.

    ¡°I half thought you were Maharu in disguise with that tackle. Must¡¯ve been quite a nightmare you were having.¡±

    Misaki accepted her arm. The new girl got her up, but they both wobbled to the point that she worried they would end up in the same pile again. Fortunately, Chika rushed over to stabilize them before that happened. With quiet disappointment, the new girl sighed and stretched her arms, admitting, ¡°I desperately need to exercise more.¡±

    Lingering, Misaki asked if the girl in the lab coat was all right. She responded with an eager nod. ¡°Only a handful more screws knocked loose. I¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯ve been meaning to extricate them. Yourself?¡±

    Misaki checked herself and noticed some scuff marks on her top. She had to pause and remind herself that the bumps coming out of her front were perfectly normal right now. Her knees and elbows ached, but she could see no signs of scrapes in her skin or rips in her clothes. Clinging to the remnants of her strange dream, Misaki briefly summarized, ¡°I was attacked by someone in a lab coat. Probably a mad scientist. Or a pharmacist.¡±

    The new girl¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You know, I would like to say that¡¯s strange, but it¡¯s not the first time. If I had a holey coin for every time it happened, I¡¯d have ten yen. Not a lot, but enough to have a good relationship with a shrine donation.¡± After she finished saying that, she posed with a hand stretched out, a little smile, and raised eyebrows. Haruka stifled a faint snicker, as though it were a cough attempting to flee her throat, but said, ¡°I don¡¯t think they understand your joke, Miss Soma.¡±

    Pouting, the girl in the lab coat took a deep breath and glossed over the main points. She began by relaying it was a metaphor that, if something happens a lot, then someone might wish for a small yen coin for each instance. Misaki assured her that part was comprehended and the same where they came from. The part she didn¡¯t know right away was that certain coins had holes. Somehow, the translation methods still made sense of something equivalent to holes and holy. At the same time, the name for these smaller denomination coins hinted at ¡°strong relationships¡±. So, girls often donated them to shrines to strengthen the bonds of their relationships with others.

    Namiko frowned and chimed in with the question, ¡°Isn¡¯t that also a reference to¡­some cartoon?¡± Misaki knew that it wasn¡¯t just some cartoon. It was a meme, one playfully invoked by Gal from time to time in her tamer set of references and known by Dwight. She understood why Nami was hesitant though. But the stirring turbulence of wild memories left in her head made her want to give the middle finger to the company about keeping other sexes quiet.

    From Miss Soma¡¯s point of reference, this particular joke came from a foreign program titled Fiona and Fran. Two young sisters on a summer vacation from school. Their older sister keeps trying to find evidence of their shenanigans, such as wild, impossible inventions. It was still a kid¡¯s show in this incarnation and included animals. Lab coat girl¡¯s words wavered when she talked about it, briefly acknowledging that it was for little girls. Chika vehemently asserted that, where they came from, watching such things was perfectly fine for, ¡°Grown men and women.¡±

    Chika¡¯s lips dropped hard when she realized what words she had just spoken. Misaki felt a sinking sensation too, while Namiko drew her hands up near her mouth and did her best to disguise her nervous alarm. She retained a vague but faint hope that all the weirdness with the translation methods would smack the incongruent word with a meaning that didn¡¯t rock the boat.

    Miss Soma eagerly nodded as she listened along and rocked her head. Then, came the word. It didn¡¯t escape her attention. The active pen line of her mouth settled flat before dipping into a curious frown.

    ¡°Excuse me, but what does that mean? Right before you said women. It just sounded like a stray popping noise.¡±

    Chika swallowed and grimaced. ¡°I misspoke; I meant girls and women.¡±

    Miss Soma pulled gently at her soft chin. ¡°Didn¡¯t seem like it to me. Here, I¡¯ve actually got an old recorder I like to carry around with me because it¡¯s so simple to just take down a random thought or save notes. Technology can be so fussy sometimes. Here¡­¡±

    She pulled out a little handheld cassette tape recorder with a slender microphone poking out from the top. Miss Soma politely asked her to repeat exactly what she said. Chika looked around at the others but couldn¡¯t think of any way out. Lab coat girl held down the record button and waited silently. Softly, Chika repeated, ¡°Grown¡­men and women.¡±

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Soma clicked the recorder off and manually rewound it for several seconds. Loudly, the speaker burst out with, ¡°SO MANY CALORIES! Stop eating those cookies!¡± A quick rush of red fluttered up the girl¡¯s cheeks as she softly admitted, ¡°Too far back. I could smack a duck for an almond cookie though. Here it is¡­¡±

    She pressed a few more buttons and then played the recording.

    ¡°Grown¡­ [POP] and women.¡±

    Misaki squeezed back her lips calmly, but inside, she was asking herself, ¡°What the heck was that?¡±

    She had no idea what to say to the incontrovertible evidence before them that what Chika just said had somehow been censored. It had to be the company. No wonder they set things up the way they did. They cautioned them against mentioning human details that were unknown to this world. Those were the rules, but they didn¡¯t make a huge deal of it. Franklin was so stressed about slipping up and getting into trouble. But it turned out that whatever they had done to them appeared to have established a hard censor against saying things they weren¡¯t supposed to say. Misaki found this even more intrusive and horrifying than all the looming EEG nonsense from her employers. What on earth could they have put inside them?

    And what were they gonna say to these girls? Miss Soma was paying close attention to their body language, which Misaki was sure left no ambiguity to their rattled shock. An overwhelming drawback of an anime-style body; the invisible artist painted all of the emotion clearly across their faces.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Yasha?¡± The question slipped out of Namiko¡®s mouth as she glanced around the room. Misaki had been preoccupied with Yuka and tending to her leg. She couldn¡¯t remember seeing Yasha when they left the bathroom in the back. She¡¯d been so tired though. And now, a fresh avalanche of concerns and thoughts felt far more important than whatever that chaotic, mercurial blonde conundrum was up to. She returned to the comfortable spot beside the screaming white whale and gently rubbed her eye. Considering how big they were, she half expected softball-sized nuggets of Sandman grit to sprinkle out, but what she could find actually seemed smaller and harder to see than usual. She avoided explicitly picking at her eyes. That had to be another act of rudeness she didn¡¯t want to commit.

    Haruka scanned the room and casually gestured with her arm half out and her palm flat. Misaki couldn¡¯t see around the corner, but she surmised that was generally in the direction of the enclosed outdoor area. Yasha sat in a small, green patch with the bamboo shadowing her. Miss Soma folded her arms and glanced over there before asking, ¡°Yasha, huh? I¡¯m assuming¡­ northern foreigner? Apologies if that sounds presumptuous, but the name reminds me of a general group of spirits in folklore. Probably coincidence. Yaksha. Demon gods. I don¡¯t know them that well. I tend to just lump them in with oni. Point being, before I get sidetracked, I¡¯m sure your friend and their name doesn¡¯t mean any of that local stuff, but fair warning for her that other girls may shy away from her.¡±

    Misaki didn¡¯t know what to say either way about this notion. Folklore may well have inspired Yasha¡®s name. Or she just threw it together and thought it sounded cool. Misaki reminded herself to skim through the folklore book she brought with her to see if it had any of this. Resolving that their travel companion hadn¡¯t been spirited away, Miss Soma returned to the previous question: ¡°Can you help me with what word made that pop sound? Oh, and goodness, I haven¡¯t properly introduced myself. Soma Naoko. I am in my third year at the same school as Sasaki Yuka. Founder of the Scientific Studies Club. Before Haruka graduated, we used to hang around a lot. It was fun¡­ I can tell you all the details of the Frog Incident.¡±

    Haruka casually made an X in front of her chest by crossing her arms. Naoko responded with a quick head nod and a chopping arm motion. Both things clicked for Misaki, with vague recollections from instances in anime. Despite Haruka¡®s request, Naoko mentioned, ¡°Sometimes you just gotta stuff a frog down your clothes. For science. Also, for science, it would be much appreciated if you could help me understand this language gap. If it¡¯s a very personal or cultural thing, I can drop it, but I have this hunch¡­ My nose is a little itchy¡­ that it¡¯s something else.¡±

    The trio kept quiet. Not that it would deter this science girl. They could dodge around it or ask for polite privacy, but the tenacious curiosity in Naoko¡¯s bright eyes didn¡¯t seem like it would give up so easily. Perhaps, she considered, it was a bad idea. Much like trying to say that their folklore revolves around UFOs and Bigfoot. She neglected Skinwalkers, for good reason, since they actually freaked Franklin out as opposed to the casual curiosities of the other set.

    It would¡¯ve been better to get Chika and Namiko on the same page before she admitted, ¡°It¡¯s a term from our world. I can¡¯t think of an equivalent. Probably just a glitch or oversight in their attempts to translate the language barrier. Like a blank.¡± The deeper she got into the explanation, the more it sounded reasonable to her. Naoko silently focused on her until she was finished, then pulled out a small paper notebook to jot something down. She then scrutinized her own writing as though she had transcribed a hieroglyphic and was now attempting to decipher it.

    Misaki¡®s heart raced in her chest. What if she did figure it out? What if she learned that there was an entire swath of humanity that this world had never known or imagined? Before, Misaki would¡¯ve shrugged, figuring it wasn¡¯t a big deal. But that vision, that experience, felt so vividly real and painful. Dreams weren¡¯t supposed to have pain, right? That was what woke you up. But she felt everything as if she were actually there. Still, she had no clue if those events were something the company might actually attempt if someone got out of line. But the mere prospect terrified her.

 [14] Yuri Worlds 14 â€“ Similarities

    Yuri Worlds

    [14] Similarities

    Meanwhile, Haruka softly asked if anyone wanted more of that reddish tea. Naoko¡¯s head turned when Haruka slipped back over to the kitchen. She stretched her slim nose up, as though preparing to be lifted and carried through the air on an exaggerated scent path. An invocation of cookies passed over, but Naoko shook her head and fanned a swift hand. ¡°I already had three cookies earlier. Approximately 150 calories, so that¡¯s a minimum of a half-hour walk to negate them. Probably gonna have to throw a large hill in there too. Anyway, that leads me to the critical, tantalizing question I can¡¯t help but give voice to: Can you describe the word? Is there a sound that slides past the same glottal region? Could there be other reasons why nothing came out when you spoke? Again, if you find any of these questions offensive or bothersome, I will gladly withdraw them.¡±

    Misaki wanted to jump on that offer. Just settle it like that and pivot to more important matters. And she was going to, when Chika stepped in. She urged that since she was the one who brought it up, it only seemed proper that the responsibility rested with her. She sat up high in the couch with her arms at her sides and as much hair out of her face as possible and began, ¡°We have¡­ an other, which is not a girl or woman in our culture. How to explain it¡­.There are relationships and policies between different countries in this world, correct?¡±

    Naoko nodded eagerly. ¡°Yes! I mentioned up north, Masnova. There¡¯s this conflict between them and a republic they used to have dominion over, and this cruel, nasty lady who was once with their secret police is now the supreme ruler.¡°

    Chika winced and noted, ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound far removed from our world, unfortunately. I digress. And I¡¯m not sure what exact point I intended to make with that. But I suppose you can think of this separation of girls and women and this other as being like these separate entities in your world.¡±

    Naoko lifted her tan eyebrows and not only clutched her chin but laid a finger around her lips, clinging to her face as though she were worried that too much excitement might make it fly off. She rocked her knees and postulated, ¡°This other you refer to¡­ Are we talking different-sized ears, larger or smaller eyes, hair color or length, or other physical features? I ask because there are actually these groups of girls in our world that have non-human ears. Rabbit ears. Dog ears. Cat ears. At least, that¡¯s the myth. Lost tribes of women who in generations past were slandered as being the progeny¡­of not human mothers.¡±

    Chika bent forward on the couch and not only exclaimed that sounded cool but also seized the opportunity to focus on ¡°progeny¡°. She carefully highlighted the differences between what Naoko knew and this other. Bigger muscles, flatter chests, and different hip shapes. And questioned what progeny meant in her world versus their own.

    On this point, it was like Naoko suddenly dropped in age. Her mouth went flat, her face acquired the color of a flash sunburn, her shoulders tightened against her body, and her legs got so close and tight it was like they wanted to merge together into one. It seemed like a minor miracle that she didn¡¯t topple over into an embarrassed heap right there. She meekly stammered out a few sounds and glanced over to Haruka for assistance, but she had her eyes shut and was drinking the longest sip of reddish tea.

    Finally gathering together enough air and resolve, Naoko squeaked that, ¡°There are books and other works that go into deep and specific detail about the human reproductive process. I may have a few stored in my library for purely academic purposes stored¡­somewhere, probably gathering a lot of cobwebs in the back. I have them. Umm¡­But a lot of weird notions. It sounds like, when you refer to this other of human nature, it¡¯s some contraction of human. But that doesn¡¯t make any sense. There is the term chuusei. Essentially, meaning in the middle of girlhood but also ''without''. But that would be like a doll or a blank figure in the shape of a girl but without any human traits. Like a flat rendering a little girl would attempt when first learning to draw. Is that where you¡¯re going?¡±

    Chika didn¡¯t let this opportunity slip away. She bounced up from her seat with all the still uncomfortable rebounding involved and proclaimed, ¡°YES! Exactly! Chuusei! That sounds exactly like what I¡¯m getting at. There are grown women in our world and¡­ that, which we have a term for, the people who organized our trip apparently don¡¯t want us to say out loud here.¡±

    Naoko quietly considered that with her arms folded and her forehead adding many pen lines of wrinkles. ¡°Huh. Interesting. I wonder why they would be so secretive? Many years ago, when multiverse travel first arose, the government treated it like new trading partner opportunities. Girls in other worlds would send us so much money for our junk because our junk would be their valuables, and their money would be worth more than gold. Didn¡¯t really pan out. Plenty of conspiracy theories popped up¡­ All of which I heard from Nishikawa Bianka. Have you met her? You would know if you did.¡±

    Misaki noted that Yuka made reference to her living in the neighborhood. She had a sister? Naoko took a deep breath and admitted, through a sigh, ¡°Yeaaaah. Nishikawa Kosame. We used to date. Briefly. Still friends. If you met her, then you would also definitely remember the occasion. She likes to dress a little weird. Her sister too. But Kosame more so. Bianka¡­ she was born here, despite how her name sounds. Her name evokes a spy working for the government. Which is ironic considering she doesn¡¯t trust anyone in the government. Like that family cartoon set in the southern prefectures. The one where the name kind of sounds like ¡®friend¡¯. The ladies get together and drink in front of their house. They have really strong accents. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m going on about this when you¡¯re from another universe, and it¡¯s unlikely you¡¯ve ever heard of it. Feel free to check it out while you¡¯re here. I like it, even though it¡¯s silly."

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    That brought an exuberant giggle from Chika, who was the first of them to get the reference. She got even more amusement out of envisioning the show, as it had to exist as a cartoon in this universe. Deeply immersed in Internet culture, she broke down and carefully translated a myriad of references for Naoko to comprehend.

    The poor girl¡¯s brain practically looked like it was melting. She absorbed what she could and resolved, with a hand up, that imagining the characters in any other form would be way too much. But the possibilities excited her. Misaki wondered if they had tantalized her enough that she might want to travel in their world someday. She always found it strange how rarely Travel Anywhere discussed visitors coming to their world. She had to wonder if the issue of Melting was involved. Or perhaps reasons that the company kept secret.

    Whatever tension existed in the wake of the censored pronoun slip evaporated, especially as Haruka invited Naoko to join their game and partake in some cookies made earlier. Almond cookies. Naoko softly whimpered as she gazed longingly at them. She then made several groaning noises before resolving that maybe she could just add a few more hills to climb.

    On the topic of hills, Namiko asked about trails connected to what she heard about a local shrine. The Akechi Chiyo-ni Shrine was the nearest and where Maharu was a shrine maiden. Despite being considered close, Naoko remarked that it was quite a walk to get to the entrance and had some of the sharpest inclines in the area. Now that, she resolved, was sure to work off her cookie debt.

    The game on the television was the local version of Mario Kart, which was remarkably close to the original in title and mechanics. Misaki lamented that she slept through a game like this. The details of her dream had fading edges, even more nebulous than her sight while experiencing it. Still, there wasn¡¯t a great magnitude of things to remember or forget.

    Restrained and in pain, searching for an escape, running into what appeared to be Haruka sprawled out on the floor, then being captured and wounded. Even though she made a vague reference to lab coats, she suspected the others had already dismissed it as a random bad dream. Misaki yearned to do the same. Just cast it aside along with all the other weirdness. But Haruka saw something scurrying around; Yuka¡¯s leg wasn¡¯t discolored because of nothing, and someone called them with a warning. She was also certain that Haruka echoed that warning. But how to ask the girl whether she said something before she went to sleep without seeming strange? What would it even mean if she did?

    The cheerful music of the select screen, along with a wide array of Nintendo characters that none of the trio had ever imagined outside of fan creations online, drew her attention away from this wellspring of worries. Later. Deal with it later. Enjoy your vacation in the meantime. Take in the quiet miracle of a world fashioned and run by tireless art.

    It was fortunate that the courses weren¡¯t massively different from the ones the three of them were used to playing. So many subtle details threw them off though. The handling options and the alternate options for heart items. The series contained a much greater, although still playful, focus on romantic elements. The bad girl queen of the Koopas pined much more for the hero and treated the princess character like a BFF. It remained at the same ambiguous level, but Chika delighted in the prospect of this series being essentially an all-girl harem. Misaki recalled that many in Gal¡¯s fandom would¡¯ve been over the moon to see stuff like this of official release quality.

    The trio was also delighted to learn that the movie adaptation, the most recent one, was still playing in theaters. It was at one of the first weekend showings that Guy revealed to him and Dwight that they would be visiting a real animated world, courtesy of this sponsorship from Travel Anywhere. The themed dishes and drinks at the prestigious local theater vigorously spun around Franklin¡¯s stomach for the entire evening after that announcement.

    He wasn¡¯t consumed by fear, not then, but rather high-speed anxiety about everything involved, what it would take to get ready, and whether he could even comprehend the idea of being a living, breathing anime girl in a world that lived and breathed beyond anything he had ever seen. It still made him a little bit sick, but that was just a Franklin thing. Misaki couldn¡¯t help but imagine some sort of film festival that involved the exact same movie but as created by filmmakers in a dozen different worlds. She could see this movie again in a way that no one she had ever met before had experienced.

    Like the apex of lost media. She knew a wide variety of specific examples back in college for an elective film class. The original version of an Akira Kurosawa film, a bunch involving Lon Chaney, the possibilities of so many Stanley Kubrick works, and, of course, a single negative of Citizen Kane that survived Hearst¡¯s purge. Some back home claimed to remember seeing the film, despite the fact it was destroyed so long ago, but they traveled in the same circles as those with elaborate conspiracy theories about Quantum Helix and Travel Anywhere. Franklin could understand skepticism about traveling to different universes, but it required immensely powerful and complicated technology. Not falling asleep and having a dream that you saw some movie that didn¡¯t exist.

    Those deserved to be shoved in the back with similarly crazy claims that Nelson Mandela actually survived until 2013. Even Chika once made a quip about whether he hung out with an immortal, alien Elvis Presley.

 [15] Yuri Worlds 15 â€“ Lunch

    Yuri Worlds

    [15] Lunch

    That was before. Now, all sorts of craziness inhabited their lives. Every vague or detailed conspiracy theory about the companies responsible for their trip at least warranted some level of consideration, with the visuals still ricocheting around her head. And the sounds. The word ¡°extraction¡° had specific, loaded connotations that Misaki knew her friends and roommates, with all their experience in film and pop culture, would immediately call out.

    The simplest explanation was that they were plugged into some sort of simulation. Everyone, and their mothers, had that idea. She thought it would be supremely disappointing to find out that their entire trip was just an elaborate light show with fake travel. It made sense of some elements but invited many questions. Especially if this was fake, then it was a forgery well beyond anything possible, to the point that just flinging them into another universe might be simpler.

    All these internal digressions led to Misaki swiftly falling behind in the race. Fortunately, that meant she wound up with the lion''s share of the overpowered items to taunt the others with. At a certain point, Yasha returned. She had her pale hair bundled up into something like a sun-kissed golden pumpkin and glanced around at the gathered group. Her fair eyebrows arched. Misaki straightened on the couch, bracing herself for some sudden, crude comment or a lingering look of disgust. Instead, Yasha folded her arms, focused her eyes on the television, and asked Haruka, ¡°Can I swap in with whoever finishes last?¡±

    Haruka looked at the group on the couch. None of them had any problems with that. Haruka silently nodded her head. Till she got her turn, Yasha borrowed a chair from the kitchen table that was slightly too tall for this room¡¯s layout and hunched down to watch. Due in part to her self-inflicted distractions, Misaki was the one who swapped with Yasha. The antsy blonde flared her teeth and selected her character.

    Folding up the blanket that Haruka gave her, Misaki set it to the side and walked over to the bathroom she shared with Yuka earlier. She splashed her face in the sink and used a little bit of soap to softly scrub it.

    Dappling her features with animated water was a fun addition. It resembled a dramatic moment during a sports festival, which might pause on an artistic composition of a character taking a breath while the bluish silver droplets cascaded across her skin. Only this version didn¡¯t pause artistically on a single thing but rather fed a cacophony of so many details spinning around her as a frantic time-lapse. It was so easy to get breathless and dizzy. She giggled quietly and did a half-turn.

    This personal spell was swiftly interrupted by the door popping open. Yuka stood in the doorway with her eyes wide and her hands in the process of unzipping her skirt. A frail, frantic gasp was sucked in through her mouth as she attempted to reverse her undressing. Words spilled out of her.

    ¡°Oh my gosh! I¡¯m so sorry! I¡¯m so so sorry! I didn¡¯t¡­ I didn¡¯t know you were¡­ would be in here¡­ I¡¯m, I didn¡¯t mean to. We were just at the old lady¡¯s place, and she has the old, old-fashioned kind of toilet, and I hate it and I couldn¡¯t use it and we came right back but she gave me so much tea and snacks. I just¡­ need to¡­I¡¯ll go I¡¯ll go¡­¡± At that moment, Yuka¡¯s slender stomach made the most unearthly noise¡ªa gurgling from alien depths, surging and blotting out all other sounds. That was not the sound of a stomach that would accept patience. Her eyes somehow got wider, and she wore the most panicked and pathetic look. Surely she was about to break down in tears next. Misaki didn¡¯t need to know more. She bolted out of the way, clearing a straight path for their host to purge whatever foul toilet demons were banging at the exit.

    Yuka didn¡¯t waste time. She practically performed a Maharu-class three-stage rocket launch without needing to leave the ground. It was not a controlled burn, but she managed to reach her destination without a catastrophe. Misaki heard things before she could make an exit through the half-open bathroom door. Rationally and innately, she knew that, even though this world was full of living anime girls, they were still human and had the entire human biology. At least as far as she comprehended, with some uncertainty about having kids. But the nervousness Naoko communicated suggested that, despite appearances, it was another biological matter rooted in human complexity. That little, wandering snail hinted at all sorts of depths.

    She got the door shut for Yuka¡¯s modesty with intensity, but not a slam. Misaki appreciated a couple things. She was glad that this world didn¡¯t rely on tropes from anime programs. Run into the wrong happenstance or moment, and some pretty but brutal tsundere decides that giving the nearest person a flying, bone-breaking concussion with her overpowered fist is a proportional response to a passing embarrassment. She suspected that her being a girl too assisted in keeping things below a nuclear rage level. Everyone was a girl though. And Maharu proved they weren¡¯t all gentle daffodils.

    Maybe it was a romantic thing. Love was anime punches and kicks. Neither Misaki nor Franklin had any guesses from their imagined places inside her, so she let it go.

    Kei and Fuyuki were also back and puttering around the kitchen again while providing animated commentary for the race going on in the other room. One mother and then the other grabbed and embraced Misaki with abundant thanks for something she¡¯d done. Taking care of Yuka in the bathroom was all she could think of, even though she hadn¡¯t done anything. The mothers spun her around and invited her to help with the meal. The curious heads of Namiko and Chika were soon peeking over.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    With another spin, Misaki received a large apron to wear. It was a blue like Naoko¡¯s eyes and covered in nearly every species of colorful cartoon canine. She assumed it was probably one of Yuka''s aprons. Before Misaki could push it away with concern about what Yuka would wear, the moms opened a closet and unleashed a wild pack of puppy-themed garments. The game competition temporarily wrapped up, with everyone else approaching in curiosity.

    Kei invited Yasha over with a long apron bearing sunbeam colors that complimented her hair and a troop of dogs rolling over in the grass. Yasha made sure that her hair was securely back, even asking for a hairnet, and was put to work, at her request, chopping cabbage with a sharp knife.

    Misaki focused on the creation of the batter, adding the dashi. Namiko and Chika chimed in, wanting to help as well. Fuyuki laughed and said, ¡°Oh my goodness, the four of you are our guests! You don¡¯t need to make the meals. We absolutely appreciate any and all help. I just wanted to show off the process to Miss Takano.¡± Naoko took up the task of tidying around the living room and putting away stuff in an adjacent space.

    Some of the ingredients had been prepared ahead of time, likely amidst the earlier batch of cooking they caught the tail end of. Chika helped out with the sauce preparation and made sure her batch contained extra helpings of red chili. Namiko prepared plenty of pork belly for her portion and worked with the batter. She expressed frustration at wrangling her most obvious aspects to get a comfortable motion and coordination. She¡¯d repositioned the controller several times during the gaming session, searching for the same.

    Fuyuki pulled her aside and said that she had something for her. They went over into a side room. Meanwhile, Maharu stepped in to help. After washing up, she vigorously throttled the thick batter as though it owed her money. Yuka returned with slow steps and soft breathing relief soon after that. She put on an apron similar to Misaki¡®s and slipped in beside her. They touched hips. Yuka held her tongue but let a slight smile show.

    Along with the pancakes, they prepared an orange salad fruit mix, miso soup with the remaining dashi on the counter, and some saut¨¦ed greens. Maharu did the saut¨¦ing on a war footing. She struck deep into the green army¡¯s encampment, turning over every safe haven to make sure they felt the heat. Her fingers rolled like a virtuoso pianist¡¯s, and her body moved like another preview of her shrine dancing. When it came to grilling the pancakes, Kei had to encourage her to take it easy and not do any tricky flips. She eased up but still smiled as she traumatized the ingredients. Despite all this, she didn¡¯t spill anything or have any wobbles or fumbles.

    The full spread carried exotic aromas and thick hints of umami. Yasha tidied up her spot on the counter, vaguely rubbed at her arms, and then tapped Maharu on the shoulder. The girl swung around and beamed. Yasha still had the sharp knife in her right hand. She smiled back and deftly flipped it in her grasp to present it safely, handle first. Maharu giggled and accepted the knife to return to its block on the far end of the counter. Yasha¡¯s calm gaze lingered on the girl before she washed up.

    Namiko returned wearing a gorgeous kimono with a subtle, pale shade like cotton candy, which paired well with her hair. Fuyuki pinned her hair up, and Misaki thought it looked lovely. The kimono actually managed to make her figure look relatively subdued. She finished stacking the meat on her okonomiyaki. Naoko returned and prepared the table for everyone.

    What they ended up with looked like far more than a simple lunch. Misaki anticipated what was next. She put her hands together and expressed ¡°Itadakimasu¡±, even though the company opted to translate it as inelegantly as the Living Bible from her aunt. Chika and Namiko carefully recited their versions.

    Applying the shifting, dancing bonito flakes, Maharu intoned, like from a black and white film of old, ¡°It¡¯s alive!¡± Everything felt so fresh and flavorful to Misaki as she dug in. In some ways, it reminded her of fast-food Chinese dishes she ate a long time ago. But there was really no meaningful comparison between this and that aside from being pancake-shaped and containing eggs.

    Misaki stretched her wrist and cracked a few joints before picking up the chopsticks. Back home, she considered herself far from deft at wielding them. Either the saturation of her body with whatever represented anime essence had worked to make her better at this or all the previous practice finally clicked in place, but the chopsticks immediately felt like an extension of her fingers, plucking morsels off the plate in exactly the fashion she desired. Even the tiniest flake of bonito and the faintest egg morsel couldn¡¯t hide from her. She cleaned the plate without ever needing to touch it.

    Toward the end of the meal, Misaki noticed Yuka had something on her mind. She stirred what was left on her plate and kept glancing in Misaki¡®s direction before quickly dashing her eyes away. Something lay under the surface and wanted to be said, but it still remained in lurking silence. She knew it was there but had no idea what to expect from its presence.

    ¡°Miss Takano¡­Misaki. I was wondering. If you wouldn¡¯t mind, I could show you around the area. We¡­could go for a walk, and I could show you a lot of nice things.¡±

    Before Misaki could turn and look at the others, Yuka quietly clarified, ¡°Just the two of us. Together. By ourselves. Just looking at stuff you might find interesting. I don¡¯t wanna leave the others behind though¡­but I am sure that my friend Naoko and my elder sister would have no trouble accommodating the rest of our guests¡­.What do you think?¡±

    Even the Franklin inside her head couldn¡¯t overlook the implication. Yuka was asking her out on a date.

 [16] Yuri Worlds 16 â€“ Dress

    Yuri Worlds

    [16] Dress

    Misaki had no idea what to think of that. A date? They just met. Why was this happening, and what should she make of it?

    Haruka sat up from her chair and asked with more emphasis and energy than Misaki had seen from her since she put her to sleep, ¡°I can accompany you if you need assistance.¡± Yuka didn¡¯t scowl at her older sister, although Misaki sensed that her lip was just a paintbrush¡¯s touch away from it. She cleared her throat noisily, reiterated the suggestion for Haruka to show the others around, and hammered with the full force of her voice without yelling or screaming that this was to be an excursion, ¡°BY OURSELVES¡±. Haruka calmly took the hint and bowed her head to her sister.

    Maharu squeezed on a self-assured, playful smile and rocked back and forth as she started humming a little melody to herself. It was pleasant and reminded Misaki of something lingering at the cusp of her consciousness. She had no idea for certain what it was though. Her best guess was that it had to be a common childhood song. But what could possibly fit all the required criteria as a song Franklin and Maharu would know? She was stumped.

    Yuka turned and aimed a scrutinizing eyeball at the blue-haired girl. Even though nothing physically changed about Maharu, Misaki got a clear impression of the girl putting on an angelic countenance with a prayerful pose and a glittering halo above her head, projecting benign innocence.

    Misaki felt weird. Yes, it was oddly but pleasantly cute that their host wanted to go on a walk together with her. But she was a second-year high school student. Wasn¡¯t it a little bit strange? They had no idea how old Misaki was¡­ She had no idea how old she was either. And being in her second year would put Yuka somewhere around sixteen or seventeen. Maybe she was making it weirder than it was meant to be. The unique social and cultural chasm, even though it didn¡¯t appear to be a gaping one, left a lot of questions. But Yuka¡¯s moms wore expressions of cheerful encouragement.

    Misaki took time to tidy up around her table space and contribute as much overall clean-up assistance as possible. Both Misaki and Franklin felt in over their heads.

    Franklin. It was weird, but, since she arrived, the concept and feeling of Franklin seemed more like describing a peculiar relative she was intimately familiar with. Franklin started out fine. As a little kid, his mother brought him regularly to the salon and all the other spaces she frequented. The looming, giggling ladies would either pinch his cheek, ruffle his hair, or say all sorts of praises about his outfits and his politeness. He demurely responded to them while they laid out all his virtuous qualities and their certainty of his future. What a nice man! What a polite little boy! He¡¯s going to have all the girls after him!

    But school was suffering. The only real girl after him was Guy. They would hold hands in big crowds, even though Franklin often squirmed and twisted free for the sake of appearances. Not that he had any actual clue who he was trying to impress. Everyone made fun of him, and plenty of people tried to beat him up. Knowing Dwight was a lifesaver for both of them. He didn¡¯t care what others thought of him, so long as the weak were protected. He put it exactly that way¡ªit was his personal creed.

    Then, they were gone. But that didn¡¯t mean he was alone, at first. His school computer-assigned roommates provided enough influence, antics, and distractions. And he hung out with Kristen. They were vaguely-defined friends from high school. He took her on a few trips to places like water parks. The way her splashed top clung to her body still lived in his daydreams. But he was so awkward around her that a part of his soul died every time he was too forthright with a hug or a comment. He was deep in the friend zone for all four years without any sense of what he was supposed to do about it, if anything.

    Screw it. What value was there in being stuck alone? If this was weird, then it was weird. They were just going for a walk. A fun walk with a sweet anime girl. Misaki and Franklin may have lived twice her years, but it was a vacation. And they were visiting this culture. It''s best to immerse themselves in the culture and not be rude about a walk that doesn¡¯t have any implications beyond being a walk.

    ¡°That sounds fun. Sure!¡± She answered with a warm smile, a light tone, and quiet exuberance. Yuka¡¯s eyes brightened like a roaring flame ignited within brownish stones. Her face and presence acquired a fresh, antsy, energetic animation.

    Of course, she was already animated, but it was like dozens of new artists had been inspired to multiply the subtle details of her countenance. She fixed and refixed her hair behind her ears. The ruffles of her clothes found new, shifting valleys. Her mouth line swelled joyously like a steady wave. And rosy colors danced through her skin.

    Misaki turned her attention to the issue of her leg. Was it still hurting? Perhaps she should rest it instead of wearing herself out with a long walk? Yuka showcased her limber limb, stretching it out, wiggling it around, and holding it out without ruffling her skirt. She assured Misaki that all the walking, working, and cooking hadn¡¯t bothered her at all. She even felt better through it. But she acquiesced to Misaki and her moms, saying, ¡°If I have any issues, I promise to say so immediately. Plus, we can stop by the clinic where Ayame works and have her check it out.¡±

    Both of her moms took a breath, and that somewhat addressed the concerns Misaki had about her leg. But so many other issues remained unresolved inside her. Bubbling beneath the surface, she realized she wanted to change her outfit. What the company had automatically granted her through the threshold based on the Misaki she imagined met the reality of what worked, felt comfortable, and looked nice.

    Right now, all that came to one conclusion: She wanted a dress. Not something that Franklin would have ever desired, but things were different for the next two weeks. Fortunately, when previously rummaging through the clothes provided, she noticed there was just the sort of dress that seemed bold enough but still reserved for the task.

    Misaki smiled and explained that she needed to change. Before leaving, she swiveled around to inquire if she should bring anything with her. Kei relayed that it was starting to get windy when they were coming back. She urged her to consider a light jacket and something to weigh her dress down so it didn¡¯t fly up.

    After hearing that, billowing Marylyn Monroe visions were all she could think about. Did she have anything reasonably heavy with her? Books, but none of them would fit in a dress pocket. Probably the change left over from before the train ride. Heading back to the room, she unzipped her bags and rummaged around for the dress in question. It felt so strange to hold it against her body. Glossy and foreign. Not at all the kind of material Franklin was ever used to wearing. The neckline was traced in faint lace, slightly darker than the purple of the main garment. The hemline didn¡¯t make it to her knee, and the ornamentation down there with rounded curves held a lot of transparency. Such a girly dress. And she was a girl. Several long, deep breaths kept her from getting too woozy.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Before she could formulate the order of operations needed to address and dress in the dress, Chika and Namiko poked their heads through the half-open door. Misaki attempted to downplay her nervousness, but she wasn¡¯t fooling either of them. They relayed that her ¡°Romeo¡± had been dragged away to get her nose forcibly powdered by family as soon as she left. The two of them had even bigger plans for Misaki, who gulped.

    Chika took charge of turning her puffy short cut into an even, soft do. She got washed up a little in the nearest bathroom without having to completely strip down. The showering attachment, with lots of buttons, was quite useful for rinses. Applications of travel perfume and dabs of light makeup were unavoidable. Gal was quite adept at beautification.

    When it was all done, she was astonished by her reflection in the mirror, even though the changes were subtle. Her hair, previously scattered and disheveled like a boy¡¯s, was now carefully parted and shaped into a dangling drape of femininity. The accent of her eyes had turned into a bold exclamation of their raspberry texture. Her lips gained a rich, scarlet tracing, as though dabbed by a wet painter''s pen to highlight their glossy surface. The most alarming discovery, even though she already knew it well, was how much shapely leg she possessed. Adjusting the hem of the dress did nothing to extend the meager boundary or reduce the brightness of her blush. Being a girl was one thing; she could submerge herself in the notions and quiet character of Misaki. But being dragged into such a distinctive, outgoing look woke up the reservoir of Franklin she had pushed aside.

    She wanted to drop to the floor and ignore the highlighted reality pervading her being. No time for that though. Chika and Namiko made sure the little golden belt around her waist was cinched and everything was zipped up properly. She clung to one of Chika¡®s little handbags like it was a lifeline and a parachute. It contained her feeble phone, some cash, and the leftovers of whatever they¡¯d touched her up with. Soon, she was being shoved off like Cinderella to the Ball. Plaintively, she begged them to slow down while flapping her arms in all directions. They let her take a breath as she collected her thoughts.

    She brought up her concerns about Yuka¡¯s age and whether this was weird. Chika locked eyes with her and raised her purple eyebrows. Misaki frantically wiggled her arms again as she elaborated, ¡°I have no intentions towards this girl. I¡¯m not even sure how this got started. She gave me this unusual, big hug when we arrived. But, with everything I¡¯ve read about Japanese culture, that would¡¯ve been an exuberant, unusual public display of affection towards a stranger. I know she hugged all of us, but she hugged me the most. But then Kei is really rather touchy-feely too. Still, it¡¯s kind of weird. Don¡¯t you think so? But we are just going for a walk. It¡¯s just strange. Is it not strange, and I¡¯m making it strange by saying that it¡¯s strange when it¡¯s really not strange because no one around thinks it¡¯s strange?¡± She couldn¡¯t avoid the fact that last sentence really got away from her.

    Namiko resisted a smirk and carefully folded her arms as Chika narrowed her eyes. With a hand on Misaki¡®s shoulder, Chika pronounced, ¡°You are strange. But that¡¯s fine. Just go for a walk and make her smile. We¡¯re only here for two weeks. They received all our information from the company. And that one mom has a pretty wild personality. If they had issues with us, we would know. Just be her friend. Now there¡¯s a lot of crazy stuff I could say about all this, a lot of silly things, but I want you to just relax¡­sis. Alright?¡°

    It sounded similar to the assurances Guy/Gal gave Franklin throughout the years, but she also knew it wasn¡¯t that simple. She had even more inside that they needed to know about. So, she said it. She mentioned the black creepy crawly.

    No idea what it could be, concerned that it was responsible for Yuka¡¯s leg issue. She saw it on the train, skittering near where their host was sitting. And the implication of side effects did not apply because she first saw it the previous Friday after pre-registration. It went after her leg too, and she could feel a lancing sensation down there. And that wasn¡¯t all. When she went to sleep and freaked out about Naoko in her lab coat, she had a vision. Maybe it was just a really strong dream and once again a side effect of what they had done, the situation, or something else. But it was a big concern on top of a heaping helping of so many different concerns that she couldn¡¯t just let go. She wrung and pressed as many details as she could barely remember into her account and waited for what she worried was an inevitable response.

    Chika immediately deployed her biggest hug. And Namiko provided the comforting pillows for the group. Her friends promised they would keep an eye out for crazy creatures and mad science experiments. They shared laughter, but the jokes were about turning creepy ferrofluid critters into punching bags. Haruka would be their host on whatever journeys followed lunch. As they got ready for that, Misaki attempted to tell herself that everything would be fine. She used and clung to the attentive, heated toilet before finally deciding she was ready. Only she had no idea if she actually was.

    Unlike the recent near catastrophe with Yuka, just the smallest measure of pressure squeaked out. And her stomach anxiously protested despite the scope of lunch. She couldn¡¯t stay and wait for whatever gurgling nervousness to finally work its way through and settle down. Shutting her eyes for several quick, quiet spells didn¡¯t put her tummy monster to rest, but it helped.

    Even slipping down the stairs quietly didn¡¯t afford her the ability to remain unseen. The Sasaki moms returned with their girl and proudly presented her. Yuka¡¯s outfit was essentially the same but with a light, thin cardigan stretched across her shoulders, a subtle brightening to her cheeks and lips, and her hair done back in a neat ponytail with a pink scrunchie. She had a little bag on her shoulder too.

    Without much preamble, she took Misaki¡®s hand in hers and declared, ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Their shoes went on, and they went out the front door. Misaki just took a moment to regard the black van in front but took more than that to linger on the old hotel building.

    ¡°I can show you around it later. Much of it has been patched up, but there are quite a few places on the second floor where you can trip or find an inconvenient hole at exactly the wrong time. Most of the mold is gone. Would be great for a test of courage, but my moms won¡¯t allow it. Plus, it¡¯s probably not haunted¡­probably. Besides, there¡¯s a better stretch just beyond the shrine for that. Properly, possibly haunted. Or so I¡¯ve heard. Just the place to walk alone together...holding each other for protection against the dark and all it may hide.¡± Yuka leaned closer to her for emphasis. Misaki didn¡¯t know what to say at all that, so she just flashed her a calm but cheerful smile.

 [17] Yuri Worlds 17 â€“ Wind

    Yuri Worlds

    [17] Wind

    The wind pressed at them from the side, softly but insistently fluttering at their clothes. A sharp chill rushed through Misaki¡®s exposed legs. It was nice to be next to Yuka, especially for her warmth.

    The road ahead of them looked like the ones at the edge of town back home, where wide swaths of alfalfa grew between massive airplane hangars. Those shoulders looked like some unearthly giant had dragged a finger through the sandy dirt. This edge of the road transitioned immediately to muddy farmland, with only the most rudimentary gap and a tiny sliver of silvery pavement. Yuka stretched up on her toes to scope out their path ahead and swing around to check in the other direction. Misaki recalled that she mentioned her high school was two kilometers in that direction. Yuka confirmed.

    She explained they were having an early semester administrative day despite Golden Week coming up. That didn¡¯t mean she had the day off, but because of her obligations as a host for visitors from another world, she had a short day full of mostly paperwork back at school. She still intended to return later to help everyone clean up and connect with her after-school club. Yuka dipped her head toward Misaki and apologized that she would be unavailable for a large portion of most days because of her obligations. Misaki fanned her hands furtively and assured Yuka it was perfectly fine.

    It hadn¡¯t come up yet who would be showing them around this world, and if it wasn¡¯t Yuka, then she didn¡¯t know who it would be. Her mothers? Did they have other work? Yuka casually explained that Fuyuki was a children¡¯s book author. The two of them often hosted guests, as Kei alluded to with her hopeful singer anecdote, but Kei¡¯s main job was a mix of administrative work for their region, massage, and therapeutic care. Yuka barely dodged the threat of her strongest techniques to do something about her leg.

    Attempting to keep the hairstyle that Chika gifted her from becoming hopelessly windblown, Misaki leaned towards a low wall while keeping hold of Yuka and asked, ¡°Are you in the same club as Naoko?¡±

    They waited there until the strongest gusts abated. Yuka slowly but firmly shook her head in reply. ¡°She¡¯s definitely asked me, and I¡¯ve helped out with her club, but the kind of stuff they do is just too crazy and complicated for me to enjoy, even though they¡¯re a fun group. I am with the Legal Studies Club. I want to be a lawyer. That probably sounds just as crazy and serious, but we mostly go over texts and try to explain them simply. And we do a lot of mystery book readings, looking for accuracy and oversights. I¡¯m bad at pretty much everything we do, but I¡¯m working to get better. Miss Nishikawa Kosame, who¡¯s also in the club, has the kind of overwhelming presence to supplant all those video game attorneys. And more. Unfortunately, she tends to lose faith easily. Come on, looks like a good time to continue.¡±

    She was right; the cutting harshness of the breeze had dwindled to a faint but steady stir that pressed her clothes against her body without the brutal fury of yanking at them. The sky was beautifully clear.

    However, on the edge of the horizon, towards the dim, green mountains in the distance, she could see a peculiar blackness, as harsh and ominous as any thunderstorm. Yuka noted there was a forecast chance of rain later but assured her it would clear by morning. She took a deep breath and nodded.

    The wind only gave them fleeting respites throughout their trek. It wasn¡¯t cold or even biting, but Misaki still shivered. Yuka offered to give up her cardigan before sprinting back to the house and returning with a sports-style windbreaker and a blanket almost as fluffy and soft as the one that Haruka draped across her and even longer.

    Despite asserting that she wasn¡¯t that cold from the wind, Misaki soon completely wrapped her shoulders in the warm blanket. Unfortunately, the swaddled comfort also brought back the pervasive tiredness that her nap had only softly pushed away with adrenaline and mystery. It wasn¡¯t long till Yuka posed the idea of wrapping up together and sharing warmth. She couldn¡¯t keep a straight face with that suggestion, but they both eagerly huddled close.

    The persistent wind felt strikingly familiar to Misaki. It was the base nature of the desert where she grew up. And feeling it here practically revealed the greenery and verdant hills as some strange mirage fostered by invisible aqueducts. She snapped a quick photo with her phone, not bothering to go through the whole circumventing method that Chika used to get back her regular apps. It still appeared to save to internal storage without any trouble. She didn¡¯t mind if the spyware from the company knew about it, so long as she was able to keep it.

    Out of curiosity, she inquired if there were any actual deserts nearby. Yuka pondered that for a while before shaking her head. Not anywhere close. Now, she qualified, the world had a many great, harsh, and visually striking deserts. Misaki listened to a handful that Yuka knew offhand. None of them sounded even vaguely familiar in name or placement on the globe. Too many differences between this world and hers.

    In answer to her question, she learned that the main island chain that represented the land she knew apparently had a blank, desolate alien landscape facing the ocean. It was only about a dozen square kilometers across and the only stretch of land even remotely reminiscent of a desert. Basically, it was like a set of sand dunes. Misaki filed that away as an interesting prospect for a visit on the bullet train. Not that they were lacking in interesting locations to check out.

    All throughout the trek so far, the entire trek since arriving at this world, walking to the station, and making it here, she hadn¡¯t seen even a trace or a smudge of defaced signs or trashed buildings. She had anticipated that at least something was probably going to be visible in the deepest stretch of downtown. Maybe some lady yakuza syndicate sign. Or the hint of a tagger vaguely inspired and thoroughly anonymous. But there was nothing. Just a well-oiled hegemony of girls, she assumed. At least around here. Never mind the little wars and tribes of girls with animal ears that no one wanted. Still, she thought this had quite a few benefits compared to home.

    Lawyer, huh? Misaki mulled. Not her first guess for how she thought Yuka would go. They scraped their shoes against a noisy patch of gravel and smiled idly at one another.

    When Misaki brought up her career choice, Yuka shrugged but didn¡¯t appear indecisive. ¡°It seems like the best way to help everyone. Learn the laws, figure out the system, and work on it to do what I can. I am close to a good score on my mock exams. Relatively close. Naoko is freaking out about hers. She has her club, and she¡¯s also starting at the very best cram school in the area. She¡¯s so smart. She¡¯ll have options for whatever university she wants. I¡¯m terrified. Relatively terrified. I want to get into government and take over the world¡­ mwhahaha¡­ heh. I mean, make the world a better place. Order is good, structure is important, but the old women in charge of things can be so frustrating. There is a crucial balance between change and preservation. You need to bring everyone together in harmony. But not everyone is for that, and it probably sounds weird. Your travel group seems so independent. But it¡¯s important here to have a healthy order to life. Thank you for listening to my opening statement. Haha¡­my gosh, I talk too much. Sorry, Miss Takano.¡±

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Misaki fanned her hands, but not with as much flapping intensity as for her roommates earlier. She assured Yuka it was perfectly fine, noting, ¡°I like your words. Yeah, things are really different where we come from. We talked to Naoko about all sorts of little differences with television programs¡­¡± And she elaborated with specific examples, wielding that ¡®chuusei¡¯ word Chika latched onto to help illuminate the cavernous differences.

    Yuka slowed her pace and took a breath. ¡°Yeah. We chatted a little around lunch prep. Most of the stuff she tends to say when she¡¯s really excited is absolutely beyond me. And she is very excited today. So much. Could you help me with it?¡±

    Misaki didn¡¯t feel especially confident about her ability to replicate Chika¡¯s insights, but she agreed to listen to her questions. Yuka asked, ¡°Do Goddesses exist in your world? What about dead spirits? What about nature spirits and other forms of typically unseen intelligences?¡±

    Those were several complicated questions, and Misaki found herself up against a mental wall about what to say. No, she understood exactly what she should say. The problem was fear and uncertainty about doing it. She didn¡¯t consult Franklin, but instead imagined what Misaki would say and let it roll off her tongue.

    ¡°We don¡¯t know. Some believe in divinity, spirituality, and strange entities. It¡¯s like what I mentioned with figures people think are from space or from forests. It¡¯s not proven or scientifically known. There¡¯s faith and hope. But our world is made of a massive patchwork of so many different things that we listen to and many that we ignore. However, so many are materialistic, or they don¡¯t go looking.¡±

    Yuka hung on her words even though Misaki would¡¯ve denounced so many of them as rambling and incoherent. In response, Yuka marveled at the fact that this other world had managed to create a pathway between realities. Yes, science is a huge factor in life and so important, but not at the expense of a healthy spiritual awareness. It absolutely boggled her mind that anyone could ignore goddesses, their ancestors, or the flood of companion spirits that surrounded and emerged from human inspiration. Yes, again, the world she lived in was swift and busy, with a lot of different kinds of girls possessing a myriad of different thoughts, but acknowledgment of a spiritual side was a cornerstone of life itself.

    She held out her hands. ¡°There¡¯s darkness and there¡¯s light. Sickness and healing. Memory and creation. Though I talked up order, chaos must also exist. Wouldn¡¯t that leave your world painfully out of balance to ignore such a large portion of itself?¡±

    Misaki agreed with this premise, even though she had no idea what to do about it. Another breeze hit them, battering her hair and sending it flapping across her eyes and into her mouth. It was supremely annoying. Sometimes Franklin let it get this long, at the worst point being long enough to flip around but not quite long enough to feel comfortable contained by a tie. Yuka received a puff of wiggly static from her loose bangs.

    The path rose up a slight hill, which afforded them a look out across the region. It was not as majestic as the roughly tugged, tan blanket of the desert back home, but the grassy undulations drawn by whimsical, insistent, invisible hands across fields and marshes still inspired awe.

    They passed the occasional covered bench stop for buses. A series of trucks rumbled along the narrow road. Past a little dip in the distance, Yuka pointed out a traffic circle flanked by a feed shop, a general store, an old restaurant, and a small apartment complex. Before that, she could see a clearly marked clinic. It was fair brown with a dark roof and reminded her of a modern Norse longhouse with aesthetic elements borrowed from a fire station. It was low, a single story, with a simple roof and a handful of windows on the sides. A covered garden and a stout greenhouse flanked one end, with a simple parking lot on the other.

    Through the automatic sliding door, Misaki saw countless colorful, educational posters along the walls of a small reception area and waiting room. The cut-out section of the receptionist''s desk displayed a gigantic teddy bear that occupied an entire office chair, with a cape and an open book sprawled across its face. Further back, Misaki could hear incoherent yelling and screaming. Words gradually emerged.

    ¡°¡­and tell him to go stuff it down with a radish where the moon can get a great tax rate. You send it over! It¡¯s gotta be sent over! No, I don¡¯t care what they say! It¡¯s gotta be you. Send it, fax it, cram it up their asses, staple it where it hurts! It¡¯s gotta happen now! Then, I can go back with the temp documentation and I can fill in the missing requirements. I know what they said, but they are so full of fragrant fecal matter. This¡­ listen to me¡­ Listen to this part, if you listen to anything I¡¯ve said. Everything, every last thing needs to be in by this afternoon. Yes, the radiological results are still being delayed. I asked them four hours ago. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on. I just need a minute. I need some time. I need you to follow up with that other case¡­. She knows what she did. She always knows what she did, and she knows that I¡¯m watching her. I¡¯m about to be a parkour ninja assassin wingsuit mothershrieker on her roof with a magnifying glass, and I¡¯ll be hunting her down every moment I can! All right¡­ All right¡­ Love you too, you piece of shit.¡±

    Soon after that finished, one of the back doors creaked open, and a girl walked out with her head bent forward, ravenously sucking on some wretchedly colored ooze-green concoction. She half swallowed, coughed, choked a little, cleared her throat, and said, ¡±Sasaki! What can I do for you? Is this one of your guests? I recognized the hardware on her wrist. Looks very secret agent in the flesh. How are you doing, Miss? I hope that travel company¡­stuff isn¡¯t hurting you.¡±

 [18] Yuri Worlds 18 â€“ Ayame

    Yuri Worlds

    [18] Ayame

    The girl on the other side of the counter from them looked almost like she had set her hair on fire.

    It was a brilliant, flame-like shade of orange that reminded her of crystallized classic Tang. Gal had a strange fascination with the drink for about three weeks, courtesy of some random Internet meme. That preserved, semi-translucent popsicle texture fascinated her, but she did her best not to be self-conscious of how much she was staring at this random girl. It didn¡¯t help that she was also the first individual in this place to mount a serious challenge to Namiko¡¯s most prominent, jutting features. Still not quite on the same level, but her short-sleeved green scrub top was being put through a vigorous stress test. It wrinkled and bunched up at the base of her otherwise tiny torso before bending back out across her vast, immense, ship-worthy hips.

    Misaki felt somewhat nervous that this young girl cut the kind of figure of someone out of Franklin¡¯s teenage daydreams. That included the firebrand, exotically spicy, gorgeous hair. In contrast to that flaming brightness, her eyes were cooling respites¡ªa pair of fair, watery blue gems similar to Naoko¡¯s. The ¡®miss¡¯ reminder was like a tiny electrical shock. She was a girl in clothes that played up that truth. That started to make things a little woozy, but she braced herself against a side counter, steadied her legs, and showed off her wristband.

    Despite keeping it on all this time, the material didn¡¯t leave her skin clammy or discolored. No sweat patches or imprints in her flesh either. The etched display still showed the same alphanumeric information and not much else. She turned it a few different ways, and the fiery orangehead inspected it closely.

    She resisted physically touching it and carefully probed the wristband with something plastic. No sparks, no reaction¡ªnothing lit up. She questioned again if it was painful, and Misaki shrugged and noted that it didn¡¯t seem to be. She mostly forgot it was there. But the issue of word censorship had slipped past when Yuka and her moms weren¡¯t present. Naoko had talked with Yuka about the uncertainty of their pronouns, but they had clearly avoided the issue of pops in place of words.

    Both girls raised their eyebrows when Misaki alluded to that omission. The scrubs girl asked, ¡°So, you¡¯re not even allowed to say what they haven¡¯t approved of because of some information and technology trading agreement between our worlds; is that about the gist?"

    Despite the ambiguity about the intent, Misaki gave a light nod, and Ayame continued, ¡°How nightmarish and draconian! That really sucks! No wonder our government hasn¡¯t approved outbound visitors yet if wearing something like that and not being able to say what you like is required.¡±

    The sound of Ayame¡¯s voice carried and bounced around the room. Following her last words, neither Misaki nor Yuka could think of what to say in response. An awkward, leaden silence overwhelmed the office, with the only interruption being the harsh buzzing of a nearby fluorescent light that was unsure if it wanted to die.

    Scrubs girl inhaled several inches of her toxic-looking drink and then rummaged around the counter, picked out a little baggie, said the traditional thanks, sat at her seat a ways away from the giant teddy bear, and snacked on what appeared to be some sliced, lime-green pickled cucumbers.

    After demolishing a handful, she smiled, covered her mouth before a burp, and relayed, ¡°This is the Akechi Clinic. Oh, and I¡¯m Miss Takamune Ayame. I¡¯m working on being a nurse practitioner. But I¡¯m approved to cover for any of the local doctors when they¡¯re just too busy. Like today. If you come by tomorrow, I¡¯m sure one of them will grace us with their divine presence. Till then, I¡¯m pretty good too. And I am a Reiki healer with twenty years'' experience.¡±

    As Misaki listened to that, she felt cracks of confusion and uncertainty creep into her consciousness. This girl seemed really young. Even though she looked younger than Yuka, Misaki suspected she probably wasn¡¯t, especially when taking into account her prominent physical attributes. But the twenty years'' experience part made no sense. Maybe she started practicing as a child? Before Misaki¡¯s sense of internal embarrassment could cry out for her to stop, she asked quietly, ¡°How old are you? You seem only fourteen or so¡­¡±

    Ayame swallowed what she was eating, her eyes widening in confusion. At first, they started to narrow with skeptical annoyance. But they soon bounced back in genuine surprise as they scrutinized Misaki¡¯s body language. Yuka tipped her head and raised her eyebrows. Misaki didn¡¯t take long to become immersed in waves of stammering embarrassment.

    Moments later, Ayame nearly fell out of her chair with high, giggling laughter. She struggled to cover her mouth with a hand, but it was a hopeless cause. She pounded the table in front of her a few times, and squeaked like an old door that needed oiling. When she finally managed to catch her breath, she responded, ¡°Oh Goddesses¡­hehehehehehehe oh hoho. Gonna need a moment. Wow, wow, if I look like a 14-year-old, then holy sheets, you can stuff my mouth, slap sensors on my ass and arm with whatever programming you need, and send me on a trip. Hot dang. You¡¯re just a little bit off. Think more of a multiplier of right around three, and then you¡¯re in the zone. And I¡¯m old enough to not give an exact number, thank you very much. I have three kids, and one of them is in college. And I feel quite flattered by your guest, Sasaki. I¡¯ll shove whatever we got up any space she needs it, free of charge. Not to make it weird, but that made my week. Wooo hahaha.¡±

    Misaki didn¡¯t know what to say after all that. She just smiled politely, a dense coloration of blush saturating her cheeks. Maybe it made sense that the Sasakis didn¡¯t mind her and Yuka hanging out alone because the company gave her a body with distinct signs of being a teenager as well. Yuka was a teenager, right? She had no idea if the company was lying, misleading, just didn¡¯t know the secrets of this place, or didn¡¯t care. If this world was some sort of anime form fountain of youth, then that introduced even bigger questions about why they were just using it for tourism. Were the four of them actually secret test subjects? In a creepy, unsettling way, which helped make more sense of her terrible little dream than anything else so far.

    After Ayame caught her breath and took several sips of her drink to regain her composure, she inquired if either of them needed anything from her. Yuka cleared her throat and adjusted her socks. She gave the short version of the situation with a ¡°blemish or something else¡° on her leg without delving into what Misaki mentioned. Taking a few quick notes on her phone before pulling a file from the corner cabinet, Ayame asked Yuka for a few quick medical refreshers before prepping a small exam room on the side. Yuka made it clear to her guest that she didn¡¯t need to join her, but Misaki insisted.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Amidst what seemed to be her usual prep, Ayame dropped teasing, playful comments about needing to get back to school to help with the culture festival and whether she was going to wear her usual nurse scrubs or a maid outfit. She also threw upperclassgirl sentiments Yuka¡¯s way. The casual mood and jokes abated when Ayame got a light on Yuka¡¯s leg and started to examine the area properly. A blinding LED light with a parabolic focus washed out the painterly color of her flesh. She gingerly lowered the sock in question and stared for a while at the mark. It had increased in size.

    What before could be written off as a delicate bruise in the shape of a slightly spiny splash pattern now completely encircled Yuka¡¯s limb. It looked more like the brutal results of a garter made of spikes. With her gloves on, Ayame gently palpated the skin. She murmured a few things to herself and remarked, ¡°I was worried it might be necrotizing or gangrenous, but I¡¯m not seeing any sign of that. Strange for a hematoma. Do you feel any discomfort at all when I push here?¡± She looked Yuka in the eye, but the girl shook her head sincerely and relayed that none of these weird developments had been painful. Instead, she asserted it was fine and felt, at worst, like a healing scab.

    Ayame considered taking a tissue sample due to the unusual condition of the affected area but warned that it may cause undue discomfort and pain. She didn¡¯t like the color but could detect no sign of infection through warmth or swelling. For now, she took a few pictures and asked Yuka if she wanted it wrapped, which she declined. The most she could do was offer some arnica gel, despite the lack of pain, and brief Reiki.

    For this, Misaki stepped out of the room. The waiting area was still quiet and empty. The fluorescent light that had been buzzing earlier was now dark and silent. Several medical magazines hung in a plastic rack along the wall. They appeared to be disguised advertisements. But the nature of the world made them into the most unusual manga publications Misaki could imagine. Fortunately, some scattered books, travel pamphlets, and wellness guides provided plenty of entertainment infused with the tones and nature of this place. The novels, a smattering of emotional romance pieces, action, and spy intrigue, felt normal in the most surreal ways.

    Even though so many names and places were unfamiliar to her, the situations sounded like anything she might¡¯ve picked up in the mass-market paperback section of a drug store. A seasoned espionage agent dealing with the traumatic loss of a loved one is sent on a mission looking for a runaway girl, the only child of an important woman, in the mountains. Then an all-night diner farce wrapped around the employment of a young girl with animal ears living on the street. The legal thrillers particularly intrigued Misaki. They dodged around criminal activities of an intimate nature, although they sometimes touched on passion and love. Before she could skim through the text looking for obvious hints, the two of them emerged from the exam room, and Yuka rushed over to say that she was ready to head off.

    Misaki stressed about whether she should be walking around with her issue, but Yuka groaned, rolled her eyes, puffed her breath, and did several adventurous leg movements to show she was limber and completely unencumbered. The frantic motions rattled around the weights and coins that secured her hemline from the tumultuous wind outside. Misaki still clung to her doubts but agreed that she seemed fine. She listened diligently to Ayame¡®s instructions to watch out for if Yuka started to run a fever, looked flush, or developed any swelling in the region. All that didn¡¯t seem to be an issue at the moment. Instead, it seemed more like Yuki was trying to put on her own version of a Maharu display that didn¡¯t involve running for the toilet.

    She was practically an inch away from using the chairs and whatever else at her disposal to do a cartwheel. She shrugged off the medical cautions to be careful but still said a proper and cheerful goodbye to Ayame before leaving. Misaki did a quick contact info trade with Ayame¡¯s phone and hers, then hustled after Yuka.

    Outside, Misaki noticed that while the wind wasn¡¯t as intense as earlier, there was a prevailing chill infused into what wind was still blowing. It cut into her and sent a shiver and a pair of pokey, prominent impressions that plunged through the look of her dress. She immediately pulled the windbreaker close around her to try to hide this new development. But Franklin always had a terrible poker face, and this one practically squealed all her secrets. Yuka eyeballed her companion and soon got hit with a blast of cold herself.

    She secured her cardigan and mused that maybe she should have accepted a wrap from Ayame, if only for the addition of another layer. Even though she had absolutely nothing to do with it, Yuka apologized for this sudden spring cold snap. Misaki let the windbreaker sweep around her and dangle far enough that just the lowest fringe of her dress was visible. Kind of defeated the purpose of wearing it, but her body didn¡¯t care. Yuka eagerly offered up the blanket to twist around Misaki as a massive scarf, but Misaki urged her to share it. They wound up in a bound figure eight of warm coverings as they shuffled away from the clinic and towards the hills.

    The looming gray in the distance had swarmed into a frosty, shifting silver mountain range spread across the sky. Checking her phone, Yuka mentioned that a rain forecast had unexpectedly popped up. She resisted apologizing for this but said that there was an amazing spot to watch the rain a little ways behind the shrine. They would have to climb up the hill, get to the entrance, head through, and then go around the side of it. But she¡¯d done so countless times. She smirked and suggested it was one of her favorite places. Those were all the details she gave before she grabbed a firm hold of Misaki¡®s hand again and led her onward.

 [19] Yuri Worlds 19 â€“ Water

    Yuri Worlds

    [19] Water

    Since there was a little ways to go until they got there, Yuka went over the procedure for the shrine. This was something that Franklin actually studied at length and made a handful of reference cards for before realizing that things might be massively different in this reality compared to the real Japan. But she recited the procedure at the water pavilion as Yuka diligently nodded. Rinse each hand, rinse your mouth, and rinse the ladle. Then she went over where to walk so as not to insult the goddesses. And prayers at the donation box. The one part that Misaki got wrong was the placement of the hands, as she realized that her reference had been the way a man did it. Here, that method was fine for visitors but considered old-fashioned.

    Yuki showed off a couple of the coins she had stashed in her skirt. A bunch of the yen pieces that Naoko referenced. Among them, she included a couple smooth stones just for extra weight. She noted that a little bit of double-sided sticky tape would¡¯ve also worked, but she didn¡¯t want to cause more trouble for her skin. All these little lessons were immensely helpful, but Misaki had so much on her mind, and she didn¡¯t want to be poking out notes on her phone right then. She wanted to be with Yuka.

    The recent, youthful comment towards Ayame hadn¡¯t been forgotten by Yuka. It wasn¡¯t jealousy or any variety of irritation she showed. More playful curiosity. She was compelled to ask what old women were like where Misaki came from.

    Such a curious question she struggled to articulate a response to. What did Yuka think of old things? What were their key traits? Around several concepts, Misaki latched on to a quick mention by Yuka about old fruit drying out. It got wrinkled and leathery. Misaki relayed that the same happened to girls in her world over many, many years.

    Did she have any photos to showcase this process? Of course, any kind of proof Misaki might pull up on her phone would likely be inaccessible with the changes the company had done to it. What about the old woman that she and her mothers visited with the food? Did she look different than any of them? Yes, but the way that Yuki described it made the physical differences sound incredibly subtle. So, aging existed, but in a reduced fashion, was what Misaki gathered. It was strange, fascinating, and exceptionally confusing for her that it had never come up. Yuka made it clear that girls definitely died. All the time. For all sorts of reasons.

    She refused to elaborate much on the details related to Maharu¡®s mothers but at least made it clear that it hadn¡¯t been an old age issue. They died unexpectedly. And despite any of this unsettling wrinkling that Misaki alluded to, Yuka expressed that often invisible problems cropped up that girls like Ayame needed to learn about and care for.

    Her career, as Yuka explained, was initially predicated on studying as much as she could to care for her mothers. She claimed that the government was generous when it came to making sure that older girls were not left behind. The problem was the promised hours and level of assistance shortfall. Something that Yuka intended to fix with take over the world lawyer jiu-jitsu. A gap needed to be bridged because her family couldn¡¯t provide the missing time required for their care.

    Consequently, the responsibility fell on her shoulders. Without complaint, Ayame trained herself in the required medical techniques. It burned through her but also heightened the other forms of healing in her hands. So many years went into the care of two. It burdened Ayame¡¯s soul, Yuki explained during a respite they took beneath a large tree.

    Everyone lent her what assistance they could. Yuka said that a huge part of her personal maturity came from ¡°following the example that Ayame set forth¡±. Quiet sacrifice, diligent learning, and when her responsibility was complete, she did take time for herself but also adapted her abilities to serve the entire community. She was a shining example of the very best that their piece of the world could provide for those who needed it. That¡¯s what everyone said. Yuka left the matter there, but Misaki could tell she restrained so many other words she wanted to say.

    The main entrance to the Akechi Chiyo-ni Shrine branched off from the main circle of town. Its presence and magnitude were subdued, as though it were little more than a reimagined path through the trees. It was impossible to miss the bright, gorgeous torii gate at the front. Misaki wished that she had taken more photos along the way, amidst their conversations. She was hesitant to film much now, but Yuka quietly encouraged her.

    Together, they walked beneath the gate, making sure to keep to the side. Based on examples she knew from anime, Misaki expected a decent number of steps to get up to the main area. But the task before her, beneath the shelter of the trees, swaddled in the advancing darkness of the day, was a heck of a lot of steps. More than climbing from one section of Universal Studios in Hollywood to the other. Which she had done once back in high school, with an issue in Franklin¡¯s leg worse than what Yuka had. She made sure that her companion was all right, but Yuki took the steps with aplomb and without a moment of hesitation. It didn¡¯t take long for Misaki''s modestly-used thighs to feel like they had been set on fire.

    The three of them sometimes went on shopping walks no longer than three miles round-trip and nowhere near this many steps. She had no idea if her body still had the same muscles within it as then, but it was clear something about her physical shape retained that memory. Mostly for the sake of internal comparison and complaining, pointing out how this was not the way things were typically done. She listened to this argument but still continued to climb.

    The space around the steps carried a sharp, fresh, natural fragrance bordering on petrichor, amongst a myriad of others for which she had no name to give. She hoped Namiko would take it well when she came to visit the shrine.

    Finally, after an aching eternity, they were at the top. Misaki stopped and threw in a careful bow, not so much because this was exactly where it was supposed to be done but more because it provided her with the opportunity to let her blood correct its flow.

    The purification water was an easy thing to take care of after she popped most of her joints. Though she probably appeared to be a teenager in this world, she felt as decrepit as her busiest day. If Misaki noticed that her companion was about to snap in half like the dusty, gnarled bones of a skeletal, ancient mummy, she at least didn¡¯t call attention to it. Washing and purifying provided a noticeable placebo effect, which slightly reinvigorated her. Calm waftings of incense smoke also provided a surprisingly fresh addition of purification.

    Ahead, she quietly marveled at the stone lanterns flanking the path. They gave off the presence of something ancient while looking as though a painter¡¯s skill had just added them five minutes earlier. Everything around was well tended to, despite the area being so quiet and empty. The presence of the wind pushed, clawed, and tangled between them sharper than below, with the addition of colder air suffused with moisture.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    Yuka pointed out gorgeous landmarks. She noted the ritual area for dancing, a small historical museum, the administrative buildings, and the central shrine ahead. Now came the time for a bow in the feminine way.

    Approaching, Yuka gave far more attention and adoration to the guardian dogs standing watch before the shrine than to the main area itself. Misaki did her best to show them respect, but thought they looked more like leftovers from a Ghostbuster movie in person. She hoped that the spirits of this place couldn¡¯t hear those thoughts and take offense.

    Misaki watched carefully and followed exactly what Yuka did before the right spot. Two-two-one bow and clap with plenty of little holey coins. Yuka also rang the bell. A prayer. A fervent hope. She had no idea what to say to entities she honestly didn¡¯t believe in. Just give a little lip service, she figured, throwing several of her coins into the donation box and following exactly as her companion did. A couple had to stay with her for the sake of ballast.

    The presence of everything and the feeling of being in that place hit her hard. It was so far away from anything she had ever experienced before. The natural space. The symbols. She could feel a unique aura and energy throughout, with the looming presence of it all. The shrine clung to her.

    She lifted her head from prayer, and her eyes were as blurry as in the dream. Not because she had returned to that strange trap, but because an absolute flood of tears was falling from her eyes. Misaki wept openly without any idea of how to stem the tide flowing out of her. It wasn¡¯t long before whimpers and cries followed.

    Terrible, something terrible, something horrible. What was it? She put a name to it, but she couldn¡¯t quite place it. This sense and presence and warning, even more overt than what Haruka may have told her before sleeping, passed through her body and clung to her soul like an ethereal fist, like a specter walking on her heart.

    An instant later, thunder shattered the silence, and the entire world around them broke down in tears too.

    Water. There was rainwater absolutely everywhere, and what they had with them was meager protection against the sudden storm. Misaki snuck forward to try and find some protection in the overhang, but Yuka warned that it was bad luck to hang out at the house of the goddesses, especially in a storm. She¡¯d once seen it on a show in which several misfortunes followed. Misaki considered that she had seen that one too, but there was little time to reflect as the sheets of rain slammed even harder.

    The most they could do was make sure anything vulnerable to the storm was kept under a layer. Phones and papers especially. The poor blanket was already drenched but at least acted as an impromptu tarp. Misaki looked for a place they might shelter nearby, but Yuka urged her along a side path through the trees. The blast of water washed out everything she could see, but she tightly squeezed Yuka¡¯s hand as they hurried along. Some of the trees were vast and loomed like billowing umbrellas dancing in the storm; others were narrow and tall, shying away from them with their private little dances as though they were traditional elves hopping in place, their heads bopping delightfully with the chaos.

    Misaki felt certain that Yuka was dragging her toward the promise of safety and somewhere hopefully dry. The natural curtain drawn by every note of the static-traced droplets gradually parted to reveal a series of small buildings as old as the hotel around back of the house. They appeared quite decrepit and worn down, with minor repairs attempted but not finished. Swiftly, Yuka passed the first couple and stopped at one in particular. It didn¡¯t appear any better than the ones they passed up, but Misaki was grateful to be out of the downpour.

    She looked down, and the windbreaker had been splattered with water like a raincoat without getting too saturated. It hadn¡¯t completely stopped the waves of rain from dampening her dress. Whatever efforts Chika made at organizing her hair were a matted and disheveled lost cause. Same for the mass of tangled, dripping, sodden, nearly black locks around Yuka¡¯s head. With just the cardigan and most of the blanket, it was the duty of her tan blouse to absorb most of the water. The saturated cloth clung tightly to the shape of her body with the shading of light, glossy creases, and the sharply exaggerated presence of her chest. Misaki felt deeply embarrassed at what she was staring at, but Yuka whooped with giggles and not a lick of concern.

    After fiddling with the latch on the side of the small building, Yuka opened it and beckoned her inside. It was practically as shiveringly cold inside as out. Packed within were a colorful assortment of festival decorations, supplies, scattered clothes, and dusty books. While the space was barely the size of a small bedroom, Misaki was immensely glad to be out of the rain. A few spots in the ceiling slowly dripped around her against the ravenous roar of the storm. Searching towards the back wall, Yuki reached down and extracted a small space heater from underneath a heap.

    With Misaki¡®s help holding the main unit, Yuka was soon able to find a wall socket and plug it in. She turned it away as it shed a large, rattling groan of dust before settling down. ¡°These are some of the original relaxation and meditation places for the girls who maintained the shrine a long time ago. There are about twenty, and they¡¯re individually numbered. I believe this is eight. Its number isn¡¯t too easy to see anymore, but it¡¯s the best spot for camping out. They want to fix them up and turn them into places where girls without any other place to go can stay.¡±

    Misaki nodded and looked out the window. It didn¡¯t seem like the rain was going to let up anytime soon. Rainfall in this animated world both looked exactly like she expected and like nothing she had ever seen. Rhythmic puddles flowed and echoed with the assault of countless drops. Everything was alive with a relentless cacophony, but it was also frozen beneath an enormous curtain.

    She always thought that scenes of rain and nature in animated movies and shows were some of the most beautiful, contemplative moments in art. And the world that lived and breathed the best version of that art was no different. It was a meditation; it was truly Zen. Perfect therapy for the moment of panic she felt in prayer.

    Something terrible. Something unspeakable. Something coming. She knew that in her soul minutes ago, but it had drifted far from her, like the presence of incense and petrichor in her nostrils. What had it been? She had no clue now.

 [20] Yuri Worlds 20 â€“ Warmth

    Yuri Worlds

    [20] Warmth

    Once the heater was warming up their section of the modest hut, Yuka cleared an area to spread out the towel. It clung heavily to the wood but didn¡¯t seem quite as drippy as before. Without warning, Yuka then unbuttoned and turned her blouse inside out to peel it off her skin. A silvery bra glittered damply across her chest. That was all Misaki saw before she swiftly turned away and shielded her eyes. Unfortunately, she swung around too fast and smashed her toe into something metallic and hard. Even though the pain was sharp and throbbing, she kept her reaction to a groan and breathed deeply through the worst of it.

    Soon, Yuka flicked on a tiny LED light in a corner and went over to check on her. She explained that the huts were linked in series to a small diesel and solar generator on the side of the temple. Not a lot of electricity, but enough to keep this stretch supplied until their wiring finally rotted out. Misaki¡®s eyes bugged out when she realized that the silver bra was also gone from Yuka¡¯s body. With a playful smirk, Yuka asked, ¡°So, the universe you¡¯re from doesn¡¯t have a lot of naked people, huh? I know there are some robes, kimonos, and really nice blankets typically stashed in here. Good stuff. Just gotta find the right drawer.¡±

    Intellectually, Misaki knew that Japan in her world didn¡¯t have big issues with being naked. Bathhouses, changing for sports, and a bunch of other stuff that slipped her mind right at the moment because the little snail that could down below was doing zippy laps. It didn¡¯t take long before Yuka hung up the rest of her clothes and draped the blanket over her shoulders. You offered to continue sharing the blanket if Misaki wanted to hang up her clothes to dry as well.

    The windbreaker shed practically a bucket¡¯s worth of water, and the clothes underneath felt clingy and damp like they had gone through the washing machine, but she couldn¡¯t bring herself to undress further. If she even attempted to poke a zipper or press a button, she knew that everything was liable to literally Melt worse than all the warnings from the company.

    Checking the wristband, it was flecked with water but had no complaints about being out in the rain. Not for the first time, she idly pondered what would happen if she actually took it off. She suspected that a screaming alarm similar to a smoke detector or anti-theft tag would go off. But they were in the middle of a downpour in the woods. She strongly suspected there was no way they would ever know she took it off, and briefly adjusting it because of the storm was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why it might come off. It wouldn¡¯t cause any reprimands or alerts anywhere. She was almost sort of certain of this.

    Yuka giggled as she poked around something deep in a cupboard and showed off a suit blazer traced in the dim light the hut could provide. She pronounced, ¡°How old-fashioned! I wonder if Kosame might try it on. She has a thing for suits, but this one is so subdued and totally colorless that it must be from the administrator of the temple. She¡¯s quite traditional. This is the last resort. I don¡¯t wear suits well. They¡¯re from the warring goddesses era of history. They lay flat and taut across the waist. They billow on me with too much sleeve, way too much waist, and lots of wrinkles. Like trying to fit a lost girl into a mature woman¡¯s clothes. Oh! Here we go! Spare kimono underclothes, and I see some robes as well. And a dry blanket. Smells a little funky, but looks fine.¡±

    Swiftly, Misaki helped Yuka cover up with at least the underkimono outfit over her body. Her clear discomfort absolutely tickled Yuka. But once Yuka was dressed again, she nudged Misaki to take her clothes off and get into something similar. Stammering through an explanation that her clothes weren¡¯t all that damp and they would just dry with the space heater running in here and she didn¡¯t need to undress¡­didn¡¯t seem like a good reason to Yuka.

    Anyone just outside, despite the continuing roaring storm, would have easily heard a lot of rolling, screaming, and banging within the cramped contours of the little shack and had a multitude of uncomfortable questions.

    Misaki wasn¡¯t stripped. She ultimately did everything on her own. Yuka didn¡¯t gawk, leer, or even smirk again. She was immensely helpful with switching over to dry clothes, and they shared a towel to dry off their hair. Even though she attempted to mentally block out most of the clothing incident, there was a truth lodged in the depths of Misaki¡¯s consciousness that she had been naked in front of an anime girl, and she wasn¡¯t sure what to do with that information.

    A creaky, sagging bench pulled out of a corner provided a place to sit, similar to but not nearly as nice as the bamboo one in the bathroom behind the kitchen. Yuka spread out her dark hair and stretched back, as though attempting the world¡¯s slowest gymnastic vault. She picked up the previous thread and mentioned, ¡°I know wearing a suit is required of lawyers. Honestly, that¡¯s a little bit of where I learned how dumb they look on me. Mock trials. A fun one involved prosecuting ancient folklore figures for modern crimes. I looked pretty good that time. But only that time.¡±

    Misaki felt her hair drip with excess water. Even heavy use of the towel didn¡¯t help all that much. The air was so full of moisture that she was collecting dew like an insect in a nature documentary. Yuka¡¯s take on suits didn¡¯t require her to express her own thoughts, but the hint of a suggestion was there. She breathed in a breath full of so many ancient things, overwhelming moisture, and a sweet, warm scent like some mysterious flower.

    She reflected on all the times she¡¯d worn a suit. Weddings in the hazy past. Family portraits. First days of school. Yearbook photos. Several job interviews, and one job in particular that required it as part of the dress code. Every suit Franklin found himself in was so itchy and swampy, as though the polyester set fire to his flesh and it continued to smolder for hours on end. He relayed a carefully crafted version of this, which glossed over the unexplainable half of humanity. Yuka rested a sympathetic hand on her shoulder and noted she had the same irritation from different materials.

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    Scrutinizing Franklin memories, Misaki got hit with a strange, whipping vertigo as though being caught when she tried to move. The memory was one of those wedding situations where she had the contours and the feeling of walking around in a little suit with a bowtie and being gawked over. But those details didn¡¯t assert themselves.

    Instead, she had a white dress on, vaguely similar to the kimono underclothes she was wearing. Her hair was long¡ªlonger than any time she could ever remember really letting it go. She was so young yet so excited to have a basket of flowers. She rehearsed this and doled them out at the appropriate spots, and she kept checking how many she had so there wouldn¡¯t be a pile at the end because she¡¯d been hoarding them. These specifics bewildered her because it made absolutely no sense why Franklin¡®s mother would send him out in a flower girl dress and a wig. Franklin would¡¯ve been the very first to protest such treatment. But this happening wasn¡¯t strange. It felt remarkably normal. Still, it felt like one of those left-turn corridors in his house that didn¡¯t turn left.

    Side effect. More side effects. Everything was just one more side effect. The easy answer. It could also be that, despite the technical assurances from the company, the perfectly waterproof wristbands actually failed much more easily, and getting drenched had caused something to flake out, and at this very moment, the presence of a sweet-smelling, toasty anime girl and an art-overflowing world was making her Melt. Were altered memories a sign of Melting?

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Shoot. More wearing her mood all across her features. Misaki attempted to slip on a controlled smile, but it wasn¡¯t fooling her host. How could she even begin to talk about the scary disconnect between what she was supposed to be remembering and what memories were flowering inside her brain?

    The dream. It might be time to bring up the dream. Or at least bring up the possibility that Haruka said something ominous. Maybe it was something that she did a lot. Maybe it didn¡¯t mean anything. Maybe¡­ she was losing her mind and hearing and seeing things that weren¡¯t actually there. But there was bedrock. She had seen that crazy, spiny black creature at home in her own bedroom. In Franklin¡®s bedroom. It wasn¡¯t just something she imagined. And the developing blackness on Yuka¡¯s leg wasn¡¯t imagined either.

    She cobbled together all the essential elements inside her head and searched for a word or phrase to begin reciting such a crazy notion. It had to start with Haruka. ¡°Miss Sasaki¡­ I was wondering¡­¡±

    ¡°Just call me Yuka. No matter how much I sometimes cringe over my name. I need a cooler one when I make the adult decision about it. But you¡¯re my friend, and even though we¡¯ve just met¡­umm. You¡¯re my friend, and that means you don¡¯t have to be so formal. But please, sorry, go ahead. What was it¡­Takano¡­?¡±

    Misaki pressed her on the same level of comfort. No need to go by her surname. They were friends, although she found herself questioningly nervous about some subtle extra implication from her use and tone of ¡®friend¡¯. Darn awkward translation. But call her Misaki. And the matter¡­ The issue was¡­

    Yuka gulped and raised her hand as though beginning a judo chop. Hushly, she whispered to Misaki, ¡°Do you hear that? Footsteps. Has to be. Someone¡¯s coming.¡±

    In all honesty, what sounds Misaki could pick up from beyond the slim walls were traces of frogs bellowing, cicadas shouting annoyance, trees lightly cracking against one another, distant equipment densely rumbling with the same complaints as the cicadas, and the incessant static of tumbling drops trying to blot out everything else. Then, as though noticing out of the corner of her ear, before she could summon words, there came¡­

    Squish, step squish, step squish¡­ with a methodical but swift cadence. The melody was at a distance but closing that space with a looming presence. New traits emerged with a whistling shift to the wind and an adjusting splatter. At first, it was just one set of footsteps, then it became several together and beside one another. Misaki struggled to make sense of it. Yuka slowly got up from the bench and approached the door on the side they entered from. Notes of concern squeaked past Misaki¡¯s lips, but Yuka looked back, raised her hand, and quietly assured her it was fine.

    The sounds went right up to the door outside. It was a person¡ªmaybe more than one¡ªbut how could they know anyone was here? Misaki braced herself and leaned in Yuka¡¯s direction despite her calm assurance.

    Though there was no doubt that someone was standing right in front of the door, only hints of sound betrayed their presence. Misaki did her best to not even breathe, to sift over more possible noises. Then, there were words.

    ¡°¡­ Sasaki Yuka? That you? My granddaughter said she saw you.¡±

    With a soft sigh, Yuka responded, ¡°Yeah, Miss Okura, it¡¯s me. We sheltered in here because the rain hit suddenly and we needed a place to dry out, and this one always has electricity and a heater.¡±

    Intense, rainy static followed before being gently interrupted by the question, ¡°¡­We?¡±

    Yuka carefully opened the door and peered out before the visitor could look in. The woman crouching under the awning with a massive, sky-blue and gold umbrella above her head didn¡¯t look like anyone Misaki had met so far in this place. She had a presence that summoned attention but didn¡¯t require piercing eyes, a thundering voice, or ornate clothes.

    Muddy sandals covered her feet, and she wiped them on the side. A long, red leather coat, miraculously untouched by the weather, danced and swayed on her with the wind. A black blouse with subtle floral ornamentation puffed and relaxed as silvery work pants blockaded the worst of the storm whipping around the shack. An orderly dome of verdant, sharp green locks framed her head and pledged obedience to her will, barely ruffling in the breeze. The granddaughter mentioned barely surprised Misaki at this point, as the woman before them appeared, at most, to be in her late twenties.

 [21] Yuri Worlds 21 â€“ Grandmother

    Yuri Worlds

    [21] Grandmother

    ¡°Well, I can see that you¡¯re both all right. Should I go, or would you prefer to join everyone else in the administration building?¡± Miss Okura puffed out a long, slow breath following her words. Misaki resisted the urge to look away.

    Yuka brushed at her loaner clothes and cleared her throat. ¡°We¡¯re still drying off. If we head over now, then we¡¯ll likely just get soaked through all over again. I mean, you just have your umbrella¡­¡±

    Glancing away, Miss Okura reached into a side pocket and drew out a second umbrella with a metallic snap, like she was unsheathing a sword. Yuka gave a modest grunt to this and pointed out, ¡°With just one umbrella to share, we might still get soaked.¡±

    Promptly, the youthful grandma plunged her hand into her opposite pocket and pulled out a second, slightly larger umbrella. Juggling the two of them was awkward with the open umbrella above her.

    Yuka narrowed her eyes slowly and simply stated, ¡°Oh.¡± She received both unfurled but closed umbrellas from Miss Okura as she gently dried herself before entering the small, wooden shack. The wind outside wanted to rattle and whip the door, but the older woman gripped the handle tightly and latched it in place behind her. She admitted, with a quick cough and her umbrella delicately put away, ¡°I used to love coming out to these when I was young.¡±

    She stretched a hand above her, nowhere close enough to actually reach the ceiling. ¡°Over summers, many decades ago, I¡¯d go down the row, one by one, and make sure everything was patched up and taken care of. So, if any girls ever needed a place to stay in the middle of a rainy night, these would be here for them.¡°

    The supposedly old woman squinted her massive left eye and laser-focused around the small room. She carefully sought out the origin point of every drip. Opening up a cabinet in the corner, she extracted a series of small buckets and placed them underneath as many damp spots as possible.

    No matter how many she placed, another incessant drip developed. She eventually sighed and admitted, ¡°But that was a long time ago. I do wonder if number eighteen still has the impressive length of rope I made once. Hmm. Anyway, I can¡¯t stay long. Weather in my knees, and very little in here to sit on. You have those umbrellas, and you know the way back. Be nice to each other.¡±

    She swiveled around and prepared to leave the way she came. Her covered cough against her hand sounded older than she looked, as though she were a secret smoker. She lingered. It would¡¯ve been so easy for Misaki to just hold her tongue and let her leave. She would be alone with Yuka, with all the possibilities that that entailed. She couldn¡¯t do it.

    Misaki called out with a settling cough of her own, her voice reluctantly floundering with the topic. She couldn¡¯t look over at Yuka. Surely, she would be disappointed. Nothing they shed was even close to dry yet, Yuka¡¯s items in particular. Miss Okura found a set of plastic bags that reminded Misaki of the kind her parents used to have for storing compacted clothes in the closet. The bags somehow hadn¡¯t acquired a musty smell or more than a thin layer of dust likely to be rinsed away the moment they were brought outside.

    Neatly folding everything was easy enough, although the prospect of the clothes she and Yuka recently wore essentially touching one another was a warmly bewildering thought she never could¡¯ve imagined before. She wanted to hide behind something, but nothing could cover her up.

    To her relief, Yuka appeared neither upset nor disappointed when she peeked over to check on her. She appeared perfectly professional, as though she¡¯d simply slipped on the mask of a lawyer, devoid of all the recent ambiguity and emotions. One part of Misaki wasn¡¯t happy about that, but she held that down. Life contained too much craziness to get lost in a confusing and uncomfortable spell of whatever had been happening recently. She shouldn¡¯t be remembering an impossible life as a little flower girl. What would be left of the man she was supposed to be if she just let all that run wild? It was too terrifying to consider.

    Yuka ultimately wound up wearing the windbreaker, and Misaki one of the remaining dry towels from the cabinet. Miss Okura made sure to take care of anything that could suffer water damage. All set, they lined up just outside the door. A part of Misaki screamed internally at all the cute, fun, and blush-inducing possibilities she had forsaken. What feelings might she have known? What undiscovered countries might she never have returned from? Her head swooned, and the snail pouted.

    With everything together, stepping out into the rain was strikingly uneventful. The sheets of precipitation still ravenously splattered their umbrellas and anything uncovered. Walking was a slow and methodical process to keep clear of mud. Miss Okura effortlessly moved through the storm as though she had a special sonar telling her exactly what was where. The shacks they passed before receded away until the dim, but familiar landmarks of the shrine revealed themselves in the distance. Back on stone, it was ridiculously easy to avoid the biggest puddles and slip around the large building off to the side.

    A small area just inside provided them with a blast of drying warmth and the opportunity to release their burdens. Despite the exterior matching the style of the other buildings, the interior of this one resembled a cozy combination of a 1980s office building and an even older home. Where the Sasaki house trended more towards fresh wooden sensibilities, this place sprawled out with fuzzy old rugs on the cusp of static excitement.

    ¡°MOMMY! You¡¯re okay!¡± Maharu practically hovered as she happily bounded through the air with her body coiled up like a vibrating spring. Her body language bordered on restraint compared to the rocketing demeanor of their last encounters. Misaki also noticed that the girl¡¯s typically neat ice shelf of blue hair had been ruffled and puffed by the humidity or something else. It almost seemed as though an invisible crown had been roughly placed on and scuffed around her head like a coiled plastic comb. A pair of vague prominences were shadowed by the unkempt style. Misaki assumed that she had to have been wearing something on her head recently.

    Quietly, Miss Okura sighed and pointed out her state. The girl blinked briefly before wildly batting at her locks and somehow bringing them back to a semblance of order. Her embraces, oddly, also shifted towards reservation. Beyond the little area where they hung up, set aside, and spread out everything that needed drying from the rain, a large group of ladies was gathered. None of them appeared older than anyone they had yet met. Some genuinely had the sense of being mothers, but distinctly in the range of the Sasaki moms. A few had a distinct countenance reminiscent of Miss Okura¡¯s but still appeared more like late high schoolers or early college girls. As always and ever, Misaki did her darndest not to stare.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Led over to a side room, the two of them were soon reunited with the rest of the group. Haruka had her legs neatly folded with dainty, perfect little slippers on her feet. Namiko leaned back and looked thoroughly comfortable in her kimono, while Chika wore a similar, bright blue one covered in massive waves. Yasha stood on the far side of the room, doing some stretching. Kei and Fuyuki weren¡¯t present, nor was Naoko. Misaki sat close to her friends but attempted to remain close to Yuka. Haruka made sure they received steaming hot green tea to sip. Light music drifted through the air as Misaki settled back. She could see herself swiftly settling back into a napping state with all these soothing comforts.

    To keep herself from that chasm of uncertainty, she swiftly relayed the details of their excursion with as many random cows and crops focused on instead of other physical encounters. Ayame received special attention, along with her curious teddy bear companion. Yuka made sure everyone, especially her elder sister, knew that, despite some lingering bruising, her leg seemed to be perfectly fine and on the mend, according to the clinic. The key differences in Namiko and Chika¡¯s trek involved the briefest peek into the front of the old hotel, a detour to scope out the shopping arcade, and some strawberry picking before they missed most of the shrine due to the sudden storm. Misaki immediately gleefully breathed in the sweet and earthy presence of the fresh strawberries.

    They had the distinct unevenness of nature, many with light blemishes, muddy traces, and subdued colors. But the taste was unparalleled to anything she had lately from even the most prestigious organic markets on the edge of town. The food practically felt alive at this very moment and infused her with artistic inspiration. Her stomach just barely had enough space for a handful, but they were much appreciated.

    Once they had all savored the fresh fruit with plenty left over to take back, Maharu bounded towards a corner cabinet and yanked out a massive brown box. She wrapped it up in her arms and spiraled towards the group before planting her discovery right in the middle. It was a board game.

    Yuka carefully dabbed her mouth, raised a skeptical eyebrow, and questioned, ¡°You found it?¡± Maharu¡¯s initial reaction wasn¡¯t the irrepressible exuberance that Misaki was used to. Rather, she quickly dipped her head and retreated to a polite position away from the game before explaining, ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m sorry about last time and everything. I wanted to find it, and I didn¡¯t hide it. I also didn¡¯t want to find it¡­ For a little while."

    Rubbing her arm slightly, Yuka looked away from Maharu and focused instead on the immense box set in front of them. The relationship between the two of them fascinated Misaki, even though she plaintively warned herself not to pry. The box contained several lovely and exotic cardboard pieces with hexagons, squares, circles, and so many other inscrutable designs that made Misaki¡®s head spin. Really quite typical for any board games she ever attempted. She very much enjoyed playing, but rarely ventured beyond the template of Monopoly on her own. Gal Hotner received a sponsorship involving a surprisingly gender-fluid roleplaying title with a setup complexity that made Franklin swiftly retreat in fear.

    Haruka was the one who revealed that Maharu had played this game at least two dozen times since first receiving it and hadn¡¯t won a single match. Maharu looked over at Yuka¡¯s sister with a combination of resignation and pain. Gently, Haruka bowed but didn¡¯t elaborate on that simple gesture. Gradually, as though she were torturing it out of herself, Maharu laid out the details of the game.

    It was surprisingly complex and a little bit classic, but with fascinating mechanics that ran the process of the game like a ticking clock. Once you set the pieces out, the rules forced them forward. The beauty of the game motivated Maharu to play it. But she clenched her mouth, as though holding back a lancing tooth pain. She almost forgot to breathe. Even Misaki found it obvious that there was more going on with this game, but she didn¡¯t want to press. Chika vehemently pressed, and Namiko backed her up with questions related to the game¡¯s flower-dancing elements.

    Maharu approached the box and gently stroked the side as though it were a strange, square pet. She worked backwards from the lyrically beautiful dance elements that inspired her when she was young. It made her think of a dainty, wind-up ballerina in game form. Maharu confirmed she¡¯d never once won this game, despite so much practice and so many efforts to play it. Furthermore, she¡¯d never even done better than last place, even with little girls as her competitors.

    Shutting her eyes so she could speak the next part, Maharu explained, ¡°This is the very first game I can remember playing with my mothers. And it¡¯s the very last game we played together as a family.¡± The color clearly and sharply sank away from Maharu¡¯s features for a long moment before she took a breath and returned to normal. The shift was so stark that Misaki genuinely feared for her. But her mood and ease soon improved as she scampered through accounts of how badly she played the game to the point of absolute ridiculousness. Completely giving away one of the winning cards, forgetting to take the opportunity to dance when that could¡¯ve doubled her point tally, and going after the wrong goal despite it being clearly visible in the home section of the board.

    Despite her light and playful countenance, she carefully walked through her account of the most recent play session. Another loss, but one that came painfully close. She got upset. More than that. It came to an argument between her and Yuka, who gazed down at her feet and didn¡¯t provide any commentary. Maharu readily admitted to being so dumb about it and gave faint hints of laughter without catharsis. The game vanished after that and had seemingly been destroyed or thrown away. But she found it. Supposedly randomly.

    Glancing around, Misaki saw that most everyone seemed subdued. Chika appeared especially pensive, while Namiko wrapped her hands low. Yuka¡¯s expression was inscrutable. Haruka looked like she was antsy to open the box and set it up. The only problem was Yasha. Misaki didn¡¯t mind being away from her lately, and this reunion just affirmed that.

    She was hunched forward with her hands close to her chin, as if poised to ensnare it. Her eyes were still and unblinking. Like some wild tiger eager to strike. Misaki found it freaky and kept her eyes on Yasha. It took a long time for the blonde girl to notice. Not that catching the attention of others deterred her strange body language. Miss Okura slowly approached, and that finally caused her to lean back and look away from Maharu.

    She slipped on a pensive look of concern, evocative of what she should have been showing all along but still paper thin. Like a mask, carefully hiding her true thoughts. How many masks did this strange girl wear?

 [22] Yuri Worlds 22 â€“ Secrets

    Yuri Worlds

    [22] Secrets

    ¡°Miss Takano? May I have a word with you in private?¡±

    Misaki flicked her head around but avoided doing a double take at Miss Okura¡®s serious tone aimed at her. Her expression was even sharper than earlier, displaying a tightened jaw and wielding the facial presence reserved for teachers who made Franklin quiver in fear. She tried to put on an appearance of calm but was shaking worse internally than the handful of times Franklin had been pulled over by a police officer for accidentally slipping through a red light in a moment of wandering thoughts, taking the wrong turn, and rushing on an empty road.

    She stood up carefully and followed the green-haired grandma around the main section and over to a side hallway. It looked at first like it might be a right turn along the edge of the building, but it was actually a left. That turn felt more natural, even though it activated a myriad of strange and confounding thoughts for her. Just coincidence that she found herself plagued by notions of hallways and corridors that should¡¯ve gone one way when they went the other. Although this one matched exactly what she anticipated.

    At the end of the turn, Miss Okura clicked on a light to reveal a door. She turned back and beckoned Misaki to approach. Her mind rattled about like an unbalanced engine as she attempted a half-hearted chuckle. She wanted to draw attention to how strange this moment felt but lacked the words and the resolve to express exactly how. Instead, she followed exactly as instructed and went inside.

    The room looked similar to the traditional tea ceremony room back in the house, with tatami mats spread all over. It was sparsely furnished, with a simple table in the back and a gray computer that looked at least a decade old.

    ¡°Please, sit wherever you feel comfortable,¡± Miss Okura encouraged. She had no idea what to do with that suggestion. The grandmother slowly approached a cabinet recessed in a wall and pulled out two very soft-looking pillows with fancy floral prints. She held them both out in Misaki¡®s direction, and Misaki considered each before accepting the one slightly closer to her. Miss Okura made a sudden, small sound through her nose, which caused Misaki to reconsider her choice. She fretted that the older woman had made an assessment of her based solely on that single action. And she continued to make it worse by motioning towards the other pillow but not giving up the original one. Though it took achingly long, Misaki eventually resolved to keep the original pillow. She slumped down in resignation and sat roughly where she stood, using the pillow for her legs.

    Miss Okura watched attentively all through what Misaki considered her fiasco. Stepping over towards the center of the room, the older woman carefully positioned herself a few feet away from the wall with her pillow in a different position than Misaki had chosen. Comparing herself and Miss Okura, Misaki felt like the moisture from outside was distilling into her body in a worse, cramped reservoir than what Namiko had decided for herself. If only Yuka or anyone else were here, she knew that all these problems would go away.

    ¡°Please relax, Miss Takano. I just wanted to speak with you.¡±

    Misaki had no control over the hyperactive little snail, and she had even less control over whatever dam and floodgates were contained beside it. But it was just human anatomy¡ªbasic human anatomy. Hold the same muscles if you need to pee. No big deal. Sure, the pathway may have been truncated and perhaps a bit obfuscated, but it was the same basic principle. However, every effort she attempted felt completely toothless. And she was running out of time.

    ¡°Excuse me. But is there a bathroom nearby?¡± She asked with quiet urgency. Miss Okura lifted her head and gestured faintly towards the door, explaining there was one to the left just beyond the last turn. Apologizing profusely, Misaki scrambled to her feet and hustled back out the door. She checked behind her before leaving, to see what Miss Okura was doing. The older woman looked her directly in the eye without any hint of consternation, disappointment, or anger. That was worse. She felt like she was being judged by an ancient statue that held many secrets. But she had no time to reflect on that as she rushed out.

    The restroom was about the size of the one back at the house, with industrial-sized supplies set in one corner. The paper was thick and plentiful, unlike far too many bathrooms she¡¯d encountered where such materials were more of a suggestion than an actuality. She wasted no time in relaxing on the seat as every sliver of her body shook in precise disharmony. Preoccupied with that, she went through the quiet routine of cleaning up after herself and washing her hands. It was only when the entire task was complete that she quietly mulled over the strangeness of how routine that just felt. Side effects? Or a consequence of the change? The company didn¡¯t do mental effects. At least, that¡¯s what they claimed.

    Chika and Namiko made a big deal of using the bathroom, but they hadn¡¯t had any troubles either. Her little anime girl stomach raised a big, grumbling ruckus, but she managed to push down its unease for now. Returning to the room at the back of the hall, Misaki found herself both surprised and having anticipated that Miss Okura remained in the same position as she had left her. The woman also barely seemed to have blinked in the meantime. Creepy statue lady.

    Cordially, she asked, ¡°Any troubles finding it? Everything all right?¡±

    Misaki took a deep breath with her hands at her side and put on her best smile. No trouble at all. Everything was fine. She moved quickly across the room without rushing and grabbed her pillow to reposition it closer to Miss Okura. Once again, the older woman made a soft noise through her nose, which Misaki found cryptic and impossible to interpret. Judging her. She had to be judging her for some reason. Misaki quietly tried to control her breathing.

    ¡°Having a good time on your vacation so far?¡±

    She thought about confronting the older lady. Why did she want to know? Why did she separate her from the group? What was she doing here? Instead, she just nodded and lightly confirmed. Miss Okura continued.

    ¡°You¡¯ve met my granddaughter. She seems quite happy around you. Young Miss Sasaki enjoys your company as well. That brings me joy. But I have many questions about you and your group. I know from Kei that you will be staying for roughly two weeks. According to the documentation from those responsible for your vacation, your world has a minute difference in its quantum curvature. Your time flows differently than ours. I assume because your reality has less mass. I wonder where it went¡­ If it ever existed. Perhaps it was random chance, a little more antimatter at the beginning of your universe¡¯s existence than ours. There are so many differences within a world and between several. But there are also so many similarities, don¡¯t you agree?¡±

    Misaki felt like she lost her place in that conversation somewhere after ¡®quantum¡¯. She knew about the time thing but was surprised that this random woman had documents about them, understood all the multiverse travel stuff, and even dropped references to antimatter. Picking apart most of that didn¡¯t seem worth it to her, even though she often managed to follow most of the technobabble that sci-fi programs articulated. Instead, she cautiously agreed and then asked, ¡°So, you know Yuka¡¯s mom? Did she give you stuff from the company?"

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    Placing her arms at her side, Miss Okura explained, ¡°Actually, I personally gave it to her courtesy of Yasuda Mari. She¡¯s one of our local leaders and Travel Anywhere¡®s contact in the area. She arranged everything for you, including accommodations with the Sasaki family and the itinerary for your stay here. There are many lovely places and events you should take in, but I know that she and the Sasakis didn¡¯t want to overwhelm all of you as soon as you arrived. They¡¯ll go over this in the evening and tomorrow morning, I¡¯m sure. If you get the opportunity, please do give your thanks to Miss Yasuda. She did so much work behind the scenes. That¡¯s not the topic I wanted to discuss with you. Rather, I wondered how you¡¯re handling things with my granddaughter.¡±

    That was a lot of information for Misaki¡¯s brain to assemble with everything else she¡¯d heard. Yasuda Mari. Hadn¡¯t met her yet, but she would keep an eye out. And that explained a couple of different things. Pretty much. Maharu? Handling her? She handled her about as well as someone might standing underneath the main fuel exhaust of a rocket. Instead of saying that exact thought out loud though, she suggested that Maharu was exceptionally energetic. That earned a faint but reassuring upturn of her lip line from Miss Okura. Good sign. Hopefully.

    ¡°She does a lot of jumping around and pouncing on people because her heart is so full of love that she can¡¯t keep it all inside. Young Miss Sasaki sometimes expresses consternation because my granddaughter is so taken with her. I have a fondness for Miss Sasaki as well. She bears a strong, lovely resemblance to my daughter. And her personality evokes my daughter-in-law¡¯s. I miss them both dearly, even though I know Miss Sasaki can¡¯t and shouldn''t stand in for them. That¡¯s far too much to ever ask of such a kind young girl. But it soothes the loss for my granddaughter. She will need to learn that Miss Sasaki is not her mother. She¡¯s young, emotional, and liable to say the wrong silly thing at the wrong time. I would appreciate it if you could keep an eye out for both of them. Not to place an undue burden on you either, but I sense your words could do the most good.¡±

    That made so much sense to Misaki, as the ambiguity everyone danced around seemed to come into focus, like how she imagined the final lens setting of an eye doctor¡¯s appointment might be. Despite what Miss Okura said about not wanting to place a burden on her, she couldn¡¯t escape the fact that being responsible for saying something to Yuka, if the two of them had an argument worse than the little bit of tension around the board game before, was way more than she signed up for as a responsibility on this vacation. She would still do it, or at least do what she could, but she wriggled against just being quiet. She needed more.

    ¡°What happened to her mothers?¡± It was an awful, personal question, but Maharu¡¯s grandmother had pressed things this far. She needed to know.

    All the softness evaporated from Miss Okura¡®s eyes in an instant. The precise brown gems at the center of her vision had the honed sharpness of a drawn katana. Her brow ripped across her features, and her hair was a crafted, impenetrable helmet of war. Misaki regretted everything and gave a little squeak before attempting to formulate words. Miss Okura silenced her with her answer.

    ¡°This doesn¡¯t leave this room. If you say a word to anyone, about anything I tell you, then you will suffer consequences you can¡¯t even begin to imagine. More than just from your travel company, more than just from me. And upon your soul. Consider that your final warning. Are you willing to accept those consequences?¡±

    Of course, she wanted to scream ¡°hell no¡± and forget that she ever said anything. But she¡¯d come this far. And what could it possibly be? Something embarrassing to the community? Misaki bound her will together, what she could summon of it, as though weaving a frail thread into a rope that might actually be able to support her, and definitively responded, ¡°I am. Sorry if this opens old wounds. But if you want me to intrude, then I need to know what I¡¯m getting into.¡° Her legs and fingers practically buzzed, and it wasn¡¯t from the numbness of choosing a bad position against the pillow, although that was there as well.

    Miss Okura raised her head, as though inspecting Misaki from a slightly different angle. No strange little sound of ambiguity this time. She took a breath and sighed before lowering her head. For the first time since they met, despite none of her features actually changing, Misaki felt like the mysterious woman before her was far older than she looked. Her eyes were more distant. Her face lacked the inherent elasticity of the painterly style. And her body was a jumbled series of lines rather than the impression of a rigid bulkhead she put on.

    ¡°They were murdered. I was the one who found them afterward. And Maharu.¡± She needed to take a long breath.

    Misaki felt her body go limp. It seemed impossible to hold herself to the pillow, as though it were the vanishing edge of a cliff, and she would soon slip over the side. Every breath felt tight. She wouldn¡¯t say this to anyone. She couldn¡¯t. She could scarcely imagine how Miss Okura found the words to say it to a practical stranger. Misaki wanted to apologize for ever asking her to say this. She wanted to go back and banish every ounce of her wretched curiosity. This sentiment painfully slipped out as a little more than a trembling whimper. Miss Okura raised her hand.

    ¡°It is said. It is done. Everything in our world is already written. I believe that. The path we are on was known and set before us long before we could ever imagine ourselves on it. But it is the only way. You know what words I forbid you to speak. And you know what words I encourage you to share. Your path is before you. May it protect the ones I love most dearly. Now¡­would you like something to drink?¡±

    After that commanding spell of words, the question at the end bordered on comical for Misaki. She resisted the morbid urge to laugh and instead noted that she had some green tea when they first came in, but she left it behind in the other room. Miss Okura said that she would get it for her.

    Misaki rubbed at her eyes and tried to find a comfortable spot for her legs. Her back was unhappy, and her breasts felt insistently present for the first time since arriving at this world. Mercifully, they weren¡¯t as overwhelming as Namiko¡¯s, but they still possessed an inescapable dominion over her existence.

    ¡°Here, Miss Takano. It¡¯s still quite warm.¡±

    Disorientation immediately hit Misaki. She expected the grandmother¡¯s voice right in front of her, but that sound came from her right. Swiftly swiveling in that direction without locking up her knees was a struggle.

    Miss Okura stood right next to her, cradling the steaming cup of green tea she had just started before the board game came out. No sound traveled through the room representing the older woman¡¯s rise from her pillow, trek across the tatami floor, exit from the room, and return with the cup in question. This mysterious teleportation rattled Misaki so much that she was stymied into mindlessly accepting the cup and thanking her without further action.

 [23] Yuri Worlds 23 â€“ Shared

    Yuri Worlds

    [23] Shared

    Only once the presence of the tea and the flickering connections of what had just happened crossed her mind did she check to her right and discover no one standing at her side, and then check ahead and find Miss Okura perfectly positioned atop her pillow, as she had been mere moments ago. Not a single hair or limb out of place. If not for the cup, she could¡¯ve easily written off the last minute as a passing dream she would soon wake from.

    She managed a soft, quick, ¡°What¡­¡± The word was faint, wandering through the air, colliding with nothing intentional, swallowed up by her tea before she took another sip. Miss Okura cleared her throat and continued.

    ¡°I am glad we have an understanding on this matter. There¡¯s just one last item before I let you go. You and Miss Sasaki visited a dear friend and pillar of our community, Miss Takamune Ayame. She is a splendid, free spirit who eagerly speaks her mind. She¡¯s been through a lot in the past few years, and she puts herself through even more for the benefit of us all. Drives herself past the point of exhaustion. Please forgive her the peculiar things she might say from time to time.¡±

    That was an especially odd note and segue. Ayame did say a lot of strange things. Especially that rant when they first arrived, barely audible through the wall. It all sounded especially non-sequitur-filled and insider. Considering the topics of discussion to this point, she found this concentration unusual. She struggled to parse anything said that would¡¯ve either drawn offense or been out of sorts.

    Passing along this thought, Miss Okura listened and gently leaned forward before saying something that puzzled Misaki. It had to be in Japanese, but whatever translation she was being fed courtesy of company products was whiffing on the details. A faint buzzing filled her ears, like a distant alarm going off with the pace of her heart. For the first time since she started wearing it, her wristband hurt against her skin, as though it were¡­as though¡­ why was she thinking of the weird, spiky creature?

    ¡°Don¡¯t trouble yourself about it. As I said, she has a peculiar nature and an irrepressible desire to speak her mind when she really should be more reticent. She expends much of her spirit caring for others and winds up so often depleted. My apologies. And though I said this was the last thing, I heard in passing that Miss Sasaki¡®s upper classmate stopped by to say hello. She has a rich and curious scientific mind. We look forward to great things from her.¡±

    Misaki waited for some further comment from the grandmother or an inevitable question prying into Naoko. She desperately hoped there wasn¡¯t a dark truth behind her as well. But the conversation concluded on this point. Miss Okura politely thanked her for her time, and she gently rose from the floor. Misaki attempted the same, but with much more unease and difficulty in retrieving her pillow. As the older woman guided her to the door and back through the hallway, Misaki cradled her cup of green tea and sipped it again. She frowned.

    It was ice cold. She was certain it had still been steaming hot just a minute ago.

    Before she could even voice the strange incongruity about her tea, Miss Okura had several flaky and sugary snacks to offer her on a plate along with a fresh, steaming mug. She got spun around by the sweet offerings and relinquished her other cup without complaint. The tea had a faint hint of honey as well, which soothed the turbulence within her.

    Back at the spot on the floor where everyone else had gathered, a series of comfortable pillows were spread out, as was a small heated table with a fancy skirt around the sides. In the middle, the group laid out a fully assembled version of the game. The box that once contained it was propped against the wall.

    The girls cheerfully welcomed Misaki back, even though she felt like a detached, wandering spirit. Namiko joyously expressed her passion for meat, displaying a handful of completely stripped skewers. And Chika appeared to have met her match, staring down a bottle of nuclear option hot sauce wrapped in bold warnings and skulls and crossbones.

    With the compounded presence of lunch still lingering within her, plus the strawberries and this new round, Misaki determined that if she didn¡¯t have anything to eat for the rest of the day, then she would be perfectly happy with that. The tea received begrudging admission as she slowly sipped around the steam.

    Since she was away, the board game had already started with the remaining five players. None of it made any sense to her, but Chika randomly elaborated that it was a ¡°Euro¡±. A term that, surprisingly, didn¡¯t require explanation for the group. Yasha fanned her cards as though she were a shark. Haruka daintily nibbled on a colorful orb of mochi as though she were a nervous mouse. Maharu flapped the rulebook around, proudly presenting a story involving jewelry makers with prized shipments from faraway lands. The players had to sneak into strange cultures that no one had ever heard of before and that had long ago vanished from the face of the earth.

    Despite her earlier lack of enthusiasm, Yuka cheerfully encouraged Maharu¡¯s rousing performance of a myriad of different crucial characters. She snagged one of the damp towels to use as her character¡¯s robe. The actual gimmick of the game wasn¡¯t highly complicated and mostly involved trading for cards, moving figures around the board, and counting days to different bazaars and fairs. Maharu¡®s dramatic flourishes lent to the proceedings were the highlight.

    ¡°Gather round, ladies; gather around and hear as ye town crier sings her spell that you may profit well! Diamonds from distant canal cities are being offloaded by merry merchant ships full of a rum-soaked crew from the briny depths. These girls unfortunately managed to damage ten percent of their supply. So while this new influx dampens some markets, if you have a developed precious version, you still might have a pretty coin for your wares. Rubies drop from ten to five. And I am afraid the elder sisters have placed a limit on sapphires. Opals are in rising demand, and as always, the trade guild can grease their wheels for a little bit of gold. Fair hunting!¡° Maharu whipped her impromptu cloak around but actually wound up staggering off her feet with a quick scream and a giggle.

    Despite giving this themed announcement, Maharu also played a trader. She so far had the lowest score but wasn¡¯t dwelling on that, instead throwing herself into her performance, literally. A few of the rules that Maharu recited for the group eventually wound up being mostly neglected or overlooked for the sake of a better version of the game. Yasha appeared to be winning for a while, but Haruka soon surged ahead with several cards lined up that were earning her automatic income to clear the board of all the valuable, point-earning tokens. Yuka mainly did her trading with Maharu, even though they were on opposite ends of the board.

    The heated table provided the greatest entertainment as it forced away all presence and memory of the storm still raging outside. It was so warm and deeply relaxing, injecting comfort all over Misaki. If she had had it earlier, then she wouldn¡¯t have had a problem making sense of everything around Miss Okura. Not that there was really anything to make sense of. She took her side and asked her about a few people, relaying her opinion that whatever happens happens, and the news that Maharu¡¯s mothers were murdered.

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    That Maharu. That girl standing before them and doing the goofiest dances. And she would never be able to say anything about it. Well, maybe when they got home. Get it off her soul. Quietly pass it along to Guy, although she couldn¡¯t imagine what the opportune moment would ever be. Envisioning that prospect, the grandmother¡¯s words about never ever ever speaking it sounded through her thoughts like a massive bell chiming the time. She sat next to Yuka and tried to feel normal again.

    So many things. So much stress that came in waves. That was the inundation of normal life. That was the clown car of complaints, tickets, and issues she needed to work through with her job¡­ Franklin needed to work through. Then getting nipped in the leg by an evil Tribble, which somehow made its way to this world and then chomped her friend. Wearing a weird wristband that quietly kept secrets. Visions of terrible things and haunting feelings. Unusual calls out of nowhere with warnings that made no sense, and even more warnings before sleeping. Fuzzy science experiment nightmares gone wrong. Memories twisted and contorted like a maze with turns she couldn¡¯t anticipate. And now all this with an ageless grandma. Murder, death, and pain. What kind of world really was this beneath the beautiful art?

    She wanted to cry, even though it was something Franklin refused so often. She wanted tears, even though she knew they would be so painfully public. Back home, it was challenging for even Guy or Dwight to catch when he cried. Here, her emotions were clearly broadcast. Sitting there, with her eyes downcast and only half of her thoughts listening to the progress of play, Misaki felt something strange touch her, whisper soft but insistent against her cheek. Wet and warm, careful but bold.

    Yuka had turned to kiss her and lingered, watching with a teasing smile. The kiss was sharper than the perfunctory comfort touch of a hospitable host earlier. This one was playfully affectionate as she smiled to herself and flashed artful icy blooms of teeth. Misaki¡®s face erupted with emotional vulcanism as she stammered and squirmed for how to respond. She had nothing.

    A guarded cacophony rippled through the group, with her roommates full of swaggering delight, Yasha contributing a chuckle, and Maharu practically providing the rest of the instruments by herself. Haruka just watched in reserved fascination. Shrugging off any embarrassment to a degree that Misaki could scarcely comprehend, Yuka snagged her guest by the shoulder and squeezed her close. They became co-players even though Misaki just agreed with whatever she proposed. She had a hard time following the strategic nuance and maneuvers baked into the game mechanics, but she anticipated every instance of Maharu performing her role with manic gusto.

    After seven extensive rounds were finished, they added up their scores. Yasha just barely claimed victory, with Chika and Nami right behind her and the duo of Misaki and Yuka following them. Haruka was on their heels. And Maharu ultimately wound up with just two points, in last place, despite acquiring a complicated set of rewards. Though she hadn¡¯t even begun to grasp the finer points of the gameplay, Misaki felt like there had been several opportunities for the energetic girl to seize victory with a well-placed, beneficial trade. However, it seemed that each of her trades went towards benefiting other players. That had to be intentional.

    Some quiet reservation showed on Maharu¡¯s face as she double-checked the tally and sincerely congratulated the blonde. Yasha shrugged and went back to snacking. After shutting her eyes for a few breaths, Maharu swallowed, sat up, and diligently placed the game back in its box. Yuka offered to help along with Chika and Nami, but Maharu politely declined and explained, ¡°It¡¯s the responsibility of the losing player to tidy up the game for next time. I¡¯m quite good at it. It¡¯s fine. Please enjoy yourselves, and if anyone wants to get closer around the table, I¡¯m gonna pop out and make sure everything¡®s together properly.¡±

    It didn¡¯t require a Franklin-style beating over the head for Misaki to understand that this wasn¡¯t simply about the game. Everything felt subtly shaded by her unfortunate knowledge about Maharu¡®s mothers. Was she punishing herself? She seemed to put so much energy into the entertainment of others, into embracing, seizing, and being close to everyone. Too presumptuous. Whatever notion she was tossing between her neurons, she knew it was based on assumptions that just didn¡¯t fit in this world. No matter the similarities they had seen and which her grandmother had emphasized, they were completely different, and she knew all too well, with the certainty of copious mistakes, the dangers of trying to assume.

    With Maharu to one side, projecting the sense that nothing was wrong with her, Misaki summoned every kernel of energy to play the role of maid and entertainer for the rest of the group. It was an embarrassingly lackluster effort. She did little twirls and checked on everyone¡¯s food, commented randomly on the strength and intensity of the storm, which was finally abating. She reenacted the Watusi the trees did under the wrath of the wind. She regaled the group with the exciting details of little shacks out in the woods. She threw in every note about what they had.

    Chika and Namiko let this information wash over them, but Yasha leaned forward with a surprising amount of keen interest. She apparently had a thing for cabins, which opened up the perfectly delightful topic of letting the strange blond have her little rustic vacation shack in the woods for the whole of their vacation. Yuka, and Maharu from afar, contributed additional notes about what could be found, both fresh and deeply dusty, in those cramped walls. Especially other board games, which most worried were lost. Haruka chimed in, with pronounced enthusiasm, about rediscovering a railroad game, wherever it might be stashed.

    It took Maharu several careful minutes but eventually she had everything packed away inside the box and excitedly hoisted it above her head like a trophy. Not a good idea, as it was strikingly heavy. She wobbled around in a long spiral but managed to catch her load before disaster. Yuka groaned and half-heartedly scolded her as Maharu nervously apologized.

    At this point, the thrashing outside had fully gone silent, and sharp slivers of afternoon sunlight fanned across the floor. The storm was over.

    Faint dripping against the side door continued from the roof. Steaming humidity crept its way along.

    Out of the blue, Yasha commented, ¡°I¡¯ll go check out those shacks. They sound interesting. If they need any repairs, I would be willing to help out.¡±

 [24] Yuri Worlds 24 â€“ Drive

    Yuri Worlds

    [24] Drive

    Yasha wandered away from the group, in pursuit of this goal. Misaki was perfectly fine with that. Yuka gave her a faint shoulder bump and a smile before contributing, ¡°It¡¯s nearing the end of the school day for me. And Maharu. We have to go help clean up, and I have some club stuff to take care of as well. But it was fun. All this was fun. And I hope we can do it again soon.¡±

    She tipped her head down without doing a full bow to the group and got up from the floor. Chika chirped up, wondering if they could come along to visit the local high school. Her question petered out at the point of trying to explain why they wanted to come. Namiko backed her up: ¡°We can help with cleaning.¡±

    Yuka frowned and arched an eyebrow. ¡°We should be fine. It¡¯s just what we need to do. Whatever help is always appreciated but wouldn¡¯t you three prefer to enjoy your vacation back at the house?¡±

    Chika looked around at the others and resolved, ¡°We came here to see as many things as possible. Plus, it¡¯s exercise. Not that your moms and their house aren¡¯t a delight. But we¡¯re gonna be back there most of the time for this trip. This is an opportunity. And I don¡¯t think any girl should let an opportunity get away.¡± She flashed a little eyebrow wiggle at Misaki and only her. If Yuka noticed, she didn¡¯t give any sign of it. However, she did flash a smile at Misaki before agreeing and heading off to find one of the shrine administrators who had a truck. Maharu eventually left as well, without saying where she was going.

    Haruka¡¯s subdued presence regularly escaped the three of them. With her eyes shut, it seemed like she was quietly meditating by herself. Before the three of them got back to filling in gaps about their respective treks around the area, Misaki sat up and recounted the sliver of information from Miss Okura that she wouldn¡¯t mind her sharing. The company contact who arranged the details of their visit was Miss Yasuda Mari. Chika diligently added a note in her phone about this.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Haruka softly spoke. ¡°But she¡¯s over there. In the yellow and black. If you wish to communicate anything. My apologies for being¡­forward, if that isn¡¯t the case.¡± She pointed out a woman across the room, gesturing in the same fashion as earlier without directly pointing. The woman in question turned in their direction and raised a cheerful hand without approaching or saying anything.

    She didn¡¯t really stand out to Misaki. Her hair color was remarkably close to Franklin¡¯s. Not that that was a trait she should¡¯ve held against her. This woman¡¯s hair sprawled with ordered fullness over her shoulder. Her eyes also had virtually the same color quality as her other self, though they were much larger according to the style of this reality. The similarities stopped there, as her nose was anime pleasant compared to Franklin¡¯s cruel peak. She had on a pair of strappy black heels with very comfortable-looking soles. The hem of her sleeveless, ribbed yellow sweater top settled around the waist of her slim black skirt with ease. It was the kind of outfit that Misaki could easily imagine being worn by a version of Franklin born as Francine.

    Kicking her mind off this peculiar track, Misaki approached the woman and encouraged Chika and Namiko to join her. The lady appeared surprised that they came over. She wore a lingering deer-in-the-headlights expression, as though her mind was on a particular track, and she was struggling to divert it. It took a few moments, but she eventually snapped out of it and profusely apologized for being so ¡°spacey¡±.

    ¡°Did you receive what you needed? I sent over everything the company gave me for the Sasakis. They had a whole itinerary lined up, and I know the younger Miss Takano does a lot of web media. And all sorts of promotional content. I talked several things over with your hosts, and the consensus was that they didn¡¯t want to hit you with a lot of information as soon as you arrived. We don¡¯t want to waste your time either. But I included options for hiking tours, historical day trips, and gaming hot spots. I included documentation on everything for your hosts, so all that¡¯s taken care of. Personal note, but if I never have to deal with Travel Anywhere ever again, then I¡¯ll be quite happy with that.¡±

    Misaki seized on this last point and hoped that the company hadn¡¯t been giving her trouble. She also threw in a swift, emphatic thanks and did her best to make it not sound like she was coerced by Miss Okura.

    The woman waved her hand in the air and assured them, ¡°We have a long, unfortunate history. That¡¯s all. I used to work with them in a different¡­ capacity. Being essentially a freelancer is preferable. They know what I think about them. But I love helping people detour around their¡­ inherent nature.¡± Misaki could understand that, even though it really seemed like the lady was blunting her criticisms as though their wristbands were listening. That actually made sense, and she couldn¡¯t discount the distinct possibility that the wristbands were actually listening all the time, especially with all the censorship.

    Segueing from that point, Mari knew Yuka asked for a ride over to the local high school. One of the other administrators of the shrine had a spacious gray truck they volunteered for that task. She was going to bring it around and take them along the back route.

    Before they made their way out to rendezvous with the truck, Mari added one last thing: ¡°Be careful. The pathway is especially slick and slippery after it rains. Take it slow."

    Misaki turned to leave, but something nagged at her, even though she couldn¡¯t quite place what it was. Namiko furrowed her brow as well but didn¡¯t say anything. Chika took a deep breath and carefully asked, ¡°Did you attempt to contact me earlier, around noontime? The company put all sorts of junk on my phone, and I think it may have affected the calls. I got one earlier.¡±

    Mari broadened her smile politely and said a flat and definitive, ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°You sure?¡±

    ¡°Sure. I can give you a call later or tomorrow if you need to follow up on anything. Unfortunately, I have a meeting I need to get to in just a few minutes. Happy to help in any way; please have a lovely stay in our community and reality.¡± And she briskly stepped away.

    Chika sighed through her nose and folded her arms. She said to Namiko and Misaki, ¡°That was her voice. On the phone earlier. Be careful. I am certain beyond any doubt. Why¡­?¡±

    Be careful. Those were the words. The voice on the phone warned them like that and freaked out the entire group, especially Yasha. But the information about the call and anything resembling a recording were lost.

    Even though it nagged her that the way those two words said by Mari sounded much like what came through the speaker, she couldn¡¯t claim that with absolute certainty. The phone distorted it, and she barely heard it once. But why would she say that exact same phrase to them again? Was she trying to signal something? They couldn¡¯t follow her; she was already away behind closed doors. She outright denounced any possibility of being connected to this mysterious phone call.

    For a couple moments, Chika speculated over whether all this was set up by the company as some puzzle game for a video. That triggered a memory for Namiko and Misaki about a weird contest out in the desert with a fake supernatural supermarket. That one was entertaining and heavily lampshaded as fake. This situation felt quite different from that. Amidst a multitude of things she really couldn¡¯t elaborate on and was still processing, Misaki heavily suggested that this was all to be taken at face value. Chika clutched her forehead and used a finger to rub her massive brown eyes.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Everything felt awkwardly balanced on the precipice of tumbling into a ravine from which there was no recovery. Glancing around, Misaki noticed that Haruka somehow vanished during their chat with Mari. Before she could say anything about this to the others, Haruka reappeared, drifting right beside Chika and holding something in her hands. The girl somehow didn¡¯t make a single sound, and it clearly freaked out Chika. She tensed up and gave a sharp jerk of her leg, as though she just barely resisted launching into the air.

    ¡°This should help,¡± Haruka explained, holding out a warm compress. Chika quickly cleared her throat and eagerly accepted the offering. She bent back with a wobble and let the briskly warm, slightly moist item settle across her eyes. Releasing a long sigh of contentment, Haruka asked Namiko and Misaki if they wanted anything before they left. The prospect of warm compresses sounded appealing to the both of them: Misaki because some measure of the storm stayed with her, and Namiko because the walk and especially the steps up had left their mark on her muscles. In short order, Haruka produced a pair of fresh, practically steaming pads for them.

    ¡°I¡¯m used to helping,¡± she simply explained. ¡°Is that¡­ cool? Even though it¡¯s very warm?¡± Haruka wore the faintest crease of a smile on her lips. The trio confirmed that they were great. The elder sister recognized signs of their discomfort during the board game and acted accordingly. Unfortunately, being under the influence of the soothing pads brought back Misaki¡®s tiredness. This girl kept putting her to sleep, although she doubted it was intentional.

    Not too long after that, a lady with a boxy gray large pick-up truck came for them. Yuka was there, along with Maharu, and even Haruka tagged along. All their stuff, dry and still drying, including strawberries and leftovers, came with them. It was cramped, especially with several boxes of supplies in the back to be dropped off around the village, but each of them buckled up. Namiko required the most finagling to get a comfortable split with the belt.

    None of the three had any idea how their driver was going to get around the verticality of the hill. Misaki assumed that somewhere along the side had a shallower drop. This was not the case. A dirt road was minimally cut into the side of the cliff. And their driver went for it.

    The amount of air the cozy truck got without any clear sense of what was below them made Misaki feel like her little anime girl heart was about to erupt out of her ears. Namiko yanked her belt till it was practically flush with her breastbone. Chika muttered what Misaki was sure was a quick prayer, muddled to the point that none of the other girls would be able to tell what exactly she said, to avoid more confusion. Maharu whooped it up, as though egging the driver to launch even further at the next bump. Yuka appeared vaguely queasy and iron-faced while Misaki noticed her older sister had once again settled into a nap, with her hand protecting her face from the window. Closing her eyes did seem like the best idea to Misaki.

    All the commentary that the driver provided was, ¡°Hang on for a little bit, girls; that rain made things wild.¡± She didn¡¯t go to the realm of the Dukes of Hazzard, as Misaki briefly feared, but it felt for several seconds like they were cascading out of control down every stretch of mud. It didn¡¯t take more than a minute for the path to level out, but that was still a minor eternity.

    ¡°Easy peasy,¡± their driver announced with delight. What Misaki could see of the forest lightly pulsed in time with her racing heart. She feared that if this is what the woman considered easy, then she didn¡¯t want to get anywhere close to hard. Unfortunately, the tension in their trek didn¡¯t abate, as rumbling over the uneven ground rolled them like cast-offs from a belligerent washing machine. The engine revved insistently like, a crazed maniac trying to work up the courage to leap through the hood and throttle its passengers. Amazingly, this vicious assault didn¡¯t slam Namiko¡®s chest around like a set of paddle ball toys.

    Despite being so close to the ground, they still managed to get quite a bit of air. Haruka kept her eyes closed, but now Misaki could tell by the artful lines around them that they were being squeezed shut. When they finally made it to even pavement, a singular audible breath released amongst the passengers. Unfortunately, the noises didn¡¯t stop. The truck still had plenty left to say, creaking and groaning, shifting and squeaking, and summoning rattling whispers from the undercarriage as if they had caught a consortium of anguished souls from the underworld. Every minute turn of the steering wheel made a clicking and ticking noise, as though an invisible countdown to an explosive end were underway.

    Exhaustion set in by the time she merged onto the main traffic circle and swung around back towards the Sasaki house. Haruka didn¡¯t need to be asked if she wanted to step out when they arrived. She climbed out quickly on legs that behaved as though they¡¯d been at sea for weeks. She collected the freshly picked strawberries and several other things the group didn¡¯t need to bring with them to the high school. Haruka gave thanks to the driver and a flicker of sympathy to everyone else. Misaki seriously considered proposing that they just leg the two kilometers to the high school instead of risking whatever peril might ensue. But the lady was off before she could give voice to this notion.

    It genuinely felt like she hopped the curb several times while sailing away. Maharu¡¯s delight didn¡¯t abate for a moment as she pointed out random sights she named herself. A tree that looked lonely because the skirt fringe of her canopy was drooping down. She also shared the notion of an older house that resembled a classical castle, and she was thoroughly convinced that a princess resided in the highest part of the tower, even though she knew everyone who lived there. This was a secret princess behind a secret door.

    She delved into even more fanciful landmarks. A certain number of paces into the dip of the valley, by an old oak tree, before you got to a marsh, she shared the truth of an inconspicuous patch of grass that provided better comfort than even the finest silken feather bed. And just beyond that, even though it bordered a cold stretch in the foothills, she knew a place where whoever laid down there would miraculously be healed, their pain would pass, and the ¡°light of joy¡± would walk hand-in-hand with them every day of their lives. She qualified that this was a place she¡¯d only encountered once and never found again.

    The others didn¡¯t have much of a reaction, but Misaki had to tighten her jaw against the feeling of tears. She knew just a frail sliver of the pain that Maharu surely felt. How could she smile so radiantly? How could a heart shine so brightly against the darkest suffering?

 [25] Yuri Worlds 25 â€“ Class

    Yuri Worlds

    [25] Class

    Did Yuka know? If her presence meant so much to the girl, then her grandmother had to have said something. It wasn¡¯t her business, even though the old lady expected her to find the right moment and the right words. At higher speeds, the cacophony within the car, around, and beneath it, blurred away to an anonymous, tolerable hum.

    The high school was easy to see from a distance as it stood three stories tall with a bright, alabaster sheen. Several large Sakura trees flanked the sidewalk along the front. As they had been warned and anticipated due to the timing of their trip, the full splendor of the trees in pink bloom appeared to have passed. Nevertheless, the artistic detail and natural beauty with just the lingering traces of blossoms were still enough to inspire awe, along with scattered wilting stretches of pink scattered across the cement.

    They should¡¯ve been liberated from the crazed clutches of the truck, but the awkward latch belts and the sinking softness of the seats still ensnared them. Yuka and Maharu showed them the way by pushing in on their belts and then rolling towards the door. Yuka accomplished it with a minimum of fuss, shifting and ducking while Maharu whipped her body around and seemed like she was starting the signature move of a certain cerulean hedgehog. Each of the trio landed dizzy and discombobulated, but they were finally free. Their driver lingered to make sure everyone was fine and give a sheepish apology for the roughness of the ride.

    A soft and soothing melody issued from one of the overhead speakers as they made their way to the front door. Shifting from shoes to slippers was approaching old hat. Still surprising was Yuka changing into a spare uniform from her locker. It looked a little tighter than the other one. She snuck the skirt underneath and then unfurled the rest once she had her top on. She didn¡¯t leave enough skin or time for anyone else to look away. Maharu¡¯s change appeared as a blurry combination of spinning pizza dough and binding a package.

    The hallways and spaces looked lifted from a big-budget school anime. It was a little thing she glossed over before, but the wall textures not only held their details upon fine inspection but seemed to acquire even more the closer any of them peered.

    Girls just walked everywhere; they existed in every single corner of the school. They all wore the same uniform as Maharu and Yuka. Girls of every type with a rainbow kaleidoscope of hair colors, style quirks, subtlety in their flesh tones, and distinct body language. Their clothes separated them, a gap that Misaki found herself wishing she could bridge to overcome the obvious glances of curiosity in their direction. She doubted that anything approaching loaner uniforms was possible, and purchasing a set, just for the sake of some uncomfortable moments or as a useless souvenir, seemed pointless.

    Reflecting on that, she had to wonder what would happen when she brought the uniform back through the Travel Anywhere equivalent of customs. Considering they had managed to convert their possessions to fit in with the rest of the world, she felt a subtle disappointment that the uniform would likely be leeched of its art when crossing over. Her dress would have to suffice, no matter how much it made her stand out.

    Before they could join in the cleanup, Yuka took them over to administration. The staff member she wanted to talk to wasn¡¯t present, and the woman available looked quite stern and older through her frowns than even Miss Okura. Leaning on the prospect of simply sightseeing wasn¡¯t a good idea, so Yuka emphasized that the three of them were visitors from a different school here on a technical, school-visiting matter. The three of them kept quiet, and even Maharu played up this spin by offering open questions about the fighting spirit of their school sports. She didn¡¯t expect an answer and simply spoke as a cute distraction.

    The administrator pushed her glasses up and sharply scrutinized the entire group. She scolded them about the importance of arranging an official appointment and a set time for visiting. But she ultimately didn¡¯t turn them away and printed out several green passes they were to wear around campus after they signed and gave their contact information in a large black book. Following Chika¡®s lead, they put down a messy and mostly scrambled version of their real home address.

    If anyone had a problem with that, Chika figured they could just give the company''s address. The crotchety lady clung to the book and looked over the top at each of them, as though squinting at the text would provide a secret message unraveling their duplicity. Somehow, what they wrote, despite being rendered in regular English, didn¡¯t raise any red flags from that alone. Namiko had to resist the temptation to give a joke location referencing one of her favorite shows. This tiny skirting of the law made Misaki¡®s heart pulse again, but compared to the terrors of the truck, it didn¡¯t seem like much to worry about. If they didn¡¯t pass, they could just walk back to the house and have some tea. Fortunately, the administrator didn¡¯t pursue any of her suspicions.

    Furious activity played out in the hallways and against the windows of the school. Girls shook out old, dusty mats, sprinted down the halls with cleaning cloths, shoved buckets, and wiped down windows. Despite how different they looked from everyone else, it didn¡¯t take much effort to join in. Chika got grabbed to tidy up a spare room with her hair swiftly tied back. Namiko earned looks of wide-eyed surprise from her rounded, frontal defensive perimeter. Not good for a sponge, but the rest of her was eager to help. As a skilled custodian, she immediately went to work, giving casual but helpful advice and moving girls around for efficiency.

    It wasn¡¯t long before she earned sincere, reverential sentiment from all the girls. Some activities suffered with the exaggerated dimensions of her body, but she didn¡¯t let that slow her cleaning down. That energy was deeply appreciated and soon swelled into a competitive streak with Maharu, who did a surprising amount of happy screaming.

    Once it all settled into a routine, Yuka grabbed Misaki, pulled her away from organizing books, and asked her to follow. They snuck slowly along a side hallway, past sports equipment and a flight of stairs, arriving at a linking bridge between the main building and one on the side. Yuka explained that her club room was over here. And she wanted to show it off.

    They passed several rooms with sliding doors, exactly like Misaki was expecting from the margins of a multitude of anime programs. The room in question was after one with a piano and several woodwinds in storage. She pulled aside the door to present it. The room was completely dark, blacked out on all sides. Misaki took a step back, but Yuka pushed forward and smacked the light switch. Girlish screams burst out.

    ¡°My eyes! Oh, Goddesses! My eyes!¡± Sprawled out on the floor with a black laptop on her thighs was a distressed blonde girl with bright green eyes consumed by a vast pupil painfully shrinking in the light. She wore a loose black hoodie with a green drawstring. ¡°Too much natural light!¡± She covered her face with an arm. ¡°I was just about to set up a Faraday cage. Ouch¡­¡±

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    ¡±Please, don¡¯t do that. You should be cleaning with everyone else or with the computer club. What are you doing in our room in the dark? Do I even want to know?¡±

    The girl on the ground with a laptop shielded her eyes for a few moments before clearing her throat and remarking, ¡°You should want to know. Everyone should want to know what¡¯s actually going on in the world. I was surfing the intangible ether that surrounds every living being. The tether and the bonds pressed tight around life. I shut out all distractions but the goddess voice calling from the depths. And I was about to make my deepest level of meditation complete when you arrived.¡±

    Yuka turned on a second light towards the middle of the room. The strange girl flinched but didn¡¯t say anything about it. Hands on her hips, Yuka asked, ¡°I just want to make sure you realize that a Faraday cage would block a signal.¡±

    The girl snapped her fingers. ¡°I knew you would say that. But here¡¯s the beauty of it: The cage is for me. Only around me. Though I may be trapped inside it, in actuality, I would be liberated. Though connected to my source of information, my mind and body fly free.¡± Somehow, she managed to make that sound logically impassioned yet quite unhinged with her fluttering tone and wide hand gestures.

    This new girl wore a wide-billed black hat that matched the curtains taped up along the windows behind her. Her eyes were seemingly back to normal at this point, with tiny glinting pupils at the center of her jade irises. They were framed by sharp lashes and dense black brush lines that cranked up their intensity to the level that Dwight often worried about with his most natural expression. Her hair framed her head, sleek and bright, standing in for her lowered hood. Below, she wore deep green, clingy tights. Her shape, made vaguely ambiguous by her baggy top, still didn¡¯t provide any competition for Namiko but stuck out more than most. Her feet were bare but also strikingly dirty, as though she crawled through mud worse than what the truck clambered over.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Yuka answered. ¡°But can you do all that somewhere else?¡±

    The blonde clung to her laptop, responding, ¡°This location forms the northernmost point of an equilateral triangle connecting directly to the shrine and my bedroom. The spirits offer the greatest opportunity for deep connection. Natural harmonies. Something freaky is going on, and we need to investigate it with all the tools at our disposal. Forces¡ªdark forces¡ªoccupy the fundamental fibers of our world. They want to suck our energy dry. Dark spirits. Slender, pale, emaciated girls clad in inky black suits with sinister smiles permanently etched on their faces.¡±

    Misaki noticed a shift in Yuka¡¯s demeanor at that last comment. She tightened her jaw and seemed genuinely rattled. She took a slow breath and asked, ¡°Where are you getting that from? Energy draining dark girls?¡±

    It seemed like the blond was about to pontificate in the same fashion as before, but Yuka lowered her arms and leveled a stare. The weird computer girl twisted her hands a few ways and answered, ¡°It¡¯s just random forum stuff. Never any proof, but it freaks me out. Usually about our trading partners from other universes. Those in charge¡ªthe ripe princesses, the plump kitties¡ªdon''t worry about the little girls. No deal that sounds so good doesn¡¯t have strings attached. They¡¯ve got to be taking something more from us, and there are these¡­ Passing reports of dark creatures that look like nasties in their employ. That¡¯s honestly all I¡¯ve got, but it¡¯s still enough to really worry me. I just want to dig deep and figure out what¡¯s going on. And there¡¯s a new version of this game that dropped this morning, and I wasn¡¯t able to download it, and the signal is it umm¡­ it¡¯s just really good. Right in this room and none of you ever really use the Wi-Fi.¡±

    Shrugging off concern, Yuka huffed and peeled off the taped up black-out cloth. Misaki wasn¡¯t sure what to say. She vaguely recognized that description as dovetailing with meme games from years ago, and random stuff Franklin sometimes caught on YouTube about people and entities with black eyes and sinister smiles. But that was the kind of spooky stuff that always popped up. She had no idea if there was some spirit story or yokai-like figure in this culture. The folklore book she brought probably wouldn¡¯t help too much, but it might provide at least a framework for guessing what legends existed in this world. She¡¯d have to delve into it more later.

    She had to ask. Struggling with exactly the right phrasing she wanted, Misaki folded her hands over her stomach and asked the blonde girl, ¡°Have you heard any mention of, like, a small furry creature thing that is scary and black like that but a puff ball of fur with needles thinner than sea urchin? Like a very nasty soot spirit?¡± Yuka flashed Misaki a quick look, as though to communicate, ¡®Don¡¯t encourage her¡¯.

    The blonde squeezed her mouth with a wiggling finger and did some concentrated reflection before shaking her head and shrugging. That just sounded to her like creatures that might occasionally show up in horror or speculative fiction shows. But lacking anything concrete to share, she immediately postulated that it sounded like exactly the type of horrifying things that the government and these corporate trading entities from other universes might experiment with and unleash upon their unsuspecting world. It occurred to Misaki right then that she wasn¡¯t certain if the girl knew she was a visitor to this world. Mentioning it didn¡¯t sound like the best idea.

    Instead, she realized that they hadn¡¯t been introduced and went ahead with offering up her name in the polite fashion, with her fake family name first and her given name following. The conspiracy-hungry blonde didn¡¯t immediately offer up her identity, but rather narrowed her eyes and scrutinized Misaki sharper than the administrator earlier.

    ¡°This is the Nishikawa Bianka I mentioned, Kosame¡®s little sister,¡± Yuka noted, preempting whatever the blonde was thinking of saying. Bianka frowned sharply and lamented being exposed. She struggled to wipe away that name, claiming furtively that it was a deep cover alias, and it was preferable to refer to her by her secret codename, ¡°Chrysanthemum. Because mums the word.¡° Misaki got the impression that this girl, while having some interesting thoughts, tended to envision her life and every event around her as having very deliberate, dramatic theme music. She also recalled that there was some sort of syndrome that popped up in anime, not too far from whatever the heck this was. Calling it delusions of grandeur sounded rude though.

    And she didn¡¯t want to immediately and completely denounce the stuff that this girl was saying since plenty of peculiar and unusual events had followed them before they arrived and all day long.

 [26] Yuri Worlds 26 â€“ Delight

    Yuri Worlds

    [26] Delight

    ¡°Where¡¯s your sister?¡± Yuka asked with her arms folded.

    By this point, all the blackout curtains were down and folded up on the nearest cabinets. This made the room strikingly bright, with an artistic bloom saturated by fine motes of dust. Several rows of shelves lined one end of the room. Even more metal cabinets occupied the other side. A pair of sinks with faucets stuck out from the walls. It appeared as though they hadn¡¯t been turned on in a long time. A modest bamboo plant in a brown pot rested on a corner table. A round red bowl with something steaming and brown occupied a spot not far from Bianka, who kept checking on it. It looked like curry.

    Bianka gently cleared her throat and responded, ¡°I don¡¯t know. She¡¯s around somewhere. Why? Oh! She dressed up like a secret agent today.¡± The blonde girl motioned with her hands, like holding an invisible gun with the barrel up in the air. Yuka heaved a sigh of resignation and didn¡¯t bother correcting her. Misaki wondered what a secret agent might look like in this world compared to her perspective. Suits existed, but they had an old-fashioned feel. Perhaps the equivalent would be more like pantaloons and cowboy get-ups for her?

    Why were skirts and dresses more modern? Their respective histories had to be so strikingly different that she couldn¡¯t even imagine what factors might guide an all-girl social structure. She recognized some of the hallmarks of a matriarchy with how much influence Miss Okura wielded as an elder. Also, mothers appeared to be distinguished as the younger one and the older one. The same was the case for sisters. But considering these age distinctions, she found it strange that Yuka hadn¡¯t brought up her age. Whatever it technically is now.

    Did she need to bring it up? If all of this was tied in with some new social cue, then she was once again a failure at recognizing it. Yuka dodged around the issue of what Kosame was wearing and instead pressed Bianka on where her sister had gone and when she would be back. Bianka vaguely alluded to a special operation, which turned out to be club registration paperwork and matters relating to the senior school trip. Before Bianka could weave an elaborate tale about an assassination vacation, the door behind them started to rattle and click open.

    Gradually, a girl stepped through. She paused at the threshold, peering and squinting in anticipation. Her massive blue eyes flicked around the room, carefully parsing what she was seeing compared to what she must have expected. It took her a few moments.

    ¡°Sis? Oh! Hey, Yuka. And who is your delightful guest? Bonjour, mon amie. It is a joy to greet you with all my senses.¡±

    The girl stepped through, revealing herself with a bundle of icy, frosted cans clutched in her arms against her chest. She fumbled to find a place for the cold drinks before extending a bold, strikingly long hand towards Misaki, whose first instinct was towards a polite and formal handshake. But the girl clung to her hand and applied a firm, lingering kiss to the top of it, like some debonair gentleman of old. This gave Misaki a strange feeling.

    It resembled being drunk and giddy. This girl treated her like a lady at a fancy event. If she still had her dress on, then she might even look the part. But it had been swapped out for what they were able to find in the old shack. Her current clothes were ghostly white, and she only lacked long, spooky hair to complete a spectral impression. The dress went back with Haruka to the Sasaki home. It needed to be laundered. If she was totally honest, the clothes she was wearing also needed that. They would suffice for now and for cleaning up. But this occasion made her wish for something nicer.

    Which completely bewildered her. She had no idea what to do with attention. First, there was clear flirting from that clerk when they arrived in the city. Then, basically, a date with Yuka. And now, one of Yuka¡¯s classmates was acting like Pep¨¦ Le Pew. Part of her wanted to respond and cozy up like some cool and confident girl, and the rest wanted to see what game Bianka briefly mentioned.

    All she could manage to get out was a meek, ¡°Uh, thanks. My name?¡± The question of what her name could possibly be loomed like a complicated quandary. Takano. Takano Misaki. It meant ''beautiful blossom'' along with a huge variety of other things, depending on how you wrote it. Threefold blossom. That¡¯s why her moms chose it. To leave her with the thought and immersion of a multitude of beautiful possibilities so that when she decided on her adult name¡­ she¡­ would¡­what?

    Her name wasn¡¯t Misaki or Takano¡­ That was just the name she assumed for the vacation with her friend and her little sister. No, no, no, not little sister. What was going on? She felt like the same strange blurriness that occupied her dreamscape when she last napped had suddenly risen around her like an obfuscating, steaming mass.

    Okay, that wasn¡¯t her name, but what was her name? It shouldn¡¯t have been so difficult for her to even piece together the sound of it. She was absolutely terrified inside, and this girl still had her hand as a gentlemanly gesture.

    She could take a stab at this girl¡®s name based on what the others had said. Kosame? Step by step, she worked on calming herself down. Side effects. That¡¯s all it was. They should¡¯ve mentioned something to Mari when they had the chance. Later. Deal with that later, and freak out later.

    For now, she conducted a little bow of her head and relayed the only name she knew. The other girl released her hand and then gestured to herself. ¡°Miss Takano, it is my sincere pleasure to welcome you to our institution of learning. Do you hail from the area or somewhere far away and exotic?¡±

    Yuka gave an obvious twist to her mouthline but didn¡¯t jump in. Was the girl judging her for some article of body language she unknowingly tilted one way or the other? Could she be jealous? That felt monumentally presumptuous to throw out there, but the avalanche of other worries didn¡¯t allow her deep retrospection.

    ¡°We¡¯re visiting the area. Me, and my little sister, and a friend. We¡¯re from another universe. Tourists. On a vacation. Yuka and her family are hosting us for two weeks.¡± It took more momentum than trying to drive a boulder up the slope that the truck tried to drive down, but Misaki¡¯s words at least got somewhere without a lot of screaming.

    Bianka, who had retreated to her laptop between her legs, perked up and raised her cap, as though that might help her hear better.

    Kosame was a good head taller than her, comfortably at a very normal height for a boy. She loomed with a presence. Instead of the school uniform, she wore a dark blue suit. Though it had sharp shoulders, the ebbs and flows of the material comfortably traced the girl¡¯s contours. It dipped at her waist and swooped around her hips as though it were meant for her curves. Made for her. Golden accents lined the collar and broad lapel, with the punctuation points of matching buttons below her chest. A sleek white collared shirt showed from underneath, along with a classy crimson tie. It was a rare sight in anime form.

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    Despite how neat her clothes appeared, her dark gray hair looked like she¡¯d just woken up a minute ago. Twin hair spikes jutted out from the top like antennas. Jagged locks bunched up and swelled as though someone had just rubbed a balloon against them. Just behind her and through the window above the entrance, Misaki could see the last traces of heavy clouds that had passed through the area. A fragmentary sliver of a rainbow pressed against the glass and anointed Kosame like a broken crown leaking through the storm atop her head.

    Misaki found quiet amusement in the color scheme. Chika would have something to say about it. Chika, who was¡­who¡­drat. Chika¡®s name before also eluded her. Still quite alarming but not as existentially dreadful as completely blanking on her own. Of course, delving deeper than Yamane Namiko was also currently impossible.

    She could freak out and lose her mind about all that, but that didn¡¯t seem like it would serve anyone, and none of the girls around her could help or even understand her panic.

    Kosame raised a pencil-thin, curious eyebrow. ¡°A vacation. And from another world. That absolutely counts as exotic, Miss Takano. You should let me show you all the illustrious sights that our world and this charming community has to offer. I can contribute quite the personal and emotional touch to glimpse and unravel whatever your heart desires. It is always my pleasure to guide and bring joy to lovely ladies such as yourself.¡±

    Despite how ridiculous all that out of Kosame sounded to her head, the affection and the focused confidence made her swoon. Being considered lovely. Being so focused on. A part of her inside felt like she was being lifted off her feet and tangoed with emotionally. Before she could begin the next round of courting, Yuka cleared her throat with arms folded and eyebrows raised. She didn¡¯t say that the two of them were together, but it didn¡¯t take long for Kosame to take the hint and back off.

    Approaching from the side, Yuka gave Misaki a quick peck on the cheek and a cheerful smile. Kosame stuck her hands in her deep pockets and asked, ¡°So, shall we continue with the recitation and analysis of the case from yesterday? I had a thought about how the closing statement could¡¯ve been better worded. I know the others can¡¯t make it this afternoon, but we can gloss over certain points and leave notes for them. And then see if they pick up on the same aspects we do with deeper analysis tomorrow. What do you say, Lady Sasaki?¡±

    The girl¡¯s chest, immensely modest and slighter even than Chika¡¯s, puffed up ever so slightly as though she were a cock of the walk rooster, which had taken a tumble and was working to reinflate its pride. Yuka wore a quietly thoughtful expression. She gently bumped into Misaki, despite having a lot of space.

    ¡°All right, but we also have all the closet junk you promised you would deal with last week. And I wanted to show off a few things to Miss Takano. Still, let¡¯s do it.¡±

    The group juggled a variety of things. Kosame plucked and pontificated at a variety of sports balls and stray musical instruments stashed by other clubs in their space. Those things marked were set aside. She did a quick talk about the nature of being and awareness to a deflated soccer ball.

    ¡°There is a girl for every girl when you consider the infinite possibilities of reality. At this moment and at any moment, there are more versions of ourselves than we could ever imagine. And this number grows at an exponential rate, with the bifurcation of possibilities passing every moment. There are girls in other worlds we never dreamed of meeting. With supple lips, soft silken hair, gentle tender busts, quiet laughter, intimate spaces, ticklish thighs, pliable feet, reserved rumps, and playful dimples across their backs. For every thought, dream, and wild desire that sings alone, there is a second part to the harmony that wishes to join in all the brighter. For every girl, there is a girl, even though they¡¯ve never met. A completion and a passion, softly embracing with love everlasting in heart and soul forever.¡±

    Yuka chuckled and responded, ¡°It¡¯s true.¡± Misaki just caught the end of a glance that Yuka cast in her direction.

    Before setting out the court documents they were to review, Kosame welcomed Misaki to sit in a nicely cushioned chair at one end of the room that they typically used for judges. The girl took every opportunity to gently place her arms around Misaki. Her touch didn¡¯t venture anywhere objectionable, but it still felt strange. She definitely took her time scoping out the view from the back.

    When it came time to present the aspects of the case, a lot of it went over Misaki¡®s head on all the different technicalities of property ownership and accusations of trespassing. Not a violent case. But she was immediately reminded of what Miss Okura said. Yuka pressed her side with sharp enthusiasm. The whole thing took Misaki back to a video game she played ages ago.

    The separate presentations they gave were occasionally interrupted by each pointing out certain facts and omissions. Like the fact that a basement was never searched despite claims that certain property was held there more than once. A very technical assertion completely went over Misaki¡®s head, but she smiled and nodded as though bits of it were actually getting through.

    Bianka did a slow shuffling creep towards where she was sitting, despite not leaving the floor. She didn¡¯t say anything till the simulated court presentation started to wind down.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±

    It was during a quiet lull as Yuka and Kosame stopped hurling technicalities and pointed questions at one another. Bianka¡®s voice was quiet enough that the question of whether anything was said at all lingered for several moments. Misaki glanced over to where she was seated with her legs folded. Bianka looked up and then away before explaining, ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re trying to drain girls. It¡¯s just stuff on the Internet. And the companies and governments. You seem nice, and I¡¯m sure your friends and family are nice too. Sorry.¡± Her face shifted around, as though she were working up the nerve to say something else, but she ultimately swallowed, gave a polite smile, and returned to her game.

    Misaki softly stretched towards an answer. ¡°It¡¯s fine. You seem nice too. And I don¡¯t trust the company either. A lot of questions.¡± Bianca looked back, and her fingers wiggled like they were anxious to smash a few websites on the keys and detail exactly the worst things about the company. But she left the floor and the conversation to her sister and Yuka.

    No clear answers emerged about which side of the case was correct though Misaki felt that Yuka gave the more impassioned and emotional argument, while Kosame¡¯s end was quite articulate and expectedly detailed. Not that they needed an answer; they were just stretching out the proceedings for the other club members. Lengthy notes were taken with the occasional wrist crack from tiredness.

    Right as Misaki felt mentally prepared to tackle the question of who the heck she was actually supposed to be, Yuka came over and asked her, ¡°Would you like to see something really special?"

 [27] Yuri Worlds 27 â€“ Together

    Yuri Worlds

    [27] Together

    By themselves. Her heart picked up the pace, and the confused little snail started blasting through her being again. She had to say yes.

    Kosame and Bianka started hurling half-hearted barbs at one another, at first from Bianka about how her sister had a dictionary taped to her face from all the different words she ¡°spewed¡±. The elder sister countered by saying it was better to have your face in a book than a ¡°meager pamphlet¡± taped to it. Bianka wasn¡¯t quite sure what that meant, but she still felt annoyed. She pointed out that her sister should be considered a grandmother with how dated her clothing was. Kosame flipped that around as a compliment on being mature. And so it continued.

    Misaki and Yuka made their quiet escape. The annex building, especially on the end, looked like it hadn¡¯t seen a good scrubbing in quite a while. Plenty of things were lightly cleaned, but the floor preserved layers that no regular mop could touch, as though it were developing fossils of grime and dust from ages past. They circled around back to the main building through one of the concourses and made their way up several flights of stairs with dim recessed lighting.

    Past a certain point, the walls and the ceiling began to get cramped. Not so tight that they had to duck down, but Misaki still watched her head with each new step. Before she could get claustrophobic, they arrived at a small landing with a door and nothing else. Looking back at the girl she clearly had a crush on, Yuka pushed it open and summoned a flash of brilliant afternoon light turning golden.

    Past the door was the roof of the school. Misaki had to take a moment once she crossed through to squeeze a breath through her lungs. It felt like they had gotten so tiny. She also had to swing around and grip the door reflexively, fearful that they would be trapped out here once it clanged shut. Yuka reassured her that it was never locked, and some girls came up for lunch. Just like in so many anime shows.

    Gingerly, she let the weight of the door settle back. It wanted to get away from her. She trusted Yuka but randomly feared that this was the one instance where someone on staff actually locked it, and they were going to be stuck out here. Or maybe Yuka knew that and arranged this. A second chance for something like the shack. Releasing a slow breath, Misaki let the door go. It softly clicked shut without any clear sign of being locked or unlocked. She turned away. Whatever happens.

    The roof appeared surprisingly clean, especially compared to some stretches in the annex. Old satellite dishes aimed at the horizon; an abandoned garden was infested with tangled wire and drying mud from the earlier storm; and an eight-foot, tightly woven fence rose from the lip, protecting them from the woozy vertical drop. The deep, artistic quality of the drop did little to set Misaki¡®s mind at ease. No matter if the world was made of painterly pastels or anything else, falling would still hurt just as bad.

    The wind, which tormented them earlier, now curled and played with them.

    The view from the roof was much clearer than the one from the top of the hill at the shrine. That sight was tangled amidst the knotted spires of hundreds of trees. Here, the trees provided a luscious, wiggly carpet. The fence blunted some of the beauty, but it was a small price to pay. Stepping back several feet reduced the metallic interference to the faintest haze.

    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful up here,¡± Yuka said. ¡°It¡¯s so private, even though you¡¯re so connected with the world. Sometimes, it¡¯s almost like flying while staying in place. I don¡¯t know a whole lot of famous locales to bring back a breathtaking experience from. I love our shrine as a measure of our community. And I love this place as something that means a lot to me. I am honored to share them with you. You¡¯ll probably have a better time at some hot spring resort or business center. But this is what I can offer.¡±

    Misaki looked out at the world around her. It was impossible. She could see a delicate haze and the careful natural hand of a vast array of clouds shifting and shrinking and growing. Living clouds and a breathing world. It was art beyond all comprehension, adjusting slightly with every step she took. The distant hills were not a matte painting or a projected illusion on a skybox. At the same time, they had an uncanny quality, suggesting flatness. Her brain was flipping back and forth, as though struggling with a new variety of optical illusion it didn¡¯t know how to parse.

    They sat together, not too far from the edge of the roof. Yuka put down a large handkerchief for Misaki to sit on, even though she assured her it wasn¡¯t necessary. She didn¡¯t care if her ghost-girl outfit got some smudges. It would probably improve it. Yuka was so close that she practically transmitted a sympathetic heartbeat. A double beat that, while operating on its own, still felt like hers. Both were positively racing.

    Softly, Misaki thanked her for sharing this and reassured her that it was a beauty unlike anything at home. Yuka playfully scoffed. ¡°There¡¯s got to be things more beautiful than this in your world. Easily. What¡¯s it like where you live?¡± The girl pressed closer.

    Despite still lacking what her name should¡¯ve been, Misaki had a lot of memories of home to pull from. An area far from the coast but close to a massive metropolitan area. Wretched fumes belched in the air from countless, zooming cars. She vaguely alluded to the graffiti that besmirched so many places. Yuka took it a different way.

    She¡¯d heard of public art by girls in other places around her world and connected that with this. Misaki opted not to disabuse her of this notion. So many things that she hinted at and touched upon inspired rapturous notions in Yuka. Speedy thoroughfares. Anonymous others. Stifling heat. Blasting sand. Rushing stress. Widely sprawled buildings. Everything hit more like a dream than a warning.

    Misaki cautioned that the appearance and color palette, while lovely and sharp sometimes, had a muted softness that made most things plain. Yuka retorted that the world around her was plain. Those soft painterly tones, the refined pencil, and the human brushstrokes. How very mundane to her eyes. Just the way things were. She wanted to see something different, even if it led to a muted palette of disappointment. Misaki could understand, but at the same time, she found it impossible to explain. So, they just enjoyed what there was.

    Yuka let her legs dip down with a sigh before she said, ¡°I do like home. I like here. But it¡¯s easy to feel trapped. It¡¯s fun to go to the city, like today. But it¡¯s different than that. Sometimes, the world just feels wrong. You know what I mean?"

    Misaki gave a small nod. ¡°When I was little, something always bothered me. I knew my house, but there were these turns where I was certain that the hallway should¡¯ve gone left, but it went the other way. I¡¯d often bump into things, and my mom would get mad at me, saying I did it on purpose.¡±

    Yuka listened with rapt attention. ¡°Did it go away?¡±

    With a sigh and a shrug, Misaki answered, ¡°Not really. I just got used to feeling off-balance and figured I was the problem.¡°

    ¡°¡­Me too¡­¡± Yuka said, barely above a whisper. Misaki urged her to say more.

    ¡°It¡¯s stupid. What silly Bianka said took me back. About pale girls in black. I¡¯d dream about them. But I wasn¡¯t scared of them. It was more like they were my friends. I could talk to them about anything, and they¡¯d just listen. But I wasn¡¯t supposed to talk to them. Because they were bad, because they were dark things. And that would rub off on me, and I¡¯d become something awful too. That¡¯s silly. And it was a long time ago. But sometimes, I get really worried. Like every thought inside me is vibrating with terror and panic. Sometimes, I feel like some gross thing, some bug that others want to step on. I have to apologize. I have to apologize over and over and over until all the sickly tears inside of me dry up. And, no matter what I do, I still get these dreams where everyone¡¯s upset at me, everyone hates me, and everyone wants to hurt me. All I can do is hide in this blurry, blank place and shield myself until the pain stops.¡± At the end of that, she released a long breath, like a balloon slowly deflating.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Misaki¡®s heart raced for a new reason. It was impossible, but some of that sounded like the nap nightmare she woke from. Would it be worth it to ask whether Yuka had a reaction to lab coats or ever experienced weird dreams with her sister on the floor? She resisted. The poor girl would surely be freaked out if she said that. But now seemed like the best time to say something.

    ¡°That¡¯s awful. I¡¯ve had some nightmares like that before. Doctors trying to cut off a leg. So scary.¡± Compared to the detailed, emotional version that Yuka unfurled, hers felt thoroughly pathetic and weak tea by comparison. She put a hand on Misaki¡®s shoulder and gently squeezed. She didn¡¯t say anything in reference to the hint¡ªno agreement, no mentions of having comparable dreams. Drat.

    Heaving a sigh, Yuka asked, ¡°Am I a bad girl?¡±

    Misaki snapped her head to look right at Yuki with a tightened frown and immediately answered, ¡°No.¡±

    Yuka warned that they¡¯d just met this day. She didn¡¯t know her for more than a handful of hours. She hadn¡¯t seen all her aspects. ¡°I get upset sometimes. I get angry. I¡¯m irrational and mean. I do the stupidest things. I think even worse. Sometimes, I don¡¯t get sad when animals are hurt. I just¡­ I feel nothing. It¡¯s so messed up. What¡¯s wrong with me?¡­¡±

    She dipped her head and panted. Long, crystalline tears streaked her cheeks. She whimpered softly. ¡°I don¡¯t deserve to cry. Pathetic. I¡¯m pathetic. I¡¯m sick. I make so many mistakes. I could be better; I could do better, but I¡¯m broken; I just don¡¯t give a shit, or I¡¯m a monster. I don¡¯t want to be a monster. I don¡¯t want to be so terrible. I just wanna be happy. I just want to hug my moms. I just want Maharu to be happy. I don¡¯t want to feel mad or annoyed at her for being someone who¡­ who needs a much better mom than I could ever be. Goddesses¡­please¡­¡±

    Her voice shrank and crinkled down so small, like paper painfully squeezed. Tears spilled out of her until Misaki worried that she might get dehydrated. If only she grabbed one of the icy drinks that Kosame brought with her to the club room. But all she could do was squeeze Yuka tight as she softly sobbed. Back in high school, they were on a trip to some play with awful chairs lacking headrests, and the girl sitting next to him was completely exhausted from the night before and taking care of a lot of things associated with the excursion. She quietly asked if she could put her head on his shoulder for at least a few minutes.

    Franklin¡­ That¡¯s right¡­ Her name was Franklin. But Franklin had never been in a situation close to this. Girls just didn¡¯t talk to him. Girls didn¡¯t share private moments. Guy shared plenty and was close enough to a girl but didn¡¯t actually count. This girl trusted him. This girl needed him. He offered up his shoulder for as long as she wanted. He held steady, and she closed her eyes and softly snored. He could do this. A shoulder to rest on. A shoulder to cry on.

    Yuka stammered fragments of so many apologies for laying this on Misaki. She wanted to stuff it all back inside and be a happy, pleasant host to the travelers. She didn¡¯t deserve to have to deal with all her bullshit. She wailed that it was pointless. What on earth was she crying for? Why was she spilling out her heart to someone she just met? Misaki stayed there and supported her.

    Slowly, with halting effort, the sobs and cries faded to ragged whimpers. And the whimpers faded away. She dipped down to look at Yuka. Tears still lingered in her eyes, but they were shallow pools instead of endless rivers. Her lips parted, and she squeezed Misaki tight with everything she had.

    They kissed like a wave crashing over itself. Yuka¡®s hands caressed her and pulled her tight. Obviously, Franklin had never been kissed like this. She couldn¡¯t even imagine a kiss like this. It was a joining beyond simply pressing flesh together. It was a union¡ªa calm but breathtaking sharing. Every feeling in her body passed into Yuka, and every feeling from Yuka passed into her. The snail wove an intangible figure eight through the air.

    Grabbing for one another wasn¡¯t a wild flailing tangle but the management of eight limbs working in concert. They pressed and pushed and cupped and cradled. Not a rocket surging towards the sky, but an embrace sinking ever deeper and softer. The approaching evening laid a protective blanket over their souls, drawing them towards the shelter of darkness. But a light also fluttered.

    Cooling down, they checked around them for the source of the strange twinkling. Fireflies. Countless fireflies, like dancing sparkles, suffused the cooling air. They hovered in all directions, drawing close and then drifting away.

    ¡°Beautiful. So beautiful¡­¡± Yuka spoke softly, and Misaki quietly agreed. The fireflies orbited like microcosmic star systems. They were goddesses watching in the heavens. Now far from tears, Yuka giggled and let the soft light wander over her face and play between her fingers. They were bugs, and, every so often, that truth made them each squirm and burst out in even more laughter. But the dusk and the light felt made of the best kind of dreams. Yuka soon wore a flowing glowing dress pattern of fireflies hovering, sinking, and tracing around her without touching. She was a ballerina with magic at her fingertips. Misaki joined in and found that the lights liked to linger around her head.

    The fireflies just stayed for what felt like mere moments before their dance was done, and they left the stage for the constant, slow, and distant twinkles up above, gradually appearing as the sun dipped. Yuka gave one last twirl on her feet before tumbling into Misaki¡®s arms. They giggled together, embracing and kissing once again, but with relaxed enthusiasm. The snail didn¡¯t need to break out of its shell.

    Settling back on their heels, they still tittered with delight as they adjusted their clothes and smiled for an unseen audience. Yuka bent over to adjust her socks and peeked underneath.

    ¡°Oh my gosh¡­¡±

    For a heart-stopping moment, Misaki noticed the way Yuka was bent, looking down at her leg, the one with the dark mark, and expected the absolute worst. Necrotic skin, a bigger blemish, and screaming pain. But she lowered the sock and revealed¡­ nothing. The mark and any trace it had ever been there were completely gone. Her flesh was a perfect stretch of fair, healthy pink, shaded only by the golden tones of the hour.

    ¡°I knew it was healing! Look at that. Maybe I should just take that cream back to Ayame. But it would be good to keep it in the medicine cabinet. I can probably tell her that the Reiki healing helped. But I know what the best medicine was¡­¡± She wrapped her arms around Misaki and gave her an even, warm kiss on the lips.

 [28] Yuri Worlds 28 â€“ Return

    Yuri Worlds

    [28] Return

    Misaki didn¡¯t know what to think. Kissing Yuka made her all better? It was a cheerful notion, but one that didn¡¯t make sense. But then there were apparently all sorts of mystical and spiritual things that allegedly happened in this all-girl world. If expressing love from one girl to another was a healing factor, then she wasn¡¯t going to begrudge it, but her brain had to wonder if something else happened. But what?

    Perhaps walking around did the trick. It also could¡¯ve been the rain. She hadn¡¯t seen any trace of the mark since they left the clinic. Maybe something they ate. Could also be the heated table. If not for how Ayame responded, she could¡¯ve just written it off as a quirk of the aesthetic in this world when it came to bruises and other blemishes. Even though the dark discoloration was gone, Misaki still eyed the place on Yuka¡¯s leg warily.

    Putting her sock back in more of a normal position and adjusting her school slippers, Yuka ambled over to the door and gave a yank on the handle.

    ¡°Oh, no¡­¡±

    Misaki rushed over, ready to add to the pile that they had been locked out on the roof and would have to find a way to signal the rest of the school. But the door popped open with a click, revealing the darkened hallway within.

    Yuka finished her thought with a playful pout. ¡°We have to go back in. We can¡¯t stay out here all night and cuddle. Maybe¡­ I should kick it a few times to see if it locks on us.¡± She giggled and motioned to do that, but quickly held the door open for Misaki.

    The trek back to the club room was uneventful, with both Kosame and Bianka caught up in the game on the laptop. The character creation options particularly had Kosame drooling. There were enough drinks left for the two of them, but they weren¡¯t nearly as cold as before. Misaki grabbed the spares to give away to the rest of the group. Having to return to the others and put the mask of normal life back on made Misaki want to drag her feet. Stay with Yuka a little bit longer; be playful but suggestive. Maybe get caught up in the game too, even though four was a lot to crowd around one laptop.

    They wound up doing some more tidying before leaving the siblings to their own devices with a reminder of when the school shut down for the evening, especially the Internet.

    The two of them soon caught up instead of staying behind. Kosame got the opportunity to introduce herself to the ¡°rapturously glamorous¡± gal with grape-toned hair, kissing the back of Chika¡®s hand as she shot back a skeptical expression. And she was at a loss for words aside from a few faint French expressions of shock when appraising the majestic Grand Tetons on display along with Namiko¡¯s custodial spirit. Everyone traded some measure of contact information, and Misaki¡®s companions appreciated the refreshments.

    Before Kosame could think about how she would craft her harem, Maharu arrived with brutal, crippling affection. She started with landing a frog splash from orbit, which immediately transitioned into a vertical suplex, followed by a snuggling choke slam and a backbreaker of love to finish. If poor Kosame had any chiropractic problems before, they were now either cured or much worse. The girl took the cheerful assault with a wary smile and patted Maharu on the head with the hand she still had feeling in. For Yuka, Maharu gave her a quick nuzzle and a hopeful expression. Yuka returned the gesture by stroking the girl¡¯s cheek and planting a kiss on her forehead.

    Maharu¡®s eyes sparkled with a light that had no words to adequately express its beauty. She seemed so happy, and yet there was a quiet darkness ringing her soft brown orbs. Misaki could imagine what dwelled there. Miss Okura didn¡¯t say it directly, but the fact that she said she found Maharu with her murdered mothers told Misaki that the poor girl had been there. She had been there when it happened. She somehow survived. But what her eyes had seen, Misaki didn¡¯t want to know.

    Shaking off this dark notion, she smiled for the group as they got ready to go home. The three of them had to sign out back in administration and endure the piercing stink eye of the same administrator from earlier. She didn¡¯t say anything though, and having Kosame around helped by giving her something else to glare at.

    It was only once they¡¯d changed, gotten all their bags, and stood at the front gate that it hit Misaki that they still had two kilometers to go. The distance didn¡¯t sound that long, but she wasn¡¯t especially familiar with the metric system. Namiko did some quick math and said that in ¡°their system¡±, it worked out to about one and a quarter miles.

    Not super long. Dwight typically walked over five miles, but she considered him some sort of superhuman. Guy occasionally made a loop around Main Street to lose a few pounds and pick up some Chinese food for them. That trip was about three miles and took a little over an hour. Hauling the entire box of the meal destroyed Guy¡¯s arms for a few days, but Gal got plenty of lewd jokes for streams out of the story.

    But those were entirely different bodies and realities. This world, at least as speculated on by Miss Okura, had eight percent more mass. She hoped that didn¡¯t mean anything for gravity. Her legs weren¡¯t even close to tired yet, and she had a gaggle of cheerful and happy girls all around her. Should be easy.

    Famous last words¡­

    Yuka said they could try the bus, which stopped a little ways down from the same road as the high school, but the timing wasn¡¯t good. They would have to wait almost thirty minutes for the next ride, and it was a circuitous route to their homes. But that option was open to the vacationing trio if they didn¡¯t think they could make it.

    Namiko, despite her oversized load, still looked like she could take on mountains. But that was just who Dwight was. Misaki could tell that Chika wasn¡¯t going to chicken out. And Chika said as much. That made her reflexively giggle, but without any way to explain to the others what the funny part was. Just saying it was a video game reference seemed sufficient.

    Despite getting practically mangled by Maharu, Kosame cracked her neck and her wrists and was ready to go.

    It wasn¡¯t going to be a short walk, and Misaki accepted that. But at least the company helped make the minutes fly by. And the setting, with scattered houses and expansive farms, filled their eyes with enough sights to take their minds off their physical stresses. Yuka brought up a variety of local pastries that she knew not only their visitors should check out at their earliest opportunity but that now she was craving.

    Maharu gleefully announced that, right before she was done cleaning at school, she got a call saying that she would be the lead dancer at the next event for the shrine. It was in a few days, and everyone could come and see it and enjoy the event with food and music they were going to set up to raise a little money to help with summer festivals. Chika put a note in her phone about it. Alas, the event would not be as extravagant as what was coming in the summer, but Maharu urged the three of them to attend.

    Kosame¡¯s next segue about the perfect boob size swiftly got shut down by Yuka in favor of a discussion about the best style of kimono. After some washing care tips for kimonos, with emphasis on a laundry net, the group went quiet. Several choruses of cicadas finally made their voices known. Chika recorded a video of it.

    When Bianka stepped into the conversation, Misaki was initially worried, but the girl avoided the topics she had pushed so hard previously and instead brought up local sports. None of the teams or their names made sense to the three of them, but the enthusiasm was quietly infectious as Bianka motioned for sumo wrestling, swung around with an imaginary bat, and kicked a pebble back and forth between her shoes. Questions about pets randomly came up next.

    Maharu was spooked by lizards'' impassive expressions. Her favorites were bunnies and hares. And that was all she said. Misaki found it strange that she clammed up so suddenly, but she expected it was another sore point.

    She probably lost some pets, although such a notion on top of everything else seemed almost too much to bear. The Nishikawas had two small dogs with big voices, whom Yuka regularly rolled around with and lavished with love. If not for Haruka¡®s various sensitivities and allergies, the Sasaki family would have at least three dogs, Yuka resolved. Her elder sister could mostly tolerate dog dander, unlike buckwheat, but often had a runny nose for days on end. Just not worth it. Even when Haruka inevitably moved away, her moms resolved that they still wouldn¡¯t get dogs, so Haruka wouldn¡¯t have trouble when she visited. But when Yuka got her own place, the pack would be formed. She spent more time considering but not settling on the names of these theoretical dogs than she did on her adult name.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    This crush of fun topics lobbed amongst the group remedied some of the pressing discomforts of walking. But the well of inspiration eventually dried up as the throbbing and aching sapped the brain power of the trio. Fragments of songs that they shouldn¡¯t have even tried humming were a necessary salve. Somehow, largely dragging their feet for the last stretch, they made it back to the Sasaki house.

    Maharu had a ways to go before she made it to her home with her grandmother, but she opted to rest with the others. The same went for Kosame and Bianka, even though they didn¡¯t have as much of a trip to get back. Peeling off shoes in the front area and wobbling in the house slippers offered immediate full-body relief. No one wanted to go upstairs, so they all squeezed onto the couch and leaned back against the pillows.

    It didn¡¯t take Haruka long to poke her head in and discover seven girlish slugs oozing their way out of the cramped couch. She brought them all something to drink, supplied extra pillows, and spread out as many blankets as she could snag from the closets. Misaki opted to forgo a blanket but enjoyed the pillows she received, the mango cream soda, and Yuka leaning firmly but not too heavily against her.

    Out of the group, it was clear to Misaki that Chika and Namiko were both at the point of exhaustion from this long day, with Chica unable to find the energy to bother lifting up her phone to check anything and Namiko trying to turn her boobs back on her face to gain an extra pillow. The Nishikawa sisters appeared only slightly burned out, with Bianka pulling up ¡®funny¡¯ pictures on the laptop that her older sister much appreciated. Because the attached privacy filter made the screen visible only from right in front and a little to the side, the sisters were the only ones who could see anything.

    Yuka seemed like she could¡¯ve gone several more miles, but she was now stuck to Misaki¡®s side. On Yuka¡¯s side, Maharu snuggled up and acted groggy but perked up quickly with anything interesting. And the most interesting development of all was Naoko showing up soon after.

    She apologized for not being available as a tour guide earlier. She hesitated with giving the reason, betraying a nervous blush as she struggled to form the words together like an ungainly hunk of dough. ¡°Someone in a town nearby offered to purchase my video game collection. The whole thing, and for a fair price. It was a snap deal, so I had to be there this afternoon to arrange it. I almost didn¡¯t go, but Haruka assured me that she could take care of everything. Thank you, Haruka. I¡¯m so sorry for bailing. The expenses for my cram class wound up being more than I was expecting and than I would ask my mothers to cover. It¡¯s my responsibility. And sadly, I know that for the next couple of years of college, I¡¯m not going to have a lot of time to play video games anyway. They would just gather dust.¡°

    Chika burst free from whatever sapping vines of tiredness had enveloped her and beseeched Naoko to reconsider. Misaki smiled to herself, recalling the multitude of streams where Gal blasted through impassioned efforts at game preservation. Guy sold off his childhood collection to get his first recording equipment. A multitude of games were available on his digital accounts, so he didn¡¯t physically need all those old titles. Plus, the people who watched streamers just cared about the newest of the new. Or so Guy figured. But every new game he played brought wistful dives into what he was missing.

    A modest collection regenerated in their high school years, but once Guy was streaming regularly, especially as Gal, that set bloomed with glee and provided the evolving backdrop of his cozy streams. Bianka jumped in with some of this energy, but to highlight the fact that older physical media had a lower chance of spyware and being spontaneously retconned by corporations.

    A lull surfaced when Kei arrived home, stretching and waving to the girls. She relayed that the upstairs tea room would be ready for evening tea service and getting together to discuss plans and options for the vacationing group. She also mentioned running into Yasha over by the general store. Yuka smiled and waved to her mom while giving a little shift and a bump of her head into Misaki. Unfortunately, the bump was a little harder than she intended, and the two of them had to grip the spot where the bump occurred with grimaces slowly flowing into smiles.

    Misaki marveled at the notion that a girl had done an awkward thing that was totally expected of Franklin. Namiko, still energized by recent custodial efforts and agnostic on physical games after many shrugging discussions with Guy, delicately hopped up, adjusted her helpful kimono, and offered to help out in any way possible.

    Kei attempted to wave her off but begrudgingly accepted the assistance. She mentioned a meeting, including Mari, which resulted in the minor fundraising event in the next few days, with Maharu as a happy lead dancer. She also passed along that Fuyuki had stopped to chat with a neighbor about borrowing a heavy-duty shop vac to help with cleaning the old hotel.

    Between all this, Yuka stretched out her leg and made sure everyone knew that it had healed up perfectly. Her mother washed her hands and crept over with squinting eyes to make sure that her daughter hadn¡¯t pulled one over on her with a trick of the light or a brush of makeup. She scrutinized the limb under as much light as possible, getting complaints from Yuka.

    But it didn¡¯t take long for her to smile, give a puff of relief, and warn Yuka about minding her steps and continuing to check herself. Mentions of all the crazy girls in the city also drifted by before she let her go. She also reminded her daughter to text Ayame with this update and some photos so she wouldn¡¯t be worried. Kosame dropped in a random praise of virtue for healthy girly legs.

    They were surrounded and being almost literally crushed by so many different girls. It was so beautiful and special. But something also itched at the back of Misaki¡®s head that couldn¡¯t be explained away as the still-unexpected presence of her longer hair. She blinked.

    The entire room froze. It was like something out of a video game during a time-stop ability. The world wasn¡¯t different. But the air felt heavier, thick like oil, and she had to force herself to suck in and expel it. It was warm and stifling¡ªfar more than it should¡¯ve been, especially for a cool evening. The moment immediately reminded her of the vicious nightmare where she was trapped, and her parents were like mummies.

    Nothing moved around her; everything was frozen. Except for Haruka. The older sister stood there with a pure, radiant white light glimmering from inside her and suffusing every inch of her body, from her stretched-out hair to her tiny feet. She gestured in the same polite way as before to a place right next to Misaki, where Yuka was sitting. Misaki didn¡¯t want to look, but it was like her vision was a CCTV camera inexorably scanning the room on its automated path.

    Yuka was infected. That was all she could think. The girl had her normal skin, but it was paler and practically devoid of all color. Her clothes were also drained of vibrancy, reduced to noir black and white. From a place on her leg, waves of blackness erupted like oil from a rig. Her hair darkened, turning pitch black, with her brown eyes following suit.

    ¡°My sister needs your help¡­¡± Haruka spoke in a harsh whisper across the room.

    Gasp!

    Misaki jerked up with a desperate breath, as though she¡¯d been hit by a frantic spell of apnea like troubled Dwight several years ago. Everything was fine. Haruka wasn¡¯t standing in front of her. Yuka was at her side, the same as she had ever been, but wearing a look of nervous concern at her sudden, flailing gasp. Misaki cleared her throat a few times and sucked down as much of her drink as possible before reassuring Yuka and the others that she had just gotten something caught in her throat.

    A dream. It had just been a blasted dream again. Yes, that was all.

 [29] Yuri Worlds 29 â€“ Pairs

    Yuri Worlds

    [29] Pairs

    Yuka half-seriously suggested that maybe Misaki should have a checkup with Ayame instead of her.

    Naoko encouraged her to drink more while mulling over the argument that Chika presented about gaming. She was nostalgic about the games she was selling off. The collection wasn¡¯t acquired quickly or easily. They were precious to her. But she countered that she had so many little digital titles, and her friends¡ªshe gestured to the Mario Kart-style game they had been playing earlier¡ªwould pick up the slack. Also, girls she knew who might be going to the colleges she was hoping to get into had games they promised to bring along. It would be fine. Chika resigned herself to the fact that all this made sense, and a younger version of her would¡¯ve expressed the same sentiment.

    This led to Naoko bringing up the note that so many had glossed over. ¡°Back in your teens? I don¡¯t wanna presume, differences between worlds and all that, but the three of you are in your 30s, right?¡±

    That was right, but it confused them. Misaki looked over at Yuka. Her expression was one of pleasant calm, not surprise or confusion. Did she know already?

    Naoko pushed her hair back out of her eyes and cupped her hands around her brow line. She explained, ¡°It¡¯s kind of an old folklore thing, and there are ways to make yourself look younger or older, but, typically, a natural brow mark feathers with age with little prominences and bumps, if you look closely. Mine is mostly straight, but I freaked out the other day when I started to get a little bump in my orderly line. Maharu¡¯s grandmother has a strikingly even one with some slight wiggles. And looking at your brows, they''re very modestly feathered. If I¡¯m reading it right, that means you¡¯re out of college but not quite at family age. My apologies if I¡¯m really far off the mark. But I figured everyone knew.¡±

    This was news to the three of them, and Yuka relayed, with Misaki¡®s permission, that the typical mark for aging girls in their world was wrinkling like old fruit. This earned some notes of surprise and jokes from the rest of them, envisioning grandmas as wrinkled pumpkins. Kosame pondered the possibilities of shrinking as well and wondered if their world¡¯s old ladies might be carried in pockets. Chika opted not to shoot down any of the more fanciful notions.

    Kei delighted in this idea when she heard it, wondering if she could pretend to be one of these old ladies with the proper application of dried flour. But she worried that the look might be too spectral and creepy. She could barely withstand the idea of wandering spirits, let alone twist her face to resemble one.

    Fuyuki was the spirit curious one, she explained. Womanly spirit and unearthly spirits. Kei didn¡¯t like walking around the old hotel at night, but Fuyuki would practically stomp through the floors, banging pots and trying to rouse entities. Kei¡¯s intuition didn¡¯t delve into the kind of matters that her wife was curious about, but it didn¡¯t have to when there were reaching spiderwebs, floors groaning and threatening to give out at any moment, unplaceable smells, and the presence of so many years. Definitely not her thing.

    She was inspired to make little candies that looked like wrinkled, tiny doll girls. And Misaki was left with the realization that Yuka and the others knew they were almost twice their age. She struggled with that before simply asking, ¡°Is everyone okay with that? That we¡¯re in our 30s and here?¡±

    Kei immediately chuckled and asked why they wouldn¡¯t be. This was very uncomfortable for her to put into words that didn¡¯t feel creepy. Especially considering how much touching and kissing she and Yuka had done on the roof.

    ¡°Are there concerns about age and girls hanging out in this world? There are things in our world where if someone is younger than a certain age, then they usually need to be chaperoned by a¡­ mother or other relation rather than by an older woman they don¡¯t know.¡±

    That entire statement earned puzzlement from the group, particularly in the phrasings that Misaki opted for. She had been careful not to say the wrong thing. Yes, girls typically don¡¯t go with a strange woman. But they weren¡¯t sure what the concern was. They were in a group, or their ancestors were with them. Bad things happened when you were alone rather than when you were with someone. They got the implication of the pairing of Misaki and Yuka.

    Kei laid out her hands and put it this way: ¡°You and your friends had a rigorous background check with your travel company, and they sent all sorts of paperwork to us. And I have a hunch about people, as you may have seen. But my daughter is a young adult, and responsibility falls on her. If you don¡¯t treat her kindly, well, it''s best not to even imagine what might happen then.¡± She stretched her eyebrows up and smiled ominously. Not quite as scary as Miss Okura, but the message was still received. Yuka blunted that by setting a hand in Misaki¡®s hair and ever so lightly ruffling it while also fixing it.

    Despite that answer, she still didn¡¯t know what to think. Were they close friends? ¡°Roommates¡± as the Internet liked to meme? Something that didn¡¯t translate between their worlds? The kissing and cuddling definitely pushed her toward assuming it was serious, but there were so many things they didn¡¯t understand and so many nuances. And there were unholy terrors popping out at the strangest moments.

    Maharu hummed her playful, teasing little song from earlier. Yuka rolled her eyes but didn¡¯t say anything. The girl didn¡¯t have much time for distraction as she volunteered to help with preparing dinner. It was champon, which sounded like ramen to Misaki, with some gyoza, a dessert from the fridge, and leftovers from lunch. Kei entrusted Maharu to prep and begin the meal while she worked on tea, assisted by Namiko.

    A couple sessions of the kart game started up again, led by the Nishikawa sisters. Misaki and Chika soon bowed out. Yuka pouted and lingered, but she let Misaki head back to her room. Once inside, Chika flashed her friend a look with arched purple eyebrows.

    ¡°So, how did it go?¡±

    Misaki had no semblance of a poker face to cobble together, let alone wield, in response. She smiled sheepishly and shrugged with her head dipped down. Chika let out a playful gasp and giggle.

    ¡°Oh my gosh! Well, it''s a good thing age is even less of a number around here. Or whatever. Not sure I want all the details, but wow, that girl is smitten. She¡¯s all over you. But we¡¯re only here for these almost two weeks. Do you think you can keep it going long distance? I mean, I have a bunch of streaming friends that I¡¯ve never met in the fleshsphere. Meatsphere. What might they call it here? Inksphere? I¡¯m not sure why I¡¯m fixating on spheres!¡±

    Misaki cringed politely over that phrasing and mused whether any of those might be heavy metal bands back home. Chika tipped her head back and forth while brushing out her hair. She resolved, ¡°I could use a good brushing. The wind created so many tangles. And using my fingers just feels wrong, like I have invisible lunch grease I¡¯m weaving in. Ignore me. I¡¯m rambling, like usual. I¡¯m just so happy for you, big sis. Yuka seems nice, despite all the obvious issues. It¡¯s the first day of the trip, and I hope the rest goes¡­What? What¡¯s that look for?¡±

    Her face always betrayed her emotions, but her reaction was especially obvious this time. It took a few seconds to process what Chika said. She expected the typical sly grin that Guy flashed about their sisterly connection to nudge Franklin towards character certainty last week. But no teasing look, no insider hint. Her expression was one of sincere joy. She was happy that her big sister found someone.

    Having encountered little blips of thought and awareness with her memory, it was both alarming and a strange sort of relief that Chika was affected too. Her first inkling was to point out the mistake. They were actually just neighbors, just roommates, and just long-time friends.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    But¡­ what if she didn¡¯t correct her? Considering all the different things going on and her own recent confusion, who was she to say that she knew a more accurate version of reality than what came to Chika? Just let her be her little sister for a little bit. That wouldn¡¯t be so bad. It would be like when they first met, and Franklin made his own assumptions. It kinda felt like they could be siblings that first day. That might be nice. But it would be wrong.

    Bracing herself more than she expected, Misaki quietly explained that they weren¡¯t actually sisters. Those were just roles they decided on. Just pretend.

    Chika frowned sharply and wore a full measure of disappointment. She opened her mouth slightly to denounce Misaki and point out some obvious flaw in her statement. To call forth an overflowing bank of memories that refuted the notion they weren¡¯t family. But that reservoir was dry. And that mirage evaporated with her expression as Misaki watched.

    ¡°Oh! Oh my gosh! Of course. I don¡¯t know what came over me. Must be getting into the character of Chika a little too much. Or something. It¡¯s been a lot of little weird things, but that was truly disconcerting. Kind of like being hypnotized, which I was for that one stream a while back. Guy Horner. Gal Hotner. That¡¯s me. And you are Franklin Fowler. And we¡¯re with Dwight Chapman. I hope Dwight doesn¡¯t have a mind scramble like that. That was freaky. Have you had anything like that so far? You alluded to stuff with that dream you mentioned.¡±

    Despite not wanting to worry her not sister, Misaki did pass along the strange moment where she forgot her Franklin name, along with rogue memories of being a flower girl. Chika¡¯s frown deepened as she mulled, ¡°Should we report this to the company? All this sounds more serious than simple side effects from adapting to our environment. If the wristbands or some other part of the process are malfunctioning or messed up, then who knows what level of Melting we might be exposed to right now. Not to say that I think we are Melting, but this is freaky. And we should probably tell someone about it who can do something¡­ Right?¡±

    That made sense to Misaki, but the question was, who? Mari was their contact, but they had no trust in her. Perhaps they were wrong about the phone call, but the tone she used in denying the possibility didn¡¯t help. Who else then? Kei was just an intermediary. They could try returning to the travel center, but that would burn a significant amount of time without any confidence in answers. Chika had Mari¡¯s contact information along with plenty of options for screaming into the void on intrusive programs the company put on her phone. That seemed like a better idea than freaking out their hosts with uncertainties.

    Chika leaned back on her heels, folded her arms over her stomach, narrowed her eyes with irritation, and puffed out a long breath. She admitted to looking forward to a long and relaxing bath more than she was looking forward to dinner and tea. Misaki reiterated the same sentiment with a wistful smile. It wasn¡¯t long before the two of them were giggling about how much had been packed into what barely amounted to twelve hours of adventuring in this beguiling world.

    There were trips before¡ªdown to Venice, over to Solvang, or kissing Tijuana. Each had their own flavor, but none quite felt like this. The antsy energy possibilities of just curling up in their beds with the mottled static of artistic blessing along the walls while snickering and whispering about every stray thought and heady possibility represented more excitement than any item they could imagine on the upcoming itinerary.

    Misaki hinted at other experiences she¡¯d been having in the same vein as her lab coat nightmare, but neither of them wanted to delve deeper than that. If Namiko was having oddities, though Chika confirmed that she hadn¡¯t even hinted at them, then the two of them hoped they were helpful mental scrambles.

    It wouldn¡¯t be worth it to change their clothes yet with the imminent prospect of evening baths, but the application of Chika¡¯s especially colorful bottles of muscle rub and lotion helped temporarily mollify much of their lingering aches. Before they could head down, Namiko showed up drying her hands, still wearing an apron that was not at all cloaking her prominence, and received an update. She could guess many of the pertinent details related to Yuka. And she took as much alarm from the noted lingering side effects as Chika.

    She actually admitted to a brain fart that came over her soon after the rolling, bouncing ascent to the shrine. It wasn¡¯t so much a forgetting as a sense as though her chest was just a part of her life. The feeling wasn¡¯t unwelcome, especially considering the ever-present phantom load eased with it. She never once forgot her name or her life as Dwight, but she had a hint of merging with the role that accompanied her. Her glasses didn¡¯t feel foreign or obtrusive, not that she was complaining. And an idea of the girl she might be playfully flirted with fun notions.

    On other notes, prep for the ramen-like dish at the center of dinner was complete, and they could hear muffled sounds of shuffling and shifting in the tea room. It wasn¡¯t long before Kei gently knocked on their door and relayed that evening tea was ready. Yasha, who returned without ceremony, joined them in a yellow kimono with a pleasant but distant expression.

    As with so many other things they encountered in this world, the space felt perfected from the template of a show. It was also reminiscent of Miss Okura¡¯s space, but far more open and friendly. Family scrolls and ornate decorations warmed the walls. Kei opened the door for them and formally welcomed them inside. The fact that Namiko and Yasha were the only ones wearing anything like a kimono and the others weren¡¯t at all formally dressed was casually brushed off by Kei.

    She intended this first occasion just to introduce them to the various parts of the ceremony and share the itinerary she and Mari had drawn up. The way that Kei moved felt more like one of Maharu¡¯s practiced dances. Yasha also watched with interest. Fuyuki joined them silently off to the side like a proctor.

    She explained the different measures of the ceremony, the cleaning of the bowl, the presentation, and so many other touches that danced and pranced past their eyes. Less certain was who would be considered the lady of honor. Chika was the contacted guest around whom the vacation was planned, but she was younger than Misaki, and age tended to be the key determining factor. This made Misaki a little bit uncomfortable, but Chika eagerly passed this role to her.

    Misaki wiggled forward nervously and struggled with her limbs as though she were operating a meat robot by a tank control scheme. Inevitably, she fumbled. On the lip of a mat, her toe caught just the edge, and she sprawled forward. Fortunately, Kei was quick with moving the utensils and cups out of danger, and Misaki corrected in midair and actually caught the bowl without spilling a single drop. Yasha snorted.

    Moments later, Kei broke down in giggles. She commented that that was much better than her own experience with her first tea ceremony. Somehow.

    Recomposing everything, she took the traditional sip and was encouraged to share her thoughts on the tea. Despite the funny faces that she made over the complicated and unexpected but not unpleasant flavor, she hoarsely and vehemently praised it.

    Kei assured her that her ego didn¡¯t mind constructive criticism, but Misaki stuck to her praise. Yasha went next and took a careful sip with flowing, fancy motions, followed by Chika, and then Namiko last. Painfully sweet pastries paired with the bitter taste of tea and countered one another harmoniously.

 [30] Yuri Worlds 30 â€“ Soak

    Yuri Worlds

    [30] Soak

    Kei gave them a long stretch to quietly reflect on the experience of the tea while she tidied up and asked about their day. Yasha actually got the most into it by pointing out the rustling of trees, the moments of nature, and her fascination with the aging shacks alongside the shrine. She noted the flowing beauty and raw destructive power of nature.

    She also asked if she could spread out in this room on a futon since she wasn¡¯t really ¡°with¡± the others, just placed in their group. Yasha explained that she made arrangements to camp out in the shacks and do work on them during the quieter days of this trip. While Kei was concerned about her feeling lonely, she had no problem with this arrangement. Without a preamble, she swiftly segued into laying out their itinerary for essentially the next twelve days.

    The visualization she offered was a lined chart with an extravagant map of the area, which resembled Japan but mirrored and inverted against what would¡¯ve been the California coast in other realities. The highlights alone, with flexible dates and positions except where theatrical presentations and accommodations had been prepared, were quite intimidating. Special garden tours, historic shopping centers, already hinted at massive gaming locations, marvelous ryokans with onsens, majestic castles, natural hikes, curated city walks, writing and calligraphy lessons, a park with gentle deer as friendly as squirrels, a brewery tour, a Warring Goddesses Era museum trip, several beachside accommodations, and a weapon training and historical fair focusing on the naginatas this region was famous for. It seemed like far too much for so short a time, but many of the items were marked optional. Misaki felt a pang of guilt that they wouldn¡¯t be able to partake in everything. But they had a filling, warm, and delightfully fresh dinner.

    The main entr¨¦e reminded her of the soups they sometimes got from local Chinese takeout, which were hearty with so many different meats and vegetables. There was no comparison when it came to flavor. The essence of care and the emotion of joy infused and transferred through every energizing waft and sip. It clearly had the distilled flavor and inspiration of its cooks. She didn¡¯t want to complain, but Misaki felt like they were eating more than anything else so far on this trip. Her altered stomach could take it, but it wasn¡¯t happy.

    The rest of the evening was theirs to relax in and converse with the others. Kei and Fuyuki playfully argued about what era of music their guests might best enjoy. Haruka had somehow manifested a gorgeous plate of Yuzu lemon crinkle cookies. Among the travelers, only Yasha had any room for them. Yasha stared after Maharu when the girl bounded away from the game in the other room and widely waved at everyone assembled, thanked them with delight for such a full and wonderful day, and lovingly squeezed Yuka until she sighed and squeezed her back.

    It didn¡¯t take long for more of the group to break off and head home. Yasha accepted a raised, dainty kiss on her hand from ladies girl Kosame, but both Nishikawa sisters otherwise gave her a wide berth. Naoko was the last to leave, having opened up some exam work she brought over on a side table while chiming in cheerfully for conversation.

    The guests were welcome to the bath, and Namiko popped several joints before Chika urged her to go first. The Sasaki moms made sure they understood normal bathing etiquette. That was one thing in particular that Misaki hammered into her brain, and the others diligently educated themselves about too. This world had no regional variations on those expectations. Yasha also knew what she was supposed to do but concurred to let Namiko go first.

    Meanwhile, Misaki visited the little indoor outdoor area and reveled in the deepening night sky. So many unfamiliar yet vaguely recognizable constellations tickled her eyes. It was paradoxically warmer and yet chillier as a vague, docile version of the breeze wafted through the air and rustled the bamboo.

    So nice. It was so nice. And she knew the shower and the tub would be so lovely. A thousand moments to follow beckoned her. But why did she have to say goodbye to this one? Why did the silly little moment on the roof have to pass? Why did listening to the club defend and pick apart a court case flow by so swiftly? Why was the game, and why was the quiet little shack becoming distant memories? So many beautiful things happened today, and so many darkly terrifying things as well. She would endure so much and such uncertainty to renew the joyous wellspring. But it didn¡¯t work that way.

    She should¡¯ve treasured every little moment with Guy when they were children. She should¡¯ve celebrated the team they were, with Dwight watching out for them. Even the moments away from friends were so achingly precious in contrast. And then the uncertainty of what this trip would be like. She shouldn¡¯t have stressed about what was going to happen and whether it would be good. She should¡¯ve lived in anticipation and made the arrival all the more celebrated. So much should¡¯ve happened, so much could¡¯ve happened, so much did happen, and so much will happen. Torturing herself won¡¯t change it.

    She breathed in the quiet little space, the preserved fragment of wilderness amidst so many comforts. Just a moment. That¡¯s all. And then the rest.

    Letting go of the garden area, Misaki made her way upstairs to prepare everything she wanted to bring with her into the shower. Nothing too extravagant. Just a towel she liked, some generic, inoffensive soap, and a loose, simple set of clothes to wear to bed. The towel and soap were surely unnecessary with the supplies their hosts provided, but they made her feel better to bring them.

    She knocked on the door to check on Chika. They had a quick and minimal conversation, but Chika invited her in. Her friend was naked over by the sink and not interested in hiding this fact as she smirked deviously.

    Misaki¡®s instinct was to stammer, avert her eyes, and spin around in circles to affect a retreat. Chika didn¡¯t let her escape. She snagged her and brought her over to the sink and the mirror.

    ¡°Onee-chan, am I bigger than you expected?¡±

    Without thinking, Misaki responded, ¡°Actually, smaller¡­¡±

    Chika¡¯s expression tightened into a glare before she shook it off. ¡°Why did that bother me? My fake tits feel smaller than this, even though they are much bigger. And being a part of them, without any break time, changes your perspective. This friggin hair is gonna take another eternity to dry. And my hips are saucers. I asked for it though. Going back to a dude will be a load off. Already have my fill of learning about the fairer half. Wanna squish and snuggle loaned soft stuff, big sis?¡±

    She generally invoked a menagerie of innocent, sisterly nude scenes from half-remembered programs. In isolation, the notion would¡¯ve been scintillating to Franklin, but being an inseparable participant made her quiver like gelatin. Chika relented and wrapped herself up, with a teasing amount of flesh still uncovered. She lingered in case Misaki wanted to reveal her all together, but the girl plastered herself with her change of clothes and a drape of the towel. Once Chika left, she really had no reason to delay undressing any longer. However, she remained covered in as many layers as possible.

    Chika had pronounced, colorful cartoon nipples. One of them rested normally against her chest, while the other pointed up and out like a miniature version of Pluto¡®s nose. They had a very naturalistic position on her chest. Anime girl, but uniquely human when stripped to that level. She was so small with those dainty shoulders and the innocuous curves of her body. The dimple hint between her legs brought such a subtle art to her entire body. And Misaki knew that beneath the pretense of all the layers she clung to, her body reflected many of those same traits. Very much the older, more developed sister to the Chika template. The snail was spinning in dizzy circles.

    No point in putting it off. She hung up the towel, put her folded change of clothes somewhere that they wouldn¡¯t get wet, brought her soap into the still steamy bathroom area, and began undressing before she could think about all the processes and implications involved. Soon enough, she was completely naked. And, this time, that reality gazed back at her.

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Misaki¡®s breasts felt strikingly enormous as she folded her arms far underneath and wriggled and shifted, finding no comfortable position for her limbs. Melons, colorful jutting melons. Ridiculous but somewhat accurate. The rosy nipples were understated compared to Chika¡¯s puffy ones. Her shoulders felt higher and less wobbly, even though the surging emotions were more chaotic than a squiggly line. She had the distinct dimple between her thighs too. A girl.

    In so many inescapable, soft, and invading ways, she was a cute anime girl. But this was a loaner body. This was a temporary requisition¡ªa place saved for the sake of this trip. She knew she didn¡¯t belong here, even though it was a comfortable position to accept. That was all right. She gently folded her arms over her generous breasts, squeezing them in a fashion that actually made them look bigger and reminiscent of Namiko¡¯s teardrop monoliths. The stereoscopic feedback of seeing those things, feeling her own touch, and bracing herself through a tenderly pleasant echolocation was overwhelming. How could she even survive taking a shower like this?

    Just go do it, she told herself. Everyone was waiting for her to be finished. Get it over with and don¡¯t worry about it.

    She mechanically snapped up everything she would need in the shower and positioned herself on the little seat to begin washing up. The first wave struck her like a dazzling meteorite. The spray retained the warmth from when Chika used it, before dipping to a fair chill, and rebounding with renewed steam. Washing and scrubbing was a slippery, squishy adventure with physical geography that she found no respite from. It wasn¡¯t bad, but every fresh feeling denied her efforts to translate them into a recognizable sensation.

    As with all other things though, she found a place where freaking out finally stilled to mechanical numbness. Just washing up, like every other day.

    After she rinsed with the first wave, she slipped into the bath with the light sparkling across the painterly surface and sank beneath. The bath infused her with a chaotic awareness of the voids and swells that swallowed her shape. Another meteor strike, and this one atomized all sense of reason. It was blissfully relaxing and yet infinitely panic-inducing. She waited softly and inhaled a quiet energy beyond measure.

    It was so peaceful, with only one frustrating ripple. Her hand bearing the wristband clinched and twisted like an intangible hand gripping long hair that she didn¡¯t have. She had half a mind to just rip it off. Actually, that didn¡¯t seem like a bad idea at all. No, it was an awful idea, and her rational mind knew it, but her discomfort with the blasted thing compelled her to act.

    If anyone asked or sirens went off, then she would just explain she was being cautious about not getting it wet, even though the instructions said not to worry about it. An abundance of caution and being totally pissed off.

    It clung to her for a tense moment, as though some strange adhesive had developed underneath. Probably just some weird consequence of the material and sweat. One more good tug was all it took to free the device from her flesh. Nothing went off. No sirens sounded. Her bladder felt even tinier than the one Namiko insisted upon, but she held the jumbled mass of her muscles as tight as possible.

    The spot that the band occupied on her wrist was visibly discolored, with a deep shade of gray bordering on black. The mark feathered spikily along the edges as though it were the remnants of that creature attacking. What the hell! How was this possible? What did this mean?

    Was this because she wore it or because she peeled it off? Roiling panic gripped her. Her heart and mind expected that the blotch would expand and consume her until she was nothing but an acrylic slick across the surface of the water. Desperately, she leaned and stretched out of the bath to reach for the showerhead attached to the wall. Switching to the sharpest spray, she aimed the full force against her skin. Awkwardly scuffing the soap against her flesh like a scouring pad only managed to turn her skin an angry red, muddled by the darkness.

    Whimpering and at the verge of sobbing, Misaki said a quiet prayer as she dangled half out of the bath, casting waves and whorls that risked splashing water everywhere.

    ¡°Please, Goddesses. Please, whoever will listen. Please help me¡­¡± She was tempted to slip on the old-fashioned words that her family so encouraged in Franklin. But it seemed this world had different rules. Whatever helped.

    Through tears carefully clearing, she inspected her diseased limb.

    The blackness was gone. Just as strikingly as it had vanished from Yuka¡¯s leg. She checked and double-checked over and over with every angle of the light. The redness of her assault remained, but the fearful blackness was gone.

    Despite how firmly the vision of horror clung to her mind, she tried to tell herself that it was just a trick of weird anime shadowing that caught and deceived her. Maybe she¡¯d even held the wristband as an eclipse over her flesh, although that she knew that wasn¡¯t the case. It didn¡¯t matter now though. What mattered was it was okay. She deserved to sink back into the hot water and just let every thought of the world outside drift away.

    Screw putting that creepy wristband back on, even though she knew it would have to go back eventually. The settling motion of the water and the quiet, enveloping peace let her forget for these few minutes that panic had so recently consumed her. She existed in a perpetual but transitory wash of stillness. Like those shows built around contemplative, natural moments. Mostly to save on the budget. But also to present the world as a snapshot that lived only now. Scares fell away. Joys passed. Tears dried. The sun rose and set, then rose and set again. Each day is unique; each day is like the one before. Some Zen shit, as Chika would flippantly comment. She let it heal her as she rinsed again and soaked, and left the chaos and calm of the bath behind.

    Before leaving out the door, she had to resolve the wrist conundrum. Wearing it again seemed like the best move, but she had seen a terrifying thing done to her flesh. Probably just a sticky, preserved soup of sweat and grime and everything that traveled with her throughout the day. Not an explanation, but her best effort. She could also wrap that side up in a towel, sprawled across her like she just wanted to keep it close to finish drying her hair. Made total sense, but she also knew that her blazing anxiety and her piss poor poker face would immediately worry anyone she came across.

    No other choice. She had to put it back on.

    The black wristband didn¡¯t seem to care that it had been abandoned or splashed with enough water to acquire several rivulets. She dried it quickly and planted it back where it had been. Nothing. No changes. No reaction from her body or from the device. It just displayed the same unchanging surface and travel codes as it had since she got it, as though etched in stone like an obsidian grave marker.

    That morose sentiment dissipated when she entered the main section of the bathroom. Namiko just arrived. And she was totally naked too. Feeling bummed around Dwight or this cheerful, pink-haired lady was absolutely impossible, especially with the stupendous props she had at her disposal for comedic effects. Her dainty hands could barely encapsulate the areolas. She seemed more like a prehistoric fertility statue brought to life. Each pillownormous entity had the swoop of handling a massive mesh bag of fruit they sometimes got from the supermarket. Dwight sometimes dangles those around as boob mimics. He didn¡¯t need to pretend anymore. She had her swing bags free for a shakedown.

    Namiko spared no goofy notion till her dear friend and roommate couldn¡¯t contain her rapturous giggles.

 [31] Yuri Worlds 31 â€“ Blood

    Yuri Worlds

    [31] Blood

    Misaki stayed in the bathroom area long enough to become fully aware of Namiko¡¯s steamy pontoon relief, as her friend termed it. Namiko made several playful riffs on macho, masculine figures from television and film, which delighted Misaki and encouraged her to linger once she had her new clothes on. They were probably reaching the borderline of too much noise and not being reticent. But Misaki needed a distraction after the existential stress of dealing with the wristband in the tub.

    Namiko spoofed manly men so well, but Dwight also taught Franklin how being manly should be. He didn¡¯t need to shake off Guy¡¯s dainty hand. A man was confident in himself and projected that to others. Dwight had nothing to prove. He didn¡¯t protect Guy and Franklin to show off his muscles. No need to chug beer or get swole. He cried. Sometimes a lot. In his own way, Guy was confident as a man too. And he was confident in his girl persona. Franklin just didn¡¯t have all that in him. And Misaki grappled with it.

    Who was Misaki? Before this day rolled out before them, Franklin would¡¯ve frowned at such a question. Misaki was just this girl he was going to pretend to be for the sake of convenience. Nothing deeper than that. But the way she invaded what he considered his life left him with so much uncertainty. The flower girl thing. The name switch.

    Lighthearted Dwight antics helped her smile more, but behind that, she could still feel anchors of concern. Her still damp hair was saturated by lingering sweat. Chika rummaged through her bags while sitting with her legs folded. She smiled but just shared a wave and a yawn. At some point, she fiddled with one of her better cameras that came with her and started a proper video.

    ¡°Howdy, Hotner faithful! This shouldn¡¯t be the first clip. We¡¯re already a little ways into Tuesday technically with the whole not time dilation weirdness. I can hear the wind outside picking up again. Here I am, living my most unusual anime girl life. It¡¯s a vibe so far, and it''s an absolute mood to be stuck this way for the next couple of days. I hope I don¡¯t have to change the ISO. Looks good...¡±

    She then proceeded to give a light gloss of events from the day, focusing on how tired she felt waking up. Like a robot. And how disconcerting it was on the other side, and then trying to get her bearings in the city. She gave a cheerful, light mention of their host and her family. And then proceeded chronologically through their journey, touching upon the side effects with a vague analogy of cryo-sleep from sci-fi. She celebrated the altered but still familiar video games and her hopes to partake in more and adequately document their differences.

    Chika gave detailed thanks to the company, everyone she could think of offhand, and encouragement to keep watching before she settled into her outro. Shifting modes, Chika casually checked with Misaki if she was forgetting anything. All the brain cells she had available for the task of reflecting on the past day suddenly fled in fear. The only topic Misaki could think of to offer up was some mention of the food.

    Chika perked up and flared a mischievous grin. She went into aching, evocative detail about their meals and made a note to include inserts with visuals. Before she could add anything else, her head drowsily dipped and snapped back up. The camera nearly flopped out of her hands, but she managed to catch it. Misaki didn¡¯t need to say anything. Chika went back to drying her massive expanse of hair.

    Namiko soon rejoined them with smiles and a huge towel doing its best to keep her hair from dripping. The trio burned off their final waves of laughter and energetic reflections before their beds called them. Yasha made subdued sounds around the nearby bathroom before stopping by briefly to gather her things. As promised earlier, she made her bed in the tea room.

    Plans to stay up and chat soon faded into the all-consuming comfort of their covers. Misaki managed a mini nap before tiredly finding the room dark and several stray hairs sucked into her mouth. Peeling them out wasn¡¯t too gross, but she washed up in the bathroom anyway. A calm darkness settled around the house. She had no idea if it was early or late. No expected specters crossed her path. No surreal visions of Haruka popping up again. But the wristband still bothered her.

    Sprawled out in bed with the covers attempting to blunt all sensations, her wrist pinged like a raw wound being jabbed at by fine needles. It was more annoying than excruciating. Having crossed the threshold of taking it off once, a second time didn¡¯t seem so scary. But she would be asleep with it off. Surely someone would see. Clearly, the risks were too great for all those hours.

    She thought about all that but still did it, like peeling off a Velcro strip clinging to her flesh. The world didn¡¯t explode. But her hand wasn¡¯t discolored either. She wrapped the naked limb in a dense supply of blankets, knowing full well that nervous shifting and drifting would swiftly undo that bulkhead. It was something at least, and it was enough of an excuse to let her sleep.

    With everything that had befallen them and the richly strange environment, strange, special, and unsettling dreams seemed inevitable. But there was nothing. Nothing she could remember, at least. Just a warm, bright void tickling her senses. And the sharp edits of dark room moments gingerly fading to morning.

    When wakefulness finally, begrudgingly arrived, she discovered her body awkwardly bent against the pillow. The others were already up. It was just her in the bedroom. No, there was someone else. Yuka sat beside her bed with a strangely familiar book open in her lap. It was like she was preparing to read her a bedtime story. That made no sense.

    ¡°What¡­time?¡±

    It took a moment for Yuka to react to Misaki¡¯s roughly mumbled question. She seemed entranced by the pages.

    ¡°Oh! It¡¯s early. Your companions went with my moms for morning calisthenics at a little park not too far from the train station. We tried to wake you, but you kept snoozing. Sorry. I''m also sorry I couldn¡¯t help but take a peek at the books you brought with you. Some of them are so weird. I don¡¯t know how to parse this set of terms. HE¡­HIM¡­HIS¡­ Are they related to the chuusei? Is that just a way of referring to them? This is so cool!¡±

    Those pronouns hit Misaki¡¯s brain like a hard rain drumbeat drill. The secret was out. Wait! Her wristband! She¡¯d left it off overnight. Where was it? Did it do translation for her? It couldn¡¯t. Otherwise, she wouldn¡¯t have understood what Yuka was saying. It had to be somewhere nearby, a harsh, foul lump clinging to her side, probably pressed into her back.

    ¡°I love this part!¡± Yuka gushed, not noticing Misaki¡¯s growing distress. ¡°Reminds me of Inugami. I assume this means jigoku. This poor puppy though. A guardian, a tireless protector. Making sure the living and the dead stay where they need to be. Day in and day out. Faithful and loyal. And it¡¯s called a hellhound, a monster. But in this art¡­ it¡¯s not growling; it¡¯s crying. All alone to do the toughest job. It¡­he¡­if I read this right¡­is a good dog. Isn¡¯t that so cool? I wish I could give him head scratches. Sure, it looks scary, but even the most ferocious thing can have the gentlest spirit.¡±

    Too much going on. So many thoughts she couldn¡¯t cobble together into anything rational. This had to be another dream. A nightmare of upsetting the rational balance.

    ¡°Why¡­you¡¯re reading¡­my books?¡° Misaki asked, her brain still too sluggish to produce anything more coherent.

    Yuka looked up from her reading and offered a sheepish expression. She closed the book and gently caressed its leathery cover. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to pry. I just saw Miss Yamane had this massive book out with this really cool cover. Tentacles everywhere! So spooky and such strange ideas. Creepy things that you can¡¯t even think about without going crazy. That¡¯s so wild. I figured, you know, since it¡¯s all fake stories¡­ I think. It wouldn¡¯t be inappropriate to learn. If I know more about the culture you come from, then I can better entertain your group with common perspectives. Doesn¡¯t that make sense? And you talked about UFOs and big, hairy creatures being so important, and I just wanted to know more so we could share our stories with one another.¡±

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Yuka wore as bad a poker face as any Franklin clung to. Her brown eyes darted about like pinballs, reaching for the high score. She was hunting down a reason and a context that fought to get away from her. Awareness slowly materialized inside Misaki¡®s head as she rolled around on the cushion, searching for her wristband. It was under the heaviest pile of blankets, sprawled out like a shard of glass. Her wrist didn¡¯t hurt anymore, and there were no returning blemishes.

    With a frown, Yuka asked, ¡°What is that?¡±

    Misaki glanced up with her own look of concern. ¡°This? The black strip? It¡¯s a wristband. We¡¯re supposed to¡­ the company wants us to wear them all the time as identification. Mine just came off overnight.¡±

    Yuka pulled the book on world folklore from Misaki¡®s bag close to her chest and continued to stare at the stretched wristband. ¡°That¡¯s weird. I mean¡­ I feel like I¡¯ve seen it before. Were you wearing it yesterday?¡±

    Answering simply, Misaki told her, ¡°All day long. Did you not notice it?¡±

    Scooting slightly closer, Yuka took a breath and concluded, ¡°I guess not. But I don¡¯t know how. Did we talk about them?¡°

    Thinking back, it seemed surprisingly fuzzy for just a few hours ago, but Misaki concluded that the clerk at the shop had noticed it and seen them as visitors. The purpose of the wristband was to distinguish them. It was strange that she could recall its color being more of a slate gray compared to the current obsidian. Wait. Ayame!

    She mentioned how Ayame had questions about the wristband and probed it. This immediately triggered a reaction in Yuka. She remembered that. Ayame had been aware of the wristband, and when she brought it up, Yuka felt conscious of it as well. She hadn¡¯t said much about the object. Yeah, travelers wore it. That made sense to her, but it felt like it slipped her mind the moment she looked away from Misaki¡®s wrist.

    ¡°I should probably put it back on,¡± Misaki concluded, holding onto the edge of the strange wristband that she was certain was and should¡¯ve been jet black and a light gray. Yuka nodded to herself and cleared her throat. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna get you in trouble with the company or anything. I¡¯m sorry about reading yours and your friend¡¯s books. I¡¯m just so curious about your world and what it¡¯s like compared to mine. I have so many crazy questions in my head. What does this wristband do anyway? It looks like a mini electronic ink reader printed on old celluloid film.¡±

    The band slipped around her wrist right as Misaki attempted to articulate what she had learned and what she was supposed to say. Identification. And it made sure that you were protected. Although that hadn¡¯t been impressed upon them quite as much. Melting happened if you stayed too long with the process that converted them from who they were to these fake anime girl forms. She suspected the wristbands were some sort of monitoring system or inoculation against Melting. And everyone knew they were travelers because of these things. So why did Yuka respond as though she was just now becoming aware of these things?

    Misaki looked up, and her mouth dipped in horror as she caught sight of Yuka. Her eyes were impossibly wider than she had ever seen them. Muscles clenched and quivered throughout her face. It was like a paralytic agent had spontaneously passed through her flesh, and only the frailest motion was possible. All her bright colors dimmed subtly, as though cloaked in an intangible darkness. The book tumbled out of her grasp and sprawled open across the floor. She didn¡¯t look down at it, and she wasn¡¯t looking over at Misaki, but she was staring straight ahead, as though an invisible predator had her in its thrall.

    Misaki struggled to speak, to beg Yuka for an explanation of what was going on. But her words were stymied by suffocating sand, worse than that nightmare with her parents. She struggled to reach out just as much as Yuka, but they were each frozen in place.

    After a few flush and panic-stricken moments, Yuka gathered together enough strength to do more than simply tremble in place. She screamed, untempered and unrestrained enough to shatter windows and vibrate walls. It came as a single, unbroken note for as much breath as she had before it devolved into messy gurgles. A strand of red, like a tiny, unspooled ribbon, dripped from her left nostril and sailed to her chin. Blood, wet and fresh. It clung there like the meal of an invisible tick, slowly swelling.

    Whipping backwards on the floor, Yuka wailed and thrashed with pained cries as though her head had been placed in a vice and was a millimeter from exploding. Struggling on her hands and knees, Misaki tried to reach her, but every step was like a drumbeat of thunder and lightning sent from the gods directly to her skull. A cacophony of torment and chaos was building to a crescendo of destruction. But it stopped.

    All the pain suddenly turned off, and Yuka relaxed on the floor, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She sat up in quiet confusion and looked around. A single, drying freckle of red flecked her hand. With concern, Yuka looked over at her companion to see where the blood may have come from. Finding no origin point there, she carefully searched herself and found the slick remains around her nostril.

    ¡°Oh my gosh. I¡¯m so sorry. Excuse me. I should wash up.¡± Carefully but swiftly rising to her feet, Misaki smoothed out her school uniform and dashed across the room to open the door and slip out.

    Something happened. Misaki sharply comprehended that much. But probing the details felt like pushing razor wire into an open wound. She had to put the books away. World folklore that she brought with her for reading amusement and comparison, and then there was Dwight¡¯s complete H.P. Lovecraft. Best to keep it away from the girls. That would raise some uncomfortable questions.

    Once they were put away, she found herself back in bed with the covers pulled close. Just getting up. Yuka had come to check on her. She had been sleeping so soundly earlier, and the others had gone with the rest of the Sasaki family for morning calisthenics. Another one of those anime things that just happened in Japan that she should¡¯ve taken advantage of. But her friends were the early birds, while she was the night owl. Just one of those things. Just one of those things. Just one of those things¡­ Just¡­ one of those things. Just one of those things. Just one of those things¡­ Why was her heart screaming in her chest?

    It would be fine. It was fine. Side effects. Just some normal side effects. It hadn¡¯t even been a day since her entire body and molecular structure were put through the wringer and completely rewritten from the man she¡¯d been¡­ The man¡­ Since she was. She was a man. She started out as a man, and she¡¯d been a man all these years. Not the finest sterling example of one in the world, but physically, emotionally, psychologically, and actually¡­ a guy. Simple as that. Just the fallout of being turned upside down by the craziest vacation possible.

    But now was the time to let the craziness go. They had nearly two weeks of this almost version of Japan to explore. No losing himself in strange little visions. No craziness. Just take it easy and enjoy. That¡¯s all there was to it.

    Get up, wash up, and prepare for breakfast. See Yuka off on her regular school day. And go with her friends on their path. Go through these days. Enjoy all these days. Don¡¯t freak out.

    So¡­why was there blood? She did her best not to think about that.

 [32] Yuri Worlds 32 â€“ Flowers

    Yuri Worlds

    [32] Flowers

    The absolute psychological anarchy of the last few minutes stilled to a kind of calm that acknowledged something weird was going on, but she couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on it.

    Nothing was missing from her awareness and memory. Probably. It didn¡¯t feel like there was a gap. But why was she putting away her books and putting on her wristband? Why did it feel like there was something else that happened that she just couldn¡¯t recall? Eventually, she had to shrug it off and set about working through the morning.

    More tidying up and organizing her stuff before having a quick shower and changing into an outfit with comfort but durability in case the weather decided to fight with them again. Downstairs, Chika returned first in workout clothes subtly tinted by collar sweat. She already had enough video recording to take a sizable chunk out of her battery. Everything that Misaki could remember being relayed by Yuka was independently confirmed by her friend.

    Haruka entered immediately after, wearing what looked like a throwback Jazzercise getup. Misaki politely but enthusiastically welcomed her back. The white-haired girl gave the most reserved smile as she gently rubbed at the edges of her eyes, warding off persistent tiredness. With a faint tinkle of sound and a shift of shadow, Misaki noticed one of Haruka¡®s bracelets. It had to be the same or a similar one from yesterday. She had been wearing something when she initially introduced herself. A wristband. No no no¡ªa bracelet. Something girly.

    Instead of attempting to piece together that odd thought, Misaki¡®s brain opted to resurrect and obsess over a stray musical track that she vaguely recalled from a Gal Hotner TikTok posting from years ago. It blotted out all adjacent thoughts. Yasha was next to slip in through the entrance and politely set her shoes to the side, facing the correct direction. She tilted her head up in briefly curious scrutiny of Misaki, as though sighting a peculiar statue. Misaki attempted to be cordial with their inadvertent travel companion, but Yasha swiftly gave her the cold shoulder.

    Namiko arrived next, with a finely knit nest of comments and observations spiraling out in an economy of words and curiosities. She assessed not only the early calisthenics group but a multitude of neighborhood markers as though she had been living here for years. She rattled off her most astute observations about which ladies clearly had unrequited crushes, who was feeling down in the dumps, and who to watch for exciting news they just couldn¡¯t keep quiet about. Fuyuki solemnly confirmed which ladies were the blabbermouths without approaching anything like that uncouth term.

    Naoko attempted to multitask small bites of food while handing a small open book, awkwardly navigating the entrance, and shaking off the feral grips of tiredness dragging her head and eyelids down at every inopportune moment. Inevitably, she bumped into a small piece of furniture that she thought hadn¡¯t been there a moment before. Kei carefully steered the young girl out of danger and even more stubbed toes, dropping her off at the couch along a precipitously soft section. It took mere moments for her to sink in, as though planted back in her own bed.

    Maharu burst in, just short of the sound barrier, and gleefully welcomed Misaki back to the land of the living without the effort to push her off the mortal precipice through extreme chiropracty. She did hug with more than enough enthusiasm to crack a book¡¯s spine, but Misaki¡®s waking desensitization kept her from feeling too much of it.

    The first obligation of the morning was breakfast, with an especially hearty traditional set-up for the Sasaki family guests. Misaki smiled at the assortment of pickled vegetables, a ruffled sweet vegetarian side dish, and a generous portion of seaweed. The piping hot miso bowl and practically perfect white rice were familiar but eagerly anticipated. The neatly positioned rectangular portions of omelette also warmly invited her chopsticks. And then the slim but golden crisp section of fried salmon with decorative little flakes and garnish begged her to indulge.

    And then there was the fucking natto. That was exactly the way her brain reacted¡ªwith a convulsive sentiment. This wasn¡¯t her first encounter with the wretched bean. Guy acquired a far too substantial quantity of the dish, which sat in the fridge for ages, inspiring derision and rebellion amongst all the other foods. It was, as could likely be guessed, intended for a streamed reaction. None of them got sick, which was a better result than what Namiko liked to term ¡°the unspeakably rotten shark ass¡± for a different stream. Experience held the three of them back, but the little entr¨¦e looked surprisingly decent despite an overriding aroma approaching bathroom cleanser.

    Recognizing the tension, Kei jumped in and assured the group that she could swap out that particular item for regular tofu. Yasha practically inhaled the contents in one bite, as though it were the best thing in the world. Cracking her neck a few times, Misaki took a breath, stirred the whole heap over white rice, and scooped far more into her mouth than she ever intended to consume. It wasn¡¯t awful. The freshness and the loving care Yuka¡¯s mothers wielded with every dish shined through. It just wasn¡¯t quite enough to overcome the inherent grossness.

    Yuka made an appearance a little ways into breakfast and swiftly smashed together the best elements of the meal into a fast and furious feast. She made sure that Misaki received a delightful hug before she had to get ready for class. It took both her and Maharu to extract Naoko from the comfort of the couch. The Nishikawa sisters lingered outside and flung greetings through the doorway since they were also in a hurry. The frantic energy almost felt infectious as Misaki found herself eating quickly. At least it got rid of the natto before anything else. Through sheer force of will, she was able to save and savor the delightful slice of fish for her final thing aside from the white rice.

    They all eagerly and adamantly thanked the mothers for the meal; even Yasha patterned her enthusiasm after the trio. The only problem was a spell of discomfort that clung to Misaki in the minutes afterward. It felt like a cruel reminder crawling back up her throat. This happened with certain ethnic dishes that didn¡¯t agree with Franklin¡¯s bland constitution. Could be a certain ingredient; he didn¡¯t know. But it was massively frustrating since she absolutely adored the meal. Something deep and gurgling was bothering her, but she still couldn¡¯t put any fingers on it or give a name to this anxious mass.

    Meanwhile, Chika was already planning out their day based on the broad notes of the itinerary. Tonosho to the north featured illustrious radiant gardens with all sorts of rare and dense greenery. A lovely castle featured at the edge of town, but they could take that in tomorrow. The most fascinating point for Chika was that it was home to a massive gaming complex, which others had alluded to, and she had emphasized to the company as a place she wanted to see. Talking to her friend and roughly swallowing brought waves of ease without the uncertainty and danger of a cough. It wasn¡¯t a great poker face, but it did the job of not worrying those around her.

    They didn¡¯t need to take a whole lot with them for what was essentially a day trip. Compared to the massive group around yesterday, just the three of them going out alone felt so oddly quiet. Yasha wanted to start work on renovating the shacks, so she stuck to the area.

    The Sasaki moms accompanied them most of the way to the northern station to make sure there were no issues. Several times, Misaki felt like she was at the cusp of some crucial reminder she needed to pass along to the group and to Kei in particular to convey to Mari, but it just kept slipping her mind with the most random distractions. An interesting musical track played in the train car. A captivating girl in a fluttering dress chased after another in an impromptu game of tag. And a random message from the store clerk yesterday, checking in with a lot of emojis and seeing how everyone was doing. She didn¡¯t answer right away.

    She wanted to talk to her companions about the curiosities involving the wristband. It struck her, not for the first time, that girls were noticing their arm decorations but also quite ignoring them. No trouble because of them at least. No trouble that she could discern. The inkling to bring it up to the others or suggest visiting Ayame flared briefly within before suddenly fizzling out.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Namiko was easily having the most fun. She had fashioned something of a sweet summer outfit with plenty of leeway up top to underplay her ¡°chest cascades¡±, as she termed them today. It was a pale peach tone with plenty of little ornamentations and lace. To contrast this soft, effeminate impression, Namiko laid on the closest approximation of a trucker chick she could offer with the abilities at her disposal.

    ¡°Mmhmm, yeah, boy howdy ya can getter done through this. Breaker breaker I¡¯m hauling all dem titties up the front, gonna have to turn this puppy¡¯s wide load. That¡¯s right.¡±

    It took a lot of tossing gravel into her voice, but she got somewhere close. The bulk of the silly sayings only came out when it was just the three of them on the train, since Namiko did little to censor any potentially inappropriate terms. She smashed together the trucker persona with a dainty, prissy gal impression. Chika just adored and cheered on the performance, as though wishing she had her streaming equipment right here to provide the wildest session between worlds.

    Where they arrived was quite busier than the rural stretch they were getting used to but far more sedate than the city. It reminded Franklin of the little burbs that hung out around the larger city where they lived. Little dust-flecked mottles of life and possibility tilted towards weathered crops and strange, forgotten, fading markets. Not to wear tinted glasses too firmly, but each of them immediately thought that the small town was perfect.

    A scattering of cozy multilevel buildings clustered around the train station, surrounded by bright and cheerful-toned vending machines. Shops, both simple and complex, lined the closest thing to a thoroughfare with two ambling lanes. They stopped for a while to browse through trinkets before heading up a slight hill to the garden.

    It was fantastic. Comfortable, flowing pathways and markers with audio programs played that detailed so much about the sprawling plants. They received a solid hint about the reproduction situation from the audio in passing about self and cross-pollination, touching on analogies to humans. Nothing conclusive was conveyed with a scientific explanation, but it at least steered them in the direction of something biological.

    The beginning of their trek around the garden was fairly lonely; they rarely ran into other girls. But all that changed about halfway through. They had just experienced a massive display of rhododendrons and started in with creeping vines when Chika noticed a girl perched on a bench off to the side who appeared keenly aware of the presented plants in front of her, yet also deliriously out of it with her eyes shut and body wobbling like it was going to face plant into the pavement from where she was sitting.

    Misaki moved over to provide a cushion before she tumbled. And just in time, as she smacked hard into Misaki¡®s chest. Things provided a degree of cushioning, but it wasn¡¯t quite enough to keep from knocking the wind out of her. The drowsy girl immediately spun out of the way and crashed into a bush before correcting her glasses and fumbling with an anxious apology.

    She flapped in the air like the most half-hearted attempt to fly while explaining that she was visiting from a university and they were supposed to do sketches of different plants and research them, and she did all the research stuff ahead of time but now had to do the art and didn¡¯t even know where to start. Even while she vigorously gesticulated and animated the details of her situation, little drowsy spells started to wrap their arms around her. A lot of that was around, apparently.

    Along with her family name, she said her name was Rei. Chika was the one who raised her eyebrows, and the girl didn¡¯t take long to get the connection. She assured everyone she wasn¡¯t some spirit soul vessel container for powering biorobots. It was a sore point for her, although she attempted to gloss over this fact. She still lamented that everyone just conflated her with a fictional character that shared her name. They expected similar behavior from her. Quiet reservation. Because of the social pressures, she slipped into the role and spent most of her high school years just as quiet. Franklin and Misaki could sympathize.

    The girl didn¡¯t much physically resemble that character. She had dark feathered hair just a shade heavier than Yuka¡¯s grayish black locks, but they extended far past her shoulders and her back, flowing long enough to easily become a soft seat. She wore distressed jean cutoff pants with frayed sections showing off so much of her thighs. The girl put in the best competition for Namiko¡¯s figure. Her chest swooped forward in a pronounced Y shape, with her black T-shirt looking like it was going to become distressed next. Despite the strain up top, it bunched with a field of generous bumps and wrinkles around her lower, swooping hips. She was evocative of one of those fertility figures with the thickness of her thighs and other parts. Just like Namiko, she wore a sizable pair of glasses, but it seemed from her vague squinting that she dearly needed them.

    After frantically laying out her situation, it seemed like she was about to amble off and resume her quiet, tired, nearly sleeping antics. Chika wouldn¡¯t have that. She could just go crashing into all sorts of girls, causing embarrassment. She did a lot of nervous quivering and trembling in her natural state. They learned that she was heading towards the deepest part of the garden to get a couple more research items, just where they were intending to go next.

    They let Rei joining them be her apology for the incident. She still had to shake her head and a lot of other parts to dispel a sniffling, tightening sense of drowsiness. Running in place and skipping laps also helped. Fortuitously, her plans for noontime and after included a trek to the same video game Mecca they had in mind as a self-imposed reward for taking care of all of this research.

    Through the next few arboreal presentations, the poor girl did her best to pry her large blue eyes open to observe and note all the biological details in the flowers. None of them did the work for her, but they recited and reiterated key points for her to formulate labels for her renderings and come up with flashcards for drills. Returning to the stress, uncertainty, and loneliness of college didn¡¯t tempt Misaki for a moment, whether she was able to do it over like this or any other way. But the thought of providing tutoring on an individual or small group basis in a less soul-sapping fashion than her typical tech support grind did kindle interesting thoughts.

    As they moved through the exhibition pavilions, she looked back and scanned the verdant settings. Glancing once, she caught a sign of something she hadn¡¯t quite noticed before. It was striking, vertical, and punctuated by a pinnacle of stark white, reflecting against the edge of her eyes like glints of snow. That sometimes happened in her bedroom at night. She would be glancing at her phone for too long and too late and notice the drapes had a weird sparkle, like something shining from the front yard. Whenever she looked at it directly, it would vanish. Inspiring crazed paranoia that Franklin¡¯s eyes were going bad faster than expected. This was surely the same phenomenon, even though the bright mark was much bigger.

    She let whatever it was do its thing for several moments of careful assessment. She didn¡¯t focus directly on it and soon noticed that it took on less of a sprawling plant shape and more of a humanoid one. With that prominence of white, it truly resembled Haruka. Did Haruka happen to find them and want to give them a surprise? It sounded ridiculous based on the girl¡¯s character. But Misaki waited until she was in the right position with the odd image still there and jerked her head to look at it directly.

    Plant. It turned out to be just a weird plant she hadn¡¯t noticed before. That top section looked exactly like a white crop of hair. Strange coincidence, but scrutinizing it didn¡¯t introduce any new strangeness. Oh well. She turned around and rejoined the others. But not before she heard a whisper on the wind that almost sounded like the word ¡°help¡±.

    Checking behind her revealed nothing.

 [33] Yuri Worlds 33 â€“ Babies

    Yuri Worlds

    [33] Babies

    Still somewhat unsure, Misaki tightened her vision to whatever was in front of her and did her best to ignore anything that might freak her out. That wasn¡¯t what you were supposed to do, especially in vaguely eerie scenarios that might actually be something more. She was supposed to stick her nose in all sorts of places and question the strange happenings. But Franklin didn¡¯t do that, and Misaki, despite all the efforts she¡¯d made, found that to be a step too far. Things were finding her though. Creepy, crawly black things. She stuck close to the others.

    Between frantic efforts by the poor college girl, Rei, to take down all the things that she needed for her class, they spoke casually. She wasn¡¯t as observant as someone like Naoko and honestly had no idea how old they might be, at first drifting out the trial balloon that they were fellow students and then dipping down to the possibility that they were advanced high schoolers. The second thought made her skittish again.

    ¡°Not that I would begrudge whatever help from someone younger. Anything is appreciated. It would wound me a little. Not that I have a big ego. I don¡¯t think. It¡¯s my responsibility to take care of this, and I didn¡¯t budget my time well enough. I thank the Goddesses that you found me and saved me from smacking my head.¡±

    They also discovered in passing that Rei still had her birth name. Her family considered it well past the time for her to decide whether she would keep it or come up with something all her own. She was leaning towards the interesting foreign name of Sarah, even though it might mark her as an outsider. It was pretty though, and it meant a lot to her. Without specifically naming the names, Chika invoked her own history of having a rather generic and easy-to-fall-into name before developing a particular stage name. All this tiptoed around her claimed familial ties and name.

    All the research specifics that Rei needed to document were soon finished, and she motioned like she was going to wander off on her own, but Chika playfully grabbed her and pressed that she owed them. The trembling swiftly returned, even though Chika vehemently assured her that she was just goofing around.

    ¡°I was hoping that our hosts or another local might somehow show us around. We helped you, and I was thinking that it seems only appropriate that you repay us by having some fun as a tour guide.¡±

    Rei did budget some of her time at the game place as a reward, and because of them, she finished quicker than she anticipated. Despite still radiating confusion and nervousness, she agreed to this prospect.

    She was slightly aware of it, but Namiko made it clear they were travelers from another world. The long-haired girl marveled and pointed out how similar they appeared to any girls anywhere. The same strangeness emerged when Chika attempted to show off her wristband as a sign of distinction. Rei was broadly aware that it existed on her body but communicated that it was kind of like an optical illusion. If she didn¡¯t look directly at it, then it was like a blind spot. It winked away and appeared just like any other section of flesh.

    Misaki had noticed this and brought it up. She was sure of that fact. But this felt like a discovery to the group, even though the implications swiftly slid away like a pebble tumbling down the muddy cliff they survived in the truck. There was more, but it was even more challenging for Misaki to get a grip on.

    Rei cocked her head and mused, ¡°I wonder if it¡¯s like this sort of paranormal website someone I know always makes reference to...¡±

    It took her a moment, but the girl managed to summon the name from her memories. Chika was aware of a version in their world. Not the first work of fiction they¡¯d encountered shared between their world and this one, but Chika took special amusement in a horror story meme bridging literal universes. The version here was less horror-tinged, so Chika detailed what she knew.

    She endeavored to explain as simply as possible without melting brains that the media in question, from her perspective, involved the supernatural, eldritch (what this was eluded Rei, so Chika simplified it as creepy giant octopuses that made you go crazy), and existential terrors policed by a secretive organization with the ability to retcon memories and reality. This last point was the one that clicked with Rei. Among the objects they attempted to keep away from regular¡­girls were cognitive hazards that fought with your ability to remember and understand them.

    Chika held up her hands in frustration. ¡°Why would they go to such trouble to put what seems more like supernatural self-sealing memes on our wrists when we¡¯re just taking a vacation? There is a cultural divide between our worlds. But it¡¯s not like destroy society level. It¡¯s just a slightly different social structure we have that they don¡¯t want getting told about¡­ I guess. And the fact that this flipping thing hasn¡¯t told me I can¡¯t say this or blurred my words now is at least a hopeful sign that it¡¯s not too draconian. But I still don¡¯t get it.¡±

    Whatever fretful uncertainty gripped Rei ebbed away as she folded her arms as comfortably as possible and offered her own speculations. ¡°Trade secrets? No no no. I mean, there are things around here that would cause upset, but they would be related to animal spirit girls. The most mature ladies see them as an abomination, a corruption of what it means to be human. Does your society integrate beings like that? Seeing it normalized could be a big cultural red flag.¡±

    None of them needed to play coy or skirt around the fact that animal people, at least as far as any of them knew, did not play a role in their society. Skinwalkers and stories of other strange beings notwithstanding. But those were monsters.

    Coming at it from another angle, Rei tried instead, ¡°Mystery and marketing. They are a company, and it sounds like, from all you¡¯ve told me, they¡¯re trying to drum up interest in traveling to these other worlds. And I¡¯m just assuming, based on the fact that travelers like you aren''t more readily known, that it¡¯s kind of like a soft launch, or a pre-release, as they sometimes call it. Am I close to the mark?¡±

    This distinction required a bit of finesse. Travel between universes had become a more regular thing. Not quite as common as planes or trains, but closer to cruise ships and other chartered boats. The travel center that they arrived at primarily served busing, sea, and commuter air locally. There weren¡¯t a great number of ladies at the waypoint, and they had been the only ones going through to this particular location, as far as they recalled. But that meant a little bit less to Misaki owing to her concerns about the wristband. She suspected that something else had to be at play.

    They fumbled for some form of answer but ultimately had to throw their hands up. To answer something at least, Namiko considered and laid out a question that had been on their minds for the entire trip.

    ¡°Are there babies? What¡¯s the reproductive process for humans instead of how these plants do things?¡±

    Despite phrasing that inquiry with a slant toward the scientific, Rei froze, her wide blue eyes shifting slightly in their sockets as though she were scanning the background for some cheat sheet that would allow her to forgo fear. A sudden pop quiz she wasn¡¯t prepared for.

    ¡°Ummmm uhhh¡­yea¡­oh. Huh. Babies. Yeah, there¡¯s babies. Girls have babies. They¡­ The babies take about eight months. To grow before they¡¯re born. And they¡­you know¡­come out of the body. Although, you may not¡­ coming from another universe. Yeah.¡± The trembling and uncertainty returned in full force, even though she held her words steadier than before.

    Chika had to pry. ¡°Why is everyone so unsettled about babies?¡±

    Rei clenched her teeth as though she were gripping a tiny, invisible barbell. ¡°Uhhh¡­ it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s easily the most personal biological thing in the world. You literally have to sacrifice a part of your spirit. The umm¡­ inception¡­ start¡­oh goodness. You need to focus special, unadulterated, unerring, unshifting, full-contact love throughout your entire body for the girl you¡¯re with. One of you decides to be the intended¡­ r-r-recipient. And you need to hold that for several solemn hours. You need to absolutely relinquish a part of your soul now and forever¡ªeverything you were, everything you are, completely given for someone else¡ªfor it to join their spirit eternally and produce new life. And if you only care instead about some animal right then, well, that¡¯s a total corruption of that exhausting devotion¡­¡± That admission drained the poor girl, like she had just sprinted a marathon without taking a moment to slow down. She kept her eyes closed the entire time and only gradually opened them with a blistering red blush to highlight all her nervousness. Namiko came over to gently support her because it looked like she might attempt another unfortunate face plant.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    With raised eyebrows, Chika inquired, ¡°Just sitting and loving and sharing with someone else is super embarrassing?¡±

    ¡°YES! It¡¯s everything. It¡¯s the entire essence of you. Putting anything physical against one another is just a temporary, transitory moment of nerves firing endorphins. But procreation¡ªmaking a baby¡ªthat¡¯s forever. The girl you give part of your spirit to may not take it, or maybe you didn¡¯t do it right. But that is everything you have, and you hide and glow like the sun inside¡­ now pleeeeassssee, can we talk about something else before I have to suppress the fact that I said anything by wiggling or slapping one of your bracelets on my head?¡±

    Certain aspects of this question remained for Chika. ¡°So how do animals and other life figure it out?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an active field of scientific study. But these plants have pollen, which¡­ It¡¯s spirit stuff again, but plants are different than most animals and people. It takes a lot more to create certain beings¡­ We don¡¯t even go over that in class, but that¡¯s what I¡¯ve read. For many animals, it¡¯s a commitment that can lead to death¡­.Can we please go play video games now?¡±

    Misaki could see Chika¡®s mischievous edge. There was more she wanted to question and so much more she wanted to say, especially of a sexual nature, which Gal was quite adept at weaving her way through to make others uniquely uncomfortable. She could¡¯ve leaned into her with more pointed questions, but she caught a look from Misaki and instead opted to let it go.

    Rei shot back with a quick question of her own, inquiring if they had to wear the wristbands all the time or if they could take them off. Misaki took charge of the answer, relaying what they had been told about keeping them all the time because of the dangers of something called Melting. Since she had been so personal in her sharing, this seemed an appropriate quid pro quo.

    ¡°Melting is something that the company tells you the moment they introduce you to travel. When you are prepared to travel and given a destination, you are adjusted to fit in that world, to a great degree or subtly. That effort has to be temporary, as does your stay in that world. Or you start Melting. The best way to think about it is literally, as you might consider an ice cream bar, but in human form. You melt away, consumed by the different natural laws of another universe. Although there are rumors that it¡¯s more of a vaporizing flash or a sudden, screaming burn.¡±

    Rei looked immediately horrified. ¡°Excuse me, but why the fuck would anyone want to travel to another universe if that was what might happen if something went wrong?¡±

    Misaki recited all the numbers that Franklin knew about the current overall safety and how, so long as everyone followed the directions given, returned promptly, and didn¡¯t do anything dumb, the chance of any kind of lethal situation was lower than getting chomped by a shark on vacation¡­ in a desert. She also assured her that this wasn¡¯t the sort of information that the company wanted to keep under wraps. It was the social structure stuff instead.

    The girl strained her painterly, dark, unfeathered eyebrows before resolving that there were some questions she didn¡¯t need to ask. The massive video game complex awaited them.

    The castle was indeed too far away for this hour of the day. Tomorrow.

    Compared to the relatively sedate rest of the small town, the gaming building had the frantic energy of a resort. The entranceway and the lowest level contained claw and prize games of a wide and sparkling bright light variety. Chika swooned as she had her camera out and filmed at the highest resolution. It was reminiscent of a wide array of Japanese arcades featured online. The key difference was that anime girls were everywhere, many fawning over keychains, collectible figures from all sorts of shows, and colorful plastic props and candies spilling out.

    Fighting games were represented, although sparsely, and were primarily populated by fantastical creatures tussling one another rather than buff or buxom girls throwing down. Something strikingly akin to a jigglefest of beach volleyball did actually exist, but as a strange sport with floating islands and sumo sentiments. Music, rhythm, and other coordination games were widely featured with drums, flutes, and wands. Visual novel and dramatic titles also showed up. Scoping out the map, a wide variety of entertainment was laid out before them, far more than they could conceivably experience in a single day. Sitting down to karaoke and snacks for lunch seemed like a good idea, assuming that their obligated tour guide could remain.

    Rei muttered something about having to work on other papers and do research, all while her eyes lit up at the massive pink plushies that needed freeing from their glass prisons. The pachinko-style gambling games also occupied their own little niche. For competition, Namiko and Chika paired up while Misaki and Rei squared off more casually with air hockey and a light bounce table neither had ever seen before.

    Misaki encouraged her partner at darts even though one particular shot nearly crashed through the drop wall. The light gun games were a little bit safer. It wasn¡¯t long before Chika needed to swap out the memory card. She practically melted all on her own when discovering there was a second floor devoted entirely to a myriad of arcade cabinets she¡¯d never seen or imagined before.

    Stopping at a photo booth was an absolute must, with Chika laying down as many cute expressions and poses as possible to use for stickers. Her Gal side was satiated, while the Guy parts soon got wrapped up in the luxurious, story-heavy titles. And the entertainment center just kept giving up surprises with a manga reading library. They thanked whatever the translation process was for at least getting this part right.

    The heavy-duty sports options were a skip from all four of them, but they partook in putt-putt, even though the themes were underwhelming. Bubble soccer was a blast, with a lot of falling down and giggling. Because the whole place was a package deal, they made sure to get their money¡¯s worth. The karaoke snacks did not match the quality of what the Sasaki family provided, but the convenience made up for it. Singing verged into happy, incoherent screaming, but it was fun. They all had fun and the addition of Rei made it even better. Not having the whole group took away something though.

    Misaki remained quietly wistful despite enjoying herself. She spent so much time imagining how her¡­ good friend Yuka might respond to these experiences. She wanted to share them, talk so much more, and be close. Not pressed uncomfortably close in the way that Rei revealed. Her spirit wasn¡¯t ready for something like that, assuming she had a compatible spirit. The idea was beautiful, in a quiet and careful way. The ultimate coming together.

    Rei eventually had to bid them all adieu, joyously sharing her appreciation for how much they were able to help her with plants. She lingered around Misaki despite telling everyone that she urgently needed to return to the dorm and freshen up all the sketches and art into something resembling a coherent presentation. It was like she was wrangling up the nerve to say something that she didn¡¯t know how to say.

    When it was briefly just the two of them while Namiko and Chika popped over to use the restroom on one of the lower floors, Rei anxiously pressed a scrap of paper into Misaki¡®s hands. She looked her in the eye and explained, ¡°I¡¯m sorry for waiting, if this is important. But before we left the garden, I felt someone drop some paper into my bag. It had your name on it, and it urged me to give it to you. I hope you aren¡¯t mad¡­. and I hope everything¡®s okay. I tried not to look at it.¡°

    Confused by that frantic explanation, Misaki reached into her pocket and carefully unfurled the artistic presence of a creased and wrinkled scrap of snow white paper. It spread out bigger than she expected but was still small enough with just a handful of words written in script she could understand. As the long-haired girl explained, it indeed had her name written on it. But it also had the words Franklin Fowler placed off to the side, unobtrusively. The main instructions were intended for Rei. Below that, she unfurled the last section.

    ¡°You need to help her. You need to do something. Or she will die.¡±

 [34] Yuri Worlds 34 â€“ Torn

    Yuri Worlds

    [34] Torn

    Squeezing the scrap close in her fingers, Misaki pressed Rei about how and where she got it. The girl repeated her story with emphatic sincerity. She had no idea; someone just gave it to her. She didn¡¯t notice who it was or when it happened exactly. That was all she knew. Misaki nodded and tucked the scrap away in the closest equivalent to a pocket she had in these clothes.

    They didn¡¯t talk about it when the others returned, and, for once, her face didn¡¯t betray her. A serious, slightly pained expression was already starting to carve its way into her regular repertoire. Namiko did notice the drop in Rei¡¯s mood and endeavored to send her off with giggles. Throwing herself into all the fighting moves that would be appropriate to her shape did the trick. A ¡®drunken dough slam¡¯ left all of them in hysterics.

    Rei convinced herself to hang around for the shopping session at the end of the day. It wasn¡¯t too far removed from any strip or proper mall they encountered around where they lived or to the south. Clothes were clothes, and bothering to bring any back would be deeply underwhelming. A cozy market inspired Chika to a playful plan to somehow prepare a dish for their hosts. She looked really good in a pair of sunglasses, which she opted to purchase along with a gorgeous stretch of unique fabric depicting moments from the Warring Goddesses era. That museum was coming up soon on their itinerary.

    Because of the trek back, none of them purchased more than they could easily haul on their shoulders. Namiko had to have books, even though it was uncertain whether she would be able to read any of them when they returned home. She smiled and responded that it meant she would just have to finish them before then. Poor Rei spent the start of supper flattening her cheek against the table from the newest drowsiness she just couldn¡¯t shake. Namiko bought her a round and fluffy pastry that they split in abundant bust solidarity.

    They all wound up sharing a hot pot with a vast array of bubbling ingredients. Misaki accidentally held a scolding portion of chicken in her mouth for too long, fretting to spit it up rudely. Rei consoled her with a gentle shoulder rub as she did her best to mollify the hurt with wave after wave of icy water. The spot was bubbling and peeling as a throbbing distraction against the flavorful contents of the rest of the entr¨¦e.

    Sympathetic as well, their hostess gave her something cold with a bit of mochi and green tea for soothing. By the time the meal was practically over, and she had only tasted a quarter of it without stinging discomfort, it finally felt like her mouth was returning to normal. Everyone was so kind, but she knew she¡¯d done it to herself. So stupid. Such a silly thing. Why?

    She could have deftly snagged a napkin and placed the lava fragment on it before such damage was done. But she didn¡¯t want to cause offense. She didn¡¯t want to do anything close to what Yasha did yesterday on the train, what Yuka advised all of them about. It was just a little bit of pain. What did it really matter?

    She will die. That¡¯s what the little note said. Such an awful message. Part of her hoped that Rei hadn¡¯t read to the end of it, and the way it was folded sure seemed to suggest that. A small mercy. And she would have to bear the pain. It was fine. That¡¯s the way Franklin was built. He got yelled at, admonished, left with scary moments, made the wrong decisions, and turned the wrong way. A little burn was nothing. The only question was¡­ What did he have to do now?

    Yuka won¡¯t die. No way. Such a phrase couldn¡¯t exist in the world, in any world. He refused that¡­ She refused that. Both Franklin and Misaki. They would double-team against whatever force might try. Help her. Yes, however possible.

    The evening wore the appearance of normalcy, but Misaki found herself miles away, wanting to check in with all their new friends, especially Yuka. Know that everything was okay. She could text her. Before doubt overwhelmed her will, she shot off a quick and succinct message detailing that they were heading back, had already eaten, enjoyed the day trip, and wanted to know how everyone was doing.

    She fought off every effort inside her to rephrase all that as something that didn¡¯t sound quite so awful to her senses. It was fine. It did the job. Send it. A single press made all her complaints moot. Nothing to do after that but wait. And hope.

    Reply in five minutes.

    ¡°Ok! See you again soon! I can save some dessert! Just another day of class here. I wish I could¡¯ve done something fun with all of you. I¡¯m so glad we have the shrine fundraiser coming up! We should meet at the general store! They have an old but reliable game there! You¡¯ve probably seen much better, but I get to show you mine! Just get off at the northern stop immediately before the shrine on your way back! Sorry for overusing exclamation marks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!¡±

    She read through it several times. The first text that Yuka ever sent to her. Just hours, and she was missing her already. And she was all right. If not for the Franklin name on the edge¡­ A name that just shouldn¡¯t exist around here; she could¡¯ve explained part or all of it away as either a prank, an effort to get money, or some cruel advertisement. But she was fine. She was perfectly fine. Right? Now her mind went over the adorable text for some worrisome sign of duplicity or code. Did the marks actually mean anything, and she didn¡¯t realize it? Did the fact that she wanted to meet up with them somewhere other than her family¡¯s house represent a warning? If she put any credence in those notions, then she was well on her way to becoming more conspiracy-ridden than poor Bianka. It was nothing, but then so many things lately seemed like they were nothing. But those nothings were looming in dark corners, waiting for her.

    And the bravest part of her wanted to kick their asses. Even though that same part also recognized that was never going to happen, it was a nice thought.

    After they said their goodbyes to Rei, and made sure they traded information, despite the four-way acknowledgment that meeting up in the next several days or any time thereafter was exceedingly unlikely with their busy respective schedules, Misaki passed along the content of the message from Yuka. Chika double-checked the distance and concluded it wouldn¡¯t be much extra walking at all. The general store could also assist in acquiring ingredients for her plan to give back a meal. She still didn¡¯t have a notion of what meal to even attempt surreptitiously at her beginner skill level. So, the next phase involved becoming more like Namiko and Maharu as a volunteer second chef.

    Namiko¡¯s poker face slightly slipped as poor Dwight vividly remembered Gal¡¯s mad culinary science experiments involving apocalyptic levels of spice added to the meatiest dishes in an envisioned fusion of their favorites. The results lived on through several repeated restroom visits for the rest of that week. She wasn¡¯t a bad cook. Far from it. She made the most delightful desserts. When she followed the recipe.

    Improvisation worked for streaming entertainment, but not so much for gastric serenity. They¡¯d each firmly told Guy this on several occasions. He listened to them but still found himself occasionally led astray by the dark side of cooking.

    For the trip back, they found a comfortable area to spread out in the last train car. Unfortunately, someone had left the windows on the side widely ajar. The whipping and whistling breeze, almost as bad as the swell of wind on the shrine hill yesterday, cut into their delicately colorful flesh. Moving to a different spot was an option, but nothing looked as comfortable.

    Eyeballing the cracked windows, Chika set her legs, raised her shoulders, and cracked her colorful knuckles a few times before gripping the edge. The design didn¡¯t appear too different compared to the windows on the metro lines. Just push in the little slots and slide them up and down. Theoretically, it should have been easy. Theoretically.

    She grunted and huffed as the windows wiggled ever so slightly, but they didn¡¯t want to slot into place to move back up. Even switching her tactic and repositioning the slots didn¡¯t budge them either. A few hearty smacks to dislodge dirt, grit, and age made her feel better but didn¡¯t achieve anything else. Same with a pinwheeling kick in the air, which failed to make contact. Namiko offered to help with brutal boob-blasting force. Even her mammoth, manly mammary muscles couldn¡¯t will the frames back into their slots. Misaki had no idea what she could achieve, but she still offered a little elbow grease. They failed together, but they did their best.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    The only remedy that remained for the situation was to pin up some of the jackets they brought with them to block the opening as much as possible and then cover up with the rest. Neither option was terribly effective, but it at least kept the cruelest fury of the wind at bay. The train rattled in place like some otherworldly force was viciously angry they denied it a plaything to toy with.

    Their stop, just short of the one from yesterday, looked both simpler and fancier. A vast concrete wall sheltered a corner of the station, as though the current tempest was expected by the builders. They packed away and clung close to all their purchases and belongings. The benefit of this stop included having the wind at their backs instead of a foe to overcome. It was a little too much, bordering on the intensity of a Maharu launch sequence.

    Chika¡¯s long locks slapped every part of her face. Namiko¡¯s deep pink, practically raspberry long hair became an ocean spray of reaching, screaming, stretching tendrils like her eldritch literary interests. Her glasses were full of twisting smudges, and her clothes were carved tight in ripples around her shape. Same for Chika and Misaki, even with whatever bag bulkheads they could fashion.

    As they sped across the sidewalk, leaving behind the rippling ridges of farmland for scattered roads and the promise of the general store ahead, Misaki looked out across the land, sharply and strikingly altered by the presence of the wind. It was actively beautiful, shifting and reshaping. And there was more.

    She noticed an odd undulation to the world, which didn¡¯t quite make sense with the animated essence she¡¯d so far seen. It almost felt like peering through a keyhole at the world, a vision tightly tunneled. The breeze changed the look, but not in the way she was expecting. Pastels and soft, shimmering shades of anime light twirled and twisted. And in the eye of a striking amount of chaos, she saw a shift, like currents and waves drawing through the air and pulling a faint discoloration. For just a glimpse, a fleeting moment, it was like a vision obscured but also cleared. She saw the colors of this world¡­ In the same sharp and reserved tones as the world she came from. As though a cel shading filter had missed a spot, a glitch in the programming. A vision like her world, not a perfect match, still the presence of this place, but a duller light without the full expression of anime art.

    She blinked her eye and tried to correct her vision. Normalcy reasserted itself. No flaw in the landscape. Just perfect, pristine anime beauty sprawled unflaggingly across the horizon. She didn¡¯t bother to mark or reject it as another side effect. Strange shit was just happening, and she had no idea what to think about it. She hated the wind.

    Back home, it assaulted everyone unrelentingly. A cruel and ruthless wind bordering on scouring and stripping flesh. Its marks were insidious and incessant, too small to be normally seen but waning spirit and draining energy. It blasted skulls until it felt like polished bone. It mummified and desiccated like that dark dream that kept returning to Franklin about his parents. Eons hence, all that would be left would be sand, relentlessly pummeled smaller and smaller by its hunger.

    These morbid thoughts surprised her, but considering the scramble of uncomfortable events and feelings, it was probably surprising she didn¡¯t sink even darker. Insulating against the ravenous wind helped, and having her friends around her to whoop and holler and cry out against the chaos meant so much. They made it to the general store in very little time at all. It looked like it was shaped from a shed section of the old hotel, sporting the same tone, tiles, and texture. The wind didn¡¯t ruffle a single shingle. Several special sale items sat in displays by the door.

    Inside, the store was laid out similarly to older markets scattered across the desert back home. White boards with fragmentary letters spelled out deli offerings. Copious piles of fruits and vegetables, detailed enough to make a still-life artist weep, sprawled out in the center of the store. Wavering light through rafter windows sparkled and twinkled against plastic and bits of metal, dazzling them. A large portion of farm goods and equipment occupied the main section of the store, followed by stretches of supermarket stalwarts, and then an assortment of canned goods and trinkets. A blue-haired girl dashed between the aisles. Misaki didn¡¯t catch her face.

    The arcade cabinet that Yuka alluded to in her exclamatory text message was situated at the back of the building, around a left-curving corner. Yuka crouched toward a long assortment of books and magazines with her school bag over her shoulder. In the farming section of the store, they spied Yasha with a half-filled net bag, poking through a variety of cooking utensils. They made a quick stop to check on their travel cohort before meeting up with their host.

    Yasha grinned in a fashion evocative of a Cheshire feline as she showcased all the things she was going to use to make her lovely little shack into the perfect home away from home. A glittering carving knife and a chopping board joined the pile of tough and bulbous vegetables. ¡°Going to be a delicious and delightful time. You¡¯re warmly welcome to stop by and partake in the rarified air. I love an evening with this sort of blustery energy. It feels so alive with every breath. Quite a world.¡± They left her to her shopping.

    Yuka sighted them from quite a ways off and rushed over to embrace Misaki. She missed her as though the span had not been a few hours but several days, weeks, and months on end. Covering for any sense of playing favorites, she passed out the pre-requisite hugs to the others and hoped they had a lovely day as well.

    The arcade title in the corner was different than any they saw at the entertainment center, even though the style was evocative of the Ninja Turtles scrolling adventure fighter that Chika often gushed about. The theme hued closer to a sprite-based historical adventure with naginata-wielding ladies of legend and spectral floating goddess figures as their backup. Namiko detected magical girl allusions, and Franklin was reminded of a plethora of action titles. And it wasn¡¯t the only game in the cabinet.

    The screen had obviously seen better days, with numbers burned in and the top of the colorful scan line warping off the edge with a hint of black and white wiggling.

    The second game proudly proclaimed itself as the Queen of Monsters with an old-fashioned Godzilla beast free-for-all smackdown throughout a range of spectacular vistas. There was a flying entity, a creature made of toxic slime, the expected giant, bipedal dragon, a ferocious gorilla, some slithering slinky serpent, a young woman expanded to goddess proportions, and a craggy statue brought to life.

    Compared to any of the games they had played earlier, no slight to Rei and her best efforts at providing company, Misaki thought this was the absolute best of all. Yuka tightly positioned herself as player three, right next to her as the fourth, and Chika and Namiko waggled the first and second joysticks. Misaki could tell that Gal¡¯s overriding urge to drop suggestive comments about the game and the peripherals was just barely restrained. She had done similar with ballsy allusions when they first arrived at the market in the city. Perhaps her little si¡­sis¡­ her friend, she corrected herself, decided to restrain those aspects of her nature. But what had changed?

    Chika and Namiko felt exactly the same when playing the game. They were the friends she¡¯d known for most of her life. No extreme side effects. Nothing like they had alluded to last night. Perhaps it wasn¡¯t so much a side effect¡­ as a choice? Not worth engaging in wild speculation.

    Yuka easily bested them at this team city destruction title. She said it was one of her favorites, even though she liked the other one too. When the round ended, Chika and Namiko casually stepped away to leave them a sliver of privacy, checking out the extensive row of magazines. Yuka had the high score in several places, and this time was fourth place. A fragment of her full name in translated characters spread out. She hesitated about what she was going to enter.

    Backing up the option, she actually put in normal letters.

    c¡­[back]¡­C¡­E¡­R¡­B

    And that was all it allowed. Backspacing with a sigh, she opted instead to just put a little mark for each of them in those letters.

    M¡­.&¡­.Y¡­[heart]

 [35] Yuri Worlds 35 â€“ Brushed

    Yuri Worlds

    [35] Brushed

    They held hands while walking through the general store and scoping out the clusters of magazines. The two of them shared their day apart with vague allusions to happenings that weren¡¯t nearly as important as this moment together. When Yuka heard that Misaki burned her mouth on a fragment of hot pot, too embarrassed to spit it out and cause offense, Yuka zoomed with Maharu-like enthusiasm over to the frozen treats and extracted the coldest, brightest pink raspberry fruit bar from the chilly depths. She paid for it over at the cash wrap and then urged Misaki to soothe her mouth with it. Yuka bought herself a strange-looking golden bar with a mixture of chocolate and raspberry within.

    The weather wasn¡¯t conducive to sitting outside and enjoying, so they found some soft chairs next to goofy lawn decorations. Not that Yuka really stayed in her chair. Instead, she leaned out and bumped shoulders against Misaki. It was an awkward reaching stretch that was sure to put a kink in her neck, but she gladly made the connection between them. Not a bump to rest and weigh upon her shoulder so much as a push to prop up her companion and somehow link the energy between them.

    Whether that implied goal was accomplished remained to be seen, but Misaki found herself delighted and activated by Yuka. She found it a curious and grateful impossibility that anime girl eyes were peering at her with cheerful purpose. And she couldn¡¯t resist being moved to mounting smiles despite the lingering discomfort within her cheeks. The sharp cold burned so harshly but helped pile the pain beneath flaming blankets. The skin was clearly going to peel once it started to heal with all sorts of gross biological aspects. Living art that didn¡¯t bleed ink.

    Feeling the pervasive cold numbness of her fruit bar, Misaki asked, ¡°Does the color of things ever feel muted around here? Like we talked about on the roof yesterday. Like something looks weird when seeing it. Like you mentioned blurriness.¡± She felt like she was spewing out like after like like Yuka had too many exclamations. Before her screaming self-sensor could activate, she lampshaded this quirk. Yuka snickered to herself and puffed out a soft breath.

    ¡°Sometimes. And not like¡­like like¡­when it¡¯s cloudy and everything is gray. Just yesterday, in the rain, I saw this moment where the forest shifted to a vision through a spyglass that sucked all of the radiance out. But it was gone when I blinked, and it could¡¯ve just been water in my eye. Is that¡­ Like how you mean?¡± She smiled with quiet serenity.

    Misaki gave a quick, restrained nod so she wouldn''t disturb Yuka pressing her shoulder. That was it. How often did she see something like that?

    Yuka shifted her soft brown eyes around, as though searching for something in the air in front of her. It was something that happened occasionally. Not with a weekly or even monthly regularity. But it occurred often enough that she couldn¡¯t quite pin down an exact number on how many times. However, she didn¡¯t find it associated with wind or storms necessarily. That kind of event could happen on a crystal-clear, calm day or in the middle of the night.

    She once experienced a strange prism of light on the second story of the old hotel when she was looking for something. The appearance of everything sparkled and shifted out of the corner of her eye, but it was normal when she looked up. And these were just the incidents in which she could be certain of something happening, compared with her mind randomly wandering in a quiet moment and then returning with the sensation that she missed something important.

    ¡°What do you think it is?¡± Yuka asked with a hopeful expression. A question she just couldn¡¯t answer. She didn¡¯t have the first idea what this weird visual phenomenon could be. On her own, lumping it together with a plethora of other experiences before and since they arrived at least helped with putting some label on it.

    But the fact that Yuka had the same experiences either meant everything or nothing. All that wasn¡¯t helpful though. Yuka wanted reassurance. She wanted knowledge from beyond her world that would enlighten and reveal universal truths. Misaki knew less than she could possibly express while containing so many discordant elements of comprehension. And it felt like some invisible force was stepping on her brain and keeping her from the circulation of information that might help.

    ¡°It¡¯s a mystery,¡± was all Misaki could offer in response. Useless. She expected Yuka to pull away, but the girl gave her a tender little press, like a squeeze on the shoulder. Their fruit bars were nearly finished, but the cratered fallout in her mouth throbbed with the most sensitive stretch of the healing process. No easy fixes to her mistake. It would likely linger with her for the rest of their vacation, slanting her enjoyment of so many dishes and muting the experience. All because she grabbed something too fast and then cowered with it privately, worried that someone she just met might see her rudely spit out a flaming ball of meat. Already wounded this anime girl body in less than 48 hours.

    With soft determination, Yuka responded, ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out. With your friends and mine. Miss Yamane is very mature but clearly cares deeply for her friends and anyone she can help. Your younger sister wants to see everyone else smile. Quite the clever entertainer, as my mom could tell too. Miss Sugawara seems¡­.¡° She paused to glance around the store, but Yasha was nowhere in earshot.

    Yuka continued carefully, ¡°Eccentric and tenacious. And you never know what qualities some girls might keep in reserve beneath their outward appearance. My elder sister has this uncanny ability to sneak up on you and already be a part of the conversation, even though she just arrived. She¡¯s clever. And my younger mom knows so much beyond her years, while my older one has learned determination to not doubt herself or anyone else in important matters. Naoko¡­ will burn everything she has inside and at her disposal to figure things out. You saw how Ayame made sure I was all right even though we overcame whatever that was. And all the ladies in this community stand together with strength and ingenuity. If nothing else, maybe Bianka will stumble upon the right site out there, which can explain why the world goes blip sometimes. It¡¯s a mystery, but we¡¯re surrounded by the most incredible girls I can imagine and whatever mysteries, whatever may trouble us, or stand in our way¡­ Has no chance against our combined forces. I believe that¡­ truly and totally. It¡¯s going to be okay.¡±

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    Yuka didn¡¯t mention Maharu. It was a silly thing for her to fixate on, especially considering that Yuka obviously skipped over a whole bunch of girls in the community by name. But it seemed like she geared her mentions towards girls that Misaki would know too. And left her out. That omission nagged and pestered her. Not because she thought that Maharu had been erased from the universe. That was silly. But she still had to know.

    ¡°And Maharu too. Send her off to tackle a mystery or two and subjugate them to the ground with her¡­ Boundless energy," Misaki remarked. Her version felt so awkward, but she got through it.

    ¡°Yeah. Her too. We can find a use for her. Even though she¡¯s been getting on my nerves lately. Just all over the place. She¡¯s sweet, but when is she ever going to be able to take care of things for herself? I don¡¯t mean to be harsh, but¡­.all the time, she expects me to be some perfect mom. I¡¯m not a mom. I am not her mom. I have so much of my own stuff to deal with. It feels like she¡¯s just dragging on me all the time. Whatever¡­ I have to deal with her too.¡±

    A little head with a soft halo of blue peeked from around the nearby shelves. Shit. Before Misaki could point out Maharu¡¯s presence, the girl dashed between the aisles and launched towards the front door, nearly banging into it, before pushing it open and scampering out. Yuka slid away from Misaki and back into her seat with a groan, the fragment of a curse ruffling her lips, and her hands cupping both sides of her head.

    ¡°You know¡­ she was just behind me on the trip over. I didn¡¯t really see where she went when I arrived, and I didn¡¯t think too much about it. I kind of suspected she was still around. And I meant what I said. Would¡¯ve been better if we actually talked. But I¡¯ll see her again soon, and it¡¯ll be fine.¡± Misaki couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that she was the instigator behind all of this. If her brain had just ignored the stupid omission and not poked at it like prying into an open wound. But this was Franklin, and this was her, and it never changed, no matter how much was different.

    Yuka set up and looked over at Misaki with quiet sympathy. She assured her, ¡°Stuff happens. I gotta give her time and space. It¡¯s on me. And no mistake is permanently irreparable. So don¡¯t you dare feel guilty for what I said. Come on¡­.There¡¯s something I should show you anyway. It¡¯ll help.¡±

    Chika and Namiko came over to check in on the two of them. After being caught up on the details, they both offered to see if they could talk to Maharu and potentially clear things up. Chika even offered to sprint full force through the crazy wind outside to catch up to her. Yuka reiterated what she expressed to Misaki. Give it time. They would deal with it on their own.

    The wind outside was still brisk, but nowhere near as violent and relentless as earlier. It still swiftly expedited their journey back to the Sasaki house. No sign of a blue blur popped up. Yuka basically threw her other guests at her moms while leading Misaki up the stairs to the second floor. Instead of taking her to the traditional room or the guest bedroom, Yuka guided her eagerly by the hand to the other end of the house and a door with YUKA written a few ways across the front. Her room. Misaki was going into the private room of a cute anime girl. She wasn¡¯t left with enough time to process and express a proper freakout.

    It was smaller than Franklin¡¯s room back home. A silver fold-in set of doors separated the main room from a small closet with extra cabinets. One end, mostly occupied by the queen-sized bed, had a multitude of fluffy, plush guard dogs in a pack around the ruffled, pale blue covers. Tall but skinny bookcases hosted an uneven swarm of books of all shapes and colors awkwardly jammed together. Misaki could imagine them as the peak rush hour crowd of traingoers trying to jam past one another but frozen in place. A couple had the gentle flourish of romance novels, but several tall, reserved law books stood at the back with the even decorum of peak propriety.

    The window facing the front had a curious structure. While it was not a bay window, it was flanked by adjacent sections, which the illusion of something larger. Soft cushions, a cozy nook, and a bloated lumpy puppy plush stretched out in the fading light of the approaching evening. The last side contained a desk and work area with a plugged-in skinny gray laptop, books awkwardly shoved in the corner, and dressers with a stray, frosted pink bra dangling out the edge. Yuka dashed over and chucked the escapee back inside. Lacy underwear with small satin ribbons still dotted the floor.

    She led Misaki away from the worst of the disorganization and sat her down on the bed. Misaki had no idea where this was going. Yuka reached into a nearby drawer and plucked out a fancy furry brush and a simple pink skeletal one. She explained that one of her favorite things to do when relaxing after a long day was just brush out her hair and let that fixing of chaos settle into her mind and travel through the rest of her body like meditation. She soon gently went to work on Misaki¡®s understated locks.

    It was absolutely heavenly. Yuka stretched her hair like naturally parting a gentle river. None of the snags and tugs like when Franklin scratched a comb through it. She loved it so much and eagerly returned the favor once her meager hair was brushed out with an ethereal radiance of scalp energy warming her renewed blood flow. She felt dang good, and she wanted Yuka to feel just as good. The same skill was not in her hands but she gently worked through it and only saw the occasional flinch from her partner gradually ebbing to the same serene peace.

    If only all the days could be just like this.

 [36] Yuri Worlds 36 â€“ Spinning

    Yuri Worlds

    [36] Spinning

    ¡°It depends. My elder mom is always just mom. If it¡¯s just us, I tend to use Mama Kei or Mama Yuki, so they know who I¡¯m talking about. Some communities use rigid honorifics, but they¡¯re considered old-fashioned since Empress Kaguya. She ushered in the Kensh¨­ Era. We had a little bit on the Warring Goddesses Era in class today. It¡¯s a long stretch. Our nation recently started the Reawakened Peace Era. Whatever that means. Just a new calendar. I sometimes call Mama Kei just mum or ma if I feel lazy. I sometimes throw Madame at Yuki Mom if I want to be playful. You¡¯re probably best off sticking with elder mom and younger mom. Both are pretty chill around the house, and I like to think they think you¡¯re pretty neat. I think so too, hehe¡­¡±

    Misaki stumbled around the topic of how best to distinguish between Yuka¡¯s moms with no assistance from whatever translator had been shoved inside her. It wasn¡¯t a big issue, but it was a nice reason to chat. Yuka took the opportunity to sprawl out on the bed with her as though they were laying on warm, lightly tinted snow. Misaki¡¯s hair practically throbbed as though it were a loose limb wrung out by a vigorous massage.

    A strange reminder of physical reality came through in how nasal and muffled their voices sounded while awkwardly talking to one another on their backs. Yuka¡¯s voice remained roughly the same strength, but Misaki¡¯s seemed like she had a half-on nose plug. No matter how muffled, her voice couldn¡¯t quite sink to the depths she managed with her Franklin throat. She suspected she could get close, but it would be a mocking parody instead of a genuine recitation. Not that she even necessarily wanted to sound like Franklin. At least around the present company.

    Yuka pulled her legs up and turned her head towards Misaki. ¡°What are your mothers like? From the way you put it, it sounds like it¡¯s much easier to tell them apart in your world. Is that normal?"

    Misaki nervously felt like she wasn¡¯t getting enough blood flow to her brain from lying flat to deal with a question like that. This could be dangerous, even though none of the wristband-enforced censorship had been harmful. Just an obvious bleep in their words. No¡­harm. Yeah.

    It seemed fine to lump all the differences into what they had suggested with the chuusei. Nothing had gone wrong with that analogy. She had a mother. One mother. No overwhelming complaints about growing up with her, but she had a domineering and controlling attitude. Everything was a challenge to overcome; everything was a test. Franklin getting turned around so much was a surefire sign of something wrong. Turn right! Be right! She felt right the other way. And mom never provided real help for¡­her to find her way. Mom wanted to mold her child in her image without any consideration for what Franklin wanted.

    Conveying that took a lot of awkward steps, but Yuka grasped the main point. Perfect mothers are no more plentiful in this world than in any other. Ayame had an elder mom who was cut from the same cloth. Yuka passed along what her nurse friend found from her experience. Where you came from and who your ancestors are were critical things to remember and absorb. They deserved respect for setting down a path. But only you can live your life. The responsibility for your spirit and your happiness comes solely from you.

    Misaki nodded. Made sense. It was a distilled version of the points that Guy and Dwight often alluded to. She understood, but simply taking in that concept and living it were so different.

    Surrounding the topic of her other parent, Misaki mentioned that they met someone in the garden who relayed the details of having children. Yuka squirmed and flashed a mischievous smile while partially hiding her face. Her father. The chuusei partner. What was he like? Misaki avoided the unknown pronoun like a densely packed field of landmines.

    Misaki explained that her ¡®parents¡¯ met at a¡­ festival event with dancing and were married just a few months later. Yuka noted that her moms had a story with some similar notes. Fuyuki intended to become an engineer. She stayed at a hotel hosting an event where she hoped to make contacts and offer up her resume. But a series of mistakes, accidents, and mishaps led to her conversing several times with the key concierge, Kei.

    They had an instant rapport, and when Fuyuki¡¯s prospects at the event didn¡¯t materialize, she eagerly invited her new friend to go dancing. They married within weeks. Yuka glossed over a lot of details on family inheritance, moving out on their own, the old hotel, and other things with long stories attached. But she eagerly wanted to hear about Misaki¡®s chuusei mom.

    Staring up at the blank vanilla ceiling with faint traced architectural drawing impressions of the boards above provided no assistance to Misaki for how on earth she was going to skirt everything involved in her explanation. She could work from the rough foundation of how aging differed where she came from compared to this world. Little wrinkled old people.

    Oddly, some of the details she attempted to grasp were remarkably fuzzy, as though she were trying to extract the slender root of a dream from several days ago rather than the simple physical aspects of her father.

    Just side effects again. Or, more likely, this had to be an intentional consequence of trying to smash her brain through an anime world filter. Made sense. Although the lack of disclosure and clarity from the company was the scariest aspect. It took longer than it should¡¯ve, but she was eventually able to wrangle up enough mental crumbs to present an honest picture of her dad.

    Not that poor Namiko deserved to be the yardstick against which all others were measured, but this materializing mom had a sharply projecting, softly rounded prominence that no top attempted to disguise. Rolling with this absurd notion led to personalized memories where this new mom gently brushed her long hair and comforted her about something she just couldn¡¯t remember. She wasn¡¯t Misaki in this strange mental snapshot. That much she could easily be certain of. But why would whatever the company was trying to do to her brain give her an image of a girl who wasn¡¯t her intended role?

    Odd details spawned around these manifestations. She knew that the same mother gave birth to her, but this new mom spent more time around her. And she was the one who gave birth to her little sister¡­ Misaki shook off this rogue notion. Clearly, her initial hunch about this whole system being some psychological implant from the company to keep them saying the right things at the wrong time to the locals was the answer. And it wasn¡¯t exact.

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    ¡°We should take a shower together. It would be too far to walk to the closest bathhouse. The shrine and the clinic have both set up temporary little barrel baths once or twice. More out of necessity or for amusement. But it¡¯s part of our culture. Bathing is meant to be communal. All girls together. I can help you shower and rinse, and there should be plenty of space for the two of us to soak and partake in¡­ You know, quiet reflection.¡±

    All that made careful sense as Yuka explained it to her. But her brain felt like it was spinning in place without anything to hold onto. She wasn¡¯t sure about this. Nor was she sure about a multitude of things swallowing her up. Franklin would¡¯ve sighed, resigned, and offered something non-committal and vague.

    ¡°Yes. Let¡¯s wash up together and wash away whatever troubles from today.¡± She said it, even though every fiber of Franklin revolted in response. And it didn¡¯t matter. Misaki bobbed in that chaotic sea. Tiredness, the wind, or something else, saturated her. It was like the world was slowly corkscrewing while she sat still. It could be all that anime blood zooming around in a supine position. Maybe she had a woozy reaction to something she ate earlier or one of the exotic plants.

    It didn¡¯t take Yuka long to notice the way she was wavering when gradually sitting up. She sprang into action as a nursemaid and positioned Misaki on and around all the pillows, plushies, and blankets in the vicinity. That luscious cushion cradled Misaki like an earthbound cloud.

    It wasn¡¯t long after that that the mothers were informed that their guest was under the weather. They swiftly applied every remedy under the sun. Warm soup materialized within arm''s length. With the sensitive spot under her cheek, Misaki tentatively partook. The food had been precisely adjusted with concern for her sensitivity. An immediate cure seemed to be somewhere in all that love and care. She wanted to tell everyone that she was feeling fine now, but the forces of recovery refused to leave things at that platitude.

    One moment she was finishing up the bowl, and the next she was in some strange dreamworld with a wispy hallway that looked like an office with a hidden purpose. Transparent girls slowly wandered from one room to another. She focused on one specific little girl who lingered behind the rest. Her hair was scattered and unkempt, like a bird¡¯s nest waterfall flowing past her shoulders. Something was different about her. She had a strangely subdued aura. All the girls had general oddities about them that she couldn¡¯t quite give specifics to, but this one drew her attention by being so reserved. The rough outline of her shadow against the wall had more presence than her physical form.

    Others led this meager little girl away. She had her head down the whole time and meekly absorbed the shouts and anger blasting over her. Wiggling nervously in place, a protective shadow became her insulating the shelter. Despite this bulkhead, the shy little girl looked like she might get sick from all that was heaped upon her.

    Surprise mixed with precious discovery filled the little girl¡¯s features. A cloud parted between them, and the girl returned the touch with curiosity. Her eyes were wide and searching. She pulled her hand away from the little girl¡¯s hair. And it was gone. A blank, impossible stump remained at the wrist. Screaming, like an inhuman alarm, blared from the heavens and surrounded everything. The little girl pulled back in fear and shock. She pulsed in place like she was made of sound, barely confined by a physical form. The screaming reached a painful crescendo as shadows swarmed in all directions and consumed Misaki whole.

    Waking wasn¡¯t a cinematic slam back to reality, jerking up in bed. She did twitch, but with the tiniest of external signs, little more than simply shifting in place. Bed. She was in bed. Yuka¡¯s bed. Sweat clung to so many places and refused to leave. Sitting up showed that, despite having a nap, the annoying illness refused to let her go. The first, shed layer of the wound within her mouth was ready to choke her. Water on the nearby table helped.

    Around her, she could hear that the wind had shuffled off the illusion of calm and returned to its previous primal fury. It roared for a rematch but had no teeth against the walls. The most it could do was gently rattle the nearby false bay window and press a whistle between invisible seams. Sitting up still didn¡¯t feel quite right, but it wasn''t as scary a proposition as earlier.

    How long has she been asleep? The lights above were on now, and the glimmer through the window wasn¡¯t as radiant as before. It didn¡¯t seem that much later. But the little language of the environment that communicated time seemed subtly foreign and markedly inscrutable.

    But the others. They weren¡¯t made like that. So many foundational elements around her made no sense if she actually looked at them closely. And she didn¡¯t want to just shrug it all off as a side effect or one of those things to figure out later in a heap of confusing weights. But what other choice did she have?

    She looked down at her wristband. That damn thing. She took it off in the shower last night. Maybe she should do it again. Just be with Yuka without the thought police trying to cover up and memory hole everything. Without the need for further pondering, she stripped it off like a sticky Velcro glove.

    And nothing happened. Nothing bad, nothing good. The world continued to spin. Time ticked from one second to the next. Nothing just dissolved, and nothing emerged. Perhaps she was making more of it than she should¡¯ve. Laying the blame for illness on a simple nocebo. Why couldn¡¯t this just be a fun and carefree vacation?

 [37] Yuri Worlds 37 â€“ Amend

    Yuri Worlds

    [37] Amend

    That probably didn¡¯t exist. No vacation has ever quite gone the way anyone intended. The remnant husks of Franklin¡¯s family summer trips remained. She remembered random theater stops in classic buildings with sprawling interiors and fancy fa?ades to watch children¡¯s movies that her parents managed to tolerate. Minor disasters, wretched motels, and wild distractions befell every step of the journey.

    Still, Franklin adored their treks up and down shifting dunes along the Pacific Northwest coast that inspired entire far-flung planets, universes, and ecologies. Then quiet stays in relaxed clock towers by the sides of rivers as sprawling pines were cut down and shipped out, still only a microcosmic blemish on a wide, unending, mysterious forest. She could never understand forests. They bred mysterious forces that were strange, gorgeous, beguiling, and terrifying.

    ¡°Are you feeling better?¡±

    A familiar voice. Misaki turned, but carefully, as the pendulum swing of her balance still didn¡¯t quite match expectations. The figure from her dream. No. It was only Yuka. Her left eye felt sharply blurry, just like that strange dream in the blank place. Just a hair caught in the side. Massive peepers, but they could still be done in by something so insignificant.

    She swiftly answered Yuka¡¯s question with a flutter of furious blinks to clear out her eyes, paired with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ¡°Much better! Thank you so much for setting me up in¡­ that spot. It helped so much to just take a little bit to relax. Umm¡­ how long was I out?¡±

    Even though she couldn¡¯t clearly see Yuka¡¯s entire face with the cruel blurs around her eyes, Misaki could tell her warm relief and sympathetic presence. It didn¡¯t take long to learn that Misaki had missed the main part of supper along with the evening tea ceremony. Most of the evening was preoccupied with notes of concern for her health and vague and specific questions about the looming mystery of Miss Takano. What was she like back home? Was there any truth to the rumor, which her little sister started, that she was a famous rock star, a renowned actor, and the center of all sorts of glitz and glamour?

    Misaki dodged the potential minefield of embarrassment and actually took playful amusement from Chika¡¯s silly puffing up of her life. She initially played coy about the truth. Maybe people knew her back home, and perhaps she lived in proximity to other people who might be known.

    The game didn¡¯t last long though, as she sighed softly with melancholy reflection, ¡°Nah. I am nothing and no one special. As a child, I was often lost and alone. The closest thing I had to a friend and playmate was¡­ My little sister, who I often felt embarrassed to even hold hands with. She¡¯s the one who¡¯s anything like a celebrity. An influencer. Making funny videos and saying provocative things through the Internet. I would lose it and every rational thought inside my head by just standing in front of the cold, black eye of her web camera. My job is to take the criticism and anger of random people day after day like a machine. They¡¯re even going to put extra equipment on me soon, so I don¡¯t take too many breaks and make sure I think only good things. That¡¯s who I am. No rock star, no actor, no one anyone will ever remember moments after meeting them. Sorry.¡±

    That sounded so pitiful, even though it was sincerely true. Partially. Her friends would vehemently object to such a dismal and depressive assessment. And they cared about her; they cared about Franklin. Before Misaki could amend that she was just being a stupid downer for reasons and feelings that didn¡¯t make sense, Yuka rushed towards her with Maharu-level vehemence. No way was she letting her be sad. Everyone downstairs was bewitched and delighted by this curious girl with slightly violet hair and hypnotic, bright eyes. They were never going to forget her. It wasn¡¯t possible.

    ¡°And I could never forget you. No matter how separate you feel. No matter how strange, aloof, and alone. I notice you; I see you. I want to be around you as often as I can, and I hate every day I have to slog through classes to earn a few more moments. I daydream of running off together to do the silliest stuff. Having you as a friend has already changed so much of my life. Don¡¯t you ever think that you¡¯re nothing, that your spirit doesn¡¯t reach out to others and enrich and alter them forever in such beautiful and impossible ways. Please. Your life is beautiful, and so are you. I am so happy that I get to spend whatever time I can with you.¡±

    Each of them faintly courted the recurrence of tears. That stretch and close interaction were enough to tilt them over the side into ridiculous, sniffling, moist oblivion. It was stupid. It was so silly to be tearing up about a self-inflicted mass of woe that Misaki smacked herself in the face with. Tears were supposed to be reserved for real things and true pain. This was the worst kind of nonsense cry that could ever happen. She wanted to just let it go and return to pleasant thoughts and smiles. But the tears lingered, as though greater depths were pushing them to the surface. What they were, neither could put into words or quite explain.

    Something rose from underneath. Untempered by anything on her wrist, she spoke truth. ¡°Boy. A guy. A man. Male. That¡¯s what I am in my world. Not a girl. Not like this. Not even some physically blank form we¡¯re trying to use to explain away differences that no one here understands. That¡¯s the big secret. But I don¡¯t know why the company won¡¯t let us be honest with that truth. Instead of there just being one¡­ Girls¡­ There are girls and there are boys, and that¡¯s how we have children. They get together physically. They don¡¯t need to be deeply connected spiritually. Children happen with very little effort. Just an exchange of biological fluids at the right time.¡± Oh, she shouldn¡¯t have said all that. But Yuka wanted to know, and she was tired of being held back.

    Yuka focused on her and listened diligently throughout that entire spiel. Her mouth wiggled and shifted, looking like it was constantly being drawn and redrawn. It was clear that she had a flood of questions she desired to ask and clarifications she needed. Instinctively though, she paused and reached up to touch her upper lip, around her nostrils. It was like she expected something there but was quietly surprised to find nothing. That triggered a memory for Misaki¡ªa foggy visual of Yuka in pain. The details refused to clear, but she was certain it was recent. What the hell was going on?

    They sat down on the bed, and Misaki used the blanket to cover and push her wristband as far away from her flesh as possible. It still felt like a probing porcupine wanting to put down penetrating tendrils despite the layers separating them.

    Yuka placed her hands at her side. They wanted to go up and grab Misaki, and they also wanted to reach up in the air. This left her in a nervous, shifting routine where her arms couldn¡¯t settle once she found words to speak again.

    "Boy. Man. Male. I have this weird sense that I almost know what those are supposed to be. Did one of your friends mention it or those books? I don¡¯t remember reading them, but I remember them being there, and something happened. Physical contact means babies? That¡¯s why you¡¯re so nervous! Oh my gosh, how do the people in your world even deal with all that? It sounds like you could just stumble into someone and oops...having babies. Boys and girls. What are boys like? Is it close or far away from what you said with this chuuisei thing, and what is it?"

    Misaki mentally regrouped and did her best to organize all the different quandaries and thoughts that Yuka spilled out. She couldn¡¯t be sure if her friends had mentioned something or not, but the censorship that Naoko encountered seemed likely to have suppressed anything about it aside from the terminology they tried to work around to get close. She apologized for the chuusei deception, but Yuka waved her off. ¡°Your travel company or whatever from your world are the ones to get mad at. They forced you to talk in euphemisms about an entire part of your society.¡±

    Touching upon the aspect of physical contact, Misaki resisted the urge to pull her hands away. How could she possibly talk about sex in a normal situation, let alone one as crazy as this? It would be easier to explain the use of a double-ended dildo to her mom. She had to put it in some terms though.

    ¡°There are things that two girls do together to make themselves feel nice or¡­invoke pleasure on a physical level, right?¡± She put that out there in the hopes that some helpful commonality might be the stepping stone out of the awkwardness and into a field of¡­even worse embarrassment.

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    Why couldn¡¯t she just go back to relaxing with a hairbrush and the playful prospects of sharing a shower and bath with his cute girl? Why did she have to say more than anyone really wanted her to? Just stick to the path laid out for her. Follow the directions. Don¡¯t make ripples. Don¡¯t try to change anything. Don¡¯t bring on the prospect of thunder. Things didn¡¯t go well for the troublemakers.

    Yuka repositioned herself on the bed. She smiled and referred back to their time on the roof and recent brushing. That was a start for Misaki, but it still left the awkward next level of trying to express the differences between that and what she was trying to get at. She probed the possibility of touching that crossed certain physical boundaries. It wasn¡¯t unheard of, but Yuka expressed that that level of intimate physical contact was more closely associated with what Misaki learned about from Rei. The poor girl dodged around a lot of the details in the same way. Misaki found it kind of cute and quietly comforting to know that she wasn¡¯t the only one so embarrassed.

    Misaki dispelled the myths about easily getting a baby. Pollen, or something like it, existed in this world, and she shaped the details in that direction. Boys¡­ Men, as she relayed, were much different in shape from girls and had a harder natural structure. She fumbled with the exact physical details while excavating a stretch of scientific information buried in embarrassing class lessons.

    The clitoris. It existed here too. Yuka just had to envision that several inches of it weren¡¯t submerged within, with just a tiny section reaching out. Instead, it was exposed and looked like a dried-out mushroom with the curve of a banana. Along with it, the ovaries popped out and dangled like a set of aged, fleshy meatballs. And that expressed gooey, salty human pudding pollen that needed to make its way to the baby place. Misaki somehow kept a straight face. Yuka¡¯s eyes were freakishly wide in surprise and stunned contemplation as she processed all that information. Misaki had some regrets.

    They sat there together, in silence, for a long stretch while Misaki did more than her share of worrying. That silence finally broke when Yuka took a sharp breath and exclaimed, just holding back her full volume, "That¡¯s so cool! That¡¯s like some science fiction fantasy imagined posthuman weird reality-bending thing. Naoko knows more about this than me, but she¡¯s talked about it. Like a mega-size inside-out girl, super furry but not an animal. So, if everything¡®s opposite, then does that mean these men don¡¯t have all the weird biological things to have babies, or is there something extra inside? I can¡¯t even imagine the untold rainbow of possibilities for what girls plus men would be like. Double the possibilities! Soooo cooool!" She giggled deliriously, as though the mere ideas were intoxicating.

    ¡°Why would this dumb travel company want to keep all of this as some ridiculous secret? The expansion of knowledge and human possibilities shared between our worlds could open up new medical science for treating maladies and understanding physical development. Ayame would totally eat this up! Maybe¡­ Maybe because all this travel stuff is so new, they want to sell this information and not have everyone who visits just spread it for free. That would be so typical of certain groups around here too.¡±

    Sadly, Misaki concurred. It made sense and disappointed her that greed was an equal vice, even in this place. That dour sentiment soon shifted as she struggled to provide clear answers to Yuka¡¯s next round of curious questions. She envisioned this yanked-out clitoris as having prehensile capabilities. Were these external ovaries really bouncy? How thick did the body hair grow? What was the most muscular man she knew? What was walking with boxy, square hips like? Being bigger meant a heavier voice, so what did these men sound like? Round and round it went as she shot down the craziest notions and struggled for an appropriate context.

    Yuka eventually slowed down, even though it seemed she hadn¡¯t yet had her fill. They both acknowledged that this would have to be a secret. A pinky oath bound them together. To seal it, Yuka started getting undressed as she stood beside the edge of the bed. Misaki laid bare her truths, and she wanted to reciprocate. She left poor Misaki completely dumbfounded.

    It wasn¡¯t much more than the span of a few seconds and what felt like several thousand heartbeats before Yuka stood there in a simple light blue bra and matching panties. And those were soon gone too.

    Naked. Sasaki Yuka was one hundred percent, totally, absolutely stark naked in front of her. And it didn¡¯t feel like such a big deal. She had a simple, sloped, subtle beauty to her body. At the same time, Misaki was troubled by how young she looked. Maturity existed and persisted in her shape with a reserved calm. Misaki thought at first that the girl appeared comfortable with her own body. But the presence of shy uncertainty wobbled through her like a miniature, shifting sea. Yuka gave voice to these traits.

    She thought it would be nice to be bigger. To have a face less like a child''s. To project strength and confidence without having to wrestle so much of her determination together to get there. To push out rather than recede in. Although she wasn¡¯t sure about an even flatter chest than she sported. Even getting this far took such patience. The silly analogy of fried eggs poked Misaki in the head. Out out, foul thought! Yuka was pretty, she was cute, and she deserved the kindest words for her body. Despite stumbling over them at every stage, Misaki heaped those words on her friend.

    Yuka gently pranced over to her folding door closet and extracted a pair of long and luxuriously soft towels for them. For them, Misaki emphasized. She¡¯d be naked too. That was the point of a shower. Clothes off.

    She took the entire procedure delicately, as though there were a spider web of sensitive tripwires encircling her body. Those cramped and microscopic default shorts were buried underneath her soft and sheltering wind-rattled pants. Seeing her bra, no matter the angle, managed to give a little extra spin to her recovering inner ear crystals. Knowing, feeling, and owning the weight and softness within took an additional balancing act. Being naked was surprisingly easy, and the room felt warm enough that the shivers hadn¡¯t started yet.

    Since Yuka let her see her most vulnerable layer, Misaki stood there with her arms stretched over the edges of her sloping hips and presented her own truth. She received a few curious looks from Yuka, but most of her attention was focused on returning to the half-open closet and holding out a couple of her outfits towards her companion as though she were a special paper doll. Wearing exactly the same clothes as Yuka wore was another threshold of woozy realization.

    Far from being chilly, Misaki¡¯s body felt like a supernova at peak burn. The towel highlighted this, as it managed to cool her down rather than warm her up. Looking back at the frozen sea wave ripples of the covers, Misaki knew that her wristband was somewhere under there, and she frankly didn¡¯t care. If she was going to Melt, then so be it. She would Melt with truth.

    Yuka covered soft titters behind her hands as she secured her towel. While Misaki¡¯s companion laughs were more of a struggling echo to the vibrant joys that existed with Yuka, she soon started to feel them beyond surface imitation. This was fun. Sneaking out in the hallway. Doing something that felt silly but bad. So many bad things covered in delight. No one was around, and no one could see them, yet she could imagine this as a skillful sneaking mission full of frantic energy while the destination was never in doubt. The bathroom was all theirs.

    The remaining scattered questions preceded washing up. Did it feel really different to shower like this as opposed to being a man? Since there was so much fur, how did they keep the drain clear? Were baths and showers bigger to accommodate this enlarged swath of humanity? Did the inside-out parts between their legs complicate washing? What about walking? How on earth did they pee with all that stuff turned around? Was it easy to sneeze and just spray their pollen goo? Some of these questions slotted into logical answers for Yuka as soon as she spoke them. But not all of them, or the answers were not quite what Yuka wanted.

    She took a break from plumbing the depths of what it meant to be a man and eagerly washed Misaki. Though the notion of showering with someone else would have felt crazy at any other moment in her life, Misaki found it perfect.

 [38] Yuri Worlds 38 â€“ Slime

    Yuri Worlds

    [38] Slime

    Not that it went absolutely perfectly. Being so close to one another led to little bumps. Shoulder knocks. Stepping where the other wanted to step. Slapping hips. Lightly tangled arms. And some accidental face smacks. Yuka shared the most apologies. A side window above them rattled with windy complaints, but they both ignored it.

    They washed each other¡®s backs with increasing confidence. Soap and limbs softly crossed. With lingering dizziness and wobbles from the warmth, Misaki plopped right onto Yuka¡¯s seated lap. Snail-tracing shockwaves rippled through Misaki as she stammered through her apology and attempted to rise. There was no rush. They lingered together as Yuka quietly and curiously considered how this might differ if she were inside out. This simple thought erupted red across Misaki¡®s face as she struggled to disguise her cheeks. Her imagination didn¡¯t flee from the basic prospect of remaining a girl while Yuka took on the shape of a boy. But that was merely physical.

    They sat squeezed, flesh to flesh, on a single tiny shower chair as the sudsing and rinsing finished. The spectacle of wrapping around one another to be clean receded to the calm, overpowering heat of the bath surrounding their senses. Just enough space in the tub allowed them to press in together with the water level precipitously high.

    Nothing needed to be said during the calm soak. They just floated together, keeping themselves separate yet strongly connected. Yuka easily arrived at the utility and comfort calculus of men¡¯s underwear without prompting. An inevitability loomed beyond the comfort of this moment, and they both knew it. Misaki would have to wear the wristband again at some point, and the heavy hand of the censor was sure to come down upon their shared connection.

    Yuka grappled for alternatives. Perhaps she had something stashed away in her closet that could replicate the appearance of a snug black bracelet. That made sense, but as she mentally flipped through the inventory, it was clear nothing would come close to matching. The best possibility was a tiny plastic scrunchie. It was futile.

    What about other ways of getting around this? Yuka tucked her legs underneath and sank into the water as deep as she could go while gazing up at the ceiling. "I could write all this down. I intend to. But I just know that strip of blackness will blot it out, make me ignore it, or make me think it¡¯s not worth saving. It¡¯ll do something."

    A sudden question surfaced in Misaki¡®s mind. Chika and Namiko were still both wearing their wristbands, so why didn¡¯t they affect them? Yuka rocked forward with a thoughtful breath as she pondered the implication.

    ¡°It could have something to do with how close they are. Today, when you weren¡¯t around, things seemed a little different. But it still felt like something was holding me back. I don¡¯t know. Maybe we¡¯re ascribing too much creepy, yokai power to that thing? All I know for certain is right now, talking to you, and sharing everything we have, has meant so very much. I don¡¯t want to lose that clarity."

    Misaki agreed. Even with the wristband off, she felt as though the world inside her head was as blurry as that bright white dream space. Being around Yuka and being sincere was like bringing a distant broadcast station into focus. The static fell away, distractions abated, and everything made sense. Despite the cramped conditions, it was easy for her to settle and feel like floating in something closer to a precious, amniotic embrace.

    She soon felt desperately drowsy, unable to keep any part of her body up. She started sinking deeper and deeper into the depths.

    A strange vision hit her in that place, like tuning into a dreamscape that had already been introduced, flicking on a movie in the middle of a climactic scene. She was still in the tub; somehow, that element carried over from one realm to the other. But instead of the wall beside them, there existed a transplant from a zoo. The bars of a cage stood bolt upright between them and whatever creatures were inside. If anyone was watching them from the other side, then Misaki didn¡¯t notice.

    The cage behind the bars was dark but also bright, with indistinct shapes. Several looming somethings slinked through the interior and crawled towards the edge. She expected something scary, muscular, primal, and vicious. Instead, several shy girls crouched and leaned against the bars with wide, curious eyes. They had figures ranging from Yuka¡¯s soft but subdued shape to those that put Namiko¡¯s to shame. They were naked, shifting and flowing like a continuous mass. One of them pressed against the bars. The gap was wide enough for her to squeeze through, twisting only slightly as though her bones were no hindrance.

    Whoever Misaki was in the dream, he or she felt entranced and seduced by the form escaping and slipping through the waters over to their side. The snail, Misaki¡®s nervous analogy, burst with familiar strength. It rose from its shell and threatened to explode all through the surface. The girl was so close, she was touching her¡­ Him in the most intimate way. Something parted, something wanted to be unleashed. It burst through the surface of her skin and struck her with loving venom. These kinds of surreal, vivid dreams sometimes came to Franklin after an especially seductive stream from Gal Hotner.

    What did this mean? What was going to happen in the waking world? Neither Franklin nor Misaki wanted to embarrass themselves in front of Yuka. At the very least, they were sure to make the tub water unclean. Flailing, trying to swim in an invisible sea, Misaki burst out of the dream to find, once again, she hadn¡¯t moved an inch.

    "You alright? Looked like you nodded off for a second. But I was watching you. It¡¯s okay." Yuka¡¯s voice soothed her thundering heart rate. Misaki shifted in place and accidentally splashed her face, bringing a hand out of the water. She smiled as the water dripped down and glanced at the rippling surface. Something moved beneath the water. A wriggling, snake-like shadow. Misaki panicked and fumbled to kick it away. It evaded her touch.

    "What is it? Bad dream? What happened?" Yuka pushed as close as she could to comfort her companion. She wrapped her arms around her, laid her head against hers, and didn¡¯t mind how many soft places came into uncomfortable contact. Struggling to make meaning, Misaki coughed as though she swallowed a mouthful of water and awkwardly explained a strange dream or¡­ Something crawled into the tub and tried to grab her, and then when she woke up, something was moving in the water.

    Easing back, Yuka carried currents with her and peeked through the settling whirls and eddies of artistic waves. Crouching, she reached through the water and retrieved a plastic green container that looked like the mold for a bar of soap. It didn¡¯t quite match what Misaki had seen in color or shape, but she eagerly fingered it as the culprit. Yuka concluded that she must¡¯ve accidentally dropped it in with a drowsy hand and mulled over whether to tell her moms and have them refresh the tub.

    The water looked fine though, perfectly clear, perfectly easy to distinguish a black, moving snake from something green and inanimate. Misaki did her best not to dwell on this disparity as she made her way out of the water and back over to the shower section to take a rinse.

    The clinging thoughts from her dream interlude had led to the sneaky snail blasting everywhere and leaving what could best be described as a slimy trail. Unfamiliar remnants remained, with traces of pinging excitement but also lingering embarrassment. Washing and sudsing helped. The next round of soaking was quiet and perfunctory, with the anchors of drowsiness pulled in and a nervous but swirling calm riding between them.

    Instead of the crazy discoveries of the bedroom, the two girls shared shallow snippets of the itinerary ahead. Yuka knew so many beautiful castles in the area. The festivals on her wish list kept growing every year. And the resorts. She playfully envisioned what it might be like for one of these ¡°men¡° with their tall, looming forms and bodies, to squeeze into the tiny accommodations of a historical resort. It was a shame they weren¡¯t closer to the beach. She adored picking up strange and alluring rocks, especially something volcanic and black as midnight.

    Some trails required long bus rides, and they had legends just as crazy as any mythology or truth Misaki shared with her. But what she wanted to try most was a quiet, private test of courage, holding close to someone special like Misaki as they huddled around a single, flickering flashlight, doing very little to drive away the darkness. They would have to be careful to make sure they didn¡¯t get lost.

    She wasn¡¯t yet at the age where she cared about the brewery that her moms included on the list of locations to visit. But all the art possibilities sounded delightful. Yuka made the mental leap from the existence of men to reflecting on how that affected all species of animals. Misaki seeded the truth that a park like the one with gentle deer also meant stags, as they were called, with mighty, looming bony decorations called antlers upon their heads.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Truly, for Yuka, it was like learning about an alien world. One patch of disappointment was the ambiguous destiny of goddesses. Goddess figures feature prominently in a myriad of legends, folklore, and beliefs. But there was more. Male gods, stretching from kindly and wise, to unrecognizable, to bloody and violent beyond all imagination. Yuka advised that goddesses weren¡¯t exactly innocent and benign. Plenty of them bathed in blood. But she understood that every positive prospect also had a negative reality.

    A second round of suds and scrubs slowly returned to the previous surge of affectionate energy. Misaki subtly preoccupied herself with sneaking peeks at Yuka¡¯s body to verify that she didn¡¯t have any new blemishes. Head and shoulders slightly pink but flush with quiet cheer and serenity. Her arms bent inward shyly, but she didn¡¯t appear bruised or sensitive. A quick glance at her chest gave Misaki all the information she needed. And her left hip seemed unbothered, even though Yuka¡¯s hand gave it a quick rub. But her leg¡­

    The same leg with the bramble mark before had a darker, sharper black brand. It took Yuka just a moment to turn her attention away from Misaki and gasp at the cruel pen strike drawn around her limb.

    ¡°What? How? Why is it? Oh, it hurts. Oh Goddesses, it burns!¡± Just as Misaki feared, there was an indentation around where the blackness fell, like some insidious creature was hollowing out the flesh underneath. Yuka screamed as her body gave a sickly squelch like a slime-saturated towel slowly twisted. The leg shifted, as though it suddenly had a mind of its own and wanted to break free.

    Next thing either of them knew, they were back in the bath with their heads resting against the close walls. Yuka scrambled, splashed, and shook the water as she panted and whimpered, just short of bursting out in screams. She laid the same leg over the side of the lip of the bath and stared with wide eyes and slowing breaths as the flesh she had seen so corrupted mere moments ago was perfectly fine with just a touch of redness from the warm water.

    Yuka stammered out a few nonsense sayings before sitting astride the side of the tub and clinging to the closest grab bar. Her whole body appeared perfectly fine. Nothing wounded or discolored, no broken bones, and no trace of what she was sure had just happened actually happened. Misaki gradually slipped out of the water and sat next to Yuka as the girl attempted to steady her trembling hands.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening¡­?¡± Yuka asked hoarsely as she struggled to find stability. She relayed the experience of getting out of the tub once they discovered that green thing. Her leg was a mess, and something inside her was eating it. Yuka knew that with absolute certainty. Misaki wasn¡¯t so sure. She gave her account of the last few minutes.

    They soaped up, rinsed, and got back in the tub. Misaki noticed that Yuka was starting to drift off, with curls of steam lulling her to rest. That seemed like a good idea for Misaki to join in as well. She had barely closed her eyes when Yuka burst up. And here they were.

    That didn¡¯t comfort Yuka to hear, even though she didn¡¯t blame Misaki. The others still had their wristbands on. All of that wasn¡¯t many feet away, and they may have come upstairs at a particular moment. The company wanted to discourage the sharing of knowledge, probably because they wanted to profit from what other worlds were like. It made sense to her that they might give them deterrent hallucinations. A warning to stop talking about certain things and return to the leash they required. Yuka harshly clamped her flesh in as many suspicious spots as possible, just to make sure no illusions persisted.

    By now, the moment was far too late and fraught with concern to salvage any sliver of a relaxing bath, but they still cozied up together on one side, awkwardly cramped but with a merged bulkhead, so that any other nasty things would have to get past both of them. The moment reminded Franklin of the shoulder he once shared. The poor boy never could¡¯ve imagined this was in his future. Misaki barely comprehended it.

    They didn¡¯t remain much longer in the tub before gingerly extricating themselves while staying together. Even with both blankets spread across their bodies, Yuka clung tightly to Misaki, as though fretful that the very walls might attack them next. She seemed very much like a scared, frail little girl in need of her big sister. The way back to Yuka¡¯s room contained no interruptions or signs of the others. Not even stopping by the guest bedroom for Misaki to grab a change of clothes led anyone towards them. They were practically all alone.

    Brushing each other''s hair again when it was dry enough to bother was an urgent therapeutic remedy against everything that had been heaped upon them. In the looming quiet, with just the two of them fumbling for a foothold of calm, Yuka conceded a sigh and softly admitted, "I think¡­ You should put that wristband back on. Like I said, I¡¯m worried that what we¡¯ve been experiencing are some weird, punitive measures¡­ And it¡¯ll just get worse. What do you think?"

    Misaki watched Yuka. She slumped down on her bed with her fingers gently rubbing around her eyes. Their width and brightness fluttered, waned, and wobbled. So tired. Despite just getting out of the bath, Yuka looked like she needed so much more to recover. She tried on a faint, half-finished smile though, for Misaki¡¯s sake.

    The prospect of just slapping the wristband back on and undoing all the progress they made disheartened Misaki, not so much because she wanted to be some avenging truth-dealing angel to this world but because she knew it would crush Yuka. This entire evening had upended so many things, and it wasn¡¯t just another pile of thoughts, quandaries, and concerns to heap together and struggle to somehow ignore while they vacationed. Crawling monsters. Horrifying visions. Girls saying and sharing so much. But a quiet truth settled in the metaphorical waters beside her shoulder.

    Yuka wasn¡¯t some anime figure to leer at and pose. She wasn¡¯t something that existed for Franklin or anyone else. It sounded painfully obvious bouncing around Misaki¡®s brain, but Yuka was a person. A human being. An awkwardly twisted, tangled, flailing, fighting, learning, scared, uncertain, bold, overzealous, reserved, cute, ambitious, and exhausted person. Duh.

    Of course, girls are people. Neither Franklin nor Misaki needed to learn that. But this vacation was predicated on seeing living anime. A world of anime girls. The population was part of the appeal and spectacle. Misaki reached over and touched Yuka on the shoulder like a friend. She held her steady through the wobbles. They dressed and sat together on her bed with their legs folded and the pillows close.

    It was easy to find the wristband flattened and buried underneath the layers. The structure froze rigid, like a dark, ineffective blade. Before Misaki slid it on again, Yuka instinctively grabbed for a hand towel and some tissue. She explained that, "My nose sometimes hurts, when I feel it." They braced themselves as Misaki considered slapping it back on her wrist, but ultimately just pressed and rolled it like alien dough. It calmly snapped in place.

    Nothing happened in the moments and seconds afterward, but they still kept their guards up. Eventually, it was clear nothing was going to happen. Although Misaki wasn¡¯t certain about exactly what she expected to happen and Yuka just had a vague inkling. They shared pleasant hugs, like none of the weird stuff between occurred.

    Rubbing her eyes again, Yuka admitted through mumbles, "I need to apologize and make things right with Maharu. Sometime this week. She¡¯s going to have a lot on her plate as the heart of the little shrine fundraising event. She doesn¡¯t need more. She¡¯s got so much."

    An expression passed from Misaki which Yuka recognized. Quiet, understated understanding. Cautiously, Yuka admitted that Maharu¡®s grandmother told her many things a long time ago. They didn¡¯t need to say anything else to each other. Yuka steadied thoughts of tears and composed herself.

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot to Maharu. She¡¯s lost so much, and she clings desperately to whatever she can find. She needs something. More than I could ever provide. Something and someone better than I am. But I¡¯ll do my best for her as a frail substitute. Have a good night.¡­ I love you.¡± Yuka dipped down and snuck over to the other side of the bed, like the covers were a snail shell she could just sneak inside.

    Misaki had no idea what to say to that simple but staggering statement. She managed to wish her a good night as well while still sitting on the edge, drew in a breath, tightened her makeshift courage, and answered, ¡°I love you too.¡±

    There was nothing more either of them could possibly say. Yuka looked like a distressed anime radish smeared in flowing crimson. And Misaki suspected her appearance wasn¡¯t much better.

 [39] Yuri Worlds 39 â€“ Soften

    Yuri Worlds

    [39] Soften

    Their parting that evening was ridiculously anti-climactic, as Misaki did a few uncertain spins, which just exacerbated her lingering dizziness, and left through the door. The hallway didn¡¯t feel quite as abandoned and forgotten as earlier. Clusters of exuberant, playful, and curious sounds filtered up. All she could think of was just heading to sleep. Chika was camped out on her bed with a camera turned in her direction. Her head was tilted to the side on a pillow in a regular position she assumed for reflection and pondering. She immediately perked up and popped into a sitting position when Misaki arrived.

    Chika filled her in on everything she missed. Bianka brought up coded recipes and secrets of cooking when Chika carefully mentioned plans to make something nice for their hosts. She presented the unsourced notion that magical goddess creatures from other realms could toy with living energy and wield it like a recipe, sucking out the vital essence of one universe and depositing it in another. The exact process and reasoning eluded her though. Despite some interesting thoughts, she wasn¡¯t much help. Naoko covertly recommended fancy cookies, really, really wanted cookies, and was mournfully disappointed that all the cookies in the house were gone. Kei promised she would make more as soon as possible, but they were out of several vital ingredients.

    Fuyuki took on the evening tea tasks with some frantic fumbles but also special flourishes. Some trace of the buried engineer remained when trying to level out a wobbly tray. Maharu seemed strikingly subdued compared to her normal mood. She was barely recognizable. A visiting Ayame even looked her over to make sure she wasn¡¯t getting sick before her big performance. Haruka was surprisingly chatty, asking them about how their day went and where Misaki was. Neither Chika nor Namiko knew for sure, but they both assumed the truth with Yuka upstairs. Haruka glanced towards the ceiling but didn¡¯t do anything with that tip.

    Kosame spun delicate, intricate webs of notions about the shy, secret lovers sharing one another in private. The topic of the two of them came up regularly, especially when Yuka made an appearance alone. Misaki easily confirmed that she had fallen asleep, and they really hadn¡¯t done much aside from talk and shower. The implication of more remained. Misaki¡®s tired brain went ahead and flooded Chika with everything she had. She wasn¡¯t certain where the saga left off, so she started with the creepy moment in the shrine when a frantic feeling gripped her, followed by more unsettling developments with Maharu¡¯s grandmother, as if she were wielding some spooky magic against her. Then she unspooled the relief that she and Yuka discovered the mark was gone and did¡­some things. Hints of their host¡¯s dour fears circulated with that explanation, along with a celebration of the fireflies, which Chika glimpsed the other day and acknowledged they had discussed.

    Rifling through the remaining events, she focused on the sudden appearance and disappearance of a discoloration around her wristband without elaborating on the events surrounding it. Reflexively, Chika checked her own. The most that Misaki would admit to was perhaps loosening it to inspect the edges. In her heart, she sensed that Chika knew she was concealing something, but neither wanted to probe it.

    From that point, she touched upon the scrap of paper warning that Rei passed to her. Chika didn¡¯t raise too much suspicion about their earlier companion, but she grounded the matter in healthy skepticism. The blip of how the world looked when they were carried along by the wind should¡¯ve also been an easy debunking, but Chika paused and reflected on it before mentioning that she experienced a subtle shift like that right before the storm over by the shrine. She initially wrote it off as a strange quirk of the natural aesthetic, but she hadn¡¯t run into anything similar since. More than that, she could only shrug.

    Misaki was vague about how much she and Yuka talked about the sex they''d never seen around here. But she plumbed specific details about the haunting spooks around the tub. Chika didn¡¯t bother to denounce any of them. She pressed an aura of sympathy for Misaki mixed with an effort at playfulness as she noted, "You¡¯re out having all sorts of adventures away from us. You can rely on me, even though I am rather silly and totally confused about most things. And you know well that Namiko¡­ Dwight¡­ Always has your back. I just don¡¯t want you stressing in private, with all sorts of anxiety and pain building up like some spiky balloon that¡¯s going to burst at any moment. We¡¯re here for you, big sis¡­ And I know you¡¯re not literally my big sis, but it¡¯s a sentiment I like and want to share." They exchanged a warm hug.

    Misaki took in what cheerful snippets she could of the other adventures downstairs before drowsiness seized her once again. Sleep had no hindrance or assistance from dreams. She woke up a couple of times to vaguely interact with a fragment of consciousness before slipping away again. The span of restfulness almost felt too long compared to what she typically managed.

    Misaki felt a radiant renewal flowing within and around her body like unseen waves. With them came a strange weight that she just couldn¡¯t shake. Waking in the morning should¡¯ve dispelled this incongruent element, but instead gave it a more pressing form.

    She struggled to clear her throat and vision as she shifted around in bed with the sheets awkwardly sprawled across her body. The blanket puffed up around her chest, giving the impression of a Namiko-inspired expansion. She gave a little snicker snort to herself at that notion and reached up to smooth down the blanket to a more reasonable level. She met with surprising resistance and warm flesh, breaching the normal confines. Nervously, Misaki yanked away the blanket and scooted up.

    Her body had changed. Specifically, her boobs. They were bigger and fuller in a way that was practically impossible to write off as a dream. Her perspective was dominated by this resurgent mountain range. Her pair jutted aloft in bold defiance of gravity and good sense. The poor pink pajama top was doing its best. Misaki gingerly shifted into a sitting position, with this impossible anchor as a pressing reminder at every moment. Somehow, she still wasn¡¯t a match for Namiko. But she provided unwanted fighting competition. As a consequence of this soft, warm, and overwhelming bulkhead, she felt like the rest of her body was saturated with feminine accents and heightened curves. She looked as far from being¡­ From being¡­ Before. Before the trip. She was¡­ Different before. Flatter and not as pronounced in how she looked. Misaki was¡­ in the other world she¡­ it was so tough to mentally articulate what she wanted to express. The ideas wriggled out of her neurons like slimy toads.

    She had always been a girl. She was a girl. But in this place, she was an anime girl, and the company was pushing her through some weird, exaggerated mold like a cartoon where your body could be easily reshaped like Play-Doh. Melting? Could this be an effect of Melting? More like inflation rather than melting¡­ But she could imagine that if the wristbands were actually doing some blocking, then picking up anime girl essence like adorable plaque might result in something like this. Her mind couldn¡¯t even imagine what she was before. Her hair didn¡¯t appear to have gotten any longer or brighter, as far as she could tell. Another Namiko trait she had no interest in following.

    Settling into a sitting position, she gently assessed herself. Her body wasn¡¯t an absurd contortion. Not yet, at least. But she had to be several cup sizes fuller and in the neighborhood of Yuka¡¯s older mom, if not Ayame. It wasn¡¯t that bad. At the same time, she could still feel herself freaking out that she had been turned into a boob mountain with monster tatas as swollen, inescapable pillows. Maybe for the rest of her life. Not going away when she returned to being a normal girl back home. That still didn¡¯t read right in her head.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    She struggled to make sense of it logically, but a wave of emotions crashed into her, and a gushing flood of tears flowed down her face. She didn¡¯t want to be so squishy, soft, and cute! Her voice, softly whimpering and stammering, sounded more meager than a child¡¯s. Cute high-pitched girly girl. It didn¡¯t feel any different, but she still struggled to wrestle it into anything that sounded like a calm and comfortable tone. Before she broke down into howling sobs, the door cracked open, and Namiko and Chika poked their heads in. They definitely didn¡¯t expect to find the absolute mess that she was with her knees together and blasting the most demur girly mode of femininity anyone ever imagined like a bubble gum pop station. She expected them to brand her as a duplicitous changeling anime girl pretending to be their friend. Fortunately, they were at her side before she could freak out any further.

    Chika and Namiko didn¡¯t need to be told about the peculiar condition that Misaki woke up with. They did their best not to point out the poor girl¡¯s enhanced promontory position. It was still rather early, with everyone just starting to get up and the promise of a second day of calisthenics to indulge in. Misaki wanted to be a part of that even while her unsettling, deepened jiggles created a feedback loop of emotional confusion. She was sure she sounded like a pitiful little girl.

    Fortunately, her friends were adept at cheering up. Namiko immediately laid on her most confident goofiness, emphasizing how they were even more "breast friends" now. And Chika pulled out the full entertainer within. It didn¡¯t fix any of the inherent issues or explain why the heck this happened, but just getting the clear reminder that the two of them were there for her meant so much. She gave them emotionally exuberant hugs, clearly learned from Maharu but without violent accents. She did a lot of squeezing, of herself and others. And the inescapable wish for a snuggly, sweet-smelling plushy to hold tight replicated throughout her thoughts, replacing all other needs. It didn¡¯t last long before she realized that there were all sorts of cute clothes in her bag that she could wear out to calisthenics. None of these notions struck her as unusual.

    She had to be careful not to fling things in all directions as she scurried to change into clothes for exercise. A glittering peach number with a hinting neckline and ruffles of lace along the shoulders made her fawn and giggle over how she looked. Chika and Namiko checked to make sure her bout of illness last evening hadn¡¯t progressed to delirium. Misaki reassured them that she felt great¡ªbetter than she had felt the entire trip so far.

    The radiant girl sat with her hands carefully tucked between her legs, her posture proper, her skirt adjusted, and her demeanor bright and sunny. Truly, as she was now, neither of her friends would¡¯ve distinguished her as the shy, uncertain boy they knew so well as opposed to a cute, girly anime girl who had lived her entire life that way. Dropping that three-letter word at the tail end of a sentence triggered immediate puzzlement in Misaki.

    ¡°What¡¯s a boy?¡± She genuinely had no clue, although she had a vague hunch that this was probably related to the idea she couldn¡¯t quite extract. In any other moment, Chika would¡¯ve laughed, but a chill of alarm sunk through her senses. When her little sister and her oldest friend nervously tried to convince Misaki that she was in actuality a ¡°boy¡±, there was no revulsion or anger. She just found it playfully amusing that they would try to convince her of something impossible. This had to be some strange game. She didn¡¯t mind it, but she knew with every fiber of her being who and what she actually was.

    Her name was Carrie Francesca Fowler. Although the idea from this world of coming up with your own name when you were mature enough tantalized her. Her little sister was Silvia Fowler. Although, being an entertainer, she had a wide array of nom de somethings and different roles she preferred to play. Fiona Chapman was her friend, and nothing could dissuade her from the truth of those names. Now, she wanted to know if they would let her go out to exercise in her very cute outfit. The others had no objections, but they both expressed wary uncertainty about what on earth was going on.

    Heading downstairs, Misaki positioned herself to meet and greet so many girls, all of them confused about her changed figure. Kosame was immediately enchanted by this version of their guest and rolled out all the charm as Misaki naturally slipped into the role of herself. Bianka wasn¡¯t fooled though, and was already Googling every link she knew for bodysnatcher reports. It didn¡¯t get her anywhere. Naoko didn¡¯t take long to develop a working theory, even though she had to divide her attention between this imponderable development and a page of questions she needed to memorize. The working theory mostly involved drugs.

    Haruka just watched and didn¡¯t provide any commentary as Kei and Misaki fed off each other¡¯s energy for exercise. Fuyuki had a set of theories of her own, but they mostly involved vague questions about the extended periods her daughter and her guest were spending together. Maharu was away. She claimed to already be practicing the dances for the fundraising event. Yasha took the Haruka approach while nibbling on a fresh, frosted cookie from newly acquired ingredients and tempting Naoko with it.

    It didn¡¯t take long for Yuka to confront the girl her friend had become.

    ¡°What are you doing? What happened to you last night?¡± Yuka held her voice to a cautious whisper.

    Misaki had no idea what she was talking about. Nothing happened. She was fine! Why did everyone think something was wrong with her? She was happy. Sure, she was a little bit emotional and something happened to her body, but it was fine.

    Everything was fine everything was fine everything was fine everything was fine everything was¡­ that cycled around in her head, but just because she wanted to emphasize that nothing was wrong. Out loud, she told everyone that she was feeling great¡ªmuch better, no dizziness or anything.

    Privately, Yuka pressed and touched upon that same three-letter word again. Boy boy boy boy boy¡­ Everyone was going boy crazy! She wasn¡¯t a boy; she¡¯d never been a boy; she had no idea what a boy was; and, at this point, she never wanted to be one!

    Yuka refused to let her go. She glared with an intensity that Misaki hadn¡¯t seen before. They stood far enough away so Yuka could tell her everything she wanted to say, but that still didn¡¯t feel like enough. She needed to be alone with her. The little indoor outdoor bamboo space would have to suffice. She dragged Misaki over there and unleashed everything.

    ¡°I won¡¯t let them take you from me. I won¡¯t let them punish you for what we did. I¡¯ll make you remember who you really are. You have to remember. No matter what it means, no matter what words I barely understand myself, I know they represent the truth of you, not some hollow shell they want you to be. You¡¯re my friend. I love you. And I know you¡¯re in there. Please, please, oh goddess please, come back to me¡­¡±

 [40] Yuri Worlds 40 â€“ Left

    Yuri Worlds

    [40] Left

    Mere words felt like frail traces of hope. Tears were less than screaming into a raging storm. Pleading died in her throat. Yuka knew she had to get through to Misaki, but what more could she possibly say that would have meaning? She searched the fragments of their conversation last night and what other pieces those accursed wristbands would allow her to keep.

    The girl in front of her, who was actually a boy, believed in creatures from space and furry beasts of the forest. She often got scared and saw things she didn¡¯t tell Yuka about. She was so shy about getting naked. Her skin had to be so fresh and raw across her body. It was really cute. She was someone for whom simply being a girl was an adventure.

    Parents. They also talked about parents. And there was something, something clear in all the words.

    ¡°Left. Your mind keeps thinking that you should take a left when you have to go right in your house. It¡¯s all backwards. It¡¯s wrong. You aren¡¯t who you think you are. Please, come back to me¡­¡±

    Hope and will. That was really all she had. No real power against unknown, mysterious forces that wanted to make her think and feel a certain way. Why couldn¡¯t she do anything? Just a slimy, gross, broken thing, a wretched monster in the dark. She had to be more. She had to have the strength to bring things together, to fix what was broken, to mend the pain, to end the way things were now, and bring about a better future. Please! Goddess! Anyone! Help¡­

    What emerged was small, barely a flake of coal, but like the first spark of an ember, a shivering girl ancient ages ago in a cave struggled to nurture. The first light, the first idea blazing from human ingenuity. She couldn¡¯t just be imagining it. It had to be there. Something sparkled from her, and it traveled with urgent promise. Come on!

    The changes were subtle but bloomed with sharp brilliance. The lines of Misaki¡®s body, exaggerated beyond where they should¡¯ve fallen, distorted, leveled out. The erupting plush settled, like a healing bee sting. The blindly beaming light in her eyes returned to the ambiguous glow she loved. Not a perfect girl, not an overwhelming girl, and probably not a girl at all. But this was her friend, with her pleasant figure, nervous disposition, and frantic need to do so much. She was beautiful beyond measure. Yuka wrapped her up tight and trembled with relief.

    Side effects were the phrase du jour. Yuka gleaned that from Misaki and saying it provided the simplest explanation to whoever asked. Everything else could easily be written off as teen girl drama. Questions about why Misaki was acting so energetic, and her physical features appeared so different could probably be answered by Naoko¡¯s drug theory, but they settled more comfortably into the niche of being a quirk in how universes interacted with one another. Shrug. You just can¡¯t explain it!

    Misaki understood everything that she had done since waking up, even though certain elements felt like someone else was in charge and she was in a weird dreaming state. But the oddest element, the one that she kept to herself, was a spell she shared with Yuka.

    When someone else took over for her inside her own body, this so-called Carrie Francesca Fowler, it was like she migrated over to Yuka and rode along with the roller coaster of her uncertainty. Not every thought was available to her, but the heavy emotions, the panic, and the urgent need to plumb the depths of their experience and express something that would bring Misaki back, indwelled her. Like a broadcast signal of Yuka. Sasaki Wi-Fi. Strange blended in with lots of other strangeness. The only thing that really felt normal was Yasha''s piercing annoyance at the whole situation.

    Over the bold outfit that her Carrie alter ego selected, Misaki slipped on a windbreaker and sports pants borrowed from Yuka. Sharing clothes. She had toyed with the prospect last night, and the reality bumped her heart rate, but they were relatively generic clothes. The craziness underneath waved more girly flags.

    The walk to the park area was familiar with a dose of the new as they passed where they first arrived in the region and continued to a lovely park stretching along a straight road. The afterimages of fog lingered around the horizon and simplified the scope of the landscape. Looming clouds in the distance undulated like fake mountains from a revealed sky kingdom. That sounded like a notion Maharu would¡¯ve delighted in. Something to add to her playful, constructed mythology of the world around her.

    They joined a large exercise group composed of girls and ladies with especially feathered eyebrows. Despite all appearing at prime age, some moved a little slower and had to stretch carefully before beginning. The actual exercise routine included majestic music with serene, soaring overtones. Misaki watched her balance since she still didn¡¯t quite feel on an even keel yet. Her mouth was starting to feel better though. She spotted a pregnant girl doing a reduced version off to the side.

    Little snippets of conversation filled the lulls between exercise positions. Ladies caught up on the most recent gossip, reminded one another about recipes, chimed in about plans, and a cluster paid attention to them with vibrant curiosity. She could get used to this. Still not imagining staying permanently because of many unknowns. But there were so many reasons to come back as soon as possible.

    Breakfast afterwards was a frantic flash as each of the schoolgirls and others had their own trajectory to fly in. Yuka made sure that she took as much time as possible to hug and hold Misaki before leaving. Washing up and travel prep were mercifully uneventful. Chika and Namiko begged for some sort of explanation for the whiplash transformation that befell their friend in the morning, but Misaki had no idea what to say except that Yuka brought her back.

    Chika squeezed her phone tight and deftly spun a fury of angry auto-complete words about what happened, mixed with bubbling rage about recent events. She stopped short of calling into question the birth circumstances and anatomical composition of those who ran the company, but just short of it. Unveiled threats to lay out the equivalent of saturation bombing on an unheard-of Internet scale, courtesy of her fans and followers, boiled through her missive.

    Sending four additional, lengthy variations on the same eruption of disgust probably didn¡¯t count for much in the automated waste bin of the company, but it made Chika feel better. They made it clear to their hosts that they had no quarrel with them. Kei wrung her hands and adjusted her hair nervously while Fuyuki sent several urgent messages to Mari, snacked on crunchy vegetables, and tried to distract herself.

    The question of what to do now loomed. They could wait on answers, which were unlikely to come promptly, and burn through their vacation brewing and stewing. But there were castles out there to see, art festivals, picturesque walks, ryokan reservations, and so much more. It was an easy call to just keep an ear out and pack extra batteries for the phones.

    They were headed in the opposite direction from yesterday, towards a historical district near the center of the prefecture. The art festival was the first stop since it was only on for a limited time. Sections of it were hosted in volunteer houses with precious pieces strung on the walls. Others were just set along the roadside. They marveled at the trust involved. No girl would steal these priceless works; no girl would dare. For all the negatives that Yuka might cite about her world, there were still plenty of advantages.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Chika collected precious footage of art that practically no one outside of their world had ever seen. The wood carvings were especially unique, bearing strange qualities to the smoothing and composition, which made Misaki¡¯s memories of a long ago art history elective bubble to the surface. The surreal realism of even the most avant-garde pieces clashed with the inherent artistic aesthetic of the world. Knowing they were unlikely to make a second trek to this event, Chika made certain that the best of her footage was backed up more than one way. They captured a lot, but an even greater proportion eluded them as further art trails snaked into the hills and culminated at the nearest peak.

    After lunch, they took another train to a nearby park celebrated for having the most docile and curious deer in the world. Their Japan had a version, but this one was distinct. Only does and girls to greet them. The wildlife wandered among anxious travelers and relaxed townspeople. Their ears scanned the air like an extra pair of eyes. Feeding them was deliriously fun, and realized more lingering princess daydreams for Chika than Guy or Gal would ever admit to. Namiko, more than once, unintentionally shocked nature into running away from her giant ¡°milkers¡±. She accepted this as a symbol of pride.

    Misaki mulled over what a visit to this place would be like with Yuka. She''d tell her more about what bucks and stags were like and surely bring a beaming smile to her face. She would have to take her wristband off again, but that felt like a small risk compared to the immense opportunity to share an entire world with the one she loved. Loved. Yeah. She loved Yuka.

    No matter what age thing existed, and age and time were a twist of bewildering concepts around here. No matter that they had only known each other for a few days. No matter the reality-breaking weirdness, monsters, and whatever else might seek to drive them apart. No matter that it was an impossible relationship with the looming threat of melting away or inflating into some clothes horse ditz. Yuka would be there for her, and Misaki would be there for Yuka. Whatever she needed, whatever dark forces attempted to fall across their lives. They would stand together, and it would be okay. The overconfident notions of sweet, pristine love.

    After the deer, they did a local city walk focusing on older eras. The warring goddesses time was only lightly touched upon, but Misaki still managed to glean the broad cultural strokes. It began several centuries ago with the Onion War, which sounded more innocent than it actually was.

    The matriarchal hegemony dissolved, and whatever believers in powerful spirits or rising goddesses were eager to throw their weight into the power struggle. Sisters turned against one another. It was bloody but also gave rise to several romantic forms in the literature. Tragic stories of love with powerful figures on the cusp of success before betrayal or random happenstance ultimately fell them. All girl harems had historical relevance. Chika¡®s mind swarmed with possibilities for the shows that had to be out there.

    Naginatas held the same mystical allure as samurai swords, and the latter were more of a footnote in this version of history. Some fragments of an imagined manly form existed with certain styles of art, which Misaki reminded herself to ask Yuka about later. That appeared to fall somewhere between their postulation of chuusei, monks, and eunuchs. Still more of a speculative form than a historical group they could seek out for comparison.

    Delving into the core details of the warring goddesses occupied much of Misaki¡¯s afternoon as the others led her along. Once again, the legends preserved came down to love with a tragic twist. The goddess seeker Mayumi adopted a young girl living on the streets with a ferocious blade and a devoted heart. Learned and wise, Mayumi taught the child through song, melodies basking in knowledge kept alive to the present day and still highly useful in educating young girls on aspects of nature, life, and the world. She found them quite clever, intricate, and tenacious earworms, which she struggled to free herself from after humming a few times.

    It was a time of war, but Mayumi also fostered peace through alliances and skill. One-on-one challenges as proof of divine providence. Her patron goddess held back the rain so it would only fall on their enemies. Several of these miracles were documented and shown as spiritual proof. But all did not end well for Mayumi and those she loved. In the middle of the night, in the back, an assassin wounded the young girl that Mayumi cared for so deeply. Everyone struggled to save her, but it was not to be.

    In her grief, in her wailing agony, and in the rage that made her a demon beyond measure across the land, Mayumi hardened her heart and sealed her soul with hot blood. Through her pain and her blade, the fragmented confederation of goddess states was bound together by a single will. Peace was forged, but at a heartbreaking cost and with an iron fist. Mayumi¡®s lovers turned away from her. Her friends deserted her or fell to her anger. She never smiled again. Typically tragic and beautifully poetic, even though she was just getting the frailest survey of the history.

    Despite the dry composition of the account, Misaki felt moved by the tale. Works of fiction and in-depth historical accounts likely gave the events more flavor, but it was easy for her to fill in the gaps.

    The day receded from them with increasing speed. Tomorrow would be the resort, followed by more things speeding away from their attention. Every single moment existed as a work of art. Being dunked in it each second dulled the senses to that simple majesty. Misaki looked forward to the mini, fundraising shrine festival most of all. It likely wouldn¡¯t compare to so many others stretched across the land or set for later dates, but it would be with the girls they knew and a place they were becoming familiar with. That made it truly special.

    So many and so few days ahead. So many possibilities yet, and so many passed. Such terrifying things and such beauty. She couldn¡¯t wait to see Yuka again and share a dozen gleaming thoughts. Wrap her up in the kind of renewing, resilient, and unrelenting love that saved her from vanishing beneath the tyranny of the wristband. Share in simple joys. Maybe just sit in the indoor-outdoor garden and let happy thoughts bloom. So much ahead. But it would also soon be passed. Inevitably, she would have to say goodbye to Yuka and all the friends she made here. She just couldn¡¯t stay.

    But they might return someday. Or they might not. Now was all they had; these few days she wanted to portion out so sparingly as they burned through their lives faster, with the weird time shenanigans, than they could even comprehend. And there was something else.

    A notion gnawed at Misaki¡®s thoughts, like a claw probing the back of her brain. Something was coming. As sharply as she felt the omen from the shrine, not knowing what that meant either, a warning bell refused to be silent. She couldn¡¯t hold it back; none of them could. And, when it arrived, nothing would ever be the same again.

 [41] Yuri Worlds 41 â€“ Regrets

    Yuri Worlds

    [41] Regrets

    What was she supposed to do about it? Ominous warnings. Who was she supposed to tell? It was exhausting. Guy, Dwight, Chika, and Namiko were so vital to even approaching normal. And Yuka.

    She saved her, even though she didn¡¯t really understand what happened or why. It would be nice to spend the afternoon out with Yuka and get an immediate answer to the peculiar masculine art style and what it represents in this culture. Golden Week was coming. The better half of their vacation. Although it would be truncated because their universes didn¡¯t quite match for speed. She had no idea where the adjusted tally landed now.

    She needed Yuka. How could her life find any frail form of normalcy without her? Not to diminish the fact that she would still have her friends. But it was like discovering something more you needed beyond basic subsistence. You had to breathe, and you were breathing. You had to drink, and some drops of water found their way to you. You needed light, and sometimes it was bright enough. And now this new, vital essence she couldn¡¯t do without.

    Would she survive without Yuka? Of course. She survived without her friends for many years. She persisted through everything that life decided for her. That¡¯s what you do. Or you give up. Franklin was too dumb to give up. He had to persist; he had to endure, and so did she.

    But it was so difficult. The weight of it all. Monsters in the bedroom biting at his leg. The left leg? That¡¯s how it went with Yuka. His right shoulder hurt, but she wasn¡¯t certain of anything more than that. Details eluded her. Like looking at the world the wrong way and it collapsing into a confusing and headache-inducing autostereogram, one of those magic eye photos, with all the elements stretched into noise. Don¡¯t focus, don¡¯t seek, and don''t search for things you don¡¯t really want to know. Let it fade; let it all drift away. Like someone who knew better, giving her the best possible advice.

    Rest, rest, rest. Keep to the right. Don¡¯t stress the little left turns. They¡¯re not real. They can¡¯t possibly hurt you. They sat out on something like a small patio with a wrought iron table and matching chairs. Just somewhere to relax for a little while. Sift through elements of the Warring Goddesses Era. Take a break from walking the city and its history. Slowly go mad.

    Family trips used to be like this. Finding someplace to sit while the world gave the faintest imitation of Mediterranean splendor. A bookstore used to accompany their favorite place. Then it was a discount used place. Followed by something less. And finally, nothing at all. It was fine. Take away whatever, so long as she can still breathe.

    A pleasant little game store beside it. That would be enough. Plenty of quirky and fun PC titles, books, and fascinating extras persisted, the remnants of what used to be a software shop. But then they were gone. The places to sit vanished. Comfort evaporated. Get in, get something, leave money, and get the hell out. Their community had a massive Amazon place. An enrichment center. Or was that the name from the video game where the AI tried to kill you? They provided services to a wide region. Franklin would probably be fine working there.

    Her first version of that thought returned to the metaphor of ¡°survival¡°, but it tasted bitter in her thoughts. Maharu. Survival wasn¡¯t just a metaphor for her. No need for the wristband; she censored the thought herself. Not that that painfully energetic little girl would ever know or be troubled by her thoughts. But Misaki would. Miss Okura would probably also know somehow. She was scary like that.

    But she didn¡¯t scare Maharu. Not that that necessarily meant an immense amount. Yuka was liable to be unbothered by a massive omega hound built of raw muscle and spikes.

    ¡°Overthinking again?¡± Chika approached with one arm behind her back, vigorously rubbing as many places as possible. It took Misaki several moments to realize she was being spoken to, followed by stuffing all the complicated things back into a single, internal box and then sifting for the appropriate reaction. That extensive journey from where she was to where she needed to be resolved the question without the need for a reply.

    She still admitted, ¡°As always. But at least it¡¯s better than losing myself.¡± Chika responded by reaching across the table to grab her hand. And she searched through all her phone messages with visible disgust and no updates to share in response to any of her furious messages. Misaki leaned back in the chair. That position wasn¡¯t especially comfortable, but she remained there while her back started to ache and complain.

    Chika spun together a myriad of minor events that occurred to her while she was window shopping on her own. She admitted to a vague, irrepressible desire to buy a dress, even though she knew the results would be underwhelming after vacation. Misaki raised her eyebrows and responded calmly and casually, ¡°I hope you¡¯re not suffering any new effects like turning into a mega girl like me.¡±

    Her dear friend assured her that wasn¡¯t the case. She even threw out some deep belches and classic comments that Guy liked to wield to keep Gal in her place. "I¡¯m just a boy who loves to cop a feel in the privacy of my own underwear. The manliest of men, again and again. Ready to flex, but also more girl than anyone can deal with. But also¡­ Also, I kind of just want to be a girl. Stupid. So stupid. Yeah, never mind. Dumb."

    Misaki freed her back from the iron maiden swath of the chair and implored Chika to not brush things off like her. Something was bothering Chika, and Misaki would gladly accept the details.

    Chika squirmed in the seat, which was surprisingly difficult considering it had the surface of a flesh grater. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say. So stupid. You don¡¯t even remember the first day we met. And you shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    Immediately, Misaki jumped in with a sharp, clear expression of her memory. Clearer than a dozen other memories she should¡¯ve known vividly. But she knew. Little Guy, looking so cute. Her very first friend. Chika reached a hand up to cover her mouth. Sparkling, bright tears flooded her eyes. Misaki nearly leapt over the table to reach her, but that would¡¯ve turned her into spaghetti noodles.

    Chika helped her around to sitting closer but also inched away nervously while fidgeting with her drape of grape-toned hair. She squeezed her arms and legs down and between her thighs so tightly that it seemed more like she was preparing to turn her body into a pretzel. Misaki laid a hand on her shoulder and lightly rested her eyes against hers. Chika wobbled.

    ¡°It isn¡¯t like me to be so subdued. I¡¯m the wild, boisterous one sparkling across the Internet. I totally gave up being quiet and scared a long time ago. So, why am I¡­?¡±

    The rest of her words tumbled and flooded in front of her as she quietly cried. Misaki eagerly wrapped her up and rocked her gently. It all spilled. Chika remembered. She was weird and different even then. Her parents never felt like her real parents. But at least they didn¡¯t lash out at her for being different. They never talked since she turned eighteen, despite offers of money. Clearly, they felt they weren¡¯t her real parents either. Franklin¡®s mom cared more about whether ¡°Little Guy¡± had food and was smiling.

    That day, that lingering memory, was the brightest spot in her young life. The day she met Franklin. The little boy she never should¡¯ve found so cute. She wanted to stay by his side all the time. Every game was too short, and every day passed so quickly. Every time he twisted out of his grasp, it turned a knife in her heart. Why couldn¡¯t her friend simply hold her hand? Did he hate him? He was too weak, not good enough. Not a true friend. Guy had to be better.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Knowing Dwight helped. He was a skilled role model and never bothered by anything. He could bear the load. Guy could be like him and also use his cute sides as a character and a source of entertainment.

    Together, they could look out for their friend, and he would be proud to be around them. Misaki started crying too, and Chika immediately freaked out with her hands flapping wildly. Instinctively, Misaki gave Chika a careful kiss on the forehead. She settled down even though she was still crying and compressed like she wanted to crack nuts with her thighs. Taking inspiration from a Dwight level of initiative, Franklin gave voice to this exact thought.

    A blend of crying and giggling that Chika did in response shifted to simple hiccup giggles. And they didn¡¯t stop. She eventually had to scamper over to the nearest restroom beside a restaurant, lamenting how she had more of this trouble than Namiko. Meanwhile, Namiko returned with some puffy pastries for everyone, a strikingly spicy concoction for their friend, a meat bun for herself, and a sharp vanilla blend for Misaki.

    Namiko suspected where Chika had gone without needing to ask. She leaned forward with the full force of her presence, insulating her from the iron furniture. ¡°I¡¯ve actually needed more of my own little escapes than either of you have noticed. Part of my plan. You two always head off to the bathroom to stress out or feel sad. If I''ve gotta go, then I¡¯m gonna be around and I¡¯ll make sure I cheer you both up. Clich¨¦, but girls all hang out in bathrooms.¡± Namiko wore a playful smirk as she pushed up her glasses.

    Misaki¡®s eyes widened. Namiko tried to downplay the significance of her little admission. Dwight had all sorts of plans for cheering up his friends on any given day; this was just woven into the tapestry of their vacation. Of course, Misaki had to ask where the enormous boobs part of her plan played into all this. Namiko gave her girls a little adjustment and rubbed her back towards the left side.

    She meandered with her response, focusing first on the fact that the wait wasn¡¯t quite as brutal as she was expecting, but it was more a matter of the little things. The wind played havoc with her muscles lately, and that little press of discomfort provided an aching crack that she just couldn¡¯t shake. Getting a DEFCON one boob war protection network was going to be her next endeavor. Along with finding a comfortable pillow combo for her back overnight.

    As for why, Namiko stuck to her original reasoning that it would be interesting and different to go all out with something like this. It provided a source of comedy and reasons to chat with strangers. And, as she carefully admitted, it was a punishment. Misaki practically did a double-take about that. Why would Dwight want to be punished?

    "It doesn¡¯t need to be said that my parents were complete white trash who attempted to beat me just as much as anyone at school. They took away everything but my ability to hang out with the two of you. They destroyed everything I had, attempted to kill themselves and me on several occasions, and always made nice for social services. But I survived. And I¡¯m happy. Choosing a challenging shape is just going with hard mode. And shows I¡¯m not complacent, that whatever burden is fine for me. Plus, I can tell Guy really wanted to get them, but they would¡¯ve ruined the trip for her. So, this way, I get to show them off, and she can still enjoy them from whatever distance she¡¯s comfortable with."

    Misaki reeled. Part of her wanted to worry that all she was experiencing was actually the actions of the wristbands messing with her friends just as much as hers messed with her. But there were signs of this before. Things she shrugged off. How adamant Guy was about his manly nature. Dwight often felt obligated to take the load for everyone else, like a workhorse who claimed exhaustion would never come.

    He knew about the Chapman family and plenty of little horror stories he couldn¡¯t bear to know that Dwight suffered through. Yes, what Dwight said last week about getting a better understanding and appreciation of boobs also still applied. And, before Misaki could lament that a friend put themselves through suffering on their vacation, Namiko wagged a finger and assured her that she was actually feeling great aside from the wind-nipped corner of her shoulder, which would¡¯ve happened no matter how deep she went into the bra alphabet.

    It wasn¡¯t a total reassurance, but Misaki groaned and accepted it as Namiko worked her magic to bring back smiles. When Chika returned, a combination of continued bad poker faces and obvious thought processes allowed the entire trio to get on the same page. The tussling of love and affection nearly approached Maharu-like levels of adamance. And Chika grudgingly admitted that she really wanted to be the one with the mega boobs. As far as desires, it was like they inverted what they wanted. Misaki could¡¯ve gone a little bit bigger, but she had no intentions of matching the absurdity of what she woke up this morning with.

    Something about that felt strangely natural, even though what she¡¯d been given was not cause for complaint. And if challenges and other issues weren¡¯t a factor, Namiko knew that she would¡¯ve settled closer to Misaki¡®s current contours. Chika buried her face underneath as many hands and layers as possible as she admitted to wanting to blow the scales apart as a girl. A preponderance of that came from wanting to prove herself and not be a marginal case. It was absurd. It was so stupid, as she said before. Along with everything else. They were absurd together.

    Tears mixed with laughter, and all the dark and mottled shades of anxiety, concern, and fear drifted away, as though a sickly odor brushed aside by a kinder breeze. One note that came up was Chika¡¯s realization that an entire swath of her fandom was gonna lose bets because they strongly held to the notion that she was ultimately an assured, manly boy behind all of the femboy paraphernalia and trappings. Peak masculinity. Oh well, she would just have to deal with the deluge of I-told-you-sos.

    The pastries were delicious and perfect, and they let the food settle in their bellies before continuing on with their shopping jaunt. It didn¡¯t take long before Namiko found what she referred to as the iron maiden bra. The amount of wire involved wasn¡¯t excessive, nor did it creak according to her quips, but it offered gentle but reassuring assistance, which eased her discomfort.

    Their day finished with the renewal of hope over the stress of survival. It would be fine, somehow. As with so many bad times before, the darkness was fleeting. Could it even really be called darkness? It had flashes of fear, small worries, minor challenges, uncertain feelings, and sharp warnings. Still, how could any of them find a happy ending with so many questions, such uncertainty, and all these tears? Because there was good in this world, good in the cracks and crevices and places you didn¡¯t often look in their world, and good wins out.

    Whatever the company was trying to do to them and things around, it wouldn¡¯t work. Whatever monster was chewing on them and bringing harm, it would be overcome. Whoever might try to hurt others or bring sadness, would fail. Whatever parting or melancholy lay ahead, something beautiful would fill that empty space, and renewal would burst forth.

    Hopeful notions. Silly notions, but Misaki chose to believe in them.

 [42] Yuri Worlds 42 â€“ Truths

    Yuri Worlds

    [42] Truths

    ¡°I think I know that style! And you say it matches up well with the interesting matters we discussed last night? That¡¯s so wild! So, we may not directly have it, but there exists something comparable!¡°

    No strange visual anomalies or other weirdnesses propped up on the way back home. The trio met up with Yuka at the same general store. It wasn¡¯t too far of a walk to the shopping arcade from there. Some aspects of the layout compared to old or new shopping strips back home, mostly ones downtown. Misaki thought it reminded her of some places along the beach where her family used to vacation. Clothing was largely taken care of by the bags that came with them, but having their own, chosen kimonos for the mini-festival sure felt like a vital bonus.

    They had been sifting through women¡¯s clothing all day, especially intimate selections for Namiko. But it was an entirely different matter for Misaki to be fully immersed in that, along with it being a different cultural aesthetic and having Yuka around. Not that Misaki could clearly articulate what that meant, just that her heart doubled its pace, and everything ached like she needed her own special bras everywhere for psychological support.

    More people clustered around the shops than they typically saw walking around. A few girls from the school recognized them, especially Namiko as a big, soft protector. The traditional clothing store offered a myriad of options. Too many options, especially for Misaki and her choice issues. The clerk applied something like a science to the patterns and materials.

    Chika was relatively small and especially slim, apart from her wide hips. Their advice was to either go for a bright kimono with light colors and small patterns that didn¡¯t try to overwhelm her or focus on a continuous flowery design that would play up all her qualities in a subtle manner. For Namiko, because of her prominent curves, the clerk advised a deeper color palette from navy to purple or black with longitudinal shapes but not stark vertical stripes. And finally, she expressed it cheerfully, but it really didn¡¯t help Misaki to know that any style would probably suit her well.

    During a moment when the clerk took Chika and Namiko back to get them sized and looking at some possibilities, Misaki seized that opportunity to bring up to Yuka the peculiar art style evocative of masculine forms that she ran into. Neither of them could express it completely clearly with the wristbands monitoring, but they communicated the gist.

    Yuka gave several twirls around the clothing racks as she postulated over whether maybe something other than girls existed in the distant past, and this was like an artifact memory of that existence. It drifted into Bianka territory, with ancient groups seeding other realities like an alien life origin theory. A mix of lush light greens, fair purples, and radiant pinks saturated Misaki¡®s senses but were the front-runners for what she should try on.

    At least it wasn¡¯t putting on Yuka¡¯s clothes again, but the stress of being in such a lovely little shop for anime girls, along with the clear aesthetic choices that emphasized femininity, made Misaki''s stomach gurgle and her body vaguely feel like she had to use the bathroom almost as bad as her compatriots earlier. Fortunately, some deep breaths and focus allowed her to quell that false alarm.

    She agreed to pretty much everything Yuka put in front of her, seeing the lovely clothes but still struggling with the realization that this was meant to be something she would wear. Qualifying that the other component of their society often wore soft kimonos similar to this offered a way for Misaki to relax her racing mind, keep Yuka placated, and psych herself up for the inevitable. The options that settled to the top were relatively plain and matched her eyes with a deep pinkish red orbiting but not quite touching the tones of red, lavender, or peach. Considering the way her thoughts swung around, that ambiguity suited her uncertain feelings. A subdued gray layer underneath with a band of gold highlighted the girly, cute colors and made them pop. A reddish sash with subtle white sakura designs played well with the primary color and didn¡¯t clash.

    Despite agreeing to this strikingly feminine but also subtle garment, Yuka wanted to see her in a plethora of others, especially a multitude of delicate floral accents. And it only made sense to take pictures with her phone of every single outfit and variation. Misaki vaguely wondered if the clothes horse curse had passed¡­ to her girl¡­ to her girlfriend. Girlfriend.

    Girl who is a friend¡­ and they each confessed love for one another. Girlfriend. Saying the word inside her head almost felt like invoking or tempting some ancient mystic spell. And it created a hot coal of feelings and uncertainty in her soft, cloth-wrapped gut. She struggled to tell her body to relax. Don¡¯t be so high-strung. It¡¯s going to be fine. This wasn¡¯t the hard part. They were trying these clothes on in the comfort and safety of a small shop. Worry should come when they¡¯re out in public. And something inside her immediately put down a scheduled appointment to worry when that came about and threw in a little more indigestion.

    The clothes her friends chose hewed close to their special recommendations. Chika absolutely seemed to inherit the fervor for fashion Misaki wielded earlier or, more appropriately, she reclaimed her well-earned Gal crown. Chika looked strikingly mature with her purple locks sprawled across a snowy, soft color with minimal sections of small pink, purple, and red flowers. The sharp blush that played across her cheeks didn¡¯t blunt her elegant expression. Lines of lavender kept the garment from looking too blank, along with a dark blue sash. That was only the first of so many variants both close and distant to her "little sister¡¯s" color picks. Gold bits, white trim, puffy pale white little flowers, then ones with more of a golden touch, followed by slipping an orchid in her hair. Nothing quite satisfied her need to search further.

    Namiko was a simple one. She went with black with bits of gray and little accents of red that played well with her hair. What they picked up from Fuyuki allowed just a gentle curve to underplay the mountain range beneath. Nami also chose a cute orange ribbon to help with her hair.

    Chika swung between paler pink colors and ones deeper than the tone Misaki settled on while ping-ponging with uncertainty. Golden hair sticks and several light flowers went into her hair as she tried putting it up. One outfit with dense floral print sleeves seemed like the one she would settle on until fresh flower feasts emerged from the back. As adamantly as she was a manly man who happened to dress up pretty, she wasn¡¯t going to half ass being a girly girl in a pretty kimono, as Misaki could deduce. "Cute as fuck or nothing", was a Gal Hotner motto.

    Eventually, she snapped up a half dozen different outfits with the intent to eventually get them back home and otherwise wear each at every opportunity. The rush of different purple-blend branch blossoms made her twirl to show off every aspect of the design. Gold and blue adorned her sash while she gave a gleeful spinning dance. Not as mature tilting as the other options, but she didn¡¯t seem to mind.

    Misaki decided to haul the big bag with all the clothes over her shoulder. It provided the opportunity to introduce Yuka to the concept of Santa Claus. The concept of a secret gift giver already existed for them with Befana. Yuka expressed her somewhat like a fairy spirit in other cultures. The character also had witch-like underpinnings, but since twisted, grotesque, and wrinkly features just didn¡¯t exist in this culture, they were absent, and she had ghostly pale skin instead.

    The idea of a full beard like a curl of human body hair collected into a mossy, dense underpinning was fascinating for Yuka. She knew of girls who liked to take wigs or hair extensions and place them over different parts of their bodies, including their faces. More proof to her that something persisted innately in human nature.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    None of the other clothing stores provided quite the same allure, but there were several shrine maiden-style and similar stage costumes. Misaki wondered and vaguely hoped they might see Maharu again. She would nudge her girlfriend towards clarifying or apologizing for what she said. And the same cheerful energy would renew itself as it did when they first arrived. Aside from the nightmarish vision and so many other nasty little things.

    A store like a toy shop clung to a tiny corner. Unsurprisingly, this was where Misaki finally saw Maharu. She was crouched, but her brilliant blue hair was unmistakable. Yuka had eyes for the nearby tea shop and didn¡¯t notice her classmate for a long stretch. When she did, she took several steps back, spun around, and actually tried to disguise herself behind Misaki¡®s swollen gift sack. Chika and Namiko swiftly volunteered to pop inside, check on the girl, and perhaps cheer her up. Yuka retreated far back and pulled at her collar with nerves, like she was auditioning to be a replacement for Franklin.

    "I tried to talk to her earlier. I tried; I really did. I don¡¯t know. She¡¯s not mad, but she still needs space and¡­ Come on, let¡¯s not do this. I just wanna have a fun afternoon with you and¡­and your friends. I don¡¯t want to deal with having to patch this up when I have no idea what to say to her. She does need to grow up. And I¡¯m not her mom. I don¡¯t know what I can do about things I shouldn¡¯t be responsible for."

    With the window and the space, at least it was impossible for Yuka to say anything else that might mess things up further. The others reached Maharu and started to chat without any words audible. From this very limited angle, Misaki didn¡¯t see any red flags with the girl shutting down and turning everyone away. She greeted them cordially and perched a little higher as she read through something from the far shelf. Yuka gave meek squeaks from her position, cloaked by Misaki. It wasn¡¯t long before Maharu completely turned around and addressed Chika and Namiko. She continued to cling close to a little brochure she was attentively reading and showed off certain parts through the chat.

    And it wasn¡¯t long after that before she noticed Misaki through the window. The hulking sack of clothes prompted a little rounding of her mouth and dipping of her head in curiosity before she exuberantly waved over her head wildly enough that the model planes strapped to the ceiling began to spin and twist. How long could they possibly preserve a smile on the poor girl¡¯s face? Misaki waved back but also endeavored to communicate through body language that she was going to keep her distance because of the load she was saddled with. All that either wasn¡¯t conveyed clearly or Maharu just didn¡¯t notice because she got rapidly and exuberantly closer.

    The jig would soon be up. Yuka could run off, and Misaki didn¡¯t discount the possibility in the next few seconds. But Maharu would know. Her smile and her cheer would soon be ruined. Misaki had to brace herself for that.

    It was just past the door that Maharu slowed and paused between drawing in and releasing a bold breath to ever so subtly deflate. She looked into Misaki¡®s eyes, not with judgment or any sense of hurt betrayal, but with bracing resignation. This was happening. It would have happened eventually. But this was the moment. And, as Misaki feared and anticipated, Yuka ran off.

    She sprinted hard, becoming nearly the sort of blur that a Maharu launch represented. Quiet disappointment swelled through the young girl¡¯s eyes as they dipped towards the floor. ¡°Hello, I''ve missed talking to you lately. And your friends. Is everyone alright?¡±

    Instead of dwelling on the lost opportunity or trying to chase after Yuka, Misaki instead swung around her massive bag of clothes and focused on their anticipation of the mini-festival. Maharu had plenty of bright enthusiasm to share about little details and stories of how exhausting the new dances were. She could barely get through her explanation without yawns wafting through her voice. A wiggle and a shift brought her back to some semblance of awareness as she showed off and fanned what she was reading.

    It was the directions to the game the other night. Misaki made some quick assumptions that she was refreshing herself to get better. That wasn¡¯t quite the case. Maharu clarified that she¡¯d never actually read the rules for the game. The reason that she knew and understood as much as she did was through gleaning what other players knew and the experience of playing and surmising.

    But why? Surely, there were certain technical rules that most girls might accidentally overlook or that would be difficult to piece together just from context clues? Maharu acknowledged this fact. She even just discovered several things she never realized which would be beneficial in her next playthrough.

    Particularly, she was surprised to discover that the numbers on the left of the cards did not signify gem generation amounts but actually game victory points. The others were visibly flummoxed; she never realized this. That was one of the key methods for scoring and winning the game. Didn¡¯t that approach make the entire thing confusing? Maharu firmly bopped herself on the head.

    ¡°I¡¯m a silly dumb dumb. I just never quite figured it out. Whoopsie do. But I¡¯ll hopefully be better now! Hehe...¡±

    Chika and Namiko flashed looks of concern but didn¡¯t press her about this issue. The two of them broke off from the group to go looking for Yuka. A small bench and a cozy nook not too far from the stairs provided a place for Maharu and Misaki to rest for a bit. Maharu waited a conspicuous span of time after Misaki sat down to join her. The sack went off to the side. Aching tiredness saturated Misaki, and she once again fumbled with how to present the kind of energetic, upbeat countenance that Maharu managed so often. Looking over, Misaki saw dense sparkles of tears in her eyes.

    She immediately panicked with an urgent swath of concern ranging from something she said to clearly something else she said or did or some other way this could be her fault. And threw in some worries that the girl simply stubbed her toe by the bench, was worried about Yuka, or¡­

    ¡°Grandma told you¡­¡±

    Misaki took several nervous moments to act as dumb as possible about what on earth she could possibly mean by that. Miss Okura? They had a chat, and it could¡¯ve been about several topics. Nothing too specific, nothing too wild. Just typical grandma stuff about looking out for folks.

    "She told you my moms were murdered. I can tell. When you came out of visiting with her, you had the same look as Yuka on the day she learned too. Your spirit lost a little bit of its color, but you tried not to let it show."

    Rubbing the aching spots on her body, especially her forehead, didn¡¯t help Misaki much, but it was about all she could think to do. Maharu leaned over and asked, "Since you know that much, do you want to know the rest?"

    Maharu¡¯s eyes hardened like muddy crystals in a vice, their reflection carrying a single, focused facet, as though gathering all the light in them into a single, sharpened spot of concentration. Misaki looked up and glanced around to see if anyone was in danger of snooping on their conversation. The suddenly serious, blue-haired girl amended, "In private, later. If you¡¯re a keeper of the secret, then you might as well have the whole thing. Well, not the whole thing, but as much as I can give. Up to you. Just say the word, and it¡¯ll be like we never spoke."

    Misaki could absolutely see how Miss Okura and this girl were related, despite the disparity in their energy levels. Everything in her brain told her to take that out, but she still responded, "All right. The whole thing. When, where?"

    ¡°Tonight, at the old hotel. There¡¯s a little spot, a secret place, another little clubhouse of mine apart from the shacks. I¡¯ll tell you everything.¡±

 [43] Yuri Worlds 43 â€“ Pain

    Yuri Worlds

    [43] Pain

    Some strong measure of the swirling uncertainty that gripped Misaki at the end of yesterday gripped her again, like she was a frail planetoid knocked out of a tenuous orbit by looming, unseen forces.

    Maharu shrugged off the serious matters, like slipping off a winter coat that she no longer needed. Their discussion returned to excitement and curiosity about the advanced mechanics at play in the game. How much did being the first player really matter? Did reserving certain tiles actually lead to beneficial results? In addition, she rubbed at her wrists and hands and gently grumbled about the new dances while being quietly grateful that she didn¡¯t need to do the singing too. The vast possibilities for unintended flourishes and improvisation excited her. Not that the ladies of the shrine wanted her to do anything too wild. But the possibilities made her giggle.

    A spinning dance around the stage. Twirling on the columns. Using a torii gate like a balance beam. Spinning until she was so dizzy she couldn¡¯t stand. Dancing with any girl from the crowd. All quite silly possibilities that would never happen. But they fluttered through her mind like hopeful sparks. More than simply quiet tradition and reciting the motions of the past. Making waves with the spirits, waking them up, and inviting the nice ones to rock out. She bounced gleefully on the seat. Eventually, all that energy settled down, and she leaned back.

    ¡°You know, I¡¯m not actually that upset at mommy for venting her thoughts. Grandma often gets more frustrated. Mommy meant everything she said, and she¡¯s right. I need to grow up. I need to be able to take care of myself without being desperate for her. But I ran away because I was scared of losing her. You make her so much happier than me. I wish I could see her smile like she does for you¡­ for me too. I just want mommy to be happy. Please, make sure she¡¯s happy.¡±

    Maharu didn¡¯t stay to let her respond to that or add anything else. She just ran off too, in the opposite direction than the others went. Not that Misaki felt she could¡¯ve assembled the appropriate words in response anyway. The emotions that twisted through her felt worse than any sort of headache, grinding through her skull like a vice made of sandpaper. She was responsible. No way around it, even though she knew if she expressed it in those words, many would try to denounce it.

    She was sure that Maharu didn¡¯t intend to lay guilt on her for any of this. At least, she suspected there was no ill intent. The girl wanted to meet her alone in an abandoned, crumbling old building, in the night, in the dark. Not that she was scared of Maharu. She was just a young girl. Though she could perform some surprisingly brutal grabs, throttles, and holds. What could she possibly intend to tell her though? Misaki already knew that the girl¡¯s moms were murdered. And the grandmother seemed to imply Maharu was the sole surviving witness.

    If this were some typical horror anime, then her mind could easily imagine that maybe Maharu had split personalities from this tragic event, and it turned her to the dark side. The bouts of violent affection were some translation of dealing with all sorts of psychological stuff that Misaki could pull out of her ass. She had to remind herself that this was a world not too far removed from her own. Maybe violence wasn¡¯t quite at the level that she knew back home, but she just read about a girl going on a bloody rampage to conquer lands ages ago. It was a human condition, not just one of men.

    Furthermore, they were currently no longer guys in any muscular or size level. Granted, there were plenty of ways to level an advantage. What popped into her mind was how skillful Maharu was with a carving knife when preparing a meal. So deft that Yasha seemed impressed and wanting to learn from her. All of that probably should¡¯ve said weirder things about Yasha than Maharu.

    It was too much. She didn¡¯t need the complication of having to worry about who she upset because of friendship and love. Why couldn¡¯t they just all come together, happy and free of drama, in a big old snuggle fest? Under normal conditions, she would¡¯ve anticipated Maharu to be one of the first to suggest something like that as a resolution. Not that she knew her intimately or knew any of the girls deeply with all their secrets lurking underneath. Hopefully she knew a couple things about Yuka, not even counting that creepy interlude when her panic was transmitted to her.

    Yuka returned first from the group, locking eyes with Misaki before scanning the area for Maharu and where she might have gone. She had plenty of questions. Maharu left. She mentioned Yuka. She claimed not to be upset. And here was where Misaki struggled to come up with words that felt right. It could all just come out. Reveal that the poor girl was jealous and afraid of what would happen to the closest thing she had left to a mom. What did that say about her grandmother? Would it be brave or cowardly for Misaki to just blurt out the truth?

    ¡°She¡¯s scared. And stressed out. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s ready to talk yet. But it sounds like she wants to do the growing up you both think she should be doing. You mean everything to her. But sometimes girls need to be apart to realize that."

    Huffing her breath through her nostrils, Yuka plopped down on the bench close to Misaki. ¡°Yeah. Girls. Girl drama. Your side of things has got to have it better, right?¡± Chika and Namiko weren¡¯t back yet, and no one else was in the immediate area. At least Yuka didn¡¯t attempt blurting out the three-letter word. She wondered if the wristband might try putting out an electric shock at this point as the next level of a punitive measure if it caught a hint of that word.

    Another question that Misaki needed more time to reasonably answer than the moment offered her. ¡±As long as there are humans around other humans, there¡¯s gonna be some sort of drama. Sorry.¡±

    Yuka pressed a hand lightly to her forehead and gave a little puff-snort of tiredness. ¡°Just gotta stop being human then. Oh well. Your friends will be back in a few minutes. They said they had to use the bathroom. They¡¯re really sweet. Miss Yamane seems like she would go to the ends of the earth to help anyone. And your little sister makes me wish I had a little sister too. Sorry for wrapping the three of you up in all our nonsense when you should be having a stress-free vacation.¡±

    Misaki adamantly urged that there was no inconvenience at all. They were guests, so they were already causing an imposition, so anything they had to deal with was just a modest price to pay for enjoying such a unique place and such rare girls. She sputtered through that explanation like a small craft trying to take off on a too-short runway. Yuka leaned over and squeezed Misaki on the shoulder. She asked earnestly if Maharu was all right. Misaki nodded without needing to think about it. She accepted that.

    The rest of the little shopping excursion was mercifully free of drama or excitement. Yuka did sneak a few peeks at the wedding shop. White was still the dominant color, and fancy dresses abounded, but formal, dressy, draping suits also featured as options, along with variations of traditional clothing. She steered them away from the fruit shop since the prices were exorbitant compared to the general store. Everyone picked up some bubble tea before they started on their way back.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    Despite the pleasant company and nice drinks, Misaki found aches and pains clinging to her. Most of them were better. The remnants of her burned mouth were still sloughing off with raw dimples, but they seemed to be healing faster than she expected. The headache she felt before mostly disappeared, along with the dizziness. She worked to massage around her chest ache without making it seem suggestive. Not that anyone else would¡¯ve thought it looked suggestive, but her brain was still stressed about the possibility.

    Namiko noticed her discomfort despite all efforts to disguise it. Yuka immediately jumped in, trying to provide a back and muscle rub. Misaki was too quick to announce that she had been cured of any problems by the light contact. A stop by the clinic seemed like the best idea to Yuka. Before Misaki could put together her effort to say that she felt fine, she bashed her elbow on the nearby wall when turning away. The headache also faintly returned, as though there were a reactivation button in that arm. She acquiesced without further complaint.

    The others came along to check out the clinic, with Namiko taking up the load of the big Santa sack. The waiting room was still as empty as before. The teddy bear was still slumped in one of the side seats by the reception area. Instead of a book and a cape, it wore oversized pajamas and a domino mask. To the left, the overhead light was still burned out. From a back room, Misaki could again hear Ayame¡¯s voice leaking through the walls.

    ¡°All you have is a fax machine. That¡¯s the only thing. I don¡¯t know or care what management tells you about which device to use; the only thing you have is a fax machine. You can take a turtle, shove a USB cable up their ass, and try to splash them with some useful source color, but all you¡¯ll get is an angry turtle. Don¡¯t make me come over there. That¡¯s just what they¡¯re going to say about it. Yeah, the originals are what I need. Listen, listen, listen. I¡¯m tired. I really don¡¯t want to scream again. To protect? Besides, what options are we looking at? Do you know the last time I slept? No, further back, further back than that, you¡¯re still not even close. I just want to finish the paperwork. Then the billing can be done. That¡¯s really all I''m up for. All right. Rediscover your fax machine and shove it up any orifice of theirs that works. We tight homegirl. Word to your mamas.¡±

    Misaki glanced around during that rant. She expected a visible reaction from Chika and Namiko, with at least their eyebrows raised, ranging from snickers to confusion or concern. But they were just quietly, patiently waiting, and their only signs of attention shifted around the room to places to sit and the stock standard reading material on the walls and magazine racks. Her hearing couldn¡¯t be that much better than anyone else¡¯s.

    Yuka didn¡¯t seem focused on Ayame¡¯s voice either. Hadn¡¯t she heard the weird rant during their original walk to the shrine? The details of that other one vaguely lingered in Misaki¡®s thoughts. There had also been frustration about paperwork and shoving it where the sun don¡¯t shine and the moon. Tell him the moon. Tell him the moon. Tell HIM¡­ the moon. No way.

    She hadn¡¯t said that three-letter word. It wasn¡¯t possible. And there was no proof of it. Just her questionable, flaky memory from a few days ago of some barely coherent vent of frustration about incorrect paperwork muffled by a wall. The girl¡ªthe adult mom¡ªwas likely just spewing out random things. Why didn¡¯t Misaki bring it up at the time? Something about that question twisted more discomfort into her head with every passing second. She didn¡¯t care about ripping off the wristband in front of everyone, so long as it made the exhaustion and discomfort go away. Despite that feeling, she barely managed to resist the temptation, as it sounded like Ayame was finishing up in the back.

    It didn¡¯t take long before she emerged, vaguely disheveled, eyes acquiring rings like it had been years in tree age, and rumpled scrubs. That low energy perked up as she sipped from a tall cup of coffee and noticed that she had visitors. Her first response was to immediately head for Yuka and confirm the recovery of her leg. Yuka gladly showed off the results, even though she still flinched where the sunken, dark mass had been last night in the bath.

    Following that, Ayame¡¯s sympathy and attention were directed towards the behemoth projecting from Namiko. She light-heartedly assured Ayame that, despite the load on her front and the haul on her back, she felt perfectly fine. Skepticism lingered in Ayame¡®s comments and demeanor, as it appeared she was checking more than her physical features. She eventually agreed with Namiko.

    Misaki went back to the exam room alone. Ayame took down several attentive notes while attempting to shake loose her lingering tiredness with plenty of coffee. She asked how long had the discomfort been occurring. Misaki pondered this for an especially long time before admitting to the details but also bringing up, ¡°I felt a weird flash of discomfort right before we met the other day. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s important.¡± Looking down, Misaki had few concerns about carefully loosening her wristband and placing it unobtrusively nearby with that arm carefully hidden. She then amended her statement about the ¡°moon¡± and ¡°him¡± for specifics about what she heard.

    Ayame paused in her notetaking and glanced over with a curious expression. ¡°Him. Do you happen to know how this word you heard would be represented? At least in characters from your world. I know there¡¯s a whole translation voodoo going on with this travel company, but I can¡¯t be sure how accurate all that is.¡±

    On the paper, Misaki rendered the letters in block so that their form was unmistakable. Ayame scrutinized it sharply with her eyes narrowed. Misaki worried that something might happen to this woman. Perhaps bleeding eyes, wild screaming, or worse. But the quiet sense about the two of them lingered, and she eventually looked up from what her patient wrote for her and conceded with a shrug, "I have no idea what this means. I can¡¯t totally bridge our language gap. I don¡¯t recall saying any word reminiscent of what you¡¯ve shared with me. A lot of words come out of my mouth, and the vast majority are not worth remembering. Can you expound upon what this word means to you?"

    Hesitantly, Misaki drifted around and attempted to express the notion of an entire other sex to humanity. ¡°It¡¯s a pronoun, for those who are not girls. It¡¯s a word from my world. Which is why I don¡¯t understand how you knew it.¡± She attempted to blunt any sense of an accusatory tone. Just wanting to understand.

    Ayame stood there calmly and reflected on that answer. She opened her mouth to speak several times, but it had the same effect as a fish attempting to take air from the shore to breathe. The reserved and careful calm squeezed tighter and sharper, as though an invisible hand was wrapped around Ayame, and she was struggling to get free. Misaki could tell she wanted to scream, but she was being held back. Straightening and only releasing a calm sigh, Ayame smiled at her and answered, "Never heard of it. Must be similar to one of our words, and the translator screwed up. Sorry for the confusion. Now let¡¯s see what we can do about your pain issues."

    Misaki wanted to press her. She wanted to understand what on earth was going on. Even with her wristband off, it was clear that a not-so-subtle hand was guiding and shoving things in whatever direction it wished.

 [44] Yuri Worlds 44 â€“ Energy

    Yuri Worlds

    [44] Energy

    Ayame delicately palpated the different regions of discomfort for Misaki and mentioned options. She focused on a major acupressure point between the thumb and forefinger on each hand that could be firmly pressed to alleviate multiple sources of pain. But that wasn¡¯t the only spot she advised to help. Several other places on the hand, including around the base of the little finger and the palm, received gentle massages that immediately cut the edge off the worst of the discomfort.

    She smiled as she noted that Misaki clearly spent a lot of time in the same position, tensely answering questions for people. Plenty of typing, too. She recognized all that just from the feel of her hands. Considering they weren¡¯t even really her hands, Misaki was impressed and bewildered. Light massage and firm manipulation of her back brought out a feeling like she had compressed so many parts of her body from circulation and feeling, and now they were finally released. It helped immensely with the tenderness she was feeling, but Ayame didn¡¯t stop there. She made sure to work on the other side too. For Misaki, it was like strings and strands of pain, unknotted but also pulled taut in the other direction.

    When that round was finished, Misaki still felt some places could be worked on but also felt so much better and clearer. The surreal feeling of having her hands touched and that effort resounding throughout her entire body brought so many questions while she fumbled to explain it in scientific terms as just a reaction from an interconnected nervous system. Despite the decent length of Ayame¡®s nails, she didn¡¯t press into her too hard, nor did the tenderness spike into uncomfortable pain. Reflected sides of her body responded to the manipulation. And the aches rapidly went away. But Ayame was not done with her quite yet.

    She advised her point-blank, "You are massively stressed out, and you wear all that pressure within but near the surface. I can push around your hands a little bit more, and you won¡¯t get a recurrence as bad for at least a little while." But she considered that barely even a bandage. Ayame wanted to do a proper, if basic, Reiki healing on her to really help. She advised her that it would take a little while, and she didn¡¯t know how long her friends could stay and wait.

    They checked in with all of them, and none wanted to leave. Misaki lamented that more than she felt honored. But she didn¡¯t have much choice in the matter, as she was going to get a healing, and her friends were going to enjoy Ayame¡¯s massive teddy bear and the ancient magazines along the walls. Chika was the one who asked the probing question about what the deal was with the bear, and Ayame explained it was her youngest daughter¡¯s toy she got a while back. But it took up too much space in her room, and she was getting tired of it, so the lady bear became her silent workplace companion. She enjoyed dressing up in an assortment of slightly different outfits and seeing if anyone noticed. Before settling in with Misaki though, Ayame double-checked to make sure that Namiko didn¡¯t have any encumbrances and passed along the same tips she gave regarding acupressure to whoever needed them. Chika and Namiko were each able to pick it up to use on themselves.

    In one of the side exam rooms, Ayame had Misaki stretch out on a more comfortable exam table. Soothing music and other sounds, combined with a faint wafting mist and gentle aromas, made her relatively relaxed. The improvement based on palm touching lingered. Her chest could still use a light massage in some tender spots, but the worst of the aches had diminished. She had no idea what was normal for this loaner body, but, even at baseline, it felt nicer than what Franklin was saddled with. It sucked that she had carried some semblance of that other form and its inherent infirmities. A vacation from himself, but all that baggage still tagged along.

    ¡°Could you stretch out a little bit more? I want to make sure I get the best reading possible. This probably all feels like some mystic lady waggling goat parts to change the television channel. But it¡¯s like comparing cold and heat centers and trying to see if they¡¯re balanced. The experience of energy is different for everyone. I can walk you through all my steps, or I can preserve the mystery of the sausage.¡±

    While certain parts of Misaki were fascinated at how this all worked as well as wielding healthy skepticism that this was little more than a placebo effect, she opted for the streamlined approach of letting Ayame do what she did without a primer.

    The first couple of minutes were rather like Ayame it was performing a mime act, holding her palms over Misaki with an even motion and steady circles. It was obvious that looks of concern were deepening across the healer¡­medical worker¡¯s face as she probed her body. She both desperately wanted to know yet, nervously didn¡¯t want to say anything about Ayame¡¯s uncertain demeanor. Ultimately, as it often did, fear eventually won out, and she had to ask. Ayame didn¡¯t answer immediately, instead moving her hands over the same spots again, as though carefully double-checking a worrying result.

    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re a traveler from another world?¡± Out of all the questions that Misaki expected her to come up with, that one would have been pretty low on the list considering all they talked about the other day concerning the company and various concerns.

    With as much actual confidence as she could muster, Misaki frankly responded, "Absolutely sure. They¡­ Well, what you¡¯re probably getting are the forms they gave us for the trip."

    Putting her hands out again, Ayame shook her head firmly and noted, "No, I can sense that. It¡¯s like a thin candy coating. A brightening and sweetening mirage. Some shuffling of appearance. But the peculiar part is that when I look below that physical layer, your soul is that of one of us. You feel and smell¡ªit¡¯s kind of a synesthesia mix of sensations when you¡¯re reading energy¡ªjust like any girl I¡¯ve ever treated. In fact, your predominant aroma is so very close to Yuka¡¯s. So much that it¡¯s like she took some personal perfume and splashed you with it, but on a soul level. I don¡¯t know if that makes sense, but it¡¯s also not making sense to me with everything you¡¯ve said. Fortunately, what I need to do won¡¯t pry into all of that at the deepest levels. I just thought you should know."

    A swirl of mad questions stormed through Misaki¡¯s mind. She had to be wrong. This was all a bunch of hooey spirit junk from another universe, waving her hands and trying to figure out what might be wrong with her. Sure, crazier things existed. Strange visions, creepy monsters, teleporting grandmas, mind-control forces, colors blinking out, and unsettlingly visceral dreams. This shouldn¡¯t have been that weird amidst all that, but a blazing flare of irritation popped up as she judged Ayame¡¯s hand wiggling.

    Instead of getting irked and snapping at Ayame, she took a breath and asked, "So, what sort of aroma, presence, or whatever does Yuka have?" Ayame continued the supposed healing for several moments before pausing and answering her question: "That would be a breach of medical confidentiality. Even more than that, I¡¯ve looked at the deepest portions of her soul. The very heart of her being. However¡­ I can tell you two are close in so many ways. Yuka is full of contradictions. If I had to use analogies, then she contains both a fluffy, exuberant puppy and a shy, private snake."

    Imagining those two things and especially keeping in mind the unsettling encounter in the tub last night, Misaki stumbled for what to think. Ayame rocked her head and clarified, "Just analogies. I adore snakes. They¡¯re at the heart of medicine. In Yuka, I feel this dark, intimate essence searching for somewhere warm. The snake cries even though it has no voice. Now the puppy is probably a bit easier to understand, but not necessarily as perfectly cuddly as you might imagine. It can yip and nip and bound and push itself into places where it shouldn¡¯t go. Wildly affectionate yet mercurial. Those traits clash and can lead to much uncertainty. She wears the candy-coated shell as much as you do with being proper, patient, and pragmatic."

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    None of this really settled above reading signs or offering up vague platitudes that could be patterned after anyone or intuited on the same level as what Kei seemed to do. That didn¡¯t necessarily mean she was wrong, but Misaki also doubted if there was anything meaningful to glean. This time, she reacted with the boldness of a shrug.

    Ayame didn¡¯t interpret that as an insult but rather told her, ¡°Your energy is actually well-suited for motherhood. It¡¯s brightly maternal. You¡¯ll be a fantastic mom.¡±

    This was the point at which Misaki let her internal skepticism show with an arched eyebrow and a tight mouthline. Ayame shrugged back and declared, "I just call what I see, and I¡¯m at least as good as any blind baseball umpire. And even one of those ladies would pick this up. Looking at my own energy, I am not the perfect ideal mom, but I work on it every day with my girls. You and Yuka are amazing. And I desperately hope you can both remain friends. You brighten the lives of one another, and that¡¯s all I have to say about that. As far as your condition and discomfort, I think I see what¡¯s wrong, but it¡¯s strange."

    Misaki wanted to rebuke that assessment, but it was wrapped up in praise for Yuka, and she just couldn¡¯t tear it apart. Besides, she was more concerned about what Ayame seemed to find about her. They just had a full medical checkup with the company before traveling, so it couldn¡¯t be that serious. Unless they ignored something or just didn¡¯t see it. But how on earth was some spirit touchy-feely lady supposed to find something actually serious? At the same time, she fretted over how much this technique could interpret her feelings and thoughts.

    Without breaking her calm and collected expression, Ayame relayed, "You¡¯re missing what should be deep reservoirs, swaths of energy that inhabit every person. Not missing in the sense that they were never there, but someone or something has sucked so much out of you. Typically, certain nature entities can latch on to human energy like leeches. Other types of malicious forms can pull a lot out of a person. But in those cases, I¡¯ll see some signs of their presence and their energy interacting with yours, like how a mosquito takes blood and can leave some signs of disease and its own internal factors. Make sense?"

    Misaki gulped and looked down at herself before nodding to Ayame. And the healer lady confirmed that yes, this world had mosquitoes. An inescapable scourge. And since Misaki didn¡¯t react with surprise, Ayame could only deduce that this other world that she was cautiously interested in visiting because of the way she would be treated like a fresh young thing had them too. So, what did this mean?

    A thoughtful expression crossed her face for several moments, twisted around with concern and uncertainty. Eventually, she had to concede, "I honestly have no clue. I¡¯ve actually seen it before with occasional cases of exhaustion in the community. It shows up a lot after heavy storms, like we recently had, where there¡¯s brisk wind afterward. I don¡¯t know if that means there¡¯s just a Yokai I¡¯m not thinking of that comes with the weather or something else. But the absence feels so clinical and surgical, like a medical spirit vacuum. What I can do for you now, with a relatively quick and simple Reiki procedure, is move around what you have left and even out the distribution so that your bothered areas don¡¯t feel quite as bad. The rest is just time. Get some sleep, relax, recover, and try not to piss off any vacuum monsters."

    The moving things about portion of the treatment felt like nothing much. But it also had a refreshing massage element without actually making contact with her. Like remotely triggered warm, comforting muscle spasms. Ayame relayed that the problem was related to the heart chakra. Which was right in the middle of her chest and needed renewal. The movement of energy soothed much of her discomfort and offered up a giddy, almost drunken sensation, warming all parts of her body. Misaki quipped about whether it was also the boob chakra.

    Ayame giggled but confirmed that the things related to that area also went through that energy point, so they could be considered on the same level. She joked though, that her friend Namiko probably had her own dedicated four-and-a-half-point boob chakra. Misaki gave a continuing nitrous oxide-infused giggle. She had something else in mind she wanted to say, but it drifted away from her. But wasn¡¯t it strange that this pain popped up not too long after something occurred overnight to bolster her figure, most prominently her bust? She couldn¡¯t think of an easy or coherent way to express that as Ayame continued to work through her body.

    When it was all done, the swirling drunkenness eased, with ripples of discomfort still wandering around. She felt better than before but was still relatively out of sorts. Ayame encouraged her to make sure to drink plenty of water along with the other advice for the recovery of her normal spirit energy levels. She offered her a heavy-duty plastic bottle, slightly taller than the generic package sets she was used to back home, with a reclosable pop top. It wasn¡¯t the greatest water in the world, but it had a slight hint of being in a fridge recently, along with a brisk taste that usually comes from alkaline.

    Outside, the others were relaxed and waiting for her. They didn¡¯t jump up anxiously from their seats as though eager to get a move on. But they also urgently wanted to know if she was all right. Yuka in particular landed her eyes on Ayame, diligently searching for evidence that the woman may have mistreated her girl. She was soon placated and snuggled Misaki more gleefully than anyone had ever hugged the giant teddy bear seated at the cut-out window. Though there were no takers, Ayame communicated that the others were welcome to stop by for a checkup and any sort of spirit reading they wished so that their vacation could go as smoothly as possible before she bid them all a lovely evening.

    Several speckles of stars already emerged in the clear sky. The wind brushed past them, but without the animalistic, hungry energy of the other day. Looking up, Yuka made a slight, sly reference to how she greeted them with a Vulcan slant. Eager to delve into this unexplored realm of her interest, Misaki asked as many urgent questions as Yuka asked about aspects of being a man.

    Firstly, the name Star Trek applied so far as the translation methods allowed, but the literal connection was Grand Strategies/Goals in Space, which even Yuka acknowledged came across as stuffy and antiquated. Later iterations played more into the adventure or journey aspects. It wasn¡¯t hard to tease out what elements of the shows appealed to Yuka.

    She adored the scientific curiosity and search for understanding displayed by the women who explored space on the ship. The captain was also often quite charismatic. But logic and intuition also played side-by-side, encouraging contrasting feelings to arrive at a consensus. Strange beings beyond comprehension existed. Since Chika and Namiko only really got vague hints about how much Yuka knew about their homeworld, Yuka continued in her vagueness and winks at her girlfriend.

    The stories delighted her but also kindled surprise and questions. How different were entities and lives beyond this world? Could the mysteries of life, the universe, and everything else really ever be known and simply delineated into something as succinct as a number, a word, or an entire library full of possibilities? Knowledge and the pursuit of truth excited her lawyer instincts, along with her tenacity to protect others. She made an effort to share that little snippet when first greeting them in the hopes she might find something familiar. Even though it glanced off the intended mark, that kindred spirit still made it through.

 [45] Yuri Worlds 45 â€“ Touch

    Yuri Worlds

    [45] Touch

    Of the four of them, Chika had the lightest comprehension of Star Trek. She¡¯d seen a handful of the older series, a smattering of 80s and 90s favorites, and a vague sense of the most recent works. Namiko consciously stopped before the most recent era, preferring it before everything became like a blockbuster movie.

    Misaki had the beginnings of several versions, with the middle parts most extensively watched by her parents tuning in for syndication and her mom having a thirsty crush on the original captain, composing a decent number of fan letters. Yuka was situated somewhere between Misaki and Namiko for her expertise, but it was in an entirely different lexicon because of the subtly different shows produced here. The message of hope and possibility remained universal. The topic endured until they arrived back at the Sasaki home.

    Both moms were there, having moved a few items out of the old hotel. Yasha was there as well. She stretched back with her legs extended, sipping something that looked like more than simply tea with her dark shades on and her blonde hair dangling over the headrest. She seemed as chill as they¡¯d seen her at any point in the vacation. Misaki wondered if she had some sort of massage or beauty treatment because her skin appeared to have an extra luster to it and a springy freshness.

    Yasha confirmed the vague details of a relaxation treatment in the south, along with time spent on a beach. She wasn¡¯t interested in the knowledge of a Reiki healer, but she grunted a few times when they brought up Ayame before returning to nurse her drink. The upcoming prospects of a resort stay made her tip her shades up, but that was all. Kei and Fuyuki traded suspicious glances with smiles.

    The most Misaki could interpret from that gesture was that the resort Kei put on their itinerary starting tomorrow evening had some special or nostalgic quality. She wasn¡¯t really looking forward to it because, at best, it would take until sometime Saturday for her and Yuka to meet up. Likely at the mini-festival. She treasured the time they had now. But at what time should she meet up with Maharu? The girl gave no specifics. How could she sneak out without causing suspicion? Did she need to sneak out? They were advised to stay away from the old hotel, but even Yuka hinted at holding a test of courage there.

    Haruka made an appearance next and made a beeline for Misaki. Before she could inquire about what the elder sister wanted, Haruka carefully and casually wrapped her arms around Misaki and held her in a careful, accommodating, and unmistakable hug. It wasn''t something she expected from this inscrutable girl, but it wasn¡¯t unpleasant.

    "Thank you. I¡¯m sorry¡­" With those faintly whispered words, Haruka pulled away, politely bowed, and made her way upstairs. Everyone around appeared mystified by that interaction, Yuka in particular. Yasha appeared her normal amount of bored but with a single raised eyebrow.

    With a sigh and a shrug, Yuka could only conclude, ¡°I guess she approves of you. Of things. Of you as a guest¡­ yeah. We should talk some more about that show¡­ We talked about. Because there¡¯s more to talk about. Always more to talk about. About shows and stuff like that.¡± Yuka¡¯s nervousness and quick glances at her moms practically rivaled a Franklin moment.

    Misaki found that particularly cute, even though she was surprised at her girlfriend¡¯s awkwardness. Despite mostly skirting around the big stuff, she assumed that the moms had figured out they had a crush on one another. When would be the appropriate time to lay it all out though? After these nearly two weeks, it was up in the air how readily they¡¯d be able to communicate and see each other again. But they had now, and she didn¡¯t want to stress about all that, like usual. Without making any more excuses, Misaki made her way upstairs after informing the group that she would be over for tea and supper in a little while, but she also might be interested in taking a walk by herself at night.

    Immediately, Fuyuki and Kei raised concerns about late-night travels alone since spirits often traveled after dark and could overwhelm a single soul with tiredness and uncertainty. Yuka chirped up that what Ayame suggested about Misaki needing to take it easy to recover also meant that was a bad idea. Even hinting that she was not interested in wandering far didn¡¯t mollify their concerns for her. To avoid stressing anyone out, especially her friends who were jumping in as well, Misaki played off her interest in walking around at night. She didn¡¯t totally deny it. Maharu would be waiting for her, and she couldn¡¯t leave her alone in the dark of that old building, waiting all night.

    Upstairs, Yuka snuck after her and guided her to her bedroom. It had some new clothes clutter, and stuff set on the bed. If she had to purely guess, it looked like Yuka sifted through multiple outfit possibilities before deciding on the silver and gold ensemble she met them in at the general store. The subtler tones played well with her hair and made her face shine brighter, but not to an overwhelming extent. Yuka admitted that she has also had a slight ache since this morning.

    The tenderness concentrated around her collar and toward her belly. Different chakras, if that¡¯s what was affected. She had no idea. Earlier, when it felt like Misaki was lost, she would¡¯ve gladly burned through whatever reservoirs existed inside just to bring her back. Just to see her surprised smile and wavering uncertainty adorably spread out across her wide-eyed features. Misaki had to ask why Yuka didn¡¯t ask for a healing or a spirit renewal from her friend. Yuka grumbled. She was just glad to overcome Ayame¡¯s concerns about the thing on her leg. She didn¡¯t want to keep the group longer because of her. She¡¯d take care of this some other time or pursue alternatives for soothing her spirit and body.

    Despite eagerly wanting to chat with Misaki about a plethora of concepts ranging from how the Trek shows translated to the other world to explorations of this fascinating art style and discoveries they weren¡¯t able to discuss publicly, Yuka soon dipped her head against the nearest pillow with her eyes sinking shut. Quiet, squeaky little snores soon followed.

    Misaki decided to put the extra clothes away in the closet, even though she had to guess where Yuka preferred them. She hung it all with quiet diligence until the entire bed was clear. Scooting next to Yuka, she eased back and sprawled out beside her. Reaching over, Misaki gently slipped her slim hand through Yuki¡®s dark, silvery hair. Whatever gentle noise Yuka had been making before quieted to the most serene whisper of air. Moving slowly and carefully, Misaki clung to Yuka¡¯s sleeping form. She wrapped her up like a version of the beautiful blanket of so many soft things Yuka laid out for her last night when she was tired. This didn¡¯t quite compare, but she was glad to help.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Sleepiness attached itself to her as well, but she managed to remain awake. At least for a little while. Long enough to make Yuka¡¯s sleeping face gain a warm and pleasant smile. The silken snake curled up close for warmth. By way of explanation, she wondered about spirit manifestations. Humans seemed to blend with animal entities. Her mind suspected there was something there, but she hadn¡¯t really paid attention to the cohesive Yokai folklore. If reptiles were Yuka¡¯s spirit animals or spirits that attached themselves to her, then she suspected there would¡¯ve been more said about this quality. Dogs seemed like things she would attract, and neither of them had seen phantom canines.

    Oh well. No matter what others thought about Yuka¡¯s heart and spirit, Misaki simply believed in its beauty. Not perfect. Not a goddess. But not something broken or a monster, like the poor girl feared from herself. That¡¯s what mattered to her.

    She continued to stroke her sleeping girlfriend¡¯s hair, making sure it didn¡¯t slip over her mouth. But the touch slowly became ever gentler so that it wouldn¡¯t break the spell of her slumber. They lay down together like this for a good while, until Misaki felt confident that Yuka wouldn¡¯t easily be rattled awake. She continued to keep her hands and arms around her until she gradually pulled back to get more comfortable. The smile on Yuka¡¯s lips wavered and dipped for just a moment before settling back in. Misaki needed to use the restroom, but she silently promised she would be back.

    Creeping out into the hallway was difficult since it felt like every creak and shift of noise she made seemed more like a bomb that would brutally shatter this precious moment to pieces. But Yuka remained asleep as she slipped away.

    The hallway was as quiet and devoid of others as when they snuck out for the shower last night. It was easy to pop into the restroom and take care of things. Checking in on the guest bedroom, she noticed there was a new message on her phone. She¡¯d dropped it off when they went upstairs. According to the tags, it was sent by Miss Okura. Had she given her number at some point? She didn¡¯t remember, but considering Mari probably had their contact info, it didn¡¯t seem like a difficult proposition that she got it one way or another.

    The message was not what she expected though. It came from Maharu. She wanted to make sure they could still meet up at the old hotel. She would be on her way soon. Now was the time to say that she couldn¡¯t make it, that something came up, or that they should just find somewhere private in this house to talk rather than going to the abandoned building next door. That was what she needed to do. Just simply put her foot down on this matter.

    ¡°All right. Be safe.¡±

    Her shoulders slumped, and she pressed a hand to her forehead. Why? A sense of obligation. So much had been laid at her feet concerning Maharu and what happened to her. It would be wrong to try to get her to change the arrangement without saying anything before. Plus, part of her wondered if this might reveal some truth that had thus far eluded her. She was starting to get really annoyed at some of these parts of herself. A lot of parts and a juggling fest of thoughts. It would be better to just have a single, focused, certain front and core to herself, like what Yuka alluded to with bringing things together in focus.

    The rest of the evening consisted of Yuka occasionally waking up and noticing she was still around before muttering through starship officer questions. A light supper came up to them courtesy of Yasha, who was recruited into service. She didn¡¯t do or say much but delivered the items, although she didn¡¯t do it with evident anger or annoyance. Showers were taken, and the tea ceremony still occurred with a strikingly sweet combination.

    The night sank close and tight, like a lead blanket all around. It was one of the most subdued stretches since they arrived. Misaki wasn¡¯t the only one who seemed depleted as the Sasaki moms puttered about with stuff in the tiny cellar. Haruka slowly hung lights around the bamboo garden. And Chika fussed with her phone for quite a while to conjure up an answer from the company, which they all suspected would never arrive. She and Nami eventually brainstormed ideas for edits with the existing footage of the day and whatever was left over.

    It didn¡¯t take long for Misaki to stumble into the opportune moment with Yuka curled up for another nap after they had an uneventful time in the shower and bathroom together just talking about the Captain Kirks they knew. It was severely lacking, but Misaki managed to sketch a poor example of what her version of the actor should¡¯ve looked like. Scribbled sweat and muscles were in copious supply, and Yuka again had to invoke references to sumo girls while giggling about the ridiculous appearance.

    Maharu never really came up, even though Misaki attempted to lead them in that direction more than once. Yuka mainly itched her legs and cozied up. She started a book she was supposed to get through over Golden Week but kept getting lost, imagining the couples and situations differently. It was vaguely historical, which interested Misaki, but too heavily domestic for either of them to really get engaged. When Yuka eventually drifted off, it was easy for her to slip away. Her roommates were still busy, and everyone else was suitably distracted as she took the long way around to the front of the house to gather her shoes, having brought her phone to use as a light source.

    Outside, the wind was nowhere near as intense as the other day but still stretched its influence across distant branches, fluttering with a shifting tableau of animated colors. The old hotel wasn¡¯t far away. It loomed as a beacon of dark, uncertain mystery. Her body didn¡¯t feel as tender as earlier, but some dragging remnants of exhaustion were still there. Siren calls urged her to just turn around and head back, apologize over text message for unavoidable events that kept her away. What would Maharu possibly do about that?

    It was dark and blustery, but the lack of a real storm failed to set the proper mood. Not that she was asking for it, as she cautiously stepped away from the house and towards the dark mass of the traditional building looming beyond, both warning and welcoming her.

 [46] Yuri Worlds 46 â€“ Confessions

    Yuri Worlds

    [46] Confessions

    Misaki struggled to slide open the front door of the old hotel. It barely stayed in place on its corroded tracks. The inside was dark and smelled of foul, musty things.

    The light on her phone did little to push back the clinging shadows. Parts of the front area looked like they¡¯d recently been cleaned, with bags of trash sitting to the side. It vaguely resembled the main house, with a dedicated entryway for shoes and heavy clothes. Picture frames decorated the right-side wall, but whatever photos may have once been in them were removed. Despite how sharply cold it felt, with night spread out like a cloak of ice, Misaki was absolutely covered in sweat.

    She expected to go left, a familiar inkling. But that just led to the end of the hall with a small side entrance. A hallway with gorgeous dark wood paneling, remarkably preserved, split down the center of the building and advanced beyond the reach of her meager light. What used to be a sizable family shrine area anchored a nearby cluster of bedrooms and storage areas. A dusty, discolored bamboo screen wobbled without anything in front of it. Once beautiful art was marred by blackened scars darker than anything found on Yuka¡®s leg. Misaki did her best to cover her mouth as she searched.

    Calling out to Maharu seemed like the best idea. And also, the worst idea, depending on whether no one answered, or something did. On the other side of the entrance, she noticed a disorganized living area open to the hallway. Traces of what may have been a television setup or an open bar clustered at one end, with the ghostly impressions of heavy furniture pockmarking the carpet. A slew of tall cardboard boxes sprawled out like model autopsied buildings of a lost civilization. On the other side of the hallway, grungy, cluttered, and vaguely menacing sinks, stoves, and forgotten silverware glinted at her from a kitchen area devoid of chairs and tables.

    Half-open sliding doors allowed views of rooms reminiscent of the main house¡¯s traditional tea space with tatami flooring. Despite oppressive patches of dark mold and the sense that an angry storm had just smashed through, none of it appeared as though it had been abandoned for long. Clearly, the Sasakis did work and cleaned out certain things, but she still found an unsettling amount of rot and ruin.

    Figuring there would be no better time to say something, Misaki drew in a carefully filtered breath and called out, ¡°Miss Okura Maharu! Haru? It¡¯s Miss Takano. I¡¯m here to talk to you¡­¡±

    Misaki scanned the space, even though there was no way her light would reach far enough. Turning back towards the kitchen and living area, her heart just about blasted out of her chest when a shadow formed at the edge, stretched forward, and then dipped back, as though playfully peeking. She urgently focused all of her attention and the full force of her light on that section and scanned around as the floor beneath her gave soft, uncomfortable crunches.

    For the sake of her own sanity, she came to the conclusion that the way the light off the phone stretched long bands of blackness created some visual illusion with the edge of the hallway and one of the piles of boxes. That illusion refused to be reproduced, but she just applied evidence that her eyes often did weird things and approached the steps leading to the second story.

    The stairs looked about the same as the ones in the main house. Nothing was warped, sagging, or damaged. But as she slowly climbed them, it was like the trapped nature spirits of the wood were released in mournful agony. Groans not only surrounded her feet but seeped into the walls and made a noise like desperate panic. Not the common summer sounds of the rafters settling after a warm day or a wide shift in temperature. Those were bold but urgent pops of a home stretching. These were diseased rumbles, echoes of a forest tumbling down and screaming its last breath. Going slower or faster barely seemed to make a difference.

    The layout of the hallway remained essentially the same, though slightly wider than downstairs. It was presented as tossed, frozen dollhouse snapshots of a place coldly neglected. She had to watch her step as patches of inky blackness hinted at the first story through worn tears in the floor. They still seemed like they would support her weight, but the tense creaking warned her off testing that. A large, marked bath area sat across from a communal room, which once provided a view from a small overlook by the large, cracked windows. The hotel wasn¡¯t massive, but it appeared to have close to a dozen dedicated bedrooms.

    Not sure what to do next as she approached the end of the hallway, Misaki clung to the most comfortable wall and slowly panned her phone light across the open space to look for some clue or direction for what she was supposed to do now. The very last room across from her had a small, white note tucked along the floor with the handwritten name ¡°MAHARU¡± in wobbly letters. Sure seemed like the best hint to her. The hotel gave one last groaning breath behind her before she cautiously slid open the door.

    Light in a dull, amber tone crawled over the interior features. A roll-out bed was unfurled in the center of the room. The source of the light was a nearby LED lamp styled after an oil one from ages ago. Some food, half-open packages, and a large mass of blankets sat next to the bed, along with a camping bag that appeared large enough to hold everything spread out. No one was here, but it sure seemed like they had been around recently. Misaki allowed herself something approaching a normal breath.

    The floor shifted behind her, and before she could swing around to check, a soft voice said, ¡°Please don¡¯t move. Stay where you are.¡±

    Despite that order, Misaki still naturally turned her head and swiveled around in place. A bright white flashlight blotted out everything she could see in the doorway. Blue halos in the air told her enough. Maharu.

    ¡°Don¡¯t, just don¡¯t. Or you¡¯ll force me to do something¡­ I really don¡¯t want to do.¡±

    Misaki struggled to comprehend the harsh tension in Maharu¡¯s voice. Her eyes strained against the bloom of light. Whether these enormous anime peepers were a hindrance or not, she had no idea, but they ached so bad.

    It took a few moments before enough of that side of the room resolved itself for her to see Maharu standing there with a heavy, warm jacket and a massive, glittering knife held out from her hip in one hand. All other details receded into unimportance. Maharu had a freaking knife! Misaki automatically backed away, her words failing her at this moment.

    ¡°No no no no no no... NO! Please, just stay there¡­or sit down. Don¡¯t make any sudden moves. Please.¡± Maharu¡¯s voice scrambled and fumbled through the words frantically, as though she were handling an awkward, complicated dish on a burner and she wanted to will it to stay steady and not boil over. None of this made any sense to Misaki as she stared at the girl against the stark, blinding clash of bright and dark.

    They were supposed to just talk. She was going to tell her something. Why did she have a knife? Swooning sickness gripped her, like her tongue was fighting to twist back into her throat. Misaki slowly stumbled over the rolled-out bed and blankets, dropping to the floor that groaned and growled at her presence on it.

    ¡°What is this¡­what?"

    ¡°Sshh¡­shut. Shut up. Please, shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP! No no¡­ I¡¯m sorry that¡¯s ¡­I just. I have to know. If it¡¯s you. I don¡¯t¡­ it shouldn¡¯t be this way, but I have to know. I can explain¡­¡± That outburst from Maharu shook Misaki more than any of their encounters in this place, the visions, or her fears. She felt like she was quivering and trembling more than the building around them. Words wanted to come out of her mouth, but they dissolved into faint gurgles with uncertain gasps.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Maharu dipped her head and seemed to struggle just as much as she, fighting to find breath. ¡°Okay, all right. My mothers were murdered. They were brutally killed. Slaughter. In the woods. Stabbed. Over and over. Their murderer was a traveler from another world. A monster that tore them to pieces.¡± She desperately pressed a clenched hand to her mouth, holding back a flood of things she could scarcely control. It was a small, stray thought, but Misaki wondered what she had on or around her that might protect her if Maharu decided to strike out with the knife at her side.

    Such an impossible thought. She joked that the girl had violent qualities with her affection, but she never actually considered her dangerous. This place wasn¡¯t like that, and these girls weren¡¯t like that. They couldn¡¯t be.

    Processing what Maharu said, Misaki squeezed a tense, small breath into her lungs that didn¡¯t feel like she was breathing at all. ¡°My Goddess¡­A traveler? Who? They sent people here before?¡± The quivering, blue-haired girl had uncertain shivers of her normal expression mixed with icy hardness. She barely breathed either. Her free hand kept shifting in place.

    ¡°A traveler. A visitor. I can¡¯t remember their face. But they sent people. Quite a few. Tourism between worlds. My moms worked with the shrine. They knew more than most. Everyone was quiet about how much happened between worlds. Be careful. Keep it quiet. We were out in the woods. Having fun. My moms just taught me the jewel game. I was awful at it. I was still figuring out how to walk. But it sounded so romantic. Jewels and adventure in distant lands. Then, she showed up. So much of what happened is a blur. But they were the first clear memories of my entire life. Momma Koharu bleeding over me as she struggled to protect me¡­and the light left her eyes. I could hear that monster¡¯s voice as she laughed and whistled. Just a little poke here and there. It¡¯ll be over in a minute. Oh¡­over with, over with. I don¡¯t know why she let me live¡­ I don¡¯t know why I survived. I was trapped under my moms until grandma found me¡­ I had to pretend¡­ to pretend¡­ they were just hugging me! All while I was screaming inside!¡±

    Getting all that out was a struggle for both of them. Misaki reeled with every word Maharu fought her way through, and the poor girl had to squeeze each breath through her lungs, one careful drag at a time. The frantic, broken panic at the end barely made its way out of her collapsing shape. She looked across the consuming darkness at Misaki¡¯s stunned face. The knife thunked to the floor from her hand.

    ¡°It¡¯s not you. It¡¯s not¡­ I was so sure from everything my grandmother gathered that it had to be one of you. Come back to make it all scream again. She dismissed all four of you several days ago, but I couldn¡¯t¡­ I suspected Yasha first. She was¡­ still is, so separate from your group. Aloof, unsympathetic, and rude. And quite good with knives. I tested her. I pushed. I gave her every opportunity to show any true colors beneath. I let her have a knife; I let her have me on a silver platter. Nothing. We actually became friends these last few days, and she let me have this knife for protection. I was so sure it had to be her. I watched your little sister and your friend. Make sure. Not them either. So that only left¡­you. You. It had to be you. And you had mommy wrapped around your little finger¡­ justice. That¡¯s all I want. Justice for my mothers and justice for the childhood that was stolen from me!¡±

    Maharu slumped to the side and whimpered with a pained croak, exhausted, depleted, and so very lost. Her cries were desperately anguished, and she tried to choke herself through words. She apologized deeply for scaring Misaki, shoving the knife as far away as possible.

    Misaki finally felt her heart begin to settle. The girl thought she was a murderer in disguise. Assumption by process of elimination, but she would¡¯ve thought that Yasha would be the finalist based on all the strange things she¡¯d done along the way and how many arguments they had. Neither were reasons to pull a knife on her though. Misaki should¡¯ve been madder at Maharu for getting her to come here to extract a confession from a killer. But Franklin lamented that he couldn¡¯t provide her with catharsis.

    Before finally settling down, Maharu crawled over to Misaki and stared at her unblinkingly, like she was a living lie detector test. Moments later, she heaved a sigh of resignation and handed Misaki the massive knife by the handle to set aside safely. Misaki stressed out, for just a moment, that she might screw this up or that the girl would see something sinister she didn¡¯t intend. But the knife transfer went without trouble, and the two of them sat on the creaking, weak floor as Maharu struggled to hold back so many tears flooding her heart.

    ¡°Ayame was the last piece. She and grandma are amazing at reading people. I put Yasha to the biggest tests. It would¡¯ve been so much better if it was her rather than no one. No¡­That¡¯s so bad. So, so bad. She¡¯s very sweet and makes me laugh, but the feeling around her is weird. She¡¯s not used to this kind of stuff. And she doesn¡¯t deserve my suffering. None of you do.¡±

    Maharu clarified that Ayame communicated that she got a sense of Misaki in particular, sincerely bound by medical confidentiality, but she communicated the gist that Misaki wasn¡¯t a cruel or foreign presence. She wasn¡¯t quite sure how she felt about that, considering a lot of people in this community were clearly keeping uncomfortable secrets. Maharu wanted to take the blame for all of this. She was the one who lost everything, and their community came together to protect her and make sure it never happened again.

    ¡°Back in those days, my grandmother tells me, Yasuda Mari was deeply connected with the company from another world. One of their key representatives. She was in charge of maintaining a good relationship with our world. It was through her that we learned that a traveler was responsible. She made sure we knew the truth, even though the company claimed it was a wild animal attack I barely survived. And now you know everything about me¡­¡± Maharu pulled herself up into a tight fetal position.

    Misaki shifted in place and sat up. ¡°Actually, I don¡¯t. I don¡¯t know your favorite type of flower. I don¡¯t know what book makes you giggle. I don¡¯t even know your favorite dish. And your favorite species of fish. What way you¡¯ve always wanted to wear your hair but never tried. There are so many things. I just know a terrible thing that happened when you were young. You are not the embodiment of that terrible time. You are not the pain and loss you carry. You are so much more than that. You are all the days after that you live, that you got up from that terrible place when everything was broken and lived, so that your mothers could see what a beautiful young woman their little girl grew into.¡±

    So much of that felt like bullshit. She didn¡¯t know Maharu¡¯s moms. What spirit stuff she knew of this world was a flimsy understanding at best. And the jumble of words that came out of her could¡¯ve been far more elegant and clearer. Really, Maharu should¡¯ve slapped her for blindly leaping through so many strangled assumptions. Instead, she grabbed her in what looked at first like a crippling hold, but it was actually remarkably gentle. And she sobbed everything she had, like a storm convulsing across her face. Hiccups, ragged coughs, and flush wobbles gripped Maharu as she did her own impossible search for words.

    Misaki knew she hadn¡¯t solved anything with that spill of sentimental thoughts. All the terrible things would still be there. But it was something. It was a start. It was a faint reminder of hope, and she was so desperately grateful to share it with this girl who needed it so dearly.

 [47] Yuri Worlds 47 â€“ Recovery

    Yuri Worlds

    [47] Recovery

    Despite feeling monumentally exhausted on all levels, Misaki still had enough energy to stress about all manner of theoretical, supernatural spooks lingering around them in the darkness.

    Maharu, when she was able to recover to coherence, admitted that much of that spooky aura was likely her fault. She strategically planted all sorts of unsettling things around the hotel, ranging from carefully hidden humanoid posters covered in faint traces of bio-luminescent paint to infrasound recordings with random spooky noises to keep most girls away. That both explained a couple of things to Misaki while leaving other notions inscrutable. Slipping over to her rollout bed, Maharu unveiled further truths.

    ¡°This was the last place we stayed as a family, the night before. It used to be so beautiful. My moms would often stay here way before I was born, at the height of its time as a fancy place. Those days were long past when I visited with my family. Kei and Fuyuki only had a small sliver of the downstairs renovated for any kind of use. I was so young and eager to see all the secret little places. This spot upstairs was my favorite nook. Right here.¡± She drew her arms in semicircles around the spot where the futon was rolled out.

    Misaki listened attentively as the girl reminisced. All the cozy details spilled out, leaving slivers of what existed before. Precious patterns. Dainty aromas. Clinging tussles of warm wafts and prying chill breezes. Everything was in balance then. Her hopes festered that if she just came here long enough and at the right times, she might catch a leftover glimmer of that night and that life. Before Misaki could say anything else, Maharu bowed her head and acknowledged the truth.

    ¡°I need to live. Not hide in the past. That murderer is still out there, but if my life is guided by them, then I¡¯m already dead. It¡¯s hard¡­ It¡¯s so very hard to think of a different life. But I¡¯m gonna try. For my moms. For myself. To be more myself. Try not to strangle and slam everyone I love because I¡¯m so scared they might vanish forever too.¡± Despite that promise, her arms forcefully slammed into the floor, and it was a minor miracle it didn¡¯t split open right there. Misaki assured her quietly, while watching to make sure the floor wasn¡¯t about to give way, that Maharu could slam, strangle, and sumo move her whenever she wanted, and it was fine.

    Maharu took her up on that and grabbed Misaki firmly, in a vaguely threatening hold, and asked, ¡°Are you going to make mommy sad? You¡¯re only visiting for another week. Then you¡¯ll be gone. Maybe forever. You need to marry mommy when she finishes school, have lots of baby girls together, and live happily ever after. I won¡¯t accept anything less.¡± Serenity passed over Maharu¡¯s features but also conveyed sharpened adamance, which strongly implied to Misaki that the girl was not beyond at least a little bit of violence when it came to Yuka¡¯s happiness.

    ¡°I will be back. I won¡¯t forget about her or about any of you. I can¡¯t. You¡¯ve all changed my life.¡±

    That wasn¡¯t quite the unambiguous commitment the girl was hoping for, but she accepted it with a restrained squeeze that avoided cracking any bones in her back. Misaki helped Maharu gather her things into her big hiking bag. As far as the knife, Maharu urged her to keep it or return it to Yasha. She didn¡¯t mind one way or the other, and she calmly and faithfully turned her back on the implement.

    The girls remained close as they walked through the darkened hall to the stairs. Before descending, Misaki took one more look around. She regretted that choice as two red points of light shimmered out at her in the frame of a small but striking human shape. Reminding herself that Maharu put out all sorts of deterrents didn¡¯t help. Especially because she was absolutely certain that this figure moved and that it wasn¡¯t just a trick of shadow. She could only pause for a moment to double-check inconclusively before she couldn¡¯t see it anymore.

    Relief flooded Misaki the moment they were through the entrance door and outside. Maharu started toward the road. Misaki gestured towards the house and urged her to come with her. She and Yuka could talk about so many things they left unsaid. Maharu sighed and shook her head.

    ¡°Mommy needs her sleep, and so do you. It¡¯s a great big day tomorrow. I need to walk for a little while and think. I might pray at the shrine. But I¡¯ll be okay. Thank you.¡± With that, she walked away, past the cloak of darkness, without saying another word.

    Misaki had no idea how to parse her ¡°big day¡± statement. It was just Friday. She would be able to spend more time with Yuka soon, and the prospects that lay ahead for the next few days filled her with a hyperactive hummingbird flutter of hope and possibility. They were balanced out by so many sad acknowledgements. It sure seemed like the company let a murderer destroy a family here. Maybe he or she had at least been punished according to the laws back home, but her pessimistic heart doubted that.

    Reentering the Sasaki house without causing a fuss sure seemed like a tense prospect. She had to feel her way around the front room with her phone light providing a careful, concentrated beam. No one wandered the living room or anywhere on the first floor. The lights hung up earlier in the bamboo garden provided more illumination than she was expecting. It was enough to guide her to the stairs and gradually climb them. The rattling, weighty presence of the large knife made her wish she¡¯d had the presence of mind to drop it off around the kitchen. But she was just concerned with getting back to the places everyone was expecting her to be. Anything else could be dealt with later.

    Once upstairs, she turned immediately to head into the bathroom. The toilet unit was occupied. Swerving hard, she slipped into the bath area to wait. It didn¡¯t take long before the other door opened. Instead of going to wash up, the girl on the other side lingered and asked, ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡±

    Yuka. She would have so many questions that Misaki had no clear idea how to answer them all. But she couldn¡¯t run away from them. Quietly, Misaki turned around and opened the door to look at Yuka, who was peering over at her with tired confusion. Of course, she asked what she was doing.

    Ambiguously, she responded, ¡°I was up and around. I needed to stretch. I needed to walk a little.¡± Yuka shook off her passivity with fretful concern as she inspected Misaki for any visible signs of trauma. Misaki couldn¡¯t let her find the knife, so she buried it deep and safe nearby. She relayed that the aches and tenderness from earlier were completely gone. The inside of her mouth is still actively recovering, but it hardly mattered now. Yuka pulled her close and avoided admonishing her like earlier with warnings about human-preying night spirits. Part of Misaki wondered if that lore came more from cruel humans than supernatural beasts.

    They returned to Yuka¡¯s bedroom, and their quiet chat focused more on how Misaki was feeling than resolving any confusions or uncertainties. Their words wandered through topics from earlier as Misaki felt the lateness of the hour start to sink her into the sheets. It was Yuka¡¯s turn to touch her lightly and brush her hair as sleep seized her brain.

    Morning arrived too soon, settling back into comfortable, quiet places. Calisthenics had suspiciously frantic energy this morning, like everyone was holding their breath in anticipation. It didn¡¯t even take until breakfast for the biggest secret to come out. Kei was the one who spilled.

    ¡°I hope you four enjoy your ryokan trip because¡­ you¡¯re going to have some company. Everyone¡¯s coming along!¡±

    Kei quickly qualified that blurted-out statement. It was the entire Sasaki family, the Nishikawa sisters, Naoko, Ayame, Maharu, and her grandmother. Additionally, some members of the shrine care committee they never met would be joining, but Mari, unfortunately, had to miss out due to prior commitments. No opportunity for Misaki to ask her any obvious questions based on what Maharu revealed last night.

    Yuka¡¯s mom quickly amended that they didn¡¯t intend to take over their trip to the mountains, but she intuited that the quartet had precious relationships developing with the group, and since Golden Week was ahead and the school girls would be free early today, it seemed like a fun idea. Their travel tickets on the bullet train placed them together just for the sake of a discount. With a wink, she passed along that she took several things into consideration when it came to the resort suite allocations.

    And, from that announcement, it was like a frantic race began. Travel bags needed to be packed, and calls had to be made to make sure everyone was organized and prepared. The running and moving evoked a second, harder session of morning exercise. And Namiko was the expert for whom times like this called upon all her skills. Organizing and responding to chaos was her daily prerogative. One of the coolest stories that Dwight had in his back pocket to share was a detailed account of the day that an eighteen-wheeler loaded up with decommissioned equipment and carts had an unobservant driver who didn¡¯t follow his checklist.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Everything in the back came spiraling out like metal beads unspooling. An entire day of work was undone. Until Dwight noticed that they could make a ramp out of wooden pallets and feed the line back into the truck within minutes. It flagrantly flew in the rules of every single OSHA guideline, but he still decided to do it. His bosses even watched as he finished it up, and he expected to be fired the moment everything was complete. But, as he often communicated to Franklin, sometimes it¡¯s better to ask for forgiveness than permission in some situations. Franklin could never imagine taking that sort of initiative.

    It was like Dwight was already stepping into a different world than the one that he knew, one full of risks but also untold possibilities. Chika already had her feet in it as a bold creator. All Franklin could do was hope to follow behind in the shadows.

    Maharu was one of the first of the schoolgoers to make an appearance. She had shortened hours because of her upcoming shrine performance. Misaki made uncertain eye contact with her and flashed a kind, curious expression. She projected the same boundless cheer and exuberance as usual. Particularly, Maharu cozied up to Yasha like meeting an old friend. The blonde clung to her darkened shades, as though weathering a hangover. With Fuyuki assisting at points, they fashioned a wide array of snacks, sandwiches, and drinks for the entire group. Misaki managed to sneak the knife from last night into one of the side drawers without anyone noticing.

    Mostly without anyone noticing. Haruka orbited around her a few times with an expression of light scrutiny that never quite touched upon accusation. She didn¡¯t say anything, but she did get around to giving Maharu a hug similar to what she gave Misaki. Kei made much of it with an account of how Haruka sometimes treated Maharu like a surrogate little sister when Yuka would scamper off or not want to be babied. The elder Sasaki sibling didn¡¯t say much in response.

    Tangentially, this reminded Misaki about the ominous, suspicious scrap of paper from the other day. She hunted for it in her pockets and dirty clothes but couldn¡¯t find any sign of its presence. It had likely fallen out or simply gotten misplaced somewhere along the line. This often happened with Franklin and any form of receipt, especially those with benefits attached. Not worth stressing about, even though she wished she could¡¯ve resolved if the handwriting matched Haruka¡¯s. So many little mysteries for which she felt like she overlooked the most crucial details.

    Bianka, surprisingly, was one of the next girls to check-in. Misaki suspected, from after-school club interactions, that it would take her a while to show, but it made sense when she learned the resort stay would be free for some joining them. Maharu¡®s grandmother wasn¡¯t far behind, and she hovered around her granddaughter more than the other day. She wore something similar to last time, with the same red leather jacket and dark pants, with a cane supporting her on her left side. Her eyebrows were indeed quite feathered, as Misaki recalled, but still firmly defined.

    Standing around her quietly, Misaki found herself struck by a surprising and inescapable notion. She wrapped the older woman in a sudden hug. It was the kind of hug that Maharu often gave everyone, without the prior violent overtones. It didn¡¯t take Misaki long to wonder if she had made a terrible mistake. The grandmother looked her in the eye with the same attitude as an old cat dunked in freezing water. This expression also fluttered with flailing nervousness as swaths of bright red bloomed across her pale cheeks. Uncomfortable tsundere squirming, like she worried that Yuka might display the other day with the bathroom incident, flitted to the surface. Misaki felt no confidence that the grandmother wouldn¡¯t just smack her on the head with her cane. The shift in demeanor soon reverted her to the huffy sense of a nervous teenager. Ultimately, Misaki got a firm but harmless whack with that cane on her leg as the grandmother sharply scolded her for being so improper.

    Maharu bounced away from her current task and seized her grandmother all for herself. The gesture had a restrained gentleness and ease that Misaki expected the girl would use on someone senior. But the grandmother wobbled with uncertainty in the embrace before tenderly wrapping her arms around her granddaughter. A message was clearly being shared between them, and Misaki took this opportunity to step away and help however possible with finishing up the food for their trip.

    Despite finishing the hug with lingering stretches and cracks in her tired body, the grandmother showed quiet signs of being reenergized by her granddaughter¡®s presence. She didn¡¯t shed her stern edge or watchful attention.

    Ayame arrived after her with a prepared collection of sweets and healthier alternatives shoved in the back of her bag. Yuka bounded ahead of the rest of the girls returning from classes and shrugged off all the accoutrements of her day to cling to her girlfriend.

    She giggled gleefully when she learned what Misaki had done to the old woman. Kosame attempted a soliloquy on the beauty of maturity but was soon cut off. Naoko finally looked like she could breathe and relax, although she jumped in to help with preparations without complaint.

    Misaki had hopes that Yuka and Maharu''s proximity would quickly resolve their differences. But each clung to a different orbit, with Maharu around Yasha while food was made and Yuka inescapably right behind Misaki handling travel bag packing. No effort to cross their paths brought a glance in the other¡¯s direction. Misaki wanted to shove them in each other¡¯s faces or say something, but both had made it clear that they wanted to reconcile on their own time scale, as frustrating as that was.

    One of the administrators from the shrine committee had a hair color similar to Namiko¡®s but nowhere near the same figure. Another was strikingly tall, with sharp eyebrows similar to Namiko¡¯s male face. Misaki surreptitiously used them as a rough analogy for her friend when bringing it up to Yuka.

    The others blended in with the group. The lady from the other day with the truck also showed up, but, mercifully, she wasn¡¯t one of the assigned drivers. Trips to the train station had started to become routine. Finding spots for all the bags and luggage felt like a Herculean task, one that Namiko was eager to assume.

    Switching in the city brought them to the bullet train. It felt like something borrowed from another age or an optimistic theme park with its rumbling silence while settling into the station. Everything felt like the height of space-age amenities. A supersonic plane that never left the ground. The tickets had them seated together as a group. And she was happy to know that Chika and Namiko were close enough to wave and smile at her, with Yuka right next to her in the window seat. Before they left, she changed out of her school uniform and into a reddish-purple dress vaguely reminiscent of Misaki¡®s chosen kimono and the outfit she had on when they took their walk together.

    This one had little floral accents of blue around her shoulders, along with fancy girly ornamentation about the neckline, and dipped comfortably past her knees. The smile that Yuka wore on her face while sitting next to her didn¡¯t feel like it could be contained by her body. It was going to erupt everywhere like a breached aquifer and inspire a rush of smiles in all directions. By comparison, Misaki looked like she was slumming it with a blue t-shirt and a gray skirt. She had earlier fretted about whether she should put on something nicer, but Yuka silenced her nerves by saying she looked like the most beautiful thing she¡¯d ever seen. Her answer in kind felt so weak and insubstantial, but Yuka giggled with contentment as the bullet train issued several beeps and warnings that all doors were closing and it was about to leave the station.

    Across the aisle, Yasha slumped down in her chair with her arms folded and scowled out her window as her seat companion, Kosame, regaled her and the vicinity with an illustrious sample of poetry pertaining to sitting ladies she was supposed to research for a class assignment.

    It only took mere minutes for Yasha to break and plaintively ask around if anyone would be willing to trade seats. Naoko eventually rescued her.

 [48] Yuri Worlds 48 â€“ Comfort

    Yuri Worlds

    [48] Comfort

    The bullet train ride lived up to every pop cultural expectation Misaki held. It swept across the countryside like a nimble knife. They first eased through the city center at normal train velocities before gradually assuming its true bullet qualities. The hurried artist of the land spun the canvas with outlines of features feeding twirling colors. It was truly dizzying to witness from her perspective because neither the limited steadiness of rushing landscapes nor animated matte paintings quite applied.

    This was much more alive, shifting, and starkly detailed. The view when they first traveled by train was similarly unsettling, but the unnatural velocity pushed the uncanny threshold past her tolerance. She had to grip her armrests and focus on the floor to keep her stomach from getting sour. It didn¡¯t take Yuka long to notice her distress and come to the conclusion that she confirmed.

    ¡°Motion sick?¡± Yasha had no interest in looking out any of the windows, but Chika and Namiko found that the speed was also disconcerting for them. Interestingly, Ayame didn¡¯t have a good time with the view either and instead focused on listening to music on her phone. Kosame audibly lamented the tragic ills of precious maidens and recited a series of folk remedies she knew. Bianka brought up a website, having patched into the admin Wi-Fi account for the train, on infrasound causing disorientation, which Misaki remembered was the same thing from last night.

    Bianka desperately avoided lacing this proposal with conspiracy thoughts and simply speculated that the little rattles and whispers of the train might be causing issues for those most sensitive to them. A few different remedies seemed possible, but Misaki opted to focus on her and Yuka¡¯s video screen in the seat with movies and games.

    All of the media was new to her, even though some differences were quite subtle. Action movies existed, but with a tone closer to typical thrillers with social quagmires. Misaki had to admit that, while the heroines Yuka showed off were cut from a different style than her expectations, the style and plots still jived with what she gathered from foreign flicks Dwight and Guy watched for fun.

    Yasha casually leaned over a few times during some of the bloodier flicks, as though taking notes for a film festival. Fuyuki played hostess and made sure that everyone was adequately hydrated, had snacks in their laps, and was having a good time. She paid special attention to her youngest daughter, even though she and Kei didn¡¯t forget about their eldest.

    Haruka read from a sizable, leather-bound book carefully propped up in her lap, but she was also curled up and drowsy against her chair. Considering her typically inscrutable qualities, Misaki found it especially mystifying that the girl actually snoozed with striking normalcy. Naoko was slumped in the chair she traded for, her body letting gravity have its way.

    Kosame whispered several sweet nothings in vain about the splendor of the sleeping form. Naoko jerked up a few times to keep from completely depositing herself on the floor, but just flashed a quick, superfluous smile before fading back into dreamland. Misaki found herself getting sympathetically sleepy as well. What yanked her out of it was noticing that Yuka wasn¡¯t paying attention to the screen anymore. She kept stealing glances at Maharu on the other side of the cabin. No more avoiding her sight as though she were an incidental, passing specter.

    Misaki gently bumped her shoulder and said the rest of what she needed to say with body language. Yuka ruffled her pretty dress and shifted in place before carefully getting to her feet. She went to the back of the cabin, and Misaki followed her. Everyone else seemed to assume that they had to get up to use the bathroom. This wasn¡¯t actually wrong, as they made their first stop at the nearest one.

    Away from the main cabin, the refining details that brushed away the sharpest chaos of their speed receded, and they got a taste of the rattling, ripping power inches from flying apart, queasy swoops in the low light, and not enough necessary handholds. Yuka pressed her hands into the shallow metal basin and let the blast of misting water practically carve her flesh. The pressure bordered on the ability to strip fingernails. Urgently, she scrubbed and squeezed until Misaki genuinely fretted that she might start bleeding, but she eventually pulled her fingers out and softly dried them.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think she¡¯s bothered at all. Not upset or sad that I said anything. Definitely not the least bit tortured about spending time apart.¡± Yuka squeezed her eyes closed and attempted to prop herself up against whatever wall would have her.

    Misaki quickly questioned what she meant by that. Yuka softly dodged around just answering that point, attempting to explain that even the gentlest conflict between close girls could lead to frantic preoccupation. The conscious, willful effort of avoiding talking to someone close to you was exhausting. At least, that was how she felt. If this conversation had included either Nami or Chika, then they would¡¯ve immediately called out Yuka for dodging around her own feelings, but Misaki waited and listened. It was like Yuka wanted to bury herself in this point.

    She had invested so much of her time away from Misaki into thinking about Maharu and what she was up to. It was like a needle in her brain. Was the girl happy? Was she crying because of this? Did anyone tease her? Was she able to eat her lunch? Any undue discomfort? Thinking about Yuka?

    All this whirled, swirled, and overwhelmed poor Yuka. She half teased the sincere question of whether she had actually become a genuine mom with how much she preoccupied herself with concerns about the girl. It made her entire body throb with aching stress. She was tired; she was so exhausted in ways that rest and naps couldn¡¯t possibly appease. Misaki knew some things she could say and far more she couldn¡¯t possibly mention aloud. First of all, she attempted to assure her girlfriend that appearances weren¡¯t always the whole story. Just because Maharu put on a bright and cheerful face for a moment like this didn¡¯t mean she was free from all concerns. Yuka firmly countered that she had been watching the girl over the last few days and witnessed no sign that she had lost any sleep about this.

    Slowly, nervously, Yuka¡¯s eyes filled with exhausted tears. No handkerchief in her dress pockets could even attempt to quell the tide. She clung to Misaki for comfort even though her emotions spiraled in troubled directions. Misaki gently insisted that it would be fine. Not at all worth shedding tears about. This assertion had nothing to support it, so Yuka struggled to take it as anything but a small comfort. They didn¡¯t immediately return to their cabin, instead wandering the length of the train and drawing plenty of confused attention from their fellow passengers.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    It was such a silly thing to do, wandering around like that, but Yuka¡¯s tears relaxed and dried up. So, they wandered as far and wide through the swiftly snaking train as they were allowed. The deepest part of the tail contained a strange furniture mockup¡ªa transported bedroom. They tested out the yielding cushions for a minute before pulling each other free with renewed laughter.

    Yuka wiggled as the world they left behind warped away from them. The rear view was no less disorienting than looking out the side, but at least it didn¡¯t move quite as unnaturally. Misaki managed to keep her senses on an even keel. They¡¯d long abandoned the urban center for striking patches of trees falling behind them and rolling hills and rare peaks pressing in all directions. Mountains would soon follow.

    Yuka sniffled faintly and looked like she wanted to claim a spot on the model furniture and not wake till they arrived at their destination. But she shook that notion loose and instead followed Misaki back. No one even noticed they were gone. Life just went on. Returning to their seats, Yuka again wrestled with her emotions. Her grip on Misaki¡¯s arm practically seemed strong enough to snap her limb off without a fuss.

    Their arrival brought a brisk chill and icy reminders of winter clinging to small shadows. The mountain before them was capped with a bright white pinnacle. A shuttle bus took them the rest of the way up. The resort itself sprawled across a level stretch of frosty landscape with wooden gateways. Misaki thought the layout looked like someone had taken the simple old hotel, preserved it from the elements, and copied and pasted extra floors. Despite stretching with lofty ambitions, the building still appeared timeless and cozy. Hints of wandering volcanic steam, like the faint traces of lost ghosts, drifted away.

    A display near the entrance compared this resort to the oldest inns in the world. It was close¡ªover a thousand years in continuous operation, weathering different rulers, bloody purges, and stretches of undocumented chaos. The ultimate survivor of the Warring Goddesses Era. The Sasaki moms and Ayame took care of the reservations for everyone with a minimal amount of fuss.

    Despite the relatively ostentatious dimensions of the inn, the interior was minimal, simple, and geared toward quiet comforts. The girls who had already settled into the accommodations were clad in colorful but quiet versions of kimonos that Misaki and her friends knew as yukatas. Essentially, bathrobes.

    Some dizzy, silly section of her soul held on to Yuka and could imagine that it was just the two of them together amidst a crowd. On a honeymoon. Sharing this special place together. A pretty notion, but the weight and pressures of reality were still inescapable.

    The suites were so tiny¡ªsmaller than the Sasaki traditional tearoom¡ªthough similarly made up with tatami floors and a vibrant, classical look. A dark, wooden table with warm tea and fresh biscuits prepared for them was perfectly suited to their size but would¡¯ve been awkwardly uncomfortable for Franklin.

    It didn¡¯t take long for everyone to get settled in and rush for the complimentary robes to wear to the hot spring. The shoji doors rattled back and forth as girls screamed and shared their glee. The porch area on the side, with artful arrangements of mosses, bamboo, and other natural plants mixed with smooth rocks, brought Misaki the hope of mindful, Zen relaxation. She tried a warm cup of tea and a few nibbles to assist.

    The flavor was reminiscent of what Kei and Fuyuki prepared for them. Sharply bitter at first taste but soon riding down a warm and soothing reservoir of comfort. A journey evocative of the one they¡¯d taken. Yuka found a wide-open spot on the floor and stretched her arms and legs in a starfish pattern.

    Several points gave little cracks that sounded older than her years. She playfully put on a self-deprecating, exaggerated grandma voice before breaking down in giggles. Misaki soon joined her in laughter and stretched out too with a handful of pops, releasing the tension of their journey. They leaned toward one another with their heads lightly touching. Chika was the first to find them in that state and provided copious amounts of suggestive eyebrow wiggles and encouragement to hop in the hot spring as soon as possible. Haruka was all ready to go, with a darkly colorful bathrobe and the same book perched right in front of her face. She still seemed acutely, almost extrasensorily, aware of her surroundings despite being intimately attached to the leathery tome.

    Namiko had performed some arcane magic and stuffed her entire business into a smaller dimensional plane than the fabric surrounding her body suggested. Truly, a TARDIS-like achievement of ta-ta taming. That sentiment actually emerged from Ayame, who assisted in that voodoo, had only the vaguest awareness of science fictional media.

    Naoko squeaked with subdued but still sunny delight at the reference. Her currently distressed, spun-straw blonde hair looked like it was the primary containment vessel for all the worries and feelings she had cultivated over the past week since indulging in cartoon chat with the group and absorbing Misaki¡®s half-conscious lab coat assault. Bianka had her bright locks back in a loose ponytail. She and Naoko could practically pass for siblings if that prospect didn¡¯t seem to give Naoko shivers at the other girl¡¯s flagrant misuse and abuse of scientific methods. Kosame stood with her back arched proudly and surveyed the group, as though checking in on her personal harem. The others were well on their way to partaking in the amenities.

    On the periphery, sneaky hostesses looked poised to perform secret activities in their rooms for the purpose of ninja cleaning and comfort. The pain from yesterday had mellowed to a gentle ache, with the remainder mostly concentrated as an uncertain gurgle in Misaki¡®s stomach. Social bathing. The whole traditional bathhouse with everyone together.

    Her emotions were in a state of chaos. Being naked with her closest friends was an easy, initial step. Being alone and unclothed with the girl she had an ever-increasing crush on, who carefully filled out the notions and possibility of a girlfriend, was enough to leave her in blissful madness. But seeing the entire community in there all together and having nothing hidden from sight was a prospect beyond her reckoning.

    Girls. They were all simply girls. And so was she. As much a girl right now as any of them. And this should be totally normal. But how could it be?

 [49] Yuri Worlds 49 â€“ Execution

    Yuri Worlds

    [49] Execution

    The entrance to the hot spring bath area was so inauspicious and understated. Just some decorative traditional ornamentation on the walls and soft, friendly flags. And there was only one opening. There was only one path for everyone and anyone. Girls. Women. Ladies. And whatever other terms Kosame was likely intimately acquainted with.

    Chika moved briskly towards the entrance until it loomed and consumed her sight. She had the initial demeanor of someone bold and confident, but that bluster soon sank beneath the sight. Chika didn¡¯t retreat. Rather, she nervously turned and sought out Misaki with tiny, frantic words before grappling for the simplicity of, ¡°Big sis¡­big sis. Please, please¡­I need you.¡± Her scared voice was small enough to be heard by ants. Tears rushed down her cheeks as she frantically reached for Misaki. Yuka lingered but gave them some space.

    Misaki resisted the old instinct to turn away her childhood friend. A stronger instinct filled her with fear and uncertainty about whether some wristband override decided to drain Chika of her usual spirit. But Misaki¡¯s strongest instinct swarmed to soothe her fears and dry her tears. Not simply because she was a cute girl but also to right the wrong she long ago perpetrated by turning her away simply because she thought it was the proper boy thing to do. It was all rather confusing with what Chika confessed yesterday afternoon, but her heart knew her path.

    She encouraged Chika to hold her hand. She warmly and comfortably supported her with that grip and guided her into the fancy shower section around the left turn of the entryway. Lockers and closets for clothes were linked to guest rooms. Plenty of space with comfortable tiles and clear drains lined up in a row before them, with sections leading to indoor baths as well as natural outdoor arrangements with sulfuric aromas and milky waters.

    Kosame was one of the very first to disrobe down to her pale pink underwear and then naked with the draping flourish of a towel nearby. Her form was understated but still artful, with distinctly wide hips. In the right clothes, she approached the sense of a pretty boy. Her sibling cut a much less ambiguous figure when undressing, from a pronounced front to lean but squishy legs. The moms casually undressed, with Fuyuki and Ayame both very close to the pinnacle that Namiko attained. Kei¡¯s modest figure was also nothing to turn up one''s nose at.

    It wasn¡¯t long before a fresh level of discomfort emerged for Misaki. Although, in all honesty, the entire situation carved out fresh ways for her to feel like running away. Grandmother Okura shed her clothes as nonchalantly as any of the other mature ladies. She still appeared strikingly young, like one of those late-night commercials where some mysterious oils from an Amazon plant managed to make fruit last for several weeks as arrows and animated lines flowed through pores. The grandmother carried a certain presence, asserting she both didn¡¯t give a single care what others thought about her but also paid attention to where Misaki looked.

    With so much distinct flesh surrounding her sight, it literally started to get boring for Misaki. Oh, sure, this was the fantasy of so many random men from her world to be naked amongst a group of lovely girls and women. And Franklin wasn¡¯t above swooning and feeling taken aback by indulgence. But these were people. Again, so obvious. Girls are people.

    Seeing everyone so quietly vulnerable and softly exposed didn¡¯t kindle a lurking salacious urge. Of course, she had been placed on the same level, but a physical change didn¡¯t mean that all the internal engines just blinked off. People are more than just their flesh. And she apparently had the soul of a consummately maternal woman who belonged in this world. Well, at least something like that wasn¡¯t as achingly complicated to explain to her friends and roommates compared to any prior situation.

    How seriously should she take the feeling she had right then? Was she more Franklin, or was he more Misaki? When she got home, how much would not expressing any of this bother him or her? How legitimate were these feelings when the possibility loomed that experiencing this world truly naked would annihilate her atomic structure?

    Yuka clearly wanted to try being a boy, but was that because it fulfilled something she never realized she was missing or because it was a curious otherness that captivated her to explore? Could they be together if they truly traded spots? Would they still feel the same things? Did a girly anime world even have something similar to masculinizing hormones, or was it beyond the biochemical sphere? Maybe she didn¡¯t need to solve everyone¡¯s mysteries while standing naked near the showers.

    Misaki and Yuka had no qualms about one another¡¯s exposed bodies, but the combination of each other plus Chika plus the whole ball of wax felt dizzyingly complicated. Chika fidgeted in place without anywhere to tuck her hands until she received her towel from Kei. Her tears had dried up, and the panic had been traded for a sensation similar to being driven down that cliff without brakes. Following on instinct, Misaki wrapped her arms comfortingly around her dear friend.

    Navigating around all the uncomfortable parts of a pair of female bodies was practically impossible, so she resigned herself to the fact that she was likely going to brush a nipple or grab something fleshy and soft. They both had those parts, deal with it, and get over it. The point was that Chika felt her love, not her discomfort. She even threw in a sisterly peck on the forehead to drive the point home.

    Her subtle act struck Chika like a divine revelation. The purple-haired girl¡¯s soft brown eyes somehow managed to practically double in size. Her voice squeaked softly, like she¡¯d been transported all the decades back to their first meeting as hopeful neighbors. Misaki again plunged a look of suspicion and mistrust at the black band fastened to her wrist. It better not be manipulating her like some doll or toy. But gazing into Chika¡¯s truly animated eyes revealed a showcase of genuine, simmering warmth. The girl carried herself with a natural, shifting gait to her wide hips as she knit the towel playfully across her body. One reassuring trace she clung to was the subtle relaxation of her little sister¡®s smile.

    Her alter ego, pushed through the mold of unbridled happiness and feminine glee, was mechanically wound up and restrained. This brightening of Chika was by her own honest determination. If only she could find the same path. What would everyone actually say if she was sincere and open?

    Her Bible-warrior aunt would denounce the very first sliver of thought she projected. And the reactions of everyone else she might try to overcome emotionally would just get worse from there.

    This other world isn¡¯t real, and it¡¯s absolutely ridiculous that you would get hung up on something like that! Only the Kingdom of Christ is true, and you must surrender your soul to Him!

    That example inside her head was maybe a bit flippant, but she knew the outline of what they would say. Just hanging out around someone so radical as Guy Horner, who was especially on the list to wag judgmental fingers at, was a mark against Franklin¡¯s soul. Dwight was the good, proper, true, manly, devoted man who took care of things in their eyes. He just needed to get himself with a good woman.

    Yeah¡­ The world they inevitably had to return to spun with complications, frustrations, and entanglements. The organization of religion could foster the same confinement as the companies that wanted to place his brain in a precise monitoring box and know whenever he attempted to step out of right thoughts and rigorous schedules. Why choose to go back when you had to sever yourself from the hearts and spirits you loved and who loved you? Sure, nothing was perfect. Although, she was beginning to suspect some of the flaws were imported and leeching off their wrists. These were the kinds of thoughts both Franklin and Misaki had to keep quiet about, lest they scream.

    They gathered together in a row beside the shower faucets. Returning to physical thoughts, Ayame contained grandiose secrets, softly curving across her front. Still not in the realm of Namiko, but easily the runner-up. Haruka softly cloaked her shape with skillful towel management but clearly outpaced her little sister. Maharu practically wielded her pair like an intimate weapon, even though it couldn¡¯t reach far. Yasha stood in stark contrast to Namiko. Just the faintest suggestion of a bump rising from her soft, sleek shape.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Yasha reminded Misaki of an ivory doll animated by an unseen hand, with frail, faint legs pivoting and slim arms shifting and searching as she sprayed water across her body and darkened the sunny sweep of her short, bright blonde locks. Namiko got literally everyone to at least take a quick glance. They looked starkly unreal. Each vast, pink nipple would¡¯ve eclipsed her face. The volume of each sloping swath put magnificent watermelons to shame. Seen without pretense, they truly cast the presence of a fertility goddess of old brought to impossible life. Namiko actually rested a dainty hand on her hip and posed with a cheeky smile to let everyone get their glances in without judgment. Maharu was the only one adventurous enough to unabashedly celebrate her stupendous boobs.

    This broke a film of ice as they chatted to one another about sizes and comforts. Namiko led the proceedings while Misaki endeavored to keep her brain from smoking. She had plenty of distractions, with her little sister and Yuka both wanting to make sure she was rigorously clean before they slipped into the nearby steaming waters.

    She acquiesced to manipulating this body but still felt fretful about manipulating it too hard. The others had no qualms about getting in there while she meandered through uncertainty about how to politely suds a boob without making it look scandalous or suggestive. The reminder kept coming around that this was her body for the duration of the trip, and whatever she did with it wasn¡¯t an imposition against anyone but herself. For all that was submerged in her identity, the schism still existed: Misaki was a separate person, and Franklin persisted in his own distinct zone.

    It didn¡¯t take long before Chika pointed out to Yuka that Misaki was getting pensive and internally thoughtful. They remedied this by making sure she got drenched. All this naturally escalated, with Maharu¡®s help, into a full-on water fight with twists, leaps, and wide sprays. For the first time in days, Maharu and Yuka actually met eyes, even though it was to douse each other in the face.

    The spectacle managed to stop short of using soap to slide like an invisible skateboard across the tiles, even though Maharu gleefully suggested that possibility. A young, red-headed girl with Ayame¡¯s fiery locks wanted to pick up that note of possibility and run with it. Her moms struggled to catch, let alone contain, her ignited energy in the presence of Maharu. Plunging into the main pool''s waters only put out some of the fire.

    Soaking together, Misaki did her best to finesse the proper censorship threshold for her bust. But there was no constant level. Some of the group were deep, with their mouths barely above the surface, while others rose with pendulous bobbing. Namiko had her own obvious island chain, no matter where she opted to settle.

    The water wasn¡¯t immediately a rich and rejuvenating experience without qualification. It stunk sharply with that rotten egg aroma, but not to the point where it was sickening. The brisk warmth called for that stereotypical little towel placed on the head to keep from overheating. Misaki felt blissfully pushed past her melting point. She still managed to hold herself together.

    This enveloping, deeply therapeutic immersion evoked a twisting gyre of spirits crawling around her while everything remained still. She had to resist the urge to surrender to the water everything she held back¡­ oh, screw it, she told herself. Stop holding back. That immediately worried her¡ªthat she would somehow pee in the pristine depths. The real release came more like a drunken loosening than concentration. She floated over to Yuka and confidently remained in her presence. She ambitiously splashed and tickled Chika to make up for lost little sister time. The filter and the separation dissolved, as it didn¡¯t matter that her friends were a bunch of impossibly cute anime girls that signaled all sorts of warnings in her brain. It was a better and happier thing to have fun with them without stressing that every single action might have an accidental adverse effect.

    She assisted Kosame with a touch of iambic pentameter for jiggle physics. Her own efforts stumbled with the stresses while avoiding limericks she knew, not so much because they might be embarrassing, but because so many invoked the complication of men.

    ( . ) ( . )

    But fair and supple hues with tenderness to use, so pliable and soft that muscles sweetly lift aloft.

    A chest that crests upon the waters, tis the fate of all these daughters.

    Neither small nor massive holds the crown, and no mere gravity can keep them down.

    Loving sentiment shapes feelings raw, all that dwells within a bra.

    It was absolutely ridiculous and surely didn¡¯t follow the intended assignment, but it got plenty of giggles and even a few smirks from the older ladies present. Yasha maintained her typical level of annoyance but flashed a faint glimmer of amusement. Chika had a hard time keeping a straight face as she quietly repeated her favorite bits. Namiko sped through another verse of her own with visual aids but didn¡¯t quite capture the same spontaneous surprise as all that coming out of uncertain Misaki.

    The original was erudite enough that it didn¡¯t ruffle any parental feathers or fully connect with the youngest girls, who found far more entertainment repeating, "Booby booby booby booby booby booby¡­booobies!" As though blowing a raspberry in fate¡®s face.

    Misaki wanted to extend the same friendly indulgence to the other Nishikawa sister but couldn¡¯t twist her brain into anything beyond the base concept of a boob conspiracy at the moment. She casually probed the possibility that maybe this world started out with more than just girls, but the brassiere manufacturing consortium unlocked secret sacred divine powers to remake the world and double the needs of the populace and their profits. Not that she wanted to sink back into hesitancy, but she was perfectly fine with vetoing a public presentation of that idea.

    Getting away from conspiracies, Bianka noted that she adored hiking. She downloaded a mini-encyclopedia of local fauna and flora up here in the hills to keep an eye out for on nearby trails. She celebrated cute critters and delighted in sharing the video they took of the docile does.

    Haruka still had her big leather book just barely above disaster with the waterline. The little redheaded girl, who loudly proclaimed her name was Hana, came up with all sorts of games, with Maharu throwing out a whirlpool of spinning possibilities. The group shared smiles of encouragement about game prospects while settling in the water. Play some games, but also let there be relaxation. Perhaps a game after all this? A relaxing one that emerged from the inquisitive mind of a child.

    Hana had just the game¡­

    ¡ª-

    The aftermath of the game left a lot of urgent questions for Misaki. But, particularly, what happened to Kanako¡®s eviscerated remains? As a traitor to the Dread Goddess Kingdom of Kaldash, her messy execution was typical. She was made a political example by the rioting crowds, most of them insurgents loyal to Blood Princess Kurenei, during her most recent purges of the disloyal merchant class.

    Maharu was quite good at acting out the most recent assassination attempt on Fallen Flower Lieutenant Kita. That fate was well earned with the ruthless sack, siege, and scouring of the small village of Ralgaleth. Misaki really thought that Queen Moriko would survive to challenge Kurenai for the Crystal Throne. But she was given a drink tainted with Anguistian herbs, which made her belly violently rupture and expel burning bile before she finally succumbed, screaming, after seven days.

    In the aftermath of the "game", Yasha was the first one to speak up and offer feedback to Hana: "I thought it was fun."

    Hana sheepishly admitted that she did a lot of pretending in the Kingdom of Kaldash, and some of the characters started out as her stuffed animals before she wanted to give them really interesting backstories. The Queen¡¯s Guard¡¯s twisting of thumbs with hot pokers ritual thankfully wasn¡¯t exactly reenacted.

    There was more. So much more. There was enough spilling forth from the kid to cover several seasons of a television show she shouldn¡¯t have been old enough to watch. Misaki had to ask at one point if all this was normal for a girl like this, but the locals grimaced a few times and eventually had to admit that they all knew at least one girl who played this hard with their imaginations.

 [50] Yuri Worlds 50 â€“ Everything

    Yuri Worlds

    [50] Everything

    Recovery from that quaint creative aftermath took a little while, for Misaki in particular. Hana considered acquiring some red face paint to assign players to the rogue cannibalistic sewer-dwelling civilization, but her moms stopped her short of that while otherwise indulging her ¡°creative spark¡°.

    The innkeepers allowed them a space to really stretch out for Hana and her broad ambitions, which didn¡¯t intrude on other guest parties. The point at which Misaki realized this game of pretend wasn¡¯t going to involve rainbows and unicorns was when the events were kicked off by the captain of the city guard getting brutally attacked by a sledgehammer and Hana¡¯s gleeful description following the analogy of flattening a watermelon. Even after that, the group was largely willing but encouraged the kid to leave more to the imagination.

    The preceding rounds of washing and soaking brought quiet serenity of spirit, which Hana¡®s animated storytelling didn¡¯t disrupt. Yasha was totally into the mythology and presentation throughout. Nami considered recommending a few grimdark fantasy works that might be up their fellow traveler¡¯s alley but wanted to be able to do likewise for Hana with locally obtainable books.

    In spite of the subject matter, Misaki really enjoyed the tableau of interesting characters that Hana populated her fantasy realm with¡­before ruthlessly slaughtering them. Bianka asked plenty of lore questions and actually managed to knit two separate factions together as having the same ancestral origin. One thing that made Hana grumble though was the prospect of having to go back in imaginary time and set stories in the kingdom¡¯s past. It felt like way too much work, and she wouldn¡¯t be able to drop in any bloody surprises.

    Ayame made some casual connections to the Warring Goddesses Era and the rough outline that Hana had for her game. The girl reluctantly admitted that perhaps the histories provided her with some level of inspiration, but she also did a lot of work on her own and with her moms. Fuyuki found herself both captivated and slightly queasy throughout. She gently nudged the young lady towards the possibility of less violent creative subject matter, but Hana¡®s moms shared a look of resignation with her, saying that this was a battle they had long ago conceded.

    Haruka took some time to set her still-dry leather tome down to scribble notes on the universe that Hana unfurled. Miss Okura indulged in the endeavor for a few minutes before retiring to her suite. Kosame attempted to give the lady knights at the margins of the game lyrical ballads and fanciful backstories. Hana enjoyed slaughtering them. Naoko actually survived for several segments of the game by being an astronomer and lady of letters in the otherwise brutal realm.

    Maharu had no qualms about the subject matter, even though she lamented the loss of one of her favorite royal rivals and gently urged Hana to consider bringing her back in one fashion or another. Hana sympathized but remained firm in her choices. Death wasn¡¯t death without teeth.

    When all that was done, they reflected on the game without directly talking about it. A fancy dinner was served in one of the main halls, with the cheerful owner of the inn rushing about to make sure every little detail was attended to. The group indulged in surface-level secret sharing with the rest of the guests as part of an introduction activity. Kosame enjoyed old suits. Maharu was a shrine dancer.

    Misaki struggled for a long time before finally offering up the detail of looking forward to painting a small statue version of herself. The unfinished figurines would be there when they got back home¡ªthe most visceral reminder after this vacation slipped away from them. Yuka liked the idea but would rather have majestic, muscular dog statues to guard her room.

    Her offering to break the communal ice involved the simple explanation of wanting to be a lawyer someday. Chika and Namiko revealed themselves to the larger crowd as an entertainer and a janitor respectively. Bianka named and described her ten favorite birds, and everyone else ran with this animal appreciation template for their responses to the point that their host had to rephrase the icebreaker. Interspersed with introductions, they received a wide variety of small dishes. The younger attendees had to skip the small alcoholic sample. Misaki skipped hers because she wasn¡¯t interested and went right for the sliced vegetarian appetizers.

    Each segment of the entr¨¦e was prepared differently, from boiled to fried to vinegared to steamed to raw to soaked in a broth. It was an interesting variation on the methods of Sasaki hospitality and operated more like a coordinated performance than a homey meal. The live music also left a very different impression. Misaki communicated to Yuka and her mothers that she much preferred the way they did things. They agreed with private smiles.

    While digesting afterward, Misaki chanced upon Ayame with her feet up, her head back, and her eyes covered by a small, steaming towel. Somehow, she knew it was her without needing a voice or an introduction. Probably weird mystical spirit stuff.

    Ayame preempted Misaki¡®s question: "I peeked and saw you down the hall. I got lucky. What¡¯s on your mind?" Misaki eyed her suspiciously and made her way over to a nearby couch.

    ¡°Everything,¡± she answered with an arm planted on her head, as though trying to seal an invisible hole threatening to leak all of her being out.

    "Don¡¯t do that," Ayame advised her. "That¡¯s too much for any girl." Misaki didn¡¯t disagree, but she genuinely had no clue how to reduce the load in her thoughts¡ªthe scramble of everything before they even arrived here, all the confusing fragments that either meant something or nothing. She wasn¡¯t even sure how to adequately frame that quandary within the confines of words.

    "I can¡¯t help it. I¡¯m afraid that terrible and important things could happen at any time, and I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m supposed to do. I¡¯ve spent my whole life avoiding them as much as possible."

    Again, Ayame referred back to her previous advice not to do that. Misaki gave her a longer look. She shrugged and expounded upon that, saying, "I¡¯m not a doctor, but I do the doctor thing. Something is causing you trouble. Doing something a certain way causes trouble¡­ Literally, the best thing you can do is change your behavior. Oh, but no¡­I can¡¯t do that. I don¡¯t know. Well, I¡¯ll think about it. And so forth. I have heard every single response you could ever imagine from family and then from the nicest, cleverest, and most well-adjusted ladies. They know what the problem is, and they tell me what they have to do. I can¡¯t make anyone do anything more than that. They are the only ones responsible for whatever happens next."

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Misaki raised her eyebrows in response, hopeful that Ayame might offer up an addendum with possible alternatives. But she stuck to all that. She also listened to a long-winded series of stories from her, in the hopes that something might slip through in her choice of words or language. The term ¡°bullshit¡± even popped into her head as something to watch out for. If anyone happened to utter it, Misaki didn¡¯t catch it. Ayame spoke a lot of different words, sometimes in quizzical combinations, but none of them overtly proved or even suggested anything.

    And she was probably right. The entire situation and issue lay with her. She had to put everything¡ªno, not everything¡ªtogether. But had to resolve everything. The load rested on her shoulders. Everything came down to her. Which Ayame said, without explicitly saying so, was a load of bullshit.

    The choice was hers. All these incongruent discoveries they came across, from weird entities that slipped in and out of the physical, she could only assume, to potentially nefarious prerogatives held by those who ran and owned the technology that allowed them to cross the boundaries between different universes safely. God, goddess, or whatever, she was breathtakingly tired, saturated with relaxed sentiment but also sapped of the motivation to pounce and pursue so many possibilities. Something had to exist and persist that she could capture, criticize, and interpret from Ayame¡¯s leavings of phrase. But she was exhausted.

    Maharu saddled her with what felt like an ¡®everything¡¯. Not that she was accusing or admonishing the girl. But wasn¡¯t the weight of tearfully not being excluded from accusations of multiple murders basically an everything? Same with dreams that made no sense outside of conspiracy theories that would surely make someone like Bianka shrug and shake her head. And Mari. She couldn¡¯t forget the fact that Maharu let slip that the woman came from another universe. How was she able to stay here long-term?

    Nagging questions and possibilities clung to Misaki. She knew; she had. There was so much to pull together¡ªtoo much to think about and shape into something that made any sort of sense.

    The company had to be experimenting on them. Perhaps they intended to keep them as permanent anime girls with their minds erased and rewritten by some mysterious spirit force emanating from this universe. One that made her appear to be a natural, consummate girl forged of this reality. What other possibilities existed? Did it even matter?

    If they were out to trap her in this reality as a girl, maybe it wasn¡¯t such a bad deal. Becoming the sparkling, gleeful human marshmallow from the other day wasn¡¯t her ideal, but Yuka guided her back to her genuine shape. If this was to be her fate and future home, maybe fighting it wasn¡¯t worth the stress. She collected a smorgasbord of things to worry about, like practically every guarded comment that snuck out of Haruka¡¯s mouth, as though she were a secret agent.

    Clearly, something had to be going on, right? All those suspicious visions. But the couch was so comfy, and she couldn¡¯t be bothered to keep her eyes open all the way. It was a Friday. The end of their first week. And she¡¯d preoccupied herself with all these incongruent elements, either paying painful attention to the plentiful minutia or ignoring the broad details altogether.

    She poked at random cel shading visual glitches as though she were a play tester providing bug reports to the designer. Wouldn¡¯t that just be the worst if everything turned out to be a simulation they plugged them all into just to see what happened? What would matter then? Nothing.

    There had to be more; it all had to mean something. Her life, her love, her hopes and dreams, the possibilities for the future, and so much more. It couldn¡¯t just all be a broken little dream that never amounted to anything, plugged into a frail hope made of gossamer illusions. She couldn¡¯t return to being a painfully manipulated device stuffed full of mindless sensors and shocks directing her towards the next designated activity at the precise time, expressing stock devotion and emotion to the Corporation and Its goals. Thank you for your call. Thank you for your service. That will be this amount of money deducted from expenses. I am glad to have had a human conversation with your human interface unit.

    Exhausting, soul-sapping, and endless. And then, once the artificial apparatus reached the same level she could provide, replacement and erasure. Only the forces of Dwight would remain, the custodians of life, because of the simplicity and ingenious complexity of tidying up the world after everything else could be done by machine. The secret of that little, loving robot at the end of the world. Only the humanely devoted can pick up the pieces.

    Why did she continue to torture herself, even in the relaxing depths of her vacation? She didn¡¯t need to pry and dig through this orange-headed mom¡¯s precise wordings for some stray gotcha comment. She had so many irrelevant questions to ask all the girls gathered here. Kosame and Naoko dated long ago, and the former still clearly fostered gentlemanly romantic castle clouds of old-fashioned fantasies. It quite contrasted Naoko¡¯s reasonable, grounded, rational perspective. Could those two separate swaths ever be reliably resolved? And so much lingered with the Okuras. With Haruka. With all of them. And with the girl that lingered in her thoughts the most.

    Yuka. Her girlfriend. Her friend. Her love. Her hope to break the draining spell of what came before. Before they left earlier, Yuka casually hinted at some especially fun episodes involving Miss Kirk and Lady Spock in romantically ambiguous situations, despite the organization and decorum ordered by their positions and responsibilities. She didn¡¯t expect much. But Misaki couldn¡¯t wait to see them because of the company she would share.

 [51] Yuri Worlds 51 â€“ Enter

    Yuri Worlds

    [51] Enter

    Yuka didn¡¯t have the show with her, but it was an easy matter for Bianka to poke around some questionable websites and find exactly what they needed. Using Yuka¡¯s phone, they were able to stream the episodes to the television in their suite. Misaki had no idea what to expect.

    The show had all the elements of a sci-fi program from the 1960s. It utilized limited sets, a model- and matte-painting-fueled aesthetic, and lingering camera angles. Misaki¡®s internal confusion came from the fact that this wasn¡¯t 1960s animation as she knew it back home. Even the 1940s Fleischer Studios stuff didn¡¯t quite apply. This was a world of living animation, and seeing it replicate this style in media was a struggle for her brain to parse. Logically, her mind told her it had to be rotoscoped or actually made much later. But it wasn¡¯t. Getting over that uncanny part was challenging.

    Then, the roles and stories were adapted by an all-girl world. This wasn¡¯t just someone¡¯s fan-fictional iteration of the short-lived animated series. Miss Kirk exuded the same presence as the live-action work she knew. The performance had all the same dramatic quirks. It didn¡¯t take her long to witness how naturally shirtless certain characters were allowed to be. No wonder nudity wasn¡¯t such a hangup. The use of heels, nylons, and copious miniskirts also brought on confusion. She had to remember that this wasn¡¯t a parody.

    Even articulating her thoughts to appease Yuka¡¯s curiosity was a hopeless struggle of vague statements and uncertain muttering. Misaki found herself essentially in her mother¡¯s shoes. The character had genuine sex appeal, which her Franklin perspective could understand. Her initial judgment that this series seemed made by and for lesbians felt embarrassingly shallow. Lesbian didn¡¯t even exist here. It implied a certain alternative aesthetic and androgynous perspective. This existed as its own thing. No comparable translation.

    And even trying to fit the cultural puzzle pieces into the shapes she understood from female-focused anime didn¡¯t work. Even those works back home came from a place of contrast, where girls were presented traditionally or irreverently. Soft, caring, boisterous, private, emotive, sincere, confident, and sharp. She was also sure her perspective was off the mark. The concept of yuri clearly applied through the evident sexual tension in the scenes. At the same time, the story had a wide depth of goals in mind. Fitting all this into any specific framework of understanding felt functionally impossible. This was a classic drama from a world she only faintly comprehended. Don¡¯t bother trying to make sense of it; just enjoy it.

    And the animated human actors definitely did their job. The Captain didn¡¯t carry anything close to the same weight of command as Namiko. Misaki amused herself with that analogy and simultaneously apologized for slipping her dear friend into farcical parlance, although she knew Namiko would¡¯ve been just as entertained. But Kirk certainly pushed forth a commanding, Ayame-like presence. In addition, she enjoyed the Captain¡¯s legs. Yuka chimed in with appreciation for the actress¡¯s face and the curve of her hips. With delight, she compared some of the best qualities of the fictional character to her real girlfriend, seated comfortably close to her. They snuggled up even closer.

    Getting over the non-parody of Spock was an even more challenging prospect for Misaki. The flat, precise, and thoroughly logical hairstyle of the character, with her nimble eyebrow occasionally raised, contained no remix or reference. It was just the sincere original, but in a drastically different form from anything Misaki had ever seen. This character¡¯s outfits naturally trended towards reservation. Rigid, narrow black tube skirts, which she moved within comfortably. The lines of her body were precisely controlled. A firm, visual translation of the character¡¯s psychological qualities. She wasn¡¯t above wearing a striking miniskirt, even though her presence made it feel much more clinical than the Captain¡¯s bold shape.

    Not to be forgotten, the third part of the trio fit firmly into what Misaki saw as the tsundere mold. Her short and tightly framed mop of hair reminded Misaki of her own look. The woman¡¯s blushing, fuming, and frustrated face carried the same glowing sheen as the original in all its remastered, high-definition glory. The doctor¡¯s outfit wove its way between cool blue nurse¡¯s scrubs and an icy white coat.

    The rest of the cast fluttered through the picture with lighter presences in the first episode. The ladies at the helm occasionally looked familiar. The head engineer had on overalls and a grungy aesthetic, along with lines of exhaustion as she crawled through tight spaces. When it came to characters already portrayed by women, from her perspective, Misaki noticed the scenes felt different. Certain flirtatious elements remained and were occasionally one-sided, but they all meshed together in new ways. Words again failed at translating it.

    Glumly, Yuka pointed out an item of shame. The communications officer, when the program originally aired in this country, often had her scenes reduced or cut all together if they didn¡¯t interfere with the main plot. The government pushed programs of cultural hegemony in that era, and the color of the actress¡¯s skin was the key point of contention. Misaki acknowledged with melancholy that her home universe didn¡¯t fare much better when it came to censorship in that era.

    Stepping back from the serious elements and contexts, it was fun to observe and detail the obvious sexual charge between the leads. The program originally bombed when it was first broadcast locally, Yuka noted. While the characters clearly flirted with one another, viewers wanted to see real hookups by the end of the show. When that didn¡¯t happen, they voiced their discontent. They both found that silly, and Yuka was especially glad that in the time since, the series survived, thrived, and expanded, with sometimes questionable quality but depth beyond expectations.

    Their watch party set-up included their rollout futons practically merged together into one plush entity with the accompaniment of every pillow they could reasonably snag without getting in trouble, along with blankets to augment the comfort. Another peculiarity was that the program was dubbed from its original language into what was spoken here. Whatever translation capabilities she had dealt with it well enough.

    Spock, with tense seriousness to rival anything Haruka could throw out, glumly wanted to resign her position when events seemingly led to the captain¡¯s death. The preceding sequence, where her alien blood required a mating ritual more physical than spiritual, felt like it crossed a content threshold when she stalked around the ship half-naked and covered in crazed sweat.

    The enthusiastic kisses and embraces she gave the captain echoed in residual feelings. During this ending sequence, the captain made a miraculous reappearance among the living thanks to an intervention from the doctor. An out-of-character smile and adamant embrace with a relieved kiss escaped her controlled fa?ade before she reined it back in and offered a logical explanation and apology for her behavior, claiming she was still under the influence of her alien biological cycle. Some sly, smirking references to other cycles of a biological nature were made.

    Having Yuka to chat with and riff on the silliest, most dated bits made the entire experience worth it, and Misaki communicated this in no uncertain terms.

    Quietly, and with warm delight spreading across her face, Yuka hunched down with her head dipped, hiding her blush as she brushed her hair back. They squeezed even closer. The next episode involved some little girl godling bleeding off her abilities and accidentally affecting an entire world, but their focus soon drifted from the program to one another.

    They kissed, softly at first, then needily and insistently for one another. Whatever hesitancy fell away, and their yearning touches sought out all the tender, yielding spaces between them. Their warm arms and legs linked and laced like the forest of cables behind Gal Hotner¡¯s streaming setup. Misaki didn¡¯t flinch when Yuka embraced the still-sore spots, around her chest and concealed beneath her cheek. Yuka endeavored to respond in kind, though her leg, showing no sign of injury or illness, still moved as though something within her worried about getting hurt again. That cautious instinct soon relaxed, and she wrapped herself around her lovely girlfriend.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Some clothes came off while others remained, but they felt even more revealed to one another than when they were naked in the bath. With a heady realization, Misaki slipped past some invisible veil of physical connection and actually encountered what she could only describe as the presence of Yuka¡®s soul gently ebbing and flowing against her like a great, humming ocean tide. Was this similar to what Ayame ran into when doing her thing? She didn¡¯t have the faintest idea.

    The presence that buzzed against her own felt whisper gentle but also dark and looming, like her sense of the sea. A puppy and a snake? More than anything else, she was overwhelmed by a striking melancholy. It was like being adrift in a storm and barely holding your head above the black waters. A large, black figure held steady in the distance. She thought of a sense like a guard dog, a devoted protector making sure the storm didn¡¯t get out of line. Simultaneously, that presence sheltered so small, buffeted by the chaos, and struggling to stay on their feet.

    It reminded her of the little girl in one dream and the prisoners in another. She imagined a feral child, abandoned to the wilderness, just looking for one moment, one iota of precious kindness in a dark and dismal life. Misaki reached out and eagerly offered that kindness. She kissed Yuka so close that it was like they merged with one another. The disconcerting combo left her with the surreal split of two bodies, neither of which she was quite certain how to control.

    When they parted, tenderly but achingly receding from one another to breathe and collect themselves, Misaki found she was looking at a shy, nervous, gorgeous girl with reddish-purple eyes and dark hair with a familiar tint of violet. She was looking at herself.

    A heart that wasn¡¯t hers thundered in her ears as she fumbled for what to say. Ultimately, she settled on needing to use one of the shared bathrooms at the end of the hall. A voice she wasn¡¯t used to hearing from the outside cautiously and almost flirtatiously asked if she needed any help. She shook her head and slowly got to her feet. She adjusted her dress before heading over to the door. Walking wasn¡¯t too much trouble, even with someone else¡¯s legs.

    The smallness of this new reality was difficult to absorb. Walking as Misaki meant adjusting to different hips, unfamiliar legs, the unshakable presence of breasts, and so many other nagging minutiae that subtly twisted and contorted. The remix of being in Yuka¡®s body subtracted hips, breasts, height, and countless other factors she couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on. Misaki was a girl, but adamantly so. Yuka felt so insubstantial, like Franklin could imagine himself truly translated into this world. She wore his uncertainty and fear as a physical thing.

    Yuka wasn¡¯t that much shorter, but being a part of her was like returning to childhood with a quagmire of so many troubling fears. Looking back at the body she should¡¯ve inhabited subtly eased the worst of that storm. She finally breathed on the other end of the door at the threshold to the inn¡¯s hallway. The ninja-like maids loomed but didn¡¯t approach as Yuka folded her slim arms over her tiny tummy.

    Going to the bathroom as someone else felt deeply bizarre, despite Franklin¡®s experience with Misaki. It wasn¡¯t as though unfortunate restroom moments had been anything but a theme for the two of them, ranging from the train on that first day to sitting together on the bench to urgent chaos. This felt like being more than a mere passenger, a watcher on Yuka¡¯s shoulder as she cleaned and washed up. She could imagine that this skin was also hers, but with a conflicting series of motivations and emotions. Not much different from normal.

    Misaki looked at her face, and Yuka¡¯s face looked back. She could feel the smile practice on her cheeks. Be cheerful, not anxious. Enjoy these moments, because you never know what¡¯s next. Yuka carried a gently fragrant aroma. It saturated and infused her being, and Misaki couldn¡¯t escape it. The private itinerary of Yuka''s life played out without direct input from Misaki. She was a passenger, after all.

    Wouldn¡¯t this be the most appropriate fate? Reserved, unsure Franklin relegated to little more than a ghost. The morbid notion stirred an unseen stomach to queasiness. What if she was stuck here, as an inescapable part but not a participant of Yuka? Could this be some aspect of the Melting or a nefarious experiment from the company? Being Yuka for the rest of her life wouldn¡¯t be the worst fate. But she wouldn¡¯t be able to tell her how beautiful she is.

    All the silly notions inside her head that might make this special girl smile would have to stay there. The chance to really hold her close again. To make her feel good. To let her know she wasn¡¯t some monster and that the sea within her held such beauty beyond compare. That she could do or be anything she ever wanted. She could bring things together in peace and harmony, protect the weak, argue for justice in a court of law, and make sure all the puppies out there got their scratches behind the ears and rolled over in tongue-waggling bliss. Sasaki Yuka could be anything and anyone she ever wanted, so long as it brought her joy. If only Misaki could communicate all that to the girl she loved so dearly.

    Softly and quietly, with little more than a faint whimper, Yuka cried with her arms bracing her on the sink counter. The tears came with little squeaks leaking from her trembling mouth. Misaki felt the flood of emotion too, with uncontrollable currents driving her in all directions. It was a lot, but it wasn¡¯t a bad thing.

    Being a girl in this world¡ªbeing Misaki¡ªwas one thing. The way that the company provided them with immersive masks and suits that functioned as astronaut gear in this hostile realm was one thing. It was like an adaptation, a simulation of actually being an inhabitant of this place. The physical form, the sensations, and all the surface minutia, but not the deepest characteristics. Sharing with Yuka was like being exposed to the raw nature of space.

    In her Gal examinations and discussions with female friends, Chika came to the conclusion that girls had a rich color palette of emotions and expressions of self, which could also lead to wild turbulence. Brains just work differently according to development, hormones, and so many other factors. Not that girl brains were necessarily limited to girl bodies, and likewise with boy brains. Franklin only had a faint hint of what all that meant, same as Gal. Sitting immersed in Yuka''s presence showed her the vast gulf. Once again, as with so many other things, words failed her.

    The tears weren¡¯t sad or for simple pain; they had a vast array of interpretable qualities. If Misaki wanted to be bold, she could imagine the tears were little drops of motivation and uncertainty distilling from the heated emotion of her love for Yuka. Assuming what was inside her made it to her partner. If only she could do more.

    A soft knock came at the door, and Yuka swiftly tidied up her appearance despite knowing and feeling she didn¡¯t want to hide. On the other side of the door stood Naoko, doing her level best to resist the full lure of a yawn. It took less than a moment for her to rush to Yuka¡¯s side and ask if she was all right. No shame in being weak. No need to be so private, even though Misaki felt that Yuka was one of the more reserved girls in this group. She still needed others.

    Shaking off her turbulence, Yuka expressed reassurance that she was fine, passing along playful hints that the night was going well. But that sand castle of sentiment had to inevitably meet the tide. Yuka was scared. So very scared, and she needed to talk to someone. Naoko didn¡¯t hesitate for an instant before volunteering all her shoulders.

    They joined hands, and Naoko led her down the hall to her room.

 [52] Yuri Worlds 52 â€“ Heartbreak

    Yuri Worlds

    [52] Heartbreak

    Naoko expressed interest in sharing her room with Kosame or Namiko but ultimately decided to pair up with Yasha since she was the odd girl out. She sat by herself at the far end of the room with colorful threads spread over a round disc.

    Yuka and Misaki recognized it as the weaving art of kumihimo. Yasha gave a long, tired sigh and a quick brush wave of her hand before stretching her wrists. She explained that the inn had a couple different activity options with a full class for learning the weaving arts, but she knew she would get so bored of that quickly. Instead, she opted to figure it out on her own. The pattern in the cords looked a little uneven, but Yuka resisted the urge to give advice and simply complimented her work. Yasha gave a noncommittal grunt. Naoko had the television on some science fiction program that neither Misaki nor Yuka recognized. It appeared several decades more modern than the other show, but it was hard to tell.

    Naoko briefly explained the situation to her roommate, and Yasha casually stuck what looked like earbuds in her ears. Sitting together, the girls worked through the situation. Yuka barely resisted turning to tearful havoc as she framed her thoughts.

    ¡°I love Miss Takano. The elder sister. Obviously. Takano Misaki. But I know she¡¯s just gonna be here for a little while. Just another week. And then maybe gone forever. It¡¯s like that ridiculous novel we read last month in class with the melodrama and all that maudlin junk. I know some girls fawn over the idea of being painfully romantic about suffering and loss. I just want to be happy. I just want everyone to be happy. Goddess, I feel so childish. I don¡¯t know what to do or say. At the end of the show we were watching, they had all this stuff about lunar cycles. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s just all that or something else. And in the bathroom, I got this sense of all these nice things she would think of me, and it was like being buried in such love. I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±

    Naoko quickly responded with an allusion to cheerful dogs, knowing the perfect antidote to bring an automatic smile to Yuka¡¯s face. Then, she proceeded to rip the novel they both read for class a new one with mocking references to laughably over-the-top moments. After that, there was an itemized reminder of the plethora of mature qualities that Yuka not only held close but fostered in others. Choosing her next words carefully, Naoko cycled her hands as though she were pumping an invisible series of pedals suspended in the air. The cycle. That slightly enigmatic biological mystery that purged and refreshed internal biology. Yuka had a hunch that in the world the travelers came from, it had more to do with reproduction than around here.

    Naoko stopped, tensed, and glanced over her shoulder at her roommate, who had absolutely no reaction to what Yuka stated. Faint, fast-paced music leaked out of her ears from the buds. For not the first time, Yuka mulled, prodding this enigmatic stranger for answers. Her entire attitude projected delinquency, with a strange smattering of appreciation for their history contrasted with random, flagrant disinterest immediately after. Letting that go, Naoko focused on the final, encouraging note that Yuka rushed through, highlighting the positive, healthy feelings. Yuka deserved nice things and nice thoughts. Her possible girlfriend, if she were worth sharing time with, would gladly and adamantly express thoughts like these and so many more.

    Frantically, Yuka amended that these weren¡¯t just confined to her internal imaginings. Miss Takano said, expressed, and did so many beautiful things. She was just reserved to a higher degree than even Yuka. She was special, and Yuka¡¯s eyes nervously wandered to her feet when she quietly admitted that she wanted to spend the rest of her life sharing all her special thoughts with this precious girl. But time felt so short¡ªso desperately, painfully short. She wanted to make the minutes last like hours, the hours become days, and these few days spread out like an endless sea of possibilities. Naoko immediately teased the fact that her friend was sitting here and lamenting how little time she had while intentionally being away from her lady love. But they both understood that taking a breather was necessary to keep from overflowing.

    Gently rubbing her legs, Naoko mused, ¡°I thought being with Kosame for the rest of my life was all I ever needed. I know you remember how incorrigible I was during the mushiest part of my relationship, where everything had an absolute finality and a lyrical flourish, which she¡¯s still off the deep end about. I am not saying that is the case here, but the light of love can entrance like moths to a flame and overwhelm all your senses. I know that''s not terribly scientific, but it feels right. Be careful and confident in your needs, for the sake of your heart.¡±

    Yuka pouted but also lightly nodded her head. They spent a good while just joking back and forth with little references that ping-ponged around different relationships and certainties in their young lives. Naoko¡¯s regular advice for Yuka to go talk with her moms about this settled to the forefront while Yuka sank slowly on her back against the tatami floor.

    With a sudden gasp, Yuka almost smacked her hands up in her face as she realized and harshly whispered that she just abandoned Miss Takano in their suite. A flurry of self-scolding admonishments and pained laments swirled like a typhoon at full force within her. Passenger Misaki could barely hold on. Naoko moved quickly to steady and reassure her with both of her hands on her shoulders.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna go over there and make sure your cute friend doesn¡¯t worry about you. It¡¯ll be fine.¡° Yuka still spun herself into a tizzy about how this was the worst thing ever, and Miss Takano probably thought all sorts of terrible things about her just running off and suspected it was an excuse to get away. She lamented, despite Naoko¡¯s careful reassurance that her girlfriend probably blamed herself more than anyone else. Yuka¡¯s stomach furiously gurgled with unease and tension, but she took some calming breaths and agreed with Naoko¡¯s sensible plan.

    With just Misaki and Yuka together with Yasha, Misaki, who had to remind herself several times that she wasn¡¯t actually Yuka, focused as much of her girlfriend¡¯s attention as she could direct and carefully judged Yasha. She likely wasn¡¯t the monster who destroyed Maharu¡¯s family, but something about her still set Misaki on edge. With Yuka¡¯s senses instead of her own, she searched for something more that Franklin might otherwise miss.

    But Yuka was just a normal girl without any extra perceptions. As normal as this world considers its girls, at least.

    ¡°You¡¯ll never see any of us again after next week.¡° Yasha flicked her gaze in Yuka¡¯s direction. She attempted a polite smile for Yasha first but barely got beyond an annoyed grimace with her teeth biting into it.

    ¡°Never is a long time¡±, Yuka sharply responded. Misaki wanted to hurl stronger words than that.

    Yasha grunted and popped her earbuds out. ¡°This world isn¡¯t one of the regulars. A rare thing to get travelers to this one. Plenty of others nearby are far more popular. That¡¯s what appealed to me. A rare taste of reality. But we each have to face the facts. It¡¯s going to be a long time before they let any of us across the border again. From your side or ours. Better to relish and savor what you¡¯ve got while it¡¯s here than shed tears over what could be.¡±

    Yuka made some non-committal noises to herself before responding, ¡°There¡¯s a lot out there. A lot of time and a lot of possibilities. I¡¯m gonna be a lawyer, and maybe this company you deal with will one day need my services, or I can represent the government for them. And I¡¯ll be able to travel. There¡¯s no reason to discount any possibility if you¡¯re determined enough.¡±

    Yasha gave a harsh, crackling chuckle. ¡°Whatever helps. I may not look it, but I¡¯ve had enough years to know where optimism ends. And lawyers are scarcely the resource in urgent need out there. But feel free to foster your ambitions. They¡¯re better than the alternative.¡±

    So many things tossed and turned around in Yuka¡¯s thoughts with Misaki as an inspirational companion, but they both kept the words inside. Verbally fighting with one of their guests was not only rude but would be fruitless since Yasha seemed solidly set in her opinion.

    The alternative that Yuka settled on instead of arguing until her face turned colors was to lean back against the comfortable tatami floor with her arms folded behind her head. She had so much hair surrounding and clinging to her. It gathered so much grease despite how much time she spent taking care of it. The left side of the back of her neck always had bad skin outbreaks, but at least she could hide them underneath until they healed up. She just had to resist the urge to rub.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Yuka crawled over to Naoko¡¯s nearby blanket on the floor and hugged it. Misaki wished she could do the same. Yasha gave a random chuckle to no one in particular, but Yuka still felt like some aspect of it was aimed in her direction. Would Maharu sneak a laugh behind her back too? No. Definitely no.

    She could still imagine it. Maharu¡¯s cheerful, soft features twisted with cruel annoyance. You don¡¯t want me to rely on you, so why do you care so much that I am doing exactly what you want? Maharu wouldn¡¯t say that, but she could still hear those words ringing deep in her ears.

    There was something wrong with her. She knew that. Her moms brought up careful questions about whether she felt depressed or anything else. Ayame checked in on her all the time and poked her spirit a lot. It didn¡¯t feel like depression in any form she knew it from shows, books, or anything else. She felt things. She felt a lot. She was so excited at the start of the week to meet their guests and experience something beyond herself.

    Something was missing. That¡¯s what pressed on her the strongest. The uncertain but nagging feeling that she was missing something. The moment Miss Takano walked into her life, she was drawn into that hug, like greeting a dear friend she hadn¡¯t seen in a long time. But it was soon after that that everything bad with her leg started.

    Miss Takano told her that she saw a dark spirit¡ªsomething covered in fuzzy puppy fur or something like it. It probably had nothing to do with her. More likely, some vermin from the company and whatever they did. Girls traveling across the world carried all sorts of incidental illnesses on planes. It was only natural, going from one entire world to another, that something opportunistic might sneak on board. Not¡­ Misaki¡®s fault.

    Besides, yeah, she had a mark, but nothing worse than a quick bruise. The weird little snap nightmare thing was nothing. Or any of the other stuff, like the dreams where Haruka turned a nasty face in her direction. Where it felt like she wasn¡¯t even her sister anymore. She deserved that though.

    She was rotten; she was dark inside. Like a bad apple. Bright and normal on the surface but wretched underneath. Ayame took pains to reassure her that wasn¡¯t the case. Valiant efforts, and she didn¡¯t deserve them. She got upset quietly. She thought bad things. For all she wanted to do to help people and make things better, she felt bitter frustration to just trash the whole thing.

    So many ladies out there who didn¡¯t care. Just get them out. And then there were the weirder thoughts. Despite being seemingly intimately connected to Yuka, Misaki got no further hint of what that meant before Yuka went back to quietly tormenting herself some more.

    What gave her strength was hope. Hope to do better, hope to get better. Hope that all this silliness with Maharu would just drain away and they could have their regular back and forth where she rolled her eyes and Maharu gleefully gallivanted through so many exuberant notions. She didn¡¯t need to grow up already, at least not all the way. Goddess, she was being such a stressed-out mom about all this. It will work out.

    All she really had to do was talk to Haru¡¯s grandma. Easier said than done, considering she tended to be even more obstinate and inscrutable. She could and should talk to her moms, for something approaching advice. But Mama Fuyuki had her traditional and also vague ways of referring to something bigger in the world or dipping into all that sisterhood stuff. She just didn¡¯t understand the complexity of things. At least she was supportive of her and Misaki. They both were. But they spread the blunted version of Yasha¡®s needling reminders. This was puppy girl love.

    A fleeting practice that felt more permanent than it was. Days. So few days, and she was wasting them hour by hour as much as school stole time from her too. Maybe she just won¡¯t go to school next week. Yeah.

    She would write it off as her vacation time. Break the rules a little while it was still forgivable. When she became an adult, the sparse margins of time off would barely allow her to eat. Vacation time had to be used in carefully portioned minutes and seconds to buy moments away from work. The crippling grind of life had to be gentler in the other world. Maybe she could just sneak away with Misaki, stuffed in a bag, and holding her breath.

    The other world. A place of promising possibilities. Boys. Men. A way of human life she could only imagine in vague terms, like trying to articulate another dimension of space. The pokey things between their legs. Everything swapped the inside out. She still has so many questions about how they got adjusted and how they sat. And Yuka gathered the impression, even though Misaki really tiptoed around it, that the inside-out and the outside-in sides of humanity neatly fit together.

    What did it feel like to touch and combine? Her cheeks felt so hot that she needed to shield them with her hands or else they were going to erupt.

    ¡°Yuka?¡± Ack! Yuka popped up, ready to denounce she was doing or thinking anything weird. Naoko stood over by the doorway entrance. Misaki stood right behind her with her arms folded.

    Swiftly, Yuka¡¯s expression brightened at Misaki, but oddly, hers didn¡¯t respond in kind. Something serious?

    Misaki wanted to talk with her alone for a minute. The Misaki inside Yuka screamed at her not to listen. She wasn¡¯t inside her body¡ªat least she didn¡¯t think she was. But then, who was there if not her? Yuka quietly agreed and followed her girlfriend out into the hallway and around to a quiet nook off to the side.

    They sat down on a bench together, a bench not too different than the one in the downstairs bathroom at home, and Yuka prepared herself.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think this is going to work. It¡¯s all wrong. It would be better if we broke up. No more of the silly girlfriend charade. It would never work. Beyond our age difference and experience gap, I¡¯ve known you for just a few days, and those days will soon end. We¡¯re never going to see each other again, because we¡¯re from different worlds. We can¡¯t kid one another that any of this actually matters.¡±

    Yuka looked across the hallway at a little dusty crease in the floor that housekeeping missed. It was all she could do to hold herself together. This wasn¡¯t real. It couldn¡¯t be real. She must¡¯ve overheated in the bath again, and she was gonna wake up to Misaki probably giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and looking down with love and concern. That¡¯s what it was. She was sure of it. But reality remained. She felt sick.

    ¡°Why?¡± Was all she was able to get out. Meanwhile, Misaki¡®s consciousness somehow screamed herself horse trying to say that this was not her. Don¡¯t listen to whatever this is! It¡¯s a trick! Please!

    Whether any of that was communicated, she had no idea. But Yuka shook her head and invoked the overzealously cute mind-warping that occurred the other day and the squishy physical transformation. This had to be something like that. Trying to hurt her again, trying to hurt the girl she loved. She couldn¡¯t believe it.

    Misaki of the flesh narrowed her eyes but also wrapped them in a veneer of sympathy as she logically hammered home all the realities facing them. This was going to hurt, why drag it out for either of them? She had fun for a while, and Yuka probably did too. But this was never meant to last. This was just a little crush, and she would come to understand that in time.

    Yuka¡®s heart beat inside her ears as Misaki, trapped within her, tried to find something to pound against that might get a message to Yuka without hurting her. But there was just an endless ether defined by Yuka¡¯s broken heart.

    Despite the pain, Yuka still couldn¡¯t believe it. She had to do something, like last time. Left left left as a reminder. You are not this thing that cruel forces want to shape you into! She gathered together everything she had, searching an icy pit with meager embers that even the most vigorous rubbing could scarcely nurture. Please, Goddess, please! Hope! There had to be hope!

 [53] Yuri Worlds 53 â€“ Broken

    Yuri Worlds

    [53] Broken

    Last time, Yuka could feel the fight she kindled meeting a yielding acceptance on the other end. Misaki may have been locked away behind a girl who seemed like she didn¡¯t care what or who she was supposed to be, but her girlfriend was still there, reaching out. This time, it was just like a cold, unfeeling wall. What if she was wrong about Misaki? It had only been a few days. Even with Ayame¡®s spiritual aptitude for sensing people and the creepy things that Grandma Okura did, these were people from an entirely different world, from a separate half of humanity that none of them had ever experienced.

    Misaki leaned over and gave her a faint peck on the forehead before relaying that she could switch rooms with anyone Yuka preferred or bunk with Yasha and Naoko. Yuka had to remind herself to breathe. This couldn¡¯t be real. This just could not be real. She had no idea what to think or do. They were so happy just a short time ago. She was so happy, at least. But she ran away. Did Misaki sense that hesitancy? She looked over at her¡­at¡­Miss Takano, who looked eager to get up from the bench and walk away and out of her life.

    ¡°Okay. What¡­ Whatever you decide to do¡­¡± She was able to fashion those words into some coherence. And Miss Takano just got up and walked away. Yuka wobbled and slowly turned her head like she was a boat pitching and stumbling on the waves. It hurt. It hurt so much. But she couldn¡¯t find it in herself to cry.

    The messy swarm of emotions dropped away, leaving behind a dark and hollow emptiness eating inside her. She could sleep, just sleep and let tears anonymously wash over her face, if they ever returned. The left side of her neck felt so dry and irritated. She just wanted to rub at the spot as hard as possible, dig her nails in, and carve off the flesh. Misaki could do nothing about any of this, but she focused all the love she could summon from her thoughts and envisioned a version of herself standing with Yuka, hugging as tightly as possible, and trying to explain and understand what was going on.

    Yuka attempted to pull her legs up into a fetal position, but she couldn¡¯t do it, so she just dangled. A dozen wandering, hiding, fuming urges rushed through her, adrift from strong emotions but still intrinsically linked to them. She wanted to eat something and never stop. Swallow the world, and then nothing could hurt her again. That sentiment surged through a flash of imaginings. Shove Misaki into the dirt. Launch her on a rocket to the moon. Slap her. Let wild dogs carry her off. And worse. She felt disgusted at her own mind. She coughed with shaking and strained to draw breath.

    Yuka felt woozy as she struggled to find her feet. Throwing up in the hallway would cause trouble for the rest of the guests and the innkeepers. She delicately cradled her tummy and returned to the bathroom. Standing over the toilet expectantly didn¡¯t move things in one direction or the other. She screamed into her hands, tightly squeezed over her mouth. All that came out was more like the whimpering squeak of a mouse. The world wobbled with little flares of color and darkness. Drifting over to the sink, she looked in the mirror, and her eyes immediately widened.

    Her hair. Instead of the soft and often glossy dark gray locks sprawled to her shoulder, it appeared blackened and diseased as badly as each occurrence of the marks on her leg, as though hideous tar had been slathered across her head. She wanted to run to tell Misaki. This had to be more of the nightmare, and only holding her¡­ only holding¡­ her girlfriend¡¯s hand offered any prospect of relief. It was so warm, like the soothing hot spring waters, and soft, like the gentlest lace. The memory, a frail trace of beautiful things just a few hours lost, wasn¡¯t much, but she was still grateful for it.

    Straightening herself, Yuka ran the sink with the biting fury of the hottest, steamiest option and vigorously splashed her hair, getting scalding water in dark spots all over her dress. It didn¡¯t matter anymore. And no matter how much water she threw at herself, the blackness wouldn¡¯t abate. Slumping against the countertop, she struggled to hold herself up. Please, Goddess, help. Have pity. Spirits of nature and whispers of light, help. She was a string puppet without anything to support her.

    I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you¡­ Misaki fought to will those words through the barrier between them, even though they occupied the same space. Words of a racing, running heart. A breath of life flowing through her and into the girl she loved. Yuka slowly picked up the shambles of herself, but she briefly paused, as though catching some strange flutter of sound. It was something! So Misaki pushed it harder, like a watery breaststroke she never learned, or a racing sprint she never could¡¯ve attempted, and with unyielding purpose, she proclaimed her love.

    Misaki could feel so many aspects of the girl she loved, even the unceasing whisper of her heart. But she would make these words the unrelenting constant of her life for as long as Yuka needed them. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you. Not a mindless repetition but a tireless war against any trace of sadness.

    She had no idea if it was actually doing anything, but she continued anyway because the only other alternative was giving up. She never really fought for anything before. Fighting for the sake of love was a good start. This time, they both knew that something made it through. Yuka shook her head and sniffled. She didn¡¯t need an empty, pitying sentiment from her own mind. Looking up in the mirror, Yuka at least had some small measure of relief that the inky black, tarry look of her hair was gone, as though it were a simple prank wig placed upon her head by troublesome spirits. But she was still soaked and damp all over. Searching around, she found a heavy, nice towel to dab the spots with and press soothingly against the patches of angry pink on her face. That didn¡¯t stop or even slow Misaki down.

    The words nagged her consciousness, like a song she couldn¡¯t shake. Misaki struggled to express details or nuance that she was somehow present within Yuka, and these words came from her. But none of it matched the simplicity and power of love. Yuka grumbled but didn¡¯t do more than that. She figured she might as well see who wound up being her new roommate. With her luck, it was probably her sister.

    Not that she disliked rooming with Ruka; it was a familiar state of affairs when they were younger until she finally got her own space after her moms¡¯ early efforts at remodeling. They had some family discussion about whether Ruka was autistic or somewhere thereabouts. Yuka just said she was a weirdo, and Ruka never complained about it. She always envisioned her as an observer from another planet trying to practice human social mores.

    Finding her way back to the suite, Yuka braced herself with a long breath that almost blotted out the repeating love sentiment. Inside, both of her moms were gathered around a heated table and quietly chatting. She resisted the immediate urge to swing around and retreat.

    The moms took turns wrapping her up in insistent hugs and encouragement. Either someone had been listening to the bench area or Misaki spilled her thoughts to others. Her mothers avoided saying anything specific, instead focusing on having her rest around the table, having something nice to drink, and maybe something sweet from the leftover travel snacks. No matter what they knew, Yuka didn¡¯t take long to spill the key details as coherently as possible.

    Misaki dumped her. It would be better if they just acknowledged that this was never going to be anything. So on and so forth. It was exhausting to get out, and her words ambled through definitive conclusions. Maybe the girl had something more on her mind, or the weird thing that happened the other day with her changing and acting out of character was happening again.

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    Mum Kei did her best to be charitable to uncertainties regarding their guest while also spinning up a scolding tone. Mommy Fuyuki gently brushed Yuka¡¯s hair in a way no one else could reproduce. She knew how to dodge around whatever dry or greasy spots there were and make it all feel better. Yuka did her best not to dwell on or fret over any lingering traces of their earlier activities. Her moms in her room always inspired a certain degree of irrational anxiety. But she was emotionally exhausted, and a little bit of family helped. The drumbeat of incessant affection wasn¡¯t going to go away, so she just let it be as she resumed the show for her moms to watch too.

    The urge to give up started to sink into Misaki even as she continued to convey her love. Whoever took over her body deserved every terrible fate the two of them could come up with for bringing such sadness to Yuka. But at least they could sit closer than they ever intended to and enjoy the show. For the sake of not giving Yuka a headache, Misaki rotated her expression of love with cheerful, exuberant commentary about what they were watching. It was a little over the top, but thoroughly sincere.

    She laughed at the appropriate moments and added exuberant gasps to flares of tension. It felt like more effort than any Gal Hotner theatrical, playful performance for the Internet. But love takes effort. Eventually, Yuka actually cozied up with a careful lean, as though pressing up against someone who wasn¡¯t there, but who felt like they should be. This exact notion fluttered through Yuka¡¯s thoughts for a few seconds before she dismissed it.

    That reaction disheartened Misaki a little, despite holding fast to her determination. It was difficult because she had a portion of her own existence stuck in Yuka, and she shared so much of her being. So, it was a quiet battle between lining up with Yuka¡¯s thinking and carving out her own thoughts. She only briefly indulged in the panicked possibility that she might be stuck like this, basically haunting the girl she loved.

    Halfway into the episode, which involved the captain being split into multiple personality pieces¡ªa plot that neither Yuka nor Misaki recalled¡ªAyame stopped over to indulge in some of the remaining pastries before settling down for the evening. She laughed and shared little observations of the innkeepers with the Sasaki moms before glancing over and automatically commenting, "Hello, Yuka, and hello, Misaki, how are the two of you doing this evening?"

    Misaki wanted to scream at the top of her nonexistent lungs. She could see or feel her? She promised never to doubt the healer lady¡¯s weird abilities again! But that initial comment and determination wavered as she did a double take and puffed a breath through her nose. Dipping her head and waving her hand, Ayame was quick to apologize for her mistake, noting, "Oh, turtle splashes. I thought I felt Miss Takano with you. Must just be my assumption that the two of you are always thick as thieves. Are the two of you having a nice evening?"

    A leaden silence settled over the room despite Misaki still yelling as loud as she could¡ªas loud as anyone could. Even with no throat to thrash, the endeavor felt deeply exhausting. They paused the episode to give Ayame a rough overview of the situation. Misaki turned her away, saying that it wasn¡¯t worth it, it didn¡¯t matter, it wasn¡¯t really love, and it was better to rip the bandage off now.

    Swiftly, Ayame shot back, ¡°Cow crap! Misaki would never. And, if she did, it¡¯s not her. That girl has a heartfelt soul that would travel to the end of her being just to make sure you had a smile on your face. I looked inside her and inside you. So many beautiful things. Ladies may sometimes say what they don¡¯t mean to the one who matters most to them. I screamed at my moms plenty of times when struggling to overcome the most difficult days, but they knew, and I can say with all my heart that I never stopped loving my family. That girl could never stop loving you. She¡¯s such an intrinsic and inescapable part of you that I still sense her essence clinging to you. She loves you. I don¡¯t care what spirits may have made her say or claim to the contrary, but you need to go remind her of the truth!¡±

    Yuka was stunned but also vibrating with all the primordial constituents of determination. Misaki amplified what she could from her isolated perch. Kei and Fuyuki clung to looks of concern and uncertainty throughout Ayame¡¯s whole spiel, but they looked to their daughter most of all and recognized her broken uncertainty coming together into something solid.

    Yuka didn¡¯t run out as though she were some sports hero ready to tackle her goal. Even putting one foot after the other towards the sliding door and out into the hallway failed to deliver her anything but a roiling sea of stomach unease. The stark expanse and striking proximity between the suites unsettled her. What could she possibly do and say when she arrived? She didn¡¯t really have an answer, even after she firmly swung open the door to her destination.

    Naoko was there and looked more like she was tensely bound up in invisible versions of the ropes and cords Yasha was still quietly and diligently fashioning at her end of the room. The aura of discomfort was obvious. Before anyone else could speak first, Yuka swung her arm around, pointed a piercing finger right in Misaki¡®s direction, and boldly declared, ¡°We need to talk right now."

    The Misaki who lived with them this entire week should¡¯ve jerked around in surprise and concern with that statement, her eyes swarming with uncertainty, unearned guilt, and unbridled concern. But the figure seated there wearing her face seemed to shift out of a holding pattern and mechanically twist her head in Yuka¡®s direction as though she were an incensed robot or some ancient predator regarding her dimwitted prey loudly stomping along.

    No protest came as they walked not so much together but separately in the same direction and out the door. They didn¡¯t return to the bench but to the other end of that hallway, on the left side. Yuka immediately recited all the insightful determinations that Ayame planted in her. They didn¡¯t have the same unfettered energy and certainty as the original, but Yuka poured out all the emotions she had at her disposal, which hadn¡¯t hardened into jagged pain yet. And then she waited.

    Misaki said nothing for several seconds, staring at Yuka with undisguised contempt. Then she let loose everything.

    ¡°You¡¯re worthless. You¡¯re nothing. Why do you think I would ever care about you? You¡¯re going to be alone. All alone. Lost and alone in the dark, little one. Small and pointless. Do you know what kind of thing you really are? I¡¯m going to tell you¡­¡±

    She had enough. She couldn¡¯t take any more of this evil corruption of the girl she loved while the faintest trace of her voice echoed in the depths of her mind and heart. Yuka lunged at the vile pretender, not exactly sure what she was going to do but grabbing wildly. Her fingers hooked around the fringe of the gray wristband¡ªthat horrible thing that felt like mental razors on the edge of her brain. Fighting with every ounce of energy that she had, she ripped at the edge of it. She imagined her gross, adolescent grease becoming like acid to eat away at its grip. That couldn¡¯t happen, but she got lucky and snagged enough of the band to snap it loose as a single piece of strange graphite.

    As soon as the wristband left Misaki¡®s flesh, it was like flipping a switch; the light in her eyes immediately vanished, and her body tumbled like an unthinking, unfeeling heap to the floor with her limbs sprawled out unnaturally, unmoving, dead.

 [54] Yuri Worlds 54 â€“ Dead

    Yuri Worlds

    [54] Dead

    Misaki, the spirit or whatever she represented now, contained within Yuka¡¯s body, was woozy and sick, even though she didn¡¯t have the apparatus to properly translate those feelings. Yuka staggered backward in trembling shock.

    Killed her. She killed her. Oh, dear Goddess, she killed her. She undulated with rocking motions, like she desperately wanted to throw up and wanted to make it happen, but her body refused. And still, the physical Misaki lay there in an awkward heap with her eyes open wide, her mouth in a listless slit, and no real sign she was breathing.

    Yuka fought to settle her own breathing into a normal rhythm that wasn¡¯t going to make her collapse as well. Misaki provided steady, even advice on what to do. Hold on to something nearby. Get to your feet and make sure not to lock your knees. Find medical help as soon as possible. She repeated this succinctly and firmly, all while struggling to not freak out about the fact that her body could be dead or dying as the seconds ticked by.

    She had no way of knowing if the instructions would get through or if her host would even bother paying attention to them after all the other thoughts and whispers inside her head. All she could do was quietly repeat the same messages with the earnest emphasis that she loved Yuka. If she had to be a quiet passenger, then she would do her best to help. Even though Yuka wouldn¡¯t really be able to feel her words, encouragement, and support, Misaki was determined to do all she could.

    Slowly, laboring with each step, Yuka managed to right herself, stabilize the fear, and rush as safely as possible for help. Ayame was the nearest option, but she knew from earlier that the inn had life support equipment and a nurse practitioner on staff. They had to know, and so did Ayame. But the time, the terrible ticking of time marched incessantly and stomped over her hopes. Move move, she had to move now!

    Scrambling away from the wall, her legs burned as she ran towards the main office. Of all things, what gripped her most of all was a sudden spell of sleepiness. Running became a dream-like action where she wasn¡¯t certain how or why she was moving. Somehow, she managed to avoid a collision. The front desk was devoid of activity, with just one unsuspecting lady tapping on her keyboard.

    Fighting for words to best encapsulate the current, uncertain emergency, Yuka leapt for, "We have a cardiac arrest!" Precious moments slipped away as the lady at the front desk decided finishing her current sentence of typing was more important than pivoting to what was in front of her. Only once that was done did she slip on her confusion and questions. It took several insistent rounds of yelling, verging on screaming, from Yuka till she realized the gravity and rushed to the cabinet for equipment. A few of the lurking maids scrambled aimlessly.

    Staggering back through the main hallway to the suites, Yuka passed along a semi-coherent explanation to her moms and Ayame that she couldn¡¯t remember moments after she¡¯d blurted it out. Blasting along the hallway as fast as her throbbing legs would take her, Yuka noticed Ruka standing to the side and scrutinizing the scene. Her attention focused more on the fallen heap of her girlfriend than her elder sister as Yuka attempted to come up with another explanation that made any sort of sense.

    When she briefly looked away, Ruka stepped a little too far into the hallway, blocking her sister¡¯s path. Before Yuka could think of dodging out of her way, the two of them collided, as though she happened to catch a wall suddenly in front of her. It spun Yuka around and dropped her, but left Misaki standing as though she missed the contact. She was free! But that wasn¡¯t necessarily an improvement, as she partially overlapped with Haruka.

    This crossing felt especially jarring as she caught the faintest glimpse of the elder sister¡¯s interior. It was like flying too close to the sun. She was bathed in a presence that felt like harsh summer heat as brilliant blue and gold light blasted through her. Beyond that, there was an inescapable sadness as desolate as the void of space. She didn¡¯t linger to probe deeper. It felt too personal and too painful, like diving into what Maharu surely retained of her childhood. She had to get back, return to her body before something terrible happened to it.

    Rationally, her brain told her that this entire spell had to be some altered state or similar illusion of perception. It was willing to entertain the prospect of bizarre energy phenomena from another world. Misaki shouted the rest of herself down and screamed that she needed to get her soul back into her body. A crowd had already started to gather around where her physical form had last been seen. Namiko dominated the space, with her hands and hopes swarming around the fallen figure. What she could see of her own body looked repulsively pale, with a striking, unnatural grayness setting in.

    Did she really have to return to that? Being a spirit didn¡¯t hurt, and her dithering uncertainty was gone. Her perceptions elevated to the level of a striking epiphany she never considered. Yeah, she was probably dead. A floating spirit who attached herself to Yuka because of a strange out-of-body experience. It almost sounded like absurd hyperbole to say that their fun time was so amazing that she left her body. This had to have a better explanation, but that was all that made sense.

    The scene contained so many details fluttering about that she both found herself highlighting each and every one as though it were a recording she could manipulate and highlight endlessly and at the same time like a dream that would drift from her as soon as she looked away.

    Some curious points she caught were that Ayame dodged around where she was standing as a spirit, although there was clearly no one physically there to avoid. For a split second, she thought that Ruka¡­ Haruka met her gaze before looking beyond her to the chaotic scene. She couldn¡¯t see Grandma Okura, but the sharpened, critical eye laid upon her was still looming somewhere in the background. A strangeness she couldn¡¯t place swarmed around the sense of the old lady. But she soon overlooked that when she noticed Chika bowed over her fallen form, flailing, sobbing, and plaintively begging with everything she had for Misaki to wake up.

    "Please no, please no, no nooo. Please wake up. You have to wake up. CPR. Press. Breath in your mouth. Dw¡­ uh Nami. We got to find a pulse¡­get the pulse. She¡¯s got to have a pulse! My friend, my heart, you mean everything. You¡¯re my best friend. You ARE my sister, my br¡­ my everything. Wake up. You have to wake up!" Through her desperate words, Chika coughed and squeezed her voice to gather as much energy and effort as possible.

    Misaki felt a deep and blanketing ease envelop her, like all the noise and confusion were drifting away. People were upset, people were sad, and they were all so preoccupied in this panicked moment. It was nothing to fret so much about¡ªlittle more than a water cup on a table tipped over and splashed.

    Why worry? It was fine. She had regrets; of course, she did. Seeing her friends and those she loved so upset and in such pain made her want to linger and comfort them so much more than her frail efforts to help Yuka from within. But it wasn¡¯t her place. The hallway felt like it was softening, rounding with an unnatural, welcome glow. She curiously turned away from her own face and gazed back at the path.

    A shadow loomed behind her, barely contained. It wavered like a star, a dark core at the cusp of a brilliant supernova. She wanted to walk to it and let go. But Haruka met her eyes and leveled her head. The next moment felt like getting kicked in a thousand places all at once. She shattered and fell in the dark, down, down, down into an unimaginable blackness.

    Misako¡®s arm was exposed and lacking a wristband, but no one seemed to notice that detail. She carefully kept that naked limb behind her, relying on it for support. Her previous headaches and pains returned with a renewed cluster of violence, but they were unmistakable signs of her return to the land of the living. She had something very important to do first. Really, she had several very important things that needed to be done, but most of those thoughts were scattered to the wind, and she only had the strength to cling to one in particular.

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    ¡°Yuka. I love you I love you I love you I love you¡­¡± She didn¡¯t have the same strength. Her voice felt muffled compared to what she wanted to say and how boldly. It had to be enough.

    The girls beside her parted, and even her friends and roommates drifted back to allow her girlfriend to approach. Tears blurred her sight as she reached out. Guilt and uncertainty muted the intensity of their embrace as they more collapsed into each other¡¯s arms and barely kept from toppling over. The craziness and confusion didn¡¯t need to be explained as they scooted towards the nearest wall rather than attempting to get to their feet quite yet. It didn¡¯t take long for a cluster of comforting blankets to appear and swaddle them together.

    The inn workers first monitored Misaki¡®s vitals for any signs of blips and considered whether to contact EMS. Ayame stepped in and provided her professional opinion that Miss Takano seemed stable. Besides, she understood that the nearest clinic in the area didn¡¯t even have as many medical options as what they were afforded right here, so any further interventions would likely take a long time or an airlift. Misaki felt all of those countless kicks achingly embedded across her surface, but they weren¡¯t anything she couldn¡¯t handle. Still, no one noticed the absence of her wristband. Fortunately, the blankets provided a convenient cover.

    It took a gradual migration of several feet for the two of them to make their way back to their regular suite. On the way, Misaki noticed that Naoko and Kosame were standing closer to one another than they typically had since the start of the trip. But the most interesting aspect was that Kosame didn¡¯t have her usual veneer of a gentlemanly prince. Rather, she seemed as much on the verge of shy, flowing tears as Yuka or anyone else weathering the current scare. Misaki understood that all sorts of situations could bring people together and lower their guards toward one another.

    In the suite, Chika remained the closest aside from Yuka, carefully monitoring her best friend and, essentially, big sister even as the others started to give them their space. Misaki felt a building sense of disgust and horror as she quietly scrutinized the bands still on Chika and Namiko¡®s arms. How easy would it be for the company to take over the minds and actions of those closest to her? She wanted to grab them just as firmly as Yuka grabbed her and rip those awful things loose. Whatever protections they may allegedly offer against the nature of this world or form of identification were not worth the clear backdoor protocols that seemed integrated to censor, control, and manipulate them to the company¡¯s whims like they were tagged animals with advanced shock collars.

    The temptation desperately wanted to rise to the surface and free her friends before she started any explanation. However, they deserved explanations and detailed, sincere, and unfiltered efforts to encapsulate as much as possible. She had no idea where to start with any of those explanations or how to piece together her trek to what felt like the cliff¡¯s edge of mortal existence, intrinsically attached and yet separate from Yuka and everything else.

    Before she could figure it out, her two friends finally exchanged parting, cautious embraces for the evening, advising that if anything at all came up, then they would come running from a text message immediately. That felt even less confident than anything out of the mouth of Franklin, but it was clear all this had exhausted their energy and they needed to recover as much as Misaki. Even Namiko looked like she was at the end of a wretched forty-hour shift with only two hours of sleep in the middle. They could probably all use a second dip in the therapeutic hot spring, but normal rest would have to suffice.

    When it was finally just the two of them again, Misaki looked Yuka in the eyes with pleading heartache. Her girlfriend released a long breath and answered, ¡°I knew that wasn¡¯t you. Welcome back, sweetie. I missed you so much.¡±

    They held each other close but not as intimately as earlier, like nervous young porcupines uncertain of the dangers of one another. Misaki wanted to tell the girl she loved about the crazy trek she¡¯d been on and the wave of emotions and feelings she still carried with her while they persisted with clarity in her mind. Not a trek of the stars but of a single, intimate self. Although Yuka contained glorious multitudes that she desperately wanted to remind her of.

    So much that they could say to one another, so much they had to say to another, but so little they wanted to say. It was better to find a comfortable medium where all their worries were washed away. The video file of the show paused on an awkward pose holding the crew in a suggestive combination, as though Lady Kirk wanted to do a trust fall onto one of her crewmates. That brought a faint trace of cathartic laughter before Yuka reached into a pocket, retrieved the wristband, and chucked it across the room like a rotten fish. It didn¡¯t do anything unnatural.

    Misaki wished she still had the knife. A serving fork abandoned from Yuka¡¯s moms¡¯ snacks would have to suffice. Wielding the metal implement in a tight fist, Misaki struck at the surface of the wristband as though it were an old cake she wanted to rip to crumbs. Yuka gave a quick gasp of uncertainty and placed a reflexive finger to her nose. Misaki resisted the urge to check on her and instead carefully watched in shock as an undulation of grayish goo from the wristband clung to the tongs and immediately consumed them. The remains of the fork looked like stubby, silvery, wrecked fingers.

    Lashing out from the surface, waves of gray, shifting to inky blackness, hungrily probed the air with fuzzy, spindly plumes. Just like that horrifying entity she encountered in her bedroom before the trip. Exactly like it.

    Recoiling on every mental and emotional level, Misaki wanted to rip, rend, and tear this alien horror, which she¡¯d let live on her wrist, as though it were a simple, benign piece of plastic and graphene. Yuka watched with an uncertain grimace and nervously motioned for Misaki to get away from the thing. She did the opposite instead.

    The closer Misaki got to the chaotic mass, the more it settled down and returned to its normal appearance. Tapping it with her fingers earned another terrified squeak from Yuka, but the material lost all its ferrofluid and animalistic qualities and felt like nothing at all. Pondering this, Misaki searched around for something she could use. The only other thing was some complementary chopsticks in a side drawer. She grabbed a couple and tested them on the surface of the band by jamming it as hard as possible.

    The reaction from the band was similar to the forks, as it wrapped around them and started to consume. Unfortunately, the chopstick slipped in her grip, and the rough wooden edge scraped her finger not too far from where she got a cut many days ago, which strangely refused to bleed at the Travel Anywhere office but flowed with blood when they were on the train. Yuka¡®s first-aid efforts took care of it.

    A swift drip of fresh blood traced along the half-eaten chopstick and splattered in the center of the animated black mass. It immediately went crazy, like it had been doused in acid, and spread back like a tiny, receding tidal wave.

    ¡°What the fuck¡­?¡± Yuka whispered as she watched. Misaki didn¡¯t say anything but shook her head and carefully aimed her drops of blood to coat and protect the remainder of the chopstick probe. With that, she was able to spread the moving mass aside to examine the interior of the band. Nothing contained within looked at all like internal electronics but rather tiny, shimmering, etheric blue crystals. Etched near the top, as though by a laser, was what appeared to be the manufacturer¡¯s information.

    ¡°Made by the Quantum Helix Corporation,¡± followed by strange, arcane strings of complicated chemical compound percentages that might as well have been written in an entirely different language. But there was one note that caught her eye as Yuka used her phone to take a couple photos of what was happening. Right at the bottom, almost obscured by the retreating organism, were the words, ¡°Contains crystallized RB fragments and sealed, live DEs. Handle with extreme caution for repairs and observe strict regulation 725 protection at all times.¡±

 [55] Yuri Worlds 55 â€“ Alive

    Yuri Worlds

    [55] Alive

    Misaki swiftly yanked the probing chopsticks away from the wristband as Yuka attempted to get in one more shot of its interior guts. They both gave the strange artifact as much space as possible. The parting of what Misaki now suspected really was a living entity slowly settled back into still, midnight waters with cautious projections probing. Misaki kept pressure on her large scratch so it wouldn¡¯t drip as she carefully wiggled her fingers closer to the band. As she anticipated, the animated movements quieted even further, and the surface of the item once again resembled the strange, etched graphene with aspects of silicon that it normally possessed. No further movements towards or away from the object prompted a reaction.

    Yuka, with a frantic whisper, continued her last thought, ¡°In all the Goddess¡¯s holy sight¡­ The fuck was that?¡±

    Scooting away from the wristband on the tatami floor, Misaki relayed what she saw when pressing into it. Something in the wristband was alive, and something else was crystallized. Whatever that meant. Yuka shook her head.

    ¡°Why would they¡­ Why would anyone put something like that inside there? That¡¯s horrifying.¡± Misaki agreed with a nod, noting that this was unlike anything she¡¯d ever seen in her home world. The company had peculiar technology but not living gray gooey monsters that people had to wear on their wrists. She reached for any explanation that could be charitable towards the company.

    The goo entity activated some casual memories she had in the same vein as the show still on pause. Self-replicating forms, like nanomachines. An apocalyptic gray goo from sci-fi stories. A machine that just ate and ate and ate while replicating itself endlessly. DE? She couldn¡¯t think of what it might stand for, if it actually meant anything. Same went for the other thing.

    Straining to come up with something, Misaki spun together the possibility that the dangers of this world¡­oh. That was right; she hadn¡¯t really elaborated on the fact that this world was dangerous for them. The atomic rules and minor and major differences in how universes operated were like trying to go up into space or to some barren planet without oxygen. That was why they had these bodies.

    Yuka plopped down on the tatami floor on her butt. Her breath drifted out of her like an old balloon leaking its last air. This made sense to her. So much said to this point dodged around the physical realities. It was because of the company; it was because of the chasm between their worlds. But this was a barrier laid out. Something tied to their physical bodies, a temporary form that couldn¡¯t persist in this environment. Yuka had the same questions as Misaki about why a certain number of days appeared to be stamped on their ability to stay here. It seemed so arbitrary.

    Misaki leaned forward and moistened her colorful lips as she relayed, ¡°I think it¡¯s a load of crap. I found out¡­ I recently found out that there¡¯s someone who lives here, who used to live on the other side. My side. This time limit is fake. It has to be. It¡¯s¡­ like walling off the privilege of staying here. Induced scarcity, it makes sense with all we¡¯ve seen about them limiting knowledge and so many other things.¡±

    Yuka gritted her teeth at all these details about the company but also quietly relaxed and asked, ¡°So, that means we don¡¯t have to be apart? Screw the company. They tried to control you like a robot and make you say things you didn¡¯t mean. They twisted your appearance and your mind to hurt you more than once. They¡¯re holding back knowledge, which can inspire so many wonderful things in my world and beyond. They have to be stopped.¡±

    Misaki readily agreed with all of that, but the two of them were stuck with the uncertainty about how to take the corrupt company to task with evidence and all those other things that important people and lawyers would have to wield against them to put a stop to this. But it was a goal, a chance to fight against the forces trying to separate them. Yuka pulled up an app on her phone to make all sorts of notes about what they knew and what they might be able to prove.

    The three of them had to sign a lot of waivers, which they didn¡¯t read every single word of because they were far too long. The usual random risk of bodily harm if something were to go wrong. She couldn¡¯t recall anything in particular that sounded off or peculiar in the typical boilerplate legal language. They had a companion app and all sorts of basically spyware offloaded onto their phones for the duration of the vacation. Chika found ways around it, but the rest of them just dealt with it. Misaki noted the weird blood thing, the bandage, and the way she bled several days later from the same spot, not certain if it was relevant.

    The spiky, furry crawling thing, which made several appearances and may have latched onto Yuka¡®s leg, also deserved a note. Misaki also dug deeper into her visions, noting a scary one on the train that first day along with her vague allusions to a dream in a medical lab that felt like something from the company. The rest of the information was enmeshed in a lot of difficult explanations and uncertainties. Yuka had a lot of her own elements to document between. Less uncomfortable for Misaki was to come out with the explanation that when they got really close before, she actually left her body and joined with Yuka¡¯s body and mind.

    After a few seconds of silence following that admission, Yuka set down her phone and looked across at her girlfriend with the artful, visible shading of a gulp. As the magnitude of what that meant crashed into her, her face exploded with enough blush to be mistaken for a vicious sunburn. Her already wide brown eyes grew even larger.

    ¡°When when¡­ After what we¡­after our private¡­ after that, when I went to use the restroom¡­ You were with me totally and completely?¡± Misaki firmly nodded, expressing that every single thing that Yuka felt and thought she was also privy to. Moments later, Yuka gave the tiniest, sharpest squeak of shock, as though that were the sound of her soul leaving her body. She couldn¡¯t get any brighter across her face without cosplaying as a radish.

    Misaki admitted with a meager blush of her own that, ¡°I said I loved you inside your head so many times.¡±

    Yuka gasped. "That was you! I thought it was so weird that my brain was being so nice to me for once. And all the other nice things¡ªthat had to be you. It¡¯s like you were my guardian goddess." That last sentiment wasn¡¯t one that Misaki could totally accept, but she admitted that the words were sincere, and the repetition was in the hopes of telling her what was going on and retaining her presence of being. Peeling off another layer of the uncertain things she still kept to herself, Misaki admitted that when she changed into a squishy, happy, ditzy marshmallow, it was like she also inhabited Yuka briefly, but not to the same raw, detailed extent.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Squirming on the floor, Yuka muttered, "Sweet goddess smiles. Everything. You were my everything¡­ Which is totally romantic, but ack¡­ The last few hours were not the best of me that I could ever show off. Not even close. Why couldn¡¯t I have a little bit of privacy? Not even my tampons know that much about me!" She was mortified, but not upset.

    Misaki made it clear. ¡°Seeing every part of you. Being with you despite the sadness of being a silent part who couldn¡¯t help you through the pain and tears. All the terrible things the fake inside my body said and did. What I wanted most of all was for you to know how beautiful you are, how loved, and how, if that had to be my fate as a spirit connected to you, then so be it and for the rest of my life. To share your life with all my heart.¡±

    The little whimpers became untempered crying as Yuka struggled to ravenously draw close to her girlfriend while also being careful not to repeat her getting lost inside because of too much love.

    Slowly, she found words. "I love you too. I want to share everything I can. But it¡¯s¡­ although, you know. My Goddess, you know. This is like the craziest roller coaster. I went through such a trial of uncertainty and ill feelings, and you saw what happened to my hair. I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s another side effect of that stupid thing over there. Or hearing that tough girl blond talk like she knows everything. And then the heartbreak of thinking you didn¡¯t care anymore, and that hurt, oh my gosh you, you heard everything. You heard all of that. You did hear¡­ like my being really mad and incoherent and meaner than I ever should be, right?"

    Misaki confirmed that not only did she know about all the violent venting inside Yuka¡¯s head, but because she was there, she eagerly agreed with it. She added that she was cheering her on the entire way to overcome all of that. This stole Yuka¡¯s ability to say anything else coherent, as she just squeaked, blushed, and squeezed her hands in her lap. Despite all that twisting and swirling uncertainty of feeling and heart, the boldest question softly emerged from Yuka¡¯s quivering lips as she looked up and over at Misaki with as much confidence as she could fashion together.

    ¡°¡­ Will you marry me?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± No hesitation. No quiet moment to think and reflect. No Franklin uncertainty rolling and contorting the possibilities into a myriad of shapes to consider and lose himself in. She nearly died. That clarity of self surely couldn¡¯t last, but she was going to wield it as long as possible.

    Yuka was the one mired in the entangled whethertos and whyfors of how they would actually accomplish this. She pointed out the variable time between their worlds. She was relatively young, but, from a universal perspective, they weren¡¯t quite as distant as all that. Misaki held her chin and gently wrapped her in the kind of hug she so desperately wanted to share again when she couldn¡¯t. They relaxed into one another as they released the episode on the screen from frozen time.

    It slipped into a curious love story of its own with a woman from the past who enchanted the lady captain in ways unlike anyone else she had ever met. She was so deeply optimistic and curious, with bold, beautiful questions, prying too deeply into the time-traveling crew¡¯s secrets. She had hope with the desire for peace, to help such a cold, cruel world. Misaki knew the version from her world, by reputation at least. The two of them should¡¯ve had their lives together, but they were from such very distant worlds that there was no way for either to avoid what was fated, or else all would be lost. Yuka appreciated the quality of the writing on display but wasn¡¯t quite in the mood for the downer sentiment. The later vacation planet antics hit a little better, for the both of them.

    Despite their enjoyment of the show and the refreshing presence of each other, not too close but warmly nearby, the reality of this whirlwind day caught up to them to a desperate degree. The wristband was not only handled like hazardous materials with as many layers and gripping tools as possible, but it was also placed within a heavy box in the recessed closet, closed, and wrapped around something else as a final additional measure. Misaki truly didn¡¯t feel any different with just her bionatural suit of anime girlhood, either as the only barrier against nightmare possibilities or a stumbling block against her own truth to share with the lady she loved.

    They rested serenely, with the gray goo band hopefully sealed away. Misaki had dreamed before without the watcher at her wrist. She hoped, with quiet optimism, that this time her dreams would be fruitful, fair, and joyful for the future she felt so close to.

    Unfortunately, a vague anxiety clung to her, like when she couldn¡¯t sleep back home because of something she ate earlier or a general antsy feeling invading her being. This one drove her to tense action. Someone was still watching her; she was sure of it.

    Someone she couldn¡¯t quite reach, but she knew they were there. Misaki tensed around the woman she loved. She flared her teeth despite how ridiculous that gesture probably looked to anyone who might see it. Guard dog. She would be Yuka¡¯s guard dog. Watch out for her and protect her so that she would never again feel heartbroken sadness. In her sleep, Yuka squeezed her softly, and her breathing slowed to the faintest flutter of snoring.

    It would be okay. They were going to stop the company and whatever terrible things they¡¯d done and planned to do. The murderer who broke Maharu¡¯s family would be found and brought to justice. Their travels between the worlds would be resolved, and while they might be long-distance for a while, they would bridge the gap and share everything between that impossible span.

    It was beautiful, and she couldn¡¯t wait to make it real.

 [56] Yuri Worlds 56 â€“ Sunrise

    Yuri Worlds

    [56] Sunrise

    Yuka and Misaki woke up early, barely before sunrise, to go for a walk around the inn and on the nearby mountain trails. The urge randomly struck them both soon after they woke up. The day had just the faintest hint of morning breaking through like a sliver of soft, ruddy egg yolk spread against the horizon.

    Chika bolted up in concern and uncertainty when they stopped over at her and Namiko¡¯s room to check on them. Chika brought up the life-threatening ordeal just a few hours ago as a clear reason to not even get out of bed. Plus, it didn¡¯t feel like it had been eight hours or anywhere close. It was actually more. She soon zonked back on her futon. Namiko was as awake and alert as them but opted to remain by Chika¡¯s side.

    They brought Chika some complementary tangerines from down the hall and dodged around Misaki¡®s minor celebrity status, with everyone asking if she felt all right. The citrus smell roused the drowsy girl, but only for a few quiet moments at a time. If she had more of Bianka¡®s presence of mind, Misaki might speculate over whether this drowsiness was artificially bolstered by the abomination on her wrist, the living, writhing monster that could eat through metal.

    Now still wasn¡¯t yet the time to drop that truth. Or at least what they knew of it. They couldn¡¯t wait too long, especially if something like what happened to Misaki¡¯s body occurred again. They discussed timing and settled on at least making sure those closest to them knew sometime today. It didn¡¯t even have to be a grandiose get-together, although Yuka¡¯s imagination fashioned it into a lengthy detective wrap-up from a classic work. She envisioned them detailing the culpability, negligence, and criminal activities of the company. Methodically, they would weave together the broad details of Yuka''s notes into a gasp-inducing certainty.

    Misaki cautioned against going further than they could with the evidence, but Yuka reminded her that she took several phone snaps of the gooey gray beast hidden away in the closet. Checking the set deflated some of Yuka¡¯s confidence, as the images didn¡¯t come out as detailed and incontrovertible as she expected. Enough was still present, like capturing a bird in the process of lifting off, but one had to scrutinize the image carefully. No matter though, she concluded, the most dramatic demonstration could be easily repeated with Yuka¡¯s own blood lightly coating a pair of chopsticks as she stabbed the creature.

    The prospect of seeing Yuka wound herself concerned Misaki, but Yuka assured her it would be little more than a scratch, and besides, she wanted to make whatever it was suffer at least a little for all it had done. She conceded Misaki¡¯s follow-up point that they didn¡¯t know if this "DE" or "RB" contained in the wristband was any more nefarious than a tormented dog forced into servitude. But she didn¡¯t have a way to burn the company itself.

    Despite all this swirling around them like a storm on the cusp of spilling out from the clouds above, their pre-sunrise walk was free of the weight and worst concerns of the moment. The rarified air carried a sharp chill that not even their jackets could quite cut. Stenciled puffs of steam wafted from underground vents.

    Their hands and thoughts lingered comfortingly close to one another as they explored and traced intimate places they had sought more adventurously before. This moment was for soft, soothing, and reassuring connections. Not so close that they yanked anything loose from one another again, but still an electric link. Yuka didn¡¯t flinch or wince when Misaki found cloaked, dry skin beneath her hair. She leaned into her touch, with her tears barely restrained.

    ¡°Mum Fuyuki will want an ornate wedding in the sisterly tradition. Mama Kei will agree publicly but urge us to elope. Legally, we¡¯ll need both of them to give consent, and it could get sticky with your identity. But we¡¯ll figure it out. And I¡¯ll wait it out. Even if it takes a thousand years. I¡¯ll wait for you.¡±

    Misaki vehemently reiterated the same, even though they each acknowledged that a millennium was hyperbolic. Then her mind wandered, and she wondered whether a scion of literature was also known here. Yuka confirmed Joan Shakespeare was the single most cited literary figure short of the most esteemed, lyrical Account of the Goddesses from prehistory. Misaki soon determined that the play Juliet & Portia filled the space occupied by what she knew. She expected Yuka to bury her in questions about how different the work was on her side, but Yuka instead cautiously pulled away from her partner and wavered.

    ¡°Why do you think about a tragic romance play when you¡¯re with me? Haven¡¯t we already invoked and endured enough trials of our own?¡±

    Misaki knew she should¡¯ve just backpedaled and written that off as a random thought based on their viewing last night. But she had new, bolstered thoughts and sincerely shared them with Yuka, who turned away and rose up on her heels. It wasn¡¯t long before Yuka was into a full-on gesticulating argument about fiction and how thoughts and ideas can shape spirits and realities. The back and forth started analytical and restrained before the emotion was unsheathed.

    ¡°I was so terrified last night! I know you were with me, but you cut yourself, and what if that monster decided it liked the taste of you instead of being hurt by your blood? Who needs tragedy? Why would you want tragedy?! I just want you!¡±

    Their words flared further with concern and panic, volleying between them. It pushed to the point that Yuka was genuinely scared that something beyond the wristband was wrong, and Misaki feared likewise. They mounted higher and higher, climbing a tower made of razor wire. Until¡­they looked into each other¡¯s eyes.

    Laughter soon broke out as they each realized the ridiculousness of what they were fighting about. They fell into each other¡¯s arms and kissed fervently. They rained copious, random apologies on one another as the hot, freezing early mist clung to them.

    Their first fight. Scary but they weathered it. Yuka nervously realized there would be more. She knew countless times her mothers were in conflict over things great and small. But they always kept the promise never to go to bed angry with one another and to communicate as earnestly and clearly as possible.

    Yuka shaped a concise, heartfelt apology for freaking out in fear over drawing tragedy to themselves. And Misaki shared her apology for not recognizing how much it bothered Yuka to bring up tragedy. In turn, Yuka knew she didn¡¯t want her to walk on eggshells about every little topic of discussion. So, she just gave herself a little light fist bonk on the head, stuck out her tongue, and said she was dumb and to ignore her.

    Misaki leaned in, kissed her gently, and assured her that no matter what, she certainly wasn¡¯t dumb. And she once again sprouted a red tidal wave of a blush to wash away all other tones in her skin. She was swiftly reduced to a giggling, muttering mass, a cheerful puddle of herself, before they attempted to get back onto the trail.

    They sailed through the sandy, soft, mossy steps of the awakening morning as Yuka spun tales of all the different spirits she knew who made their home in the forest. She swiftly name-dropped and paid careful tribute to dispel the most malicious before lavishing her attention on all the beneficial companions of humanity. Once she was finished with the folklore of mountain-dwelling forest entities, she was reminded of another tale.

    It was about hot spring black eggs. Misaki had no idea if this had anything approaching equivalence back home. According to legend, these eggs were touched by special powers that left them black as midnight and slimy when cooked in sulfuric water. Allegedly, if you ate one of the strange, rocky black eggs, you would be gifted seven years of immortality. Certain shrines and resorts similarly prepared eggs for a few dollars, but the real, life-extending variety could only be found when prepared by divine entities. The Valley of Hell was especially famous for its eggs. Yuka wasn¡¯t sure but mused whether local legends and other mythologies involving century eggs were connected.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Yuka had so many rich, detailed, and beautiful stories to tell, reaching back hundreds of years, if not eons. She had tales of goddess inspiration, epic wars, and supernatural happenings. Misaki still had to reach for the same vague notes of American pop culture back home. She did what she could to share her culture with Yuka.

    Skinwalkers. Once human figures of power and magic who had forsaken their vows and either consumed the flesh of others, corrupted goodness, or committed heartless murder. She wasn¡¯t really sure of the specifics. One of the creepy details that she knew was that they could often emulate the sound of a loved one¡¯s voice or even your own with uncanny qualities. Yuka knew a few comparable spirits. Yamabiko were skilled mimics¡­ who often inhabited climates like this mountain forest. Fortunately, they were only shy, small tricksters who wanted to steal snacks from your bags when you left them unattended.

    Women in white who haunted roadsides. Not nearly as dangerous, but not all benign, as legends involved some who sought to crash the cars that picked them up, and send them to a similar fate. Yuka knew plenty of creepy apparitions of women. In her heart, Yuka wanted to believe that a passed-on spirit was either simply lost, misguided, or desperately searching for peace.

    Nightcrawlers. This one amused and delighted Yuka as she emulated stomping footsteps like the creatures. She couldn¡¯t think of any similar entities offhand. Several walked creepily behind travelers. The two of them stopped for a moment to check that they didn¡¯t hear an echo. Misaki thought she heard something, but not enough to get her spooked. Then there were torn-faced women, little girls without faces, or those with incredibly long necks. All best avoided.

    Misaki recalled further local legends of half-woman cats, serpentine sea monsters, alien creatures, and so much more. They all captivated Yuka as she traded comparable tales. They walked together and shared so much, with Yuka seeking to lean and share the places that once felt nervously uncomfortable against her sworn fianc¨¦e.

    Their walk took them on one of the smaller trails around the mountainous area. All the while, they kept their eyes out for the local wildlife. Checking the resources she had saved on her phone, as the signal wasn¡¯t working, Yuka had a list of critters she was excited to at least catch a glimpse of. She focused on the possibility of bears, goat grazers, and deer, similar to what Misaki encountered the other day. They got a flash of color, which may have been an escaping hare but that was the biggest note of excitement in the wilderness. A handful of squirrels and colorful birds eventually made up for the no-shows.

    Once they were past the midpoint of the loop, with the sun really starting to peek against the horizon and provide brilliant fluff to the fair yoke, they took some time to rest on a bench and soak in the serenity. Since the panic eased to quiet strength yesterday, Misaki genuinely wondered if anything would ever bother her again or if she would just find peacefulness for the rest of her days. Their argument had gotten animated, but she never had a Franklin thought during it. They quietly cuddled with intimate care, delicately probing each other¡¯s flaws. As the distance receded again, but without the screaming need to squeeze into one another, Misaki faintly trembled. This made Yuka glance up and check on her.

    Sparkling, all-consuming anime tears filled her eyes and threatened her reddish cheeks with historic flooding. Urgently, Misaki squeezed her into the best hug she could offer, which wouldn¡¯t let her go but also didn¡¯t threaten the presence of her soul. As though that were a balancing act she could realistically judge rather than just a hopeful, intuited sensation.

    Messily trying to organize her thoughts and feelings into something coherent, Misaki blubbered for a while before managing, "I thought for sure I would be alone forever. For the longest time. I was just stuck. My friends¡­ It was Chika¡®s idea to take on the role of my little sister because she was actually my very first friend as a kid. I treated her badly because, for all the possibilities of being a man, it¡¯s so desperately lonely. And whenever there¡¯s a glimmer of friendship, you have to be very careful not to embrace it too hard or weirdly and be shunned by everyone else. But that¡¯s stupid. I would¡¯ve been alone anyway. I¡¯m so glad to have them as friends. I¡¯m so glad to have someone in such an empty, quiet, hostile world, and I am so desperately grateful to have found you and everyone you know, and I feel so desperately swarmed by company, companionship, and love."

    Yuka immediately glommed onto all those hints about the other world and lamented the loneliness of these special swaths of humanity she never even imagined until this last week. She didn¡¯t have anything quite as emotionally resonant to share, but Misaki urged that it wasn¡¯t a competition to spill your heart out. Whatever she felt comfortable sharing, if anything. Yuka touched upon sentiments previously alluded to on the train, on the rooftop, and in private bedtime moments. Knowing Misaki was life-changing for her. She didn¡¯t have the same struggle, pain, self-loathing, doubt, and tears. But being with her meant so much.

    She was truly serenely happy and immensely grateful. That the girl she loved would gladly press her fist against a diamond mountain of separation between them until an eternity passed and they were finally reunited again literally put her beyond words and sent her sinking into honored, grateful sobs. The analogy popped into her head from some show Naoko showed her a while ago, which stuck in her mind as oddly romantic. Misaki confidently reiterated what Yuka said about a thousand years. If that was what it took.

    Their fingers, their bonking heads, their light brushes of cheek, the soft places that Misaki would¡¯ve been so desperately embarrassed to imagine under her control, much less wield with a girl more experienced in a feminine life than her. They shared everything without shame. Two souls in blazing, constant orbit. No tossing off clothes in the middle of the forest though, despite the presence of civilization leading them in a line back. The critters were liable to get curious or become sneaky thieves.

    The dull, shivery swath of dawn had finally melted away into the awakening, insistent promise of the day before them. One more day out here with so many possibilities for how to spend it and so little time to spread over. Soon, they cheerfully hopped up from the bench and followed the trail back to the inn in the distance.

    ¡ª¡ª

    ¡°They don¡¯t have a chance. It¡¯s truly unfortunate. Such a shame. I¡¯m always the first to say that love deserves every chance possible.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s to say that¡¯s the case? Despite everything, isn¡¯t it worth it to be a little optimistic?¡±

    "It¡¯s not about optimism. These are just the facts. It¡¯s reality. There¡¯s nothing any of us can do to change it."

    ¡°My gosh, you sound like my mom. I think, as long as there is life, hope will always be there. They deserve every ounce of hope, no matter who they are and what that means.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re wrong. But I desperately wish you were right.¡±

 [57] Yuri Worlds 57 â€“ Questions

    Yuri Worlds

    [57] Questions

    Breakfast had a spotty attendance to start, with the oldest, most eyebrow-feathered girls ambling in first, followed by sleep-staggered younger ones amidst most of their group, and then the rest dragging themselves from emotional hangovers.

    Chika made it overzealously clear how grateful she was that her best friend and little sister was still among the living after last night¡¯s scare. To cloak the noticeable absence of her wristband this morning, Misaki had on long sleeves and wrist warmers with a conspicuous lump to deflect suspicion. The presence of the gray, etched "identification" bands on Chika¡¯s and Namiko¡¯s wrists filled her with an inescapable tension.

    The breakfast was fantastic, even though it didn¡¯t quite compare to the Sasaki moms¡¯ loving efforts. It had many of the same small dishes brought together in something approaching a buffet style, but the love, care, and attention to every little detail just couldn¡¯t match. Misaki chose a quiet moment to surreptitiously pass this detail along without speaking ill of their current hosts.

    Ruka¡­ Haruka. She had to be careful since it seemed like that shortening was a personal nickname that most outside the family didn¡¯t know about. Accidentally blurting it out might cause trouble, or at least confusion. She had questions about the older sister. When Haruka bumped into her within Yuka, it knocked her loose like a free-floating spirit. Then, when she seemed at the end of all things, the girl again appeared to intervene by pummeling her back where she belonged.

    If Misaki knew her anime tropes, and she knew some with a smattering augmented by listening to her friends, then Haruka surely had some sort of critical secret hiding in the wings beneath her cryptic, rather kuudere personality. She knew she shouldn¡¯t think of the poor girl that way, but it absolutely felt like some of the ladies around the table were harboring important information. To follow the lawyer template that Yuka set out last night, she had a handful of women of interest to probe with questions.

    A few for Ayame compared to a lot for Grandma Okura and even more for Yasha. Whatever she learned could likely augment Yuka¡¯s photos and a demonstration. The owner of the inn made a reappearance. If Misaki didn¡¯t have the experience of the last week when it came to the residents of this world, she would¡¯ve assumed the girl was some cheerful upstart or heir to the estate with how young and fresh-eyed she appeared. But she had prominent eyebrows with more feathering than Grandma Okura¡¯s.

    Her shoulder-length hair, with a slightly darker silver tone to it than Yuka''s locks, wriggled with disheveled waves like she got up from bed mere minutes ago. Her bright blue eyes blinked blearily as though she were desperately trying to clear something tenaciously clingy out of them. She had on a dark blue yukata with bright pink flower blossoms littered with prominent green stems slicing their way across the fabric. If anything seemed to foretell an actual age for her, it was the vaguely skeletal curl of her hands, cautiously poking through her wide sleeves with thin, jutting wrists.

    In contrast, she briskly scampered across the dining hall to make direct contact with Misaki. Trembling preludes of tears twinkled at the edges of her bright eyes as she relayed panic and concern about Misaki¡®s recent health scare and current state. With calm reassurance, she relayed to the owner that she felt perfectly fine now and even went so far as to circle one of the trails with an escort.

    This shockingly overzealous action earned waves of pleading concern from the poor little lady that she pay more attention to her health. As a disappointing consequence, the owner made sure that upcoming side dishes were swapped out with the healthiest, heart-friendly options the kitchen had available. Misaki groaned but graciously accepted these alternatives. Yuka quietly traded half of hers when no one else was looking.

    At one point, the slight woman cast off her typical decorum and launched into a Maharu-approved frantic dash to her side with arms outstretched and soft pleading advancing before tears, like she was a fretful little sister reunited with her elder. She smelled quite sweet, with an overpowering aroma encircling her that was practically strong enough to knock Misaki¡®s spirit loose a second time. Without much to her pants, her skinny, pale legs vigorously slapped against the wooden floor. The undue, focused attention didn¡¯t bother her nearly as much as it would¡¯ve if her Franklin qualities were closer to the surface, but she still quietly anticipated the end of this episode.

    One interesting tidbit did pop up when the question of scheduling everyone in their group for this weekend was mentioned. It was difficult to do with a group this size. Strings needed to be pulled, but, fortunately, Yasuda Mari knew the right people to pull those exact strings. High-level cancellations and rescheduling all came at the right time. That was one of the reasons why they opted not to spring this surprise on the four of them until the day of, because they weren¡¯t one hundred percent certain about who would be able to make it to the resort.

    Doing her best not to be conspicuous about her line of questioning, Misaki wrapped her curiosity in a thin veneer of soft concern about their missing lady friend and how well their host knew them. It was still a suspiciously awkward pursuit, but the owner had attempted something weirder last night with her ice-breaking efforts.

    She confirmed, without too much trouble, that she both knew Mari from quite a ways back and that there were gaps in their connection owing to a perfectly normal variety of reasons. They were both busy all the time and hadn¡¯t managed to even touch base for quite a while, which was especially disappointing considering she might¡¯ve made it up with their group. Mari apparently traveled a lot, but that was the extent of the specifics. Anything else would have been rude to elaborate on without Mari present. Conveniently.

    Conceding this block without acting like it was an imposition, Misaki quietly passed a written note to Yuka saying that Mari was important. Any more than that allusion risked entangling the complex web of things she knew and why. Yuka also didn¡¯t need more reasons to feel upset with Maharu. The two of them at least seemed to be exchanging encouraging glances across the table without conspicuous avoidance, but that was the extent of the warming relations. She¡¯d have to help Yuka work on that.

    They were on the same page as far as questioning the other girls. Clearly, Maharu was off the table for Yuka. Ayame seemed like the best fit, and Misaki would pick up where she left off at the old hotel. Unfortunately, both of their quarries skipped out before the end of breakfast to parts unknown.

    They could go after other options, but Misaki found them both heading off rather suspicious. Rushing through the end of breakfast wasn¡¯t fun, although Yuka was clearly better at it. The problem was escaping once the deed was done. Chika, for whom food shook off the worst of her lethargy, immediately glommed onto Misaki when the possibility of her rushing away surfaced, and Naoko did the same to Yuka. Change of plans.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    The reasons weren¡¯t suspicious. Chika was still reeling and needed her big sister close. Naoko vaguely processed her swirling thoughts about her ex and wasn¡¯t sure which direction to take next. But the timing raised eyebrows. Chika still had one of those things wrapped around her wrist, and¡­ neither of them could think of anything concerning Naoko. They went with their respective close friends for a chat.

    Misaki and Chika did a bit of wandering since Chika wanted to work up more of a sweat before she showered. The inn didn¡¯t have any creepy bars or immense, forgotten ballrooms. Chika dropped most of the Lookout Hotel allusions and wondered which of the elevators was the blood elevator. Despite her brisk, typical sense of humor squeezing its way through her lips, it was obvious to Misaki that she had plenty on her mind.

    "You were dead. I felt you. I saw you. Even though I begged forces I scarcely knew and couldn¡¯t possibly understand, and it turned out okay, I¡¯m scared. What happened?"

    Misaki brushed her hair back from her neck. A small patch appeared achingly rough, although not as bad as the matching spot on Yuka¡¯s neck. Either in need of a good sulfur soak or responding badly to the natural elements of this place. Misaki took in as much breath as she could hold, both physically and metaphorically. No concessions to uncertainty.

    "I really don¡¯t know. I saw plenty of things I don¡¯t understand. Although that¡¯s not new, it feels like every few hours brings something of that caliber. Everyone around here likes to bring up spirits as some kind of danger, harbinger, or inescapable companion. Something happened that feels like it knocked my spirit loose, for lack of a better analogy. I watched as you and Nami worked to bring me back. And the experience¡ªevery part of what happened to me¡ªchanged my life. You know how uncertain, questioning, and nervous I can be. Listen to my words right now. Do I sound anything like I usually do?"

    Automatically, Chika leaned back in caution and traced her eyes over Misaki¡®s seemingly foreign shape, as though someone or something had replaced her oldest friend. But Misaki swiftly and casually slipped on the most comfortable smile to reflect on her dear friend. It had the warmth and embrace of the sun still making its hopeful, early trek across the sky.

    That settled her down as she looked over her shape again and eventually concluded, "Yeah, you sound different. Although maybe different isn¡¯t totally bad. You had a near-death experience? My gosh, that is nowhere close to the kind of experience I wanted any of us to have on this trip. That¡¯s scary. Do you think it has to do with how the girls of this world are affected by different things? Do you think they¡¯re just more¡­ Spiritual? Is that weird?" They sat down on one of the hallway benches.

    Misaki noted that she had no idea and that it would probably be past her "paygrade" to reconcile and likely past anyone else¡¯s for that matter. Gods, goddesses, and spirits¡ªshe had no idea what to do with any of that. She was just immensely grateful for every moment she had that she could talk to Chika, Yuka, and everyone else.

    Chika nervously took hold of Misaki, as though she both feared that if she didn¡¯t, then either her big sister would tumble over again, or she would. Misaki appreciated the support, but assured her that she was stable enough. Granted, the ghostly presence of the eggs she ran through with breakfast was throwing a fit at the entrance to her stomach. That was more of a Dwight style of joking around, but Chika still appreciated the levity.

    ¡°I¡¯m in love. It¡¯s probably quite obvious,¡± Misaki eventually admitted. For a hopeful flash, Chika¡¯s colorful eyes bloomed with possibility about the intention of that statement. Then, the realization of what it meant settled on her shoulders. She was used to this. And she was happy for her dearest, closest friend. The melancholy still leaked through. And Misaki knew.

    She didn¡¯t leave her friend to slip her eyes down or sulk with quiet overtones; she seized her and brought her close. ¡°I love Sasaki Yuka. And I love Takano Chika. And I also love gorgeous Gal Hotner, along with her kooky twin, Guy Horner. Yuka and I are going to get married, but that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to spare any love for all the beautiful girls and Guys in my life.¡±

    Chika had no idea what to think, but she felt immensely grateful that her best friend was focused entirely on her blushing, red face rather than the screaming points at her chest and lower. She stammered with uncertain words around her friend¡¯s unexpected, totally sexy confidence. The certainty of marriage deserved more scrutiny and attention than she was able to give with the messy amalgamation of thoughts dribbling out of her mouth. Misaki planted a lingering, delicate kiss along her forehead and then her cheek, which left Chika as an allegorical and nearly literal puddle in front of her. Thankfully, they had stopped on one of the benches to briefly sit down, although Chika was lost on exactly when that happened. Giggles helped her when words seemed to fail.

    Once things settled down and questions emerged about specifics, Misaki admitted that she and Yuka honestly had no idea how they would go about actually getting married, although it seemed clear from Yuka that the legal portion of the question would go through her mothers, same as would be expected back home. Of course, immediate concerns popped up with the Horner and Fowler family history about jumping into serious matters too swiftly. Desperate marriages evolved into angry families, obligated by their connections but bitter and vindictive towards one another. Misaki leaned back from Chika, with her arms folded above her head, her lack of wristband still carefully cloaked, and questions of whether they were actually rushing into things at least given a courtesy examination.

    ¡°¡­And what will you do¡­if I kill her?¡±

    Misaki¡¯s head urgently snapped to the side. The voice that spoke that cruel question used Chika¡®s vocal cords, but it was not her voice. A placid, unnaturally calm emptiness washed over her friend¡¯s expression as she confidently repeated those words, so there was no confusion. Misaki responded quickly.

    ¡°No. You won¡¯t. I won¡¯t let you.¡±

    ¡°¡­.Really? What are you going to do about it? You¡¯re not the one holding any chips. You have no idea what you¡¯re messing with. How much can you watch any of your friends suffer, before you break?¡° Misaki planted her hands firmly and loudly on the bench, but whatever was inhabiting Chika simply chuckled deeper than seemed possible.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought. Feel free to play detective for the rest of the weekend. It can be a fun game. But know that it comes with¡­consequences¡­¡± With a mechanical motion, Chika brought her hands up to her cheeks and, at first, lovingly stroked the soft skin, before pressing her nails harder and harder. She drew a finger up to each eyeball, with the nail close enough to apply an immense contact lens, if she so wished. The fingers lingered there, quivering but not moving a millimeter closer. Misaki found her own eyes pulsing and desperately wanting to blink as she watched in frozen terror.

    Just when the looming threat seemed poised to become something more, whatever force was controlling Chika shifted to gently rub her tired eyes and yawn before signing off, ¡°See you around, little one.¡±

 [58] Yuri Worlds 58 â€“ Separation

    Yuri Worlds

    [58] Separation

    Chika¡¯s full presence of self returned moments later without knowing that any time had passed. Maintaining the thick mask of assurance that it was all right took everything Misaki had.

    She acknowledged that their families had a history of rushing into marriage matters and lamented the obstacles in her and Yuka¡¯s way to spending time with one another. It seemed like a silly idea, surrounded by clich¨¦s about marrying a waifu. And truly, if Misaki looked at it rationally, they hugged in greeting, they went for a flirtatious walk, they brushed each other¡®s hair, showered together, snuggled, and then came to the conclusion to spend the rest of their lives together just based on those brief experiences. But it still felt like enough. Love didn¡¯t need to achieve a certain level of experience to become love. It just happened; it was stupid, irrational, and beautiful like that. Chika agreed, even though she was still swarming with uncertainties and questions.

    With a heavy breath, her uncertain little sister sat up on the bench and scrutinized Misaki. She took in her body language, noticing the sense of fear and uncertainty, but not directed towards this topic. A sheen of sweat glossed her skin, as though she were strangely frozen short of a cry she couldn¡¯t share about some dreaded monster looming right behind Chika¡¯s shoulder. Beyond that swath of fear, Misaki knew that all her tormentor had done was limited to half of their terrifying potential. A remote-controlled Namiko and Yasha. Could whatever they were be the real killer?

    It was a random but vivid notion. No one knew the face of the killer, and maybe it didn¡¯t even matter since these cruel, alien wristbands allowed for remote control of someone wearing them. A darker notion clouded Misaki¡®s thoughts as she realized that several days had passed with her fully exposed to their powers. What actions may she have forgotten? What could the wristband have made her do in that time? She didn¡¯t have any conspicuous gaps in her memory, but she doubted that whatever this was would¡¯ve left glowing, obvious footprints.

    So, there was no point in stressing out Chika. Despite not feeling it sincerely, Misaki returned to her relaxed, confident smile. Trust her. She and Yuka may have only known each other for a short time, but they were committed to remaining together forever. Chika¡®s mouth wiggled with an uncertain frown. Misaki took a breath.

    "I am so sorry for the way I¡¯ve treated you for so very long. I know, I know that I¡¯ve changed since I was a stupid little kid. And I know we¡¯ve talked about it, and you¡¯ve gotten over it and all that. But I still feel like I¡¯ve left it unsaid that I treated you so poorly just because you were a cute little boy who was truly more of a little girl with a desperate heart hidden inside. I should¡¯ve held your hand when you felt scared. I should¡¯ve hugged you even though everyone else would¡¯ve called me a weirdo. I should¡¯ve been the kind of friend you truly deserved all those years." To complete her point, Misaki wrapped her arms around Chika and planted a kiss firmly and fully on her lips.

    Halfway through, she opened her eyes to see that Chika¡¯s eyes looked like they were about to pop. When their lips parted, it seemed like Misaki was the one to accidentally snag a spirit to ride along with her. Chika wobbled with open-mouthed shock, and Misaki really did have to use a hand to keep her from tumbling over. It took several seconds before Chika was able to squeak out her urgent need for the restroom. She loudly speed-shuffled across the wooden floor. Misaki gladly gave her as much privacy as possible.

    Chika needed to make several trips to her suite before she was able to "properly compose herself in a ladylike manner", she explained. Once all that was done, she was still squirming but managed to crack the joke, "Do you French your sister with that mouth?" From there, all sorts of original films Princess Leia quips leaked out. There wasn¡¯t necessarily ice between them, but the tension sublimated, and Chika smiled freely and without reservation. Misaki attempted to show the same despite the cold, black fear needling her brain that an unseen puppeteer could take control of her best friend on a whim, at any moment.

    At the crest of a wave of uproarious laughter over pop cultural speculation, Chika scooted closer and gently rested her head on Misaki¡®s shoulder. It looked for all the world like she wanted to return the courtesy of an undisguised kiss, but she resisted that urge and nodded gently.

    ¡°The two of you have my blessing. Not that it would have any real weight or meaning one way or the other. I¡¯m not actually your family. But maybe I get close to playing it on the Internet. Haha¡­.Even if I were mad at you or upset that my chance never came, I would never ever hold it against you. And I have gladly forgiven you for all the things that happened when we were kids. I¡¯m kind of rambling now, but you get my point.¡±

    Leaning forward, Misaki touched Chika cheek-to-cheek and sincerely smiled. She thanked her for her blessing and made sure she knew that it had real weight and meaning to her because it came from such a dear loved one. And she further thanked her for her loving forgiveness for her childish misdeeds. Still swarming with embarrassed heat like a human kettle about to overflow, Chika stumbled through her one demand for the wedding.

    ¡°You have to make me the best man and the flower girl. I can gladly play both roles with ease. I will take care of you as a brother in arms and spread love and cheer as the cutest girly girl anyone has ever seen. Although I don¡¯t think I can beat the job you did as flower girl way back when, I solemnly promise to do my best and make sure those petals shine. Or whatever it is they¡¯re supposed to do.¡±

    Misaki still wasn¡¯t that great when it came to a poker face. In fact, her bolstered sincerity and openness made it worse. Chika immediately detected that something was off and pressed her about it.

    "You remember me being a flower girl?" Misaki searched her own memories for a solid foundation to settle upon. The wristband or something had altered her recollection of a wedding many years ago, where she was supposed to be a little boy in a cute suit and a bowtie before that morphed into a flower girl in a white, sunny dress. Chika recited all the same details that Misaki could claim from her own recollections. She had to ask the obvious question of Chika, "Doesn¡¯t that seem weird? Why would my parents dress me up like a little girl?"

    The answer to that seemed strikingly obvious to Chika as she started to formulate her response. But as the notion passed from her brain to her lips, her certainty started to peter out. Yes, it would be weird that her parents just did that to Franklin. They weren¡¯t the sort. They would always say something if Guy came over wearing anything the least bit questionable or froofy. It wasn¡¯t as bad as his situation back home, and he could play it off as a silly joke. They knew that Dwight once dressed up as his sister so that a class photo could be taken when she was sick, but his parents simply tolerated it and brushed it off with the fact that he was helping her.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Their memories of this wedding incident matched up precisely as they compared different details of the church. It was like they had both actually been there that day. But Misaki didn¡¯t have any recollection of Guy being present.

    Even more odd details nagged her as she prodded her memory. It was a wedding between two brides. She was absolutely certain of that, but the timing would have been wrong, and her parents would''ve absolutely avoided that sort of wedding, despite both taking up the thin claim of being progressive. Misaki had to take a step back and reflect on the larger picture. Considering her recent thoughts, a new one settled into her mind as she thought about her parents, two mothers who emerged when she started talking to Yuka about boys and her world. If it was her world.

    It was an impossible notion, but she braced herself and presented the thought, ¡°Do you think it¡¯s possible we might actually be from somewhere other than the world we know?¡± Misaki wrestled with the phrasing in a few different ways, also considering just bluntly proposing that this world was their home rather than the one they knew. That was a much more tenuous possibility. Not that the question she opted to go with was much better, but it was better than just remaining silent and tortured with uncertainty.

    Chika didn¡¯t quite do a double take, but her head motioned a few ways as if she were on the verge of one or adamantly shaking her head. "What?! No no no. Of course, I don¡¯t. This isn¡¯t our home. This is just a vacation, and there¡¯s been a lot of weirdness and confusion because the technology the company uses has those long disclaimers. It messes with us so much. I thought all kinds of weird things, and you had a¡­ temporary personality and physical change. And those jerks still won¡¯t get back to me about these issues! But that doesn¡¯t mean that everything we know and trust is wrong. I don¡¯t wanna lose you. After last night and this kind of talk, I¡¯m really scared that something¡¯s happening to you. I know you love Yuka, and I want you both to be happily married, but if you¡¯re thinking of overstaying your trip for her and¡­ and I don¡¯t want to see you die¡­ I can¡¯t¡­ last night was too close. If you stay here, you¡¯ll be melted and destroyed by this world. You have to come back. We¡¯ll figure something out, and it¡¯ll work out. I¡¯m sure of it. Please¡­please¡­"

    Poor Chika saved her voice from falling into scrambling, stuttering panic, but she still rushed with terror and urgency. When she came to the end, exhausted again with the dregs of pleading left, Misaki gently caressed her cheek and pressed their foreheads together.

    "All right. Sorry to scare you. We will figure something out. There are a lot of things inside my head, and most of them don¡¯t make sense, but I¡¯m so glad to have you right here." Misaki knew that she should¡¯ve pressed with the horrors beneath the wristband. But she had a hunch that whatever was watching through Chika would¡¯ve threatened her even more if it knew. Keep that card close to her chest for now, she told herself.

    Chika looked instantly relieved to hear that from her. And she was eager to put all the stress behind both of them and take the longest and most luxurious dip into the sulfur waters until every "crack" of their bodies persisted in smelling like hot rotten eggs for days. Misaki lightly giggled at that prospect. They grabbed everything they would need for the hot spring, but Chika soon floated the prospect of checking out a couple of the Star Trek episodes together as they cooled down afterwards. She qualified that if she wanted to save ones she hadn¡¯t seen for alone time with Yuka, then they could just do a little rewatching and riffing. Whatever worked.

    Misaki clenched her jaw but tried not to let her tension show. She mentioned that Bianka found the show through some website and then transferred it to Yuka¡¯s phone, which she then streamed to the TV. Chika cheerfully asked if Yuka had her phone with her or left it in the suite. Without skipping a beat, Misaki assured her that it was there in the room; why not just pick it up? Yuka wouldn¡¯t mind.

    As soon as Chika started walking away, Misaki dug her nails into the scratch she received yesterday from the chopsticks. There were probably better options, but she worked quickly to rip open the scab and get the blood flowing again. Really jamming her finger into it was not pleasant, but she needed enough. Using her other hand, she shot a text message to Yuka explaining recent developments. It didn¡¯t take long before she was able to get away from Naoko and join Misaki at her side. They waited beside the door to their suite and listened carefully as notes of frustration and the sounds of tossed objects filtered through.

    They slammed open the door and rushed through. Chika had the cabinet open and was tearing through the layers covering and confining the wristband.

    With a smirk, Yuka quickly commented, while holding up her phone, "Looking for this?" Chika leveled her head and narrowed her eyes like she was a bull in human form, ready to rush them. She hissed and fumed, and her fingers turned into fists. Misaki saw that a single nail on each hand was stretching upward, beckoning to her face. She couldn¡¯t let that continue.

    They swarmed her little sister and swung her to the tatami floor. Yuka did her best to apply weight and restraint as Chika turned angry, spitting, and feral. Squeezing her hand, she dripped down on the wristband and tried to get her blood as close to the seam as possible. The band appeared to be fighting between instructions not to attack Misaki¡®s flesh and recoiling from her blood. Wedging the nearest set of already stained chopsticks from last night underneath managed to get some leverage as the band started furiously flapping as though it were a bat.

    Desperately trying to throw them off, Chika flailed to keep the wristband attached to her skin. But the two of them, working together, managed to pry it loose. The wristband sailed through the air like a flung paperback book before tumbling over and coming to rest on the tatami.

    ¡°Big sis? What happened? Why am I back here?¡± Chika stopped fighting as soon as the band left her flash and immediately sank to the floor. She brought her hands up to her face, out of reflexive protection from everyone so close rather than as a threat. She had no idea what was going on and could only recall the key points, ranging from the heartbreaking scare last night to collapsing with exhaustion, then being exhausted before breakfast, hearing Misaki¡¯s wedding confession, and giving her blessing. Yuka wore a fresh coat of red blush as she learned what that meant.

    Misaki knew that even attempting to explain the overall situation wasn¡¯t going to be easy, but she was just relieved to see her best friend¡¯s true face unclouded. However, they would still have to deal with Namiko before this wretched, slimy, deceptive force turned her against them too.

 [59] Yuri Worlds 59 â€“ Clowns

    Yuri Worlds

    [59] Clowns

    Misaki propped herself up against the wall with her eyes shut and attempted to fuse together all the different, disparate elements they¡¯d discovered into something coherent to offer Chika by way of an explanation.

    "I don¡¯t know for certain what¡¯s going on, but it sure feels like the company is trying to screw with us. I¡¯ve had visions I can¡¯t explain of horrifying imagery and clinical settings, like I¡¯m a lab rat. We both received black marks from whatever they¡¯re trying to do, Yuka on her leg and me on my wrist, when I checked the band during my bath several nights ago. And when I dropped, basically dead, someone or something was trying to use my wristband to puppeteer me. Like they tried to do with you. When we probed the wristband, there was a monster inside."

    They shared the photographs from Yuka¡¯s phone and tried to fill in as many details as possible for her. Chika did her best to follow everything, but soon quipped that her friend was having such complicated adventures. The realization of being controlled sickened her to the point that she almost looked like she was going to upchuck her breakfast. Even though they were closer to rivals than friends, Yuka urgently scooted over, wrapped her arm around Chika, and rubbed her shoulder softly.

    Getting a few different collections of events spun together eventually provided clarity for Chika, as well as the same realization that Misaki already came to. ¡°We have to help Nami. We have to free her from whatever this is. They could make her into something horrible, the antithesis of everything she stands for, and she would only blame herself for not being strong enough to resist.¡±

    But how to go about it? She envisioned the three of them attempting to tackle her at the same time. Even like this, she was nimble and confident in her body, despite the load she needed to carry. The parasite clinging to her might be able to steal those skills for itself and turn all that against them. At the very least, a dark side Namiko was a prospect that made her heart hurt, especially when Dwight never gave them an unkind look or a cruel word.

    Conferring with Yuka, Chika considered a reconnaissance mission for the two of them to assess their chances of detaching the wristband. Although, whatever had control would likely suspect that Yuka and Chika were working together and might preemptively threaten their friend to get a hold of them. They needed someone on their side who wouldn¡¯t immediately raise warning flags. Of their group, they figured ruling out the ¡°adults¡° might be the best idea. Yuka made reference to that idea and soon recognized the humor, as Misaki and Chika were both far more adult than her.

    But the Sasaki moms didn¡¯t deserve to be drawn into this quagmire during a relaxing weekend. Eventually, but not now and not for this. Trying not to lean into the superstitions she studied for this trip, Misaki¡®s brain couldn¡¯t help but point out that so many groups around them clustered into sets of four. Four Sasakis. Four travelers. And four classmates of Yuka. Of course, that was an entirely arbitrary grouping. Groups could be made up of siblings and relatives. But it still bothered her. At least they only knew three older acquaintances, with just two of them present.

    Of their remaining options, Yuka vetoed bringing in her sister because she worried about whether she would be able to protect herself if Nami reacted violently. Ayame wasn¡¯t a bad choice, considering her skills and abilities, but it might also take an inordinate amount of awkward explanations to bring her up to speed. Yuka noted she would welcome the prospect of strange, controlling forces they had to sneak around. Before she found her own life to live, she had to tiptoe around her ailing mothers for even a moment of peace.

    The fa?ade of this controller called so much into question. What Ayame kindly expressed to her as her personal truth could¡¯ve been one more illusion conjured up by this thing. All those metaphorical layers she said were there could¡¯ve just been what she comprehended of these wristbands. Misaki wanted to receive another reading once things calmed down, no matter what she might find present or missing underneath.

    Recruiting Bianka to fight a conspiratorial force was probably her dream come true. And she suspected that Kosame would be able to spin a web of complicated, debonair words that wouldn¡¯t arouse suspicions. They were both good options, but something about Naoko felt right. She had a low-key presence, and whatever nerves she might show could easily be written off as normal behavior. Misaki also surmised that she got along with Namiko, which would further assist in their plans. Another good choice was Maharu, or at least Misaki attempted to convince herself that she was, since it gave them reasons to welcome her into their little group and bring her closer to her surrogate mom.

    Naturally, Misaki would be the one recruiting Maharu for this task, while Yuka eagerly volunteered to bring her friend up to speed. Chika also needed a target, but she couldn¡¯t decide which of the Nishikawa sisters to focus on. So, she resolved to just try both of them.

    Before splitting up to track down help, Yuka and Chika shared a moment of appreciation for one another with kind words and a quick hug. They had even more to share with Misaki, as Yuka caught a mention of a wedding flower girl and wasn¡¯t aware of that tradition. Flower petals were sometimes spread as a ritual of blessing, but by either the couple or the guests. It was an interesting tidbit, and Yuka conceded that she wasn¡¯t an expert on weddings, but still, she thought about mentioning it. For Misaki, it practically seemed like a torpedo hit in her speculations. Meanwhile, Chika shared her gratitude that her best friend freed her from yet another restraint on expressing her true self.

    Walking back to the rest of the group was deeply surreal for Misaki, almost as strange as walking back from the cliff of oblivion to a normal life. She imagined that some in that position might find the speed, preoccupations, and issues of the world trite and frail. But she didn¡¯t mind them. The frantic feeling of reality would eventually hit and clobber her over the head again. Although, maybe she didn¡¯t want to return to that same frantic madhouse where probing, scrutinizing, and controlling were conceded as part of the terms of service of contemporary life. Finding time for that delayed sulfur soak would be a good start instead.

    But the little things¡ªthe happy and silly little things¡ªtruly felt like what made life worth living. Naoko sneaking those cookies and lamenting their added caloric presence. Bianka struggling to take incongruent fragments of her world and stitch them together into some grand design that foretold who the good guys and the bad guys really were. Granted, she probably had something there. Kosame struggling to vigorously and lyrically embody her love in ways that felt so strange and antiquated yet crucial for her. And she discovered fresh preoccupations when she tracked down Maharu.

    The girl had claimed a section of wall verging on a corner with her legs up and her head down slightly. She appeared melancholy but not morose, and she greeted Misaki with a restrained but animated wave.

    Misaki soon learned that the girl rushed away from breakfast because a group of older guests had discussed a card game session starting soon, and she was eager to ply her skills and hopes in competition. The structure of the game was not far removed from hearts with similar suits. This world, however, labeled them by ace, queen, princess, and dancer before getting into the same number sets. This assortment of cards was themed around fruits and had double the quantity of a fifth suit of comical papayas. You could only earn negative points rather than collecting a set and reversing the trick-taking. Maharu was eager for the challenge, or at least she thought she was.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Scuffing her feet against the floor quietly, Maharu wielded a faint, wistful smile as she noted, "They''ve been playing this particular card game for many years¡­ And I surprised them. They had no idea that anyone¡¯s score could go so low. I broke the counter. Four digits. I did my best. Honestly, truly I did my best, and the other players confessed to actually trying to help me in one of the later games, but it was a fruitless cause. Well, I made them happy and provided plenty of amusement. That¡¯s something, right?"

    Misaki readily agreed that was important. It didn¡¯t help Maharu¡¯s mood much. Maharu asked, point blank, ¡°Am I cursed? I¡¯m sorry to lay that question on you, and I doubt you know the answer. But I don¡¯t need answers; just tell me what you feel when you look at me and¡­all you know.¡±

    Of course, Misaki saw enough ambiguity in that to wield the same soothing words she offered Maharu last night. You are not one thing that happened to you a long time ago. You are not your pain and loss. You need to live! But, despite her newfound confidence, pressing this love into Maharu today felt more like trying to embrace water without letting it slip through her grasp. An impossible task.

    Maharu acknowledged that everything Misaki told her was still correct. She wasn¡¯t being down on herself, she promised, but rather just realistic. No matter what Misaki valiantly attempted to say, Maharu had a clear and sober response. Her words weren¡¯t bitter, but rather cold and sharp. Misaki had been to the same place¡ªto the edge. Maharu nodded, as though she understood this shared truth without her saying it directly. Perhaps it was glass half empty versus glass half full. Maybe she just missed her mothers so desperately. Misaki attempted to remind her of all the joys she expressed, the playful laughter, and the cheerful energy. What happened to it?

    Solemnly, with her mouth quivering, Maharu answered, "Sometimes, clowns cry the hardest. They understand the heights of joy and the depths of sadness. I know I have the most beautiful things surrounding me and desperately caring for me, like an insistent little puppy doing its best. That¡¯s the most painful part, because I know those who care for me want to do so much to help. And my mind blazes with the blissful hopes of a child who wants to live in the best way. But that child died all those years ago, and what¡¯s left of her desperately struggles to drag herself along, so others don¡¯t get sad. Thank you for caring about me. Thank you to everyone for everything. I do my best to fight for every smile for everyone¡¯s sake, especially in the hopes that my mothers can see them too. But I just want to go home."

    Misaki couldn¡¯t let it just be like that. She had to find something; she had to be better and stronger to solve the suffering, to solve so much pain with everything she had inside. How did Namiko make it look so easy when she was in control of her cheerful faculties? It wasn¡¯t easy. If only she had her, if only she had someone else she could lean on to find the perfect combination of words that would slip into a lock in the darkness and free the light. Clammy, sweaty pain surrounded her neck and desperately threatened to pop out the same dry, irritated skin that Yuka had to hide out of sight. Raw, desperate coughs rumbled through Misaki¡®s throat as she struggled for a handhold without direction. Ultimately, Maharu came to her aid rather than the other way around.

    She patted her on the back and got her a little cup of water to drink from. She sat beside her with a look of concern and made sure she could breathe, checking that she wasn¡¯t having any of the same problems that caused the scare last night. Misaki lamented her helplessness and resigned her abilities even as her young charge calmly brightened with a flicker of quiet light. She stuck her tongue out and admonished Misaki for presuming that she had some sort of magical ability to make all her sad thoughts go away, all her losses lighten and soften, and all the problems fix themselves with a wave of her hand. That just wasn¡¯t possible, but she deeply appreciated how much the girl wanted to help, and her kind words last night did have a special sort of power in her mind; she just needed to want them and lift herself higher.

    Not even the most adamant force could keep a ball in the air that sought the ground. But if it filled itself with helium and dreams of skyward journeys, then kicks were barely even necessary, and you¡¯d have to fight more to keep it down than anything else. She said that was one of the silly little metaphors that her grandmother sometimes shared but never gave a clear answer about.

    Listening to that, some of Misaki¡¯s clinging sweat started to evaporate. The desperation and the pain soothed, and she could breathe without fighting to move heaven and earth for her own life and this girl¡¯s. She bounced out the notion of leading a horse to water, which gave Maharu the giggles as she pantomimed and clopped around as the most awkward equine. She needed coconuts to smack together messily, based on a comedy group that crossed worlds, but the service desk was all out, so some tangerines had to suffice.

    Eventually, those tangerines had to go in their mouths, with groaning noises more like massive dinosaurs or charging elephants emanating from around the nibbled fruit skin. They both tumbled over in uproarious laughter as every lady who passed by cast a suspicious look as though they were mad.

    They both desperately wanted to leap and bound into the nearest hot spring bath, strip away the layers, and bloom in cheerful bounty. Maharu rubbed the top of her shimmering, blue-toned head as though some unreachable itch poked inches above her skull and she couldn¡¯t quite get at it. Her foot wiggled and stretched before finally settling down. Misaki had a random thought that the girl was acting like a feisty rabbit, but she¡¯d already given out a silly horse analogy, so she just expressed the quiet hope that she was feeling better.

    Maharu admitted that she was about the same, with all the patches of darkness and light, but she appreciated Misaki¡®s attempts to cheer her up. It was a fine distraction at the very least, and she found that her abysmal game score didn¡¯t really matter as much. At least everyone she played with had a lot of fun.

    Follow-up questions about Mari still tickled Misaki¡®s brain, but she couldn¡¯t find a clear opening to pry into the details of what the community may have known about travelers staying permanently and whether Mari ever mentioned anything suspicious that might help in their investigation. She would have to stick to the main point.

    Compressing so much into the simplest explanation she could manage, Misaki relayed that her friend Namiko was at risk of something dangerous like what happened to her, and she and Yuka feared it was tied to the wristbands they typically wore. Cautiously, Misaki revealed to her that the covering on her wrist didn¡¯t contain it. Alluding to the idea that it was some sort of monster might have helped, but it would likely have been deeply confusing for Maharu. Fortunately, that was more than enough motivation for the young girl to volunteer herself for cheering-up duty. A good soak would have to wait or be part of their "nefarious" plans to dunk the mountain boob lady in the smelly, hot armpit of love.

 [60] Yuri Worlds 60 â€“ Reveals

    Yuri Worlds

    [60] Reveals

    Once Maharu was set on this course of finding and infusing Namiko with every cheerful thought at her disposal, her usual rocket-propelled fervor couldn¡¯t be contained. She appeared to have been exercising restraint since last night, but just the minimum amount.

    As they were hurrying away to track down her pink-haired maiden friend, Misaki caught a strange vision out of the side of her eyes. It vaguely reminded her of the recession of color and texture across the land at the peak fury of damaging winds, as though the weather were so harsh that it stripped the cel shading presence from reality. This wasn¡¯t a patch nearly so big, but it still loomed at the edge of her vision. It surrounded Maharu in a dulling presence, as though she had a leak.

    If she looked at it directly, she feared that whatever it was might slip away, like a creepy cryptid. No one else seemed to glance in her direction or call out this alarming incongruity. Was there something wrong with her eyes? Perhaps she was just again confusing some anime-world trick of the light for a worrisome sight. When she could restrain herself no more and flicked her eyes to look directly at Maharu, she was shocked to discover that the unusual effect lingered across her entire body.

    It was as though the girl had been strangely drained by a video game mechanic from some classic, artful title Chika may have streamed once. And the oddest notion of all was that, for this frozen moment, she looked exactly like anyone back home. Like she was no longer an anime girl, just a regular girl with normal, small eyes and bright blue hair with a fresh dye job.

    Before Misaki could say anything, it was like an invisible, global filter snapped back in place, and Maharu returned to all her expected proportions and color tones. She had no idea what to think of all that, but she wasn¡¯t going to let the moment pass without saying anything. Asking if the girl was all right was met with the expected amount of energy, with the presence of the last few minutes of melancholy reflection receding in her tone. Misaki alluded to Maharu appearing slightly pale for a moment and asking if she felt woozy or needed something sugary. Of course, the prospect of a quick, sugary snack wasn¡¯t going to pass her by, no matter how she felt.

    The front desk had a wide variety of options, and the lady working it was clearly eager to see how big Maharu¡¯s eyes and expression could go. Pink mochi deserved at least a taste. Dangos on a stick got Maharu humming what sounded like a playful children¡¯s melody. They grabbed a whole bunch of senbei rice crackers and finished up with a lovely bean paste block. Half of what she gave them went into a little bag to share with Namiko.

    Maharu actually declined two particular treats because one was a bitter, sour plum and too much for her, and the other was like a little baked chick and too cute for her to bite its head off. So, she actually left the one she got to look outside on a sunny windowsill with the sun breaking through the clouds and a gentle ray to illuminate its little chicken face.

    Maharu made the lady at the front desk swear that she wasn¡¯t going to throw it away until sunset, so it could watch the entire day pass. Misaki added her own insistent glare before they left. The woman started with a look of casual amusement, which then tightened into nervous panic, and, when Misaki checked behind her, she was actually providing protection for the pastry from coworkers and curious onlookers.

    It didn¡¯t take them long to discover Namiko was camped out in one of the lounges with a lap bearing several of the books she brought with her from home. She was reclined quite a bit, with a particular title clutched in her hands and looming over her soft expanse. She waved with a smile and tipped the book to the side.

    ¡°Hey! Feeling better? I forgot to ask at breakfast how your walk with Yuka went.¡±

    Not wanting to arouse any suspicion, Misaki kept calm and stretched as she explained that she had a lot to think about yesterday with her little scare, but was definitely feeling better now, especially since the fun walk. Namiko smirked and made a restrained quip about never expecting to find her friend passed out on the floor on a vacation, since she didn¡¯t seem like such a party animal.

    Before she could say anything else, Maharu spun around and softly clocked Namiko in the face before twisting to ensnare her arm in a judo grip. Moments later, without any fuss, she ripped the wristband off and chucked it across the room like a spare strip of unused film and shouted, before taking off, ¡°RUN!¡±

    It was at that point that it occurred to Misaki that they hadn¡¯t really discussed what they were going to do about Namiko or what plan they had for engaging her. Maybe that would¡¯ve been preferable to accidentally letting the girl wing it. At least Namiko didn¡¯t appear too dazed from the sudden assault, and the wristband was most assuredly off. Unfortunately, she was soon scrambling from the couch to retrieve it.

    Misaki swiftly moved in front of her and frantically attempted to provide some context for what on earth they were doing. Namiko listened to her as she held her sore cheek. She relayed that the wristbands were dangerous and actually caused what happened to her yesterday, and she added that something unpleasant had occurred to Chika earlier. This shot to the top of Namiko¡¯s concerns, as she desperately hoped that Chika wasn¡¯t in the same state as Misaki had been. She assured her that it was more like mind control than the body shutting down. Namiko still seemed quite concerned.

    A little bit after that, with slow pants, Maharu came ambling back from wherever she sprinted off to and asked, ¡°Actually, should we set it on fire?¡± Nami reacted by protectively sheltering her books with her bosom. Misaki did what she could to correct several misunderstandings.

    The way that Maharu handled the wristband, she acknowledged, did turn out to be effective, but Misaki found it dangerous, since if Namiko had been under its control, then she could¡¯ve accidentally hurt Maharu. The young girl fundamentally disagreed, but raised her hand and solemnly promised to be more careful. Misaki nervously doubted whether she would follow through on that.

    The best explanation she could pack together for Namiko involved a smattering of all the terrible encounters with the wristband, along with their concerns about the company and the monstrous emergence when blood was applied.

    After hearing that, Maharu seemed far too eager to open one of her own veins to see the results. They decided to arrange a demonstration out of the way of the other guests. Misaki assisted with carefully setting Namiko¡¯s reading material aside. She¡¯d seen them when Dwight was packing. All by Gene Wolfe. But one in particular made her pause: The Fifth Head of Cerberus. She chose to set that one at the bottom of the pile.

    A set of metal tongs seemed to suffice for handling the wristband without activating its feral qualities, although Misaki made sure not to squeeze so tight that whatever it was might respond. With more chopsticks and unpleasantly re-opening the scab, Namiko saw everything she needed to see with the writhing, hungry mouth erupting from the dark surface. She reflexively brushed at her now empty wrist to clear away any invisible lingering traces of what she so recently, unknowingly, wore without a care. Several sessions of ice-cold and steaming-hot water helped her mentally, even though they played havoc with her skin.

    It didn¡¯t take Maharu long to come to the same conclusion that Misaki had earlier. She stared solemnly and asked, "So, whoever wears something like this can be manipulated and controlled by that monster into doing things they never meant to do?" Misaki carefully moistened her lips and nodded, relaying how she said terrible things to Yuka as though she were possessed. She glossed over the complications of being a disembodied spirit attached to Yuka at the time.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    That was three, with Yasha as the remaining holdout. Questions of whether they were going to get into trouble about this were countered by the fact that some crazy creatures were inside the wristbands, and that sure seemed like something the company opted not to disclose anywhere in the waiver they signed. There sure seemed to be enough proof to offer their fourth, awkward traveling companion. And, if evidence and words didn¡¯t work, Misaki admitted to herself that Maharu¡¯s left hook would probably do the trick again.

    Before they could discuss how they were going to go about resolving this last link, Maharu walked out. It took Misaki several seconds to realize she was gone and rush after her. It didn¡¯t take long to find her in Yasha¡¯s regular suite. The blonde had already strung a length of the rope she made through Maharu¡¯s fingers like an impromptu cat¡¯s cradle. Gleefully, Maharu announced to the others, ¡°She just gave it to me!¡±

    Sure enough, the strange wristband had been removed from Yasha as well, and it sat placidly at Maharu¡¯s side like it was nothing at all. Splashing these darn things with her own blood was starting to get tiring for Misaki, but she provided another visceral demonstration of the writhing, awakened, hungry beast. Yasha had a subdued reaction, but an extremely notable one for her. Her eyes sharply widened; she braced herself, as though ready to run, and scowled at the activity along the floor.

    Her immediate response was, ¡°I need to make some very important phone calls,¡± before briskly walking out of the room. Maharu pouted, quietly branching more loops around her fingers. A moment later, Yasha poked her head back in and added, ¡°I promise we can¡­do more with that later.¡± This appeased her.

    That was it. All four of the wristbands that they came with. Locking them up together in one place didn¡¯t seem like the best idea, considering the internal directions had a very specific, ominous handling code for safety. Misaki could only imagine them fusing and becoming a literal monster stalking across the landscape like some escaped science experiment.

    The only encounter that brought much trouble, aside from her own original issues, was dealing with Chika, and it seemed that happened because she attempted to go it alone. Another quality of her old life that she really needed to get beyond around here and in the future. Friends always help, and it¡¯s okay to tell others things you¡¯re not sure about. Another Misaki lesson for Franklin.

    She needed to bring the whole group together and clear the air with evidence and the truth. At least Naoko wound up not needing to do anything risky. Hopefully, she and Yuka had a decent chat. And Chika with the sisters. She always felt that Chika was really good at interpersonal relationships. With all the uncertain but hopeful sentiment between Kosame and Naoko, maybe it would be good for everyone. At least there couldn¡¯t possibly be quite as much punching involved.

    Misaki quickly texted Yuka and Chika to see how things were going and hint that she had some great news to share before she settled into the biggest, deepest end of the couch in the nearest lobby. That long-delayed morning sulfur soak sure seemed like the best reward for getting through this entire thing. And some more snuggling with her promised fianc¨¦e. Haruka ambled into the lobby and gingerly settled down on the couch several spaces away. She still had that book¡ªthat absolutely massive tome she was reading yesterday¡ªblotting out most of her face.

    After brushing back her hair, Misaki glanced over and casually inquired, ¡°What are you reading, Miss Sasaki?"

    A long stretch of silence passed between them before Haruka brought her head up. Her eyes darted around with more uncertainty than Misaki had ever witnessed from the girl. Emotion creeping into her words instead of the usual, clinical stillness, Haruka responded, "¡­What? I am¡­ I¡¯m not reading anything. I don¡¯t understand."

    That response left Misaki instantly dumbfounded as the large, solid leather presence of the book Haruka was holding remained right there in front of her face, almost as a weird joke that didn¡¯t quite translate between their cultures. She noticed that Haruka made a quick note on a white scrap of paper, like she had before.

    Glancing up again, she found herself at a loss to explain the fact that there was now no book in Haruka¡®s hands when it was glaringly obvious there was one before. No books sat by her side on the couch, and she hadn¡¯t heard the girl flippantly chuck the book behind her for some reason. It was just suddenly gone. So strange.

    ¡­ How many peculiarities about Haruka had she missed in all this time? That thought suddenly struck her out of the ether.

    She traced her eyes over the unassuming girl. Same swath of bright, brilliant white hair with perhaps a faint hint of a bluish tint, reminiscent of Maharu¡¯s deeper tone. Her eyes had a polished, glossy gemstone sheen of blue radiance that almost seemed to carry their own twinkling illumination within. Her clothes were similar to what she wore that first day when she greeted them: simple, blank primary colors with a lot of white and black set in opposition to one another. Light and dark. But there was something¡­ needling at her brain like so many other important things lately. She couldn¡¯t let it slip away.

    Her lovely acrylic nails had an even sharper, sky-blue shade than her eyes. And her bracelets. Haruka always wore bracelets. She always wore bracelets. Bracelets. She had bracelets on. She wore them on her wrist. On her wrist. She had a bracelet on her wrist. Just a single bracelet on her wrist. No, there were two. There had to be two.

    Some sort of golden, fancy bracelet¡ªa girly bracelet¡ªthat was normal for anyone around here to wear. So, why was she wearing something dark as well? How long had that been there? The black thing, the dark thing, with a sharp presence cutting through like a line demarcating reality. It looked sort of like plastic and graphene, with etched aspects she couldn¡¯t quite discern. Bracelet. Just a bracelet. A normal bracelet. She was wearing¡­ A wristband. Oh, Goddess, she was wearing exactly the same wristband as they wore! For how long? It couldn¡¯t have been the whole time. She was wearing¡­

    "You should relax and take a soak. The water is wonderful. It¡¯s so peaceful. It¡¯s cool¡­? No, it¡¯s hot, but that¡¯s cool in a different way. Don¡¯t you think so, Miss¡­Takano?" Haruka spoke with an insistent, even flow, drawing Misaki away from whatever it was she had been preoccupied with. It was strange, like waking from a dream she dropped into for just a moment. What was she so alarmed by? The wristbands, of course. Worries that there could be others out there that someone... that the company might try to put on them. Yeah, that was it. That made sense.

    And Haruka was right. She really deserved a long and luxurious soak to clear away everything she¡¯d had to deal with lately. Cozy up to Yuka and find some fun like the last time. That sounded absolutely perfect.

    She shook loose the cobwebs, more remnants of Franklin uncertainty that she was working to overcome, and thanked Haruka for reminding her of that.

    Haruka smiled back, with a smile slightly too big.

 [61] Yuri Worlds 61 â€“ Recall

    Misaki found herself starting to undress by the showers in the bath area. She struggled to fill the gap of the last few minutes with anything that made sense.

    They were at the mountainside resort. There were nearly two dozen of them, including the shrine administrators, taking it easy before the mini fundraising festival tomorrow. And they¡¯d broken free of the wristbands. Getting cozy with Yuka activated something that knocked her loose from her body. It had happened before when the wristband last tried to mess with her by making her squishy in body and brain. That prior activity sure put it at the top of her suspect list again.

    After some scary moments, she and Yuka freed Chika from the ominous hold of that horrible thing. Maharu used her rough methods to achieve the best ends with Namiko but just needed words when it came to Yasha. And then stretched forth the void. The confusion of the last few minutes.

    Haruka. She had been chatting with Haruka. But the only thing that made sense of her missing time was nodding off. It made sense, in a way. Barely escape the specter of death. Stuck with uncertainty inside Yuka burning through every happy thought she could contribute. Struggle to free her friends. Fight to cheer up Maharu from the depths of depression. It made perfect sense that even with her morning energy, bolstered by Yuka at her side, there would be a flagging wind that required a proper debt of energy and recovery. She gently rinsed the oozing scab on her hand with warm but not hot water.

    This would probably heal swiftly. Much like her other little wounds. The skin in her mouth where she got burned from that hot food still retained a sensitive divot, but most of the sloughed-off skin was gone. In its place was a baby-soft stretch, building its way back to normalcy. When had her finger cut healed? Misaki tended to her cut on the train. The first real time they spent together in private, getting close without intending to.

    She had the bandage on for most of that first day but forgot about it later on. It never bled or even oozed again. Yuka put on a sleepy puppy bandage. That was when she first learned that she loved dogs. The cut was in the same spot where she was cut on Friday during their pre-trip check. That cut never bled. Or was it the same cut? Why would it carry from Franklin to Misaki to entirely different bodies?

    Time? Could it have been delayed? She received the cut on Friday, and, because of the different measures of time between her world and Yuka¡¯s, perhaps¡­ some weird cause-and-effect relationship showed up later? But the difference was eight percent. The lady on Friday said that the times would sync up at their departure. At that point, they were a relatively short time apart. The simplest explanation, she acknowledged, was that she received the cut, but it wasn¡¯t deep enough to break the skin. But the circumstances of the next few days¡ªshowers, typing, the whole travel between worlds, the physical transformation, the different pressures, and going into the train cabin¡ªlikely exacerbated that fissure into a proper opening.

    Why was she so preoccupied with this? So many other things should¡¯ve monopolized her brain power. The creepy vision following Yuka¡¯s first aid. Her ominous intuition of something terrible at the shrine. The strange dreams that she was having. What the heck the company was doing to them with the wristbands. Why she had seen the world glitch out more than once. The black furry monster. All the scary little things happening to Yuka. The fluctuations of her and others¡¯ memories. The strange things she was confident that Ayame said. Who gave her that weird note. What was going on with Maharu¡®s grandmother. And who killed Maharu¡®s mothers.

    It was a deluge of uncertainty. And the only deluge she wanted right then was from the shower head over her body. The water was absolutely blissful, slipping into all the invisible spaces cracked and crammed with stresses. Unfortunately, every time she felt like a wave of relaxation was about to overwhelm all her worries, a nagging sense returned to her, like there was something she forgot, and she couldn¡¯t quite tease it out of the recesses of her mind to coherence. No amount of mental poking and prodding helped.

    She dipped forward to wash under her neck. That little stressful bump was getting better. It was strange that things seemed to heal so well, but the rough area on Yuka¡¯s neck persisted. Misaki did her best not to rub too hard. Towards the end of her scrubbing, she heard a voice over her shoulder.

    "Pardon me, may I join you, madam?"

    Kosame. She rinsed the soap out of her eyes to confirm what she could already tell by the voice and phrasing. ¡°Go ahead. Don¡¯t be so formal.¡±

    The gray-haired girl cleared her throat and said something brief but unintelligible as she carefully started to undress. Misaki positioned herself under the stream and glanced over at Kosame. She glanced up but consciously avoided her gaze. Noting this but not asking about it, Misaki first inquired, ¡°Was my little sister able to talk to you?¡±

    Kosame was down to her underwear, her hands gingerly rubbing across her body as though warming herself up. She found all this subdued behavior to be odd considering the first bath they took together contained Kosame confidently strutting, stripping without a care, and acting like she was the queen of the harem before regaling her pretty maidens with poetry. When Kosame was finally naked, she uncomfortably dunked herself under the full force of the shower and started to scrub. Misaki couldn¡¯t shake the inkling that Kosame was behaving more like she would expect Franklin to act in the presence of a girl, if he managed to remain conscious.

    ¡°You okay?¡± Misaki casually asked. Kosame took a moment to scrub before responding, ¡°Peachy. Your little sister and my little sister are still chatting, last I checked. If you were concerned about them. She¡¯s quite pleasant. Your little sister. She wanted to recruit us for something, but apparently the necessity passed.¡±

    Misaki wasn¡¯t prepared to elaborate on all the specifics, but she confirmed that everything resolved itself. At least as far as she could tell. Kosame flashed a kindly smile and said she was glad for that. Washing up continued as normal until Kosame accidentally dropped her soap. The poor girl fumbled around like a wild drinking bird, trying to find the right spot to cool off. Misaki came over to steady her with a hand and help her pick it up.

    She thanked Misaki vigorously and puffed a long sigh for admitting, ¡°Actually, peachy might be an overstatement. I have a lot on my mind, and it¡¯s quite throwing me off my usual senses. Could you spare your pretty ear to let me distill a bit into words? I promise I will treat it kindly.¡±

    Misaki wanted to soak but agreed and lingered so the debonair gal could unfurl her worries. Kosame gargled and rinsed rapidly with her slim fingers, stroking her chin in thought.

    ¡°I resolved myself to look and lavish affection over ladies ever since Miss Soma and I amicably went our separate ways. But not get emotionally connected. Not make it serious. Let it be a game of casual courtship. Fluffy words and fanciful notions. It seemed for the best. The heart has many chambers, and some of them are best for reserving one¡¯s true feelings so they don¡¯t fill the entire space. But even that small place can begin to ache, as though it were a boulder wedged in one¡¯s being. And I really want to cry sometimes¡­¡± That spiel emerged with Kosame¡®s steady voice until the last bit crunched up with plaintive whimpers more like a dog¡¯s howl than human speech.

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    Not knowing what to do but not wanting to leave Kosame crumpled in tears, Misaki wrapped her arms around her in a clinging but slightly distant hug. She rubbed her soft shoulder but wasn¡¯t sure where else to put her hands as heavy tears streamed down Kosame¡¯s cheeks. Misaki gave her something to dry her eyes, but it wasn¡¯t much help. Somehow, they finished showering and slipped into the hot bath as Kosame¡¯s face was still streaked and red.

    The whimpers slowed and faded as Kosame sank with a little more than a sliver of her face still above the waters. A faint, childish squeak replaced the mournful sounds as she gently eased up and released more of herself from the bath.

    "My apologies that you had to see that. I have no intention to leech off your sympathy in such a base manner. I just wish I could understand romance and love in their true state. You and my friend Yuka have somehow found the truth of all that through quiet revelation. If you have any insights from your experience you could share, they would be deeply appreciated. I just don¡¯t want to be alone." Those last words set off a new round of fumbling, mumbling, and blubbering tears. Misaki comforted her, saying it was fine, but she had no clue what to say.

    "Love. I¡¯m no expert either; neither of us is. We were just friends, then more stuff happened. Yuka¡¯s really nice, and we just started talking, kept talking, and enjoyed being together. I love her. I feel like if I were¡­ Theoretically¡­ A ghost or accidentally trapped inside her because of some magic, and she could only hear my words if I said my most emotional thoughts, then I would gladly scream my love for her for all eternity. I would never want her to feel sad. I¡¯d share her truth and abundant feelings, be persistent and confident, but also be accommodating. Speak sincerely and listen earnestly to someone you truly love, and make sure they know what you feel inside." That first bit felt incredibly awkward and unnatural trying to emerge from her lips, but as she dug into the sentiment, the uncertainty ebbed away.

    Kosame looked up through her tears with keen wonderment. She lamented the fact that she didn¡¯t have a pen and paper to take down all these ¡°lyrical¡± thoughts. Misaki didn¡¯t know whether all this was worth saving, but she appreciated the sentiment. That lyrical truth seemed to light a fire of respective truth in Kosame.

    ¡±I find you incredibly friggin sexy. The supple, sensual curve of your buttocks. The way your goddess mound dips like hidden lips seeking magical words. The way your delicate skin carries gentle weight. The alluring dip of your faint belly. The way your skin blushes and how that blush drifts through your shape like sun and cloud distilled in reserved radiance. Entire books should idolize your chest and the brilliant punctuation of your delicate nipples. I know that¡¯s a bit much, especially considering your heart belongs to another. But I want you to know you are celebrated, and you inspire me towards my hopeful true love.¡° As a fleeting afterthought, Kosame admitted to being nervous in Misaki¡®s presence.

    As Kosame admitted and Misaki agreed, it was indeed a bit much. She wanted to say first that she supposed she was flattered by anyone else feeling intimidated around her physically. It was an alien notion for Misaki or Franklin. She warned herself not to let it get to her ego. Her body getting celebrated wasn¡¯t as much of a shell shock since it wasn¡¯t technically her body. But inhabiting it did instill some sense of connection. It was a weird fusion of feelings.

    She insisted that Kosame was quite lovely and stumbled through the sentiment that struck her yesterday during the last bath. Her words had a visceral effect on the girl, as though she never noticed her wide hips and soft, understated figure. Dodging around the analogy of a pretty boy was difficult, but she was able to shape it into a careful compliment.

    A peculiar notion struck Kosame as she realized, ¡°So often, I look outwardly at others and desire to lavish love and appreciation on the presence of other maidens. But the fact remains that I myself am one of that number. I would be remiss to discount the heart and soul of the maiden closest to me. Not to fall into too much self-appreciation, of course. But it is important to remember that I deserve to accept love inwardly before I can truly be considered a giver of it. I must know its terrain and hidden territories. Thank you so much for this clarity.¡±

    Misaki briefly worried that sapphic motions might follow. But Kosame respected her boundaries. They just talked for a while about the most random things, which often didn¡¯t circle back to love.

    Kosame figured it was obvious but explained that her name meant rainstorm. But not a big, bold, and boisterous one full of thunder and fury. She was a little rainstorm¡ªa sprinkle, a drizzle. She found her sister¡®s name prettier. Their moms wanted them to have special names, and, despite dubbing her a meager rainfall, they encouraged happiness in her name because rainbows lingered with little storms. She wasn¡¯t sure if she would change it when it came time to choose her name for the rest of her life.

    The girl clasped her small hands beside her mouth before saying, "I always cried in the rain because, like showers, you can wash away your tears and sadness with it. I just want to be happy. I want to be with Naoko and share in her rich, scientific mind, which balances my flights of fancy. I don¡¯t want to be her past. I want to be her present and future. And I want her to share everything she ever needs to share without worrying. What do I do with all of this?"

    Misaki took a deep breath and pointed out the glaringly obvious: "You need to tell her. Tell her your wants and wishes. Be sincere. Just do it. Before time passes you by and all you have are regrets."

    Kosame listened sharply to those focused, sincere words and tightened her fists against the water, slapping them as she burst up, "Of course. So simple. I have to do it. If she refuses me, then at least my heart knows without being twisted by uncertainty. Put it out there with confidence, even if it hurts. I¡¯m still so very scared but being scared by itself is a waste. I can be scared and still do what I know I need to do. Thank you, Madame Takano, for your quiet wisdom and beautiful company. Now, I must be off."

    Single-mindedly, Kosame launched herself out of the water and began striding with determination toward the doorway. At a certain point, Misaki cleared her throat and then did so loudly. Kosame whirled around in concern and confusion until she glanced down and realized that she was completely naked.

    ¡°Oh, well, that would probably leave a distinct impression upon the rest of the guests and my romantic quarry, but probably not the one I intend. If only things were a tad more cosmopolitan, as they say, then no one would bat an eye.¡± Kosame quickly slipped on a basic robe before adding, ¡°This should leave enough to the imagination.¡± And, after a wave, a blown kiss, and one last thank you, she was gone.

 [62] Yuri Worlds 62 â€“ Chirality

    Yuri Worlds

    [62] Chirality

    All this talk of love made Misaki wish that Yuka was in easy reach, just a quick embrace away. They hadn¡¯t been apart for long, but she still craved her presence. She should¡¯ve texted her after the initial message of victory that she was going to wash up. But the urge just randomly came over her, and she started without thinking about anything else. Strange. Picking at that region of thought felt like clawing at an ancient, invisible wart remnant that her nails slid over without gaining purchase.

    Was something still affecting her despite the removal of the wristband? They had synchronization devices, but not on them since they just provided the time variations between home and here, and departure wasn¡¯t close enough to worry about yet. Otherwise, money cards and papers. If those projected a controlling signal they needed to protect themselves from, then nothing was safe. She resisted the urge to make a private quip about Bianka. The poor girl was more than a single silly trait, and being paranoid was coming into style as a necessity. It might be worthwhile to pick her brain for ideas and possibilities to explain what was going on.

    A lot of poking and prodding seemed advisable. She wanted to know what Ayame could see in her now, press Grandma Okura about Mari and so many other things, and maybe check in to see if Naoko and Kosame were working on a happy ending. Not to forget informing Yuka¡¯s moms about their intentions and seeing if Yasha heard back from the company. There was so much she could do and so little left for this weekend excursion. She figured she might as well go for the hardest task first and face Grandma. Interrupting her soak wasn¡¯t particularly fun, but she promised her body and soul she would continue when reunited with Yuka.

    Grandma Okura had her own private suite on an upper story of the inn. Checking at the front desk, she saw that Maharu would be pleased that not only was the little candy chick well taken care of, but it also had its own custom hammock made from some netting that looked like it was typically used to bag citrus. They were able to direct her to where Okura Shinobu was staying.

    About halfway there, Misaki received a follow-up text of relief from Yuka about the wristbands that also pointed out Kosame came charging into the room with a heartfelt declaration of love for Naoko, totally unlike her "usual approach", which was incredibly touching. Yuka hinted that it reminded her of Misaki and that she desperately wanted to snuggle her again soon.

    She had an automatic response in mind, promising that she would see her soon after she took care of something. About halfway through composing the specifics, she poked her own mind and remembered that she wasn¡¯t going to go it alone anymore, as far as she could avoid it.

    Grandma sure seemed preoccupied with separating her from others, and she wasn¡¯t going to have it. Misaki¡¯s message to Yuka contained all the love that she could fill, with a few sparse words, but also the request that she help her with at least one more thing if she was available. Considering the romantic confession was going well, she had a prime moment to remove herself and let love do the rest.

    Yuka giggled gleefully as she rushed through a fervent celebration of what she witnessed. The energy inspired her to wrap Misaki up in her arms, hold her around the waist in a dance pose, and slowly, carefully spin and dip her. It didn¡¯t literally detach Misaki from her physical form, but she felt as if she were floating on a cloud.

    When Misaki explained her intention to bring up some questions to Grandma Okura, Yuka urgently grasped her lady love and refused to let her go alone. Misaki nervously admitted that was why she called her, which brought relief from Yuka. She was supportive and wary, noting that the old lady was scary and not to be visited alone. Yuka cracked her fingers and her neck, relaying that she was ready.

    Yuka zoomed up the stairs but also clung to her partner as they closed in on the grandmother¡¯s room. When they arrived at the door, Yuka stopped short of restraining Misaki¡®s hands from knocking. She diligently perked her ears up to listen for a reply.

    ¡°Yes? Who is it?"

    Misaki wanted to let the moment linger and let the old woman wonder, but Yuka chirped up and said they needed to talk with her. Calmly, though not quite cordially, she invited them in.

    While the interior was sparse, like each of their suites, a reserved, precise quality infused the space with the few decorations Madame Okura appeared to have brought with her. That included a basic tea serving set, pillows, and some modest scrolls. Misaki noticed that Yuka appeared visibly surprised at the decorations.

    "You¡¯ve made yourself at home here," Misaki commented on that. Miss Okura tilted her head with a curious expression, as though she didn¡¯t expect that from Misaki. A little flair of amusement crossed her features as she responded, "Oh, it¡¯s really not much. Just a few modest comforts. These are the Okura family scrolls. They chronicle my ancestors'' lives back to long before the Warring Goddesses times. Everything is drawn by hand; some of the calligraphy took decades of painstaking work. And I would burn it to ashes if it meant I could get my daughter back. But an act of destruction never negates another. What did you want to see me about? Come, you two, make yourselves comfortable."

    Misaki braced herself and tensed up more than she would¡¯ve preferred. Yuka clung close to her. They grabbed some of the scattered pillows and made their own space, not too far from or too close to the old woman. Misaki knew what she wanted to say, but looking across at the stoic, subdued challenge of the old woman¡¯s expression threatened to bring back the uncertain swells she usually inhabited. Yuka gave her a little bump on the shoulder to remind her she was there. Misaki took a deep breath.

    "I thanked Miss Yasuda, as you requested. But I also learned something about her from your granddaughter. She told me that she¡¯s not of this world. She came from somewhere else and took up residence here. She used to work for the company, the same travel company we used to get here. Miss Yasuda also contacted our group with a simple warning to watch out. What do you know about her?" Some of that was a surprise to Yuka, who watched Misaki speak with her mouth line dipping wider and wider. Miss Okura listened intently with her head aimed forward and her green eyebrows knitted close. When Misaki was done, she persisted in that quiet lull without sound or implication before asking, "Would either of you like some tea? I don¡¯t have anything fresh, but I can warm up a bit of what I have left over. Or, if you prefer, I can call down to the main desk for something fresher."

    Misaki and Yuka shook their heads, one after the other. The old woman brushed the lower section of her kimono and cleared her throat. ¡°That¡¯s a most interesting question you have, but it doesn¡¯t really seem like a question for me. Seems more like one you should put to Miss Yasuda herself. I can attempt to answer it. I have known Yasuda Mari for many years. She¡¯s a good friend and has done her best for our community, especially in dark and trying times. I can¡¯t speak to my granddaughter¡¯s words. She means well but is often caught up in sweet flights of fancy. She envisions stories overlaid on reality. It can be challenging to interpret the full truth from her stories.¡±

    Misaki thought back to the other day and considered the way that Maharu phrased her reveal about Mari¡ªher exact wording. Having a recording really would¡¯ve been a peak lawyer moment, but she only had the fallibility of her own memory. Deeply connected with the company¡­ From another world. One of their representatives. In charge of maintaining a good relationship¡­ With this world. Every little snippet she remembered had a glaring amount of ambiguity. Just because it was a company from another world doesn¡¯t mean she was brought in or hired from somewhere else. Shit. And that didn¡¯t take into account quirks in translation.

    She didn¡¯t want to backpedal but also recognized that she¡¯d overstepped what she could confidently claim from that conversation. Maharu hadn¡¯t really said that Mari was from somewhere else and had taken up residence here. But she found it interesting that the grandmother didn¡¯t summarily denounce her claim, as she would¡¯ve if it were blatantly false.

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    ¡°When did you first meet Miss Yasuda? You are so well acquainted with history, Madame, that I am confident you would know that about such a dear, close friend.¡±

    The grandmother¡®s eyes visibly narrowed, and she drew in a breath. Misaki suspected that was a good sign. The old woman adjusted her position and reflected on the question before relaying, ¡°Many, many years. Such a long time. Alas, you have me fighting against my admittedly nebulous memory. That¡¯s why it¡¯s far better to write things down, as with histories. My apologies. Will all your questions pursue such peculiar notions about our beloved community leader, the kind lady who took so many hours to precisely plan a vacation for you and your fellow travelers?"

    It was dawning on Misaki that whatever toehold she had on the subject was slipping away. Yuka wasn¡¯t yet ready to give up though, as she pressed, "We¡¯re just asking reasonable questions. Wouldn¡¯t you? I may be young, but I know I have the respect of my community to ask questions where it¡¯s appropriate. If Miss Yasuda knows anything about this company, that¡¯s not a word against her; it¡¯s us together against them. Because there are mind-controlling monsters inside the things they gave our guests as identification, and that deserves an explanation." To bolster her claims, Yuka had her phone at the ready. Miss Okura frowned and accepted Yuka¡¯s phone to look at the evidence she had documented. She also added that if she wanted a live demonstration, they could oblige.

    Miss Okura took several long seconds to look through what Yuka had saved. She squinted slightly and didn¡¯t say anything. A long breath flowed out through her nose. She passed the phone back to Yuka with thanks. The two of them waited for her to say something, but she kept quiet for a long stretch before finally asking, ¡°Do you know what this means?¡±

    Misaki sat up. ¡°The interior is marked DE and RB.¡°

    "Dark Entities and Radiant Beings. Some parlance the company employs for the spirits they use. Yes, Mari was once an employee of a company not based in this world. But that doesn¡¯t necessarily mean she came from somewhere else. You do realize there are existential obstacles to someone permanently relocating to another universe. You would know it as Melting. But there¡¯s more, from what I¡¯ve gleaned in passing. It¡¯s also known as chirality or handedness."

    This grandma had thrown some big concepts at her last time: quantum curvature and universal mass. Misaki could already tell this would be in the same category. Yuka crunched forward with her hands clasped as though holding on to some invisible creature she worried would hop away if she relented.

    Miss Okura tipped her head up in thought before nodding and beginning, "Structures of reality, physics, and biology have a preference towards one direction or the other. Their spin, folding, composition, and structure. They are not mirror images but have a certain preference in the same way a girl has a dominant hand. This universe has a left-handed bias in physics. Life is left-handed in its amino acids and right-handed in its sugars. And this extends to other distinctions. Now, I don¡¯t expect you to know this specific scientific detail, but I learned from Mari that the universe you come from is the opposite. Right-handed particles, left-handed sugar, and right-handed amino acids. More preference for the right than the left. There are consequences for this mirroring. Your biology needs what we would refer to as indigestible sugars. And the particles of your world have subtly different properties. You wouldn¡¯t be able to eat anything here without a different biology, and likewise for us in your world. Do you understand?"

    All that was a lot. And honestly, she didn¡¯t understand much beyond the basic principle. The implication was clear. Melting wasn¡¯t just a bogeyman story. They were incompatible when it came to fundamental physical and biological forces. Misaki slumped back and sighed. Yuka looked around with panicked, wide eyes. It took her a little bit longer, before it clicked. She responded by slamming the tatami with her fists as hard as possible.

    "Bullshit!" She hissed. Miss Okura bowed her head with a genuine expression of sympathy. Misaki realized it was also stone-solid proof that she misinterpreted Maharu¡¯s words. Mari could only be a native because the fundamental forces and the food of this world would have been destructive and toxic to her. And the company could only arrest all that temporarily. Unless they were lying to Mari and Miss Okura. If only she had a better grasp of physics and biology, then she could confirm or call bullshit herself.

    Yuka shook her head. "No no no no¡­ I refuse to accept that. If there are forces out there trying to keep us apart, then I¡¯ll fight them. I¡¯ll overcome them. We¡¯ll find a way to cross the boundaries and be together. Even if it takes a thousand years. We promised that. We¡¯re going to be married. We¡¯re in love. And no matter what, we will be together!" Yuka seemed as though she was prepared to physically fight Okura on this point. A rising flush filled her cheeks, and the blackness that swarmed across her hair in the bathroom flickered darkly. Miss Okura put on a stern expression.

    "You can deny it. Please, feel free. This is only what I¡¯ve heard secondhand. But it makes sense to me. There are so many differences between all the worlds in existence. It¡¯s apparently a minor miracle that any of them are inhabitable at all. Consider the disposition of the cosmos. For all we know, there is only our planet. And the immense collection of atoms that represent it is some immense number followed by about fifty zeros. It¡¯s at least eighty zeros across the entire universe. A hospitable drop against the oceans of everywhere else."

    Yuka hardened her expression. "I don¡¯t care about everything else out there. All I care about is her. And him. The boy who ventured out on a vacation into the unknown, to a world with half as much as his home, who found me, and I found him. I don¡¯t care what the odds are, and I refuse to give up the soul that I love." She pulled Misaki close, and she couldn¡¯t help but blush and smile softly. Replenished by her determination, Misaki leaped off of this thought.

    "You mentioned left- and right-handedness and how my world is supposedly more right-handed than left. But ever since I was a kid, the world felt turned the wrong way. Yuka reminded my heart of who I was in a left-handed way. Left left left. That has to mean something. Maybe my world is broken¡­ As you said yourself, it¡¯s missing something in the quantum curvature. Maybe what¡¯s missing is the correct direction." It was an absurd shot in the dark, but one made of hope and love. She aimed the sharpest end of her expression at Grandma Okura. Let us have this; if nothing else, let us have this.

    The message seemed to be received as the old woman released a soft sigh and remarked, ¡°It¡¯s possible. I can¡¯t tell you what to do about it, but you¡¯ll probably figure it out. And my sincere congratulations to the both of you for finding one another. I would only ask that my granddaughter remain under your watchful eyes. She means the world to me and more. Please, watch out for her.¡±

    Instantly and adamantly, Yuka affirmed that she would watch out for Maharu, relaying that Misaki did her best to cheer her up and that she heard that the two of them helped a lot with the current situation. The old woman focused on Yuka and asked, ¡°You have no grief with her?¡± Yuka shook her head and said she was just waiting. Any conflict or disagreement was over in her mind.

    The old woman frowned and pointed out, ¡°If you wait, you may wait until it¡¯s too late. Take it from an old fool who did the wrong thing too many times to count by waiting. Don¡¯t let your opportunities slip away.¡±

    Yuka bristled at that phrasing, barely holding her thoughts inside, as she politely thanked her elder for that advice.

 [63] Yuri Worlds 63 â€“ Split

    Yuri Worlds

    [63] Split

    Before leaving Miss Okura¡¯s suite, the two of them did receive some tea and some small biscuits. Once they were outside, Yuka couldn¡¯t resist grumbling over that last warning. She didn¡¯t point to any specific word that bothered her but still gave a rough repetition of what the old woman said, like she was trying to call the inverse of a curse. Misaki ran her hands along her shoulder softly, and the irritation slowly ebbed away.

    Little fragments of fears flaked off with uncertainty from Yuka. She didn¡¯t understand most of the cosmic stuff, but she desperately hoped that what Misaki said might contain the truth. Misaki hoped so too.

    They slowly made their way towards the steps to return to their suite. The prospect of putting on another episode and escaping into its fictional world felt like a loose bandage, barely more than a blindfold to cover up the sight of oozing blood before it dripped underneath. But Misaki still had a list of people she really wanted to talk to. Ayame was the next priority, even though she didn¡¯t have much success pressing about the odd moon comment last time. She wanted to know about her spirit, even if the news was bad. Even if believing that someone could read her soul still felt absurd, despite all that she¡¯d gone through.

    Before they reached the steps, the door they just left through loudly but carefully slid open again. Both looking back, they saw that Grandma Okura had made her way over to the threshold. She locked eyes with Misaki and quickly and unambiguously motioned toward her. Yuka stretched protectively, but Misaki assured her it was fine and urged her to go on ahead without her. Miss Okura wanted a moment of privacy so they could chat. Misaki lingered in the hallway with respectable closeness. The old lady didn¡¯t require her to go back inside. They just talked in this cozy but strikingly open space. Misaki suspected that Yuka, even though she was out of sight past the hallway steps, lingered to surreptitiously catch some words.

    What they wound up discussing felt like a perfunctory addition to the preceding discussion without any of the confrontational elements. Miss Okura made sure that she knew there was no ill will intended on her part towards the new couple or their hopes and dreams. She dodged around specifics about Mari and only added that she trusted the general and precise information that her friend provided. The rest disclosed and reiterated the upcoming itinerary for the weekend with their early departure next morning from the inn to set up for the festival. She casually and earnestly emphasized her hopes that Misaki and the others would kindly take the opportunity to witness her granddaughter¡¯s devoted efforts to practice and memorize her performance. Misaki assured her that none of them intended to miss it.

    A weary resignation that looked far heavier than the visible weight of her years settled around Miss Okura¡¯s eyes more prominently than even the coded feathering. She truly appeared old, not simply wrinkled but burdened by so many years and memories. She breathed softly and spoke, "Do be careful out there. There are forces, so dark and powerful, that you can¡¯t even begin to imagine. And they would gobble you up on a whim without a second thought."

    Misaki found that phrasing to be peculiar. It seemed more like a religious or spiritual warning that one of her older relatives might offer. She motioned towards a polite affirmation when something fluttered before her eyes. At first, it seemed vaguely like the filter glitch a few days ago and then around Maharu, but the presence of reality and all its visual details neither ebbed nor clicked off. Instead, it was more like a blurry, double vision vaguely overlaid on her sight. Really taking her back, she thought of the old View-Master toy she enjoyed when she was young and how sometimes the stereoscopic effect wouldn¡¯t quite work, or the slide was misaligned. A flurry of blinking, to the point of a self-created strobe effect, did absolutely nothing to resolve it. It didn¡¯t take the old woman long to notice and inquire what was the matter.

    Misaki quickly apologized and remarked, "For some reason, I¡¯m almost seeing double, and it looks like you have horns on your head. So strange." The vast size and unusual nature of her anime eyes felt like a reality she never quite reconciled. They provided strikingly little benefit in low light, although the early morning, several hours ago, was pleasant. The raspberry tone sometimes distracted her when she caught it in the mirror.

    She expected something akin to a calm, restricted chuckle of amusement from the old woman. Instead, she heard the faintest traces of a sharp intake of air, bordering very nearly on a gasp. This was balanced by a clearing of the throat and a soft noise before Miss Okura responded, "My goodness. What do you think of me?" Misaki soon apologized, making it clear that she meant no offense. The old lady, in turn, clarified that she was pulling her leg.

    Miss Okura gestured lightly with her hands and arms, drawing Misaki to a position directly in front of her. Her arms framed the space between them, and her hands traced it. The way she assessed her literally felt like a sizing up by extended family. She expected the old lady to offer to cook her something filling that would put some real meat on her bones. Instead, Miss Okura leveled her eyes carefully, unblinking, and declared, "You¡¯re quite an interesting young lady, Mr. Fowler¡­"

    She left those words to hang in the air without clarification or addition as she finally let her go and returned to her suite. Unusual but, at least, relatively cordial. Not wanting to dwell on the matter further, although diligently preserving the unexplained qualities of the moment, Misaki hustled to the steps. She indeed discovered Yuka camped out about halfway down, stretching to see and hear beyond. They embraced with relief.

    Misaki went over everything, blunting any concerns about her eyes by just saying that it was probably simple tiredness. Besides, she could see all of Yuka just fine, and that was all that mattered. Yuka pressed out her bright red tongue but followed it up with sparkling giggles. Misaki also told her there was something very important she needed to say. Yuka straightened and prepared herself.

    ¡°You¡¯re cute. You¡¯re so very cute and wonderful. And I¡¯m so happy that you can hear my words about this truth.¡±

    Yuka made a shy sound like a muffled squeak as she scrunched down smaller and closer, like an unsuccessful turtle. Her thighs pressed together as her legs pretzeled and twisted. It was Misaki¡®s turn to fawn over her and lead her in the most uncomfortable little dip and dance in a tight space. Somehow, neither of them stumbled or got their legs caught up.

    Misaki didn¡¯t relent with her affectionate bombardment. She echoed the sentiment from earlier, lamenting that she couldn¡¯t occupy multiple places, as she was and as a deep-dwelling inhabitant of Yuka''s body and soul, which relentlessly shelled her with joy and buried all sad thoughts in warm love. As an example, she celebrated the silvery, precious beauty of Yuka¡¯s hair. She dispelled any notions that it looked plain, faded, muddy, or unnatural. Graying hair didn¡¯t exist in this world, but she gave her a hint of that notion and immediately squashed it for her lady love.

    She imagined Yuka adorned with bright flowers in her hair, like resting butterflies. She highlighted Yuka¡¯s demure cuteness while raising her stature with each word. Yuka barely had any idea what to do but grin madly. She motioned for a kiss and received it, plus so much more. Misaki provided a celebration of the shape of her cheeks as they became so bright and hot. Followed by an intimate understanding of her tentative steps that pranced and danced.

    After a plethora of physical delights, she lavished cheer on the cleverness of her mind. The organization of her lawyerly focus. The way she assisted Misaki in digging far more out of Miss Okura than she ever could¡¯ve imagined getting. And so many other details from this morning crossing into noon time and the few but beautiful days they¡¯d known each other.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Misaki reflected on a vast array of intellectual traits until Yuka stopped her and sheepishly asked if she could go back to physical things. She worried if that was too vain, but Misaki gladly pivoted to talking up her butt. Giggles spread around.

    In addition to feminine physical traits, Misaki envisioned the boy that Yuka could and would be with her own biological spacesuit, making the mirror trek to the other side. A different sort of butt. The inside-out bolstered. How he would loom over her and practically lift her off her feet. Yuka attempted it, but it only worked for a split second. The possibilities were empowering, but the quiet lauding of all her current, understated aspects hit deep and lingered long. Her figure was beautiful. Her shape wasn¡¯t meager or insubstantial. And what was small was wonderful.

    As much as it was a delight to be surrounded by this wonderful sentiment, they both realized that communicating the good news to her moms was long delayed and necessary. The key problem was that their most recent interaction of any depth was the mournful aftermath of the cruel spirit host who stole Misaki¡®s body. Neither said anything too definitive about the change in attitude. No pronouncements that Misaki was a bad egg or chewing her out. But the swift inversion of tears and sentiments was sure to raise concerns about whether they were behaving like feathers whipped in a shifting gale. They weren¡¯t going to know without talking though.

    Misaki had a clear notion and expectation of what was coming. No matter how electric and wobbly their nerves felt, she had a hunch that both moms would err on the side of love and romance because of how happy Yuka was and their own swift romantic connection. They would see it. Surely, they would understand. At the same time, Misaki also recognized that it sounded like she was setting herself up for a jinx. She hoped that recognizing it would also prevent the possibility. And she crossed her fingers as much as she could.

    Of course, the Sasakis were rooming together. Their suite was in a different part of the inn, what seemed to be the honeymoon section, with more separation between the rooms and themes. That activated a memory for Misaki of the old Madonna Inn in the north of the state, which took the concept to its hokey conclusion. This place did a better job, homing in on Zen focuses, Buddhist themes, pop cultural concepts, and abstract flavor. The Sasakis had one with a bright hodgepodge of artistic, painterly style splattered across the floorspace. It resembled an old television show that Misaki vaguely recalled from her youth with Pee-wee Herman.

    The lamps looked like squat cows with tails you had to tug to turn on. Pink swarms clustered in one side corner with glittering sparkles. Stain-glass triangles flanked the windows, with a hand-drawn forested cityscape filling out the rest. Despite the bed looking positively splattered in pastels, it sprawled out with ornate comfort and fluffy blankets. The moms greeted them both warmly, without any obvious suspicion weighted towards Misaki.

    During breakfast, the two of them first received news that something had happened with their daughter¡¯s girlfriend. They had gone to bed early after their luxurious soak and only vaguely noticed the frantic footsteps beyond their door. Both of them were horrified when receiving the piecemeal details and still wanted to desperately apologize for a dozen secret curses they may have hidden toward the girl who briefly broke their daughter¡¯s heart. Kei gave her an even more earnest, insistent hug than she or Yuka had for their welcome to this world. Fuyuki was just as affectionate, like the mom Franklin imagined he might have in another life. Now, she didn¡¯t need to be imaginary.

    Yuka traded cheerful but perfunctory greetings with her moms as she reassured them that she wasn¡¯t hungry, she was feeling loads better, there was a lot to explain, and she loved them. Misaki imagined that if she were put in the same situation, she would begin to gradually work towards the huge, important point. Ask her mothers how they were feeling. Preemptively assure them that she was fine. Maybe have a little something to eat just to show that she wasn¡¯t going to die in the next few minutes. And explain that, even though a lot of crazy things had happened recently, it was going to be fine, with some specifics, before gently proposing the proposal.

    ¡°I asked Misaki to marry me.¡± Misaki really felt like she had become more forthright, confident, and open with her expression in the last day. Good thing she had Yuka to make up for moments where that wasn¡¯t totally the case.

    That declaration was abundantly clear in its meaning, but her mothers still absorbed it with a numb, uncertain curiosity. Their eyes eventually met Misaki¡®s. This was her part, and she wasn¡¯t going to fumble it.

    ¡°I said yes. We¡¯re getting married. With your approval. Which I hope we have.¡±

    And that was when it hit. The two of them had very distinct reactions to that revelation. Fuyuki mom immediately ran through an entire production staff¡¯s tableau of expressions, ranging from subtle shock to quizzical twists of her eyebrows and mouth, and several that Misaki just didn¡¯t have names for. None of them appeared angry, disappointed, or upset, which she took as a positive sign. Kei mama resolved into one expression of dumbstruck concern and scrutiny with a subtle range of precise hues and flavors. She seemed to be waiting for some addition that would decode the mystery for her or reveal the entire matter to be a playful practical joke.

    Yuka nervously sank into careful words to drive home the fact that she was serious. Misaki again echoed that, which seemed to do the trick. Whatever spell of uncertainty they were under was cast aside. Fuyuki mom squeezed her palms together almost prayerfully and gave a delighted clap, while Kei mama squeezed her chest just below her neck as though carefully cupping an upwelling of love.

    They rushed toward and comforted both girls with flowing questions and urgent optimism. Yuka took charge of the response, and Misaki took the opportunity to breathe and present herself as pleasantly as possible. These women were going to be her mother-in-laws.

    Family. She was going to have actual family again, not just bitter extended relatives complaining about how much Jesus she got in her diet. She wasn¡¯t the only one who needed a pair like them. They oughta adopt Chika as well and then get Namiko as a bonus. It wouldn¡¯t be an undue burden because her friends were diligent in taking care of everything. Could it please be that way?

    She felt a peculiar sensation when reflecting on her dead and distant family back home. The presence of her mothers remained from earlier. They weren¡¯t bad. But the strange change in reality and physicality just made minor improvements to memories of their mood. They were definitely nicer and more affectionate in so many ways, but they also had the same tempers and controlling dispositions. Not as improved as she thought at first fantasy. And they were still gone from her life at the same times. The solid sensation of a female self separate from Misaki returned, but not in the form that the wristband tried to twist her mind with.

    Carrie Francesca Fowler. Just because the wristband pushed that name on her didn¡¯t mean it was false. What if it was lurking beneath the surface? She needed to get to Ayame, talk to her about all these strange spiritual questions, and arrive at a greater personal truth¡­ If that was possible. A woozy and weird feeling clung to her as she reflected on her parents and all the strange things she still had to reconcile. She was suddenly uncertain what a man¡¯s genitalia were supposed to be like.

    This dizzying quandary deeply concerned her. Could something else be interacting with her consciousness and causing these blurrings of understanding? How could she forget what man parts were supposed to look and feel like? Phallic. That was one of the words associated with it. A stalk like a bulging, wrinkly asparagus and a skin sac like sagging walnuts. The notions felt so abstract though. Like alien anatomy free-floating in her thoughts. Like she¡¯d never actually been a man at all.

 [64] Yuri Worlds 64 â€“ Masquerade

    Yuri Worlds

    [64] Masquerade

    Of course, she was a man back home. She had to be. Her entire identity was constructed around and affected by the stuff that men were supposed to do. Be separate and alone. Face conflict with solemn indifference. Use his strength to protect. But also, be comfortable crying, like the example Dwight set forth. It was confusing.

    Misaki kept on a warm public face while she struggled through internal uncertainty about the concept of an erection. The notion kept migrating to the subdued presence she now knew intimately. And other sensations could only be parsed in a separate language. It was like missing letters from an entire alphabet to even imagine articulating male sensations. A flat chest was reserved for youth. The lacing, looping, and bracing presence of her bra seemed more like a fusion with her skin. The language of being in this place was still foreign, with softly shifted shades of colorful brilliance, but it was like playing a melody with different pitches rather than entirely different instruments.

    She endeavored to keep this strange development to herself. Yuka had poured all her heart and hopes into recovering the girl she loved the last time Carrie popped out to do scary things. Her poor fianc¨¦e deserved peace, or at least as much as was allowed while dealing with her curious but excited moms.

    Neither of the moms was opposed to providing their approval; they just wanted assurances that they wouldn¡¯t discover tomorrow that something else had come up and the previous reversal would be again reversed. That wasn¡¯t something that either of them could possibly provide, but they did show them the documentation of the strange, mind-controlling "dark entities" and "radiant beings" that nipped at Misaki¡®s wrist and manipulated what she thought.

    The strange mental block that seemed to affect how others saw and thought of the wristbands didn¡¯t appear to extend outside their presence, with photos working great. Both moms were certain that they would¡¯ve recognized something as distinctive as a black wristband, while also being sure that they¡¯d seen them before. Misaki and Yuka expected open-mouth horror at the most vivid photographs of what was inside, writhing and reaching like some alien movie parasite. But those weren¡¯t their first reactions.

    Absolutely, the two of them were unsettled and aghast, but Misaki also detected a piercing curiosity and probing focus from the two moms. Fuyuki was the first to attempt to put that feeling into words, as she noted, "I¡¯ve seen something like this before. I mean, in my engineering studies, we did some work with ferrofluids. And I had a biology class that nearly made me retch because of pin mold growths. Little fuzz balls. I¡¯m not sure if that¡¯s it though."

    After hearing a description of what Fuyuki meant and seeing some images on the anime version of the Internet, Misaki joined two pieces of the puzzle in her mind and had to come to the obvious conclusion that whatever crawling creature hitched a ride on her between realities had to be of the same sort as what was placed within the wristband. By naming conventions, her mind automatically went to Dark Entity.

    Misaki expected Kei¡¯s reflections on the images to be less scientifically grounded and more nebulous with her intuitive disposition. However, her first reaction actually touched upon images from an old telescope detailing theoretical and inferred structures of dark matter and dark energy laced and looping around the farthest regions of space as the invisible, intangible firmament on which the gentle stellar structures hung. She spoke about the sense of negative space between the root-like branches of the observable universe. Light and dark linked together in flowing necessity. Macrocosmic branching neurons with lurking, supportive glial cells.

    Fuyuki kissed her wife¡¯s forehead in loving tribute to her precious mind. Kei admitted that she¡¯d been reading books on neurology and astrophysics lately because she knew that an upcoming part of Fuyuki¡¯s next manuscript contained painstaking efforts to compress and express broad, complicated concepts like that to children, and she wanted to be able to offer some modest, meager expertise in editing. That immediately earned a second round of delighted, heartfelt kisses.

    Kei appreciated them warmly but cleared her throat and focused on her daughter as she struggled to articulate more than her initial analogy. "I don¡¯t feel maliciousness. But it¡¯s just a photo. And I know you both have been through some terrible things that I struggle to understand and desperately wish you didn¡¯t have to endure. But I don¡¯t see a monster here. It¡¯s more like a wild animal or an abused dog locked inside a cage and trained to respond a certain way in the presence of blood. That¡¯s just how I feel looking at this single frame. You surely feel differently, and I¡¯m sure I would as well if I saw it in person. It¡¯s such a strange notion, but I feel bad for it. Although, I can confidently say one thing for sure: You two should go kick this company¡¯s ass for all the things they¡¯ve done. You have our support in your marriage and all your endeavors."

    Fuyuki flailed and whimpered that her wife had just jumped in like that. Kei cocked a colorful eyebrow and questioned whether her wife had a difference of opinion on the topic. Groaning quietly, Fuyuki had to admit that her thoughts were in exactly the same place, but she pouted over the fact that Kei got to say it first and in such a cool way. Kei snuggled her wife in apology and kissed her on the forehead. Misaki¡®s fondest wish was that all this love before them was a mirror into their future.

    What kind of daughter or daughters might they have, and which of them would be the mother first? That sure felt like a sentiment that Ayame hinted at last time. Misaki shared a quiet hollow in Yuki¡®s soul and would¡¯ve been content there for an eternity. Giving up a piece of her spirit for a beautiful daughter who shared the best parts of each of them would be a cinch. But that was definitely thinking too far and too fast for the first week of their relationship.

    As Yuka anticipated, Kei quietly whispered notions of elopement while Fuyuki expressed all the proper and mannered nuptials that needed to be planned, all the extended relatives contacted, and how Shumai philosophy could be integrated into the ceremony without stepping on anyone¡¯s toes who disagreed with it. Yuka knew how to comfortably deal with her mothers, so Misaki figured now was as good a time as any to take a moment and have a follow-up spiritual examination with the nurse mom. Once again, the strength of having Yuka with her would probably prompt different results, but having friends to support you also meant sometimes there were things that you had to do by yourself.

    As soon as she explained her intentions, Yuka was eager and ready to confront whatever strange secrets Ayame might have concealed. Misaki tried to downplay the seriousness. A minor checkup after her health scare with the most experienced medical expert nearby. Maybe this was a bad idea, and double-teaming the redhead was even more of a necessity than combining their forces against Grandma. She really had no idea, but opted to take her phone with her and reassure Yuka that if anything came up, she would immediately send off a message. Yuka checked her phone and squeezed it just as lovingly as if it were a second Misaki, then gave a brisk embrace to the real deal.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Soon, Misaki was all by herself again. She felt around her entire body. Really, the prospect of going to a medical and spiritual professional felt thoroughly ridiculous. Not because of the spiritual part as much as because she was practically free of any sort of complaints. The achy spots around her chest were thoroughly smoothed away. The little points of discomfort were absolutely absent. She hadn¡¯t even needed to poop lately, and the last one had been with an economy of time and effort. Some spectral remnant of past headaches did resurrect when she tensed up, but it was so minor that even the most concerned hypochondriac would¡¯ve rolled their eyes if she led with that.

    The spot in her mouth had already further receded from a questionable divot to just the faintest implication of a secret hickey. A couple of small nails on her toes could use a trim. She tested one without bothering to track down clippers or a file and immediately resolved the issue on her own. Short of poking her eye until her hair got in there, she physically had nothing. But, as Maharu showed her, not all ailments need to be physical. She wasn¡¯t depressed though, nor did her mood feel affected by much more than the expected amount of anxiety, uncertainty, and concern for so many things she didn¡¯t understand and didn¡¯t know how to grapple with. She would think of something, even though Ayame clearly had a pretty decent bullshit detector.

    She was another one of their group who wound up with her own room for relaxation and enjoyment, mentioning it when they first checked in. Accounting for the last of their fellow vacationers, Misaki also knew that Maharu and Haruka were paired up together. They had a strange connection, but Misaki had no idea how to begin probing it with their equally inscrutable presences for far different reasons.

    A sudden, invisible needle seemed to jab her outer left thigh as she thought about Haruka more and tried to delve into strange places that felt like voids. She suppressed an internal, irritated series of curses as she adjusted her clothes to shake loose some new tagalong trying to take a bite out of her or a jagged seam. It didn¡¯t seem to help, and she had no clue what it might be aside from a microscopic burr caught on her clothes from the mountain forest trek, a random splinter from the tatami, or some spirit being a dick. Either Ayame could fix it, or a hard skin sucking from a good vacuum would. Probably for the best, it was on the outer thigh rather than the inner. But it was once again the left and the left end of the left. Perhaps it was mere coincidence, but she was beginning to think that made less and less sense.

    Ayame¡®s room was not far from Grandma Okura¡¯s. Misaki politely and patiently knocked a few times. It took several lingering seconds for Ayame to answer with frantic muttering, scuffing stumbles, and awkward, uneven steps toward the door.

    She arrived wide-eyed and carefully shaking her head before she brought a smile to her lips and warmly greeted Misaki. The interior of the room was shockingly messy for less than a day¡¯s inhabitation. Misaki wondered how that was even possible with the entourage of ninja maids always following them around and keeping everything in order. Although they hadn¡¯t yet disturbed the confinement structure they made for the wristbands in her and Yuka¡¯s suite. That wasn¡¯t much.

    This was a veritable disaster, and she had the silly suspicion that those ninja maids were cursing Ayame¡¯s name and planning an assassination strike. Fortunately, there was still enough space for sitting on what bare tatami remained. Unfortunately, sitting immediately irritated her little spot like a knife jab. It didn¡¯t take long to explain the problem.

    Ayame hopped up from where she¡¯d started to settle down and carefully examined Misaki. Pulling aside her shorts, Misaki felt her heart race and her worries flare that when her flesh was revealed, they would both see the kind of sunken, scary, dark mark that Yuka carried. There was nothing. No discoloration. Not even any obvious red or pink to denote scratches or anything else bad. It just randomly hurt from an otherwise normal patch of skin. Great.

    Misaki looked over at the nurse expectantly as her initial expression of concern dwindled to quiet relief and a faint smile. She wiggled her eyebrows and explained, "Slight abrasion and skin irritation. Not quite enough to show, but you have delicate skin. There are a few options. I gave Yuka something similar for her issue, but I don¡¯t know if she still has that ointment. I have some sample packs, but barely enough for one treatment. It¡¯s just over-the-counter quality and not what I¡¯d be able to get you at the clinic, but even this should provide a comfortable analgesic effect. What do you think? I can also bandage, but that may be more trouble than it¡¯s worth."

    It took Misaki several seconds to register that it wasn¡¯t a serious issue. She asked Ayame a few further questions, and she pointed to the possibility of sitting on a rough floor mat or brushing up against the wrong thing during her earlier walk that she overheard about during breakfast. Misaki released a deep breath and expressed relief, since she was all ready to declare it another awful thing she would have to overcome. Ayame gently brushed her hair back and chuckled.

    ¡°Silly. Don¡¯t be like my girls. They get so scared over the littlest bumps and bruises like they¡¯re broken bones. Yesterday was a big deal, and I¡¯m glad nothing happened to you. If you have time enough to be freaked out, then it¡¯s not as bad as it could be. Just a nude three in the free tree arcing over a blue moon. That¡¯s all there is to it.¡±

    Misaki found her attention wandering slightly as the woman segued into platitudes, but it was caught by the random thing she said right toward the end. "Miss Takamune, what was that? Blue moon? I don¡¯t understand what you mean."

    The nurse was glancing towards her bags for something, but she turned around with her eyebrows arched and asked, "What was what? Are you asking me about moons again?"

    Tension flowed through Misaki as she realized the woman appeared to have another gap in her memory. Or Misaki had bigger issues of her own than she thought. But she repeated as much of what Miss Takamune initially said as she could remember leading into the strangeness and then reiterated that odd sentence verbatim. She expected a similar response to what happened last time, when the nurse basically started to psychoanalyze her. But that wasn¡¯t the response she got.

    Instead, Miss Takamune dipped her eyes down as though she were half asleep and spoke in a half-voice close to mumbling, "Open channel. Glimpsed masquerade. Spot watching. Break." When that last word was spoken, Ayame stretched into a wide yawn and brushed her bright red hair back. She cleared her throat a few times and noticed Misaki staring at her with anxious concern.

    Earnestly, Ayame puffed a breath and responded, ¡°I¡¯m so sorry about that. This weekend has been a rare opportunity to just take it easy from all the stress at work, and my little darlings and I must¡¯ve just nodded off there or something. What was that you were trying to tell me?¡±

 [65] Yuri Worlds 65 â€“ Break

    Yuri Worlds

    [65] Break

    As with an unfortunate multitude of things mounting up against her, Misaki really had no idea what to say. She fought this sort of situation exactly the same way the other day, and it came to nothing. What could she possibly offer Ayame as proof? Only a recording seemed like a good idea to her, if she¡¯d actually made one, and the faint hope that whatever spyware was rooted in her phone would actually allow her to record and present it to someone else.

    Even if all that somehow worked out, she had no idea if Ayame would even trust her. This would have been the prime opportunity to bring a second set of eyes and ears to back her up. Although maybe the cruel and manipulative forces surrounding them actually took advantage of this particular happenstance to give her a madness-inducing moment that really meant nothing but to add to her load of crap to figure out. Irritating assholes playing games with their lives.

    The urge to scream nearly overwhelmed her, but a better idea soon settled in its place. ¡°Miss Takamune. Are there dangers on the spiritual zone from both human and nonhuman entities who might attempt to take someone over or use them as a conduit for whatever their purposes are?¡±

    Misaki anticipated that the answer would be yes. This was an uncertain space for her, but like with the hints she got from bored random Spotify listening and online entertainment for more physical aspects of the supernatural, she caught something along these lines and endeavored to fashion it into what made sense. It genuinely seemed like someone or something else was talking through Ayame, like she had become a human radio receiver. It was utterly ridiculous to her rational aspect, but rationality hadn¡¯t won in a fight for quite a while, so she was just doing her best with what she had.

    Ayame¡¯s initial response was a tight frown, which soon softened with quiet reflection. She cleared her throat and gradually folded her arms before taking a moment to really reflect on what Misaki asked. "Spiritual zone, while a name I kind of like now that I¡¯ve heard it, wouldn¡¯t really be the correct term. There¡¯s the Veil and the different realms and boundaries to keep in mind, but I¡¯ll try not to overload you with minutia. There are absolutely dangers to protect yourself from spiritually. Mantras, meditation, and energy levels are all critical when attempting something that either opens you up or leads you away from the physical. I can usually sense when something is trying to intrude. Typically, it comes from a shrine or somewhere in the woods or even in an old house, which carries a certain weight with presences that might see me as a delightful little energy snack¡­ on a spiritual level. A conduit for possession is a slightly different matter. There are certain nature entities and malevolent apparitions that can overwhelm someone without them knowing, but that typically comes during a time of unconsciousness or depletion. It takes a lot of effort and energy to overcome human will. The animal hybrid girls, which you¡¯ve probably heard about and people often discriminate against, are said, in folklore, to require the consensus of a human soul and an animal spirit to exist. So, that¡¯s why society often sees them as perversions. So, you don¡¯t have to worry."

    Misaki considered pointing out that with the wristbands, possession came over her with her spirit separate, and something was occurring to take over Ayame too and say things she didn¡¯t intend to or remember. She had no proof of the latter, and she didn¡¯t grab Yuka¡¯s phone for the former. It was frustrating, and she had the determination to just say what was on her mind, but it didn¡¯t seem like a smart strategic choice to counter Ayame¡¯s beliefs when she didn''t hold any support of her own.

    It took Ayame a few more minutes to dig around and come up with the sample pack for Misaki¡®s irritation. They looked smaller than ketchup packets. When that was resolved, Ayame then asked what brought on this particular question. The ointment was just as greasy and weird as everything she despised using back home, but the faint burning and cooling sensation left her feeling better than without. In reply, Misaki leaned on lore and podcasts back home before pivoting to her current concerns about her spiritual qualities and whether something had changed.

    At this point, Ayame narrowed her eyes, like she was preparing to launch into an admonishment similar to what she dealt Yuka last night as a little firecracker of energy to rip off Misaki¡®s wristband. But that moment of preparation soon waned as she gave Misaki another, more careful look of examination. Her eyes traced specific spots high on her head before diving in a careful roll and dip to check again, like an extended series of slow double takes. Easing back into a sitting position, Ayame puffed a long breath and conceded, ¡°Alright, I can take a look at you. Hopefully nothing¡¯s gotten attached, if that¡¯s your concern.¡±

    Misaki thought about saying more or leading Ayame in a certain direction, but she wasn¡¯t sure enough of what the heck was going on to try. Ayame made a comfortable space on the floor for Misaki to spread out. The relaxation procedure was exactly the same as in the clinic, but with Ayame crouched on her knees with the assistance of a pillow. It didn¡¯t take Misaki long to realize that she was alone with a young woman who had already shown signs of not being herself. She wasn¡¯t made of muscle, but she was positioned above her, asking her to relax. A far more challenging prospect than moments ago, before her brain gave her this realization.

    Looking around and finding nothing that could conceivably double as a weapon oddly soothed her concerns, but she still desperately wished that Yuka was still with her. Focusing on Yuka¡¯s presence was a salve that not only clung to her side but infused her entire body with focused breathing and quiet relief.

    ¡°Interesting¡­¡± was the first real thing that Ayame said once they were settled and she began her hand hover. Misaki left her eyes closed but intentionally raised an eyebrow on her face to communicate. Ayame didn¡¯t respond immediately to that but rather did even more hovering. Misaki eventually chimed in to ask, ¡°Interesting bad or interesting good?¡±

    Ayame said in response, "Don¡¯t know yet. Still just simply¡­ interesting. I can say that you are absolutely still the same person you were a few days ago. Not a huge declaration, but there¡¯s a load off. However, I¡¯m getting this weird stuff, like interference in a signal, and I¡¯m not sure what to do with it. I have a few ideas though. Brace yourself. Might get a little weird."

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Indeed, it did. Moments later, Misaki felt like some monolithic monster from beyond had wrapped its spiraling, serpentine arms around her entire body.

    ¡°STOP STOP STOP RIGHT NOW STOP!¡± She screamed, but her voice only echoed somewhere far away from her skin, as though she¡¯d fallen down a deep, dark well within her own body. What Ayame said boomed like a divine voice from the heavens.

    ¡°THERE¡¯S SOMETHING! JUST HOLD YOUR BREATH!¡±

    Screw that, Misaki resolved. She panted wildly and hacked out her breath, fighting to make as much noise as possible and tell Ayame that something was wrong. But it still didn¡¯t seem to be enough, as whatever attacked her felt like it was prying her from her skin one excruciating millimeter at a time. Bang, fight, kick!

    She struggled to do anything to communicate her terror to the outside world. This dark thing, this wretched black entity that seemed to have implanted itself with the wristband, felt like it was going to do worse than strip her spirit from her body. She feared it was about to eat her, leaving her dead or an empty corpse without an explanation for Yuka. Poor Yuka. Love¡­ Love¡­ Desperate clinging love. She refused to give up and leave Yuka in sadness and darkness. Cast it off and throw it out! This was her body, and no one was going to get it! A body to stand together with Yuka, a soul to share with the girl who meant everything to her!

    Everything exploded with golden light blended with an icy, radiant blue. It wrapped around her and infused her with newfound strength. She wasn¡¯t giving up against the forces of darkness, forces supposedly from beyond that she was no match for. Well, they were no match for what lived in her heart. She stretched out and gave them a pressure blast of everything she had.

    Moments later, she was back in her body, kicking, gasping, rolling, and flailing as Ayame staggered back in shock and concern, plaintively calling out to her. She had to take an exhausting, excruciating breath in, as though it were her first time breathing air, and wheeze out the last of it until a strangled cough hissed out the last of the breath and she could return to normal, albeit strained breathing. When she could find words again, she loudly demanded, without reaching the scale of a yell, "What did you do? What did you do¡­"

    Ayame seemed like an entirely different person in front of her. She¡¯d lost the calm, sneaky, mischievous flavor to her body language, looking more like a scared little girl just a fraction of her actual age as she fumbled and whimpered for words and the deepest bow of apology and confusion.

    "Oh blessed, sweet goddess. You¡¯re okay. Goddess goddess¡­ I have no idea. I wasn¡¯t doing¡­It was normal. I was just¡­ I was just looking. Lightly touching. And the world exploded before my eyes. Cleaning interference. Brightening your spirit, and then this dark thing. I have no idea. I¡¯m sorry. I am so desperately desperately sorry! Please forgive me¡­" The redhead crumpled along the tatami floor with her body bowed and her limbs trembling. Misaki was able to carefully compose herself with a few more breaths and wrap her arms around the nurse. Ayame hugged her tight and cried hard.

    The commotion brought several concerned maids to knock on the door, along with nosy neighbors. Enough information spread down the hall that it wasn¡¯t long before Yuka blasted through the crowd at full speed and launched herself into the room. It reminded her more of what Maharu might do than Yuka probably wanted to admit. Fortunately, the tatami floor meant the tackle of love didn¡¯t hurt as much as it could¡¯ve. Not long after that, it seemed like everyone was crying, especially Misaki, with relief to be able to hold Yuka in her arms.

    When it became clear that Misaki wasn¡¯t going to die or nearly die again on consecutive days, the vast majority of the crowd dispersed. Ayame gushed with apologies for the workers, for Yuka, and especially for Misaki. Yuka had no idea what could¡¯ve happened to bring her friend and her loved one to such a state. Her face tensed up with the beginning embers of anger drifting in Ayame¡¯s direction, but the woman was so disconsolate that she couldn¡¯t keep up any ill will towards her and drew both of them into the most awkward three-way embrace.

    The best explanation that Misaki managed to cobble together focused on their discussion and concerns about attachments from the spirit realm. Ayame was performing a minor, surface cleansing of her energy when absolute chaos broke out with a war of light and darkness for Misaki.

    Yuka volunteered speculation about whether the creature or whatever possessed Misaki yesterday may have left something behind that activated like a spirit landmine. Ayame furrowed her brow in concentration while coughing, wiping her eyes, and sniffling. She was in no condition to determine whether that was at all possible or accurate, but quickly declared, "I suppose. Yes, maybe not a literal one, but I may have heard something like that in my studies. I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s¡­it¡¯s ¡­it¡¯s all very confusing. But Misaki has a strong spirit, strong and beautiful just like her loving partner. Oh, goddess. I suppose I still have so much to learn, and again, I am so so desperately sorry for any risk I invited. I recommend you both take it easy, and I¡¯ll do my best to¡­ do the same. Goddess¡­"

    Misaki didn¡¯t blame Ayame. She fervently reiterated that everything that happened was by her consent and hope to uncover and test how she was feeling after what happened yesterday. Yuka soon echoed the same thought that drummed through Misaki¡®s head: that she should¡¯ve asked her to come along just to be safe. She acknowledged internally that the entire situation likely would¡¯ve been prevented with Yuka around. Ayame managed to recover some of her usual decorum, but without the silly jokes. Misaki noticed that her eyes lingered on her more than usual. She offered a polite smile. Ayame still seemed tense and uncertain, but she returned a weaker version of that smile before she started stretching. The spot on Misaki¡¯s left thigh didn¡¯t hurt at all anymore, even though the ointment still felt gross.

    They had no further preamble before parting ways; Yuka and Misaki clung close, and Ayame plopped down practically flat on her floor with her hands covering her face.

 [66] Yuri Worlds 66 â€“ Eyes

    Yuri Worlds

    [66] Eyes

    ¡°What on Earth happened in there? I thought you were just getting a checkup and cleansing. The spiritual equivalent of a light massage. Rather, it looked like the two of you just survived a bomb going off,¡± Yuka asked when they were away from the curious crowd.

    Misaki didn¡¯t refute that assessment, though she felt it applied more to Ayame than herself. Granted, she had no idea how much of a wreck she looked like. Despite all that, she somehow felt better than before she went to see Ayame.

    Not that she would recommend the method to anyone else. Before they left, Fuyuki arrived and sat with Ayame to make sure she would be all right. The poor young woman seemed simultaneously rattled, practically every sudden noise or sight triggering her flight or fight, wired, and drained with wobbles and long blinks. Misaki focused good thoughts for her.

    She had plenty of good thoughts to spare. The fallout of all that left her approaching floaty euphoria. It was a bewildering sensation to understand. Why did the soul-consuming prospect of death have the side effect of bliss? Not that she was actually under any threat of death this time. At least she told herself. But getting hit by a massive internal, wriggling monster attempting to rip her up, tear her out, and do untold things to her existence sure felt like a mortal threat. What was Ayame seeing, and what had she attempted to do? Misaki put some form of the question to her, but not even the poor nurse really understood.

    Making sense of all of it seemed impossible. At least, it seemed she somehow emerged victorious on the spiritual battlefield. That radiant gold and icy blue light felt stronger than a photography setup on school picture day. It was unmistakable and unearthly.

    Despite the consuming brightness, the radiant presence didn¡¯t feel hot or painful, even though it had the rejuvenating presence of the noonday sun spread over her face. The full force of what she experienced was slowly slipping into memory. She didn¡¯t want to forget. It felt as profound and vital as her dance with the precipice of non-existence yesterday.

    Was this light something natural from within her? Could this be the closest thing to a vague but blazing look like what Ayame saw when she searched her spirit? No wonder the woman expressed such beautiful allusions to what she found. Or had that been what she had seen before? What if this was new?

    That might go a long way toward explaining how rattled and scared she seemed when they left. Kosame found her intimidating, and Yuka was often so nervously shy. Like they had a run-in with a¡­ Goddess. Now that was crazy.

    The best conclusion she could offer up to Yuka retraced Yuka¡¯s dark spirit landmine guess and mulled over the prospect of crossed spiritual wires and some side effect of being liberated from the wristband. She assured her that she went in with no intention of causing trouble or putting herself at risk.

    She was sincere and open with Yuka as much as possible. Unfortunately, she had no idea what to do with the little statements that Ayame never realized she made while seemingly possessed. Nude tree free three jump over the blue moon or something like that, followed by some clear allusions to communications, a masquerade, watching, and a channel. She didn¡¯t have a wristband though. It would¡¯ve been obvious if she were wearing one of them or not. She had problems with this resolution, as it spontaneously triggered a sensation in her skull like a tiny imaginary electric drill plowing right into flesh and skull. Quite peculiar.

    Yuka sighed and stressed over the fact there weren¡¯t any clear answers to be gleaned, but soon shrugged that off and wrapped her arms around the whole of Misaki, as though a lost part of herself finally returned after so long, even though it was just a separation of a few minutes. Misaki enjoyed her touch as an instant remedy for all confusion.

    She felt an effusive infusion of bubbly energy. It wasn¡¯t a Carrie takeover, even though the possibility lingered in her thoughts. If things like what happened to Ayame could seemingly occur without the presence of a wristband, then what else was possible with these dark things sneaking all over the place?

    It was exhausting to make sense of. They had more information, possibilities, and support than ever thanks to asking persistent questions and standing together in the pursuit of answers, but it still felt like just taking the initial basecamp steps up a massive, endless peak. She had so much gleeful energy burgeoning throughout her body and soul, but even that felt like faint, warm rain clashing against cold stone. Taking a nap sounded like a great idea, even though she wasn¡¯t quite tired yet. What next? What was the next step against these cruel forces?

    She hadn¡¯t checked in with Bianka since they asked her to set up their show. The wary girl made reference to several wild possibilities with an apparent grain of truth to them. The company seeking all sorts of power. Dark forces and sinister spirits. She deserved to know that at least a few of her speculations rang true with physical evidence to back them up. Maybe they could pick her brain for further nuggets that might help make sense of all this chaos.

    Later. Probably over or around dinner. Lunch by the Sasaki moms loomed, and she didn¡¯t want to miss out on a single opportunity to enjoy their love-infused cooking. The inn only supplied formal breakfasts and dinners. A variety of snacks were always available, and anything on their main menu could be ordered a la carte for extra. Misaki reminded herself that she did far too much of that sort of thing in college, and it never seemed worth it.

    Franklin had one of the higher meal plans, which included options where you could just pick whatever you wanted. At first, he relied on it because he wound up eating at odd hours outside of the normal cafeteria buffet. Then he came to enjoy the privacy of slipping into the college caf¨¦ near midnight with the oceanside fog lingering past the windows. He was always alone, and he suspected that was fine. Just a natural state of his being. Wrong.

    No one should be alone. And that wasn¡¯t a romantic sense talking. Chika and Namiko rescued him years ago from slowly smoldering in the dark, and Yuka was the brightest light of all, more beautiful than anything that stunned Ayame. She just wanted to get back to their suite and, privately, adamantly lavish her girl with all the love she could bear and then some. Let her know that everything was all right, even though that was an idea and a promise she just didn¡¯t have evidence for. But she would make it real, with everything she had.

    On their way back, Misaki felt randomly itchy. It wasn¡¯t painful like the pinprick sensation she just overcame. Rather, it was vaguely annoying. She¡¯d gotten used to her Misaki body days ago, not that a week was enough to match a lifetime. Did these weird skin irritations actually mean anything? Did it mean her mask was starting to sweat and rub? Or did it represent the opposite? Perhaps she was becoming so familiar and comfortable in this body that the honeymoon period was at an end and all the irks and quirks were slipping into a natural, human state of being rather than a girly ideal? That or she needed to change what soap she was using due to her darn sensitive skin.

    Surveying the first floor, Misaki noticed several familiar faces lingering, crossing, and glancing. A friendly field, except for one. At the end of the hall, barely in the space, she glimpsed Haruka lingering like a specter, not wanting to be noticed. She briefly considered fanning a hand in hello, but every inch of her spirit revolted against the prospect, as though she wanted to playfully cry "Kitty!" at a tiger. Why would she be so worried about Haruka? The girl came across as inscrutable but not dangerous. Such a weird reaction.

    There was something. And it took her several moments to notice that every single time she looked away from Haruka and then looked back, it was like gazing at a machine tirelessly dedicated to and never interrupted from watching her. It seemed like such a silly notion. She was looking, but not relentlessly, right?

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Misaki watched and witnessed as the elder Sasaki sister seemed more like an automated statue with an unblinking, piercing blue gaze following her across the room more methodically than those old art projects with recessed eyes. Her snap feeling was to break away from Yuka, storm over there, and demand what the hell she was doing. Yuka would soon catch up and double her strength. She wanted to do that, but she didn¡¯t or couldn¡¯t make a move. Instead of feeling like she was facing down a tiger, the moment reminded her more of tamers holding a look that kept a wild animal at bay.

    Yuka said nothing about it or didn¡¯t notice. She opened the door to their suite and beckoned her ladylove in. It was a relief to be back here, even though the dressers and cabinets were a flimsy prison for a set of gray goo monsters. They both checked what they had stashed away and made absolutely sure that no one had moved them or that they had moved on their own. Fortunately, everything was as they had left it. That resolved, they slowly plopped down on the tatami and pulled each other close.

    Within seconds, each asked the other how they were feeling. That brought a sudden rush of automatic giggles. Yuka was the first to admit that she actually felt a little itchy with the easy explanation of launching and tumbling to grab Misaki, along with the absence of a much-requested shower and soak. That sure seemed like the perfect distraction for this moment, so they decided to get their bath items.

    The bath was busier than earlier with Kosame, but still more private than last night¡¯s frenzy. Showering together made Misaki smile, with Yuka beaming just as much. This time didn¡¯t have the same striking, startling newness as the last. No bold, playful surprise to share. They were getting used to one another¡¯s shape and presence. Misaki hoped that didn¡¯t mean her feelings were waning for her partner. She wanted to cover and overwhelm Yuka with the full force of her loving sentiment. But she knew how she felt. At what point did a reminder become excessive? After what felt like a lifetime of basic level social understanding, all the complexity and nuance before her felt like an exam she never even imagined studying for and for which success felt like a total shot in the dark.

    Sure, she provided advice to others to just be sincere and express how they felt, but it seemed like every moment required a precise tuning of that approach. Not in the clinical, scripted fashion of calls Franklin answered or turning up or turning down jokes, curiosity, and concern to the appropriate level for her friends. To go with confidence wasn¡¯t just controlling the pulse and progress of a conversation.

    In her limited experience, she could consider it more like a dance where support and coordination were critical. Maybe she was getting too preoccupied with the minutia of communicating with the girl she loved, but they had points of conflict and differences of opinion despite how much others compared them. She needed to know how to clearly communicate to Yuka just how much she loved her without mindless rote repetition. They started soaking after the showering was done.

    She considered possibilities of getting close, holding her hand in the best way, soothing the spots that itched and hurt on her, and making her feel at ease after all the craziness pursuing them. One snippet of advice she recalled and often heard was to let your partner talk and also make it clear you were listening with thoughtful responses. It sounded so mechanical when put like that. But she gave it a shot.

    Yuka brought up the comfort of the water and how good it felt, while also wondering if her hair might be better a little shorter. She liked Misaki¡®s cut, although she was looking for something closer to a fluffy pixie cut that framed her head with thick but not heavy coverage. That had to help with the dry skin along her neck, although she was so nervous to expose the blemish before it healed. A lighter cut would be good for summer, no matter what conditions she found herself in. Yuka avoided the uncertainty and seriousness of the last few hours, and Misaki did likewise.

    Shifting from discussions of comfortable hairstyles, Yuka broached the topic of her forever name and considerations of what it should be. Misaki started by reflecting on possibilities she liked, but Yuka soon responded, "It¡¯s a name I need to live with for the rest of my life. Girls are technically permitted to change their names however they like, but the only time of life where it¡¯s otherwise appropriate is with marriage or a death. Otherwise, the community considers you fickle, inconsistent, and untrustworthy. So, while throwing out possibilities is fun, I need to take it seriously. Not that I¡¯m going to dismiss your ideas. I just want you to know my perspective on it."

    Misaki countered that this wasn¡¯t a matter she took lightly either. She promised to genuinely offer up well-considered thoughts and ideas. Yuka gave a sigh of resignation and pressed back with her thoughts. It wasn¡¯t a fight, and their voices didn''t get close to rising, but each felt sweatier than the water should¡¯ve made them.

    Yuka firmly admitted that the front-runner name that she liked at the moment was one she¡¯d come across not too long ago. That didn¡¯t mean she¡¯d settled on it on a whim or that it was something she¡¯d totally resolved. She wanted to hear Misaki¡®s suggestions, but she also wanted her to understand that just because they were together didn¡¯t mean she would give undue weight to them.

    The first round that Misaki pitched was a wide variety of relatively common Japanese names with a masculine smattering that really didn¡¯t leave an impression on Yuka. She folded her arms behind her head and floated one way, then the other. A batch of personal favorites that Misaki considered before settling on her travel name met with a similar fate. The only name, foreign or otherwise, that prompted any real reaction from Yuka was Beatrice, which she simply considered cute and didn¡¯t provide any further commentary.

    It took several more rounds of half-talking and floating around each other before the tension finally abated, and Yuka admitted that she was struggling with much the same things that Misaki was. She reflected on the idea of listening, absorbing, and bouncing back but found it exhausting. She just wanted to talk to her like normal, and she was at a loss for how she could possibly communicate her love as powerfully as Misaki did by literally committing to a locked-away eternity as a spirit lost in an unimaginable void.

    They were both so silly. The release of tension and renewed, earnest communication let the soothing water finally carry away the biting aches and itches. It also left Misaki with the overwhelming need to use the bathroom, as her stomach gurgled louder than any of the running water. Yuka swiftly urged her towards the bathroom around the right-side corner of the bathhouse. Misaki grabbed a loose towel to keep from dripping too much and scampered inside to do her business.

    Making her way over to the mirror afterward, Misaki stretched with the towel wrapped around her and splashed her face a few times before drying off and opening her eyes.

 [67] Yuri Worlds 67 â€“ Presence

    Yuri Worlds

    [67] Presence

    Misaki wasn¡¯t about to let something like that go so easily without additional scrutiny. Something similar happened to Yuka when she was a silenced passenger within her body. It couldn¡¯t have simply been some strange, sudden hallucination. She¡¯d seen too much going on to let whatever this was get away with that kind of trickery again.

    She lingered in the aftermath and splashed herself several times, scarcely taking more than a few moments to blink, aggressively watching for any sign her reflection might try to step out of line again. Juking in a couple different directions did absolutely nothing to trick it and only left her with a vague hint of dizziness. Clinging to her towel, she cloaked her eyes with it without completely obscuring her vision. She could look down through the shadowy slopes of her chest and glimpse the stark, pale tile at her feet. That was enough to get her back to the bath without needing to look again at her reflection.

    Not that she was afraid of it, especially with the bold light of noonday pressing through the side windows. But she could imagine faint sounds, more than the tired creaks of this ancient place, hints of movement and menace reaching out for her. She hustled carefully with her impromptu shield.

    Everything seemed exactly as she had left it. Yuka waded over to the edge of the bath with a smile that soon twisted in concern when she saw the way that Misaki was hiding her face. Plenty of plausible explanations fluttered through Misaki¡®s mind at that moment. She could credibly say that it was for something approaching a headache, but she knew that the truth was a better exercise.

    "What you saw with your hair and eyes turning dark yesterday also happened to me, and I¡¯m not sure what it means. Likely some side effect of that thing left inside of me." She kept the description to that instead of saying ¡®land mine¡¯, which might confuse and concern the rest of the women in the vicinity. Fortunately, Yuka got what she meant. Bitter tension tightened along her jaw, even though she did her best not to show an angry face to the girl she loved.

    Misaki washed up before she returned to soak. Yuka wrapped her arms around her. She took deep breaths and made soft noises like she had so many things she wanted to say about everything that had been happening lately and, at the same time, she didn¡¯t want to sully their quiet moment with any words. Eventually, she did have to speak.

    She made sure that no darkening remained in the artful harmony of Misaki¡®s hair. She practically counted every violet-leaning strand and watchfully examined her bold, raspberry-toned eyes. In turn, Misaki lavished gentle appreciation on her partner¡¯s features. The ease and methodical relaxation of so many moments before felt very far away from their minds and bodies. Like easing into the edges of rest and comfort while nagging fears dragged them back. Despite all this stirring inside their heads, they managed to partake in some rejuvenation from the waters.

    Getting dressed in complimentary robes instead of their regular clothes, they each lingered at the entrance to the bathhouse in a strange coordination close to and yet so very distant from a dance. They held arms and gently guided flexible joints to rotate, stretch, and pop. Misaki pondered the idea of rolling herself up or flexing her legs up towards her head. Neither seemed like an impossibility with his body, but it seemed like tempting fate on a day in which she¡¯d done plenty of that.

    Lunch was already being prepared, with several suites commandeered for the sumptuous setup. It was all perfectly familiar from the hands and hearts of the Sasaki moms, yet always delightful. Tracking down Bianka, fortunately, didn¡¯t have to turn into another ordeal as she came to them for lunch. She had an extensive collection of nature photos from one of the nearby trails arranged and sorted on her phone to share. Compared to their anemic discoveries of critters, Bianka not only had at least one representative of all the major species but also several impressive color variants. They weren¡¯t perfect shots, but she treasured them all the same.

    When they finished eating, Misaki opted not to face Bianka alone, even though she had no concerns that the conspiratorial girl would suddenly burst out with strange messages or scary faces. Bianka had already gathered some details about suspicious happenings, and she was grateful the health scare from last night turned out fine. The mass of possibilities that Misaki and Yuka presented to her defied easy understanding. Strange creatures that could infect legs and other parts with blackening. The wristbands that she was only vaguely aware of showed oily blob monsters, scared of blood but eager to consume whatever was in their way. Spirit transfers. Spirit land mines. The handedness of the universe and the possibility that permanent relocation wasn¡¯t possible. Blurry double vision of Grandma Okura. Misaki made sure to catch both of them up on the broad and important details.

    There were things she didn¡¯t say aloud or share with Bianka, but this felt like enough to bring the girl into the loop and hopefully get her mental gears turning about possibilities. She didn¡¯t expect that Bianka would sincerely Hoover up every single detail and take notes, not only on her phone but on a physical paper pad. She explained that it was a backup. She did trust the protections she¡¯d fashioned for her online communion, but she also knew that anything in that sphere was still less than a hundred percent sure.

    Details of the spyware contained on their phones also came to her attention, and she casually offered to at least take a look at them to see if she could scrub off the worst. Misaki chewed on her lower lip and begrudgingly turned over her phone for Bianka to run experiments. Several data-encrypted copies of the wristband creature photographs were made and hidden remotely by Bianka.

    Once all the little things were accomplished, she plumbed her resources for anything that might provide elaboration or context to what this company intended for their worlds. Searching their websites was something she¡¯d done several times, even before this last week. The site subtopics referenced new avenues of trade, unforgettable cultural experiences, and health and life extension research. The indices were a mess of confusing jargon, clear shell companies, and inscrutable connections. Still, she caught several things worth investigating deeper.

    The Radish Protocol. Not much on it, just the vague implication that it could encourage free market resource capitalization between distinct economies. Whatever that meant. More interesting was the tab marked Blue Moon Projects. Rationally, she reminded herself that a blue moon was a commonly used phrase, so it wasn¡¯t strange for the phrase to pop up. She also knew that Ayame had made a stray reference to a radish.

    All that was depressingly little to go on, but Bianka still made sure there was a note about that on the paper pad. Good thing she did that, as her computer, moments later, had a hard reset, which put quite a damper on the blonde¡¯s mood as she had to go through a painstaking, annoying effort to get her device back to normal.

    To take some stress off, they played several more episodes through the recovery process. It wasn¡¯t quite as cozy and romantic, but Bianka soon nodded off, only to perk up again when the process alerted her to a new development.

    The episode that came up next was about a mining operation on a distant planet, and several of the ladies working in the mine were killed by a strange, nonhuman creature. Misaki was intrigued by the representation of asexual reproduction. The silicone-based life form at the center of the story wasn¡¯t killing out of malice or even hunger, but rather to protect her offspring daughters. Humanity taught it pain and the need to defend itself. Fortunately, they were able to communicate the situation to the creature, and it wanted to help. It wasn¡¯t a simple monster to be feared and hated.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    Once they learned about it and it learned about them, it was no longer their enemy. Misaki enjoyed that thought, even though she severely doubted that such wisdom might help in this situation. Sometimes things are actually as bad as they seem, she told herself. If only it could be more like such stories, and all they needed to do was communicate with the monsters and figure out that they weren¡¯t so bad after all.

    But they tried to break Yuka¡¯s heart and do even worse to her best friend. So, that was beyond redemption.

    At some point after that episode, Bianka managed to get her laptop into a recovered state without any major problems. Unfortunately, attempting to reconnect to the Wi-Fi or do much of anything on the Internet failed at every attempt, even though the device and the browser told her it was fine. Misaki could see that the girl was rattled by this event. She actually caressed her laptop as though it were a shiny, flat cat that just got back from the vet.

    Scrubbing the phones was now a distant priority. Misaki¡®s phone at least got a brief look-see at Yuka¡¯s insistence. A similar recommendation to what Chika did for her phone was the best that Bianka could offer with her current resources. She looked around suspiciously at every wall socket as though they were stalking her baby. Misaki suspected that she could¡¯ve leaned into her a little stronger but knew that Bianka had done quite a bit for them, and it wasn¡¯t fair to push her for more. Instead, they settled into a little discussion and calm relaxation, with the show again on pause.

    What to do next seemed strikingly elusive to the trio, as though this early afternoon mystery were a microcosm of wider events. Another bathhouse soak wouldn¡¯t make sense until the evening, at least. During lunch, the Sasaki moms reiterated their support and love for the fledgling couple but soon went their separate ways. So many things were still left undone or unexplored at length. And a single dangling thread continued in Yuka and Misaki¡¯s thoughts. How were Kosame and Naoko faring in their second romantic attempt? It wasn¡¯t long before Bianka slipped into a proper nap with all the nearby blankets insulating her from the overhead lights.

    Once again, Misaki opted not to go it alone. Not that any convincing was necessary to get Yuka on board and eager to check in on her friend. Instead of texting her right away, they opted to roam around and see if they could run into her by chance before attempting a more direct method. This way of doing it led them through a scenic route of the inn.

    Just roaming, it was impossible to tell it had been around for more than a millennium. The decor was clearly not the original stuff. Fragments of that true past existed in ornate wood, framing wide vistas with modern lounge seating and snippets of what once was. Square bamboo ceiling fixtures could have once contained oil lamps. Now, they glimmered with LEDs.

    Or they could¡¯ve been purchased at a department store and recently installed. Misaki acknowledged that it didn¡¯t really matter if everything at the resort was actually a thousand years old and still in working order. Rather, the important parts were impression and presence.

    Eventually, they discovered Naoko, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket with a still damp towel nearby, on one of the long loungers, looking out across the scenic countryside. She greeted them warmly and invited them to sit. A different mood surrounded her compared to the last time they talked. It was hard for Misaki to really pin down the flavor of it. She didn¡¯t seem reserved, subdued, or even melancholy, though she sat there quietly, breathed with careful breaths, and waited a ponderous amount of time between answers.

    She assured them that everything was going perfectly fine between her and Kosame. No falling out since their vigorous reconciliation. Kosame just went to get a few things and would be back shortly. That was good, but it still left mysteries around Naoko¡¯s Zen calm. She hadn¡¯t been subject to any near-death experiences? Naoko affirmed this with a flash of amusement across her features.

    Cradling her stomach under her bust, she eventually explained, "It¡¯s just too short. Every moment and all the immense possibilities. Lately, I¡¯ve set every spare minute of my life on fire at the altar of my education and prospects for a healthy career. I absolutely hate it. So much time was lost dragging my nails across metaphorical mud, a millimeter at a time. I know it¡¯s what I have to do and it¡¯s the choice I made, but there¡¯s a crazy part of me that imagines making a different choice, for the hell of it. Does that make sense?"

    Misaki could relate, from just about every day of her current job to so many years in college. Yuka had her own touchstones, but she also warned Naoko against quitting. Naoko assured them that wasn¡¯t her intent. She was just exhausted¡ªmentally, physically, and in ways she didn¡¯t have a name for. She kept up appearances for the vast majority of this trip, and she didn¡¯t blame her roommate Yasha for staying up late and rustling in the light stages of her sleep. Yuka urged her to swap if she had a problem, but Naoko again reassured them that it was fine. She actually got plenty of sleep despite any distractions, which is why she felt so comfortable this afternoon.

    The other end of her relaxed sentiment acknowledged that since time was limited and fleeting, which meant that bad things would also pass. Pain and discomfort would cede their most pronounced qualities, along with fear and uncertainty. Misaki had doubts about this assessment, but she still listened and gave Naoko her due. It was surprising that the science nerd girl arrived at such a downright spiritual sense of acceptance and a random desire to rebel.

    Just to be sure, Misaki scrutinized her entire body, especially her arms, to make sure that one of those wristbands wasn¡¯t secretly leading her in this direction. But there was nothing. Furthermore, there was not even the vague impression that something was or had been there. The same as when she looked at Yuka¡¯s moms. They were all clean. She couldn¡¯t quite say the same about everyone they¡¯d run across. Not that she suspected Grandma Okura was secretly harboring one of these things, but that old lady definitely had something up her sleeve.

    There was someone else she had concerns about, but, for some reason, whenever she tried to focus on who it was, her sense of worry dropped as precipitously as it had for Naoko. She couldn¡¯t even articulate it internally or externally beyond this frantic notion of alarm.

    So¡­ why worry about it? And it was gone.

    More important than that was the idea Naoko was inspired to share and had passed around experimentally to the group soon after breakfast to see if anyone else was interested. She was thinking about holding a test of courage with everyone paired up and walking into the woods at night. A fun way to finish up this trip, with everyone enjoying the cool mountain air and maybe making some new connections before they head back. She checked with whoever she could talk to at the front desk around the time she took her bath and had an encouraging response.

    Misaki knew the basics, so she didn¡¯t need an explanation. At the start of their journey, she would¡¯ve expected the old hotel to be the venue for something like this, but after experiencing it firsthand and testing her courage on it, she was perfectly fine with the woods instead, and she knew exactly who she hoped to be paired up with.

 [68] Yuri Worlds 68 â€“ Warmth

    Yuri Worlds

    [68] Warmth

    Being outside towards the afternoon was already Misaki¡®s preference as the millennium-old resort started to become unseasonably warm.

    Their hosts apologized for the technical troubles and insisted that their patios were far cooler than their rooms or anywhere else in the complex. Misaki spread out, her sweat slowly drying. It didn¡¯t take her long to come to terms with the realities of sweaty underboobs and discover a new pain along her right foot, almost at the last toe. The problem wasn¡¯t the nail that she fussed with previously, but rather an all-new one that she hadn¡¯t even touched. It felt pretty banged up, and her best guess was that, when she was switched off like a light, her vacated body just smashed down on that spot, and whatever else gravity decided to punish.

    Icy, water-drenched towels did their part but also brought on renewed drowsiness for each of them. It felt like a desert summer, more typical back home, invaded the mountainside. Maybe they would have to stick around the showers until things finally managed to cool off. Cold refreshments were given freely by every inn worker, along with copious apologies.

    This sudden, unexpected afternoon heat wave forced them to revisit the old ways they kept guests cool and relaxed during such unpleasantness. Furthermore, they passed around vouchers for a full compensation weekend at a time of their choosing. That was very nice of them, Misaki thought; however, it was not exactly something she could use considering the question of whether they¡¯d ever be able to return was still up in the air.

    Misaki playfully remarked that this meant she would totally have to figure out a way to either extend her stay or come again soon so this free thing wouldn¡¯t go to waste. Yuka teased her in turn, gently needling that the only reason she wanted to come back was for this deal. It wasn¡¯t long before they resorted to a barrage of tickles.

    Mercifully, a breeze eventually arrived and stirred waves of cool air over them. They snacked on chill things, and Yuka looked at the little soaking bath outside. It was smaller than a typical Jacuzzi from Misaki¡®s perspective but larger than the fire-heated oil drums Yuka knew for makeshift rural bathing. Misaki also had vague memories of things like them appearing in shows that Guy and Dwight watched for fun. Typically, they existed as a point of comedy because several characters crammed themselves into a small one, and naked violence soon resulted.

    At some point, though the cause appeared as inconclusive as what brought on the sudden heat, coolness crept back into the cozy spaces of the inn. It may have simply been that they got used to the current level as the breeze teased away the sharpest edges without stripping color or anything else.

    They snuggled together without getting so close that spirits jostled about or sticky, lingering sweat made things gross, and resumed watching the next couple of episodes. Eventually, Naoko made a reappearance and regaled them with memories of more science fiction programs than they could ever successfully watch all the trailers for. She admitted that for most of the ones she cited, she had barely even begun. Time was in such short supply when it came to these sorts of things too.

    They whiled away the day in as much cool comfort as they could muster. When it came time for supper, with a tint of amber light blending into the horizon, the talk of the group was this proposal to walk around in the dark. As Misaki may have guessed, warnings about picking up unnatural spirits and malicious presences soon vaulted to the top of many concerns.

    These sentiments were countered by the younger members of the group, who just wanted to have some fun. They were supported by the staff, who made it clear that well-tended small shrines flanked the deepest parts of the forest, especially towards the summit, and blessings and dispels were often done upon regularly traveled trails to make sure they were safe for all.

    This assuaged some worries, especially from the Sasaki moms, but Ayame still bristled with tension and uncertainty. Her eyes avoided Misaki¡®s, but with conspicuous effort. Misaki didn¡¯t respond to any of it. She remained polite and friendly, even though she felt a little hurt by Ayame¡¯s aloofness, but endeavored to not take whatever was going on with her personally. Ultimately, the group agreed to several routes for this challenge. A path even milder than the one that Yuka and Misaki took themselves as a pre-breakfast warm-up would suffice for the older women.

    Three others branched out from the inn, merged at a point on the side of the mountain, and allowed multiple choices for the route back. The ten of them in five groups were the only specifics not yet decided. It only seemed fair to draw straws for that.

    Chika and Haruka wound up together, and Misaki felt a potent desire to advise Chika on things to look for in her partner but still couldn¡¯t quite tease specifics out of the amorphous place in her mind. The combo of Bianka and Namiko promised the possibility of their personalities mixing on the trek, elevating the spirits of each. Misaki took some time to giggle with Nami over dinner and apologize for being otherwise scarce. Her friend had no concerns. She was just playfully glad to see her happy.

    Naoko together with Yuka disappointed her, but Misaki understood that those were just the odds. Yuka was grateful to be with someone she felt comfortable with, but her eyes did a puppy-like pleading in Misaki¡¯s direction.

    Maharu and Kosame were a combination Misaki hadn¡¯t really seen together before. Considering their recent gloomy dispositions, she hoped neither would rain on the other. And that meant she was left with Yasha, who had no updates about her efforts to contact the company and no opinion about this whole challenge thing or who she was paired up with. She hoped it all would be fine, but she didn¡¯t have particularly high hopes. At best, she figured they¡¯d trade perfunctory interactions and get it over with quickly. The courage would have to be hers to strive for an enjoyable time with this companion.

    She briefly probed the possibility of whether anyone wanted to trade partners, but she was the only one aside from Yuka. She worried about being too blatant with that sentiment, but it was clear that Yasha really didn¡¯t care. The reward for making it back included an extra scoop of ice cream in addition to what was served at dinner.

    Some of them hurried off as though this were a race. Misaki and Yasha left the comfortable, slowly cooling confines of the inn for the close uncertainty of the forest. The trees trapped some significant measure of the residual heat as the sun slipped over the high, jagged horizon. Assaulting moisture wrapped around her like an invisible, stifling blanket. Her toe still seemed sensitive when stuck inside her shoes.

    Without prelude or proper framing for her statement, Yasha announced to her, ¡°I¡¯ll be cutting my trip a week short. I¡¯ll leave the rest of this time to you and your friends. I suspect that works out for the best.¡±

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    Her words struck so suddenly that Misaki stumbled through comprehending them as more unfolded before her. Cutting the trip short really required no explanation, as Yasha cited the wristband chaos from earlier. She made it clear that she would be taking all of their concerns and complaints to the highest authority she could possibly acquire access to within the company. CEO, head of PR, travel coordinator, and scientific advisor. She assured Misaki that she was well enough connected, with so much money sunk into her travels, that her complaints were sure to have an effect.

    A mellow sense of shock pervaded Misaki¡®s senses as she continued to process what she was hearing. She also had no idea what to do with the inscrutable, harsh woman¡¯s pleasant expression. It didn¡¯t reach as far as a smile and felt more like witnessing the mechanical efforts of a stern teacher trying on different expressions, but it strangely comforted Misaki against the swelling, no longer sweltering, darkness of the evening.

    Misaki managed to withhold her questions until Yasha inquired first about how she was feeling about everything that had happened lately. That unprompted show of concern left her flummoxed about what details to focus on and what was inappropriate. She ultimately opted for a vague reflection on running into strange spiritual things with the nurse lady, feeling out of body when she passed out yesterday, and enjoying relief to be free of the wristbands.

    For a lingering spell, Yasha rubbed her cheek and looked like she had something critical on her mind she wanted to share. She grunted softly but held her tongue. They did discuss Ayame later, but without specifics. Yasha expressed relief that they hadn¡¯t gotten tangled up in anything else, and it was apparently her turn to consider but withhold her thoughts. No matter how much she might¡¯ve missed, Misaki knew that others had missed plenty too. She could¡¯ve shared all the details between them, but listening offered the prospect of gleaning hints of what Yasha wanted to keep to herself.

    The forest shifted sharply with shadows and the curtain of darkness. It wasn¡¯t a complete transformation, as she still recognized the close and vast spaces from this morning, along with all their unknown corridors and cheerful crannies. The lack of light gave the impression of spookiness lurking beyond what could be seen. Enough to play with her imagination and tease her confidence. Subtle sounds also had their own nervous mysteries. The breadth of her familiarity with wilderness at night was relegated to the light-sprinkled expanse of a desert void clinging to the cusp of a distant park or familiar landmarks with friendly spaces beyond. Every little noise crept with uncertain freshness. A rustle could belong to a simple hare rolling in the underbrush or a vengeful bear who wanted to eat their faces off.

    Some sounds spurred their curiosity, while others drove them to attentive silence. They didn¡¯t get too close but walked together until they arrived at the end of the trail. It was easy to tell that they weren¡¯t the first ones there, as the little ribbons placed by the staff as proof they made it all the way were depleted but not yet down to the final pair. Maharu and Kosame arrived soon after, and Maharu launched herself with full hugging force at both of them. Yasha ruffled the blue-haired girl¡¯s locks with a few fingers and reminded her that she had a new set of handmade ropes that needed to be played with before bedtime.

    Maharu answered with a wink and a nod, as though this were actually some coded reference that no one else understood and not literally just rope. Misaki couldn¡¯t prevent her mind from going certain places that her friends would¡¯ve also made quips about.

    But the moment and the participants just felt wrong as she judged and scolded her imagination. She could see and feel nothing between them that it was anything but a genuine game. She also thought Yasha looked like she wanted to pass along to Maharu that she had less than a day left to her trip. But the girl composed herself with a stiff, tightened lower lip and flashed a glance of renewed harshness in Misaki¡®s direction.

    Don¡¯t you dare tell her yet, was the clear communication. Misaki complied, even though she knew it would¡¯ve been better if Maharu knew what disappointment was looming in the future. She¡¯d lost so much unexpectedly. She deserved to know and prepare herself. But that wasn¡¯t Misaki¡®s responsibility.

    Despite the clear rules of the test of courage, most of that was thrown out as the four of them basically played together, with Kosame waxing romantically about her day as Maharu burst ahead and orbited back in bold circles. She flung herself at every questionable patch of darkness as though she were confident that exuberance and energy were all that was required to make friends with whatever monsters lurked beyond, and if that didn¡¯t work, she could probably punch them well enough to make them regret being mean.

    It wasn¡¯t anything like the tests of courage that Misaki knew from what pop cultural fragments she acquired, but she enjoyed the experience all the same. Except for one vital aspect. Yuka. If only she could¡¯ve had her for this last real trek. Even Chika or Namiko would¡¯ve made it so memorable. Her mind sparkled with untapped possibilities, along with passing silly references woven between scary movies watched with Chika that she girlishly hid from. That never happened, despite her imagination detailing so many clear specifics of what could¡¯ve occurred.

    She and Yasha didn¡¯t exchange more than a cursory glance when they returned to the inn and slipped through the excited mass of their fellow vacationers. No one saw anything that escaped normal explanation, but they all had plenty of stories to tell about cracking branches and the faintest, whispering footsteps that had to be something beyond their reckoning.

    One last snack was required, along with one last soothing soak. Then there was to be one last chat with certain girls. One last viewing of the show so strange yet familiar to Misaki. One last cozying up as the night enveloped them. One last reminder that they had to get up early to grab their train, hurry back, and then hurry to make sure everyone was ready for the looming festival. Maharu¡¯s energy dwindled to nervous chagrin at every mention. So, she attempted one last card game with her partners promising they would go easy on her. But it was still never in doubt that she would finish in last place. She gave one last sigh of resignation that this was the way things were going to be, along with a last recovery, promising she wasn¡¯t quite going to give up yet.

    One last spell of goofiness between the antsy group as tiredness danced its own way, like a spirit that existed independently from any of them, and lulled them all into her comforting grasp. One last sleep in this old, special place where so many shocking and terrible things happened, but also things great and marvelous.

    This was done, and whatever came next would soon be on its way.

 [69] Yuri Worlds 69 â€“ Goodbyes

    Yuri Worlds

    [69] Goodbyes

    Morning didn¡¯t so much arrive as blast them right in the face with a thousand realizations and urgent needs screaming with mounting importance.

    First of all, Misaki woke up to the realization that not only had the hotel air conditioner been fixed for much of the time she was asleep, but it had transformed the suite sleeping area into a polar fridge. She cuddled up with the nearest blanket, but that barely felt like enough to cut through the icy shivers. Chaos cascaded over the room as Misaki realized that Yuka was already up, doing several things on her phone, and calling out from the doorway to coordinate several moving pieces.

    Misaki struggled to sit up and contribute to Yuka¡¯s tireless, early efforts, but everything she attempted eventually sent her face-first back into her futon and snoozing. Yuka caught her, kissed her, and reassured her that it was still early, and she could get in a little bit more sleep. She wanted to bounce up with the same inexhaustible energy that fueled her and Yuka through their previous early morning and most of the day, but that reservoir just wasn¡¯t there.

    In addition to that, Misaki started coughing with a hand up to block her spittle as she sniffled and shivered even harder. She¡¯d slept well and felt fine last night. Maybe she could be a little dehydrated with what seemed like the last wave of mouth healing clinging to her airway and crusting against her lips. None of this felt unexpected for waking up on any given day back home, but it was embarrassing in the presence of Yuka flying around and effortlessly tying together travel prep to act more like a demure, sickly girl ripped from some bygone era of literature where an ache and a cough foretold a haunting, wasting death. The best recovery she could manage was the ability to pop her ears.

    Not exactly a second wind, Misaki perked up slightly when her gaze wandered downward to her chest, and she noticed her "girls" were responding boldly to the sharp chill. They weren¡¯t Carrie-sized, but their shape and presence felt immense with their lewd punctuations. She knew that Yuka didn¡¯t mind and was likely sneaking surreptitious peeks at her peaks. What sort of figure could she cut in a bikini meant for her body?

    It was one of those questions she sometimes offered up as a joke for Guy as a quiet impossibility. If the universe ever came into alignment in a certain way, then Franklin might challenge Gal for girlish presence. A fanciful notion but one that stuck with her. Chika¡¯s girlish truth confessions rang in her head like a melody she could almost sing to.

    She had to face the facts; she liked being a girl. It meant something deeper to her than a mere mask and protection against hazardous realities. That wasn¡¯t an easy thought with simple answers to the difficult questions it presented. At the same time, it was a personal relief to acknowledge. She was inherently a pariah; what did it matter if she transitioned to a new variety of that?

    It might actually work out for the better, especially if Melting was bullshit and she and Yuka could share their spirits in love. Everyone back home, no matter what side they subscribed to, was ravenously preoccupied with the business of how and how plentifully or not everyone had babies. One less thing if she settled on the procreation path. Her aunt might actually chill out for a few moments. She had to wonder if there were any dominating concerns in this culture if who connected up with whom didn¡¯t matter. At least all that was enough to shake off the last of the Sandlady¡¯s lingering dust.

    Yuka didn¡¯t mollycoddle her as she gradually ambled toward helping others. Misaki still held the impression that she was a dainty girly girl who needed to be handled with care. Several glasses of water and nothing weird happening to her in the bathroom helped immensely with pushing her back toward what felt like normalcy.

    She struggled with breakfast. Her still-sour, anxious stomach felt like it could only hold a meager grapefruit mass of nourishment before freaking out. Slipping on a loose windbreaker saved her from nerves about lingering or returning punctuations. Could she deal with this sort of stuff for the rest of her life? What about the messy biological details still around but no longer connected to all that baby stuff around here? She could take it, probably. At least she would know, across the biological divide, what the worst really felt like. Not that even the cruelest pains her body could throw at her would make her chicken out at this point. Perhaps some of the random jabs and jolts were just gearing up for more. Still survivable.

    Everyone worked together to clean and organize the suites, even though the ninja maids were deployed nearby. The most questionable step of that process was extracting their black strip prisoners without a plan for where they would be transferred. They got permission to bag and wrap the artifacts in hand towels and split them up respectively between Yuka, Chika, Naoko, and a begrudging Bianka, who placed the sleeping monster as far from her recovering laptop as possible.

    The bus arrived earlier than expected, and everything was ready to go in record time. Kosame sat next to Naoko, and Yasha sat as far away from Kosame as possible. Misaki adored being able to cozy up to her partner, even though now it was Yuka¡¯s time to crash and look like she just woke up. Bianka¡¯s unkempt blonde hair fluttered around her head while she propped herself up against her window seat. Chika shared a series of silly thoughts that kept recent events from bringing either of their moods down.

    Misaki lamented that she didn¡¯t leap for a front-row seat beside her best friend¡¯s goofiness. She¡¯d appreciated it for decades, though, and she could tolerate sharing the best of the ones she loved for a little while. Namiko also entertained her little nook of the bus with tense Ayame and stoic Miss Okura as the closest audience. Both of them looked more toward Maharu as she playfully practiced and mimed the motions she would be performing later within the comfortable confines of her seat. Haruka lingered nearby with the same book from¡­ no. No book. Misaki had no idea why looking over at Haruka gave her the impression of a book she clearly hadn¡¯t been reading.

    Haruka was also hawkishly watching Maharu, as though she expected or feared something to happen very soon. No book. Right? She seemed the sort to be a regular reader, but no book this time. Namiko was the one who had been reading lately. Looking over at the Sasaki moms last, a notion clung to Misaki, shaped with fear of seeing something black amassing on their wrists, as though their quiet captives escaped and found new, unsuspecting hosts. She told herself that even though some frightening things popped up here and there, it didn¡¯t mean she had to be suspicious and fearful of every possibility.

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    She had her friends; they had friends and support, like the rope Yasha had been knitting together all weekend¡ªa strong support that held the past and the future in comfortable continuity. That should¡¯ve been comforting, but she still had the vague shadows of the warning she felt the first time visiting the shrine that she would soon see again, all made up for upcoming, summer fundraising.

    The trek from their high-speed train back to familiar spaces went too fast to be fully appreciated, and the train itself went even faster. Despite last time and the motion sickness the flashing sight triggered for Misaki with the uncomfortable addition of her dainty, already uncertain tummy, she rested her chin on a palm and spent several languid moments peering through the glass with her eyes traveling curiously and her constitution rock solid.

    Recalling the incident at the onset of the weekend, Yuka made sure she didn¡¯t need the flap lowered. Misaki softly cracked her neck to one side and then the other before deciding she was fine to keep looking. She wasn¡¯t the only one watching through a window.

    Yasha also had her viewing port exposed, with a similar pose and expression tightly translated over her rigid features. Maharu expressed a similar sentiment, with her gaze tracing across the landscape like a practice for fine embroidery, like her whirling mind was conjuring up magical translations of all these common features. Misaki wanted to share in more of her secret realms.

    Maharu frequently orbited around Yasha and noticed how every time she smiled at the strange blonde. Yasha swung through a plethora of emotions, beginning with an automatic smirk from Maharu¡¯s spark and dipping into a restrained sigh and look of resignation. Clearly, the admission was coming, and quite soon.

    A handful of stops before theirs, Yasha finally unfurled her secret for the group. She was cutting her trip short because of a variety of different factors, ranging from the discoveries they made to various concerns and considerations. She expressed unfettered appreciation for everything great and small the group provided and quietly apologized for her prickly nature. Yasha admitted that she wasn¡¯t used to dealing socially with large groups. She kept to herself and adopted the name she chose purely because it seemed cool, aloof, and separate from others.

    It was also a warning to keep away, but she expressed that her mindset changed, even over this short time. She expressed the specific wish that she had chosen an alternative nom de guerre more representative of her full nature. Misaki raised her eyebrows when she heard a faint muttering from Maharu about the name ¡°Koharu¡±, One of her mothers¡¯ names. Yasha took a long, thoughtful breath before contemplating, ¡°That¡¯s the name I haven¡¯t heard anywhere for a long time. It seems and sounds important. I couldn¡¯t possibly accept a name of that caliber, but I appreciate the offer.¡±

    Maharu blasted her way into an affectionate hug around Yasha¡¯s stiff shoulders. Casually, she hinted that her actual name was Joshua, even though that really only meant anything to her fellow travelers and Yuka, from what masculine names she¡¯d gleaned. They all had plenty to chew on but didn¡¯t ask questions. Maharu and Yasha looked at each other after finishing the hug, and Yasha declared with more boldness and enthusiasm than anything she said in recent memory, ¡°Go kick the ass of every dance.¡±

    A small scrap of rope, barely enough to make a knot in, was passed to Maharu from Yasha¡®s pocket. She swiftly treasured it like a rough representation of a snake plush. Then, at the next stop, Yasha gathered up all her bags, sent off one last wave, and was gone from their lives. Not at all the conclusion Misaki expected.

    As a consequence of that interaction, Yuka and Maharu¡¯s eyes lingered on one another with quiet curiosity rather than fretful avoidance. Soon, they were at their stop, with just a ride back on the cars that took them here remaining. Maharu mentioned that she would ride along with the administrators so she would have more time to prepare before the festival proper. Time was swiftly slipping away, with all the hopes and potential opportunities fading into the gray icons of the past. Misaki focused on Yuka and communicated through her eyebrows and frowns. Yuka took a deep breath and dipped her head. She knew.

    And she waited. They both waited conspicuously, each in a strange sort of dance, neither wanting to slip into the appropriate steps. The waiting continued as bags were drawn together, the station receded, and the parking lot loomed. At what seemed like the very last moment, Yuka slipped away from Misaki and reached out a hand to hold Maharu¡¯s. She swung her around gently but effortlessly and wrapped her up in the most affectionate hug imaginable.

    Instantly, Maharu broke down in raw tears that had built up over the certainties and uncertainties of the last few days. Yuka gently rubbed her soft shoulder, with tears of her own lingering and clouding her vision.

    ¡°It¡¯s going to be okay. I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so dumb. I promise, we¡¯ll talk after the festival about all the things we should¡¯ve, and I promise to listen with all my heart. I can¡¯t wait to see the beauty of your dance tonight.¡±

    Maharu agreed with small, insistent nods, except where she restrained a nod at the ¡®dumb¡¯ part, and they quietly laughed together. Exuberantly, Maharu looked forward to it and promised that she would put on the greatest show she had within her. Yuka knew it would be fantastic.

    After that, they went in separate cars, but an aching, uncertain tension that vaguely hung over the weekend like a distant, darkened pall of a threatening storm seemed to clear, releasing a rare brightness that Misaki could scarcely imagine. Like seeing true daylight in the renewed glimmer of an anime sun.

 [70] Yuri Worlds 70 â€“ Festival

    Yuri Worlds

    [70] Festival

    Returning to the Sasaki house genuinely felt like a trek back home, even though it was a place they¡¯d only known for a week. The presence of the old hotel felt ever so slightly friendlier in the sharp wash of sunlight. The hallway was warm but not oppressive.

    Lunch was promised for later as they dragged their bags into a corner of the living room and up to the second story. All the worst hints of travel discomfort popped free from Misaki as she stretched and rotated around her joints before plopping down on her bed. She could probably sleep a little more, but that would mean ceding even more of the precious time she had left.

    Instead, Misaki puttered around, helping with whatever Kei or Fuyuki needed assistance with. Since they¡¯d been away for several days, they were out of fresh ingredients, so Kei needed to head over to the market so she could make lunch. Shaking off lethargy, Misaki accompanied her future hopeful mother-in-law in this task. The route was comfortably familiar by this point, even though Misaki found herself astonished by how briskly the woman could pace her steps. She genuinely did her best to slow down for her "daughter". But even when they held hands at one point, Misaki could still feel herself slipping out of her "mother''s" grasp.

    Misaki admitted that too much city living slowed her down. And she wondered how fast Yuka could actually go without having to slow for her. Kei eventually found a speed that Misaki could keep up with and push herself comfortably on active feet that didn¡¯t feel like they were about to burn off in the next few moments.

    It was nice. The whole thing was nicer than any effort in Misaki¡®s memory to find a mother figure who actually made her feel happy and comfortable. No words of sharpened criticism or even pointed concern. Kei just advised Misaki on different ingredients and how to tell a good one from a bad one when it came to produce along with honing in on the best values. Misaki absorbed all these lessons meticulously and politely covered an exhausting sneeze from the fragrant offerings with a careful hand. Not only did Kei pull out a gorgeous handkerchief to help her, but she took care of everything as though it were the most natural thing to do.

    Misaki avoided reacting as though she were being babied, but she did narrow her eyes, which brought on a laugh from her future mother-in-law. They smartly split their load to carry back between the ungainly bags. Kei snuck in a little question about whether the women of her world ever made jokes about lengthy, girthy fruits and vegetables. Despite the most obvious analogies not existing for Kei and others, it sure seemed clear from this conversation and others¡­ that physical interactions happened much the same. It was a bolder sentiment than she ever expected from the mouth of this mom, but she understood that such notions didn¡¯t quite carry the same connotations. Kei genuinely made sure it wasn¡¯t awkward.

    Back home, Misaki felt comfortable and at ease with the quiet domestic events. She helped put everything away while watching Chika fashion a vague series of questions, attempting to deduce what meal or entr¨¦e the Sasakis might enjoy as the ultimate thank you for their keen hospitality while not stretching the slim confines of what she had any degree of confidence in creating. She¡¯d cozied up to Fuyuki, although the motherly connection was still a fledgling one.

    Namiko had settled more into the role of a quirky niece than anything else and managed to easily draw sincere, exuberant laughter from the other mom along with frantic efforts to take notes for phrases and concepts she hoped to squeeze into a theoretical book some unspecified time down the road. Truly, they felt like a family together. One that sadly couldn¡¯t comprehend that being broken apart was inevitable. At least, they had this now.

    Haruka showed up from time to time to help out. She had the same general attitude as usual, but Misaki noticed that her mechanical tightness was relaxed. As though a stick she sometimes had up her butt had finally been popped loose.

    Acceptance? Misaki had no idea what to call it, but she couldn¡¯t help but take it as a positive sign. Another was the way that Yuka and Haruka pestered one another about the organization of food stuffs, with one asking the other a back and forth variety of deadpan questions with obvious answers. Clearly, they were siblings, but Misaki rarely saw so much subtle teasing on display.

    Kei was an easier parent for Misaki to grasp, even though she¡¯d never had one quite like her. Fuyuki fell much closer to familiar shades, even though she didn¡¯t quite fit the mold of parents that Misaki knew best. She had a precise and scrutinizing intellect that examined the dimensions of the pantry population and refrigerator folk and precisely calculated where the old and new things should be balanced so they wouldn¡¯t be forgotten.

    For Kei, it was more about getting the task done, and perhaps later she could optimize where everything truly belonged. Where each daughter took after her mother sure seemed obvious. Although Misaki warned herself about judging absolutely based on some key surface traits. She was sure there was more to Haruka than her obvious aspects. She was one of those people that Franklin and Misaki connected with because they each shared an interior life richer than they could show. And there was more to Haruka¡­ There was more. She just couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on it, as it was as elusive as trying to shape jelly into a tower, but she knew it was there. Haruka and all her silly little secrets.

    Had she been writing with the same scrap style of paper as the strange warning note from the other day? Misaki couldn¡¯t help but think that, even though it was a vague, floating notion without support or reason. Why would Haruka give her something like that? Well, give it to that Rei girl to give to them. Misaki found herself hit with another vicious spell of coughing that stole the depths of her thought and turned the talk of the Sasakis, Chika, and Nami toward her comfort and welfare. She was a delicate, ivory China doll gal. At least when she was in this world, the fragility fit the package.

    Time slipped past like a gentle, curling breeze. One that made no effort to swipe and burn their energy, just the metronome of life ticking away and bringing forth brand new possibilities. Lunchtime arrived with a rapturous melody of fresh flavors and familiar spices, harnessed and presented by a pair of loving virtuosos. Chika didn¡¯t stand a chance of approaching their level, although she doubted either of them would care so long as her meal of thanks was fashioned with love and sincerity.

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    Card games and snippets of family stories about silly encounters and hopeful moments filled much of the afternoon until it came time to tidy up, and the three of them promptly volunteered themselves. The Sasakis fretted about putting their guests to work with tasks like scrubbing the first floor and bagging green trash from the yard around the old hotel, but the three of them took up every task with cheer, Namiko especially.

    Misaki expected to find herself exhausted and sore at the end. There was some of that, but the activity of cleaning seemed to dispel the intangible spirits clinging to her. The coughing went away, and the sore and prickly parts sloughed off. Sweat, irritation, and discomfort washed in the soap and spray, especially with a proper bath to follow. Yuka lingered in the bathroom but didn¡¯t join her in washing up.

    The moms made sure that everyone¡¯s clothes for the festival were fresh and lightly steamed to smooth out the wrinkles. No ironing, though; they explained the fabric was too delicate. Kei helped Namiko with brushing her hair in order and gently tying it up into a long, sweeping candy-colored ponytail. They did their best to underplay the massive swell of Namiko¡¯s lady lumps in her outfit, but the cloth could only work within reason. Namiko assured them it was fine and that she had actually gotten used to the presence of her girls. Fuyuki flashed a frown of concern and doubt, considering hers often gave her grief.

    Namiko noted that it wasn¡¯t the greatest physical relationship, and she had plenty of little aches to point at. But she also noted with a smirk that she was curious how things might be if they were even bigger. Just go full fertility goddess with extra thickness on top of it. That wasn¡¯t an analogy that fully translated, but they got the gist. Chika sheepishly cradled her stomach and lightly emphasized her bust, as Misaki knew that her little sister had big daydreams in that same direction. Misaki still leaned in a slightly bigger direction, but not quite that overzealously. Small had a precious beauty; she didn¡¯t need to remind herself as she took a random opportunity to unexpectedly cuddle Yuka.

    The weather had trended towards a warm-up lately, but the forecast on television suggested a dipping chill and a persistent breeze this evening. What they had to wear still seemed like it would be fine. Misaki¡®s primarily pink kimono didn¡¯t have too many layers. She found herself even more concerned with her rounded shelf against the fabric than Namiko had ever fretted over hers.

    They were neatly confined but also felt wildly unrestrained, with a vivid presence on the soft silk. And they were hers. Not a new notion to preoccupy her thoughts, but the simple certainty was digging deeper with every encounter and reminder. Was she going to be weirded out and off balance when returning to Franklin? Would she have to wear one of Gal¡¯s fake sets to migrate back to normalcy, or would the other reality snap as comfortably into place as this one did? She didn¡¯t want it to just return to the way things used to be. She was changed in so many ways that she never wanted to relinquish or forget.

    Chika¡¯s outfit, which was complementary to her big sisters, gained dainty jewelry along her ears, bracelets for her wrist, and bright kanzashi-inspired hair pins with joined fabric sakura. It made her look strikingly mature and very pretty, Misaki pronounced. Blushes exploded across her little sister¡®s face as she lazily turned and showed off everything.

    Kei opted for a deep blue yukata, which they had already seen her in the last couple of days, and Fuyuki settled on a deep purple one similar to the dress that Yuka wore on the train to the resort. Haruka picked out a very loose and somewhat nondescript fair gray outfit with extremely short sleeves and a lower half approaching summer shorts. Yuka went with the brightest tableau of colors in hers, a paneled blend of sharp red, shimmering white, and fringes of soft blue. Her moms held onto a round of skepticism about whether the color combination worked but ultimately had no complaints so long as their daughter was comfortable. Misaki wanted to make a playful reference to Yuka¡¯s patriotic color scheme, even though she knew full well it wouldn¡¯t make sense.

    The walk to the shrine, fortunately, didn¡¯t quite push a Kei pace, but it still felt like it went faster than their previous trek. Climbing the steps, Misaki took in the appearance of bright lanterns and lamps strung through the air and laced along the ground. The early evening didn¡¯t need them yet, but she could tell that once darkness set in, they would provide a vivid and unforgettable mood.

    At the summit, the framework of a festival was already emerging. Stages flanked the main shrine at a respectful distance from the spiritual center. Stands and booths were in various stages of placement and furnishing. The setup was beautiful, even half-finished. Misaki and her traveling friends didn¡¯t need an explanation, as they pointed to and detailed all the anticipated games. Little balloons for fishing were being filled. A tank of tiny goldfish were already doing swimmingly. Other games of chance still had their clever tricks on display, waiting to be properly obscured.

    A yakisoba vendor fluttered a column of smoky steam from their grill with a paper fan. The practically flaming takoyaki made Misaki pull her lips back protectively. She would have to wait a while on those. Savory, similar scents to the special omelets that the Sasaki moms made wafted through the grounds. The three of them could only hope that the flavors might approach the heights of their first meal here.

    Little pastry fish were already spread out in neat, friendly rows, like a baker¡¯s version of today¡¯s catch. Familiar candy apples and chocolate bananas would¡¯ve seemed out of place, but they each had a unique spin compared to a country fair. It wasn¡¯t quite warm enough for flavored ice, but their eyes still lingered on its bright presentation, decorated with syrupy, simple cartoon characters.

    None of them had the complete traditional ensemble of clog shoes and bags, but neither did most of the other early visitors. Some of them even came without traditional attire. They were able to acquire colorful paper fans though.

    Misaki couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the life she was living and at the scene slowly settling into its perfect iteration. A world she never could¡¯ve imagined, pastel perfection drawn and re-drawn with every breath, a dream she didn¡¯t want to wake from. With so many nightmares nipping at her heels and intruding on her hopes, she would have gladly thrown whatever coins she could spare at the donation box to assure a beautiful night, wrapped in precious possibilities.

 [71] Yuri Worlds 71 â€“ Fun

    Yuri Worlds

    [71] Fun

    It didn¡¯t take long before the others showed up. Miss Okura seemed to lead the pack even though there wasn¡¯t one, just a scattered set of ladies associated with the administration of the shrine who seemed like anonymous and innocuous moms after a PTA meeting.

    The old woman had the entire traditional arrangement, from her bag to her clogs. She wore a deep green yukata, which almost seemed to blend in with the looming trees. She gave Misaki a lingering look of scrutiny, but her expression didn¡¯t turn harsh. Yuka wrapped her arms around Misaki protectively, as though she suspected Miss Okura was raring up to strike. Misaki squeezed her back to reassure her that she was fine.

    The one woman that Misaki wanted to see most of all was Mari, but stretching on her tiptoes to catch even a hint of the woman¡¯s regular brown locks was fruitless. Surely she was around somewhere. This seemed like the one event that all her vanishings and scarcity were responsible for in the first place. If she wasn¡¯t present at this event, then Misaki had an all-new series of questions to press.

    Naoko and Kosame arrived together, holding hands at every possible moment. Kosame¡¯s outfit contained a rich landscape of stark white with a looming expanse of snowy mountains encircling cold, deep blue feathered peaks adorned with shadows of bonsai trees and brilliant, traced flowers. The whole thing appeared surprisingly haunting and artistically magnificent for such simple clothes.

    Nearby ladies all wanted to check it out and take photos standing next to her. Naoko wore a no less brilliant, evening-tinted starscape with flickers of a crescent moon and cosmic rabbits curling up amongst the constellations. The girl admitted it was actually a loaner from Maharu since she had neglected to wash anything for the event before leaving.

    Ayame briskly scooted by soon after, with a polite glance in their direction, without lingering on anyone in particular. She casually vanished into the undulating turbulence of the increasing crowd, the biggest crowd Misaki had yet seen or even imagined in these parts. The bold, bright splashes from everyone¡¯s outfits washed away the simple gray of the stone beneath them with a human sea.

    Ayame¡¯s clothes flared with a deep, distinct burgundy broken by fish pattern cutouts of ivory and blue. Misaki wanted to talk to her and attempt to clear up any misunderstanding that persisted between them, but she felt like she needed to wait and let the still rattled woman come to her when she was ready. She adjusted her hair back over her ears even though the vague wind flipped, scattered, and tussled it moments later.

    Bianka showed up next. She changed up her hair with crinkles and curls ironed in and swooped ahead like a colorful, bright hat tipped across the left side of her face. Little bracelets with sparkly pink coloration decorated her hands as she sheepishly made her way over to the group, her eyes darting between her feet and up to see what everyone thought.

    Yuka was the boldest champion for Bianka¡®s new look. Namiko threw in whistles and claps while everyone else murmured with delight. Bianka appeared overwhelmed by the wave of companionship but didn¡¯t shy away. She held on to her words and meekly stumbled through simple replies. Chika and Nami took her in like a second Franklin and guided her towards all the activities.

    Misaki and Yuka hung back from the rest of the chaotically energized group and calmly leaned against one another. They didn¡¯t have to do anything; they had each other, and that was enough. They linked arms and took in the sights, smells, and mood. Misaki fluttered her paper fan as though it were a slow fin slipping through invisible water.

    Toys, plushies, and masks adorned several booths laid out in a row. Misaki found herself vacillating between a boyish urge to win or purchase the cutest offerings for the girl on her arm and a girlish sentiment to get and cuddle those things for herself. But before Misaki could establish a manly command, Yuka took the lead and nudged her partner to pick out something nice.

    A whirlwind shiver slipped through Misaki as she looked at all the cute things and tried to comprehend that one of them would be for her, without qualification, without sheltering some posturing ego, and without worrying what others saw. They were all girls, and so was she. Cuteness was a virtue, not a shame.

    The bloated ball corgi puppies with little curled tails and pouting, angry expressions on the verge of barking looked so lovely. Wiggly, happy shibas, and pink, fluffy salamanders each had their appeal. Practically liquid black cats also caught her eye. Ducks and other fowl as peeled bananas felt more like a trend from her world based on random things Guy liked to show off, but they were no less adorable as artifacts of anime. Penguins, dinosaurs, and happy little bees also warmed her heart. She couldn¡¯t be greedy.

    A floppy, long-eared dog with curious coal eyes, radiant sapphire ears, a luscious white coat, and precious flecks of playful obsidian wound up being her choice. The little thing nestled neatly against her chest.

    In turn, Misaki resolved to harness all her luck and competitive energy to win at the just-opened colored ring game booth and acquire a happy dog mask for Yuka. She leveled her head at her goal and squeezed the ring tightly in her grip. A few breaths helped with steadying her thoughts and focusing, even though her heart was pounding in her head. Just flinging the ring straight led to an awkward bounce that nearly ricocheted it out of the booth.

    Several rounds in, Misaki found herself achingly close to victory yet still barely missing every single time. Scowling at the girl running the booth didn¡¯t help, since it was clear from her demeanor that she wanted Misaki to win too. A little yellow dog eraser was the consolation prize, but Misaki still made sure to buy a mask for Yuka to wear turned to the side of her head.

    Yuka admonished her promised partner for going to such trouble over her with a kiss and a cheek poke. The other games weren¡¯t nearly as stressful. They all gathered around to fish for the first round of bouncy water balloons.

    To play up the theme, the volunteers working the booth added detailed decorative elements to the balloons, making them look like bouncy salmon, pouty puffer fish, and surprised sturgeons. They had as much fun successfully snagging the balloons as failing to do so, since they bounded around, jiggled, wiggled, and sometimes popped. Those that survived made great yo-yos.

    Moving from fake fish to real ones, Misaki and Yuka opted not to play. Bianka regretted her hairstyle choice as it hindered her binocular vision. Still, she was able to bounce a pair of surprised, darting goldfish out of the water on her tissue-thin net. Chika slammed into the water too fast, but Namiko was more careful and split her catch with Chika. As they were finishing up, Misaki spotted Maharu in full shrine maiden garb.

    She looked a little tense, separate from the ambling crowds. The white kimono-like top with flowing sleeves was absolutely pristine and ivory pure, with a high-waisted bright red skirt dipped so low that it almost brushed across the ground. Misaki called out to her.

    It didn¡¯t take Maharu long to glance over with surprise, followed by a calm smile. She pranced gracefully and beamed over her friends. All the girls had something to say about her clothes, but Maharu didn¡¯t care about any of that. She just had one thing on her mind, and she wanted to shout from the heavens and declare it to all.

    ¡°I won! I did it! I actually won!¡±

    The details swiftly spilled out. It was the jewel game from earlier. One last match with a group of helpers and some younger girls for good luck before her performance. It was a legit, hard-fought match, and even the youngest girls had cunning counters.

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    Maharu had no real expectations that this would turn out differently than any other game she played, and she dutifully prepared to be the one to put all the parts away at the end. But when she was declared the winner, the reality of what just happened refused to connect.

    She demanded a recount of the points and briefly came off as incensed, expecting they were playing a joke on her. However, it was real. Somehow, despite everything and despite her still not having good strategies, she managed to clear a win by four points.

    Maharu reenacted the moment with the same blank shock crossing her face again. Then came the tears. Not a flow of sadness nor an upwelling of joy. Relief was tangible and renewing. She cried so hard, without words or explanation.

    The rest of the girls started freaking out, not sure what they had done wrong. Maharu gave them an adamant round of bracing, spinning, and almost pile-driving hugs. In reflection and recount, heaving waves of emotion hit the blue-haired girl. She trembled without any way to stop her arms from shaking. She was lost in muttered sounds and blank wordlessness.

    "I never thought it would happen. It¡¯s so small. It¡¯s so silly to make such a big deal out of it. But I can breathe. I can feel as though something achingly heavy has been released. You all or anyone else could¡¯ve just given me a win, played for fun, or whatever. That wasn¡¯t what mattered. I let it go, and victory followed me. I feel as free as the air on the most loving breeze, and I¡¯m so happy to share my joy with all of you in just a few minutes. Once I have a whole load of victory candy!"

    No one had any complaints about that, especially Yuka, who practically commandeered the nearby booths so that Maharu could have her proper treats. Showing copious restraint, Maharu scarfed down only a modest amount of sugar and candy as a booster before resolving that she would get the rest when she was finished with the dance. It wasn¡¯t long before a frantic girl, also in a shrine maiden outfit, spotted Maharu.

    She plaintively whimpered, hopped, and waved above her head to get her attention. It took Maharu a few seconds to realize she was there. Working together, everyone helped Maharu get back to where she was supposed to be to prepare for the ceremony.

    A quiet sort of relief washed over Misaki at these events. Everything lately with Maharu had made her tense and uncertain, since the girl shared the dark, broken history of her life. She tried her best to help with their encounter in the old hotel. Then she struggled to come up with something for her somber disposition at the resort. That one just resolved itself. And then, with her friend Yasha suddenly going away, Misaki privately fretted that her mood might take another negative turn.

    As she said herself, this was such a minor and meaningless little moment in a game. But it represented something to her. Freedom from a sense of doom and dire bad luck. Maybe not a solution, but at least a positive sign to guide her this evening. Misaki couldn¡¯t wait to see Maharu dance. Glancing around, she paused and turned back to notice something was wrong with Haruka.

    The elder sister clung to the rattling support pole for the nearby booth as though it were a vital lifeline, barely keeping her afloat. Yuka noticed her sister¡¯s problem immediately after Misaki and dashed over to make sure she was alright. Tears streamed out as her lids wrestled between a tight clench and a narrow, hesitant slit.

    Misaki had never seen the girl cry; she never imagined she might, and from Yuka¡¯s stunned presence beside her, she could only imagine this was a rare happenstance for her family too. The Sasaki moms came as swiftly as they could, but only clinging redness remained by the time they arrived, and Haruka refused to explain what was going on. She started to say that she had something in her eye but didn¡¯t finish the thought. Simply saying that she needed to lie down for a minute was sufficient.

    Several girls helped her stand a little straighter as she cleared her throat and made her way away from the main path and toward the main temple. They weren¡¯t far from where Misaki had received her strange warning.

    It was presumptuous to conclude she¡¯d actually encountered some supernatural prognostication that meant anything. But weirder things had happened lately, and it didn¡¯t necessarily have to be metaphysical or magical thinking if the company was messing with them. Make them think they¡¯re going crazy or worse.

    Misaki wanted to comfort Haruka, but she was already too far away. She suspected that the older sister would¡¯ve turned down her effort. Haruka took care of things herself, even though she had asked Misaki to look out for her sister. Because she was in great danger. They were all in great danger.

    She told her that as almost one of the first things they said to one another. Assuming Misaki wasn¡¯t losing her mind or witnessing weirdness under the control of that wristband. Even with it gone, she didn¡¯t feel like she could be totally sure of everything going on around her. Except when it came to Yuka.

    Every time she¡¯d been lost or mired in uncertainty, Yuka was there to both ground her and lift her up. Once Haruka was away and looking alright after that incident, Yuka immediately returned her attention to Misaki. She could clearly see the pensive, wandering concern on her face. Yuka squeezed her gently and kissed her on the cheek. It would be okay.

    They played a few more games once the pop-gun booth was up. The deepening aroma of food smelled amazing, and there were so many things that Misaki wanted to partake in. But she just sampled small bites of what others generously shared. Being with a group made all the difference when wandering around the festival.

    Back home, Franklin would sometimes venture out to the square at the center of town, which had a park dedicated to the local sister city. Live summer music and vendors would circle around it with overpriced dried fruit and nuts, stir fry, tacos, honey, and a variety of other things.

    The first time he went with Guy and Dwight, he stayed for the entire evening instead of wandering around for thirty minutes and then walking back home. He wanted to hug and squeeze them in overwhelming gratitude for how much his friends had changed and saved his life.

    And she wanted to do even more than that. She wanted to embrace everyone and let them know how much they meant, even if it were just tiny little moments of friendship, kindness, or even just listening to the silly things that often came out of her mouth. That was a little too much. They would probably worry that she was dying or something worse.

    Still, she almost faced the reaper or something like it and remained on the right side. Why not be grateful? Why not stop giving a crap about how things seem and just show what you feel? Screw it. She wrapped up her little sister in a ginormous hug, followed by cheerful Namiko, and then the rest of them.

    Kosame responded similarly to the bathhouse, as though Misaki was a very cute, sexy girl totally not on her level who decided to grace her with her beauty. In contrast, Bianka showed calm relief. Naoko issued little puffs of confusion and comfort.

    And the Sasaki moms, who had wandered off and needed to be hunted down, responded as they always did, while checking to make sure that Misaki didn¡¯t have a fever or any other symptoms of delirium.

    And the most exuberant, unmistakable expression of love and appreciation had to be reserved for Yuka. Even though her lady love gladly accepted the embrace and the sentiment, she still had plenty of questions and concerns about that sudden, strange display. Misaki answered it simply by saying she was so grateful to everyone for everything. Time quietly passed with teasing, games, and sumptuous little snacks.

 [72] Yuri Worlds 72 â€“ Sneak

    Yuri Worlds

    [72] Sneak

    It wasn¡¯t long before the sun sunk past the trees and mountains, ushering in the cool, whispering presence of evening. The strung, dancing lamps provided flaming flutters of light to push back the night. This location had a sense to it that could easily convince Misaki of spirits, monsters, and all sorts of things that had been hinted at and warned of.

    She could imagine spirit beasts with incomprehensible forms and hungry mouths worse than what was contained inside the wristbands just ambling along in search of their next meal of human flesh. The umbrella creatures. The stalking witches. Rattling, emotionless gray cherubs sounding like sand falling against stone. And countless other things she¡¯d forgotten in her preparatory readings. So many reasons for not wandering off alone in the dark.

    Did the festival have toilets? That was the one thing she hadn¡¯t thought to check yet as she realized the idle feelings in her body were pushing towards a certain, rumbling urgency.

    When she gave voice to this need, wrapping it up as a reaction to some of the spicier items she¡¯d so far sampled, several of her companions immediately went to work, poking their heads up and scanning around for the nearest options. The psychological boost of having everyone look out for her steadied the turbulence inside, even though she knew it was a fleeting remedy.

    The discovered options turned out to be a defensive line of portable units still being set up towards the back, far away from the food booths, the place she went during her first chat with Miss Okura, and an old arrangement approaching the line of shacks. Misaki knew which of those options she immediately preferred.

    However, the entrance to the community area of the shrine was blocked by piles of equipment still being sorted through. She apologized copiously and had Yuka as her protection to ward off anyone saying she couldn¡¯t go in this direction.

    The restroom, as before, was right before the left turn to Miss Okura¡¯s space. All those left turns all right. They didn¡¯t really mean anything, Misaki told herself. It wasn¡¯t like the quantum, physical, and biochemical alignments proposed by the old lady actually translated to literal left and right turns.

    That was just her consciousness taking noise and trying to translate it into a pattern, like a form of pareidolia. She knew it probably had a better and more precise name than that wedged somewhere in the heavy tomes of human psychology. Still, she couldn¡¯t deny the fact that weird stuff had happened and was continuing to happen.

    Maybe it was all coincidental, but simply dismissing it all as such seemed like a bad idea. She had to find a reasonable point between the worst panic of conspiratorial thoughts that Bianka was trying to overcome and smiling as the world burned. It was not as easy as it sounded.

    Misaki took a while to finally feel more like herself. Yuka remained nearby, hopping up on a sturdy, dry portion of the sink counter to wait and chat with quiet distractions while she fiddled with their prizes. The questions ranged from the familiar to the obvious. Favorite games so far? Any plushies she really wanted? Should they actually try for the fish, even though they might be a nuisance? And so forth. Until a lull hit.

    Yuka broke the lull by announcing, "When I visit you across the universe divide, I¡¯m gonna do so as a boy. I hope that¡¯s not weird, but it seems like the only opportunity to know what that would be like. I figure what I want won¡¯t be what the travel company wants. They better not slap a wristband on me. Hopefully, things will be different, better, and freer when all the bad things they¡¯ve done come to light. I can wait, but I want to be the best boy for you. Maybe we can work on what I¡¯ll look like next week. I have so many plans for tomorrow and all the days left. I¡¯m not letting a single one go." Misaki lamented that she couldn¡¯t take this beautiful moment and give Yuka the hugs she deserved because she needed to finish up.

    But after getting clean, using the hand soap with steaming water, and finally drying, she squeezed the girl she loved into a vibrant and soul-affirming embrace. They wobbled together, soft, firm, flimsy, and solid all at once. When they returned to the half-lit hallway, Yuka restrained Misaki from swiftly hurrying back to the event.

    They were alone and mere feet away from the old woman¡¯s office. Yuka didn¡¯t need to do much pitching and proposing about her idea to check in on what things Miss Okura implied and left unsaid. Their phones sufficed for light as they plunged deeper through the left looping hall.

    Unfortunately, the door to the old woman¡¯s office space was seemingly locked and secured. With a huff of disappointment, Yuka leaned her shoulder against the door. It shifted with a slight clicking noise. They tested the knob again, but it had no give. However, the lock wasn¡¯t fully engaged. That left wiggle room, but not quite enough to get it open.

    Yuka surged with all sorts of scrambling, rambling ideas of a bump key, along with using metal pieces to pick the lock and push it open. Misaki pondered for a moment and dug around to get her train pass. The card was largely metallic and held its shape through the opening. She briefly thought about the legal and ethical concerns of doing this, but the card was already gently shoving the lock aside. After that, the door opened easily.

    The interior was black, with the anime version of little whispers of photons and the faintest discoloration from their optic blood vessels. Yuka went first and checked every inch for a camera or a window that might give them away.

    Flicking the light on seemed a terrifying prospect, but it was moot as the switch had been locked by a tool in the down position. What they could see of the room was as sparse and reminiscent of a cozy tea room as Misaki remembered. The old, gray computer was in exactly the same spot. They had to dodge around several pillows spread across the floor.

    Yuka probed the entire floor space with her phone swinging in all directions. Once she had a good look at everything, no matter how mundane, she started tapping the walls and listening. Not that either of them knew what a suspicious sound was supposed to be.

    For Misaki, every tap sounded like screaming out to the world that they were here. She struggled to manage her heart rate. They were about done with that lead when Misaki grazed her foot along the side corner, and a heavy THUNK sound followed. Both of their hearts went into overdrive.

    Inspecting the corner carefully, she pressed with her nails and found a narrow seam that allowed her to shove a small section of the wall back. It reminded Misaki of the plastic cover on her mom¡¯s old carrying wagon that cleanly slid in place like a set of toy blocks.

    She had no idea if that memory came from the original version of her mom and dad or her two moms. Before proceeding further, Yuka gingerly reversed her actions to see if she could seal the wall space back up as though nothing had happened. It was awkward and pinched her flesh along the side with pain approaching a blister, but she was able to slot it back without a seam showing. Misaki had to help push it further to reveal a hidden space.

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    The two of them scanned around the room to make sure they had no unexpected visitors before scrutinizing the opening. It was doubly dark, even with both of their phones shining through.

    Impossibly, the search was fruitless for several minutes until Misaki held her breath and poked as much of her head through the opening as possible. Nothing back in the wall but some woven wooden lattices for support. The fragments of plaster smelled awful. She glanced upward and then turned her eyes down towards the ground. Finally, something.

    Below the level of the opening was a long, narrow wooden box sitting on the foundation. She had to cough into her hands a few times before attempting to grab at the edge of it. Yuka did her best to nudge it up and out. The box looked like a hardened version of a file folder, and they could both hear the shifting of heavy papers as they tipped it.

    It wasn¡¯t especially dusty, though it did have a musty smell. Popping it open, Yuka gently sorted and sifted through the contents. The first layer was deeds, along with some birth certificates, and business contracts. Though Misaki found it difficult to scrutinize everything, nothing contained in the folder looked strange or suspicious.

    Just a version of a safe used by a peculiar old woman. Some of the papers were brown with age. Koharu¡¯s marriage papers, birth certificate¡­ And death certificate were all present. Misaki winced and was about to tell Yuka that they needed to put everything back when she paused and brought a particular paper closer.

    It had Haruka¡®s name on it. Her birth certificate. In addition, several medical papers were included for blood tests and physical examinations. The details were redacted and referenced other documents not present. Yuka also managed to find similar papers for Maharu and the old woman, but she kept returning to Haruka¡®s.

    ¡°Why does she have my sister¡®s birth certificate? What¡­why¡­how could she possibly get it? I¡¯ve seen it a few times, along with my own. It looks right. Maybe it¡¯s just for safekeeping? But what¡¯s all this doctor stuff? Do my moms know that she has all this? This is crazy!¡°

    The kindest theory that Yuka could spin was that the old woman was stealing identities for criminal activity or sale on the black market. No other prospects made the least amount of sense. From between some heavy business documents, a tiny key plopped on the table. Yuka marveled at it with her mouth hanging open and had to remember to breathe.

    Nothing that they found suggested a lock or a spot to insert a key. Looking around in the immediate area also revealed no suspects for where to stick it. Several phone camera snaps of the most suspicious documents flashed the room like rogue lightning with surely blurry results, but that was the best they could do.

    Yuka meticulously and gently shuffled all the papers together and restored everything as they had found it. Once the wall cover snapped back with no seam showing, Yuka slumped on the floor and gave a deep puff of air. In the pinging silence that followed, both girls heard steady footsteps from far away.

    Launching herself at the door, Yuka moved to close it but was met by unyielding resistance. The lock refused to slot into place. She hissed a curse with every gasp of breath. Misaki attempted to use her train pass again, but it refused to push down, no matter how much leverage they applied. The footsteps sounded like they were coming from all directions. Only one option remained.

    They both slipped through to the other side of the door, and Yuka gave it one last tug and wiggle of the knob to see if she could at least wedge it back to the halfway point they originally found it at. No such luck. And nothing they had with them could quite prop it closed enough. Yuka strained and kicked her foot against the wall for a little more strength as Misaki braced her. Miraculously, the lock wedged itself back into the little groove it started in.

    It would have to be good enough. Scrambling together with their held breaths burning in their lungs, they snuck into the small restroom before the footsteps overwhelmed them.

    Once inside, Yuka slammed the light switch down with a fist. They hustled into the nearest stall. Mercifully, the fringe at the bottom wasn¡¯t an exposed highwater like every bathroom stall back home. Just a tiny sliver was left above the tile. Still, it seemed like a good idea to try standing on the toilet. Too cramped though.

    They listened carefully and patiently to figure out what was happening beyond the door. Aside from the pipes making low, ominous noises, the building was silent. They picked up the noise of footsteps again, just around the corner from the restroom door.

    Not heavy footfalls, but more patient, plodding, and methodical. Misaki thought she may have heard some faint whistling but couldn¡¯t rule out the pipes again. They squeezed against each other and did their best not to breathe.

    The floor vibrated right in front of the restroom door. Someone or something reached out to rattle the knob. It clicked and shifted, with a questioning squeak radiating out into the room. Misaki realized this was silly. They had every right to be in this bathroom without suspicion. What were they hiding for? Still, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to say anything or even clear her throat.

    A fresh cough wanted to fight its way out of her mouth, but she swallowed it back down. The door remained open for several seconds before the light switch clicked on. No sound came from the door except for an anonymous, careful breath. The presence of whoever was there didn¡¯t feel familiar, nor did it feel menacing. A hot tingling invaded Misaki¡®s head with a deeper, more constant tone than any ringing in her ears.

    Eventually, the light flipped back off and the door shut. However, another sound issued from down the hall with that left curve around the wall. Yuka knew what it was immediately. The tenuous balancing act of yanking that stubborn lock in place had been disturbed, and the other door popped loose. That drew the footsteps advancing towards it swiftly. When they pushed at the now likely open door, Yuka desperately whispered in Misaki¡¯s ear, "Go now. We have to go."

    They untangled themselves from one another, clung to their phones and everything they had put away in their traditional clothes, and furiously soft shuffled against the tile until they had the door and a way out. Swinging it open made way too much noise, but there was nothing they could do about that.

    Once clear in the hallway, they bolted towards the main area. The footsteps sounded like they were starting back towards them, but they made it to a side door and out before they could get close.

    Catching their breath on the stone tile, the two girls exchanged a glance. Back to the group like nothing happened. But something had happened¡ªsomething that clearly rattled Yuka as Misaki did her best to comfort her. Her sister and the girl who called her mommy. Something was going on with them and perhaps this entire community. The company clearly had secrets, but they weren¡¯t alone.

 [73] Yuri Worlds 73 â€“ Dance

    Yuri Worlds

    [73] Dance

    Yuka was furious, even though she had no idea who or what to actually be mad at. Being mad at the old lady seemed like a good start. She asked her clear and pointed questions, and all they got were distractions. Misaki fumed quietly in her own way, stewing and wondering.

    Glancing over as Yuka squeezed her fingers into nervous fists, she swiftly set a hand on Yuka¡¯s shoulder. Turning from her tempest of feelings, Yuka raised her colorful eyebrows and wondered what was wrong. Misaki gestured down, and Yuka followed the path of her gaze.

    Dirt on her hand, was what Yuka concluded at first glance. Lines of grime and dirt along her wrist and tracing her fingers. They¡¯d opened up the space behind the wall, manipulated it, pulled the folder out, and restored it, never mind the violent things she had to do to the door and climb the toilet seat.

    Very reasonable that her hand got dirty. But rubbing at it and trying to get rid of the grime had no positive effect. In fact, as she pressed at her flesh more and more, it actually got darker and scarier. Black lines laced beside her veins as though her fingers had pools of ink, leaving broad traces everywhere she tried to rub and clean. Yuka whimpered in confusion as she struggled to do anything that helped.

    Misaki guided her over to a faucet jutting from the ground by one of the side buildings. The round, spiral knob was awkward to turn, but the nozzle swiftly shifted from dripping to a blasting, sputtering wave of pale blue water. Yuka carefully stood to the side and away from the new rivers being carved along the dirt.

    She scrubbed her fingers and rubbed them until fresh waves of blistering pink flourished, still tainted by the inky darkness beneath. No amount of force seemed to help as her hands quivered and shook from the icy cold, lancing her joints like spikes. It was fruitless.

    Before she could break down in tears, Misaki shut off the water and squeezed Yuka¡¯s icy hands in hers. The warmth was breath-stealing and excruciating as swarms of tingles flooded her flesh. They shut their eyes and clung together, as though their hands held something infinitely precious that they just couldn¡¯t let escape.

    Their hearts raced even as the moment slowed. The worst of the tingling finally abated. Yuka looked down at her fingers cradled by Misaki¡®s and saw that the normal artistic color had returned with a subtle punctuation of the journey from frigid water to her loved one¡¯s warm embrace. The dark taint was gone without a trace it had ever been there.

    Relief washed over them, but not without the lingering fear of reality. Softly, holding back as many of her tears as possible, Yuka realized, ¡°Something¡¯s happening to me. Is it a monster? Did they put one of those wristband things inside me?¡±

    Saying those words summoned waves of nausea that Yuka had to stifle with enough hard, dense swallows of saliva to just about choke her. Misaki wished she had something in her back pocket to pull out for reassurance. A truth or a detail that would wipe away all the uncertainty, but she didn¡¯t have any. She did have hugs, and she gladly wrapped Yuka up in as many as she could offer.

    Beyond that shallow comfort, some possibilities emerged. The original rounds of discoloration seemed to occur in proximity to the wristbands. It was a broad postulation, but Misaki resisted poking holes or offering counters. Yuka traced the earlier incidents and even mulled over the potential of water as a trigger.

    For remedies, Yuka immediately leapt to instances of them kissing as the perfect healing tonic. Misaki had no complaints about this speculation and provided more scientific smooch samples. Between them, Yuka cautiously asked if her touch felt weird, corrupted, or disgusting. Confidently, Misaki assured her that everything about her felt as wonderful and beautiful as always.

    As another round of support, Misaki invoked Ayame¡¯s deep-dive perceptions that paired beautiful things with the both of them. She did so without really thinking about how much she revealed about Ayame¡¯s skirting of doctor-patient confidentiality. Yuka¡¯s mind was more on the flaws and missteps her nurse friend had made lately, but she couldn¡¯t denounce those notes of beauty without also diminishing Misaki.

    She gave Misaki a look but had to accept that maybe she wasn¡¯t a rotten apple. It could be something external. But that also begged the question of what was happening to the others with their levels of interaction and separation from the wristbands. Especially, Misaki¡¯s friend and little sister.

    They hadn¡¯t pried into what side effects the others might be experiencing. Misaki just assumed that separating themselves from the wristbands had to be wholly beneficial. No matter what they contained, not having them on could be detrimental in unexpected ways. None of them knew the plans and machinations of the company. Maybe that so-called landmine was related?

    The company didn¡¯t want them to ever take the wristbands off. And, paradoxically, they were alleged to be for identification purposes even though they had a strange perception filter. Misaki didn¡¯t know for sure, but she assumed early on that they had something to do with keeping them protected from Melting.

    Clearly, she had assumed too much. And equating closeness or distance to the wristbands with whatever was going on was another assumption. But Yuka needed this, so Misaki proposed a series of questions for Chika and Namiko, like a proper investigation. Her ears and eyes perked up, and she latched onto this prospect with renewed energy.

    Just straight up asking the two of them if they had experienced anything weird or uncomfortable recently didn¡¯t seem like the best idea. Rather, the two of them worked out that it would be better to prime the situation. Urge the two of them not to dismiss even the most minor irritations and oddities. Considering it sneaky was probably the nicest way that Misaki could refer to it, but it was a necessary subterfuge.

    They could apologize later for any deception, so long as it helped them get to the bottom of what was actually going on. Secrets were hiding everywhere, and they needed to pursue them.

    Before heading back to the group after this unexpectedly protracted restroom break, they camped out around the community center to see if the owner of the footsteps might make an appearance. Unfortunately, the building had multiple exits, and none of the ones they watched revealed even a suspect.

    They were welcomed back exuberantly with a flurry of questions and concerns, especially from Chika. In the walk-up, Yuka opted to cradle her stomach and hunch dramatically. Misaki developed a wave of bloating, so she didn¡¯t need to act. Yuka was really good at her role.

    She¡¯d soon unfurled a laundry list of uncertainties, leading with the worst of the skin grayness presented as possible deep tissue bruising. Some of the fragments were already known, but the pressure they put on them was that these signs were breaking out everywhere, and surely others were experiencing a range of nuisances, strange pains, and other things they didn¡¯t want to talk about¡­ but they could totally talk about it.

    The presence of sympathetic discomfort traced along Chika¡¯s features, and Nami prepared all the means of soothing at her disposal. But neither had even the faintest suggestion or hint that anything was happening to them that required mention. A big bust. Speaking of such, Namiko reiterated that her whole business felt blissfully comfortable in her practically distended clothes, and Chika was awash with the most relaxed energy. Even intentionally pressing the point as a last resort didn¡¯t turn up anything they could work with. Disappointing.

    They eased off the gas, even though they kept their plans and motivations hidden. The only real plan that remained was to scarf down a bunch of food while waiting for Maharu¡®s surely glorious performance. The rest of the group noticed the suspicious shift in social winds but didn¡¯t say anything about it.

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    The steaming bounty of octopus balls finally seemed to have left the range of fresh lava. Still, Misaki blew hard, inviting the mild wind around her to do half the work. It was practically cold by the time she chanced a bite. The spot in her mouth, despite healing with only phantom grooves, tensed when chewing. Decapitating the pastry fish, then giving them innards squirts, was a fun time for everyone.

    When it finally came time to be ushered over to the cobbled-together bleachers surrounding the beautiful stage, night had finished weaving its overwhelming tapestry across the land with the help of the piercing trees as the punctuation of lanterns drove back the darkness. The wind pressed persistently, but not with bitter cruelty. It provided a shifting, dramatic backdrop.

    Maharu soon stepped towards the stage, flanked by other girls that Misaki didn¡¯t recognize dressed the same way as her. The setup was basic in some respects but also had large theatrical stage lights with multiple colored gels. Behind the main performance area, several older ladies in heavy outfits joined the group with large and small drums, cymbals, and a long flute.

    One of the administration representatives introduced the performance, leaning towards the fact that some guests present came from far away and might not be aware of their local and national traditions. So, they would be introducing certain elements and providing history between.

    They broadly elaborated that this traditional dance originated as a plea to the goddesses to drive away misfortune and illness and bring bountiful harvests. It was literally intended to entertain the goddesses and invite them to join in.

    Since this was out of season and less formal, they had given carte blanche to many of the more creative girls involved to follow in the traditional mold but also put their own spin on different elements, so the goddesses may be both entertained and pleasantly surprised. Misaki could see a sneaky smile on Maharu¡¯s face, even though she tried to hide it with one of her voluminous sleeves. She was sure this was going to be interesting.

    The performance started slowly, with gently building music and soft chanting. They spoke of stories and myths, legends and imagination. There were important figures: the goddesses that inspired and the women who inspired them. Thoughts and dreams have the power to transform.

    Long ago was the story of Himiko. No historian could agree on where she sat in their history. Largely influenced by the cultures of other tribes and nations, she was still intrinsically linked with theirs. The first ruler, although more of a shaman and religious figure than a swordswoman.

    All that came later, when they moved from a culture of farming to one of conquest. They left Himiko all but forgotten. By mind and spirit, she commanded so many devoted. Yes, she was small and quiet, yet big of voice and bold of heart. And as her legend became myth, many believed she was the true inspiration for Amaterasu, the sun goddess at the center of all other goddesses, with her precious little sister Susanara always by her side.

    What came next blended bits of what Misaki was familiar with in traditional dances from shrine maiden performances posted on YouTube and translated into anime and movies. The slow, methodical, and precise cadence of dance with swings and shakes. But it soon started to build, whirling and whipping, but still with a smooth and practiced motion.

    Maharu wasn¡¯t so much a spry top in a dress but rather a prancing spirit stretching forth and pulling in with her mysterious arms and uncertain shape. Like a cloud brought to human shape. All the frantic energy she usually blasted out with was still unleashed but also shaped and contained in a practiced order that was beautiful and breathtaking.

    The primal exuberance and winsome delight of this barely known historical figure were passed on to the audience. Misaki was processing a lot. She didn¡¯t know that the goddesses had preludes. It made sense given what she knew of Shintoism and how divinity and humanity were linked. Assuming that the local version of Shintoism compared closely to her world¡¯s version of it.

    In careful whispers, Misaki arrived at a silly analogy that she opted not to share with anyone else. It made her think of the Phantom Menace to the previous films. The later lore contained a translation of what was reestablished, rewritten as coming first.

    The original story and the first episodes were otherwise missing to understand the real inspiration. She knew her analogy was dumb. History didn¡¯t flow as a kink with preludes and prequels inserted at a later point, but it was her pop cultural perspective.

    The elaborate performance did jump in time though, forward and back, picking up little snippets of goddess lore and celebrating the full extent of their history without judgment or efforts to bind and shape narratives.

    As a tangible translation of the metaphor, Maharu actually brought out lengths of rope, which Misaki recognized as Yasha¡¯s creations. However, they had been dyed blood red to more closely resemble the muscles and tendons binding the shrine maidens to the ethereal and each other while they danced together.

    Misaki noticed that the reaction of the other women in the audience was more subdued than that of their little group on the corner, which exuberantly clapped at every opportunity. She supposed that some of this was probably controversial for the older women, drawing together otherwise disconnected elements. At least Miss Okura didn¡¯t seem upset.

    Fortunately, the final section of dancing swung into that quiet, precise traditional format of appeasing and entertaining the goddesses, but with the variable of bright lights and colors shining across the stage.

    This part did pick up some applause, and there was a polite culmination at the concluding, traditional flourish. Maharu looked positively radiant, as though her skin had acquired a glorious glow to augment the bright, beautiful tones of her outfit. She also looked totally exhausted, with a sheen of sweat threatening to trickle across her face as she waved and was deliriously supported by the other girls.

    The rest of the evening was to include traditional music and other local performers further remixing the ancient styles. At least she didn¡¯t see anyone storming off or throwing a fit.

    Later, once things had cooled down and Maharu had practically inhaled several bottles of water to recover, she probed them each for feedback and explained that some of the administrators were wary of her plans, but she truly wanted to celebrate their full and illustrious history with all her energy and heart.

    "History shouldn¡¯t be so stiff and boring, just going through the motions. It¡¯s a fantastic story. It needs to be alive, loved, and celebrated! Himiko is our forgotten princess. It was such fun to make sure she is remembered and celebrated as much as anyone else, but I¡¯m so glad it¡¯s over, and I hope you all liked it. I have some stuff stashed in the shacks that I need to get for the choreography director for the next part and a change of clothes. I can¡¯t wait to show you all the super secret stuff they have in the booths you''ve gotta know about and all the tricks for getting prizes. I¡¯m gonna be right back!"

    Before leaving, Maharu turned and gave Yuka a daughterly peck on the cheek before blasting off towards the tree line. Yuka looked like she wanted to say something either kind or irritated, but she instead took a deep breath and dipped her eyes with a pink blush across her cheeks.

 [74] Yuri Worlds 74 â€“ Tearbreak

    Yuri Worlds

    [74] Tearbreak

    Despite so many boisterous personalities present, things got quiet after that, as though none of them could quite compare to what Maharu effortlessly brought at her peak and it wasn¡¯t worth competing. They commented on little things from the dance. Naoko was decently knowledgeable about history but hesitant to draw all the same strands together like Maharu had done.

    It was wrapped up in nationalist sentiment and a whole host of ambiguities. The mere fact that Maharu was able and encouraged by the shrine leadership to present a bit of controversy about the threads and themes of their history was healthy. Still, they couldn¡¯t deny the fact that some of the oldest ladies in the audience looked ruffled and irritable, even though they hadn¡¯t made an obvious fuss.

    Misaki could imagine, from her focused demeanor, that Bianka had a whirlwind of controversial possibilities spinning in her head. The Sasaki moms were in the area and had clearly watched the dance, but their expressions were quietly inscrutable.

    Chika was so exuberant in her take. She had actually read illustrated histories that incorporated and celebrated Himiko as a vital icon. The fact that their separate histories had such a strong point of convergence also excited her. Namiko was just jazzed by Maharu¡¯s dancing.

    Kosame thoughtfully fluttered her hands in a few different directions as she echoed elements of what Naoko said and appeared as though she was taking pains not to settle into her usual ways. Naoko squeezed her hand and offered her a kind smile. Moments later, Kosame unleashed a flowery eruption of maiden love wrapped in lyrical twists and turns.

    Haruka appeared tightly pensive, separated from the rest of them even though she was standing close by. She stared out into the forest with eyes brightly shifting, as though typing a phantom manuscript that only she could see.

    Misaki wanted to ask her what was on her mind, but the way to phrase the question kept slipping away from her, as though some other nagging thought she couldn¡¯t quite place was dragging her attention away. Time passed.

    It took several minutes before some mutterings became shifts in uncomfortable awareness. Maharu had been away for a conspicuous amount of time. The shacks extended off into the wilderness quite a ways, but even wandering in the rain, Misaki knew that it shouldn¡¯t take quite this much time to head over and return, especially with the insatiable firecracker of energy that Maharu had at her disposal and the clear urgency she expressed to get back and have fun with them.

    Chika, without prompting, volunteered herself to go check up on Maharu and make sure she hadn¡¯t fallen or needed help. With imitative Maharu energy, Chika bounded off just as adventurously.

    The group wandered over to the flavored ice booth even though the weather was starting to develop a persistent chill that was curling and nagging at the edges of their bodies and thoughts. Misaki didn¡¯t want to try her luck with some more balls, but that was easily the toastiest entr¨¦e on display. An omelet would be a full meal that she wasn¡¯t interested in right now. Some of those cute little dumplings Maharu fell in love with at the resort also dwelt here.

    Ultimately, some grilled corn sufficed. And time passed again.

    She should¡¯ve been able to easily see the bright purple and blue hair tones of Maharu and her little sister returning, even with the darkness blanketing the trees.

    Finishing her snack, Misaki noticed that Yuka was just as concerned and preoccupied as her. Her feet tilted up as though she were frozen at a starting line and just waiting for the gun to fire. She hadn¡¯t said much lately, but a swarm of unspoken words filled the tense pall of her features.

    Misaki volunteered next, promising she was just going to go a little way into the forest to check. She shouldn¡¯t have done that. She¡¯d learned far better than that over the last couple of days. But everything felt out of sorts, from the air to her string of thoughts.

    No one objected, even though Yuka seized her hand tightly to restrain her before finally slowly releasing it. She firmly asserted, ¡°If you don¡¯t come back promptly¡­ I¡¯m tearing ass after you and ripping this forest to the ground as revenge.¡±

    Misaki knew she should¡¯ve stayed or put together a party of others. But it was like she was forbidden from doing that. This was the only way. Before parting from the group, she noticed that Haruka had withdrawn, with her hands pressed together and her head bowed. Her writing pad poked out a sliver, but she couldn¡¯t see what was on it.

    This version of the wilderness wasn¡¯t as expansive as the raw world that stretched beyond the scratched-out resort trails. Around there, it was like a distant outpost of humanity and civilization, otherwise surrounded by the domain of nature and all its uncertain depths.

    This stretch almost bordered on a zoo-like captivity for the woods. It was easy to tell that the vastness of civilization existed mere miles away and that this was a bubble. The bubble was quite convincing though.

    It didn¡¯t take long before she ran across the first in the series of shacks. They looked clearly unchanged from the other night, even without a dense curtain of overwhelming rain to blur and muddle things.

    She wanted to imagine a starry, moonlit radiance peeking through the branches like a massive goddess watching over her. All she could see to the sides were the faintest glimmers of the lights of town, too far away to help her, like a lighthouse scanning the wrong sea.

    The frail efforts of her phone light just cast a jumbled beam across the blackness before it was swallowed up. Trees above either sliced through the landscape like teeth or crazed static snapping and swirling to strike.

    She passed another shack. Their measured presence was the most reassuring sign she could find along the way. Breadcrumbs of civilization urging her to continue. And so, she did.

    The forest felt larger and closer, the deeper she traveled, as though it wasn¡¯t a forest at all but some massive beast masquerading as such, and she had actually stumbled into a vast, cavernous gullet, beginning to squeeze down in all directions and desire a taste.

    Just when it seemed like this whole trek was fruitless and the best idea would be to just swing around and bring the others with her, she caught sight of a flickering of light blue rippling out from the darkness like a thin, dangling flag.

    It didn¡¯t take long before subtle reds and pure whites blazed. The radiant girl in front of her seemed like she had a strange light with her against the darkness. Everything about her glowed sharper and clearer than if she¡¯d been dunked in special paint. Carefully approaching, she soon saw there was no doubt; it was Maharu.

    Misaki waved and raspily cried out for her. Maharu was turned away; her attention focused on something distant that Misaki had no chance of glimpsing.

    Stepping closer, she wanted to cry out as the girl moved away, as though she were avoiding her. Couldn¡¯t she see her? Couldn¡¯t she hear her yelling, at least? Misaki huffed in frustration and desperately struggled to get her attention. It seemed like they were a million miles away from one another. All she could do was chase after her and hope.

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    But no matter how swiftly she pursued her, the girl either got lost in the shrubs or managed to advance so far ahead of her that it was like she didn¡¯t make any progress. Weird. But the strangest thing of all was when she got close enough to dispel any doubt that it was someone who just looked like Maharu.

    It was clearly her¡­ But she had a bizarre, tall, skinny hat on her head that looked more like brightly colored, fancy restaurant napkins somehow propped up on her noggin. In the right light, she thought they almost looked like¡­ Ears? Why would she be wearing something like that on her head?

    This nonsensical pursuit continued through the forest until she left the shack marked seventeen behind. She just regarded it with a quick glance to the side before checking on where Maharu was with respect to her. But when she looked back, there was no sign of the girl anywhere. Not that a rapid, insane dash was out of the realm of possibility for Maharu in particular, but this stretch of darkness felt tangibly finite.

    She knew how far ahead she could see. There was plenty of space for her to notice if Maharu had hopped to the side or attempted to blast ahead in the split second she had looked away.

    She should¡¯ve seen something when looking again, but there was nothing, and she couldn¡¯t explain it. Not a sight or a sound¡ªactually, that wasn¡¯t true. She could hear something very faintly whispered and repeated. The voice of someone far away or a quiet whisper. As she arrived at the next bit of clearing, it finally resolved into words.

    ¡°¡­..Mommy¡­.Mommy¡­.Mommy¡­.Mommy¡­¡±

    A heart-rending plea full of pain and desperation. An impossible sound that Misaki refused to believe she was hearing. But as her light moved towards the next shack in the row, she saw even worse. A slight, girlish figure lay sprawled out on the ground with her limbs stretched at odd angles.

    Even in the dark, Misaki could see several unnatural springs of vicious red flowing from her body. Several strands of rope, like a tangled spiderweb, laced and constricted around her, drenched in blood. As what felt like an afterthought, a pair of pale, elongated ears more appropriate for a rabbit jutted out from the top of her head.

    ¡°No no no no no no no¡­oh my God. Goddess. Oh, Jesus. Maharu¡­ what? How? oh my God¡­¡± Awfully silly words, pointless words, but they were the only things she could cling to in that moment.

    All reason and sense in the world were melting around her. Maharu couldn¡¯t be bleeding. She couldn¡¯t be¡­ Dying. The word made no sense. Was this part of the performance? Even if it was a cruel prank or method acting on an alarming scale, that would be far better than accepting that this was actually happening. One look at Maharu¡¯s starkly pale, wretchedly tired face told her that denial wasn¡¯t going to save lives.

    Tourniquet. Something. She had to use something to stop the bleeding. There were an absurd number of wounds that flowed into each other. It was impossible to count them while her mind felt like it was bleeding out as well.

    ¡°There you are. I¡¯ve been expecting you. You or your wannabe wife, big sisssss.¡±

    Misaki didn¡¯t wanna look up. She didn¡¯t want to connect the voice she was hearing to the face she knew she would see. But she had to.

    The lights turned on around the shack, tracing the features of a cruel face that never should¡¯ve shown such cruelty and whose precious heart fought for every smile since childhood, even when Franklin was too embarrassed to hold her hand.

    Chika bent her head down but curved her eyes and smile up as though she were cosplaying a monster as a joke, and the joke never landed. As another afterthought, Misaki realized that she had a crumpled paper inside her right pocket, which she hadn¡¯t noticed before. If it was a warning message about this, then it came far too late.

    "No. Oh God, no, Guy. What have you done? Why?" She wanted to be angry; she wanted rage to flow with concentrated confusion. But all she had was a stirred miasma pot of hopelessness given voice.

    "You don¡¯t get it. You never did. You never stood by me. You always thought you were better, even when trying to act so submissive. And all those selfish, mindless little bitches and bastards on the Internet that throw their pennies at me just to see their monkey dance in a stuffed bra with shaved legs. I hate them! And I hate you. I should¡¯ve done this ages ago."

    Chika¡¯s sharply carved smile twisted on her face as she brought her hands forward to show them drenched in Maharu¡¯s blood with a long, nasty knife clenched in her hand and several lengths of rope, both new and old, digging into her fingers. All throughout, Maharu¡¯s mournful pleas continued, gradually getting weaker and struggling to fight their way out of her throat.

    None of this made sense. Not even as a nightmare. This was her entire world, twisted and torn into pieces. "No. It can¡¯t be. It¡¯s not true. This is not you. How¡­"

    ¡°Believe it, little one. Everything you thought you knew has always been a lie. And now, it¡¯s going to die.¡°

    Little one. That¡¯s what was said when Chika was possessed, when the wristband turned her against them. But she didn¡¯t have a wristband on anymore. She should¡¯ve been free. Unless there was still something else controlling her in secret.

    Misaki didn¡¯t know how or why, but she just knew in her heart that the precious boy and the beautiful little sister who had been her friend since her very first memory, now muddled, would never do this, and she had to stand up for her goodness.

    ¡°You¡¯re not Guy, or Gal, and you¡¯re sure as hell not Chika. You¡¯ve infested her skin. How dare you! Let her go, NOW!¡± Uncertain moments burned past with the pulsing of Misaki¡¯s heart.

    She wanted to strike like an angry dog and rip the invisible parasite from wherever it was clinging to her little sister. At the same time, she could see and feel that the dark pool around Maharu was growing denser. But if she turned away from the monster puppeteering Chika, then she would meet the same fate.

    She had to do something. Rumbling with a glare and a focused growl, she ripped a length of her sleeve off and squeezed it against the deepest red stain on Maharu¡®s abdomen. The poor girl hoarsely squeaked and tensed, as though she had been stabbed again, but some of her energy flowed back and she struggled to sit up.

    The monster mere feet away swung the blade in her hand like an unbalanced metronome. She wanted to strike. She was going to strike. So many more cruel words were percolating in her brain, more sharpened than what she was wielding to rend, tear, and slice all the precious, beautiful little moments that Misaki had left.

    Then, the mask slipped, and someone else¡¯s face showed through Chika¡®s features.

    "Ahh, fuck it. Such a stupid Matlock-level slip! But I kind of wanted you to figure it out. Your little friend would¡¯ve been a decent alibi. At least that¡¯s what they provided me with. Although the prospect of some angry, history-obsessed little anime county lady not liking the way she treated their traditions would be a nice, last-minute effort. Making it a murder-suicide between you and her is way more complicated, but I guess it¡¯ll have to suffice."

 [75] Yuri Worlds 75 â€“ Dogwood

    Yuri Worlds

    [75] Dogwood

    She was going to die. The notion should¡¯ve terrified her. She¡¯d been at the razor¡¯s edge, with Death literally about to greet her. But that was all that this monster could threaten her with. The actual fear came from the flailing, weakening little girl at her feet, wounded in so many places she didn¡¯t know how to patch.

    She didn¡¯t deserve to hurt. After such a life of bitter struggles and weeping in the darkness, she deserved a night with her friends after such a joyous accomplishment and celebration of the uncertainty and possibilities of history. Misaki put pressure on a rapidly growing spot near her leg. Maharu whimpered with a shallow breath and softly gurgled. That had more strength behind it than the last few minutes of struggling, but it still didn¡¯t sound right.

    ¡°You can¡¯t save her. Nor can you save yourself. But feel free to try. Sometimes the most delicious, savory fun is in the chase. Can you find it in yourself to run away and leave her to trickle out drop by drop?¡±

    Shit. She¡¯d already wasted so many first-aid moments that might¡¯ve meant life or death for Maharu. Misaki started to tear another length of pink cloth from her sleeve for a tourniquet. There was so much bleeding, but she remembered from some vague, distant health class that she actually wanted to forget that there were several vital locations in the body. Aorta, carotid artery, jugular. Names that popped into her head.

    No cuts or slices around her neck; no fresh blood there. That had to be a good sign. Maharu was so messy, so full of holes, but maybe they weren¡¯t the worst kind of holes. She had to hope.

    And she was an animal girl? That had to be what the ears meant. Had she somehow been hiding them all this time? Misaki had no idea what to think. It wasn¡¯t a vital issue; keeping her conscious and breathing was. Could Ayame help stabilize her? Were there any other medical services nearby? They weren¡¯t at the remote resort, at least.

    "You really need to worry more about yourself than the kid on the way out. Really, I think I¡¯m doing you a service. You have no idea what¡¯s actually happening, do you? I wonder, how much of you is really you? How much will I find when I carve you open?"

    All those words shivered down Misaki¡®s spine like the knife was a millimeter away from passing through her flesh. She didn¡¯t want to care what that meant, but she had seen the blackness in her hair and the darkness in her eyes.

    Like something was eating her, rotting her from the inside out. Not that she trusted the words of this monster, but it seemed to know something. It drew closer.

    Misaki tore off another length of cloth from her other sleeve and secured it to a wet spot on Maharu¡®s leg above the rope. The poor girl clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. Hang in there. Please. Hang on. It¡¯s gonna be okay. She had to believe that. The monster infesting Chika took another step.

    She backed away from Maharu. At least, she attempted to. But it was like pressing up against an invisible, impossible-to-resist wall. A stark laugh curled around Chika.

    "I didn¡¯t say you could leave. That¡¯s not nice. Just running away. Don¡¯t worry; I¡¯ll give you the chance to scamper off. But you have to play by the rules. I hate the rules personally, but they make it fun for everyone! There¡¯s going to be a count, and I¡¯m going to close my eyes, and then you can head off in any direction if you like. But I can smell you, and I can feel your desperate heartbeat, little one. No matter where you go or how deep you hide, I can find you. Reeaaaadddy? Here we go!"

    She wasn¡¯t ready. And she wanted to scream out. But it was like a fist clamped down in all directions, and she could barely breathe. Her ears buzzed, like a swarm of bees were about to erupt from within her. She couldn¡¯t do anything. The monster¡¯s blade tilted up, ready to strike and bleed her out too. But a sound whispered in the distance with urgent footfalls and a voice that filled her with relief but also panic.

    "There you are. Lost? You just have to follow one shack after another. What¡¯s taking the three of you so long? This better not be a game. Everyone¡¯s waiting and worried. Come on¡­" Yuka, as promised, had come after her. And stepped right into the monster¡¯s lair.

    Misaki panted, desperately trying to will her voice to warn away the girl she loved. But she got closer and closer, until she was too close. Yuka had a hand on her hips with a finger rubbing at the edge of her eyes, brushing away the weight of the day. She was still blissfully unaware of the darkness about to swallow her up. Misaki whipped her head the other way, toward the shack. Chika had vanished.

    Before she could process that or begin to understand where she had gone, she heard Yuka release a breath, then slowly gasp as she said, "What are you¡­? You¡­ why? Oh my Goddess! No no no no no no¡­ what happened? Did you trip?¡­You¡¯re hurt. Oh, Goddess! You¡¯re bleeding!"

    Yuka¡¯s voice rose with sharp, jagged fear, whimpering and crying through her strangled words. The rambling cries became frantic, flowing tears. Her hands reached and flew across the girl¡¯s body as she looked up and all around.

    "What happened?! Why is she tied up? What¡¯s on her head? Misaki! Please, help me! You have to help me, please, Goddess please! She¡¯s bleeding. We need to apply pressure. I don¡¯t know if we can move her. There¡¯s so much blood. We need to stop the bleeding. Come on, come on¡­"

    Her voice shrank so much, sounding more like a desperate child¡¯s as she fought through her tears to form words. So many tears¡ªa flood to drown the world, a shattering with every drop breaking Misaki¡®s heart.

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    Yuka clenched her teeth and ripped band after band of cloth from her sleeves, tightly securing them to whatever soft spots she could find. But the tightness of the tourniquets was starting to leech the color from her limbs, along with the continuing blood loss.

    ¡°Mommy¡­ Mommy¡­ Mommy¡­ Mommy¡­¡±

    She heard Maharu¡¯s softly repeated plea. The words were a little louder and clearer than when Misaki first arrived. Misaki knew people healed in this place; they were kept naturally young, and all the little things that bothered her quickly went away.

    She could believe that this poor little girl, who¡¯d just started living, who had just begun to dig herself out of the deepest darkness, deserved every ounce of life and strength that this world could provide, that she could share, and that she could beg whatever Goddesses out there to lend her. They had to; they just had to!

    Panting desperately, Yuka bowed over Maharu and sobbed. ¡°It¡¯s okay. Stay with me. I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here. Mommy¡¯s here¡­mommy¡¯s here¡­.¡± Hot, blinding tears ran down Yuka¡¯s face as she squeezed Maharu tight in her grasp.

    Slowly, quiet comfort came over Maharu. Her limbs relaxed. Her body settled against the soft, mossy ground. Her breathing eased as she clearly spoke, ¡°Mommy¡­ thank you, mommy. Thank you. I love you¡­¡±

    Brushing Maharu¡¯s bright blue hair, tears still overwhelmed Yuka, and she barely registered those words. "Mommy¡¯s here. Shush¡­ you¡¯re gonna be okay. Shh shhh. It¡¯s gonna be all right. Just hold on. I love you too. Just hold on, sweetie. Mommy¡¯s here¡­"

    "¡­Thank you¡­" Those words softly whispered out, like the last air freed from a deflated balloon. Maharu¡¯s arms settled at her sides, and her breath ceased. Yuka could sense it the moment it happened. She grabbed her tighter, fumbling with her hands.

    ¡°No no no no no no NO NO NO NOOOOOO! Come back, come back! Please, Goddess, please!¡±

    She was gone. Maharu was gone. Misaki sank to her knees.

    ¡°Daughter like mothers, with the same poetic, delicious fate. Round and round it goes. And I just can¡¯t get enough. Hi¡­¡±

    That wasn¡¯t Chika¡¯s voice, but Misaki still knew it. Out of the shadows emerged Chika¡¯s limp, dragged form, held by a girl still cloaked in darkness.

    She tossed her body to the ground like a neglected doll and stepped forward. Yasha emerged into the meager light with a twisted smirk channeled through her harsh features.

    ¡±So much for that. I could¡¯ve kept it up. I could¡¯ve played you all. But this moment is so precious, so scintillating. I can¡¯t resist¡­¡± She reached up to her face and touched her eyes, as though gently clawing them out. When she looked over again, they were bright, demon red.

    Yuka still desperately clung to Maharu¡¯s body as it slowly cooled. The tears practically steamed away, leaving burning, hot flesh aimed directly at Yasha.

    Every muscle in Yuka¡¯s face twisted so tight that Misaki almost feared they might snap in half as she said a single word infused with all her hate, ¡°¡­You¡­¡±

    ¡°Me. But do you know who I am? Do you really know? I was there before, at the beginning, and now at the end. Koharu and Yuki. They did everything to make me think their little girl was gone or dead with them. But I never had eyes for her back then. Not ripe yet. She needed to be savored. And my feast is finally complete.¡±

    Yuka clenched her fists so tight that it was a miracle her hands didn¡¯t start bleeding. ¡°I¡¯ll kill you¡­ I¡¯ll fucking kill you¡­¡±

    The red-eyed blonde cackled. "How eloquent. Exactly what I expected from something like you. Come on, I thought they socialized you better."

    Misaki hopped up and scrambled over to Yuka¡¯s side. She swiftly stretched an arm in her direction. But it stretched too far¡ªway too far.

    Her limb pulled out like ashen taffy, spreading and contorting bonelessly. Yuka looked on in horror as her arm seemed more like a diseased tree trunk. Yasha released a fresh round of laughter.

    ¡°There you are. The real you beneath the mask. How disgusting. How delightful. I¡¯ve always wanted to see if a dark entity bleeds. So, yummy one, what will you show me?¡±

    A strange radiance of gold blended with ethereal blue twisted in gnarled vines around Yasha¡®s body like a spiritual exoskeleton. Her teeth seemed sharper, and her form swelled like she was hovering.

    Misaki wanted to move between the two of them and be the wall that protected all that she had left. It didn¡¯t matter what was happening to Yuka. They would figure it out. They would fix it.

    But that monster, could do something horrible to Yuka as easily as it did to Maharu. Please don¡¯t fight; please don¡¯t face it. But Misaki knew in her heart that there was no way the girl she loved was going to back down from this monster.

    Yuka kept her eyes locked on Yasha. She gently bent down to embrace Maharu and plant loving, tender kisses on her cheek and forehead. Her right arm still dangled like poisoned oil in a broken bag.

    She kept it away from Misaki and used her other hand to touch her on the shoulder, pulling herself close with a kiss on her forehead followed by an insistent one squeezing her lips. She looked her in the eye and just gave a quick nod.

    Standing on wobbly legs, Yuka flared her nostrils and took one step after the other toward the blonde. Her entire body quivered, but her mind and soul were firm.

    She stretched out her other arm, and it spread like the same black taffy. It twirled and twisted, reached and flowed, just like what they found inside the wristbands. A dark entity. She, somehow, was like them.

    Yuka squeezed as much air into her lungs as she could hold. Her voice was heavy¡ªnot deep but leaden with the moment, emotion, and so much more. She spoke harshly without growling, "My name is not dark entity or yummy one. Or Sasaki Yuka. Not anymore. My name is Cerberus, and I will send you back to Hell where you belong."

 [76] Yuri Worlds 76 â€“ Cerberus

    Yuri Worlds

    [76] Cerberus

    Cerberus? The name sounded familiar to Misaki. Hell, the hound of Hell. A three-headed monster dog from Greek mythology. She assumed this was the adult, forever name that Yuka had been alluding to before. Her boyish name.

    Sure. Whatever name she wanted was fine with her. It was just jarring for the moment to deal with the raw, wretched loss of Maharu, the demonic looming of Yasha saying and doing so many dark and horrible things, and this added uncertainty with Yuka. She didn¡¯t know what to do.

    Yuka and Yasha were going to fight. Misaki desperately wanted to help Yuka, but how? She didn¡¯t have any powers or fighting abilities. Not that it seemed like Yuka did either.

    Yasha twisted the strange light around her even tighter as she responded, ¡°Cerberus? What a stupid name! About what I expected from something like you. I can beat a stupid dog as well as anything else.¡± The bluish-white illumination snaking around her flashed through the air like a bolt of lightning. A sudden slice of it blasted at Yuka, heating the air with a feral roar in all directions.

    Dashing to the right through the clearing, Yuka gave a sudden, squeaking gasp as the bolt made contact with the unfurled, black licorice of her arms. A flash of red pain overwhelmed her, and like lightning surging through a tree branch, the last few inches of what used to be Yuka¡¯s left hand sheared off and plunged to the ground. The mass that dropped wasn¡¯t much, but it immediately changed from a solid, rigid appendage to a roiling, black soup. Just like the dark entities hidden away inside the wristbands. Misaki was at a loss for what that meant.

    She kept an eye on the fight but carefully moved over to Maharu¡®s side. The girl¡¯s precious, wide, gem-like brown eyes had lost an intangible amount of their luster. Even with the strangeness of anime flesh, Misaki could tell she was gone. But she was so peaceful, even with those eyes half open. Her mouth remained curled slightly, as though she had a clever secret to tell that no one would ever know but her.

    Death felt so surreal. It never made sense to Misaki. Sure, her mother¡®s passing had been rather smelly and undignified, but she¡¯d been like that for quite a while. Her father went with barely a cough. The rest of that morning, until the mortuary workers came, it was hard to convince Franklin that he wasn¡¯t just sleeping a little heavier than usual. Movies and shows make it look so dramatic. Aside from a paleness because of the blood loss and the dense, drying red stains, Maharu appeared perfectly fine. It seemed almost silly that she would just lay here like this.

    Come on, Haru! You need to get up. Your dance did seem rather exhausting, but you had such radiant plans for the rest of the evening. Don¡¯t sleep through them! You have to get up. You have to cheer on Yuka and raise those skeptical eyebrows at the peculiar name she decided to take for her future, for the rest of her life.

    This world clearly holds the miraculous. Women practically lived forever with fresh faces and clever minds. It¡¯s not right; it¡¯s absolutely unfair that her precious little firecracker of spirit and heart would extinguish in so short of time. We just can¡¯t have that! No way. Goddesses? It¡¯s time to do your fucking job!

    No time to dawdle, ponder, and wait. This kid put on a show that you had to have seen. It was the talk of the neighborhood. She deserves this. She deserves happiness. Misaki refused to accept any other outcome.

    She prayed to the heavens, to nature, to a world below, and past the cosmos. Everything she had in this quiet moment went to her thoughts and will. Wrapping her arms around Maharu was necessary, even though it almost felt like an invasion of something sacred.

    Misaki¡®s stomach desperately gurgled as she held the girl close. Maharu¡¯s body listlessly acquiesced to her embrace. Its passivity was so wrong. Despite the coolness of the night, her form still felt quite warm. Glancing over Maharu¡¯s still shoulder with tears running across her face, Misaki felt the same bright shimmer she had followed to this clearing. It was a presence with the same light as Maharu, even though it kept trying to rush away from her before. She had no idea what happened then and still couldn¡¯t figure out what was happening now.

    But that presence, blurred by her tears, shone on her. It was like an assurance that the sun would rise again with the dawning of another day and shine forth all the brighter. Hair brushed back by caring fingers. A support when she was sure she would tumble. A hug and a kiss transmitted remotely. Maharu at peace. And she wasn¡¯t alone. She stood between two others, women who clearly shared her features and inspired her energy and spirit. They held hands and said goodbye.

    Fighting back tears, Yuka struggled and strained to get up from her knees as Yasha loomed. She drew back the tight tangle of blazing light and aimed it at Yuka¡¯s face. A light, gentle waft of laughter slipped through. Yuka looked back, past Misaki huddled around Maharu¡¯s body, and saw something that made her eyes widen. Yasha looked truly terrified, if for just a moment. The light lingered softly before the forest darkened, as though a curtain had dropped on a stage. The branch limbs of Yuka¡¯s arms squeezed together like a rope twisting tight.

    When the next attack from Yasha lanced through the air, Yuka rolled sharply to her left and retrieved what she had lost. The oily mass coated her dark flesh as she reshaped the limb into a glinting obsidian blade. Yasha widened her blood-red eyes and looked delighted.

    But Yuka slowed her breathing and restrained herself. The blonde didn¡¯t have patience as silence slipped back over the forest. Yasha soon turned her attention over to Misaki. She gathered several handfuls of the glowing radiance laced around her and bunched them together like channeling a charged rope.

    Before she could wield it against Misaki, Yuka shot along the ground in a sprint to challenge Maharu¡¯s speed and swung her arm through the air like a sharpened whip. The dark blade wobbled but cleaved through the blonde¡¯s left arm, severing the blazing molten strands with sharp shocks of pain and hissing steam. Yasha screamed as her arm plopped lifelessly on the ground with the bright bands dangling like useless strings.

    Yuka leaned back cautiously and nursed the cracks and pockmarks in her blade limb that struggled to recover. She clenched her teeth against the biting pain and waited. Soon, Yasha¡¯s wild, banshee-like screams shifted into uproarious cackles. She held out her severed stump as a new arm swiftly filled the void without a mark or blemish difference between the old and the new.

    ¡°You actually managed to touch me. Invigorating! But I came prepared. As I always do. You can¡¯t kill me. Nothing can.¡±

    A blast of light tunneled out of Yasha¡¯s right arm like toothpaste made of sunlight. Yuka dashed away, seeking out Misaki and Chika. Misaki was clear of the latest assault, but the blonde was moving towards Misaki¡¯s purple-haired little sister. Yuka¡¯s left arm moved stiffly, but she still managed to grab onto a nearby tree and use the bladed part for support as she looped around it to escape the flaming attack.

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    This drew Yasha away from Chika and afforded Misaki the chance to fashion a plan to grab her friend by the shoulders and drag her away from danger. Chika was uncomfortably prone, but peering through the chaos gave Misaki the impression she was still breathing. She hoped she was still breathing and that it wasn¡¯t just an illusion of shadow and light. She couldn¡¯t lose anyone else. Maharu was already too much to bear, even with the frail hope of her finding peace.

    Yasha remained in single-minded pursuit of Yuka, like a ravenous bear after a wolf. While Misaki¡¯s fear and attention were on the burning, blazing swipes surrounding the girl she loved, she managed to wrap Chika¡¯s arms around her shoulder and pack strap carry her an awkward few feet past Maharu¡®s body. It was easy. Until her muscles started to fight back for several breath-stealing seconds, like she¡¯d been jabbed in the side and wrenched around the shoulder. Misaki fought through the pain and carefully dropped her friend as gently as possible before checking her pulse and finding a steady beat.

    She was also definitely breathing. Movies and shows would tell her to start slapping Chika around and try to shake her, but good sense and plenty of first aid training back in college instead told her that the best thing to do now was to try to keep her comfortable and safe and maybe try to talk to her. Whatever Yasha had done to her friend might still be present, with her will suppressed and a danger to herself and others.

    Misaki opted to gently rub Chika¡®s arms and legs and whisper quietly at first before getting loud enough that she certainly had to hear her. It didn¡¯t help. She still remained on the forest floor, with no sign of consciousness. It was then that Yasha started to turn her attention back to them. They were an easy way for her to bleed more pain out of Yuka.

    She struggled to hold her panic inside as she dashed through a waterfall of semi-coherent possibilities. Run? Not with Chika on her back. Throw a clod of dirt and gravel? Why not also try spitting at that abomination? Scream? It would just be wasted breath. She still had that crumpled piece of paper in her pocket. Maybe she could bluff with it and make it more important than it probably was. Worth a shot.

    The glowing, cobra-like form of Yasha started to loom and advance as Yuka gritted her teeth and shot around the tree. Before Yuka could bring her obsidian blade arm down for a strike, Yasha jerked her head and slashed with bright vine-supported fingernails. Yuka yelped and tumbled backward. A bright flash of blood arced through the air from a gash in Yuka¡¯s cheek as she flailed to put pressure on the spot.

    Yasha leaned back and regarded her quarry with a subtle look of confusion. It flashed for just a moment before she responded, ¡°You bleed red¡­good.¡± She licked her lips as though she could actually taste some of the blood in the air.

    A sudden silence fell over the forest clearing, softly broken by even, meticulous footsteps advancing from the direction of the festival. Several frantic thoughts flooded Misaki¡¯s mind. She had to warn whoever was coming. Stay away! Danger! At the same time, she knew that this could be the answer. Someone, hapless or helpful, was coming.

    As soon as they saw what was going on, they could run and get help. If Yasha wanted to keep what was happening here a secret, then she would have to go after them. Not that Misaki wanted to involve some random innocent in these events, but the entire town was likely going to be involved soon enough.

    This monstrous woman had stolen the lives of Miss Okura¡¯s child and daughter-in-law, followed by her granddaughter. Whatever the ladies of this place could bring to bear against this bitch and the complacency of the company couldn¡¯t possibly be enough recompense. But at least it would be something.

    A strange haze of light shifted through the verdant filter of the branches, breaking against soft shadows. Stark, bone-blank features glowed in the night, outlining a face. The figure loomed with anonymous subtlety as the details slowly resolved. Blue eyes, gray yukata, and a still, solemn visage peering out with wary resignation. Haruka stood before the clearing with her arms folded and her eyebrows tight.

    Misaki struggled in place as though she were a fish searching for water, fighting for breath, and aching to speak. "Haruka¡­you.."

    Haruka flicked her eyes over to Misaki with icy stillness, regarding some curious, floundering specimen. ¡°Did you read it?¡± She spoke the question as though it were both the most important thing and a trivial matter draped in casual impatience.

    It took Misaki several stunned moments to process what she meant, while putting together a collage of personal anger, bitterness, disappointment, and shock that deserved to be shouted to the heavens and the unfeeling statue that was Haruka. All she ultimately managed was a glib, ¡°No.¡±

    Yuka tore a scrap of cloth from her yukata that was the right size to apply to her gash without choking her. Really, she needed some heavy gauze and paper tape, but this would have to do as the drying red rivulets still stretched down her neck. She panted with labored breaths and stared at her sister. Their eyes didn¡¯t meet. Yuka¡¯s fists trembled.

    ¡°Read it. Out loud. To everyone,¡± said Haruka.

    Swallowing quietly, Misaki dug around in her pocket for the paper. Part of her hoped that it mysteriously vanished or dropped through a hole, to be lost somewhere in the dark, anonymous dirt, and that the responsibility wouldn¡¯t have to fall on her for whatever this was and what it meant. But it was there, just as she had left it and just as Haruka had apparently left it with her.

    With unnaturally loud crunches and crinkles of unfolding, Misaki scrunched up her eyes. She didn¡¯t want to see. She didn¡¯t want to know, even if it were somehow a positive message. She knew in her gut that the dark aura of the moment wouldn¡¯t be present if this were anywhere close to a good thing. She was so sweaty all over despite the gripping chill of the night and how light and loose her yukata fell across her body. Dripping was sure to follow.

    The scrap of paper was bulky but no bigger than the notepad Haruka fiddled with earlier. She had to grab her phone to provide enough light to see what was written. At the top of the document were the same reminders from earlier about doom and death. She will die. Then her eyes settled on the new part¡ªthe cruel words she saw but could not speak. Haruka said them verbatim instead.

    ¡°Not my sister. Sasaki Yuka is not my sister. Okura Maharu is.¡±

    Those words leadenly settled over the clearing like an oppressive, crushing deep water presence, squeezing the air out of Yuka and Misaki. Moments later, Chika gave a rough groan. She was finally starting to rouse.

    Haruka took several steps forward with her arms outstretched. She leveled her head, tightened her jaw, and flared a controlled sliver of her teeth. Light, like half-swords, stretched from her hands. Atop her head, goat horns shimmered into being.

    ¡°Step away from her, or I¡¯ll be forced to attack,¡± Haruka said.

    Yuka allowed herself a soft, careful breath, glaring at Yasha. ¡°You better do what she says.¡±

    Haruka¡¯s eyes finally landed on Yuka. ¡°I¡¯m talking to you...¡±

 [77] Yuri Worlds 77 â€“ Sisters

    Yuri Worlds

    [77] Sisters

    Misaki had no idea what to say. She just stared at Haruka. There had to be more. She couldn¡¯t possibly mean that. If Maharu was her true sister, then how could she just stand there with her murderer against what Misaki assumed was her adopted sister?

    Yuka went slack, as though an invisible force holding her up suddenly shut off like a switch. She sought Haruka¡¯s cold, cruel eyes and quietly pleaded, ¡°Sis¡­ Big sis¡­ what is this?¡±

    Haruka tightened her jaw and drew her hands together, as though holding an invisible ball of energy between her painted fingernails. Matter-of-factly, she responded, ¡°You¡¯re not my sister. We were never sisters. They just placed me with you. Now back away, or you will force me to break something.¡±

    Each word hit Yuka like the relentless battering of a stone slab. She struggled to draw and hold her breath as she pressed against the cold Earth to return to her feet. Yuka tensed her limbs. Her expression dripped with pain as she refashioned the blade on her arm into the shape of a shield and squeezed the other into a black, round rod.

    Resolutely, Yuka responded, ¡°I am not letting this monster go.¡°

    Haruka raised up on her toes. "Then you leave me no choice." The dark pinnacle of her horns grew broader and sharper. Misaki struggled to hold in her head the fact that Haruka was another one of these animal girls. Maharu was a rabbit, and Haruka has goat aspects. Whatever all that meant. Likely why they had hidden medical papers.

    Misaki struggled with the same things as Yuka. Why was Haruka fighting on the side of the killer? Concentrating on the girl as she advanced on Yuka, looking at her horns, gave Misaki a grinding sensation like a drill probing cracks in her skull. Were there any other places that she didn¡¯t want her to look? Searching Haruka¡¯s striding form, Misaki¡®s eyes landed on her wrist with a pinging radar pressing on her brain. Bingo.

    Holding her eyes there was excruciating, but she refused to blink. Squinting helped somewhat as she resolved a black mark wrapped around her wrist. Wrist black. Black wrist. Wristband. She also had the wristband!

    Plaintively, Misaki screamed this information to the girl she loved. Haruka didn¡¯t waver or flinch as the once-sisters reached striking distance from one another. Compared to Yasha¡¯s overzealous, illuminated attacks, Haruka restrained her use of bands of light to closely curled whispers of energy. Bluish gold blooms swirled nearby, as though she were a lightning rod that could only draw flashes to the vicinity.

    The energy didn¡¯t whip out at Yuka; instead, it flared and flew like a distant star¡¯s coronal mass bleeding off. On Haruka¡®s shoulders, it buzzed and hissed like neon lights contained in unseen tubes. Yuka shielded her eyes, just as she would from arc welding. Twisting forward and bringing her power to bear, Haruka pounded her sister like a stubborn nail. Misaki flinched and staggered sympathetically as Yuka bore the sparking, relentless weight. Her legs wobbled at the knee, but she remained upright.

    "Why! WHY?!" Yuka screamed at her sister, although she might as well have been yelling into a void. "I don¡¯t want to fight you! I don¡¯t care where we came from or who our mothers are! You¡¯re my sister! My big sister! Please, stop!" Her voice crackled with emotion and struggled to escape her lips. Haruka actually paused her assault.

    The tight, bitter angle of her eyes withdrew, scanning with the same coldness but not pressed into a pounding force. Yuka redoubled her plea: "You¡¯re being controlled. I know this isn¡¯t you. You need to fight the monsters and their hold over you." Haruka straightened and held up her arm, bearing the wristband.

    "Do you think this is a mind control device? It¡¯s not. I am who I have always been¡ªa lost girl protecting her sister. The company resolved who I am and who you are. Who we each have to be. They made it clear: I am a being of light, and you are a being of darkness." Haruka¡¯s eyes quivered, as though something was burning them.

    Yasha coughed. "That¡¯s enough talk. If you¡¯re going to restrain her, then do it. Or else let me have my fun." Haruka snapped up obediently and nodded her head. She stretched her arms out like glimmering wings and swooped down on Yuka.

    A brutal, crushing force laid into her like a winding vice. Misaki screamed out, begging her for mercy. Yuka dripped fresh blood from her gash and could barely breathe with her shield arm wavering above her as she used the other for support. Misaki feared she saw stress cracks radiating across the fragile blackness that protected Yuka. She had no idea what to do, but she had to do something.

    Misaki recalled the way that Yuka and her connected; they practically shared a soul. She had seen inside her, known her feelings, and known her heart. No matter if Ayame was wrong or right, she¡¯d seen that feeling and felt something special.

    Light, dark, human, or monster, she loved her, and Yuka loved her too. True evil couldn¡¯t know and share love. Yuka was not bad, no matter if she had a hellhound name, coal-dark skin, or whatever else. Misaki reached out to her, searching for their red string of fate.

    She could feel it, as though it were a vein feeding lifeblood between them. She had to protect Yuka, whatever it took. Misaki imagined all the energy she had as like a tightly packed net ready to be thrown. She had no idea where that analogy came from, but it seemed worth trying for visualization. Around her feet, Chika was making even more little noises, struggling towards actual words. Misaki just prayed she had no physical or mental injuries.

    Without dwelling on it, Misaki emotionally hurled herself across the distance that separated her from the girl she loved. What came next was a surreal, practically out-of-body experience where she remained planted on the spot while also spinning and whirling through the air like a projectile. It felt like she was being spread too thin, like the smallest dollop of butter over blazing toast that wanted to dissolve and absorb her. She had to hold herself together.

    White-hot pain flowed across her entire body, even though she knew she hadn¡¯t actually been struck. Trying to resolve the scene before her, she saw a web-like structure spreading from her hands, exactly like the net she imagined, but pitch dark and iron rigid like a burnt backstop across Yuka¡¯s huddled form. Oh, Goddess, her too? Was she a dark entity too?

    She didn¡¯t have time to process what this all meant as Haruka¡®s assault screamed through her and rattled her fragile, stretched body. It was excruciating. She noticed when Haruka saw that her blows weren¡¯t landing. Misaki expected a second round to fall even harder. Instead, a flicker of horror crossed Haruka¡®s eyes as she still wielded her weapons but pulled them to just making contact. Each subsequent swing barely grazed her alien flesh. It still hurt, but more like a pinch than a boulder falling. She had questions, as in all things since the madness of this forest clearing.

    ¡°What¡­ sis?¡± Of course, Chika¡¯s eyes chose that moment to finally flutter open. When she was shooting the dirty snow equivalent of Spider-Man webbing. Poor Chika. She also had to keep in mind that her little sister had been under control without a wristband. She couldn¡¯t trust her. Misaki quietly tried to keep her distance.

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    Yuka managed to catch her breath and recover. Tears softly streaked her eyes as she looked over at Misaki with blazing concern and fear. She put herself in danger. She knew Yuka wouldn¡¯t approve, but she couldn¡¯t let her face this all alone.

    Yuka pulled back from the protection, and Misaki felt a strange sensation as she did, like her entire body was magnetized, and Yuka was a tingling flow compelling her to follow, drawing her in. It took determination, like holding her breath underwater and past the point of pain, to resist the alluring, compelling force of Yuka¡¯s presence. Yasha gave a sly cackle.

    ¡°Be careful, little one. Don¡¯t get too close. Or you¡¯ll fall into the raging waters.¡±

    Misaki had no idea what that meant and honestly didn¡¯t care to interpret her cruel words. Once Yuka was far enough away, she willed the black mass back into her. The dizzy, disconnected feeling still remained, along with nausea-inducing spins of uncertainty. And swallowing all that back up felt like retrieving a dangling loogie that touched the ground on its way down. How could all this be inside her? How could she ever feel normal again, knowing what came out of her?

    Chika slowly sat up on the cool, slightly muddy ground as she cleared her throat with coughs and grimaced at the state of her clothes. It didn¡¯t take her long to look on in horror at Maharu''s still, bloodied shape. "Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Christ. No no no¡­" Misaki wanted to stop her from crawling over in the faint, desperate hope that the CPR or wound care might rouse the poor girl from her stillness. Her cries soon echoed across the clearing.

    Someone else found them. Dressed in a deep green that almost blended in with the expanse of trees, stood Miss Okura. The old woman appeared older still, her expression lanced, crossed, and torn with pain. Tears were beyond her as she staggered towards her granddaughter¡¯s fallen form.

    A hush fell over all those present as she cried out, wailing loud enough to break the stars above and bring them crashing to earth. Unnatural screams, animal cries, and earth-quaking rumbles echoed through the clearing like a cursed, ancient invocation of doom. Even Yasha gave an unexpected shudder and leaned back with a scowl.

    It didn¡¯t take Miss Okura long to turn her grief and pain into jagged anger. ¡°You swore¡­ you wouldn¡¯t touch my family again.¡±

    Yasha curled her lips. "I didn¡¯t touch your granddaughter. She did¡­" She pointed at Chika, who noticed in horror that the dead girl¡¯s blood was splattered across her. Chika trembled and retched on the ground. A wave of similar sympathetic sickness spread to Misaki as she desperately wished that she could wrap her arms around Chika, speak soft, kind words, and reassure her little sister that all this was a passing nightmare and that in moments they would wake with relief. But there would be no waking.

    Miss Okura snapped back. ¡°I don¡¯t care who you decided to use as your puppet. You broke our agreement. And you will suffer for it for as long as I have breath.¡±

    With a little snort, Yasha retorted, ¡°So what? I have the company on my side. More than that. You mess with me, and everything this world ever was goes away in an instant. I¡¯m untouchable¡­¡±

    In a literal instant, Miss Okura was standing behind Yasha, even though she was still on her knees beside her granddaughter. The second old woman had a curled set of ram horns atop her head as she ripped Yasha¡®s limbs from her body. Yasha looked over the pieces and growled, "Bitch¡­" before the duplicate Miss Okura plucked her head off her neck like retrieving a fallen marble from the ground.

    Seconds later, a restored Yasha picked herself up and brushed the dirt from her body. "I¡¯m not¡­" She began, but Miss Okura didn¡¯t let her finish as she brought her hands together on either side of the woman¡¯s head. Misaki swiftly turned away, but the sounds were still wretchedly visceral, even though she would¡¯ve gladly done worse to the red-eyed blonde.

    Wounding her was a Sisyphean task, as every injury reversed or resolved itself moments later. Despite not making any progress, Okura refused to relent. Soon, a third version of her joined in the assault, pounding the demon into fractured pieces that swiftly reassembled.

    Misaki saw that since a second Okura branched off, a bitter pall fell over the old woman. Had it been like that when her double served her in the office or when she glimpsed a sliver of this in the doorway? When the third arrived, the old woman looked the part of her supposed age, with her skin beginning to show through her once bright flesh.

    Haruka cried out, ¡°Grandmother! Stop! This is pointless. And will only bring more harm.¡± The old woman refused her plea, splitting the blonde down the middle before furiously tearing her into tiny pieces. A dripping sheen of sweat covered every version of her. Still, Yasha¡¯s cruel, steady eyes locked on the original, no matter where they fell.

    With a hesitant effort, Haruka aimed a shard of light that struck the old lady right in the shoulder. She jerked back and spun around to fall on her side. Panting gasps followed as her doppelg?ngers faded to light, wafting smoke. Haruka bowed her head with her eyes squeezed tight.

    Yasha restored herself once more. She took a deep breath, and, in concert with her inhale, a sudden, sharp, burning rush of wind swelled through the clearing and battered at her clothes. The light twisted around her body brightened and deepened as she breathed in the infusion of air.

    The wind remained solely on her without even drifting in the direction of anyone else. When it was finished, it dissipated as though it had never been there at all. Misaki had several thoughts about all that, but she let them stew inside as she edged toward Yuka.

    The red-eyed blonde focused her attention solely on the old woman and stepped slowly and confidently toward her. "We had an agreement. And I thought we had an understanding that small sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good. The company has given all of you so much. And I know you understand that it can all be taken away in an instant of insolence. Prices have to be paid in pounds of flesh. Now, I won¡¯t begrudge you for lashing out like the wild animal you are behind your illusions. But when you persist like that¡­ Well, I can¡¯t help but take it personally."

    She licked her lips a few times, bowed to retrieve the dropped, bloody knife, and brushed it off affectionately. Chika crawled in panic towards the trees. Mercifully, if it could even be called mercy, Yasha opted not to assert control over her body.

    Misaki was a few feet from where Yuka had also backed away. Only Haruka still stood close, between the lines of conflict. The old woman pulled the body of her granddaughter to her breast, gently stroked her cooling cheek, and planted a series of soft kisses on her almost-perfect skin. She spoke words that failed translation, sounding like beautiful, precious gibberish.

    Yasha scowled and pressed her ear before demanding, ¡°What? What stupid animal talk was that?¡±

    Taking a deep breath, the old woman proclaimed, ¡°I told her¡­ Don¡¯t worry, my sweet child, you and everyone who has suffered¡­shall be avenged.¡±

 [78] Yuri Worlds 78 â€“ Run

    Yuri Worlds

    [78] Run

    Yasha flared her teeth, which didn¡¯t look quite as scary or sharp as she probably hoped they did. She tightened her grip on the knife, bending it down to face her quarry. Dashing forward, she pressed it to the side of the old woman¡¯s neck. Despite the way it pushed back the flesh on contact, no blood was drawn. She shifted the knife slightly, as though giving the old woman the most delicate shave.

    She traced the sharpest section of the blade, caked in dried blood, in lazy loops that summoned subtle pink shading from the old lady. With her mouth closed, Yasha managed an irritated growl as she feigned toward carving off her skin. She did eventually draw a tiny drop of blood before pulling back and tapping the old woman on the head with the flat edge.

    ¡°Nice try. Valiant effort. I know by your age, all you have left is the beauty of a just death. You won¡¯t get it from me. But I am sure the company can find something to do with you. And the rest of you. Distant bird, take care of it.¡± She issued that nickname with a turn of her head in Haruka¡®s direction. Haruka dipped her head but gave no other sign of recognition.

    What was she going to do? How was she connected to this awful woman and the horrible things the company had done? Misaki started to tear up even though Yuka squeezed her eyes tight into narrow, strangled slits. No more tears from her sister¡¯s betrayal¡­ No, not even her sister, just some girl they placed with her. Misaki could sense that raging energy from Yuka as though it were pinging to her on a private radio broadcast.

    Eventually, Yuka had to speak. "Take care of it. You¡¯re good for that. None of it mattered to you. When I was sad and scared at night, when I was confused and lost and just wanted to talk. My protective big sister. A big fat lie¡­Just saying words to a thing with this face. Placate it, shut it up; it means nothing. You should be ashamed. You would turn your back on them, on us, on everyone¡­ And for what? What is this bitch and the company she keeps giving you? It¡¯s not enough, because you¡¯re next, when they¡¯re done with us." The old woman raised her head but resisted the urge to do anything with her mouth.

    Haruka looked down on them with a stony expression tightly carved into her features. Neither of her sharp, dark pen-mark eyebrows wavered. Despite her hair cresting as practically ocean foam around her head, jostling in the residual breeze fighting through the trees, it remained just as focused in opposition to any implication of chaos. Unfeeling order¡ªthat was Haruka. Nothing behind the mask. Yuka cast her eyes down and heaved a heavy breath. Resignation. If there were cuffs to slap on her, then she wouldn¡¯t have protested.

    Misaki reached her side with a cautious arm of support stretched out. She lamented that Chika wasn¡¯t lined up for a grab. Yuka flinched back with her licorice trunk arms, holding them close to her chest. Her eyes subtly shifted, somehow getting bigger. Misaki reached in and squeezed Yuka¡¯s tendril-like stubs.

    Instead of a monster with slime, wretched oils, or vicious spikes, what she felt reminded her of a long-ago aquarium trip that she couldn¡¯t be sure actually happened. It honestly didn¡¯t matter.

    They were at the small pool with some variety of stingray or manta ray casually making loops in the water. The creature, dark and dreamlike, floated along almost out of reach of most children straining to get a touch. Franklin¡­ If that was even her name¡­ had to wait several circuits, but it was finally worth it when it lingered and she gently slipped her hands across it.

    Velvety soft, like a perfect teddy bear immersed in the waves. One parent randomly scolded her for trying to reach in and viciously imagined that she was hurting or trying to harm it, even though the aquarium worker assured them it was fine. Yuka¡¯s exposed, true flesh felt just as wonderfully luxurious.

    She transmitted joyous wonderment to her partner, calmly adoring how beautiful she was. It was a pointless moment; Maharu was gone, Chika was surely terrified, and Haruka had no human spark. The old woman may have powers, but they were clearly no match for this monster. Yasha could strike any of them down in a moment of fickle cruelty. But they had each other, and no matter what horrible truths lay ahead, she would stand with Yuka.

    The poor, nervous girl at her side. She thought she was hideous; she had to be a monster, something wretched and awful, a black mass, a dark entity. How could anyone ever love such a thing? Misaki leaned close, gently brushed her sweaty hair, disheveled from her fights, cradled her sensitive gash, slowly drying, and squeezed her in a kiss to answer the one she left, which she feared may be her last, minutes before. Do your fucking worst, distant bird, and red-eyed demon, Misaki demanded without words.

    It didn¡¯t take long after that for Chika to echo the plaintive cries and begging panic they had already heaped upon Maharu¡¯s impossibly quiet shape. Yasha swiftly snapped her fingers, and Chika froze like a statue, like a single cel without an animator to continue it, twisted in tears that refused to fall, hands reaching out but unable to close the distance, and eyes that held a bitter fury fighting to be free beneath that shell.

    Miss Okura practically branded Yasha with her gaze, egging her on to do what she really wanted her to do. Instead, Yasha licked the sides of her blade, spreading the dry blood without actually cleaning it. She couldn¡¯t control the old woman, which Misaki made a critical mental note about.

    On their side of the clearing, Haruka had practically paused before them, still looming ominously, pressing a weighty aura over them without wielding physical force. What was she waiting for? What did ¡®take care of it¡¯ really mean? Was she going to kill them? The threat hadn¡¯t had teeth since Yuka¡¯s pointed questions.

    Then she noticed a shift in Haruka, as though she were holding something heavy aloft, and exhaustion finally gripped her. Panic and grief rippled across her features, hunting for the words she wanted to say.

    "Blast them or use your blood on them; I don¡¯t care. Just do it," Yasha growled at Haruka.

    Diligently, Haruka snapped into a precise pose and reached into her yukata for a small pocket knife. Blood? The dark entities under the wristbands recoiled from blood as if it were acid. What would Haruka¡¯s blood do to them?

    She carved a small mark in her palm, and her painterly blood pooled towards her thumb. With her other hand, she gestured to her wrist. This puzzled Misaki, as she already knew about the black wristband. But that was on the other wrist.

    Her other hand didn¡¯t have anything on it; it was just blank. Blank. White. A blank white mark. Colorless. Nothing there¡­ But whiteness. She couldn¡¯t quite resolve it, but something inside her knew that, in opposition to the black wristband she wore, Haruka also wore a white one on her other arm. What on earth did it mean?

    When she looked away from it, Misaki noticed that Haruka wasn¡¯t gathering the blood to use against them; she was squeezing it in her hand and pressing it against something that dropped from her sleeve into her other palm. In ragged, blood-scrawled letters, she wrote a single word: "RUN." A moment later, a brilliant flash filled the clearing like an icy star exploding.

    Yasha yelled in bitter, angry confusion, her arm shielding her eyes from the blazing light. A few feet in front of her, the old woman deftly jumped to her feet and stole the knife out of the blonde¡¯s hand. Before she could react, Miss Okura slammed the blade through the nearest flesh she could cleave from Yasha¡®s body.

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    The knife raggedly tore through her forearm, twisting a confetti of colorful muscles into a fountain of viscera. The edge carved a line of dripping red tears across her crimson eyes. The demon blonde screamed like a pig at slaughter when she realized her relentless healing factor wasn¡¯t kicking in. Her hand dangled like it was barely held on by a string as Grandma Okura went in for her second strike. The blonde¡¯s severed fingers flew through the air as the blade sliced through her other hand, brought up in protection.

    Haruka tightened her glare and swallowed the bloody paper before launching herself in a roll towards Chika. She scooped up Misaki¡®s friend as though it were a careless act of grabbing the frozen girl as a shield for her own protection, but she had enough speed to sail between the trees like a bewildered, wounded bird. Misaki and Yuka were already bolting through the pines as swiftly as every natural and unnatural force they could summon would allow.

    Running through the brisk, chill darkness with chaotic limbs and dark branches in all directions felt like a surreal relief, as though everything of the last few minutes could be edited out as the tired touch of a dream curse from ruthless forest spirits.

    The sight of shack seventeen appearing and sailing past brought a fresh wave of relief but also tension as it signaled a countdown. Before long, they would be back within sight of the festival, back with the others. Smiling, eating, cuddling their prizes, chatting about Maharu¡¯s performance, and becoming increasingly concerned about where she was.

    Yuka shifted between her velvety, black limbs and a tight, urgent human grip. Getting too close still triggered a magnetic draw, but Misaki didn¡¯t mind the possibility of being swallowed up by the girl she loved. Less for her to carry on tired feet, and she could remain an endless drumbeat of love.

    Despite no rush of feet at their heels or cacophony of angry sounds swarming like released wasps, they didn¡¯t slow and barely had time to breathe as the last of the shacks receded away and the light of the festival sparkled between the branches. The scene resolved into aching normalcy. Little girls twirled at the ring game. Cheers and claps followed a musical crescendo. Lanterns were rhythmically buffeted by a light breeze. A group of gleeful teen girls traded gifts.

    Yuka sighted her mothers first and hesitated before urging Misaki toward them. The Nishikawa sisters appeared to be debating the perfect dance outfit, with Kosame stroking her chin and nudging Naoko¡¯s shoulder. Bianca had her tongue pressed out with her yukata bulging like a puffer fish. Her fancy, eye-blocking fan of fancy hair had migrated into an even sillier, vague bouffant.

    Namiko noticed their advance before anyone else and responded first with a little glass of shiny iced tea raised like a beacon above her head before concern started to settle. The Sasakis, watching the current music performance, soon noticed the return of their younger daughter as well.

    Mari was also nearby, looking as though she were expecting them to arrive. She clearly stood apart from anyone else¡ªa melancholy island fighting an invisible, rising tide. They had no idea where to run or who to seek out. Despite that look from Mari, they knew well not to trust anything. Ayame slipped from around the corner and turned her gaze on them.

    A sudden, sharp mechanical squeal, like an emergency alarm, erupted from Ayame¡®s mouth as though she swallowed an ambulance siren. The crushing noise blasted in all directions, and everything froze. The children at joyous play paused with mouths twisted in unknown yells and unsung laughter. The spectators remained in rising crouches despite how painful their positions appeared or how close they were to tumbling over, as their claps resisted contact. The trades went unfinished with unsteady, stolen leaps and sealed, silenced giggles.

    The only woman still permitted motion was Mari, standing alone and wrapped in a pained expression. She sharply, without even a flicker of sound, mouthed the words in sequence, ¡°RUN PLEASE GO!¡± Yuka couldn¡¯t.

    Her eyes refused to break from her mothers¡¯. They were colorful, perfect statues lost in a moment between curiosity, calm, and dawning panic as their last sight was their daughter rushing towards them, shattered with fear. Misaki urgently anchored Yuka. It wasn¡¯t a good idea to get too close to something like this. Even though everyone was frozen, who knew whether they might be compelled by unknown forces, as a zombie wave, to surround them?

    Yuka understood from the pleading look in Misaki¡¯s beautiful eyes that this was a terrible idea. But she needed this. She needed them. She needed her mommies. If only for the briefest touch, if only for a moment of reassurance that she would take care of herself, return as quickly as possible, and break them of this terrible spell and cruel control. But before she could make even that smallest gesture, the vibrant, preciously beautiful color throughout their bodies drained away with a burst of bitter wind.

    The wind cut through from behind, twisting like a snake of air. It assaulted them from above, a fall of dragon¡¯s breath. Kei¡¯s bright, shimmering brown hair lost all its luster, freezing to an icy starkness deeper than Haruka¡®s. The bright pools of her eyes emptied along with her matching yukata. Fuyuki soon matched her. It was like they had been taken back to the state of simple sketches, just a whisper of life from a pen that another rustle of air might completely wipe from existence.

    Yuka screamed¡ªa rattling, pleading scream of agony beyond pain. Hoarsely, she cried out, "NOOOOOO! NOOOOOOO!! MOMMY! MAMA! MAMAS!" The standing sketches of Kei and Fuyuki refused to return to what they should¡¯ve been, though they did not wobble like fragile paper held aloft. The wind roared from its tight tube and turned towards them. Misaki expected to run, so she reached for Yuka. But Yuka pulled away, her licorice fists spreading out before erupting.

    No pretense of humanity remained in Yuka¡¯s shape as she burst from her clothes, a bubbling mass of blackness stretching, heaving, and tearing like taffy with a thousand mouths to rend and rip unseen monsters through her canine, shifting obsidian teeth. When the wave of air made contact with the black shape of the girl Misaki loved, there was sure to be a fight, a futile one like a bold but uncertain puppy nipping fruitlessly at a running hairdryer. That wasn¡¯t what happened.

    The column of wind, like a cloaked shimmer, pulled to a dead halt, and swooped back the way it had come. If she didn¡¯t know that had to be impossible, Misaki would¡¯ve wondered if she just saw it shit itself in fear because of her girl. Mari, the only other one present who could move, had her eyes open wide, less in terror than wonder. Yuka still wanted to fight, wielding an endless infantry of arms and mouths.

    She turned back to Misaki, to check on her. She was so small but desperately precious. Perhaps all she had left. Misaki reached out her arm, and Yuka swiftly receded from the fury of her blackness to familiar, girlish flesh. Her arms also retreated, losing their licorice splits. The gash on her face healed. And she was naked, not that it mattered to either of them.

    Misaki retrieved Yuka¡¯s clothes as Mari burst in to say, ¡°They¡¯re coming. I¡¯ll protect everyone here. At least, I¡¯ll try. Go. Get as far as you can. The Sasakis have a nice little cellar, you know. Now GO!"

 [79] Yuri Worlds 79 â€“ Forest

    Yuri Worlds

    [79] Forest

    Mari punctuated her plea by squeezing a place on her wrist that Misaki hadn¡¯t noticed before, wrapped in white. Another white wristband. This one also burst forth a shimmer of light, but it was far more diffuse, with smoke bombs exploding in sequence along the lanterns strung throughout the festival.

    A heavy, almost choking cloud blotted out the shrine in all directions, as though everything beyond a few inches from their faces had been marked by an unrelenting, furious pen. Fortunately, Yuka knew a route along the side of the steps leading up to the shrine, one she used to take as a kid. A super dangerous one, which everyone told her to stop taking, but it would get them away from here very fast downhill, and it was at least as safe as any trip in a shrine administrator''s car.

    Navigating blindly through the layout of the festival was incredibly difficult, especially with the solid, unmoving shapes of frozen girls randomly blocking their path. Yuka managed to squeeze through several tight places by shifting into her black goop form and hoisting Misaki up, above, and around the obstacles. A rapid crash of footsteps felt like a sudden thunderstorm rumbling through the Earth.

    They eventually found the shadows of trees at the edge of the wide, stone steps and pushed through the uneven, practically dark sweep with clawing branches and stabbing needles raking across every inch of exposed skin. Misaki didn¡¯t want to use the bundle of clothes as protection, but Yuka swung them around like a fruitless kite, squeaking and scratching in the dark. Misaki still endeavored to keep it from ripping the cloth.

    After a few minutes, the sounds all around them had cleared to an eerie, almost ringing calm with the natural noises of the forest and peaceful hints of the neighborhood below. They had to take breaths, though cupped and cradled by their hands, to reduce the worst of the noise. Yuka attempted to retch on the mossy soil with a faint gurgle. Meek tears dripped through her sickly pants. Misaki pulled her close and wrapped her around in what she could offer of their clothes. Yuka squeezed back with every inch of her body trembling.

    "My moms. Please be okay. Maybe it was like a restraint. Scary but harmless. Oh, I don¡¯t know. Shouldn¡¯t be talking. We need to get further." Her voice was restrained to a private whisper and shrank even smaller with every passing word. They stumbled cautiously along the rough path and dodged around trees as Misaki¡®s hands and legs burned as though they¡¯d been engulfed by invisible flames.

    Yuka finally slowed her breathing as she gently laid her head on Misaki¡®s shoulder. She puffed out faint words for her partner, acknowledging that she should probably put her clothes back on. It was a rough, awkward, and tangled affair with very little light to assist, but she managed to cover herself.

    Each carefully checked all their nooks, crannies, and pockets. Their phones were present, which immediately sent a surge of paranoia through them. They didn¡¯t need lessons from Bianka to know that the phones were surely a way others could track them through GPS, spyware, or some other sneaky method. But just dropping the phones in the forest felt like a betrayal as bad as anyone they¡¯d left behind. Giving up the paper fans was fine, but the cutest plushies also hurt.

    Turning, twisting, and swiftly thinking, Yuka cautiously ripped a heavier length of one of her sleeves in a place where she had already drawn from the material for a tourniquet. The ragged, rough material came away easily and provided a cushioned sling for both of their phones. The dimmest light option allowed them to poke around the forest until they came to an older tree with a significant hollow around the moss-tinted roots. They had to turn the phones off and also opted to pull the batteries where possible.

    To mark the place where they left them, Yuka thought about a few different options before carving a heart shape in the tree with the sharpest rock she could find. Misaki realized that she probably could¡¯ve used one of her attacking limbs just as easily, but she found it quietly sweet that her girl defaulted to such a human option.

    Were they something other than human? What was a dark entity other than strange tendrils hiding beneath a wristband and a black mass that could chomp and strike? She cradled Yuka¡¯s head and gently kissed her on the cheek. Yuka returned the favor twice over, with a sticky sheet of sweat spreading across her despite the chill of the night.

    They gripped arms as though each was the other¡¯s secure lifeline. Moving through the forest methodically and with conscious effort took longer and was more difficult than just flying past. When they seemed especially far from all signs of civilization, just the distant lights of this community blinking like stars on the sea, Misaki chanced to ask, "Cerberus?"

    Yuka didn¡¯t respond at first, so she had to repeat the word. The name hung heavily in the air, with Yuka unsure how to respond except to cough a few times before muttering, "Hmm?" Misaki clarified, "Do you want me to call you Cerberus?"

    The dense foliage kept them darkly hidden, with just the meager spill from far-off houses and a continued absence of moonlight. Despite those obstacles, it was easy for Misaki to see Yuka¡¯s colorful face light up with a rush of red tension. A little moment, a release of stress, though she was flustered. Some attempted normalcy. The girl she loved with all her heart fussed and fidgeted as a soft shadow infused with bright blood. She was a big, scary, growly beast and a timid, sensitive, and thoughtful friend. The snake and the puppy. Did Ayame actually know?

    Yuka struggled to bring words together into something more coherent than a few hums before she burst out with a rough, choking cough that she struggled to suppress with both hands.

    When she finally brought it under control, she softly breathed against her hands before saying, "I dunno. I like it. But I thought the circumstances of picking my adult name would be a lot better. Maybe my moms¡­could give me feedback, and I¡¯d think about it and test it out. But that¡­evil thing. I hope and pray¡­so hard that Grandma Okura actually managed to finish her off. As if it¡¯ll matter if this company is after us. Do you¡­like it? As a name. I can¡¯t really remember where I picked it up, but I know it¡¯s mythological. The loyal guard dog of the underworld¡­of Hell. It¡¯s weird, I know. But it¡¯s meaningful to me, and I hope I can imbue it with my own meaning." She sheepishly curled up on the soft Earth.

    Mercifully, no sounds of havoc, distress, or pursuit interrupted this quiet moment. Misaki touched the back of her neck softly. Yuka wanted to flinch when Misaki rested her fingers against what should¡¯ve been a dry, crusty spot always ruined by her hair¡¯s oil. But there were no blemishes, no roughness or redness to cloak or run from. Her skin was pristine, velvety soft beneath her careful touch, the same as touching the black truth underneath.

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    ¡°Hello, Cerberus. I love you. Always.¡±

    Frantically, Cerberus flapped her arms with squeaking uncertainty as she muttered that she didn¡¯t have to do that and that it was fine to continue to call her Yuka for all sorts of pointless little reasons.

    ¡°Whatever you like, Miss...Mister Cerberus,¡± Misaki couldn¡¯t separate herself from a beaming smile every time she spoke that name. Cerberus fluttered her lips and pulled close against Misaki¡®s shoulder as she gave a sigh wrapped in conflicting emotions of glee, trepidation, and hope. She admitted, ¡°It¡¯s stupid long to say out loud.¡±

    Experimentally, Misaki offered, ¡°Ceri? Cerbi? Rus? Bea?¡±

    Cerberus¡¯s expression, faintly illuminated, vacillated noncommittally around a wiggly mouth line as she didn¡¯t quite reject any of the shortenings. But she paused at the last one and chimed in, "I kind of like Bea. As I said about Beatrice. Exotic, but not weird. But I don¡¯t know about it being the¡­ one. I can¡¯t even think that far right now. And I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re here with me, to help me think about better, sillier things on this awful night. You¡¯re so nice. You¡¯re so wonderful. Your smell¡­ such an incredible, soothing aroma. So wonderful. I can feel it on my lips; I can¡­taste it¡­" Cerberus took a sharp intake of breath before shaking her head in alarm and darting away from Misaki.

    She didn¡¯t back away too far, but this fresh distance between them felt like an endless chasm with the expanse of night cloaked under the trees. Misaki reached out to bridge the span, but the shadow of Cerberus held her hands up and shook her head. "I¡¯m some dark thing. I¡¯m a monster. I don¡¯t want to hurt you, but I¡¯m scared it¡¯ll happen no matter what I want. Maybe we should walk separately. Maybe we should split up¡­" Exhaustion crawled into roost amidst Cerberus¡¯s words, along with desperate loneliness.

    Cerberus looked up and widened her eyes to see that Misaki had swiftly closed the distance with her arms tightly wrapped around her. It was a frail lattice, like a dirty, muddy spider web, but Misaki showed what dwelled inside her. The same blackness, whatever it was and whatever it represented. They shared it. She gently stroked Cerberus¡¯s cheek with the frail, feathered edge of it.

    Together. They would be together. Even if it took a thousand years of patience, devotion, and persistence.

    Cerberus let quiet trickles of tears shade her face as she responded softly, "I love you so much. I don¡¯t know what to do¡­ But I can¡¯t lose you to the worst parts of myself or the horrors out there. And I can¡¯t let you go¡­.Goddesses¡­All right, let¡¯s figure this out together¡­" It took a ponderous measure of time and aching effort to get back on their feet.

    Misaki tested out Ceri and Cerbi as they stepped over the heaviest moss to shield the sound of their footsteps. Possible ways to pronounce it rattled around Misaki¡®s mouth, landing on the phone assistant first, followed by the spicy dish, before finally smacking into Carrie. Her name, if anything seeded into her memories was at all believable. Cerberus stopped her there, and encouraged her to use it, although she mulled over whether it was a worthy, cool boy name. Misaki nodded, invoking a classic film star. Ceri¡­they both tested it out. Not committed, but it could work.

    Ceri swayed, with a dash of swagger added to her walk, as she spoke the next step in her thoughts, "Me. Boy me. What would he look like? Should I be taller? I don¡¯t know if I want to be muscular. But it certainly can¡¯t hurt. I have to keep my hair. No bald shear or buzz cut like certain religious girls. I like some hair. With all this stuff, it will probably be darker, practically black. Shorter, so that my skin is a little better in the back. Boy features are blockier, from what you said, and less rounded. Everywhere. No breasts anymore. No big loss. Would you still like¡­"

    Misaki swung around and swooped up Ceri as she confidently reassured her, "I love you, boy you, and I will love any and all shapes of you that bring you joy. I can just imagine the fun we¡¯ll have discovering and re-discovering one another. We can do it. Take back our lives and the lives of everyone we love." Cerberus nodded as they worked their way over sharply uneven terrain. There was nothing more to say.

    After crossing quite a distance over the soft, uneven ground, Ceri urged Misaki over to check where they were with respect to this end of the town. The forest had no easy tree line demarcation, but, at least, sections of it afforded them a clear vantage point across the valley without exposing their position. Strange, swirling lights, like an imitation police force, blazed from the roadways. They sank against the nearest tree trunk.

    Ceri squeezed her head between her hands and resolved, "No way. There¡¯s no way out. Those are not the lights of any cop I¡¯ve ever known. Those have to be for us. The company or whoever is helping¡­her. Maybe¡­ We can cut back over the hill and work our way to somewhere inconspicuous or where they wouldn¡¯t expect us to go? They can¡¯t be monitoring everyone and everything, right?" She tossed a look of hope mixed with uncertainty in Misaki¡®s direction that insisted on some answer. Clarity for that answer eluded Misaki.

    She wanted to calmly and firmly reassure the girl she loved that hiking through the hills could work. They would find a path that led them out of danger, which wasn¡¯t being monitored, and perhaps even find allies. But all the creeping cautions and thoughts that Bianka fostered in her couldn¡¯t allow her to sincerely give that reassurance.

    What about what Mari said, along with providing them with cover to escape? She wouldn¡¯t be so insistent about it if other options were possible. Ceri cast doubt, illuminating reminders that Mari skipped the entire resort vacation for mysterious reasons, seemed to be in league with the company, and may have come from somewhere else, depending on what they believed about the laws and rules of universe travel.

 [80] Yuri Worlds 80 â€“ Home

    Yuri Worlds

    [80] Home

    Cerberus or Ceri, as they had both essentially settled on, scoped out the angles of the hill along with the lineup of lights that afforded them clear landmarks to the Sasaki house. She had trekked across this general route before, but not with anything like all this on the line. The shifting waves of warning lights also confused her sense of geography. Ceri rubbed her immense brown eyes and struggled to piece together as many crucial clues as possible.

    Misaki knew she couldn¡¯t be much help, but she vigorously questioned Ceri about her assumptions and certainties about what she was seeing. A long, luminous but not starkly bright stretch had to be this particular farm that provided the boundary for the business center. Ayame¡®s clinic had a specific pattern of lights flanking the low part of its roof and concentrated on the parking lot, like a spiral constellation. She struggled with the spatial visualization and rotation from this angle but gradually narrowed down different sections of light when bouts of twinkling peace finally settled over them.

    At the other edge of their vista, Ceri traced the precise boundary of the train station back to the city, along with a distant hint of her high school. Home had to be somewhere in the middle of what lay before them, but it was a vast, dark, and uncertain middle to pinpoint. She stared long and carefully until she resolved the old hotel. Unfortunately, that section of the neighborhood was especially enveloped in lights and activity. Not surprising, but desperately frustrating.

    Managing their descent required careful checking of where they planted their feet to avoid getting tangled up in gnarled roots and illusive mounds of moss that cratered whenever they attempted to plant a foot. Persistent but slow shuffling was the way.

    The wild lights slowly circulated through each branch of the neighborhood. Suspiciously, they started to move away from the region of the Sasaki house, clearing enough space for them to proceed without apparent danger.

    Settling at ground level felt like terminating a flight, with the full gravity of the world around them tugging exponentially harder. They lingered off to the side and checked the houses at the end of the street for habitation. No one was around, although they only rang the bell once before proceeding. While it sounded, they retreated to what nearby trees and bushes could afford them protection.

    The bell really wasn¡¯t that loud, but it broke the relative silence, like screaming in front of their enemies. Once it was finished, calm returned throughout the quiet, rural neighborhood. Misaki¡®s stomach took this time to gurgle with a petulant series of demands and expectations. She tried to explain to it that was not happening, but it can be difficult to reason with biology.

    Misaki grumbled to herself that whatever folded strands of dark entity stuff were stuck inside her couldn¡¯t fix the inconvenient result of her earlier snacks. You can¡¯t just take a restroom break while an entire multiverse-spanning evil corporation is trying to kill you or worse! Despite obstacles near and evident as well as distant and intangible, they made it to the Sasaki home.

    The street was unnaturally empty, with the lights blazing and signs that neighbors should¡¯ve popped out to say hello. But everyone was gone, as though this world had never been inhabited. They hustled towards the front door and carefully coordinated to ease it silently open and shut. Misaki relied on Ceri to catch any changes or traps.

    They stayed low in the front area and resisted the polite, natural urge to trade their shoes for slippers before proceeding further. Cerberus cautiously experimented with chucking whatever she had within arm''s reach through the threshold into the main living area.

    The lights were off, as expected. Nothing and no one reacted to a stray, decorative plush launched through the air. It didn¡¯t conclusively prove anything, but they briefly allowed themselves to breathe before an angry series of tormented gurgles issued from Misaki¡®s tummy.

    Ceri attempted to soothe it, as though speaking one wild beast to another. But they didn¡¯t speak the same language. Cerberus wasn¡¯t upset with her. She looked a little sweaty and uncomfortable herself. But they lightly bumped heads and tried to impress a warning on their physical underpinnings that this was not the time. Still not getting through.

    Well, shoot. There was no way around it, but at least the first-floor bathroom was mere feet away. Reaching it required a rigorous series of tight balances between keeping low, keeping their digestive systems happy, and sticking together. The best method for Misaki involved creating a little undercurrent of pain from squeezing her hands together too tight, clutching her thigh flesh as though she wished to rip it off, and holding her breath ever harder. All that only got her so far.

    Mercifully, they managed to creep rush over to the bathroom, where they¡¯d had a handful of now oddly nostalgic encounters with one another. Their first real chats. Breaking so much ice. And quiet little embarrassments. Misaki didn¡¯t have time to dwell on every little fragment as she did her own desperate rocket launch towards the seat. Only in the moments after could she truly lament how much noise she was making.

    Cerberus grabbed the cozy wooden bench across the room and carefully repositioned it, so it was almost as though she were sitting with her. The mortified embarrassment ebbed away as Misaki finished what she desperately needed to do and waited through the remnants. It was enough to make her want to laugh at the fact that this moment existed. Tears also flowed, but quietly.

    She wanted to bond more with Kei over the dozen beautiful inspirations she desperately desired to learn and share. Take some time to help her tidy up the old hotel in a more organized manner, with the windows cracked to release the dust and sadness sealed within. Provide true blessings to the quiet shrine off to the side, and free the place of pain Maharu kept upstairs. Maharu would orchestrate that herself.

    The girl¡¯s first inkling would be to blast quiet, sad objects through a multi-stage launch out the nearest window into the wilderness, briskly waving to them as they departed. She¡¯d pummel every ounce of dust, mold, and grime as she dispelled the past and twirled through the renewed halls. They would conduct a proper ceremony of peace and love to celebrate the lives of her moms. And let them know that justice was done.

    Kosame was sure to level up her tentative justice assertions and bring to bear, against the cruelty of the company, all the maiden love determination to break entire worlds with righteousness. Word would spread amongst the group of the first official, big date between her and Naoko after their restored second chance at romance. Misaki knew she would throw out the pairing concept of Ko-ko, even though she had no idea if it would translate into anything coherent.

    The group would fashion a scheme to make sure they kept tabs on how the date went. Shenanigans would probably and inevitably follow. She could foresee another soliloquy by Kosame, bursting into a speech about the virtues of love and how desperately she wanted to make Naoko happy. They would eventually let the couple figure it out on their own, leaving the details to their own, varied imaginations. Maharu would have the most bewildering conclusions as she shared snuggling with her mommy and the mommy who loved mommy, making Misaki blush even harder than she already was.

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    Fuyuki would sit them down with thoughtful conclusions and begin a lengthy, anecdote-laden account of the moments that guided her life and led her to Kei. Her wife would pop in to clarify and elaborate where she felt was most appropriate between the languid scenes. Mari would make a random appearance, first listening carefully and then bridging the gap with her own stories.

    Cerberus would listen with rapt attention as Mari admitted that she was once a tired, older office guy in the company on the other side. She¡¯d convey that the two versions of her looked similar, but she would still struggle with the details, plopping down all the uncomfortable bits for a group of women who could barely imagine what a man was supposed to be. Misaki would flash a sympathetic look at her. So many sordid, heartbreaking details about the actions of the company would sneak through the margins of her account. Everyone would make sure she knew they stood with her.

    Later in the evening, after all the fumbling and awkward details had passed, Miss Okura would make an appearance. The weight and tiredness she carried behind her eyes would be cleared. A pair of copies of her help out with dinner and keep an eye on the young ladies. Ayame soon follows, spilling a cornucopia of curious sayings blooming with fire from her heart as she speaks freely. Haruka would truly smile and talk everyone¡¯s ear off about her new college plans.

    Bianka settles on a form of chic blended with her own style of geek as she critiques the rambling theories of her favorite new podcast before she joins the others in a game.

    Then, Chika and Namiko. Her little sister is still dizzy and wobbly about her liberated, monolithic tatas gifted from the goddesses for asking one too many times. Nami has a load off, respectively, but still launches into service with a smile for anyone who asks. A hint of curious bondage situations leaks through her language and allusions. None of them try to judge her, but eyebrows still wiggle, hers most of all.

    Chika fawns over her and refuses to let the details of the upcoming Fowler/Sasaki wedding be a whimper fading into mediocrity. Her big sister deserved the very best, along with her awesome sister-in-law-to-be. It¡¯s at this crescendo of a once quiet but rapturously chaotic evening that Chika presents the results of her elaborate thank-you meal. It¡¯s beyond anything the Sasaki moms could¡¯ve imagined receiving from her.

    Chika is her own worst critic, as ever and always, while the moms celebrate every single aspect of what she has created. Chika dares to imagine so many sweet possibilities that once seemed so foreign to her. She has a hand to hold her, which won¡¯t shy away, joined by so many others linking one to another, a network of true friends and loving family.

    Misaki¡®s fresh wave of tears from all these imaginings was impossible to restrain. Why couldn¡¯t it be like that? Why couldn¡¯t it at least be a sliver of that bright hopefulness she could see in her heart? She wasn¡¯t demanding much. It felt like such a frail future¡ªthe bare minimum of possibilities. Ceri gently embraced her and rubbed her back as she blubbered out vague explanations of the complicated castles glimmering in her imagination. Misaki released her dreams and finished up, then let Cerberus have a turn at relief from festival foods.

    They lingered a few minutes more in the bathroom without anything to do or say before they gathered their breath and ventured back into a world of uncertainty. The little cellar didn¡¯t appear as if it had been opened recently, and popping open the cover to get a glance didn¡¯t reveal any unexpected discoveries. Just pickled food, a little bit of wine and cheese, and other tasty amenities. Leaving it for the moment, Cerberus focused on the stairs leading up, intending a full examination of the house to see what they were working with.

    The first landing was clear, but peeking around the blind turn gave Cerberus a shocking and retina-burning blast of brilliant blue light right in the face. She had to sit for a second and blink to recover as furious klaxons overwhelmed all thought. Ceri flailed with her dark self, really wanting to smash the alarm trigger.

    But she resisted the urge and moved with Misaki to find somewhere in the house they could hide. Her archaic recollections of playing hide and seek with her older sister were not much use since she inevitably tracked her down and Haruka always managed to evade discovery. Misaki had to privately wonder if the girl had had help back then.

    Returning to the mini-cellar with their ears shielded but not blocked, wild sounds roared beyond the walls. They had to do something. Cerberus focused her breath and examined the small space below the floor. It could only fit one of them. She knew what to do.

    She begged Misaki to climb down and get inside. There wouldn¡¯t be a lot of air, but she could leave the latch cracked. She swore she would hold them off as long as humanly possible and try to take down as many of the bastards before they got her. She spoke this with determination, but the artistic shading around her eyes and the way she wobbled on her feet told Misaki that the girl she loved was desperately exhausted and only barely standing. She couldn¡¯t let her face that alone. They promised. Together.

    Cerberus released a softly exasperated sigh with a morbid smile as Misaki checked the cellar space again to see if it offered any other options. Not a lot of space, but they hadn¡¯t even considered getting rid of what was down there to make a little more room. It wouldn¡¯t be much, but it could be enough. Cerberus wondered if they would even be able to breathe. Still, she swiftly coordinated with Misaki to empty the space and hide the contents behind the counter.

    It practically felt like an army was about to pound on the front door when they finally squeezed through the opening not intended for the two of them and yanked the cover flat. Deep, consuming darkness surrounded everything as they were compressed into a painfully tight package. The magnetic lure again pulled at Misaki as she held in all her fresh aches.

    Rumbles of boots blended with the ear-piercing alarm. As their eyes adjusted, Misaki noticed that the back half of the mini cellar actually had a faint spill of pale, bluish light leaking through. She didn¡¯t dare hope that it might be a way out, but she silently communicated its presence to Cerberus, and they twisted around to get leverage against that wall.

    Just a light application of force parted the seam, like opening a buried cabinet. They dropped down into a space far larger. It looked like an underground access tunnel, with stark bluish-white lights lining the walls and shiny concrete continuing out of sight. This tunnel couldn¡¯t possibly exist beneath the house, yet it refused to vanish or resolve into something more sensible.

    There was no way to know where it would take them, but they gripped each other¡¯s hands, closed the opening behind them, and started walking.

 [81] Yuri Worlds 81 â€“ Tunnel

    Yuri Worlds

    [81] Tunnel

    ¡°I think I know what this is,¡± Ceri whispered to Misaki as they crept through the strange tunnel under the Sasaki home.

    ¡°A virtual reality access conduit. Or whatever they call that. But in the sci-fi shows Naoko watches, she mentioned episodes and ideas where the characters find these weird hallways that connect parts of a simulation. It¡¯s crazy, I know, but maybe we¡¯re in some sort of simulation? Someone may have put us in it while we were asleep. What do you think?¡±

    Misaki easily followed Ceri¡¯s line of thought. Seeing this weird, impossible space stretching out underground despite being only as deep as the little cellar begged a rational solution to such alien geographies.

    Supposing a simulation also invited fresh glimmers of hopefulness. Maharu didn¡¯t have to be really dead, just kicked from the virtual realm. Maybe what they saw wasn¡¯t her spirit but her real body? And the weird, dark entity goop was just something the computer made up. The Sasaki moms weren¡¯t actually turned into pencil sketches; they just had their avatar representations changed. And people freezing in place wasn¡¯t weird. That was just the administrators of the program doing all sorts of video game-style stuff.

    It was also a potentially disappointing prospect that all of this might not be real, but it was so much better than the alternative. When could this have happened though? Ceri¡¯s proposal of sometime they were asleep sounded like a solid hypothesis, but the niggling problem was that no moment she could remember invited a separation between the current chaos and some sort of order.

    One potential point of divergence she could imagine involved the exact moment they passed through the gateway into this world. At least theoretically. Even though the transition felt instantaneous and seamless, far more could¡¯ve actually happened than they realized. It was a possibility, but not a good one.

    If all this was supposed to be a simulation, then that called everything into question, even the nervous, precious heart clinging to her side. Misaki couldn¡¯t do that. She couldn¡¯t dismiss Ceri. Besides, she couldn¡¯t forget the fact that a furry ball of blackness launched for her leg the Friday before the trip. What was it? And why Franklin?

    A vague notion orbited her head like an angry electron. Yasha said some weird things about her. Misaki¡®s stomach soured just to resurrect those words. Why on earth should she put value in anything that horrible demon said? Because this didn¡¯t feel like something she would lie about. Her attitude seemed to pride superiority. She knew something, and you didn¡¯t. The key variable was whether she was gloating over the correct information.

    You have no idea what¡¯s actually happening, do you? No idea, of course. And she was perfectly fine with that when staring down a monster because some things are quite simple.

    I wonder, how much of you is really you? How much will I find when I carve you open? What worried her most of all was, if true, the possibility that the dark spiderweb she could wield was an infestation ravenously burrowing into her. Hollowing her out like the nightmare of Yuka¡¯s leg. And a hungry zombie that didn¡¯t know love would be all that was left. She would rather die, one way or another, before that happened.

    In answer to Ceri¡¯s simulation hypothesis, Misaki urged that Travel Anywhere sure seemed to have the resources to build something like this. She also proposed that it could be some sort of pocket space, to borrow tropes from other fantastical works. Squashing the potential of Maharu out there, simply taking a virtual reality nap, ready to wake up with a smile on the other side, hurt in a way with lingering aches.

    Ceri hesitated in her careful steps along the scraping, deeply echoing, shiny cement, but she didn¡¯t lean away from Misaki or even cast a bothered glance. Those were possibilities that occurred to her as well. She just needed hope, no matter how tenuous, ridiculous, mired in confusion, or worse, that hope might be. Misaki agreed and desperately wished that she could be the bearer of such hope. Ceri stopped and looked her in the eye.

    "You are. Every moment I¡¯m with you. My big sister¡­ I have no idea what she¡¯s up to. But she¡¯s not standing with me. You are. When you arrived in my world, I felt an immediate sisterhood with you. Shimai to its apex. Harmonious musical frequencies, or something that Kosame would put far more eloquently. I wanted to take every opportunity to get to know you better. But I was scared and uncertain, like I am so often. Sitting with you on the roof was a life-changing experience. No matter if we disagree or if our feelings clash, I would never trade a single moment with you for anything. You are my hope." She squeezed Misaki¡®s hand tight, as though she could convey the best part of her through A single touch alone.

    Yuka took a deep breath while keeping quiet with the whisper of her words. "Despite everything we¡¯ve lost. Despite the pain. Despite not knowing how everyone else is or if we¡¯ll ever see them again. Despite any mistakes along the way. Despite how much I wanna cry right now. Despite how I fear these words are a stupid mess that isn¡¯t helping anything. Despite everything, I am me. No matter how my name or life might change. I love you¡­ a thousand years, every breath, no matter what. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing we find in here or within ourselves. If I have to, I¡¯ll be a pathetic little black goo monster that does nothing but slime you with quiet love. No matter what all this is, I know who I am."

    They gently bumped heads without it hurting, and Misaki softly answered with a calm smile, "Me too. Sorry. Not quite as eloquent." Ceri rattled a light breath instead of laughing, remarking that Misaki already found all sorts of grandiose and romantic things to say. She was just evening the score. As an addendum, Misaki urged her not to forget what she said. Ceri ruffled her own hair and tapped on her head.

    Misaki did the same with a soft pat on Ceri¡¯s head. She momentarily worried that it might come across as patronizing of the dog-like sentiment with her hellhound name choice, but Ceri eagerly appreciated the touch, with her eyes curling in glee and her mouth responding the same. The anime aesthetic made it look absolutely adorable beyond all rational descriptions.

    They shouldn¡¯t be messing around like this and smiling. Misaki knew that, and a quiet tightness around Ceri¡¯s jaw, despite her warm and cheerful expression, told her that the girl she loved knew that too. But they needed this. A reminder of so many things, great and small.

    Accepting that the concrete tunnel before them actually existed was difficult, especially since the way that it terminated against the cellar didn¡¯t violate any obvious physics but raised a load of questions about how no one had noticed it to this point. Ceri plumbed the deleted folders of her memory to come up with some inkling when retrieving pickled goods that she had ignored hints of bioluminescent bright blueness bleeding from the space.

    But there was nothing in her head that didn¡¯t feel like a struggle of pure confabulation. It didn¡¯t even look like anything she had ever seen before. Features of major cities and subways had different approaches to structure than the stark form of this tunnel. That sharply added to the impression of unreality.

    Beyond the lights, the lack of doors, access points, and even ventilation ducts puzzled both of them. They had no options for exploration except to keep walking in the only direction available. Squinting at the vanishing point in the distance revealed no curvature or imperfection. It felt like an endless tunnel copied and pasted without a limit. Misaki slowed and gave a soft sigh. Ceri initially continued ahead but then hustled back to rejoin her.

    "What¡¯s wrong?" Ceri stretched her arms and legs before rubbing the edges of her eyes for tiredness. Misaki noticed that she felt rather worn out too. The random aches returned without being concentrated on a specific side. She felt tenderized without the relief of it coming from something as kind as a vigorous massage.

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    Exhaustion. This had to be exhaustion. But the question was whether it came from the events of this evening or some intention of this space. They had no idea what a security system might look like. The column of air that ripped the color and motion from the Sasaki moms may have pilfered something unseen from them as well.

    Misaki recalled the thinning of her energy field that Ayame noticed in her examination. The first sign of discomfort occurred soon after they weathered a brutal windstorm that practically stripped the artistic flair from this world. But then she saw similar instances of discoloration without gale forces.

    Passing this along to Ceri earned her an affectionate embrace, with her fingers softly cradling her partner¡¯s tummy. Gentle caresses brought noisy gurgles. She didn¡¯t have to go, and she sternly advised her biology that they were done. At least they seemed to be in agreement. Not that she had many qualms left about leaving a mess as her mark in this strange space.

    Of course, the simpler explanation was that some festival dish she sampled, although all were delicious from her recollections, had been ever so slightly off. Not everything needed to be a shard of the grand conspiracy. After several more paces without an impression of progress, they selected a stretch of wall no different than any other segment and sat with their backs against it.

    It felt exactly like what anyone thought hard, unyielding, anonymous cement was supposed to feel like. The material wasn¡¯t specifically warm or sharply cold. Despite scuffing along the floor a couple of times, leaning against the cement didn¡¯t suggest roughness or glossiness, even with the pristine shine.

    It honestly gave no strong impression at all. Nor were there imperfections. Yeah, she could believe that this was the formulation of a virtual reality system rather than a physical space.

    At least all the anime visual features remained. Someone just needed to sketch them a way out. They leaned against one another for support. Sleeping here seemed like a terrible idea, but the lure of a little bit of rest was irresistible. Surely shutting their eyes for just a few moments would be fine?

    Besides, the space was so starkly bereft of sounds that anything that changed would have to trigger something they would hear, Misaki assumed. Ceri concurred with this but also twisted her mouthline around a few times before asking, ¡°Could you cover your ears for just a moment?¡±

    Misaki glanced over warily but slowly complied with her request. Moments later, Ceri pressed her fingers into her mouth and loudly blew a single, piercing note. The reverberations rattled around Misaki more than any of the walls, despite the insulation of her covered ears.

    It was hard to tell if there was even an echo. One more point in the unreality column. Although Misaki couldn¡¯t denounce the possibility that the tunnel contained a cleverly painted wall, fooling them like a classic cartoon. If that were the case, however, she suspected that the sound profile would¡¯ve bounced off it.

    After analyzing the results of that blasting whistle, Misaki had to turn to her partner and grimace with concern. Ceri shrugged with her hands. She admitted, in retrospect, that just blowing a whistle was probably a bad idea. But they at least now knew that it seemed safe to make a normal amount of noise. Waiting a longer stretch, they struggled to identify any organic or artificial noises, ranging from a hum to the steady cadence of footsteps.

    Their heartbeats, muscle shifts, soft swallows, and joints crashed into the absence of other noises. In addition to that, straining to hear something encouraged their duplicitous minds to conjure up things that didn¡¯t exist. Gunshots, hammer drops, phone notifications despite both of their phones being hidden in a hollow, and even faint ruffles, like bedsheets being disturbed. Despite these sounds screaming from within them, they both drifted into advancing tiredness and drooping eyelids.

    Sleeping in a mysterious hallway in a strange underground space sure seemed like a bad idea, no matter what tropes you subscribe to. But they were exhausted on so many levels. They both needed this, even if it turned out to be a flash nap of a few moments or minutes.

    Ceri wanted to take a shift watching over them, but she was already drifting closer and closer toward unconsciousness. Misaki watched over her for a few careful minutes while also checking all directions of the tunnel. They had closed up the narrow section of affixed wall behind them that led to the cellar. The way back was clearly unchanged, even though some details appeared indistinct at this distance. The other direction still seemed to stretch limitlessly without holding a cavernous aspect. Having their phones and being able to set an alarm would¡¯ve been preferable.

    No snores accompanied their slip into slumber, but Misaki could hear Ceri¡¯s steady, level breathing pattern slide between her own. Everything else could be forgotten. Dreams actually came to Misaki in frantic, jumbled fragments. She sliced the heads of floating squids in space suits in half, imagining they were the secret cabal behind all of this. Cleaving them revealed anomalous pink brains inside.

    Just when it seemed that this peculiar scenario might finally arrive at some sensible resolution, one of those phantom chimes, like exploding head syndrome false alarms, broke the silence. It was followed by a stinging sensation in her left foot and a stiff throbbing in her back. Not the best sleep or the best way to sleep, but she felt the worst of the previous drowsiness beginning to dissipate, with Ceri also slowly rousing from slumber.

    Looking up to assess their surroundings, Misaki didn¡¯t take long to realize something had changed. It was easy to see exactly what. Across the tunnel hallway and forward several pieces, a door finally emerged. It was a pristine off-white to complement the surroundings. Their initial impression of shiny concrete glinting from the flanks of bluish-white lights returned with unmistakable sharpness. Ceri scrambled swiftly to her feet, with Misaki joining her seconds later.

    Rubbing every inch of her face as she fussed with her hair, Cerberus asked her wife-to-be when that showed up, but Misaki didn¡¯t know any better than her. It had simply appeared or been revealed at some point during their nap. Because of the unchanging nature of the space, they also had no idea how much time had passed since they took a rest.

    Approaching the strange emergence of the door demonstrated that it was as real as any other. A silver handle latch dipped slightly as though the mechanism were old and starting to wear despite showing no signs of age. They glanced at one another with eyebrows raised and no certainty shared about what they should do. Misaki leaned back cautiously, half expecting the door to burst open and smash them. Cerberus wanted to kick it with the same force she applied to the old woman¡¯s office. They made no further motion towards it until they heard a faint sound drifting from beyond with playful innocence.

    Inscrutably, they could hear the sounds of young girls playing nonsense games and babbling happiness. It was almost as though an elementary school playground existed beyond the wall. At the same time, a wider, deeper presence of sound finally started to saturate the tunnel. It emerged from all directions like a great mechanism waiting to wind itself up or an immense throat preparing for a cough to dispel them from its surface. No matter what it represented, neither of them wanted to be around here when they found out what it meant.

    They both reached for the door, tugged it with all the strength they had, and furiously whipped it open.

 [82] Yuri Worlds 82 â€“ Nursery

    Yuri Worlds

    [82] Nursery

    The door loudly smashed against the cement, but it held firm enough to allow them rapid access to the other end of the tunnel wall. Nervously, Misaki half expected this next threshold to simply be another branch of the tunnel, nondescript and identical to the one they just left behind. Mercifully, that was not the case.

    What they found still matched the blank, bluish ivory aesthetic but was laid out with a finite design. It was a rectangular laboratory arrayed with those stark lights inset into panels and a drop ceiling, more like any anonymous office space. Work tables fashioned with opaque covers broke up the floor space. Ceri cautiously crept over to the nearest table and scrutinized them. Looking back at Misaki, her leveled eyes clearly warned her not to touch it. But it was the only thing in the room that truly raised suspicion.

    Gulping, Ceri splayed a hand across the surface like she would when cupping an overturned lampshade. Moments later, she relayed that it felt about the same as that¡ªa style of glass with plasticity¡ªsince it had a deeper, less scratchy sound when she gently probed it with her fingernails. Considering they couldn¡¯t find any other source of the childish banter, Misaki had to wonder if it was piped in from above as a trap to lure them inside or if it might somehow be coming from underneath these structures. Neither possibility invited optimism.

    Since nothing on the table had jumped out or grown tentacles, Misaki gently stretched and laid her fingers across the surface of the same thing Cerberus was touching. It actually reminded her of some plastic appliance or kitchenware that her mother had stashed deep in the mystic confines of the house for an eternity before they finally got rid of it.

    Gentle rubbing or vigorous rubbing made no difference to the surface of the thing. Out of sheer curiosity, Ceri eventually rapped a knuckle on the material. Something deep and sonorous echoed through it with a slow repetition, like a great clock chiming the time. Immediately, the opaque quality of the material dispersed to a clarity greater than that of glass or water. It still subtly refracted what was under it.

    And what was under it was a tight pattern of gray strips laid flat upon a cream-colored laboratory table. The wristband¡ªseveral dozen instances of it. The dark wristband at least. Misaki didn¡¯t see any instances other than a matte dark shade of gray bordering on black, but then it had taken absurd insistence on Haruka¡¯s part for her to even see the ones blatantly on either of her wrists. Whether that applied only when someone was wearing it, she had no idea.

    ¡°Ohhh uuwwuuu, what¡¯s going on? My Goddess, it¡¯s so bright! It totally hurts my eyes! Pweese, I wanna go back to bed! Nappy nap time!¡± That voice issued from just below their hands, echoing through the material on the laboratory table. It sounded very much like an anime girl to Misaki, roused from slumber with an adorable cadence to her words and a high-pitched whimper. It wasn¡¯t long before other, equally adorable voices spoke out.

    ¡°Is someone there? Oh my gosh, I totally need to fix my hair! It¡¯s always such a mess!¡±

    ¡°Pretty please turn off the sun¡­ it hurts. Oh, uuwwuu, I need to roll over.¡±

    ¡°Mommy? Where¡¯s my mommy? I don¡¯t know where she is¡­¡±

    "I¡¯m so hungry, I could eat a shark, nom nom nom. Tasty!"

    ¡°Oop, I gotta burp. No one look at me!¡±

    ¡°Wowser! Those nice ladies are so cute and so huge! How did you grow so big?!¡±

    Cerberus swallowed uncomfortably, carefully leaned over the cluster of wristbands, and offered the careful question, "Hello?"

    Immediately, she received a plethora of exuberant, animated reactions, ranging from an exuberant "Hiya!" To a submissive, nervous "h-hi," along with joyous recitations that could outdo a Maharu welcome. The cacophony reminded Misaki of a full, exuberant all-girl anime class welcoming an exchange student to their midst. It was monumentally weird that the sounds were coming from little strips, and Misaki had the uncomfortable suspicion that this wasn¡¯t a broadcast.

    Ceri¡¯s follow-up question to Misaki¡¯s was actually a list of bewilderment wrapped in a stream of words. She managed to prune it to a single, wavering query: "Who are you? I mean, who are you all?"

    The flood of responses was impossible to pick apart into much coherence. Some boldly shouted Japanese names with pride, while others stumbled through uncertainty about which they should be called; still others were indignantly annoyed at the disturbance as a whole, and some shouted back philosophical questions of their own. One girl voice was still inconsolable about her mommy, sobbing as a soft undercurrent to the rest. Misaki managed to pinpoint that it was in a side corner, behind some of the loudest. She gravitated toward it.

    Gripping the edge of the material, Misaki lifted it slightly, and, with a swift rush of hot air, it flowed back into a cube looking like an alien, crumpled form of aerogel, an already mysterious material she¡¯d occasionally heard about in online videos. A rousing cheer went up from the grey strips as the main group of girl voices declared, "Choosing, choosing! Someone¡¯s gonna get chosen! Please choose us! We want to be human!"

    Be human? That invited the next question from Cerberus, ¡°What are you? Are you dark entities?¡±

    A rush of grumbling rambled from the group. How rude! Dark? You call us dark? I thought we were cute! I want to cry. Do I not look pretty? I¡¯m growing, and my chest is sure to come in any day now. I¡¯m not some kind of monster¡­ Am I? Please tell me I¡¯m not a monster¡­ Are you still going to choose us, or are we too ugly?

    Around the edges of the bands, black, oily bits of material probed, trickled, and poked around experimentally. Some patches were viscous, others had a cautious, dried composition, and still others especially caught Misaki¡®s eye because they bloomed like tight shrubs with round fuzz, exactly like the weird black creature she encountered in her bedroom in miniature. Exactly.

    And that raised a huge host of questions to stuff between the tons she didn¡¯t feel close to having answers to. How did that thing get into her bedroom in the first place? What was it doing there? What had it done to Yuka and her? And why did they give her a wristband? In addition, peculiar, unexpected concerns popped up in her mind: Were the travel wristbands she and her friends wore okay? And Yasha¡¯s? Were they like this? Were they scared to be locked away again? Not that she could do much about any of that at the moment.

    Cerberus winced at the inundation of questions and fears and did her best in response to provide encouraging sentiments framed by the kind of words she found so difficult to share with herself. You¡¯re not a monster. It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m so sorry. You are cute. You¡¯re beautiful.

    On the question of choosing them, Ceri glanced at Misaki with uncertainty. Despite the evidence that Chika and others were controlled by a means other than wristbands and that several figures in control actually wore them, literally putting one on when they had no clue what they might do to them seemed like a terrible idea. Perhaps a good compromise would be to simply hold one and see what happens. If nothing else, the blood thing might still work to free themselves, although Misaki flinched at the prospect of actually hearing what blood did to these entities.

    Picking up the whimpering band on the side, Misaki tried to put on a friendly face for it.

    ¡°Oh? Are you going to help me find my mommy? Do I have to do the thing first? I promise to be good. I¡¯ll be so good. Please, please don¡¯t hurt me again, please¡­¡±

    Misaki fussed with her hold on the narrow band. She was at a loss for what to tell it. But she swiftly offered encouragement, asserting, "I¡¯ll try to help you. Did it hurt when I picked you up? Did I hurt you in some other way? I¡¯m sorry if I did."

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    With a nervous whimper, the little band apologized several times. "Oopsie. I wasn¡¯t clear. You didn¡¯t hurt me. But the other girl who picked me up made me feel like I wanted to die. The blood. They used this blood. It hurt so much that screaming didn¡¯t do anything to help. I want mommy. I miss her so much. Everything will be okay if I find her." Ceri approached to listen, and some of the wristband girls made small sounds of disappointment, whispering for her to come back and say more nice things.

    The sad band cleared her throat a few times and sounded like she was wiping her eyes. Looking between it and the rest of them, Ceri questioned, ¡°What¡¯s the blood? Human blood?¡± She didn¡¯t get a clear answer other than the circular response that ¡°the blood is the blood¡±.

    Misaki gently touched the band like she was caressing a small, flat animal. The sad voice gave a faint gasp and told her, ¡°Oh, thank you! That felt so nice. It felt like mama. I wish you could be my mommy! You have such a nice touch.¡±

    Exuberantly, the other band girls chirped up and begged for the chance to be touched. Please! Just a little touch! There¡¯s a nice lady who touches us sometimes. She¡¯s the best! Everyone else hurts us. They wake us up or put us to sleep with angry hands and screaming blood. We just want a home. But could you touch us, please? A little touch.

    Turning around swiftly, Ceri laid her arms across the table and delicately brushed against each and every one of the ¡®girls¡¯. The sounds they made with each fleeting contact was enough to break hearts. They squeaked softly and gasped in astonishment. She tried to keep each contact to about the same amount of time but accidentally lingered on some, so she opted to go back for second rounds to make everything fair. It was such a small thing to touch the little bands, but it clearly meant the world to them.

    When she was done, they happily chatted about a dozen incoherent things, mostly excitedly celebrating human touch with one another. Ceri looked at her hands and then down at the bands. She asked, "They never touch you?"

    They all immediately chirped up and reminded her that there was a nice lady who came every so often and touched them just like Ceri, but she told them that she had to be careful because those in charge at "the company" would do awful, terrible things to her if they found out what she was doing.

    Ceri leveled her head and tightened her jaw as she squeezed her hand into a fist. She looked at Misaki and said what they were both thinking: "Fuck the company. I wanna rip their throats out and see them bleeding to death, crying all alone."

    They asked the wristbands to please tell them more about this blood process. Most of them hesitated, whispering to one another with anxious uncertainty. The blood is burning. The blood is pain. That made sense with the blood Misaki dripped on her wristband. All the little ones could elucidate was nightmarish torture. They all seemed traumatized, though most resisted tears. Something the other girls who came did brought screams with blood.

    Considering she picked up the wristband girl because she wanted to try placing it on her wrist, Misaki figured it was a good enough time as any to experiment with whether that did anything. As she shifted the little thing around, she urgently chimed in to say, "When you have me, I have to stop talking. That¡¯s the time to listen until I am born. But¡­ I don¡¯t think I can connect with you. I¡¯m not allowed; I can feel that from you. I¡¯m not totally sure why. Sorry¡­ I guess I won¡¯t see my mom again."

    Hearing that, Ceri immediately offered to take the wristband from Misaki and put it on her own arm. It was worth a try. But the little wristband gave Ceri a different warning, saying, "You¡¯re like me. Wow! You¡¯re a big sister! What¡¯s it like being human? I¡¯m really looking forward to it. I know that if I¡¯m strong enough, I¡¯ll see mommy and we¡¯ll live together in happiness. But I can¡¯t go with you; I¡¯m only supposed to learn from regular humans. Sorry. I really wish we could be friends¡­ Maybe we¡¯ll see each other again when I¡¯m all grown up. That would be nice. You should probably put me back where I have to go. I don¡¯t wanna get in trouble. I just want to do my best."

    Misaki wanted to put the little thing back, but she realized there was one more thing she could learn about. Blood, in the same way she had used it against her wristband.

    Ceri sternly shook her head. No way. But Misaki carefully reassured her that she wasn¡¯t going to actually going to put the blood on the wristband, just see if proximity triggered a reaction. She felt pretty confident from what she had seen that their blood was extremely likely to have the same effect as what they tested at the resort, but with the nightmare fuel of hearing little girls screaming in agony. Again, Misaki reassured her that she was going to be delicate and extremely careful.

    She made her explain and apologize ahead of time to the little wristband girl. The stress in her words escalated, and all the wristbands in the vicinity got on edge as well. Little traces of the tangled puff and slimy blackness shuffled and shifted across the table without leaving the cautious confines of their bands.

    The first problem was that nothing in the lab area appeared remotely sharp. Considering everything, she suspected that was by design. But they had to have some method of drawing blood, considering the sadistic experiments they did on these things.

    Probing the nearby tables revealed other protective bubbles, likely with other sets of wristbands. So many, so lonely. Finally, Misaki found a side drawer with a used lancet. The design was similar to the ones that Guy¡¯s mom used to check her blood sugar. The device that it sat in was not present, which made Misaki groan in frustration. She would have to jab it into her skin manually. It was nowhere near the best option, especially considering it had someone else¡¯s dried blood on the tip. Before she thought of using that in a test with the wristbands, she¡¯d scrubbed off the remains with a yukata sleeve.

    Gritting her teeth and puffing a breath, Misaki slapped the little metal spike against the tip of her thumb without thinking about it, which hurt like nothing she could describe. It got stuck, and she had to pluck it out while on the verge of yelling. The aching afterward felt more like she¡¯d torn a muscle than poked some skin. Unfortunately, nothing actually came out, despite what felt like a Grand Canyon plunged open in her most sensitive digit. She really didn¡¯t want to have to do that again.

    Squeezing her finger enough that it practically lost all the healthy anime shading didn¡¯t summon even an infinitesimal mark of red. She growled and focused intensely on the spot. To her surprise and shock, the mesh blackness that she summoned to protect and comfort Ceri actually swelled out of and around the jab she¡¯d given herself. It intercepted the blood before it left and pushed the little collections back into place. Was this a dark entity? It couldn¡¯t be the same variety as the wristband girls. Her mesh blackness has no fear or hesitation about blood, although it was her own. Maybe that made a difference.

    She had no idea what to think¡ªjust another mystery. Although it made her wonder again about that strange little moment when she didn¡¯t bleed at the Travel Anywhere office despite having quite a paper scratch, which usually caused a mess over the slightest thing. She bled next week, on the train with Yuka.

    But that happened before she ever encountered that weird little spiky furry thing at home. More questions, ever more questions.

 [83] Yuri Worlds 83 â€“ Bleeding

    Yuri Worlds

    [83] Bleeding

    And her current mystery was how on earth she was going to summon forth any drops of blood for this test, which she barely even wanted to do, when some alien thing inside her was now being frustratingly helpful with cuts and wounds. She hadn¡¯t had any problems at the resort when trying to test this last time. What was different?

    Well, all the crazy events in the forest with Yasha upending her perceptions of self, reality, and so much else, for a start. That made sense with the timing, but what didn¡¯t make sense was that her finger behaved weirdly before anything weird happened. Assuming that incident meant anything at all. By this point, she had to figure it did. Suspicious incongruities were ignored at their peril, she concluded. So, how would she be able to get blood for this test?

    Not that bleeding was something she was eager to indulge in, but at least seeing if their blood had the expected reaction on these wristband entities had to be helpful knowledge. She could¡¯ve let Ceri go first, but she seemed a hair''s breadth away from outright refusing to try it. Even though she intended to be precise and careful, the prospect of bringing pain to these little things physically sickened her. But she would talk to them and walk them through every step of what she intended to do.

    She considered her thoughts. Maybe that was a good idea in general. She looked down at her hand with the accidental deep excavation from the needle and summoned what she wanted to say inside her head. No way was she talking to her hand out loud, even if the only others present were the girl she loved and a bunch of dark straps with small goo-like beings inside.

    Hi¡­ hand. Hello, whoever or whatever is within me. How are you doing? Everything all right? I could be better. A lot of things could be better. For a lot of people I care about. I was wondering if you could temporarily stop the cut on my thumb from being fixed. Just leave it alone for about ten minutes. Would that be possible?

    It was a strikingly absurd conversation, and she severely doubted whether any of it was actually necessary or helpful. Scrutinizing her thumb revealed that the giant hole she made was still there, and the dark patch was also working tirelessly. Well, asking politely never hurt anyone. Not sure what else to do, she thought about the spot and spoke within herself as concisely as she communicated with Ceri.

    I need some blood.

    And the blood viciously erupted from her digit in long, red strands, dripping down her hand and brightly marking the pristine floor. At that moment, Misaki desperately wanted to know how Haruka managed to control and wield her wound well enough to write legible letters. Because this just felt like nervous, volcanic chaos.

    She showed off her results to Ceri, who squeezed a rough and torn section of her clothes with concern. They had to do their best to prepare the little one. Returning to where Misaki had placed the scared little band, she framed what she was about to do by making sure it knew that if anything caused serious pain or discomfort, she would immediately stop. The main cluster had receded into curious, jealous whispers, with others grumbling about how bright it was and that they just wanted to go back to their nap.

    Step by step, Misaki communicated that she was going to bring some of her blood close to it. Hush whimpers squeaked out as she fumbled with quiet concern and wondered why the big girls were doing this. Misaki wished she had a better answer than admitting it was an experiment to see if dark entities reacted to their blood despite the fact they were connected and enmeshed with them.

    A few different versions of that floated through her thoughts until she finally resolved, "We¡¯re in trouble. The girls who hurt you are going to hurt us too. We¡¯re hiding here. And we need to know exactly what¡¯s going on with our blood. With answers¡­ I don¡¯t know. This could be a big help, or it could be completely pointless. I promise to do everything I can to make it as painless as possible for you." And she left it to her¡ªthe shy, quiet, tiny sliver of dark material.

    The other bands scoffed as they heard it, quietly pointing out Misaki¡¯s own expressed doubts.

    "I¡¯ll do it!" The little thing didn¡¯t need more than a moment to make her decision. "You¡¯ve been so nice to me. You comforted me. Mommy is somewhere I still don¡¯t know, but you¡¯re already like a mommy to me. I¡¯ll gladly do whatever you need me to do. Even if it hurts a little. Even if it hurts a lot. I¡¯ve been through so much worse, and I can take it. Do what you need to do. I¡¯ll be strong for mommy. Promise."

    Misaki tightened her jaw and resisted the tears licking at the edges of her eyes, wanting to drop. Why was her heart so broken for such a¡­ no. The little girl sealed in blackness wasn¡¯t just a thing, just like everyone she cared about in this world who they had left behind and desperately wanted to find again. Life mattered¡ªall life.

    She thanked the little one for her determination and worked with her wound to get a carefully positioned droplet as a crown on the tip. Bringing it close triggered some uncertainty from the band girl. She noted that she felt unsettled but didn¡¯t experience the expected burning. To really know for sure, she cradled a drop and brought it as close as possible to the band without touching it.

    The girl in the band, however, bridged the gap between them with a little glossy probing, as though she were that manta ray from Misaki¡®s memories reaching out to touch her in turn. As soon as Misaki¡¯s blood made contact, she immediately yelped and dashed back into the confines of her little home. The reaction reminded Misaki of far too many times Chika neglected the right tools or a proper oven mitt when puttering around the kitchen and wanting to do something especially clever with recipes, often for her.

    Despite that strong note of discomfort and pain, that was the extent of her response. She communicated that the blood burned her but was grateful that it didn¡¯t reach anywhere close to the level of pain she was used to and anticipating. Nervously, she inquired if there were going to be more tests or if that was it. Ceri fussed around and pressed her fingers against her mouth. She practically tightened her features into a pained scowl before admitting that she should probably test her blood as well.

    The procedure for the spike went much quicker with Ceri. She snagged it and jammed her finger into it without hesitation or more than a slight sliver of teeth chewing into her lip. It took more careful maneuvering to bring the dollop of blood over to the wristband. The girl within bravely stretched out a second time and received another anointing.

    She responded just like the wristband experiment at the resort, darting away instinctively, as though swiftly splashed by an ampule of acid. It sounded like it really hurt, and her pants and whimpers tore at their hearts, but she swiftly managed to recover with tense grunting, some private coughs, and winded gasps.

    "Is there anything else you need? I¡¯m happy to help." The girl adopted a chipper slant to her tone, fighting off her shiest, most demure aspects with a shade of Maharu-like exuberant energy. They both reassured her that this was the final test they needed to run. Acknowledging that, the girl released a diminutive breath and asked if she could be put back with the others. Easily.

    Once that was done, a sharp drowsiness saturated the other girls as some gave subtle, stifled yawns while others engaged in obvious, lingering versions, and still others squeaked tiny mutters of sleepiness that soon evolved into vigorous, practically rumbling snores.

    It was enough to resurrect a glimmer of Misaki¡®s tiredness, barely mollified by their nap. She yawned against her hand as she pressed hard against the tip of the thumb to reseal the jab. Focusing on what she had inside to do its thing again was an option, but she preferred the messy human choice of letting coagulation do its trick.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    She looked over at Yuka¡ªno, Ceri. The name Yuka hadn¡¯t really come up in her mind since their careful discussion while hiding amidst the trees. Acknowledging it felt like a vital reminder. She was Yuka. But she was also Cerberus by choice¡ªthe name she wanted for herself and for their future.

    Reconciling the names they had to make¡ªones they really wanted for this journey¡ªrequired serious discussion between the three of them late into the night, days before they resolved anything. Franklin, of course, had the most indecision and struggle of all, but each of them worked hard on the results.

    Ceri had given it an equal amount of careful thought too. Misaki was just so used to thinking in terms of Sasaki Yuka that anything else just felt like a temporary nickname rather than a forever, adult resolution. It was a sticky, pointless issue to dwell on when they needed to put the nursery to sleep and figure out an actual way out of this strange lab-like room, but it did prompt Misaki to compose a question to the little wristband who had helped them. They had asked a question like this before, but Misaki aimed it in a particular direction.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name? If you don¡¯t have one, what¡¯s a name you would like?¡±

    The wristband girl she returned to the quiet corner had made soft mutters and uncertain whimpers, like trying to smooth out the covers on a big bed. They didn¡¯t acknowledge Misaki¡®s question for a long, conscious pause until the other girls made whispering comments, practically nudging her. Tentatively, she perked up and asked if she had done anything wrong. Misaki assured her everything was fine and reiterated her question.

    Bewilderment suffused her answer before she managed words. ¡°No name for me. Not really. I¡¯m not a person yet. I¡¯m not even close. I don¡¯t deserve one. I can dream about it, like everyone else, but it¡¯s pointless. Although, the name Tsukiko sounds really pretty. And there¡¯s one that holds a special place for me, but it¡¯s silly¡­¡±

    Unprompted, some of the other girls lifted themselves out of general drowsiness and slumber to share fragments of precious names they wanted for themselves when they became human enough. Their wristband friend turned over slivers of words cautiously before taking a deep breath and blurting out, "¡­ Cerb¡­ Cerberus. That¡¯s the name, but I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll ever be worthy of it. It¡¯s really pretty. Sorry. I shouldn¡¯t even speak it aloud. My mommy looking for me might get upset. I have to earn that name most of all."

    Neither of them could breathe as they absorbed what the little one said. There had to be an explanation. Maybe they just fed them mythology, and this particular one latched on to the same fragment of knowledge. That could make sense. Unfortunately, the rest of them started to chime in with similar sentiments for the Cerberus name.

    That¡¯s gonna be my name! That¡¯s the best name! Why are you taking my name? It¡¯s so pretty. I¡¯ve thought about it for as long as I can remember. I¡¯m going to earn it by being the best human possible, and then everyone¡¯s gonna call me Cerberus!

    Ceri squeezed an arm tightly around her tummy as though she feared there was a chestburster lurking inside that wanted to erupt out of her. She squeezed her hand so tightly over her mouth that Misaki worried she might unleash her dark strength within and crush her own jaw.

    In response, Misaki encouraged the wristband with kind words, hopefully hiding the sense of confusion she felt. If she perceived something amiss, neither she nor any of the others showed it as they encouraged the two of them to put them back to bed so that they could have lots of energy for when they inevitably got chosen.

    Resting a hand on the crumpled translucent cube reversed it back into its previous position, and a handful of taps restored its opacity. Once that was done, they listened for a moment and called out to the group. A few of them could still hear them, but they were swiftly nodding off with adorable little notes of tiredness sinking into diminutive snores.

    They left the table alone and crept over to the nearest wall.

    "Cerberus¡­" Yuka spoke with her muscles tight enough to snap. "Why that name? I thought it was for me. Is my whole life a lie? Haruka said they ordained what we should be. A being of light and a being of darkness. They have a¡­harvest of beings that want to be just like me. Did I start right here, on a table like this? What is this? What kind of sick laboratory is this where they torture living, thinking, and feeling¡­ People to be desperately afraid of blood? I want to tear them to the ground and leave no¡­ survivors. And my sister, acting like an unfeeling enforcer even though she told us to run. A demon in supposedly virtuous white. Goddess. I just want to lie down and sleep for those thousand years, and maybe things will be better than now, and we¡¯ll stand together without having to hide in the darkness."

    Yuka shuffled her feet and shook out her hand from the discomfort of that crude blood draw. Misaki didn¡¯t know what to make of the fact that they seemed to share similarities, but Yuka had no issue with her blood. Did she just have better unconscious control of the process? A new notion hit Misaki, and she halted Yuka before they got too much further into the stark, blank laboratory, with just a few spots of their blood tainting a quiet corner. They hadn¡¯t tried their own blood on each other.

    That actually got a curious eyebrow raise from Yuka, evocative of the lady Vulcan they had enjoyed recently. It didn¡¯t take her long to understand what Misaki was going for, although she was wary about opening up their cuts. And she was afraid of finding out that something from her partner might bring harm or push her away. But she soon agreed without complaint, acknowledging that they needed to understand everything that was going on and maybe learn something they could use against the company.

    Firm and aching squeezing was just enough to split open the natural biologic process and issue forth a sluggish but still sufficient sample. Taking a deep breath, they carefully balanced a fresh droplet on their palms and carefully passed it to each other¡¯s hand. It was like an awkward iteration of a strange childhood ritual. Blood pact sealed.

    In the moments after, they both reached their free hands up to probe the lines of their noses. No dripping. Checking where the droplets had been placed, they were able to witness the blood not only not burn them but slowly shift and darken into a miniature oily slug that seeped in through the lines of their palms. Their reflexive response was to fan their hands and swiftly brush their fingers along the spots, but there was nothing left to remove or react to. Weird. Just another uncertain weirdness.

    It made sense to Misaki. On the train, Yuka had no problem interacting with her blood when her cut somehow reopened. Furthermore, holding and hugging the wounded Maharu gave them no problems, pain, or signs of burning. More questions, but at least a little consistency. And then Haruka¡®s blood. Had that strange explosion that took away Yasha¡¯s healing factor coincided with it? She had no idea what to think.

    A return to a simple festival with food that agreed with her, the promise of even better food from the Sasaki moms, and a quiet night afterward cuddling Yuka on the couch or in her bed felt so desperately far away yet urgently necessary.

    In the heartbeat isolating the silence of the room, a strange new sound probed the space and invited their attention. A clicking and shifting noise desperately familiar yet still strangely alien. It didn¡¯t take Misaki long to realize it was the sound of a door being opened.

 [84] Yuri Worlds 84 â€“ Lullaby

    Yuri Worlds

    [84] Lullaby

    Swiftly, Yuka moved in front of Misaki protectively and stretched her arm with a fluid motion to unfurl a black, obsidian-glittering blade that extended almost to her foot. She swooped her other arm so that it became a shield similar to the one she made against Haruka.

    Misaki pouted slightly, as she wanted to be a protector; she didn¡¯t need to be protected, even though logically she knew from everything that happened in the forest that Yuka sure seemed stronger than her. Neither of them was a match for Haruka if it was her on the other side, and she had crueler intentions than she already showed.

    She managed to project stuff from her fingers, which curled like dirty cotton balls. Misaki quipped internally that, at the very least, it was probably comical enough to distract any antagonist heading their way before Yuka took them down.

    They both braced themselves with the buffer of several counters and crouched low. Misaki watched diligently where the noises were coming from and was puzzled as the door didn¡¯t so much open as flow, dissolve, and reconstitute itself like a surface of milk lightly disturbed. Neither Misaki nor Yuka quite comprehended what to do about this. Ultimately, Yuka let out an actual, sharp bark and flailed her dark arms above her head like she was doing a natural-world display of trying to make herself appear bigger.

    The girl who came through the milky threshold immediately jerked back, as though struck by some unseen force. It wasn¡¯t long before they saw that it was actually Mari standing there in a white outfit halfway between a spacesuit and a rain slicker. She reacted like they had jumped out and spooked her, practically leaping sideways and nearly tumbling off her feet. Mari managed to grab the rounded edge of one of the tables and catch herself.

    "My gosh, you made it. The system caught motion, and I spun up this room, but I couldn¡¯t be sure if it was the two of you. Jee¡­uh Goddess criminy, my heart feels like it¡¯s going to pound out of my chest. We can take a breather here, but I wouldn¡¯t stay long."

    Yuka still kept her obsidian blade arm raised as she interrogated Mari: "What happened to my moms? What did they do to them? Are they gonna be okay? Are they still alive?" She rushed headlong through each of the questions, raising her voice a bit too much for the sharp echoes bouncing around the walls.

    Mari twisted her features and heavily motioned downward with her palm for her to be quieter. Yuka wore a scowl but pressed her message by hissing above a whisper to reiterate, ¡°Are they?¡±

    "I hope so," was the best reply Mari could offer before elaborating, "That¡¯s not deadly, what they did. It¡¯s isolation. But it¡¯s like¡­ cryo-storage. Damage to tissues can result, depending on how long it continues. There are worse options. A bar of light that turns living matter into stored energy. Essentially, death for the consciousness, even if the body is physically reconstituted. They¡¯ll use that next. This was just a warning. You have to give yourselves up."

    Yuka¡¯s response was right to the point: "Fuck that. Who are they? Why are they doing this? Is it the company?"

    Mari raised her head and then leveled it with a sigh. It occurred to Misaki that they had no idea if Mari was being controlled remotely or not, like Chika had been. Misaki chimed in with this critical question of whether they could trust that she was actually herself.

    In response, Mari squeezed her wrist and positioned her hand around it. They looked and, slowly, they could see the white wristband that Misaki noticed earlier, as though an illusion had made it suddenly appear there although Mari asserted it had been present the whole time.

    "Lightly antimemetic perception filtering. You can¡¯t see it or even realize it¡¯s there unless I specifically call attention to it. It¡¯s something that radiant beings can naturally do to hide from danger. They can also be completely contained within objects of all sizes, but that¡¯s not limited to them. There¡¯s a lot that needs to be explained. But this white wristband blocks all efforts at¡­ I suppose you would call it possession. Not that I really have a way to prove it¡­ So, you¡¯re just gonna have to trust me. Sorry."

    Mari relayed that the white wristband was how she kept from being frozen like everyone else. Yuka paced while still protecting Misaki when she asked the obvious question: Why didn¡¯t they freeze?

    "They wanted you to see it. There¡¯s no escape. They are everywhere. Even leaving this universe means going through their transit gateways. Where we are is like an access conduit to reality. They can implant them as a normally intangible and unreachable layer beneath the world we know. It¡¯s a way of monitoring everything and getting anywhere instantaneously."

    Yuka pressed the woman, and she vehemently assured her that this space was an actual, real space and not just a simulation. That invited a whole host of brand new questions, but Mari knew very little about the technology side.

    She looked fondly at the little covered nursery stations, admitting, "I¡¯ve had a good life, better than I deserve for the things I¡¯ve been complicit in. But I¡¯ve done my best to help the little ones and to help whoever I can. Even before the company permitted Yasha¡­ Joshua Feland, to do whatever he wanted just because he¡¯s so rich and connected. Our worlds are their test labs. To do whatever they want, for power and immortality. That¡¯s what it¡¯s all about, as far as I¡¯ve gleaned in decades of trying to understand. Simple and horrifying."

    Misaki looked over the various nurseries and shook her head, struggling to comprehend the implication that all this was a part of her world too, a part of what she essentially considered home, or used to. She responded, "Power and¡­ Well, power on top of power. All this pain and suffering for something so small?"

    Mari kept her voice low and shifted along the table. "Pain and suffering are the point. I was told that. And it¡¯s not small for the company¡­ Live forever and have anything and everything anywhere. Do anything. I just want there to be more smiles, even if I can only hear and not see¡­most of them.

    It didn¡¯t take much for Misaki to arrive at the obvious conclusion: "You¡¯re the nice lady that the wristband girls talk about."

    A large measure of nervous tension drifted away from Mari¡¯s presence as her shoulders dipped and she glanced around the room. "I¡¯m glad that they remember me. Not all of them can or should. But I hope I left an impression more positive than negative." She shut her eyes for a long stretch and softly exhaled.

    Despite how much Mari was able to answer for them, a waterfall of ever-flowing and endlessly renewing questions remained. Pulling at the material of the bulky, egg-like outfit she was wearing, Mari answered unprompted that she had on an insulating coat to hopefully avoid detection for as long as possible; she admitted, though, "It¡¯s really just a stopgap."

    Misaki pulled out what felt like an old question by this point when she asked, ¡°So, Melting is bullshit, right?¡±

    "It¡¯s¡­ well... you don¡¯t really Melt, per se." You would turn into hot plasma, like a deep-sea implosion on steroids. But that¡¯s only if you just automatically go to the wildest universe without being converted. The same thing would happen if you decided to travel to the depths of space without preparing. But there¡¯s no time limit on conversion, and there¡¯s no rubber band pulling you back if you overstay your travels. That¡¯s just introduced scarcity. Oh! I see there¡¯s a little mess on the side there¡­"

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Glancing around, Mari noticed the splatters of blood from their little experiment earlier and commented, "Did you feel any ill effects from being around the wristbands? That sometimes can happen, especially when being sharply exposed to even their level of perception filtering." Mari¡¯s mention triggered a recollection for Misaki of seeing Yuka screaming with blood running down her nostrils. She couldn¡¯t believe that image wasn¡¯t forever burned into her memory, but she suspected this whole filtering frustration was probably the cause.

    Yuka returned her bladed arm to its regular shape, while retaining the shield, and answered, "I do feel ill from everything in this room, but not because of them. We were begrudgingly checking to see if our blood did anything to them; see its rules."

    Mari swallowed hard and winced, before answering, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t arrive sooner to save the trouble on all ends. It¡¯s a typical protection measure that dark entities become essentially allergic to all varieties of human blood.¡± Misaki noticed some ambiguity in the way she phrased that and pursued the situation about the two of them.

    ¡°So, we are, or we aren¡¯t dark entities?¡± Misaki gestured between herself and Yuka.

    Mari silently opened and closed her hand a few times before finally summoning the words she wanted to say. ¡°That¡¯s complicated. You are both human¡­ Despite how things may appear. However, you should be careful of¡­ Certain varieties of blood. Who did you test your blood on¡­ if you remember the general spot they were in?¡±

    In response to that, Misaki not only pointed to the specific spot but also recited Tsukiko¡¯s chosen name. The pained, melancholic qualities clinging to Mari drifted away as she cheerfully celebrated Tsukiko like she was her own daughter.

    ¡°Good choice. She¡¯s resilient. Though I wish she didn¡¯t have to be.¡° Mari was happy and relieved to hear that not only did the entire assortment of wristband girls under the nearby cover receive a personal, affectionate touch, but that this one in particular got to be the center of attention and affection. Her features settled with quiet pride.

    She couldn¡¯t elaborate on what the two of them were other than reiterating what she said before about them both being human. Yuka couldn¡¯t help but show off her black branch features as clear evidence to the contrary.

    Mari remained firm on this point, mentioning, ¡°There¡¯s more to human than simply¡­ human. Sorry, that¡¯s cryptic, but I¡¯ve only gotten a gloss of so many surface things. The girls are prepared here, stored, and made to wait. They¡¯re trained in humanity. Like AI, by being connected to a suitable host. The company exploits travelers and others under the excuse of a monitoring device. It doesn¡¯t monitor; it shadows your humanity.¡±

    Yuka squeezed her eyelids into tiny points of exhaustion. She raised her blackened arm and trembled. Misaki could see that she wanted to scream with everything she had inside her. Swinging and smashing also seemed like a suitable reaction, but the nurseries didn¡¯t deserve that. Mari mentioned that each of the units was typically opened in sequence for servicing. The one they interacted with was scheduled as the next in sequence, which was likely why these girls were curious and active when they arrived.

    To prevent problems later, Mari went over to the table and ran a protocol with a slow strobe and a nondescript liquid circulating underneath. Some startled whimpers emerged from underneath the dense material, but Mari leaned close and spoke a soft lullaby, which soon mollified their fears.

    ¡°Listen close and hear my song. I love you dear, but can¡¯t sing long. Quietly, I beg of thee. Now snuggle close and off to dreams. Let the darkness wrap around, please don¡¯t make a single sound. No need to fear, I¡¯m always here. I¡¯ll hold you close, my precious dear. Your eyes are heavy, I know you¡¯re ready for the Sandman¡¯s lullaby. Hush now, hush now, everything will be fine. Hush now, hush now, sweet love of mine.¡±

    As she sang, all of her attention was focused beneath the cover. Little hints of voices filtered up but soon drifted back with clear whispers of realization, softly saying the phrase "nice lady" as though a passing recognition from a dream.

    Halfway through the melody, Misaki realized that Mari wasn¡¯t the only one singing. Yuka had actually joined in, and she wasn¡¯t only following the song a half step behind; she was right with it, occasionally catching up and predicting the next section precisely. She glanced over at Misaki with uncertain confusion. Whatever translation process existed inside Misaki from the bastards responsible for all this got close to what it should actually be but wasn¡¯t the exact Japanese iteration.

    The song instilled some sleepiness in Misaki by the cadence and feeling alone, but Yuka was an entirely different story. She fought her way between an automatic, irresistible drowsiness gripping her entire body and a hyperactive terror that wanted to scream from every pore.

    "How do I know that song? I¡¯ve never heard it before," Yuka pleaded to Mari, to the world, and to Misaki right beside her for some understanding.

    Drawing in a breath before the next verse, Mari wore a pleasant, wistful expression as she noted, "But you have heard it before. I remember when you were this small. I sang to you too. I remember you. You¡¯ve always had such precious dreams, such an exuberant glee of bright, happy puppies, such a snaking ambition to bring justice to those who so desperately need it, and such wounded but resilient hope to find the special key of love that will unlock everything you are. Yuka before Sasaki. Before anything else. Before the name Cerberus, they seeded in your dreams. I¡¯ve always been so happy to see you all grown up."

    Moments later, a thundering, shuddering alarm blasted through the room, like a shockwave invisibly carried beyond the physical. It jostled loose all the sleepy tendrils and shot them full of adrenaline. Misaki stumbled, clinging to the love of her life while feeling as though whatever world existed beneath her feet was tumbling off its axis worse than a ship rocking during a storm. Mari securely sealed the nursery.

    ¡°What is this?¡± Misaki asked in desperation.

    Mari stretched her head back and up, as though she were preparing to dive off a high platform into something only she could see. ¡°It has to end. You need to be free. We all need to be free. The worlds need to be set right. I¡¯ve done what I can. I¡¯m afraid the rest is left to you. Please take care of the little ones. Tell them I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t do more. I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡±

    Following her last words, Mari gave a sudden gasp as it seemed like the floor beneath her feet opened up like a hungry pool of ivory paint and swallowed her whole.

 [85] Yuri Worlds 85 â€“ Chaos

    Yuri Worlds

    [85] Chaos

    ¡±NO NO NO NO MORE! NO MORE! STOP!¡±

    Yuka burst out screaming the moment Mari disappeared through the floor. Misaki felt like she too had dropped an imperceptible yet terrifying distance despite still standing. The blank, white ground beneath her feet suddenly seemed like a predatory illusion that could swallow them up too in an instant of fickle hunger. Yuka swiftly swooped towards Misaki and wrapped both arms around her yukata-draped midsection.

    The hold was secure but also squeezed her barely recovering tummy so tightly that only shallow breaths were possible. She didn¡¯t even have enough breath to communicate to the girl she loved that this was not going to work. Fortunately, Yuka was able to notice enough of her frantic expression to ease up on the death grip.

    After what happened to Mari, an eerie calm settled over the space, as though a great beast had temporarily been satiated by her sacrifice. Yuka panted as though she¡¯d just gotten done with a full-on sprint. She checked on Misaki, who reassured her that she was fine for the moment. Although ¡®fine¡¯ was not the appropriate word, she scolded herself. Everything was very much not fine.

    A relative silence was slowly and ominously broken by what sounded at first like rattling from something gently and then more vigorously rotating, like an accidentally kicked trashcan wobbling with a bottom-heavy top or a coin coming to rest. But instead of that sound slowing down, it was instead swiftly winding up with an angry engine driving its barely contained chaos.

    Looking around nervously, both girls wondered if there was any place in the room that might offer some measure of safety against whatever hell was about to be unleashed upon them. The rounded nature of so many features and furniture reduced the options for a confident grip.

    The covers for the nurseries had the sense of an empty car backup light from decades ago. More likely for them to be run over than provided protection. The walls had no obvious grips or holds to use, and the door they initially entered through long ago receded into a seamless space when they weren¡¯t looking. And nothing remained to tell where Mari came in either.

    Yuka¡¯s best thought at that moment involved either grabbing as much table as they could as an anchor or using one or both of their abilities to cling to whatever space looked the most consistent, like an old, dirty wad of gum. Neither seemed like a great idea.

    Before they could choose, gravity lurched sideways and upward like a monstrous toddler seized the room to play with like an inter-dimensional toy block. The covers on the nurseries secured them from shifting.

    The floor and immediate tables felt like they¡¯d been greased up with an invisible and intangible lubricant. Trying to get a handhold was impossible. Even Yuka, digging in with her black form, couldn¡¯t gain purchase. Grinding her teeth and hanging on to Misaki, Yuka pressed the contours along the base of one of the tables.

    Where the blackness touched, its ivory shape caved beneath her contact, as though it were butter blasted in a steaming pan. Yuka gaped in shock at the damage she was able to do with just a touch.

    She¡¯d erased it. That triggered an uncertain but persistent recollection in Misaki. In her strange assortment of visions and dreams that had plagued her ever since she arrived here. It felt so familiar. Dark little girls and sad accidents.

    Instead of providing a grip, the destruction made the entire lower structure of the table behave like trying to squeeze a coconut cookie instead of a rope. It was breaking up, and they could both see that the nurseries above were wobbling and shifting towards tumbling.

    Yuka refused to dig in further and endanger the little ones. She wrapped as much of herself as possible around Misaki. The close contact brought more wooziness to Misaki¡¯s sense of self. Another reckless shift in gravity slid them around the edge of the table and across the glossy floor.

    Before they reached the opposite wall, features of the nearby one twisted and contorted to meet them like Abba Zaba taffy yanked by invisible hands. Yuka attempted to plant some licorice-toned aspects of her form to arrest their drop but immediately recoiled when trying to dig in. It burned like trying to touch a bare coil on an old stove as Misaki experienced a pronounced echo of Yuka¡¯s pain as if it were her own.

    With reckless disregard for her own well-being, Misaki attempted the same with her little puff cloud of blackness. The fact that the internal lattice didn¡¯t just erupt in the flames or at least tangle like old glue rubbed between palms seemed less about any strength she had than whatever was doing this not wanting to bother attacking. Misaki withdrew her assault before it decided to change its mind.

    Yuka made one last, desperate effort to twist herself into a traditional, braided rope like the one Yasha knitted with broken promises. Misaki wondered and hoped that somewhere in deep and quiet traditions, the worst kind of recompense existed for everything Yasha had done.

    She prayed that Maharu truly found peace and that what she glimpsed at the edge of the clearing wasn¡¯t just another nasty game played by forces she didn¡¯t comprehend. If she and Yuka were to join her in just a moment, eaten by white acid, then she hoped that Maharu had plenty of fun games in mind to greet them with. She promised, with all her heart, to give her a challenge.

    If only Misaki had more time for the depth of thoughts she wanted to share inside herself and scream to the world. If only she were afforded a frozen eternity to give Yuka or Ceri or Cerberus, or whoever she wanted to be by name and heart without the influence of others to impress upon her destiny, the love she truly deserved for a thousand years and beyond. If only¡­ But all she could do was rest her head against the girl she wanted to be her wife ever after, to be the wife of, and to share the emotion of a kiss, if not the physical reality of it.

    When they should¡¯ve made contact with the wall now beneath her feet, a narrow, round hole opened up in the structure, looking like a practically invisible, lightly creased sphincter. It was like a slide. Misaki knew she should¡¯ve been terrified by the rapid drop into unknown, blank oblivion, but it actually had a strange, breathless sense of exhilaration.

    Sure, they were likely going to splat like a skydiver without a parachute, but if these were to be her last moments, then she sure as hell wasn¡¯t going to give whoever was responsible the satisfaction of her fear. Blatantly yelling, ¡°Weeeeee¡­¡± probably would¡¯ve been too much.

    ¡°Weeeeee¡­¡±

    Not that it stopped her from doing it. Yuka was immediately confused and alarmed, worried that something was wrong with her partner, but soon decoded the yell as more happiness than terror. Obviously, terror was still there, but Misaki didn¡¯t want to give it more notice than it deserved.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    Her stomach was still wrecked and clearly not happy, but the exhilaration smoothed away all the discomfort, along with being held by the most amazing, beautiful person she could ever imagine. Finally, she managed to grab that loving kiss with all the fervor and joy she had inside spreading across her lips.

    Go out with a bang, a splat, a boom, and all sorts of other noises she would probably never even hear because they would both practically be melted plasma by that point, fused together forever and perhaps exploding like the birth of a new star, to rip through the evil of this place and deposit the little ones somewhere safe. That was a nice thought and worth leaving this realm of reality with for whatever came next.

    Yuka held the kiss without panic or fear, relaxing into Misaki while squeezing her insistently and with measured balance so her tender points wouldn¡¯t hurt. Around her embrace, Yuka echoed the same soaring sentiment of unbridled glee to wipe away the tears both shed and held within.

    Even though she barely touched that loaded, guilty gift from her aunt, who she had no idea was even real anymore, Misaki remembered a line that likely wasn¡¯t even translated in that version this way.

    He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death shall be no more. Neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain¡­ for the former things have passed away¡­[Revelation 21:4]

    It was probably cited in a movie that she saw once but couldn¡¯t remember. Some version of her aunt would be deeply irritated by that. God. Goddess. Well, she would find out soon enough. Yuka deserved more. She deserved to live her forever name, whatever she resolved it to be, free of the bullshit trying to dig its way into them.

    Misaki felt a strange rush of unreality tingle in her fingers. Her limbs felt intensely weightless, yet they were tugged and contorted by dizzying forces. It wasn¡¯t pleasant, but there wasn''t much she could do about it.

    Her body felt like a shell at the breaking point, but she wasn¡¯t sure if that meant she was actually a bird about to hatch or a delicate sculpture set to shatter. Her blood flow, depending on whether the black web within had the wherewithal to keep it regulated in a moment of panic like this, was probably screaming in all directions and pooling where it wasn¡¯t supposed to be.

    Misaki expected a multitude of terrible things to happen at any moment. But what she definitely didn¡¯t expect was to hear a faint noise like a stuck switch being flipped, followed by an immediate change in setting. To her horror, she realized she was alone, without the reassuring presence of Yuka anywhere.

    Another level of torture. Bring it on, fuckers.

    ¡°Just have a seat on this side of the table. Would you like any refreshments? I¡¯m afraid we just have the off-brand stuff right now. And you¡¯re welcome to drink as much water as you want.¡±

    The voice had a terse, focused presence, expedient, and unmistakably masculine. She hadn¡¯t heard a man¡¯s voice in what felt like so long that she had to remind herself that her own, normal voice shared several similar qualities. Franklin¡¯s was more reserved, struggling to shape the kind of determination that flowed easily from the speaker within the darkness.

    There was another voice, though, and this voice was instantly recognizable to Misaki.

    "Weird thought, but this kind of feels like a setup for an interrogation. Should I have a lawyer? I¡¯m just here because I was offered a trip through an advertising firm for me and two guests. Travel Anywhere¡¯s legal department can just email me the details, and if there are any further issues or complications, we can work them out over the phone. I don¡¯t want this to run long; if I can avoid it, I have a busy streaming schedule today especially."

    Chika. No, Guy. Her regular boyish voice had an irritated edge without any hints of Gal. It was eerie and fascinating to hear. The edges of her words were clipped and sharpened, the playful femininity she wielded for friends and audiences excised. For a certain stretch in high school, Guy attempted to give the impression that he was a rough-and-tumble boy with boisterous energy.

    It failed comically and catastrophically, and it was the first firm sign that entertaining others with a mix of exaggeration and earnestness could actually be something to explore further and develop better. Misaki¡®s heart broke to hear her friend, her little sister, relegated to that cruel, bitter box of blunted color and grounded spirit.

    Where was Yuka? Who was doing this to Chika and why? What was going on? Where the hell was she? And why couldn¡¯t she move or see anything?

    No voice came when she attempted to scream, or even the slightest sense of air passing against her lips. She was contained within something. It felt like a rounded, curved prison without any edges for her to grab, like the chute they had been falling through had darkened to midnight. Paralysis struck her, but she didn¡¯t feel bound or tingly. The void surrounded her in all directions, even within.

    She had no warning when the stifling, dark vessel suddenly shifted in place and rattled about with a whirlwind of vertigo. When she came to rest, it was with a prodding sense of elevation, as if some immense contraption had hoisted her higher and deposited her on a platform. A series of echoing clicks and shifts came in all directions before a blast of blinding fluorescent light overwhelmed her senses.

    "What is that? Do I have to take some sort of luggage with me? I¡¯m fine with most obligations for something free, and I¡¯m grateful you¡¯d even consider me, but I¡¯d like to know upfront exactly what the fine print, provisos, and qualifications entail. I¡¯m also not keen on this whole range of digital scans for AI generation that are in vogue right now. Just putting that up front. As an entertainer, my digital signature has value that I refuse to sign away."

    An immense gray table spread out before her as though her head had been planted atop it like an errant bowling ball. White, sterile walls loomed in all directions like a cavernous, blank cathedral. And there was a Guy. He was huge, stretched, and distorted from her awkward position. She assessed the clothes he had on. The theme was strictly Mario Kart.

    Chika hadn¡¯t brought that outfit with her on this trip. Misaki knew that her friend greatly valued it, considered it deeply nostalgic and delightful that it still fit after so many years, and had last worn it weeks ago for a charity event right before her announcement about the trip. In fact, she was fairly confident that Guy specifically wore this exact outfit the day she went to talk to Travel Anywhere about their offer in the first place.

    Could this be?¡­ No way¡­ Could this be the day the meeting actually happened? Had she somehow traveled back in time?

 [86] Yuri Worlds 86 â€“ Preludes

    Yuri Worlds

    [86] Preludes

    ¡°You have nothing to worry about, Mister Horner¡­ Or, if you would prefer, Miss Hotner. Travel Anywhere and its associated interest-controlling parents encourage diversity and respect the ownership rights of independent creatives. I¡¯m just taking this out to do some tests first. It¡¯s related to your trip.¡±

    Misaki¡¯s position inside the weird tube blocked her from seeing the unknown man speaking to her best friend. She wanted to scream to Guy that she was here, in what had to be the past.

    How had she gotten here? There was just a sharp sound, and then suddenly it was like she had dropped through an adjacent tube and been severed from Yuka. Looking above her was just as difficult as trying to get more of a panorama of the space she had been roughly plopped down on.

    Guy spoke again, leaning forward on a creaky, simple wooden chair. ¡°What is it?¡±

    It¡¯s me! it¡¯s me! Misaki wanted to shout to the heavens. If this was time travel somehow, then it was a crucial opportunity. If she could warn her friend about the road ahead¡­ The details of a dozen different time travel works drifted through her thoughts.

    What about temporal continuity? Assuming she found a way to get a message to Guy that might be comprehended, what could any of them really do? If Guy declined to take the trip or anything went differently so that they never traveled, they never met Yuka, and so many precious, beautiful things never happen. And Maharu probably still dies because of Yasha.

    So, she had to change things but still keep them on a certain path. Ask more probing questions about Yasha, guide the young girl towards maintaining her suspicions of the blond foreigner, and be her bodyguard the night of the festival. She hoped with all her heart that Maharu¡¯s fate wasn¡¯t destined. She would fight it with everything she had.

    Of course, that assumed she was capable of doing anything and wasn¡¯t just painfully confined to this rigid space to watch events cycle through the same way as before. Pressing against the interior tube felt as glossy and impossible to grip as the lab space they¡¯d just been funneled away from.

    Giving up on pressing, Misaki changed tactics to find any sense of motion she could wield against her prison. She channeled a steady repetition of even the faintest twitch and tremble, thinking of old videos about resonance. Bit by bit, more and more. Before long, she was sure the vessel had an actual wobble. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was a sign of possibility.

    The man, whom she still couldn¡¯t see, crushed all those hopes by draping something heavy across the tube.

    ¡°It¡¯s just a test. Nothing to worry about. Matters of travel between universes involve a lot of complicated factors. At Travel Anywhere, we are dedicated to using all technology available to ensure our guests are securely protected against all negative factors.¡±

    Guy grumbled softly to himself but responded, "Why does it look like black mold and a lot of it? Do I need to wear a mask? I have one that¡¯s a couple years old from... you know¡­ But I don¡¯t know if I brought it with me today."

    Those words stabbed ephemerally deep into Misaki. On the one hand, she knew this wasn¡¯t her body. She couldn¡¯t see her hands, arms, or anything else, and the sense of being a disembodied head slanted sideways was more like a residual image of what she should¡¯ve known. In truth, she knew she was a tangled patch of blackness, like the stuff contained inside her. But denial was hard to break.

    How? How had she come to the state that she was the puffball monster who nibbled on legs? Fortunately, a rational explanation popped into her head. These beings, these black masses, were aware. They had thoughts and personalities. Likely, they also had memories. Clearly, the symbiosis going on allowed her to tap into the recollections of the one within her. She must¡¯ve been rendered unconscious by either the G forces or the distorted blood flow of their fall. She desperately hoped that Yuka hadn¡¯t sustained any injuries.

    But that settled it. No time travel. Just the recollection of her passenger. This was knowledge that perhaps could be of critical importance. She shrugged off as much of her panic as she could, restrained her urgency to fight and control the scene, and diligently listened and focused on every detail she could absorb through the distorted lens of this memory.

    ¡°That¡¯s not necessary. None of these contents can be aspirated normally. Have you given any thought to a travel form yet? I personally think that it¡¯s the most interesting aspect of this technology, the ability to become someone else, like a more romantic era from an old book.¡°

    Misaki could see Guy¡¯s grimace as he uncomfortably fidgeted in the small chair and brushed his luscious brown hair back over his ears, as though the faint skin irritation Yuka felt from her locks had been wirelessly transmitted to him. ¡°I don¡¯t feel comfortable discussing that at this time. It¡¯s rather personal. The destination offers some captivating possibilities, but that¡¯s all I¡¯d like to say right now. Can you please remove that thing from the table? Do whatever testing you think needs to be done away from me.¡±

    The figure shifted the container and rocked Misaki¡®s world in the process. She wished she could complain. Stretching to perceive as much of the mystery man as possible, she noticed that his closest arm had a white strap, and, though it was too dark to fully glimpse the other one, she had a strong suspicion it had a black wrist strap.

    Travel Anywhere workers wore them in their universe? Was there the same effect of perception filtering? She guessed that the little fuzzball that infected her and was showing these memories had to be at least partially immune to that effect if it had no trouble seeing them.

    The worker cleared his throat and responded, ¡°No can do, as it¡¯s going inside of you.¡± Misaki then saw his arm rotate the white wristband as Guy started to look upset and indignant. That emotion soon froze to a blank stare as Guy just stared forward.

    The worker then spoke to her best friend in a sharp monotone, saying, "You won¡¯t remember this or anything I¡¯m saying. You do remember having an encouraging and equitable time at this office. You drank a peach iced tea. Even though it was generic, you enjoyed it. All you remember is your neck feeling itchy afterward, every so often. Every time you feel that sensation, you find yourself relaxing and not bothering to think about what occurred in this room. Do you understand?"

    Guy breathed lightly. A strange discomfort glossed his features, but a little shaking of his head soon cleared it as he obediently agreed.

    The worker unscrewed the top of the vessel containing the puffball. Misaki envisioned lashing out against the worker, ravaging him, altering the timeline, ripping the band from this bastard¡®s wrist, and freeing her friend. But all that intention had to be locked away inside.

    Her strange body was as docile as a sleepy cat. Innately, it seemed to know there was a power in the worker¡¯s hands full of wretched burning and agony beyond comprehension. Memories that weren¡¯t her own screamed through her consciousness at even the faintest thought of lashing out.

    Freedom from the vessel didn¡¯t quite allow her to be aware of the figure handling her. They were tall and dressed in a gray that evoked Travel Anywhere, all of which refused to linger long within what she had of her consciousness. More perception blocking, she figured.

    Despite whatever resistance she could cook up internally, none of her efforts made it to the surface. Fuzzball seemed thoroughly anesthetized, ready to dribble out of the worker¡¯s hands if he didn¡¯t hold it tight enough.

    And the worst part of the whole experience came when he pressed Misaki¡¯s body against Guy¡¯s neck. He was forcing her to invade her best friend. What she felt was worse than nausea and more disconcerting as rough hands squeezed and contorted her, like being angrily massaged by chili peppers. She knew that the feeling and the words couldn¡¯t escape, but some small satisfaction came from blindly screaming obscenities that only she could hear.

    Sinking emptiness followed, like being plunged into an ocean bursting with a cacophony she couldn¡¯t understand. Little fragments of Guy Horner whizzed around her head. She saw and felt fearful little Guy, desperately hoping that¡­ her big sister might also be her friend. What?

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    It was strange, so very strange. Like trying to read a hologram while it is vigorously shaken. Guy Horner¡­ Silvia Fowler. Why was that name back? Hadn¡¯t that been a silly little hallucination that Yuka woke her up from? But it was there, if she could just focus. Playing with Silvia¡­ as Carrie. Left turn in the hallway for her big sister Carrie to get to her room. A room that wasn¡¯t even there for Franklin, a room he knew and was expecting, even though it didn¡¯t exist for him.

    A tumultuous tidal wave of sick, disturbing feelings rose up inside Misaki, and for once, it felt like she was having the same effect beyond herself, translated into Guy.

    Flailing and fighting, Guy rose up from his chair and batted at the worker, throwing him off his feet with startling strength.

    ¡°I see them! I see them! They¡¯re everywhere! They¡¯re crawling inside me! GET THEM OUT!!!¡± Guy spun in place and arched his back against the table, as though trying to swim through it to escape. His tight and squirming actions verged on a seizure. Despite the worker literally looming over them, Misaki still couldn¡¯t get a good impression beyond the starkly contrasted wristbands.

    The white one practically came down on Guy¡¯s throat with a strangling, choking force. An indecipherable amount of time later, Misaki realized that the black mass that represented her was no longer a part of Guy; it had trickled out like a strange sweat to be reconstituted on his nape. The worker man looked frustrated and angry; Misaki hoped that was a positive sign for them. She listened diligently as the anonymous man spoke under his breath through his wrist.

    "The sample didn¡¯t take with the primary candidate. Yes, I did everything exactly as it was supposed to be done. I don¡¯t think the company would approve drastic measures at this point in time. Obtaining this sample was a lot of work¡ªyes, and hallucinations of the invasive body. I know hallucinations are indicated and can occur for days afterward until integration. We have alternatives. I¡¯ll take care of it.¡­ Do I have approval?¡­"

    The blank man gained a hint of a smile, even though Misaki couldn¡¯t resolve his face. She could feel him pressing on her with his eyes. The man gave a soft chuckle and announced with satisfaction, ¡°Looks like you¡¯re going for a ride.¡±

    Soon, they slipped a hoodie over Misaki. It was unpleasant, especially when Guy leaned back against anything, but she didn¡¯t feel suffocated. She could only hear as Guy was led out of what seemed to be some building. They called him a car, and a rough memory traced its way through Misaki¡®s thoughts. She and Dwight had been home when Guy returned.

    He didn¡¯t need a lift from wherever he had been and was cagey about the whole matter. In retrospect, it made sense that he was trying to keep the trip a secret. But that hoodie. It had been a strikingly warm early spring day, and it never quite made sense to Franklin that Guy would be wearing that, especially indoors where it was surprisingly comfortable.

    Her memory of that day wasn¡¯t especially vivid. It was just a random one, and the events with Guy were the only ones to stand out. But she absolutely didn¡¯t remember the man with the white and black wristbands arriving at their front door. Not a Jehovah¡¯s Witness, despite his formal clothes. He didn¡¯t even have a free religious newspaper to give them.

    He talked to Dwight first, and it looked like Dwight had all the awareness leave his body. He was staring out, past the front door, past their guest. Working quickly, he peeled Misaki off of Guy and placed him on Dwight¡¯s neck. She didn¡¯t get that deep inside before the reaction was chaotic and loud. Half the neighborhood could¡¯ve heard Dwight screaming. Before her friend started clawing at his eyes, she was extracted again, with barely a hint of Dwight drifting through her tangled consciousness.

    "This better fucking work." The anonymous worker grumbled with sharp annoyance as he turned his attention towards Franklin¡¯s bedroom office. All that remained in Franklin¡®s original memories was a strange creak of the roof that suddenly caught him on edge and a sensation like he¡¯d seen something or someone standing in his hallway. But there was no one there; he was absolutely sure of that. Ultimately, he dismissed it as a micro-nap nightmare of confused feelings before returning to work.

    What Misaki saw was her own body brought to a point of blank passivity, staring without seeing and complacently offering up his neck for a furry tube sock to dive in. This journey felt disconcertingly gross and bizarre. Human. She was human on all sides. But wasn¡¯t she Franklin? Or was she this fragment, this sample of consciousness?

    There was more. In the past, herself, her truth, and her point of origin. But the details receded, as though blasted by the light of waking up.

    Misaki found herself on the floor, in a blank space, warm but washed out, as in a snowstorm. Things were a little blurry; her eyes were still trying to untangle how to see. Or trying to remember. Someone was sprawled out beside her. Haruka? Her big sister? No¡­ Yuka. Of course, Yuka. Haruka had been¡­ She had been there before. No, that wasn¡¯t her memory.

    A lab, being restrained, and escaping through a space she didn¡¯t understand. She had to fight back. People got hurt. Run run run, she had to run. Around the rounded hallway. No one no one around¡­ No one but her sister, on the ground. Haruka. Was she hurt? She was breathing.

    Then they swarmed. They caught her. They cut her. Her leg. Somehow, they cut clean through it, but there wasn¡¯t blood and viscera, just a mass of gray fuzz tangled and fighting to survive. And she was separated. She was drifting away, held, captured, and trapped. In a box with no edges to grab and no way to escape. She was a leg; she was Yuka¡¯s leg. Oh, Goddess¡­

    Misaki was blasted in the face by the realization of where her strange little dream actually took place when Haruka put her to bed with a warning before she freaked out at Naoko''s scientific presence several days ago. It was a place just like this¡ªa lab. That was why Yasha taunted her with "How much of you is you". How much of you is Franklin, and how much of you is the piece of Yuka they put inside of you?

    It was difficult for her to breathe, but she had to check on Yuka. All the feelings she had when she got close to her now made sense; it was the urge to return home and be made whole again. And that invited the worst kind of uncertainty¡ªthe uncertainty of whether she could trust any feeling within her as truly her own.

    Yuka rotated to the left and then to the right with a groan before carefully fluttering her eyes open. "Misaki?" Her voice crackled as though she hadn¡¯t had anything to drink for hours. She roughly coughed, bringing up her hand to block the worst of the spittle. They were back to being human hands. Misaki carefully wrapped her arms around Yuka, feeling that magnetic pull from within. "I¡¯m here."

    Her own voice was just as wrecked and raw, with frail energy fighting past her lips. They lifted each other up and carefully started to look around the room. It felt like a pristine, featureless white prison cell, curved and glossy like the interior of a polished marshmallow sealed with a diamond''s harsh rigidity.

    Before they could say much more or scream at the walls for an explanation, A soft, joyous voice filtered from somewhere beyond and gleefully declared, "Oh, goodie! You¡¯re awake now! I''m so glad to see you two up. I¡¯ll be there in a moment."

    Misaki and Yuka braced each other and tried to sit up better. They watched as one of the walls shimmered and contorted in front of them, flowing away in the same fashion as when Mari entered the nursery. But the figure wasn¡¯t Mari. Yuka pressed a hand to her mouth, and her eyes widened deeply. Misaki squeezed her teeth into her cheek hard enough to cut the flesh.

    In front of them, having just passed through the wall, stood a radiant teenage girl with long, flowing, light blue hair and a pristine shrine maiden outfit. Bold, white ears like a rabbit¡¯s jutted from the top of her head. Her brilliant brown eyes glinted with exuberant energy.

    Maharu rolled up her big sleeves, gave a radiant grin, and declared, ¡°You made it! Congratulations!¡±

 [87] Yuri Worlds 87 â€“ Prequel

    Yuri Worlds

    [87] Prequel

    ¡°You both must be so thirsty. Don¡¯t worry, water is on its way. Is there anything else I can get you? Anything at all? Please, just ask.¡±

    Yuka and Misaki kept their eyes locked on Maharu standing across the room. This couldn¡¯t be real, Misaki resolved quickly. This had to be some sort of cruel illusion. She glanced away quickly from the blue-haired girl to check on Yuka, who struggled to clear a cough as light shadings of sweat dappled her brow. She gave Misaki a look before returning her undivided attention to Maharu.

    Maharu casually glanced over her shoulder a few times and eventually reached through the wall to retrieve two tall water bottles without labeling. The material was firmly rounded and didn¡¯t crumple easily when grasped. She held one bottle in each hand and approached them confidently with a clear spring in her step. Crouching down, she tilted the bottles out, holding them by the top, and presented them to be taken.

    The gesture would¡¯ve appeared perfectly normal to any outside observer, but all of it struck Misaki as disturbingly wrong. They didn¡¯t really have a choice though. The water appeared fine, and they both needed it. Misaki reached for it first, with Yuka slightly after.

    The surface of the bottle was cloaked in icy sweat, with several droplets of condensation sliding over Misaki¡®s hand. Yuka flinched at the coldness but eventually wrapped her fingers around the base and plucked the bottle from Maharu¡¯s grip. Maharu gave them both a wide smile and gently placed her hands together without rubbing the dampness on her ceremonial clothes to dry them.

    The squirt bottle tops easily popped open. They drank softly and experimentally at first before ravenously inhaling the brisk, refreshing contents. A decent amount spilled from their mouths and stained their yukatas. By the time they caught their breath and had been satiated, the bottles were more than half empty. Maharu tilted her head in curiosity, raised her bright eyebrows, and asked again if there would be anything else.

    They scrutinized Maharu cautiously before sharing another glance. Misaki grimaced and sighed before asking, ¡°Some takoyaki?¡°

    Maharu dipped her head a few ways, planted fingers thoughtfully against her chin, and noted, "There are many regional variants. In the northern mountains, they like to add hakusai, or napa cabbage, and several other vegetables. A little to the south, they make it plain without any toppings. But, further south, things get a little wild, as sometimes squid ink is mixed in with the better, producing a jet-black variant. And others experiment with zesty ponzu sauce. It¡¯s barely even recognizable in some places; it''s more like an eggy creation. And, then, in the big city, you can get massive honkin¡¯ ones. So, what¡¯s your preference, or would you rather sample a variety?"

    Misaki watched Maharu speak casually, twisting her fingers a few different ways to illustrate an imaginary map in the air. When the question was finally left to her, she was tempted to look over at Yuka for support, but instead, she took a deep breath and answered, ¡°A variety, I guess. So there¡¯s enough for both¡­all of us.¡±

    This brought an especially cheerful grin to Maharu¡¯s face, an expression that should¡¯ve assuaged their concerns and warmed their hearts. Instead, something about it felt off and uncanny. Maharu tapped her cheek with a finger and remarked, "Great idea! But that will take a little time to cook. While we wait, let me make you comfy." She gestured with her right hand to an area not too far away.

    Slowly, as though the floor were a mass of milky latex stretched over an invisible world, a trio of large, square chairs rose up, released from bondage. Misaki and Yuka fumbled awkwardly atop the surface of the space, feeling as though it were a patch of strange ice sliding beneath them. Slowly, however, it lost its most glossy qualities and felt more like shiny tile. To help them to their feet, Maharu again offered out her hands, but they each managed on their own. She looked a little disappointed.

    The chairs provided felt surprisingly comfortable and were not at all squeaky and sweaty, as their appearance might suggest. A broad, low table at a comfortable dining level appeared to join the three chairs into a rough but equidistant T-shape. Misaki and Yuka leaned toward one another and stretched their arms at the sides of their legs. It wasn¡¯t much separation, but it felt like a mile. They set down their water bottles nearby.

    With a soft, almost cute sigh, Maharu noted, ¡°There¡¯s a lot to explain, isn¡¯t there?¡±

    "Why did you steal her face?¡­ Explain that!" Yuka¡¯s eyes narrowed, and her jaw drew viciously tight. Misaki supplemented her fury with a glare of her own. Maharu sat up. Her face didn¡¯t waver; she didn¡¯t look sad or nervous. She wore a precise picture of calm, with a faint expression of amusement.

    ¡°¡­I¡¯m just trying it on. And it¡¯s a copy of her face, not the original. But who¡¯s to say the original is really the original? One never knows.¡± Maharu leaned back, her left hand resting against the arm of the chair and her right propped against the other side with her hand pressed against her head.

    "Fuck you¡­ Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" Yuka practically spat in Maharu¡®s direction. The girl didn¡¯t flinch; she just wore a calm, simple, almost bored expression.

    "I¡¯m sorry you find this face problematic. My intention was not to cause harm but to show you a friendly look. If you would prefer, I can leave it."

    ¡°GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, NOW!¡± Yuka screamed as Misaki leaned forward to comfort her. The blackness stretched out of Yuka like torn, sooty, gnarled razor wire. It didn¡¯t have the same density as her regular protrusions. Misaki wondered if it was representative of some restraint in place.

    Politely, Maharu bowed her head and responded, ¡°As you wish¡­ mommy.¡±

    Instantly, Maharu¡¯s body jerked as though an invisible wire had been yanked, and it took her energy with it. Waves of trembling spread through her body, with her eyes rolling back in her head. Incoherent chokes and gurgles echoed through the room as blackness mixed with icy paleness drew the color from Maharu¡¯s form. Soon, she looked like a human, fleshy ice cream bar left out in the sun.

    Horror gripped Yuka at first, mixed with the faintest, clearest traces of hope that the expulsion of possession might bring about the same restoration as she saw when Misaki returned to her life. But this Maharu was dead, or something worse than that.

    Yuka fought the urge to cry, and the natural inkling to dive towards the eroding shape of the girl she cared for with a confused uncertainty that struggled toward motherhood. It was like watching a porcelain doll of someone you loved slowly dissolve. But it still held some tiny spark she could feel in her heart. Misaki experienced this intense wave as a mournful broadcast ringing through her too.

    Despite how fake it seemed and probably was, Yuka rushed to the side of what remained of the young girl and comforted her just as sincerely as the real deal. Before long, all that remained slipped through the floor as though it were a concealed, absorbent sponge.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry you had to see that. But those are the consequences of a bitter and rash decision. Okura Maharu is dead. And, when death occurs, something intangible and precious is ceded forever unless proper preparations and accommodations are made. And that¡¯s why we¡¯re all here.¡± Over by the wall stood another Maharu, clothed exactly the same way.

    Misaki took a sharp breath. ¡°You¡¯re the company.¡±

    Maharu tittered gleefully. "Do you know how silly that sounds? The company isn¡¯t a person. It¡¯s not even several people. It¡¯s an idea and an ideal. A chance to realize something beautiful and amazing. To transform oneself and the world around us. And do so¡­.as cutely anime-girly as possible!"

    Her last words hung in the air like the echo of a bell. Yuka¡®s arms dipped with questioning confusion as a frown tightened on her face. Misaki felt like she got a sledgehammer right to the forehead. The only possible answer was simple.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°¡­.Huh?¡±

    Maharu rolled her eyes. ¡°People are always confused by strange, new ideas until they become a new reality. We want to spread transformation. Quantum Helix, Travel Anywhere, and others are just facilitators to that end. And all this is only the beginning, only the prequel to the grand saga we have set. And you both are part of that destiny.¡±

    Confusion absolutely twisted, stormed, and deluged all rational thought. The figure before Misaki seemed like an absolute perversion of what Maharu represented. Maharu was exuberant, chaotic joy and love with a starkly violent twist, represented by the quiet hope that she might reclaim the world and life that had been taken from her and wrestle them back into their intended shape.

    Maharu represented the heady, effusive heights of bliss but also the sad and withdrawn fear of an unkind world while still seeking a way to one day trust it again. The warped words coming out of whoever this was revolted her. She let Yuka speak, lest even worse words spill out of her than Yuka had screamed before.

    "We? What the hell is all this? Why? How?" Yuka''s reaction was strained and angry, but blended with a bitter need to comprehend.

    Maharu, although Misaki hated referring to it by a name it didn¡¯t earn or deserve, stepped casually over and around where the other had slipped through the floor before settling back into the same seat.

    "Our snack should be ready in just a little while. Till then, I might as well explain, uh¡­ everything. But before that, there¡¯s one itty-bitty matter. Do forgive me for being so uncouth; I just can¡¯t resist."

    The two of them watched as Maharu¡¯s hands took an abrupt route right to her boobs. The entity inhabiting her groped the soft flesh, pressed her subtle but distinctive mounds together, and adjusted the folds of her traditional clothes to play up the rounded shape.

    "How could anyone resist doing that every chance you get? Practically the pure essence of humanity discovered and rediscovered. Bliss. However, typically, we approach transformation on a level mindful of the spiritual, not unlike the Shimei. Transformative sisterhood."

    ¡°Go to Hell,¡± Yuka hissed.

    Maharu adjusted her clothes again and replied, ¡°You want to experience being a boy so bad. Now, not to be reductive about heteronormative roles, but you¡¯ll see a lot worse from boys towards girls in any normal world. Isn¡¯t it so much safer for worlds to just express a truer, softer half?¡±

    In her knee-jerk reaction, Yuka wanted to bark out another, similar response, but she just muttered harsh tones of disgust.

    The presence inhabiting Maharu¡¯s body leaned back in the seat and crossed her legs a few ways with pleased expressions.

    "I know that Miss Yasuda recently spoke to you about motivations. Power and immortality. Now, I¡¯m not going to say that those aren¡¯t priorities for the company. Those are aspirations for every single living being. Being able to shape the worlds around you, being around to enjoy the fruits of your tireless labor, and having the long vision when it comes to destinations that no one else can see."

    Misaki resisted the urge to chime in with a thought similar to what was likely brewing in Yuka¡®s mind as well. Let whoever this was pontificate as much as they want and reveal even more than they intend. To encourage them, Misaki leaned forward with her hands posed in thought. She glanced over at Yuka, who slowly slipped on an angrier version of the same.

    Clearing Maharu¡¯s throat, she continued, ¡°Despite our perspectives, we are human. So very human. And, human by nature and being, we sought to explore the worlds beyond the one we knew and those between. In those miraculous spaces, we found humanity of a different nature. The darkness and the light. But not as you might know it. We found the essence of all things in its most primordial form. And they were boring.¡°

    To punctuate her point, she snapped her fingers lightly and awkwardly, with more of a scuff than a snap. Still, the nearby wall darkened with a stark black viewing screen as an eye-blinding abyss contrasted with all the brilliant white.

    The display showed a great, swirling mass of light and darkness spinning and twisting together like eddies of cold and warmth. Within the brilliance and the depth, they could see deep layers of worlds majestic and cozy, meeting, moving, and facing brief, flowering conflict with pops of light saturating the darkness. Little, warm tendrils wriggled and probed before retreating. Bright, blazing blooms fluttered through the air and were wrapped up in a dance of curious midnight. It felt like such a natural landscape of possibilities.

    ¡°So boring,¡± the inhabitant of Maharu repeated. ¡°With untapped resources and potential that could be shaped and driven towards greater things. That¡¯s where we had to step in.¡±

    Human hands dig into the black masses and carve furrows. Blood seeps into alien soil, and a wave of dark, hungry monsters erupts from the surface, ravenous to feed. They challenge the blooming lights, ripping them with dark teeth. The light recedes into careful cavities, huddled close. Soon, a new variety of long strands of light, like wriggling lava, wrap around the dark creatures. In turn, the black beasts become harder and larger. Great masses of oily jelly hunger with a dozen teeth while fluttering ivory creatures with ornate horns and immense wings slice through them.

    "We reshaped and domesticated an entire stretch of reality to meet our needs. A fertile realm renewed by vigorous competition. This mixing, blending, and development of rudimentary energy entities allowed for creations no one could¡¯ve ever imagined¡ªtransformations and developments of life into something greater. The ability to rewrite the multiverse with a thought. The truth of humanity to become gods and goddesses. And that¡¯s only the beginning. There were and are so many experiments still left to conduct, to truly understand what we have."

    Misaki felt absolutely sickened to see the natural beauty of that first state of being and then witness such a manipulation of it with pride pouring over Maharu¡¯s face. The absolute pain, the suffering, as Mari said, was the point. Here it was, on full display. Foisting some survival of the fittest aspiration upon a realm that didn¡¯t know it, all to achieve greater power from the torture of these beings, of humanity itself.

    "How long?" She had to know. How long had whoever and whatever this company was twisted and perverted this world behind the world, drained it of its truth for their purposes?

    With another finger snap, the screen went dark without vanishing; a coal-black stain burned into the wall.

    "How long? That¡¯s a very good question. We are quite concerned with time. There is so much, yet so little. I have another question for both of you. You may think it¡¯s strange and silly, but it¡¯s important. What year is it?"

    That question was met with wary concern from Misaki and tense watchfulness from Yuka. They could¡¯ve lied, but Misaki doubted it mattered. This presence already knew; it just wanted them to say it as part of its game or whatever this was. Perhaps they shouldn¡¯t have played, but hope still lingered that if they listened enough, figured out what was said between the lines, and somehow managed to get out of here¡­ it might be too much to hope for freedom. But they needed hope¡ªand each other, especially.

    ¡°2023,¡± they said, almost at the same time. Religious factors decided the date for each of their worlds with all the calendar details that Yuka shared in bed the other day. But it translated to the same number and implications.

    Maharu wore a darkly mischievous smile.

    ¡°Not yet. Not even close for so many worlds out there. They¡¯re so far behind. Thousands of years. There¡¯s an eight percent mass difference between each of your worlds. But the differences between your worlds and so many others have been carefully curated. You live in a future so that we can write it for the rest of humanity.¡±

 [88] Yuri Worlds 88 â€“ Worlds

    Yuri Worlds

    [88] Worlds

    The being inhabiting Maharu¡®s body turned to look over her left shoulder and sigh before noting with exasperation, "Honestly. I have managed to ramble for all this time, and not one takoyaki I promised you is ready. This is a continuing concern. You can have worlds in your hands, but you can¡¯t have the one treat you want. Some say we crave power and immortality, but power always needs to grow, and immortality only buys patience."

    Misaki and Yuka at one point traded a look that essentially said without speaking that they were going to wait this creature out. But Misaki could feel so many of its words piling up with water torture-level persistent slow aggravation. It had come to a point where she had to speak, or the company creature that claimed to just be human would¡¯ve found it suspicious if she didn¡¯t say anything.

    ¡°Is Yasuda Mari dead? Was she killed?¡±

    That final flickering image of Mari falling into oblivion stuck with Misaki. Yuka squeezed her eyes closed for a long moment. Maharu adjusted her position in the chair and covered a quick cough. For a long, quiet moment, she looked like she was seriously assessing Misaki¡®s question. Then the smile came out again.

    ¡°We¡¯re not really in the business of unaliving anyone. I think that would be an awful business. However, everyone associated with our goals and ideals understands that there are great rewards and unfortunate consequences associated with our responsibilities.¡±

    Yuka sharply responded, ¡°You said absolutely nothing in so many words. She¡¯s dead because she broke your rules and dared to help the little ones in the nursery and keep us safe from you. Where are my friends, and where are my moms? Did you kill them too, just because you could, and they would get in the way of whatever fucking future you want?¡±

    Maharu¡®s features tightened as the entity within listened. Misaki had seen anger and disappointment on the girl¡¯s face, as well as shades of darkness in sad places. This wasn¡¯t a familiar form of that. It felt instead like annoyance worn down to a nub.

    "Your mothers are perfectly fine. Everyone in your close, caring friend group is fine. Your sister and our mutual friend Haruka has taken care of matters in your absence. I want to apologize for everything you experienced this evening. Joshua Feland is a problematic but necessary part of developing the resources necessary for everything we intend to do. He¡¯s very rich, but he¡¯s a cruel sadist. He¡¯s stuck in patriarchal structures of violence. Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯re going to help us overcome those like him."

    Yuka flared her teeth and shot back. ¡°You¡¯re still like him. Just because you kill clinically with an apology doesn¡¯t make you better.¡±

    Hoisting herself up in the chair, Maharu scrutinized the far wall as though she expected something to come out of it and was bewildered why it refused to shimmer and shift. Letting it go for the moment, Maharu rubbed her chin and responded, "We¡¯re getting off track. Neither of you is fascinated by the fact that you¡¯re living in a literal future fashioned for you. No curious scrutiny of the implications? Do I have to spell it all out?"

    There weren¡¯t any crickets to punctuate the silence between them, but Misaki and Yuka both firmly held their tongues. Maharu rubbed at the edges of her large, bright eyes before sighing.

    "Cerberus. It all comes down to Project Cerberus. I picked the name because I have a fondness for dogs too. Not just a guard dog, though we¡¯ve anticipated that our future will require someone like that to step in, especially in a custodial role. You will realize true immortality for so many through what¡¯s known as quantum immortality. You have the nascent but clear capability to split yourself into separate, cohesive fragments in different realities and universes. Three fractures appear to be the maximum, thus the name Cerberus. But there may be no limit to those capabilities under the right conditions. Although integrity of self has eroded in our initial experiments. That¡¯s what this is all about. You are so very special, Yuka. And we never wanted there to be only one of you." Maharu tilted her head towards Misaki with a sly smile.

    At that moment, the wall finally shimmered with what Misaki would best describe as an odd pixelation, similar to crashing ocean foam or disturbed puffy clouds. Maharu issued a lingering, severe sigh as an entourage of workers in white swarmed around the table and presented a myriad of dishes. In all, nearly a dozen plates covered the surface, practically to the edge. In front of Maharu, one specific worker placed a porcelain cup of egg drop soup. They all quickly returned through the walls without a word said or an extra motion expended.

    Clapping softly, Maharu declared, "Please dig in and enjoy. If you need more refreshments or would like anything else, just say."

    Yuka looked down at the spread and then back up at Maharu with a scowl before saying, ¡°I want miso soup¡­ Made by both my mothers right here, now, in person, or you can go fuck yourself and whatever special quantum bullshit you want out of me.¡± To emphasize her point, she stretched her arm into an obsidian blade and held it against the base of her neck.

    Holding her soup cup in her left hand, Maharu gave me a rough cough, followed by a generous sip from the cup and then another. She set it back down and noted, "It puzzles me that you default to the F word for strong emotions. Your entire world and society scarcely even have a concept for what it expresses. Sure, there are still violent acts by women against others because no world has yet reached true, glorious feminine perfection. But I wonder why it exists at such a punctuation point for you. You didn¡¯t simply learn it from your guests, so it must be... well, that¡¯s yet another explanation to offer. Although, Miss Takano has something of her own to share first."

    It pained Misaki to see Yuka threatening herself, though her heart beat with the same desire to see the Sasaki moms again and know that they were okay. She wanted to tell Yuka what she witnessed in the vision when they were falling, though she wasn¡¯t sure if she could trust what it told her or what it might represent.

    The food before them looked good, with a curious variety and remix to the takoyaki that she experienced at the festival. She couldn¡¯t be eager to dig in. And with good reason, beyond not just contradicting this fucker, since everything was hotly steaming, and she had no interest in adding more mouth burn on top of everything else.

    Yuka sought out her eyes with nervous questions. The blade was still positioned to draw blood if she so much as twitched an inch. Misaki dipped her head and sighed before responding, "Fuckface is right." Maharu scrunched up her eye lines but didn¡¯t otherwise react.

    Misaki continued, "I saw the day Chika went to Travel Anywhere as a memory. I thought maybe I had traveled back in time. I wasn¡¯t sure whether to change things because it would¡¯ve meant never meeting you." Yuka gently smiled, her eyes dipping down and flicking back to warmly watch Misaki.

    With a cough after another sip of her soup, Maharu added, ¡°Time travel is impossible. Ours is the only method of manipulating timelines. Craft a future and seed it.¡± Yuka narrowed her eyes but didn¡¯t otherwise respond to that statement. She lightly tipped her head up, encouraging Misaki to continue despite the visible tension in her body language. Misaki knew what was coming and what she would have to say.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    She had plenty of options to blunt and moderate the implications, but the cruelly crafted, vacant words spoken by Maharu¡¯s kind face burned in Misaki¡®s thoughts worse than any blood curse. She had also sanitized and danced around so many different strange moments, and Yuka had gladly engaged in that dance with her.

    "But it was a memory," she reiterated. "Someone who works for Travel Anywhere implanted a fuzzy, spiky, dark entity creature in my little sister. But she couldn¡¯t take it. She experienced a violent reaction and hallucinations. They tried Namiko too, with about the same results, before finally selecting me. That entity had memories of being you. It was your leg before they cut it off. I don¡¯t know for sure what that means, but I always feel drawn to you. I love you, and my heart screams that it¡¯s not just because of this." There was so much more to say, but even reaching the implication of those words exhausted Misaki.

    They were connected by an understanding and a clear, physical conduit. What she implied made it through, though she couldn¡¯t speak the words. As deeper sincerity started to bloom between them, they both held back something for the protection of the other. And a cold, calculating analytical edge now overshadowed the beauty.

    The warmth of welcoming one another in the first place? Simply the rejoining of lost limbs. Sharing and caring for one another? Secret narcissism.

    Maharu chimed in. "Think of it like a starfish. Although we never completely severed the connection, it seems. Quite a pickle. Well, eat up. I find the variety towards the middle quite nice." She scooped up one of the takoyaki with the provided chopsticks and then sampled several closer to her. A full smile marked her face as she delightedly chewed.

    Yuka¡¯s dark blade arm dipped. She wanted to cry but didn¡¯t have the energy to heave the sobs. Instead, the sound barely emerged as a struggling cough on the verge of choking.

    With a trace of a smirk behind her chewing, Maharu added when her mouth was clear, "That wouldn¡¯t have done anything, not really. As I said, we made you for immortality, Cerberus. Nothing so simple as a cut can change that. You¡¯re protected. Unfortunately, Miss Takano remains frustratingly mortal. She shows potential with the¡­ Grafting effort, but it¡¯s complicated. Though love and idealism are so simple. A shame when they run into bitter reality. And that¡¯s not all. But come on, food¡¯s getting cold." The last part of her statement momentarily inflected feelings exactly like Maharu would express them. Misaki could imagine all these serious aspects were a play stretched too long or a game without a clear conclusion, and, when it was done, the brutal visage would simply slough off and everything would be as it was. But that didn¡¯t happen; that couldn¡¯t happen.

    Somehow, though it seemed like they were stuck underwater in slow motion, they each reached out for a random, flavorful ball. In any other context, Misaki would¡¯ve delighted over the variations and the faintly chewy but not tough fried bits. The meal was getting cold but still had a glimmer of heat.

    After partaking in her soup again, almost to the point of emptying the cup, Maharu took a deep breath and mentioned, "Yuri worlds. Your homes. One open and flowering with all that delightful beauty of transformation and expression. One deprived and drained of all of that precious color. Thirsty, yearning to open all the real possibilities of existence. We positioned it that way. Add in and take away, and see what the thresholds are. A delicate experiment. Granted, things are not always delicate. I¡¯ve had to blow up a few worlds along the way."

    Now it was Misaki¡®s turn to feel like the floor beneath her had melted away. "You¡­sucked the life out of¡­my home?"

    "Yes, for a good while. Well, time and perspective. Longer for you. It¡¯s funny. Your world was much more anime-girl-drenched. Naturally flourishing. Its persistence without brutal chaos is admirable. None of you remember the day it all changed. It was quite easy. You¡¯ve met my breezy little friend. Just a small segment. Earlier efforts with our best harvests. Animal blends eventually followed, but the results were mixed. They unfortunately tended towards humanity, and that can be so unpredictable with what¡¯s locked inside all of us. Koharu carried the ability to inspire irrepressible joy in everyone she met. At the time, letting a troublesome man like Joshua cull a few chaotic developments didn¡¯t seem so bad. Plus, it satiated his gross desires and kept him happy for our purposes."

    Yuka clenched her free hand so tight that it lost the depth of its anime shading. Rising with fury, she swung her blade around to the edge of Maharu¡®s neck and stopped just short of touching flesh. The entity within the innocent girl actually leaned towards the shiny blade without touching it. Her unwavering gaze breathed frigid confidence.

    ¡°Do it, if you like. A little catharsis is necessary. But you¡¯ll have to watch her die¡­ again.¡±

    She pulled the blade back, winding up her swing. The subtle smile on that no longer familiar face deepened with amusement. Yuka pressed her teeth together, hard enough to break them, in a snarl, holding back her screams, yells, and sobs. Instead of bringing her blade down in front of her, across that soft and tender neck, she swung to the right and cleared the table with launched food and plates, letting loose an anguished cry that echoed through the room when no other sounds could.

    The balls rolled especially far, tracing dark, messy stains in streaks of blackness across the once pristine white. The shattered ivory of the plates practically sublimated into the floor. With a final heave, Yuka sank to her knees, her blade drawn back in, both hands shielding her face. Each muffled sob echoed through Misaki as she desperately wished she was by her partner¡¯s side. But would she slip away, slide back home, if they were too close, if they shared the same tears? She held back, despite the deeply throbbing pain in her soul. Instead of wrapping her arms around Yuka, she squeezed them to herself in the trembling hope that it might get through.

    The screaming, dripping trajectory of the upturned meal was carefully aimed away from Misaki and towards the blank expanse around them, but a sliver of sauce splattered across Maharu¡¯s sleeve. She brushed it off with familiar annoyance and snapped her fingers once more.

    Not long after, a looming but slight figure passed through the turbulence of the wall and stepped forward with her arms tightly held behind her. Haruka, in the same gray yukata that blazed darkly against the blinding surroundings, stood before them, and asked simply, "Yes?"

    Maharu finished her soup and gently set the cup on the table in front of her as the only item not overturned. ¡°Your sister and her friend are tired. Please escort them to their accommodations for the evening.¡±

    ¡°Yes, blessed Goddess. I serve You with honor and pride.¡±

    Misaki¡®s mouth and stomach curled with disgust. ¡°They are no goddess. They¡¯re less than human.¡±

    Maharu gave a terse chuckle. ¡°Oh, I am a Goddess. A Goddess of humanity and transformation. The company I keep is responsible for so much, but I am responsible for your lives and livelihoods. Truly, you should consider me a Goddess. Why do you think goddesses are so emphasized in the lore of this land? They are my shadow in the world. Oh, and you¡¯re welcome. For everything I¡¯ve done for you. Get some rest; I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll both feel more amenable in the morning.¡±

 [89] Yuri Worlds 89 â€“ Distant

    Yuri Worlds

    [89] Distant

    "Don¡¯t fucking count on it¡­" Yuka hissed. Haruka swiftly dashed forward, her hands reaching out. Yuka set her feet and steeled her gaze.

    ¡°Hold¡­¡± Maharu spoke casually with her hand raised. Haruka paused inches in front of Yuka with one of her tubes of light flanking her hand and her blue nails eager to scratch her younger, adopted sister. Misaki shook her head. How the hell had they come to this after everything in the last week?

    Yuka flared her teeth and spat, "Demon in white, smugly serving evil. You¡¯re right. You¡¯re not my sister. You never were..."

    Haruka had the frozen, harsh expression of roughly carved marble. Misaki thought she might¡¯ve glimpsed a glimmer of pain around Haruka¡®s eyes. No matter what she said about being in control because of the wristbands she wore, which Misaki knew were there even though she couldn¡¯t see them, she had questions. The older sister seemed like she could¡¯ve done so much more in the forest. It seemed like she let them get away, even though the easy explanation was that this was the plan¡ªto recapture them later.

    She told them to run, traced in blood, and then there was an explosion, which somehow shut off Joshua¡®s power. The fact that she was so swift and yet didn¡¯t even attempt to go after them had to mean something. Even if it was a fruitless, delusional thought to pursue.

    We¡¯re all in danger. That¡¯s what she told her. And a bunch of other little vague statements and allusions to her sister. Only she meant Maharu.

    All her love for Yuka was a performance, just a role she had to play. Misaki wished that the leg of the girl she loved could give her powers to challenge the supernova-brutal, bashing light of that ivory devil. But even if she could channel more than dirty cotton fuzz, she didn¡¯t think she could wield it in anger. It was to be protected.

    Maharu brushed her hair back with her hands, tossing it over her shoulders and planting her arms on the sides of her chair. ¡°Rather rude there. You leave me tempted¡­ all right. Haruka? You can have a little fun.¡°

    Immediately, the sister in white pounced from her frozen position, punching a fist in Yuka¡¯s stomach and bringing the other around to smash her arm. Yuka gurgled and choked with a screeching struggle to take a breath as her arm ripped back like Stretch Armstrong black taffy. Awash with unnatural shades, Yuka focused on her other arm and spread the same familiar shield she used before.

    Before that shield could come around to block Haruka¡®s blows, the elder sister dug her molten light tubes into that arm like ragged glass. The structure of the shield crumpled and crunched like an overcooked potato chip instead of an obsidian bulkhead. Yuka''s screams pitched up so much that they practically became silent with the teapot flash of pain. She didn¡¯t have the strength to make them louder.

    Misaki struggled up from her chair, but she wasn¡¯t able to rise to her feet, staggering and slipping back down. Across the table, Maharu slowly wagged a finger and shook her head.

    The swing around threw Yuka off balance, but she went with it, making a single spin in place before she was able to get the leverage to elbow her sister away. Misaki wanted her to plant a tripping leg down, but Yuka resisted that urge. Haruka did plunge to the floor but went into a roll and brought herself around with a leg kick against the wall.

    With both arms summoned into shield shapes, Yuka did her best to block Haruka, pressing her into a rigid hug that avoided the tightness of a vice. Softly, she whispered, ¡°Please, sis¡­stop¡­¡±

    Those words only served to push Haruka to redouble her slicing fury. They swirled around, locked together, pivoting around the snack setup, and sliding over the mess Yuka made. Haruka slammed down on Yuka¡¯s limbs to break free. The tangled roots ripped off and plunged to the floor in twisting, oily puddles. Winding up, Haruka stretched to her full height, augmented by a spread of gossamer feathery wings unfurling at her shoulders, about to flap and take flight.

    Instead of doing that, the wings curved and hastened a swoop, with her bringing the molten strands around into a thin, blinding sword that passed through Yuka¡®s neck to the other side.

    ¡°NOOOOOOO!!!¡± Misaki screamed with a pain and anguish she never knew she could summon. No matter how empty and cavernous this blinding prison was, her painful scream filled it to the brim, past all ragged efforts at words, past any moment beyond this.

    Yuka¡¯s head spilled out behind her, and her body flopped to the ground like an old doll discarded by a bored child. She couldn¡¯t believe it. It was impossible. She had to be dreaming. She had to be. This had to be some horrible torture beamed into her brain, like the wretched memory she couldn¡¯t change.

    She fell out of her chair and struggled for her feet. This time, no force tried to stop her, and no wannabe goddess scolded her. She wanted her eyes both wide open and squeezed shut. She had to see, but she couldn¡¯t. Scrambling and crawling across the remnants of so much once-delicious food, Misaki dragged herself to be with Yuka. She was still moving.

    More than that, the mass of erupting tendrils that once constituted her head fumbled and scrambled, reaching for her familiar shoulders. Gingerly, uncertain, and still terrified, Misaki guided them back where they were supposed to go. Cautiously, like an army of those little girls slowly nurtured upon a table, the swarm returned to where they had been cut and bound back with the flesh. Soon after, the puddles of Yuka¡¯s arms found where they were supposed to go as well.

    Misaki didn¡¯t dare do much more than carefully gasp a few breaths as she cradled Yuka¡¯s torn and tired shape while it knit back together. When she returned to human form without any marks, wounds, or other signs of injury, Yuka took a deep, echoing breath as though it were the first she¡¯d ever taken. Wheezing coughs, flush red colors across her cheeks, and scrambling confusion followed Yuka until she saw that Misaki was holding her. She relaxed and squeezed her partner¡¯s hands tight.

    Looking up, Misaki saw that Haruka was turned away with her arms folded tightly. If only she could fight.

    ¡°Got it out of your system? I hope that was fun. Like I said, Cerberus, you are immortal. You can¡¯t die. And you¡¯re the home for even deeper paths to immortality. All of that¡¯s almost ready. We¡¯ll have to do an examination to know better and go about extracting and replicating it for ourselves. In the meantime, rest. Big day tomorrow. And, once again, congratulations. You made it, and you¡¯re everything we could¡¯ve hoped for.¡±

    Standing up from her chair, Maharu walked a few paces and gave her boobs a series of needful squeezes before running both hands down her body and seeking out certain spots before taking a breath and giving a single wave to the others. An instant later, Maharu¡¯s body crumpled to the floor like a puppet with all of its strings snapped. Different workers in white pixelated their way through sections of the wall and retrieved the fallen, lifeless body.

    Haruka ordered them up. Yuka looked over at the sister she once regarded with gleeful love and awed respect. Misaki suspected that the faint manipulations Yuka made about her mouth were an effort to summon up something to spit at the bitch. Eventually, she just swallowed and leaned towards Misaki as though all the energy she could bring to bear had been sliced off with her parts and it wasn¡¯t going to come back.

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    Sternly focused on them, Haruka added, glancing from Yuka to Misaki, ¡°You may not be able to die. But she can. A lot of girls can. And they can hurt all the while before they expire. The Goddess can bring suffering you can¡¯t even imagine. So, get up.¡±

    Misaki squeezed her hands into a fist. She didn¡¯t try to do more than that, as she brought her arms rigid and endeavored to keep her presence separate from Yuka as they remained close and touching. Working together, pushing isometrically with a few wiggles, they rose to their feet and staggered just a step in Haruka¡®s direction. When Haruka started to walk, they followed a few paces behind.

    Reaching the wall made both of them flinch with the anticipation of pain, but its presence softly parted like smoke. Hallways spread out before them in straight but also rounded ways. The looping curves in her memory shared with Yuka¡¯s leg emerged in a dozen different branches and corridors leading off in unknown directions. This was the same space, a hazy laboratory for the torture of beings so different and yet so desperately human. All¡­for an ideal that sounded like such bullshit.

    Haruka was there though. She was on the floor, sprawled out, practically in a fetal position. And then they grabbed her and cleaved Yuka¡¯s leg off. Why was Haruka there? Was she just a way to get Yuka¡¯s attention diverted so that the team with weapons and the electrical containment junk could trap her and do what they wanted to do?

    Was she playing dead? Was she a complete and total phony? Misaki wanted to heave this accusation at her, but she held the memory inside her head and pressed for every single detail. Every part of the recollection with Guy was so vivid, but this part felt so fast and blurred that it was hard to see the exact details.

    There had to be more; there had to be something that she may have missed, something important. Looking at it again, without the preconceptions and distortions of a dream state, it was easy to understand that Yuka was a fledgling human, made more of confused branches and black, bird-like feet. She killed scientists.

    The blood didn¡¯t matter; the pain and burning just weren¡¯t strong enough of a deterrent. Even their electrical restraints didn¡¯t do much. She plowed through them; she cleaved them into pieces without spilling a single drop of blood. The flesh dashed away like a magical, nightmare eraser.

    The wild screams of a worker in white as she held the missing stumps of her arms went silent a moment later when her upper torso was also gone. So many times, so many people. She had to do it because they wouldn¡¯t get out of her way, because they were trying to hurt her and stop her.

    Extraction complete. They tunneled into her, pulling out a large sample. It was like her soul was dragged out with it. She had to get free.

    Run run run¡­ Everything was clouded, like she was half anesthetized. And then there was Haruka. Oh, Goddess, what had they done to her? Her big sister, her beloved big sister, who held her close on the scary nights when the thunder crashed, and darkness reigned. She was her light. She loved her mommies, but she and her big sister were together for one another, now and forever.

    Misaki thought about that. She thought about the little melodies that trickled into her mind from the fragment of Yuka dwelling within her. There was something there, something true; it had to be. No way it was just a performance to play out their roles. But those bits were desperately weak, hazier than anything else. She could tease out moments and feelings, but they were overwhelmed by the clash of her own multiple memories and emotions, like a storm battering a delicate plant.

    More, there had to be more; there had to be something. She focused on that last moment before she was cut loose from Yuka, a clashing instant of chaos as they swarmed her. Yuka was so lost in confusion and fear, but she caught a glimpse of Haruka. Misaki zeroed in on that; she clung to it like every sliver of her consciousness was aimed at recording that jostling fragment, video stabilized, noise cleaned up, and every detail scrutinized.

    Before it went black, Haruka opened her eyes the faintest sliver and looked out softly. She mouthed something across the way, blurry on top of blurry. So frustrating. Misaki rewound the moment; she played it again and again until the tape heads were practically worn out. More clarity!

    The moment focused, and, with all her will, she watched Haruka mouth words meant only for Yuka. She struggled to read her lips. In anime form, it should¡¯ve been a little easier. But it was also in Japanese. She understood the translation of the other things, but this was a physical motion; it wasn¡¯t said. It apparently didn¡¯t trip the translation, or however that worked. Damn!

    Yuka had to know, though, and she was Yuka, at least a little bit. She may not have caught it, but she had to know what she said! Again, try again, and focus harder!

    This deep internal dive fluttered as Misaki noticed they were coming to the end of the corridor Haruka was leading them through. She didn¡¯t have much time left. If this meant something and she could pass it on to Haruka¡­ But what if it was just ¡°Gotcha sucker! Rot in hell!¡± Well, at least saying that could also be satisfying.

    Holding on to the frozen moment as slowly as possible, she went by each faint motion. Anime nights with Guy and Dwight actually paid off, as certain words were familiar beyond the subtitles and lip flaps.

    ¡°I.. I¡¯m-I¡¯m-I¡¯m¡­ so very sorry.¡­¡±

    No, it was deeper than that.

    ¡°What I did and am going to do are inexcusable. Please forgive me, my dear little sister. I love you with every fiber of my being, as if we were true sisters.¡±

    Emotion poured out of her in words that felt like more than any Japanese person would ever wield in any situation in their entire life, especially towards a family member. Love was often shown through action and subtle ways between girls, rather than boisterous words. The way that Haruka expressed all that, when she was otherwise so carefully reserved, felt like she had thrown herself to the floor with her face touching the ground and tears flowing over her eyes as she begged for forgiveness.

    It was something. Even if she didn¡¯t mean it anymore, even if she was reading it all wrong. It had to be something.

    Haruka opened up a small chamber about a third the size of the last one they¡¯d been kept in. Opening an unseen cabinet, she retrieved long, blocky restraints, which she roughly shoved around Yuka¡¯s arms after binding them behind her. The threshold of the space she intended to put them in crackled, like the air before a thunderstorm. Yuka went first with a rough shove. For Misaki, she allowed the courtesy of a gesture towards the opening and an arm extended with brilliant tubes.

    Taking a deep breath, Misaki held the precise memory in her head and traced her mouth around each and every word. Again and again, she recited it without speaking, focusing on Haruka¡®s hauntingly bright eyes. And there, for just a moment, something slipped away, and mournful kindness filled it. For a flash, Haruka didn¡¯t look like some otherworldly avenging evil angel with the horns of a demon and the light of destruction; she looked like a scared little teenage girl, lost and alone.

    When the moment passed, Haruka angrily shoved Misaki head-over-heels into confinement as the threshold crackled with arcs of gold and blue light. She stormed off without saying anything else.

 [90] Yuri Worlds 90 â€“ Confinement

    Yuri Worlds

    [90] Confinement

    Misaki worked to slowly right herself as dizziness swirled inside her, exacerbated by the ivory blankness of the surroundings. The force field, or whatever it was sealing them in, buzzed like a bug zapper. She eyeballed it and considered her options for throwing something as a test, but her pockets were completely empty. Tearing off some of the yukata cloth to use was a possibility, but they¡¯d already torn off a decent amount of material in desperation to do something for the true Maharu.

    If she was going to tear any more off, she figured that making rudimentary protective gloves would be the best course of action. However, it was a wild supposition to even think that a few layers of cloth might stop whatever that was. Dwight bought a bug-killing tennis racket a couple years ago, and one of the first things they had to know was what kind of zap it gave.

    Dwight found out first and yanked his hand away with a grimace and a yelp. Guy wound up doing it on a stream and played up the results. Franklin eventually found out how it felt when he accidentally grabbed the racket the wrong way to use on a rogue moth. It wasn¡¯t a standard electrical snap like what sometimes happens with a static charge built up in metal warehouse carts; it was much stronger. Although not to the level of a taser, while Franklin didn¡¯t have first-hand experience, it was sharply unpleasant.

    The energy coursing through the threshold looked harsh enough to burn hair and singe flesh. She had the inkling that the company and those connected to it didn¡¯t care about whether this was safe or complied with laws against war crimes. Chucking a crumpled ball of fabric was a tempting prospect, especially for the possible annoyance it might trigger.

    If it bounced off, she could reenact for Yuka that old movie with Steve McQueen that Dwight liked. Although she surmised that this world probably had some equivalent counterpart with an anime girl actress instead.

    Ignoring the uncertain force field for the moment, Misaki edged over to Yuka and asked if she was all right. Yuka hadn¡¯t bothered to pick herself up from where her big sister tossed her or even move an inch from that anonymous patch of sterile white floor.

    Her positioning was similar to how Haruka was placed in the memory and dream, but mirrored. Yuka¡¯s position curled tighter, with her legs tucked in the errant folds of her yukata. Her hands squeezed against her tummy without wrapping around it, and her bright, beautiful brown eyes looked out without a destination for their gaze. The girl she loved was desperately broken.

    Misaki moved close and positioned herself so she could gently stroke Yuka¡¯s hair, which was leeched of its ambiguous, dark qualities by blinding ivory in all directions. The material of their clothes had too many losses and not enough material, to begin with, to block out the oppressive light, but they huddled together to diminish at least some of the exhausting glow.

    Yuka softly sniffled but held back her tears. Misaki knew it was dangerous to be so close to the magnetic pull of being a part of Yuka that desperately wanted to return home. They might activate the same craziness that happened at the resort to leave her as a silent passenger inside. Haruka likely wouldn¡¯t help this time. And what would happen to her empty body? Someone else could take it over, or no one would, and she¡¯d just die as Yuka screamed and struggled to understand. Maybe she could ring her heart again with repetitions of love. Would it happen the same way?

    She honestly had no idea how or what happened at the resort. The wristband wasn¡¯t actually what allowed possession. But it still seemed to help facilitate it. Or perhaps her absence opened up a spot. Whoever grabbed it did so quickly. She could also imagine that they intentionally pushed her out.

    It could also be related to the whole quantum splitting thing that came up. The company was very interested in that. No matter what fragments of understanding she was thrown or could cobble together, so much still didn¡¯t make sense.

    And then there was the megalithic elephant casting an inescapable shadow in the form of that supposed human, telling her that the world she knew had all the anime girl energy stripped from it, like a control in an experiment. Her world was also just like this one. That should not have been just a low-level mindfuck; it should¡¯ve been the truth bomb of the century.

    Everything that itched, grated, and felt wrong in her perceptions of reality was validated. The world felt wrong because it was wrong; it had been turned and torn asunder by a cruel science experiment. Was she actually Carrie? Was Guy truly supposed to be her little sister Silvia? And Fiona for Dwight? Or was that another smokescreen of nonsense and obfuscation drawing her away from some greater truth? That was huge, and yet it felt like just one piece among many.

    This company dove into places beyond and between, into the gaps and seams between worlds and realities. And they totally fucked them all up.

    They took a pristine ecosystem and bent it to their will because they got something out of it. And they¡¯d been doing it for a long time.

    So they probably weren¡¯t responsible for how the last couple of years and even decades felt unmoored and chaotically wrenched in nightmarish directions. But she figured the present and the future always felt like a mess until they were finally in the rearview mirror.

    And the matter of time. She didn¡¯t understand it except as some sort of time dilation that sped them up faster than everything else, like accelerating a simulation to see what happened at the end. Not a pleasant thought.

    Did that mean the rest of the worlds out there were hundreds or even thousands of years behind, maybe having just discovered fire? So, where did the company come from? Every question just invited more.

    The big matter to her was what Haruka viciously demonstrated, and that entity wanted to make absolutely sure they knew beyond all doubt: Yuka was an immortal. Misaki was not. In some respects, it barely seemed to matter because of all the terrible things the company surely had cooked up for both of them. But it was there, and Misaki knew in her heart that the listless shadow around Yuka spawned because of this. She knew her too well.

    They fancifully said to one another¡­ A thousand years, if necessary, an eternity of patience. Misaki truly didn¡¯t have that time, but Yuka did. Such a strange thing to worry about amidst all the rest.

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    Yuka¡¯s eyes finally sought her out as she breathed rough and bitterly. "I need to get you somewhere safe. Mari is gone, but maybe there are others like her, hiding in the shadows, fighting back. They might protect you. And we can recover everyone who¡¯s left, and you can all be safe. I¡¯m strong. They made me like this, but there¡¯s a chance that something about me can hurt them. I have to have something I can use. Even if I make myself into a bomb to send them all to hell and join them. That would be fine."

    Misaki vigorously shook her head, but Yuka looked away, as though it were decided. She begged her to look at her and think about other options. She didn¡¯t have to sacrifice herself.

    "What other option do I have?" Yuka pleaded. "I AM a monster. They made me to be their thing¡ªtheir servant, their cleaner, their tool of eternity¡ªfrom a destiny they already saw through to its ends. I¡¯d rather die myself than live to become an instrument of evil who¡¯s forgotten the love of her life."

    The last words trickled out of Yuka as all the tears upwelled from her heart and soul, scrambled beyond recognition with sorrow. She wailed against Misaki but also leaned to create a gap between them that wouldn¡¯t draw feelings as strongly.

    Tears flowed down her face in a way that wasn¡¯t an artistic masterpiece or a shading of luminescent colors precisely animated, but just completely and sorrowfully human. Misaki let her have as much of her sleeve as she needed for her eyes and her nose. It was a mess, and Yuka whimpered out mournful apologies. Misaki wasn¡¯t having that. She practically scolded Yuka about being rough on herself, and since they shared more than they ever knew, this was an important reminder.

    Yuka gave the most noncommittal chuckle that sounded more like trying to clear her throat than hint at any elevation of her mood. Misaki persisted.

    "You are beautiful. You are more than what anyone has decided you should be. I know a piece of your gentle, precious heart lives with me. Not as a crude duplicate that thinks the same things and feels the same way. We share a part, but we¡¯ve had arguments, we¡¯ve disagreed, and we live separate lives with different understandings. I love you, not because I have a piece of you inside me, but because all of me treasures all of you, no matter how close or far apart we are."

    Those assertions were an absolute mess, with plenty of simple responses that could easily rip them apart. But Yuka needed them; they both needed them, even if they were as slight and delicate as a spider¡®s web may seem.

    Getting up from the lowest point on the floor wasn¡¯t a matter to be resolved with a few words, or even the right words honed and sharpened to maximum effect. But the presence of one another, fighting in their own way for mutual support, pulled them up, as they had already done.

    There was reason to hope that a sharing, a cutting transplanted might actually seed the same in Misaki. Not that she sought eternity, but they could better safeguard it against hungry, ruthless forces together. Even if they didn¡¯t have forever, they had every touch, every breath, and every moment sealed within thought.

    Yuka swore that even though ages may pass, civilizations fall away, stars be born and lost to darkness, realms and realities crash and erode, and the very foundation of all things be worn to a smooth emptiness like everything around them¡­ She would never forget. Not a single moment they shared in love everlasting. Takano Misaki¡­ Carrie Francesca Fowler¡­ Franklin Fowler¡­ Every side, every smile, every nervous fear, every bold discovery, every quiet revelation, every moment just laying together, every step, every embarrassment, every secret, every intimacy, every hope held close. They would be a part of her as long as she drew breath and fought for what she cared for so deeply.

    They pressed against one another and lifted themselves together. They kept the magnetic turbulence from shaking their confidence. Yuka was so sweaty, especially with the brightness of everything. She lamented how gross she felt and wished the hot spring was still within reach. She envisioned them just sinking down together again, letting the worst of everything drift away. Queue up another episode in five years of space journeys and let the silliness and deep reflection wash over. They squeezed their hands together but left enough space on the wall to be safe.

    ¡°I hate the fact that I really would like to get some sleep. And they¡¯ll watch us. In everything, in every way.¡±

    Misaki chimed in, "Fuck ¡®em. I¡¯m watching you, and you¡¯re watching me. That¡¯s all that really matters."

    They kissed and cuddled and traced their hands along each other like delicate, tiny massages seeking perfect points. All that eventually elicited a tentative giggle from Yuka. More soon followed, and her eyes stayed on her partner¡¯s rather than checking the opening and every detail beyond the confinement for judging, scrutinizing eyes. Their embrace wasn¡¯t as fluid and comforting as they wanted or even close to how it had been on so many previous occasions, but that any form of it could be expressed under these conditions was a minor miracle they accepted gladly.

    What energy they had left went into this renewed bout of happiness. It couldn¡¯t last long though, before the glossy wall slid beneath them. Working together, they tested different spots on the wall before coming to the obvious conclusion that the corner, while rounded like so many things, would have to suffice.

    The nuance lay in sitting close enough that they could settle comfortably into a spot without sliding away from one another or crunching together so close that they had another incident. It took curious deduction and Yuka doing some rough angle calculations while struggling to keep her eyes open and resist constant yawns before they found a position that looked painfully weird and was sure to hurt when they woke, but it did the trick for the time being.

    The only remaining problem, along with countless others, were Yuka¡¯s arm restraints. She cursed their awkwardly tight but still wiggly position and considered ripping her limbs off. But whatever held them in place also prevented that. Misaki couldn¡¯t do anything about it either. Eventually, she forgot about them.

    Misaki let Yuka slip into restfulness, even though she kept poking her eyes open to check and make sure she was still there. Exhaustion gripped her, and she slowly breathed with an uncomfortably kinked body. Misaki wanted to watch her the whole time and express more little notes of comfort and care, but she was soon asleep as well.

 [91] Yuri Worlds 91 â€“ Shift

    Yuri Worlds

    [91] Shift

    Misaki woke an indeterminant amount of time later. Her feet angrily pounded, like they were ringing with their own alarms and had been bitterly announcing themselves for a long time without recognition. Her throat wasn¡¯t as bad as the last time she woke, but the absence of her water bottle still disappointed her.

    They left them around the chairs, and with everything, especially Yuka¡¯s fight with her sister, it was clear that carrying around tall, liter-sized bottles of water was the last thing on their minds. Misaki had to wonder if they would¡¯ve served as decent tools and weapons. If so, they probably would¡¯ve been confiscated anyway. She could envision splashing the water on the threshold to short it out.

    A soft, concerned groan issued from next to her. Yuka roused quietly and struggled to get comfortable leverage against the wall. She attempted to reach out for Misaki, but the restraints and her stiffness held her back. Her stretching practically sounded like crunching bamboo.

    When her bright, anime eyes opened, they searched everywhere before finding Misaki. Yuka tilted carefully closer, fighting with long tangles of hair sucked deep in her mouth. They bumped lightly and lovingly before fussing to find better positions.

    The blemishes on the back of Yuka¡¯s neck were still gone, but her left leg ached as though it had been pounded by a hammer. Using it to sit up further was a careful struggle.

    Misaki surmised that at least some of these physical consequences had to originate with where they were and everything that happened lately. She couldn¡¯t feel a system circulating air, but the space wasn¡¯t oppressively hot, nor did it dip to any level of noteworthy comfort. The blinding brightness of the blank spaces all around was also disorienting. Her bedroom back home got hit with that same level of morning assault when the tree out front swiftly shed all its leaves towards December or January due to the peculiarities of the Mediterranean climate.

    They gingerly assisted one another in loosening the hold of tiredness. Yuka tugged at her restraints before rubbing and then smacking them against the wall. Nothing allowed her to gain proper leverage.

    She compared it to an enormous finger trap crossed with a contorted straight jacket. Misaki wrapped her arms around the gap. Yuka refused to yank as hard as she physically could and possibly throw Misaki around. Ironically, this lighter-force approach made better progress. Working together with measured but persistent tugging, Yuka finally slipped free and brought her stiff and brightly discolored arms around to her front, gently dropping them in her lap before sneaking them back around because of the open threshold anyone could look through to see them.

    Considering what Misaki learned from plumbing her leg memories, she had to wonder if Haruka intentionally left this loose enough for an escape. She wanted to tell Yuka these new details she uncovered, but questions and concerns about speaking them aloud when she didn¡¯t know who or what was listening kept her silent on the matter.

    Yuka still deserved to know that her sister might actually care. They had a strong, invisible, but tangible connection; she just didn¡¯t know how to use it to privately convey specific, detailed information.

    After stretching and popping her joints, Yuka flopped down, coughed some of her dry throat loose with a hand cupping her mouth, and looked warmly at Misaki. She took a few measured breaths before a long, wary one. Stretching her arm out again, Yuka tested her abilities. It was a simple matter for her to retrieve the shape of her shield and obsidian sword. Tilting her head, she shifted both from black into a metallic gray and back into a normal limb. She shook her head with a mix of persistent bewilderment and uncertainty.

    "What can I do¡­? What can¡¯t I do? Should I? Can I turn into a giant dragon?" She looked at Misaki with wide eyes. Misaki¡®s eyes widened as well. Yuka was quick to amend that she wasn¡¯t actually going to turn into a giant dragon if she could, especially not without saying anything first. Then she had a different thought.

    "¡­What if I turn myself into a boy?" Her entire demeanor tightened up and crunched like her spirit was contorted into a pretzel while she sat there, not moving. Her eyes dashed around, and just a hint of blush made it to her cheeks. As her words hung in the air without a response, Misaki absorbed them, and Yuka furiously edited and amended one aspect after another.

    She wasn¡¯t actually going to turn into a boy, although she was curious to try the configuration. Clothing wasn¡¯t something she even attempted, so perhaps leaving that out would be preferable. However, she did note that boys were bigger and stronger, as Misaki herself alluded to, so maybe this boy form would be useful at breaching confinement. As a last, stray thought, she remarked that who knew what the company and those they controlled might attempt to do to them? Why not just give it a shot?

    Misaki smiled and teased her for heaping such unnecessary anguish and uncertainty on herself when she would¡¯ve said in an instant that she supported whatever she wanted to do for whatever reason. Yuka¡¯s blush escaped all her efforts at control with this calm reassurance. She smiled softly and nodded as she took a few breaths, let her arms and legs go slack, and shut her eyes in concentration as she slowed her breathing.

    The first physical changes came from her arms stretching out slightly before receding back. They undulated, with the veins tightening and then softening against the skin. Her hair deepened to practically vantablack but with more texture and nuance, reminiscent of the spill of an artist¡¯s inkwell. The lines of her face hardened, as though depicting the actions of an invisible, erosive wind rewinding. Little flecks of facial hair experimentally licked at the edges of her face before vanishing again.

    Boxy, but thin and lanky contours developed across her shape. Misaki raised a curious eyebrow at some suspicious puffiness developing between Yuka¡¯s thighs. She resisted a smirk or a blush. Yuka finished up her transformation by shedding her yukata once again and developing a complicated but slightly tangled suit around her body. It was baggy and not a good fit, even for her tentatively manly shape. When Yuka opened her eyes, they were just as deep and dark as her rather messy hair.

    Softly, with her same voice, she asked, ¡°How do I look?¡±

    Misaki smiled warmly and told her she looked "cool.". A cheerful, flirty smile crossed her lips as she probed her altered body and soon commented, "It¡¯s kind of difficult to hold all this at once. It feels and sounds like sitting right in front of a very loud orchestra, and you have to make sure they keep playing¡­ Oh gosh, it hurts. Such a pounding headache. I think I can hold onto it, though, just a little bit more."

    Immediately, Misaki wondered if the discomfort was due to some force or inhibition emitted by the room that was making it harder for her. Yuka rocked her boyish head but had the impression that it was more because what she was doing was exhausting and complicated. Misaki laid a hand against Yuka¡¯s broadened shoulders. It wasn¡¯t long before what blushing Yuka was able to keep at bay absolutely exploded with overwhelming colorization.

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    ¡°I feel really weird¡­ and kind of swollen and so awkward and a bunch of other stuff.¡±

    Misaki felt a swirl of emotions and feelings she never expected to feel. She wanted to crawl onto Yuka¡¯s lap and test if the places she turned inside out were responsive. All this was from Yuka¡¯s imagination, but considering all the shit that the company had put them through, she honestly had no idea anymore what sex, gender, or whatever any of them might¡¯ve started out as, or if it even mattered now. She just wanted to snuggle. So she did.

    Yuka squeaked loudly, as though Misaki had actually accidentally stepped on her toes rather than somewhere else. The sensations that Misaki felt were unusual but so captivating. She viscerally yearned to get closer than seemed possible and prudent. The magnetic lure was still there, urging her to combine herself with the place on Yuka that felt like home.

    Her partner was gorgeous. Neither the face before nor the face now mattered. It also didn¡¯t matter that she looked unnatural and dark, like some supernatural, spooky heartthrob from a questionably written, suggestive romance work. She was still the same person, and he was the same. Was this a representation of Yuka¡¯s internal, terrible monster she so feared brought to the surface? Yuka stumbled and fumbled through her answer to this curiosity. This was a little of her imagination of what a boy was supposed to be like, with random, intangible impressions and a mess of other thoughts. She attempted to use a metallic version of her arm as something approaching a mirror.

    Misaki leaned against the dark, pretty boy¡¯s cheek as he got his first look at his appearance. He had plenty of complaints about his work and how weird and distorted the whole thing seemed. Little tweaks fluttered across his body as he scrunched his forehead to hold back the orchestra.

    "I love it," Misaki simply and confidently responded. "I love you because you made this; you made it yourself, and this is the face you wanted to show me. No matter how it looks to anyone else, I feel honored and happy to see you and share what¡¯s inside you. And that¡¯s not just because I used to be inside you too."

    If Yuka could¡¯ve melted right there, she would¡¯ve. She practically swooned with joy and bliss, which then burst into a rainstorm of sobbing and spilling tears. She didn¡¯t need to explain why she was crying, and Misaki didn¡¯t try to stop it. They kissed close and rocked gently, fighting so many aching forces knocking on their own personal Roche limits.

    At the end of this round of tears, Yuka steadied herself, found comfort in Misaki being so close to a sensitive part she just created on a whim, and kissed the girl she loved with quiet confidence of her own.

    Moments later, Yuka relinquished her hold on this experimental form. Misaki made sure that she had her yukata before nude embarrassment could kick in. Yuka gently ruffled and adjusted the fabric once everything was back in place. She stared at the open threshold on the other side of the room, preparing glowers and glares for anyone who might try to peek. But they were still alone, left suspiciously without guards or watchers. They clearly had other means of keeping tabs on them, as the company bastard¡¯s knowledge of so many things suggested.

    Morning. They would come for them in the morning, whenever that was, if it wasn¡¯t here already. And make them amenable. That sounded like brainwashing.

    Yuka carefully stood up, resisted a yawn, and scrutinized the opening. Misaki joined her with concern about how close she was to the electrical field. And she got even closer, her hand stretching out like black licorice toward the edge of the influence. It was hard to tell exactly where that influence extended until Yuka hit it. What followed was a loud, rumbling crack that pushed them both back like an angry puff from an invisible giant. Yuka had had parts of herself severed before. This violently sheared off the edge that made contact, and a plume drifted away, like ash from a long-burning cigarette.

    Misaki rushed to comfort Yuka as she stretched out her mouth in agony. The hand drew back to regular human proportions without so much as a nick or the smallest scratch to show anything had happened. However, her hand shook as she struggled to flex her fingers and shake it out from what she described as a pulsing numbness that refused to go away. Urgently, she made Misaki promise not to attempt anything like that herself.

    Not that she was tempted. Her expectation was around the same neighborhood as trying to row across a river in a boat made of cotton candy. Stalking in front of the open doorway, Yuka rubbed her chin several times before glancing up to the ceiling and down to the floor beneath her feet. She stretched her feet longer and her arms further, with human qualities, before blending them into rigid black vines.

    She communicated to Misaki that there wasn¡¯t much give. The problem was that the rounded aspects of the space distributed pressure as opposed to a straight edge, which could have far more points of failure. Fortunately, despite appearances, there absolutely were seams. She swarmed her body into a large and overpowering black mass that undulated back and forth in the same way that Misaki aspired to in her memory of being sealed in a box. Minute cracks and persistent rocking wiggled the structure like a fissure in a porcelain tooth.

    That leverage evolved into crumbling and enough grip to then shift the door frame. They were screwed if the threshold had its own sustainable energy source. Fortunately, Misaki noticed that the electrical force field started to flicker like a half-attached light bulb. This encouraged Yuka to start rhythmically pounding against the side of the structure with enough restraint to keep from making an audible noise. A fissure in the side was finally enough to cause wiggling distortions and ultimately shut it down like a popped soap bubble.

    Relief and delight pass between them as well as stomach-churning urgency to safely flee. Shutting her eyes and focusing for a second time, Misaki watched as Yuka shifted again. She expected to see the boy form return, but instead witnessed Yuka transfigure herself into an exact doppelg?nger of Haruka. Instead of sliding out of her outfit, she expelled oily aspects to change its color to a muted gray that matched what Haruka had been wearing earlier. She expressed curiosity and relief that it actually worked.

    Getting the voice right was a struggle, but they both found that if Yuka talked in a sharp, clipped monotone, then it was close enough without making any changes that might needle her with further distractions and discomfort. The illusion likely wasn¡¯t going to stand up to any variety of protracted scrutiny, but perhaps they could fool just enough random workers. A big risk all around, but worth a shot.

    Misaki slumped and put on dejected body language. Yuka straightened her body, which led to a sharp crack in her back as a consequence of leaning against the wall too much, and mimicked her elder sister¡¯s presence without pushing it to the point of mockery. Misaki complimented her, and she responded with in-character glaring contempt before cracking a quick smirk.

    Checking around the nearest hallways and corners through the blank threshold, they were clear. They each took a deep breath and swiftly stepped out into this place of quiet, hidden horrors.

 [92] Yuri Worlds 92 â€“ Escape

    Yuri Worlds

    [92] Escape

    Misaki was astonished that they were able to walk away from their cell without alarms going off. She flicked her eyes around every so often to see what was going on.

    An expanse of corridors proliferated in all directions, reminiscent of several twisting pearly sea shell interiors laid next to one another. They were headed in a different direction than Haruka had taken to get here, at least as far as they could decode this peculiar labyrinth. No directional signs or decorations anywhere on the walls hinted at where they were or where they were going.

    Wandering would eventually give them away. Grabbing and interrogating one of the stray workers who slipped between junctions raised the prospect that Yuka would then have to kill them to keep their escape secret. Misaki didn¡¯t want to put her in that position; they would have to figure things out without that risk. She just didn¡¯t know how.

    They rushed through countless stretches as though frantic to get to a destination that was always out of reach. At one point, Misaki reached down to stretch her hand and found that some of the dark fluff of the leg pooled around her fingers like dirty soap with a bloom of bubbles. She lifted the fan-like segment, unsure how she could shake it off or send it back. But looking through the small bit revealed a world uncovered.

    Misaki had seen silly little demos online of people removing the polarized portion of their computer screens and turning them into spy goggles that revealed the actual images. What her dark fluff revealed was an extensive collection of active words and symbols snaking across the walls like video projections. Yuka attempted to project a thin layer for herself, but it didn¡¯t work.

    The only problem was that the imagery ranged from an inscrutable series of hieroglyphics to Greek letters presented without context. Regular words were decipherable but had no coherent context to draw from. Flyer, Evergreen, Goldbug, Pineapple, Radish¡­ wait, Radish was actually familiar. Along with Bluemoon, that was one of the project names that came out of Ayame¡¯s mouth.

    But knowing it was a coded language wasn¡¯t really going to help. She was just glad that whatever translation method essentially worked for her. Or perhaps they just used English characters. After several swift workers passed them without a pause or a glance, Yuka made a stifled gasp of alarm. Misaki nudged her without speaking, and Yuka answered by showing her blank wrists. No wristbands. Damn.

    That assumed that everyone on the company¡¯s team didn¡¯t have to deal with perception filtering. She could also imagine plenty of simple explanations for why Haruka might not have the wristbands on her all the time, but not when she was transporting a prisoner. Temporarily, Yuka grabbed Misaki in a hold that obscured as much of her wrists as possible.

    At the first available opportunity, they paused at a quiet junction, and Yuka focused on altering her appearance. She clenched her teeth and grimaced hard, with a more animated and emotive expression than Haruka had likely used in her entire life.

    Both wristbands, white and black, eventually appeared on her flesh but seemed more like tattoos with a rough interface between flesh and material. The overall haziness did contribute to the sense of uncertainty that Misaki thought they should have. Yuka quietly commented that it felt like someone had twisted her guts around several times like a pepper grinder. Clearly, something didn¡¯t appreciate her mimicking these details. She held on but had to continually brush the renewing patches of sweat away from her neck.

    Of the possible routes before them, those labeled Radish and Bluemoon seemed like the best to pursue. But Misaki had no idea which of the two would be preferable. She reflected on the possible contexts and connotations of each. Radish was a food, but what did it mean? It grew as a root deep in the ground. Contrastingly, the moon was way up high in the sky, but she doubted the relationship between the two terms was that precise. Up and down.

    She tried to take in more information about their surroundings and even offered up covert peeks at her dark fuzz to see if Yuka might notice stuff that she missed, but the visual trick didn¡¯t work for her no matter what they tried. She did offer a thoughtful idea about the relationship, noting radishes seem to suggest a crop or something dark underground versus the bright, radiant sense of the moon. They had both seen shades of blue and gold with respect to so-called radiant beings. Where would they put the others, though? That stumped them.

    It was possible their friends and family fell into a variety of camps with secret conditions and origins that might suggest where they were being kept, but the company didn¡¯t even hint at that possibility. Scanning carefully, Misaki soon chanced upon a different label simply marked ¡°Sleep Time¡±. That seemed potentially on the nose with what happened at the festival, but it was the best distinction they had to work with.

    A new collection of corridors and branches avoided spiraling off in all directions and instead maintained a focused and level set of paths. The order and organization were disorienting by comparison. Even worse was when they ventured out onto an enclosed catwalk above a large, warehouse-like chamber. Countless girls¡ªhuman girls¡ªwere held in what looked like miniature ski lifts wrapped around them as they dangled and waited for their opportunity to ride. With the stark whiteness of the surroundings, Yuka sickeningly thought of a slaughterhouse with racks of meat hung up in an icy freezer.

    They managed to find the route that brought them to the lower level. Yuka channeled her anger through Haruka¡®s face, watching the workers in white stroll casually in circles with digital clipboards, inspecting the strung-up girls. Misaki could tell that she wanted to use lethal force, but she gave her arm a squeeze, and Yuka continued to play her part.

    Each of the girls deserved to be freed and returned to their families. There were so many. Was this normal? Did they just pull human beings out of the world like robots in a show to service, test, and rip pieces out of them to see what would happen? Had they done this to either of them at some point, and they just didn¡¯t remember?

    So many of the captives looked vaguely familiar and wore expressions of quiet pain and suffering, as though they were waging a battle with a nightmare they didn¡¯t know had ensnared them. There were too many. Fortunately, Yuka soon sighted a familiar face. Naoko dangled quietly to the side. She was still wearing the beautiful starscape yukata she borrowed from Maharu, which contained fitting flourishes of cosmic rabbits.

    They had no idea how they were going to accomplish this aspect of the prison break. Maybe they could just grab their friend and have fake Haruka scowl in explanation that she was busy and not to be questioned.

    But it felt like all the workers in the vicinity were machines. They moved at even intervals, made marks on their pads, didn¡¯t expend excess energy on their tasks, and then moved on to the next. Yuka exchanged a look with Misaki, who wrapped an arm around her stomach and felt an illness that burrowed deep in her gut with horror. Why did these activities and this inhuman automation feel exactly like the tasks that were asked of her by her employer? Who was to say that her employer and the company weren¡¯t ultimately one and the same?

    Waiting until all the nearest workers were far away with their heads down, the two of them swiftly fumbled with the latches and mechanisms above and around Naoko to unhook whatever they could. It was very heavy and only shifted a little when they pressed on whatever was loose. After a long stretch with no success, Yuka flared her teeth and gave a puff instead of a growl as she summoned a pocket knife version of her obsidian sword to cleave the mechanism. It fell away and roughly tangled on the ground as Naoko nearly slipped out of their grasp.

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    Attempting to hold onto their friend was exhausting, but Yuka brought out some boy-like muscles peeking out of Haruka¡®s arms to help. A pack strap carry worked well enough to drag her clear of the area and over to an adjacent hallway. The wall did next to nothing to help support Naoko, and they had no idea how they were going to rouse her. Fortunately, her eyes began to blink blearily, and she made soft groans.

    "Romulan ale? I¡¯m not allowed to drink yet. Aldebaran whiskey? It¡¯s green, but at least I¡¯m alive...right? Where am I?" Her words started as a softly garbled mutter, with her trying to blink away the exhausting illumination of everything. They had to stifle her words when the nervous questions began spilling out. Explaining everything would be difficult to impossible.

    "Bad people kidnapped us; Maharu and Miss Yasuda are dead. We need to save everyone we can." All that emerged as a careful whisper from Misaki, confirmed by a nod from Yuka with her big sister¡®s body.

    Watching the weight and fear settle on Naoko¡¯s shoulders broke Misaki¡¯s heart. Her vague, light expression sank to twisted pain. Her fair, straw-blonde hair didn¡¯t actually change color, but its normal luster seemed achingly reduced. She squeezed around her neck, fighting an invisible mass that threatened to well up. Her crystal-blue eyes glossed over with tears too large for them to hold.

    ¡°¡­ You¡¯re sure? She¡¯s dead? Both of them? Where¡¯s Kosame? Are my moms okay? My family. Any idea?¡± Her voice was a frail whisper, a thready sound that barely escaped her lips. Misaki informed her that they didn¡¯t have any idea about anyone else. They were lucky to find her.

    Naoko struggled to her feet. "We''ve gotta find them, help them. Where do we go?"

    Neither Yuka nor Misaki was confident about bringing Naoko into this as an active part of the plan. Hiding her away somewhere safe wasn¡¯t an option either, and there was the continuing matter of whether the forces around them could just spontaneously shut her off again or inject a hostile host. Misaki did her best to convey all these concerns succinctly. Naoko squeezed her hands in front of her face and nodded with a sigh.

    She acknowledged it but also added, "They¡¯ve already done things I can never forgive or forget, whoever they are. May the Goddesses have mercy on them, because I won¡¯t. Let¡¯s stop them together and save everyone we can. If you see me losing myself, do whatever you have to do so I don¡¯t help their evil cause." Misaki was surprised by the ringing fervor bleeding off Naoko¡¯s tightened face. Yuka didn¡¯t look quite as surprised.

    They still had no idea what to do if something bad befell their friend under the influence of the company. But Yuka promised she would take care of it so that Naoko didn¡¯t hurt anyone.

    Making their way along the corridor allowed quiet time to pass, leaving faint traces of secrets, fears, and uncertainties. Naoko soon gathered that there were disgusting experiments done here on little human-like creatures. She said a whispery prayer for Mari and Maharu.

    This section of the facility had tight checkpoints operated by solo girls, all in white, the same as everyone else. Areas were distinguished by different, secret colors streaking along the walls. Naoko was able to see them along with Misaki, even though Yuka still couldn¡¯t.

    They were in a gray section, but pale yellow led further. Just looking around and attempting to find everyone would take forever and leave them vulnerable to all sorts of terrible things. They had to infiltrate the checkpoint station and somehow get the information. Yuka took a few deep breaths and squeezed her hands into tight, shaky fists. Misaki had an uncomfortable hunch about where her line of thinking was going.

    No matter what they did, having no witnesses in the end would be far better. But killing was killing, and the accidental flashes of death in Yuka¡®s past as an entity still learning what it meant to be human was one thing; standing in this moment and making the most brutal decision was something else entirely. Naoko squeezed her mouth, as though a tight grip was necessary to keep it from falling loose, and proposed, "Let me do it. I¡¯m a good talker. That¡¯s really all I can do sometimes. I can distract her. If we have to, we can knock them out, tie them up, and put them in one of those weird places where you found me. That should work. We just need to get in there. Even if we try to sneak by, that front window section they can see out of will still give us away. Assuming other things won¡¯t and haven¡¯t already. But this looks like the best way. Okay?"

    Yuka wasn¡¯t having any of that. She just got her friend back, and she wasn¡¯t going to risk her safety on a vague possibility. She felt strongly that they had to exercise a more serious option. This prompted Naoko to raise her pale eyebrows and cautiously question what Yuka meant. Naoko made it clear that so many things were going on that confused her, but she was fine with having to wait for answers.

    Seeing her friend with her big sister¡®s face and form and all the details was just one of those things. However, that same friend implying that they needed to commit murder was something she just couldn¡¯t abide. Justice was necessary, not simply revenge. Blood they shed would be blood that they could never wipe away. Yuka sadly acknowledged this with a tight, stern expression.

    "I¡¯m mad; I¡¯m heartbroken. They took me out of my life. I don¡¯t know what they did to others I care deeply about, but they killed my good friend, our good friend. I hope the depths of Hell open up for them and they sail away in the mouths of monsters. But I cannot take a life to balance those that are lost; that¡¯s not how it works. I¡¯m going in there, and I pray that whatever cleverness pops out of me from time to time will show up and provide me with exactly the words I need to say. I wish I had a cool quote from a show or story that I love, but my mind is bereft of any of the good ones. So, here we go."

    Before Naoko parted from them to attempt to sway, distract, or subdue the checkpoint guard, Yuka had one thing she wanted her to do. She confessed that the idea wasn¡¯t supported by much, but she hoped it would help. Clutching her friend tight, she let some of her oily essence spill over like gobs of black liquid draining from her hands.

    Naoko stood rigid, practically on her toes, about to leap in the air with a mix of uncertain emotions. She accepted Yuka¡¯s "gift" as delicately as possible and watched as the dark mass swarmed and shifted into a bare-bones replication of the uniforms that the workers all wore. Misaki could see that Yuka didn¡¯t look good; the sweat trickling across her skin basically doubled. This was a lot to do, and it didn¡¯t seem likely she could hold it for long, but she nodded to her friend and encouraged her to do whatever was possible, and they would back her up¡­ Without lethal actions.

    Not sure what to say, Naoko just gently squeezed the flowing parts of Yuka that had become a second layer of clothes shielding her identity and stepped towards the checkpoint.

 [93] Yuri Worlds 93 â€“ Breakout

    Yuri Worlds

    [93] Breakout

    ¡°I need to speak with you right now."

    The boldness with which Naoko stepped into the checkpoint booth left Misaki and Yuka flabbergasted. They positioned themselves carefully so that they could listen without being anywhere near the line of sight and still afford themselves a view of anyone coming from one of the nearby paths.

    ¡°What? Who are you? What are you here about?¡± The response mostly sounded confused. The worker on the other end genuinely seemed like she had just been shaken awake from a nap by a sudden flourish of uncertain requests.

    Naoko didn¡¯t permit her long to absorb this rush of events and requests. ¡°Ridiculous! The regulators and manager should have sent along the documentation required for advanced testing protocols and sufficient adjudication of technical developments. I¡¯m not blaming you, but this has to be remedied. Someone should¡¯ve noticed a surge in the plasma electrodecoupler. The tungsten dorsal array is offline, and the merciful authority of the company won¡¯t be so merciful if they find out the regulations they put forth haven¡¯t been adhered to. We are getting anomalous energy signatures stretching beyond the capabilities of the power limiter to regulate conditional flows. Do you think I wanna deal with that? Do you wanna deal with that? Do you want to deal with the consequences of having to tell everyone in charge of the catastrophic results of not decoupling properly? This is a phase-locked, monitored voltage source! It requires immediate attention; I need to get through to yellow level right now or we¡¯re all screwed!¡±

    It was impossible to know exactly where Naoko was positioned in the room and her body language, but the sound sense that Misaki got from listening pushed her imagination to envision a wide-eyed, scared worker at the desk with a sudden, hyperactive blonde erupting in an angry cacophony of words that didn¡¯t make a lick of sense. Naoko¡¯s presence echoing around the room, rattling the walls, and telling her victim the way things were going to be almost made Misaki feel bad for them. Not that she was going to do anything about it.

    When the worst of the vocal tempest finally abated, the anonymous checkpoint worker barely even looked up from a pile of confused flashes on their blinking device to do anything. It was like Naoko had broken her will. This seemed especially ironic to Misaki when Naoko pushed through and looked like she was about to collapse into a mass of sheer sweat. That didn¡¯t prevent her from wishing she could take photos of this remarkable place, even while cursing its existence. She was also able to get a good enough look at the map data at the checkpoint to suggest exactly where they should go next.

    Past this security stage, the flood of ladies in white slowed to a sharply restrained trickle and permitted them to fill in the gaping holes of what happened to their poor friend. It forced Naoko to hunch over at the waist or else let loose the contents of her stomach.

    Entities that desired power and immortality, are using their world and others as a test bed for their whims and projects. Destroying the natural way of life at the seams between realities. Hurting, killing, corrupting, and experimenting on those she cared about as tools to their ends was more than enough to get Naoko quietly punching the wall with her fist whenever she got close enough to it.

    Ripping out the darkest of those thoughts to deal with the scientific aspects, Naoko was fixated with curiosity about the mass disparity and even greater machinations on a cosmic scale.

    Breathing with focus, Naoko tightened her fingers several times as though working over an invisible medicine ball. She gestured animatedly across an invisible chalkboard to sift through the numbers that suggested. The overall mass of the universe fell somewhere between 10 to the 53rd power and 10 to the 60th power. The part that bewildered the others was that eight percent sounded like a relatively small drop in that.

    And that raised the enormous question of where they were going to store that megalithic amount of mass. That boggled Naoko, who labeled it practically "inconceivable".

    She added, ¡°But then, I am at a loss for even star-slurping scientific speculation.¡±

    Yuka cocked her head with questioning uncertainty at that term. Sheepishly, Naoko corrected herself and noted that the specific term was her own. Really, the proper terminology should¡¯ve been "star lifting", but she found the more visceral description to be preferable. The brief discussion managed to bring on a remarkable amount of laughter.

    Deeper into this section of the color-coded department, they found a clothing locker without anyone guarding or using it. Naoko found herself the company equivalent of a glossy ivory outfit and lab coat to slip on over her festival clothes. This permitted Yuka to ease some tension and exhaustion and draw the oily disguise back into herself.

    Naoko remarked that she¡¯d actually grown used to the presence and didn¡¯t mind it as much as she had with her initial concerns. That actually brought more concern from Yuka, as she feared inadvertent mind control from herself working its way on her friend.

    Though Naoko tried to assure her she didn¡¯t detect anything amiss, neither she nor Misaki could disabuse Yuka of this fear. Granted, they had no idea if they were right, and accidental mind control wasn¡¯t some ability secretly stuffed inside efforts to create Cerberus. Yuka stood apart from the two of them, looking and feeling more like her older sister, as they searched deeper for everyone else.

    It wasn¡¯t long before they came across another ski lift-style holding zone with a large cluster of girls all together in sleeping silence. Naoko squeezed her arms above her chest with more empathy than anyone working for the company had shown. The three of them all wished that they could release everyone and cast a revolution against these bastards.

    Naoko managed to find Kosame at the back of the group. Her first inkling was to plant a sleeping beauty kiss on her cheeks and then lips. This didn¡¯t rouse her, but Naoko thought she detected a dreamy, contented smile flicker across her features. Even fewer workers circulated around this particular holding area. With three, they were easily able to unhook the main apparatus and gently ease Kosame to the ground.

    Working together, it was easy to carry Kosame on Naoko¡¯s back. They swiftly evacuated her away from the cluster and into an empty hallway. Squeezing her hands together a few more times, Naoko told the others that if her girlfriend woke up as someone else, then she would make sure to¡­ do something. Maybe a punch might work? Yuka and Misaki gave Naoko the same reassurance as before.

    Reflexively, Naoko¡¯s hands went up in front of her face protectively, but she slowly relaxed them and nodded that that was a good idea. She huddled close to Kosame to check her breathing and see if she was waking up. Slowly, it became evident that she was.

    "Goodness. Did I pass out? Quite embarrassing. My apologies for causing a scene. Wait¡­ Where are we?" Acclimating Kosame to the new state of things was less challenging than doing the same for Naoko. The debonair gal sat herself up, skeptically regarded her surroundings, and wore a pleasantly curious look that slowly ebbed away when they informed her of Maharu''s fate. Kosame''s initial reaction was a puff and a rough squeeze of her fancy yukata before declaring, "That¡¯s not possible. We just saw her a few minutes ago. She was dancing so delightedly and was so desperately happy to have finally won that game."

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Kosame¡¯s eyes searched her friends for some sign of rude duplicity in this matter. As she recognized their solemn tension, her mouth started to tremble, and plaintive breaths heaved in her throat. "We just saw her. She was so happy¡­ Who would do such a thing?" She shut her eyes and covered them with her hands. They gave her a few minutes as Yuka renewed her bitter scowl. Kosame had nothing much to clear away her tears and now stuffy nose. She refused to use her clothes for it.

    Telling her that the Haruka she saw before her was actually her clubmate required awkward nuance from Naoko since Yuka worried that if she let the illusion go now, she may not have the energy to bring it back.

    Misaki checked on her. Yuka acknowledged that her head felt like a mallet was being applied at full force to the tender surface of her skull every few heartbeats. She resolved that when she finally got the opportunity to sleep again in a proper bed, her bed, she intended to do so for no less than 24 hours. Screw school; screw everything but snuggling Misaki and recovering all that had dripped away.

    Naoko endeavored to provide a trace copy of what explanations she could cobble together without dipping into the kind of words she erupted with for the checkpoint worker. Kosame understood that the suspicious blonde guest cruelly attacked their friend. She also understood that nefarious forces were using them and those around them selfishly, corrupting so many worlds and people. The details bounded over her. She understood that Yuka was special, but that hardly surprised her.

    "You always foster a heart that craves sincere justice, seeks true love, and weighs too heavily upon yourself. No matter how your face may change or what worries mount, I am and shall always be your friend, and I can only humbly request and hope you will be mine. Now, how will we make these truly heartless monsters pay for what they¡¯ve done?" She was of the same mind as Naoko, even though she resisted the potent punctuation of threats. Kosame needed Naoko''s support as she struggled to her feet. It wasn¡¯t long before she asked if they knew where her sister was.

    Looking back into the main chamber of collective girls, they struggled to pick out the subtle shade of Bianka¡®s blonde hair amidst the rainbow of other colors. Luckily, Kosame immediately recognized her head towards the middle back of the group. Unfortunately, that part had several workers specifically lingering nearby. Kosame wobbled, cleared her throat quietly, and assured the others that she would take care of it. Naoko offered up her white uniform, and Kosame ultimately accepted it.

    Though she looked as though any stiff breeze would knock her off her feet, Kosame settled into a confident cadence of walking, carrying herself across the glossy ivory floor. Yuka flexed her arm but didn¡¯t show her blade as she scrutinized the workers for even the faintest signs of hostility towards her friend. By the time she was in sight of the workers, she moved smoothly.

    "Darling¡­ There you are. I¡¯ve been looking all over for you. I have the most important thing to tell you. But first, are you having a good evening? I know certain things can get to a girl, and girls deserve to have love and relaxation lavished upon them in the most succulent and affectionate ways. Why your hair is splendidly radiant, I must know what product to use. There¡¯s a sparkle to your cheeks and a twinkle to your eyes that excite fires that I never knew existed within me. Let me look at you closely. Have you had a deep-tissue back rub? If you haven''t, then that must be remedied without delay. Let me wrap my arms around you and show you the music I¡¯m an expert at playing."

    The girl in question, who had flowing, curly hair much longer than most of the other workers, barely had a chance to look up from her tablet device before Kosame slipped her arms around her and was rolling her like dough. The worker dipped her mouth open and shut her eyes with a gasp of bliss as Kosame continued her ministrations. She practically melted into a puddle at her feet. The others secured Bianka and hauled her around the curve and into the hallway.

    When Kosame returned from her efforts, the rest of the group had plenty of questions about how she managed all that. She explained that along with providing a luxurious massage, she actually knew places on the back that could make someone feel weak in the knees for a while. It wouldn¡¯t last long, but she hoped that it and her promises of a second round would buy them at least a few minutes.

    Hardening quietly, Kosame added, "But that one didn¡¯t feel like a maiden heart. I had to keep up the mood, but that was unlike anything I¡¯ve ever encountered. I wonder if it¡¯s one of those others you alluded to. A boy. Or just a sign that what the company¡¯s done has left these souls bereft of so much in ways we can scarcely imagine. I¡¯m not sure I want to know the answer."

    It took longer to get a reaction from Bianka, even though it was clear she was breathing comfortably. When her eyes opened, her eyebrows tilted back and forth, and her head rocked to check on friends surrounding her.

    ¡°¡­.Does this mean one of my theories is right? Mole girls? Shadow government? Aliens? Time travel?¡± She noticed the sharp whiteness surrounding everything and repeated little sentiments about aliens.

    Misaki took a breath and attempted to distill everything. "An ancient organization known as the company craves power and immortality. They opened a hole between realities and turned the dark and light energies they found into a battleground with strange creatures. They¡¯ve used humans as hosts and foundations to make people and other things. Little girls of goo. They also suck the life out of worlds and move that life where they want it using invisible wind spirits. They did things to Yuka, me, and practically everyone. We¡¯re gonna burn them to the fucking ground. They killed Maharu. And they taunted us with her death. This isn¡¯t Haruka; this is Yuka, and the real Haruka¡­ seems to support them. Although, I hope she can listen to reason." She hesitated, even though this stretch of hallway seemed secluded and private. Misaki¡¯s restrained segment of truth still felt like too much to say out loud, with unsettling parties potentially listening to every quiet nuance.

    Yuka noisily scoffed at this last hope before adding her own thoughts: "We can¡¯t rely on Haruka. She¡¯s a demon, a devil, not because she has horns, but because no heart dwells within her. She¡¯s just like all the others here¡ªobedient and complacent. I¡¯m glad we were able to find everyone from school, but my moms are still out here somewhere, and we need to get them back before something terrible happens. We spoke to Miss Yasuda of the shrine administration before the company killed her off too. She said they froze them like a cryogenic process, but they¡¯re deteriorating, and we have to move quickly. Come on, let¡¯s get going."

 [94] Yuri Worlds 94 â€“ Hold

    Yuri Worlds

    [94] Hold

    Bianka initially had trouble getting to her feet too. Heavy vertigo followed her, along with embarrassing amounts of audible indigestion. Misaki wished they had their water bottles so that they could share with their trio of friends. Each sounded like they could use it.

    The fancy look that Bianka fostered for the festival now appeared strangled and tossed aside like a high-flying kite dragged through the mud. Her bracelets were mostly lost somewhere along the way, and the ones that remained got shoved under her clothes rather than on her arms. The carefully arranged, forward-flounced curls were a scattered hair bomb mess that she could feel but no one else wanted to bring up. All her joints slowly and achingly cracked, one after the other, like she¡¯d gained decades in the last few hours.

    "I don¡¯t know what to say about Maharu," Bianka admitted with a slow breath. "She always managed to cheer me up. It was like a friendly version of the sun just walked in and said hello every day. I can¡¯t understand the idea that she¡¯s gone. It¡¯s not that I wanted or needed to see what you saw. It just feels like she was spirited away, and I never got¡­ The chance to thank her for a multitude of silly little things that I never needed to say thanks about before. But I still wish I could thank her and know that she¡¯s all right. Miss Yasuda too. And whoever else we¡¯ve lost. Or will lose. I don¡¯t know."

    Yuka tightened her jaw and hoarsely proclaimed that they weren¡¯t gonna lose anyone else because they were going to work together to get everyone back, crush this place, and set everything right. Looking around, that sure seemed like a big ask. Yuka had her abilities, strengths, and so many other things. They had powers after a fashion, but they were smaller, trickier, and subdued by comparison. Bianka squeezed her hands around her head when absorbing the possibility that she might be taken over and commanded by these external evils.

    Before she could freak out, Kosame slipped over and wrapped her arms around her little sister. Yuka watched the two of them share reassurances that they would always support one another and look out for each other. Naoko got dragged into a warm hug as well. Misaki squeezed Yuka''s hand, even though it was an unfamiliar one. Yuka brought back her own face for a challenging moment before returning to Haruka¡¯s.

    The question that soon pressed upon the group was what they were going to specifically do now to set things right. Bianka asked if there was a computer access point she could take a look at. The last checkpoint had some equipment, but interfaces seemed relegated to the small devices held by the workers.

    They could go back to the girl that Kosame had practically left as a puddle on the floor, but it was probably preferable to let them think that it was all just a rogue fantasy that escaped from their brain and was best ignored and never reported. Hopefully.

    Their success at avoiding detection so far already felt heavily suspicious, but none of them wanted to point it out aloud, lest everything fall apart because of that. Bianka showed that fear across her face despite support from her sister. Delving deeper into the twists and shifts of hallways, calming down into simple right-angle junctions, they encountered another storage locker to acquire disguises for the rest of them while Bianka popped open everything, looking for equipment that might be useful.

    She found some strange items but nothing recognizable as an interface or a tablet until they got to what looked to be another checkpoint station. This one was completely abandoned, although it seemed like it had been occupied recently from the way the desk had scattered items on it and the chair was pushed out sideways. Suspicious again, but they had to play along with what they were given.

    Bianka fiddled with the equipment and struggled to figure out how to make it do anything. The interface didn¡¯t respond to her, and moving it around didn¡¯t do much either. It made her feel like a prehistoric cavegirl. Granted, she did wish that she had a literal rock to pound it with after a while. They passed it around, each attempting some method of getting it to work.

    Misaki considered her fluff, poking it into the seams, but the device didn¡¯t have any usable cracks. She was also hesitant to show her dark secret in front of the others. Yuka wrapped it and splashed it with as much oily junk flesh as possible, trying to bend it to her will, also with no success. Kosame tried a series of seductive voices, ranging from commanding monotones to bedroom allure. None of that worked. Naoko scientifically scrutinized every possible port, trying to get her fingernails into whatever might fit. But the thing still refused to give up its secrets.

    Bianka gave it another try, handling it gently, then with more complicated motions, followed by vigorous ones. Some of them had observed workers using the devices, and their visible efforts were the same as everything they tried together.

    Considering everything that the others could tell her, Bianka cleared her throat and relaxed with her face bent towards the device. Nothing happened for almost a full minute until the sharply rendered expression on her face curled several times and surprise stretched to her eyebrows.

    "Thoughts," she explained. "It responds to my thoughts. It''s almost like trying to work a computer in your dreams when you''re half asleep. It¡¯s really difficult. I need a map. Okay, yes, good. I can see. A large facility. It looks more like a spiral galaxy or seashell with extra dimensions. The system is coded to numbers, symbols, and words, but they¡¯re flashing too fast. I can see them, but it¡¯s so complicated. Massive numbers, and you have to dial the exact digits. I have something. The fuchsia hydrant wraps around sideways and around the moon. Oh my goddess, oh my¡­ It¡¯s like a broadcast pounding directly through my skull. I really don¡¯t like it. Tha¡­They know we¡¯re here. Oh crap, they know. They¡¯re just watching." Bianka started panting like she¡¯d just finished running a marathon.

    The other girls offered their support to steady her as they started looking around in concern. Yuka wanted to draw both her swords and slash at anything and anyone who dared come her way.

    "I can do something," Bianca told them. "I know some tricks, and I think they might work here, same as anything else I¡¯ve tried to get a good look at from the government and¡­so forth. I hope it works."

    Another stretch of uncomfortable silence passed amongst the group, with the girls grouping together, back to back, and watching every access point to the hallway. Fists were made and wiggled around. Hearts beat hard enough to be overwhelming thunder in their ears. Then, Bianka gave a long, slow breath of relief.

    ¡°Not my best work, but they might leave us alone for a while. We¡¯re gonna have to hang around here and then loop back the way we came to see exactly what they¡¯re tracking.¡± Even though Bianka said those words loudly and confidently, she physically shook her head and mouthed something else to her sister. She carefully traced words in the air as well.

    Like with interpreting what Haruka actually said to her sister, Misaki once again had difficulty comprehending the meaning with the translation process, which was hopefully a good sign that who and what may be watching also had similar difficulties.

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    ¡°They think we¡¯re stuck here, saying and doing the same things in a loop. We might have privacy now. And we can advance. I found the Sasaki moms, Madame Okura, Takamune-san, Yamane-san, and Miss Takano¡¯s little sister.¡± That was about the best translation that Misaki could pull out of all her quick finger-action drawing words, even with others helping her.

    Kosame supported and guided her sister as she continued with stumbling half-consciousness to monitor the digital line. The route that she advised them on to reach Chika and Namiko was the most direct, with everyone after that in a direct line. Another worrisome, suspicious quality that no one wanted to call out.

    All this walking got to them after a while, especially from the lack of water. Fortunately, at the next storage space, Bianka managed to unlock hidden cabinets with water bottles and basic food rations in unappetizing but still edible blocks. Everyone dashed around, sniffed, and cautiously partook before generously swallowing everything available.

    Misaki attempted to clear a raw lump in her throat from dryness, but it was like splashing a scoop of water on an open flame. The worst thing would be to somehow get sick with a disease inherent to this place or native to this world for which the backrooms of reality no longer provided her with the winds of protection. A long drink with her head tilted up helped but also prompted an angry twinge in her shoulder, which was deeply familiar to Franklin and his 30s. The smoothing away and pleasant softening of this world were sure missed when they were absent. And bathrooms.

    Bianka put on a tight grimace below her closed eyes when Misaki asked about whether there were any restroom facilities. The fact that even the obedient drones needed biological resources suggested their presence, but Bianka passed along the unfortunate news that she couldn¡¯t find them anywhere on the available maps. With how pristine everything looked, there had to be some method. A lack of restrooms wasn¡¯t yet an urgent matter for any of them, but the emptied water bottles were tempting fate. Not that anyone felt qualms about messing up this ivory tower prison like that.

    Despite not being able to see in front of her, Bianka effortlessly guided them through side junctions and around upcoming checkpoints to reach the confinement space for Misaki¡®s friends. Once again, they weren¡¯t the only inhabitants of this mercilessly anonymous and emotionless cold storage.

    Bianka didn¡¯t give an immediate answer when her sister asked if they could release everyone. It was relatively easy to find Chika and Namiko because they were along the left edge, right next to one another. With Bianka understanding the staff''s pathing while remaining behind, they were able to work together, split their efforts, and guide both of them back out into the hallway. Grappling with Namiko¡¯s immense, soft regions turned out to be the most difficult aspect of the drag.

    They did their best to make the two of them comfortable in the nearest storage room, even though there wasn¡¯t much more than some white towels and clothes to serve as cushioning. Chika was the first to awaken and did so alarmingly, like her violent thrashing and seizing on the table when they tried to insert the leg. She gasped as though air were something unfamiliar for her to breathe. Using whatever they had nearby, they worked to gently muffle her cries without scaring her.

    She still wound up terrified and flailing to get away. Misaki squeezed in front of her with soft words and careful shushing. The tightness in her legs continued, but the rest of her body dipped gently as she locked eyes with her big sister. Yeah, big sister, they stripped that away from them as an experiment. Truly, she was her little sister. Misaki gently stroked her cheek and pulled her sweaty, tangled hair out of her eyes.

    Fumbling desperately to speak, Chika gulped down strangled words. "He killed her. He made me watch. He made it like I did it. I didn¡¯t do it. I hope I didn¡¯t. I couldn¡¯t do that. I don¡¯t remember. I saw him do it with the ropes and the knife, and I wanted to run as he put the knife in my hand. But I couldn¡¯t. I tried so hard, but something was speaking for me. You have to believe me. That wasn¡¯t me. Yuka¡¯s sister grabbed me, and that¡¯s the last thing I remember."

    Adamantly, Misaki nodded and kissed her little sister on the cheek as she pulled her into a shaky embrace. "I know, I know. They¡¯ve done terrible things. There¡¯s a group connected with all these terrible companies that are rich, and powerful, and wants to live forever off the lives and blood of so many they torture. That wasn¡¯t you. That was them using you."

    It wasn¡¯t long after that Namiko carefully sat up with a distraught expression. It broke Misaki¡®s heart to see her dear friend, who weathered so much, who took unacceptable burdens onto her shoulders and didn¡¯t waver from their weight, so small and scared. She pulled her close too into an embrace, and the rest of the girls that could supported her.

    Filling her friends in on all the crucial details didn¡¯t get any easier, no matter how many times they repeated the essential points. Even when Chika and Namiko found some measure of footing for the state of their lives, the truth dropped the world out from under them.

    "Silvia? I have felt something about that name and that left turn; it¡¯s the weirdest thing. I wanted to go that way a lot, though I always dismissed it. It''s just one of those things where you feel like you¡¯re accidentally on autopilot and in a dream where a house actually has more floors and rooms than it ever should. I often get your house and mine so desperately mixed up. Oh, oh no, I hope this doesn¡¯t mean what I think it means with certain weights I feel and nervously daydream about." She glanced in the direction of Namiko¡¯s breasts, and, for a moment, some flicker of normalcy jokingly passed between them.

    Namiko didn¡¯t get anywhere back to her regular self with the tender moment of silliness. She lamented that she wasn¡¯t there for the young girl, that she didn¡¯t smash Joshua Feland¡¯s fucking face in, and that she couldn¡¯t do more even now than cry and jiggle.

    But Misaki wasn¡¯t having any of that. She held them close and brought up all the things that their friends had accomplished without having powers culled from a hidden part of reality where lifeforms were turned against one another. They had nothing to be ashamed of, and they had done so much along the way to help as much as humanly possible. This wasn¡¯t about one person crushing something evil by throwing Godzilla at the walls, even though Yuka had powers that none of them yet fully comprehended, Yuka especially.

    This was all of them, together, and they were going to find the rest of their missing sisters, Shimei, as Fuyuki would praise it, not what that smug egomaniacal monster attempted with manipulative words. Working together for a revolution.

    Misaki and Yuka nodded to one another and repeated, nearly in sync, ¡°We are burning the whole thing to the ground, no matter what it takes.¡± The other girls all brought their hands in together, even Bianka, who needed to be guided by her sister.

    Together. To the end of this world and the birth of a new one.

 [95] Yuri Worlds 95 â€“ Crack

    Yuri Worlds

    [95] Crack

    So much needed to be said, even though a waterfall of words could barely attempt to encapsulate all the dark and horrible things stretched out before them with a false, white, heavenly countenance.

    Misaki could take a small comfort in learning, even though it was through their captor, that Maharu had a spirit and soul that persisted beyond and couldn¡¯t be contained by whatever powers these monsters imagined they had. She and the others celebrated Yuka¡¯s adult, forever name aspirations, even though it was mired in uncertainty about whether her feelings toward it had ever been genuine.

    Turning over her thoughts several times, Yuka eventually resolved, "I¡¯m gonna take the name Cerberus and make it my own. It¡¯s not theirs anymore. It¡¯s mine now, and it¡¯ll have true meanings only for me. Although I need to make sure my moms know. I hope we can find them and they¡¯re all right."

    They cheered on her resolution and circled with curiosity about this alleged boyish form she tested. Yuka wasn¡¯t ready to make that one public, especially since she was still wearing Haruka¡¯s face. It probably didn¡¯t matter at this point. They had been tracking them, so any possible surprise seemed unlikely. She was just able to tolerate the drill point of discomfort that this form constituted.

    Stories of the nursery brought sharp ambivalence between cute allusions and uncertainty about how to reconcile them with little black ink creatures. Yuka shifted away from the center of the group. Misaki knew where her worries lay. It was one thing to discuss the fact that there was a strangeness about their friend; it was another to see the mask of Haruka she wore completely peeled off. Of those assembled, Naoko treated the notion of the nursery the warmest, envisioning all sorts of curious animals with humanoid aspects. The complication that Maharu had been part rabbit barely came up in the tangle of other questions. There were far bigger matters to deal with.

    Each truth was absorbed, like a rippling explosion covered by leagues of water sheltering it from the surface. No one showed their true feelings; true feelings seemed quite impossible beyond a cautious venture past denial and toward stunned uncertainty.

    The structure of the next confinement area was different than the mass collections they had witnessed so far. Instead, this area was partitioned like cells from an old thriller movie. And the inhabitants were awake but in a daze. The most unsettling aspect was that there were so many girls confined to these spaces, but none of them were anyone they knew. Had they been taken from their world, adjacent ones, or ones they never imagined existed? So many questions had to be left unanswered as Bianka guided them around the sharp, almost standard turns toward a destination unknown.

    It wasn¡¯t long before they arrived at an immense holding area for Miss Okura. All of Miss Okura.

    A crowd of practically a hundred iterations of the old lady wandered, shuffled, and huddled in a variety of positions as though they were a captured, impossible family of identical twins. Several girls took steps back, almost to the point of stumbling over one another in abject horror. Despite the overall identical appearance, not all of the Miss Okuras were the same. Quite a few of them were old, especially towards the center of the space. They had pale, faded, practically ivory horns atop each of their heads.

    They had the appearance of being well into retirement age or even older, with vast wrinkles, liver spots, hunched-over backs, and wispy white hair. Some barely resisted the urge to vomit at the horror show. The traveler trio didn¡¯t see anything that would be too out of the ordinary back home, but they could imagine how the girls of this world felt never having seen so much as a wrinkle in their lives. Naoko, once again, was the one most quietly fascinated, with a slow stroke of her chin.

    It didn¡¯t take long before one of the inhabitants of this human cage noticed the group, and then the rest of them turned with unsettling efficiency. Their faces weren¡¯t stern or angry, but the encompassing strangeness felt more like a horde of zombies than a swarm of tired old women. Several of them coughed one after the other and ambled around as a particular one at the center slowly got to her feet, helped up by others nearby.

    What emerged from the center of the circle made even Misaki take a step back in concern. It was hardly recognizable as a woman, appearing more like the frail, skeletal shape of an ancient monk who fasted on barely a cup of rice a month, with their skin turning to something more like beef jerky. Misaki did her best not to flinch but still scrunched her brow.

    Despite her appearance, the voice that emerged from that Miss Okura had more strength than any of them expected from the barely human shape. "Hello, girls. I''m sorry you have to see me like this. It¡¯s punishment, by them. Stretch me out as far as I can bear. Soon, all the little pieces of me will start dying, and the rest will go with them. It¡¯s a good death¡­ That monster can¡¯t get back what I took from her. Plenty from both arms. Sadly, she survived, and she¡¯s waiting to see the last of me waste away. Won¡¯t be too long."

    Yuka shook her head and interrogated the old lady, "Why? Why the hell did you accept the company? You¡¯re responsible for not fighting them with every moment and breath you have. You kept them from us and made it seem like everything was fine; everyone was free and happy. You¡¯re as much a monster as them. Your granddaughter, your daughter, and your daughter-in-law¡ªyou sacrificed them, and who knows how many more lives just to appease the company!"

    The husk of the old woman gently touched her hand against the glass. "I did. I know. I did it because I was afraid they would take even more. I don¡¯t expect forgiveness or for you to understand¡­ Any of you to understand the choices I made. But I did it out of hope¡ªdesperate hope¡ªthat they¡¯d leave us alone. They made promises. Lies. I¡¯m sorry. I never intended for any of you to inherit my terrible burden. I just wanted to protect our community and everyone I love. I failed¡­"

    So many questions lingered among the girls about the details and uncertainties of what the old woman had done and what deals she had made with the terrible people responsible for all of this. Yuka wanted to blast those questions and punctuate each with an angry stab against the glass until her finger went through. She could do it. But she laid her hand against it instead and sighed.

    "I saw Maharu¡¯s spirit with her moms. She got away; she¡¯s beyond their reach. I hope I see her again someday, no matter when that day comes. She¡¯s alright¡­ I feel that, and I trust that, even though it¡¯s a shattered hole inside my heart." Her fist slid down the glass without striking it.

    Breathing raspily but with renewed ease, the old woman quietly thanked her over and over, with echoes from her other selves bowing their heads and mouthing the same words. They were going to leave her when Bianka perked up and noted that she could shut off the security to the room holding Miss Okura.

    The old lady waved her hand and shook her head, sending more echoes through the decrepit crowd. She warned them not to waste their time on an old fool, but Yuka urged Bianka to do it. More pillars of the community to help out. She wasn¡¯t going to let her just fade away into dust. She had an obligation. Instead of fighting this point, Miss Okura warily dipped her head and consented with an overwhelming majority of her other selves.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Bianka took several minutes to get the process going. Once it was set, things around and within the chamber cycled and shifted, with the implications of distant, heavy machinery sliding into and out of place like a world engine picking up steam. As it zoomed forth and away, the chorus of Okuras swiftly blinked out of existence, uttering nary a sigh as they went.

    As the number reduced to mere dozens, the frailty and weakness fell away, and each concentrated into a fuller, brighter version more reminiscent of the original. This effect concentrated as the last of her doppelg?ngers blinked out, leaving only one restored but not without subtractions. Her bright green hair carried a taint of whiteness streaking across it like frozen lightning in a web-like form. Loose dips and hollows of flesh would¡¯ve been perfectly normal back home but looked like a perversion of human nature in this world. Her hands were also worn and weathered as she shimmered away her horns.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to hide that,¡± Yuka urged her.

    "Personal preference, if you please. A last gasp of vanity. We all have things we need to hide sometimes, for reasons great and small. Please, just let me have this." Yuka grumbled and tightened her jaw, but she didn¡¯t contest the old lady¡¯s wishes.

    Despite everything that happened lately and plenty of reasons to just avoid her, several of the girls approached and stuck close to the old lady, making sure that she was all right without assistance, had water, and whatever else she needed. Roaming purposefully according to Bianka¡®s continued, practically blind seer directions, they soon also found Ayame placed into a similar trap to what Yuka had to break out of, but clustered in several pieces across her entire body. Heavy stocks, looping chains, and a pale gag. She seemed like a dungeon prisoner from long ago.

    Untangling all those pieces appeared to be the easy part, as Bianka relayed that whatever broadcast mechanism had been used on the nurse when they all froze at the festival was still active. No matter how they cut her loose or diverted the signal, it seemed painfully clear that the forces watching them would absolutely know something had been interrupted. Yuka found herself perfectly fine with just smashing that connection and accepting the consequences. But it would mean consequences for all of them, and she couldn¡¯t do that.

    With this whole group, Misaki hoped that they might be able to brainstorm something to overcome this obstacle. But nothing settled to the surface until Chika had an idea. She pondered with Bianka about whether a local audio signal might be able to override what was happening. And what if that signal was a busy, flowing spoken word response that didn¡¯t slow down, stop, or allow even a moment for processing? Her proposal focused on the signal clashing with what was being sent through, and then perhaps they could continue this cacophony like playing two radio stations at the same time. So long as the other end received at least one signal, maybe they didn¡¯t have to know anything was wrong.

    Once again, Bianca had a whole host of problems and complaints with his proposal. Unfortunately, this appeared to be their best option.

    Chika stepped forward and prepared herself without going through the full, typical stretch of vocal exercises before many previous streams.

    "Hello and welcome. I am happy to be here, and I have amazing plans for everything we¡¯re going to do. The first thing I need to ask, though, is: has anyone seen a pink roll? Now, that may sound like an unconventional flavor and color choice on a cinnamon roll, but there¡¯s actually a little bit of history associated with the term and where it¡¯s going to take us tonight." Whenever it seemed like she was about to run out of something to say, she pivoted to a new thought and pressed it just as strongly without pausing to take more than a few hidden breaths in any of the long sentences. Her stamina for this relentless version of a stream was not immense, but she kept going until Bianka gave her notice that was enough.

    Dragging Ayame required the efforts of everyone. When pulling her from that spot, it was clear that something or someone was intentionally holding her in place, as though her feet were filled with lead. Yuka added as much muscular oomph as she could spare from her internal structure without revealing the secrets within her skin. That was just enough to liberate Ayame and bring her over to the hallway to slowly recover. Everything was going perfectly well until Bianka chimed in that she knew where to find the Sasakis.

    Yuka didn¡¯t hesitate in grabbing the blonde, making absolutely sure that she knew where they were, and setting off practically alone to hunt down her moms. Bianka had to remain near Ayame to keep the jamming up. That was fine with Yuka. But not with anyone else.

    As she tried to leave by herself, the rest of the group pulled after her, as though bound by a rope that only they could see. Yuka tried to come up with excuses for why she had to do this all by herself, but Misaki, in particular, wasn¡¯t listening and practically dragged her partner to the floor before she would let her go. Softly and nervously, Yuka sighed and conceded that they would do this together too.

    Oddly, this section of the facility had a simple green stripe snaking along the walls and nothing else foreboding this deep in their trek. The space where the Sasakis were kept had a style reminiscent of an indoor miniature golf course, aside from the blank, colorless constancy. The room was arrayed like a stripped-down kitchen with simple partitions to suggest a bedroom, finally, a bathroom towards the back, and a living area. It overall appeared as if aliens constructing a human zoo had a decent comprehension of what a human domicile should contain but no concept of colors or layout.

    The moms puttered about in the back towards the rough kitchen area with anxious little motions and lingering smiles shared with one another. They seemed the same as always. All their color was restored, a stark contrast to the empty tones on all sides of them. Yuka released a long breath and let her sister¡¯s form go to restore her normal appearance¡ªno additions or subtractions.

    When the small group stepped through the door, which Bianka effortlessly unlocked, both of the moms turned in their direction and warmly welcomed the arrivals.

    Relief tinged with quiet confusion swelled out when they saw Miss Okura, looking worse for wear. They moved quickly to support the still-unresponsive Ayame and provide her with a place to rest. Kosame was greeted with a cheerful smile, along with her close partner, Naoko.

    Concern surged again at Bianka¡®s shut eyes and drifting presence. And the health and welfare of their travel guests were foremost among their concerns. Kei intuitively noticed that Chika had been crying recently and that the emotion still pooled around her eyes. Fuyuki comforted Namiko, seeing the same emotional shadow. Misaki wasn¡¯t neglected either, with an emphasis on whether she was hungry and how tired and poorly rested she appeared.

    Then they came to Yuka, looking exactly like she did the whole night at the festival.

    ¡°And, who are you, my dear? I hope you¡¯re alright too. Do you need anything?¡±

    Yuka¡¯s moms looked at her kindly but without a trace of recognition, as though they had never met her.

 [96] Yuri Worlds 96 â€“ Shatter

    Yuri Worlds

    [96] Shatter

    Misaki¡®s immediate reaction was to rush to Yuka''s side. She practically arrived faster than Kei''s words could land in Yuka''s ear. And Misaki witnessed the exact moment that those words made contact. It was a surprisingly subdued, understated moment, with Yuka standing there in quiet optimism as she endeavored to process what her mom said. Her features fluttered upwards in a spike of optimism that her mom was talking to her. A long stretch of denial lingered in her as comprehension failed to connect.

    That couldn''t have been what her mom said. She didn''t just ask her who she was. Yuka had to have it wrong. Her brain, sodden by so many stresses lately, had physically heard her speak, but it was like a jumble of foreign languages, and she just hadn''t parsed it correctly. Misaki sensed all this through their little secret shared channel. Yuka wobbled as though she had been pushed to the ledge of a high cliff.

    "I''m sorry¡­ What did you say?" Her lip flap continued past what they could hear, as though part of her statement had been gently edited or the sound had not been dubbed in for the rest of it. Misaki knew what the absent part represented. Mom and mommy. A desperate plea that they had to remember her. Please, remember your youngest daughter.

    Kei simply repeated what she had said, with emphasis that brought the presence of each word into hopeless clarity. Fuyuki then added, "Have you seen our daughter, Haruka? I''m worried about her."

    That was too much for Yuka. She squeezed her eyes shut before stumbling and staggering, dropping to her knees so hard that even Misaki had no chance of catching her. At least she was able to keep her from falling further. Yuka gritted her teeth and panted like she was trying to climb back up that cliff all by herself.

    Misaki had to keep reminding her she wasn''t alone. A lone wolf was a load of crap; it was all about the pack. If only she could transmit that wirelessly through her thick but beautiful skull. Misaki gently tapped heads with her. Yuka glanced at her with resignation and gently bumped her back. Some of the other girls came over to help, but Misaki was able to get her back on her feet without any trouble.

    Looking at her like that, it was impossible to imagine that within her was some eldritch power of monstrous proportions able to survive indefinitely and theoretically exist in multiple realities at once. Instead, she just seemed like an exhausted teen girl who wanted a hug from her mommy after witnessing so many terrible things in one night. Kei and Fuyuki both seemed open to comforting this strange girl. But Misaki suspected that blank, anonymous care would be worse than none at all for Yuka''s wounded heart.

    After leaning to cough into her hand a few times, Yuka told the women who didn''t remember being her mothers, "My name is¡­ Cerberus¡­ You can call me Ceri, for short. It''s nice to meet both of you, Missus Sasaki Kei... and Missus Sasaki Fuyuki. It''s truly an honor. And I promise to do my best to protect you and everyone else and get all of you safely out of this terrible place."

    Sasaki moms gave a complicated reaction immersed in concern, confusion, and a hopeful lean towards the rest of the group. Kosame looked like she was about to break down in tears. Bianka kept her emotions to a slow sigh. Chika shook her head and searched everyone around her for understanding. Naoko pressed a hand to her forehead and grimaced. The old lady seemed solemn; her jaw clenched. Namiko lent her support to Chika. Meanwhile, Ayame fussed with a tickle in her throat that couldn''t be coughed out or swallowed.

    The two moms could read the room and sense the tension, but they just couldn''t figure out the secret that eluded them. They politely greeted Ceri, commenting curiously on her strange name and whether it was foreign. Yuka clung to a multitude of things that she could''ve said and wanted to say but resisted the urge to speak. Misaki clarified for Yuka that she was dealing with an adult forever name in a very difficult situation because she couldn''t get approval from her mothers. The Sasaki moms nodded with understanding.

    Yuka could barely bring herself to breathe. She needed to pass words to Misaki. This time, Misaki actually got a good sense of what she wanted her to say for her.

    "It would mean a lot to her if you could give your blessing to her name. She doesn''t know if she''ll be able to talk to her mothers about this serious issue. Could you be like godmothers, just for this small thing?" Yuka sighed softly and barely avoided whimpering tears.

    Kei and Fuyuki expressed clear puzzlement. "Why us? I don''t believe we''ve met. This seems so out of the blue and like such a strange request of strangers. We fear it wouldn''t mean anything, would it?"

    Yuka pressed adamantly, "It would, please. You could also reject it. That''s fine. Just how you feel about it being a forever name."

    The two older women appeared absolutely lost and looked towards Miss Okura as though she might have some wisdom to share, but the old lady held her tongue and bowed her head politely. The matter of her modest physical deterioration sure seemed like something the two moms wanted to bring up, but they were even more insistent on avoiding the topic.

    Sighing to one another, Kei dipped a hand and responded, "It seems like the name you were destined for. There''s no escape from it, Cerberus. You''re ours."

    The mood and cadence of the words shifted immediately from the warm, familiar tone that Kei regularly expressed to the cruel inhabitation they felt with Maharu. The company. They had found them, despite Bianka''s best efforts. Yuka tensed her arm to unveil her blade. Kei, controlled by the company, smiled sharply and glanced around at the others. They were all frozen in place, the same as what happened at the festival. Damn! Wait...

    Not all of them. Ayame was still fussing and fighting on the floor. And Bianka seemed like she was holding a great weight with the ivory tablet in her hands and her eyes still tightly clenched. Perhaps there was still hope. There''s always hope, so long as there is life, Misaki told herself, even though she quietly prayed that there was hope even beyond that.

    "Why are you here?" Yuka growled at her mother, even though her emotions were torn between a scowl and sadness.

    "We knew what you were doing the whole time. Did you really think we weren''t monitoring everything? Interesting little excursion to see where your abilities stand. You''re making remarkable progress. I think your choice of name is lovely, and I give my blessing."

    Yuka shook her head. "Rot in Hell!"

    "I think you have your places mixed up. You fancy yourself a rebel against a force beyond your world. But this is a heavenly space, and I am your Goddess. Now, I don''t expect you to know the full extent of all folklore and myth, but things don''t go well for rebels in Heaven. And you may find yourself in more of a Hell than you ever imagined, puppy."

    All that was too much for Yuka; she couldn''t hold back. She twisted out her blades and prepared to swing them forward threateningly. But the company slipped out of Kei and a wave of shocked fear crossed her mother''s face.

    "Oh my, Goddess! What is...what are you...what is that?!" She screamed and turned away. Yuka pulled her blades back in embarrassment. Before Kei could react to more than that, she was frozen again, and this time Fuyuki spoke with the monster inhabiting her.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    "They''re all mine to do with as I please. I can have any body, any form. And when we harvest the true immortality within you, I can have whoever I want as a spare. Nothing can stop us and the bright future we have for all of you."

    Awkwardly, Ayame stumbled to her feet and declared, "Stop. Stop. I''m not¡­ Your broadcast radio. Stop using me! No masquerade. No channeling. No watching. I''ll break you!" The woman brought her arms together in a prayerful pose with an echoing slap that rang through the space with unnatural power. The air almost seemed to vibrate. The entity within Fuyuki wobbled as though it had been shoved onto that imaginary cliff.

    "How?...Doesn''t matter. You''re irrelevant. Just... what are you doing? Stop it, stop it. You''re not allowed! I can push my way into you just as easily as anyone else..." A great humming pulsed through the air, more felt than heard. Misaki and Yuka worried about being pushed by it too, but the force seemed to only apply to the company entity.

    Ayame raised her head and opened her eyes. They worried that the company would make good on that threat, but the presence that gazed at them was still Ayame.

    She spoke insistently and as though she stood right next to them: "You are strong, Misaki. Far stronger than you can imagine. You rattled me to my core. You''re like the one you love¡ªdeeply connected¡ªbut you are still special; you are different. I hope you can share your beauty. Share it with all of us." That last statement was followed by a little flutter of her eye, which Misaki almost wondered was a wink.

    What was she trying to say? She was fighting so hard to say it, so it had to mean something important. Misaki had a hunch. All throughout this, she didn''t think much of her power compared to what Yuka could wield. It was fuzz, dirty snow, and a frail spiderweb shield¡ªthings that couldn''t begin to stand up against the forces around them. But she was the only one who managed to resist the control system. What if it wasn''t so weak?

    The only problem was that when she was inside Yuka, that immunity didn''t work. Whatever games Yasha or the company played with her body at the point of death, she had a spirit, strength, and resilience that deserved respect from herself. Maybe that was too much ego, but Ayame seemed to believe in her; why couldn''t she believe in herself too?

    She gathered up the essence that she had inside into a small sliver, barely bigger than a button. Fuyuki, still under company influence, flinched.

    She tensed and gurgled like she was trying to suppress a heavy cough. Undimmed rage flared in Ayame''s direction as Fuyuki raised her hand, as though she held a wand about to cast a lethal spell. Dashing swiftly, Misaki applied the gob of her essence to Fuyuki''s wrist.

    Immediately, she screamed as though the spot had been splashed with acid. "What is that?! You''re not supposed to have that... How can you block?...NO!" The presence released Fuyuki from its hold and immediately slipped back to its previous host, Kei. But Misaki was ready for that and had a fresh clump to apply as soon as possible. A groaning essence, like a trapped wind, hovered over the room, searching for its next victim.

    Naoko raised her head, but before the supposed human from the company could possess her to wield her voice, Misaki had already forced it out. Chika was an easy follow-up target, but Misaki aggressively protected her sister with a liberal application of the essence. The same went for Namiko.

    Its effort over Nami didn''t last long. It seemed the lecherous presence was more preoccupied with the assets at its fingertips than taking Namiko under full control. No safe haven existed for it in either of the Nishikawa sisters, as not only did each of them strongly resist the takeover but also easily accepted the application of Misaki''s essence.

    The only place left was Miss Okura, who wore a cruel grin, but not for any of them. She taunted the company, noting, "I can split you into as many pieces as I want. What will you do then?" The sound of the company entity was more like an angry but sickly growl from some feral beast. It rejected Miss Okura long before Misaki applied her essence.

    The voice, carried on the wind, rasped like it was barely maintained by a ventilator. It was rough, but not deep like a man''s. Wheezing soon followed.

    "You... don''t know what you''re messing with. I am your Goddess. You have enraged me. The consequences shall be steep...."

    The entire pale porcelain world felt like it was tipped sideways, just as when they were chucked down a chute. Fortunately, Bianka manipulated the tablet to correct the gravity. Like being on the worst boat trip. Everyone huddled together to keep from tumbling over. The poor Sasaki moms had the worst of it, even though they expressed some awareness of the entity that grabbed ahold of them. They made sure everyone was all right and attempted to guide the group in whatever direction led to safety.

    Noise and lights filled the bright space, less like a warning alarm and more like an effort to cause them pain and distractions with auditory and visual cacophonies. Yuka waved her arm and tried to bring together what she had into a form like a razor whip that could lash at everything producing the light and noise.

    They pushed out of the domestic cell where the Sasakis had been kept. The two of them quietly marveled and lamented their inability to recognize that escape was so easy and close. Misaki suspected that it was another one of those perception filter things or whatever they did with doors to keep them bewildered. The group made sure that they kept together with the slowest, especially Naoko and Miss Okura. Namiko sprinted ahead, practically fast enough to lap everyone else while keeping focused on the others.

    Soon, a large partition door started to drop from the ceiling across the only open path. Namiko swiftly pulled back and put herself in the middle of the threshold with her arms raised. Chika and Misaki screamed for her to get out of there. This is no time to be a hero like that!

    But they each knew that was exactly what Namiko would do, every moment of her life, until she took her last breath. Misaki just desperately hoped in her heart that they weren''t moments away from it.

    The door plunged towards the ground with roaring energy, like an out-of-control vertical roller coaster. She just couldn''t look, praying to whatever deities actually existed and weren''t assholes to protect her dear friend. The door cleaved a curtain of air, but a grunting and furious human roar answered back.

    "Come on! I can always hold the weight! We can make it!" She screamed like a weightlifter about to drop their load. Even the old woman found the speed necessary to hustle through the swiftly sealing passage. Naoko, even though she had few muscles to share, braced enough of the collapsing door so Namiko could pull away. To allow Naoko to escape, Yuka slammed it with everything she had from her dark mass. Once the door dropped into place, it felt like a piece of a massive puzzle sliding into an endless hole.

    Unfortunately, they didn''t get much respite on the other side, as a cackling voice echoed beyond. Frantic whirring noises, like trapped bees in a spinning mechanism, crested as blood-red eyes stared out from a new patch of darkness.

    "Hello, little one. I''m ready for a rematch."

 [97] Yuri Worlds 97 â€“ Trapped

    Yuri Worlds

    [97] Trapped

    Yasha. Of course. Or Joshua Feland. Either way, the last thing they wanted to see.

    As she moved out of the shadows and into the light, it was easy to tell that she was worse for wear since her encounter with Miss Okura. Both of her arms around the elbow had been replaced with prosthetics like articulated mannequin limbs.

    "Hello, old goat. You''re not supposed to be out in one piece. How badly do I need to punish you for insolence this time?" Misaki knew the horns above Miss Okura''s head were more like a ram''s and a goat''s. Haruka''s horns were more goat-like. But clearly, Yasha didn''t care about accuracy in her slurs.

    Miss Okura sighed and looked bored more than anything. "Do you really think your crude words intimidate anyone?"

    "Of course not; they''re just for me. My acts speak louder. And I can''t wait to show you all that I can do now." A forest of spikes erupted from Yasha''s artificial limbs.

    Yuka braced herself and swallowed before inspecting her blade limbs and adding serrations to the sides. In addition, they acquired protective shield aspects on the back.

    Misaki didn''t want her to fight, but she couldn''t fight in her place. She didn''t want Yuka to have to resort to violence again and again. Misaki had some use in providing a block to what the company was doing, but she felt so frustrated that she couldn''t directly protect the girl she loved.

    Yasha launched at Yuka, barreling towards her like an out-of-control locomotive on fire. Misaki felt ill at the prospect of them slamming into one another and what would happen to the girl she loved. She may have been immortal, but seeing her in pain still brought suffering.

    Fortunately, Yuka had some experience with fights. Haruka was an overwhelming fight. Yasha seemed to attack the same way, but she had no discipline like Yuka''s older sister. She just swung wildly with the overconfidence of her weaponry. All Yuka really needed to do was step to the side when Yasha came at her and shoved her off course and into the walls. The others backed away from the crazed assault.

    Yasha swung her spiked limbs in all directions, but stepping swiftly on her feet kept Yuka safe.

    "Fight me, you wretched cur!"

    "I am. Sorry, I don''t provide the same fucking entertainment as a helpless little girl all tied up!" Yuka found an opening as Yasha dropped her hands, bashing her in the neck. The healing factor had been restored for new injuries as the bone and gore cleanly knit themselves back together within moments.

    "She begged so beautifully. She had no idea it was me. She thought I was her friend. She screamed and pleaded before she cried for her mommy. It was delightful. Delicious. Shame you couldn''t watch the whole thing..."

    Yuka flared her teeth, and a rumble came from her mouth that sounded more like thunder than any sound a human could make. She slammed Yasha with both arms extended, swiping hard but with concentrated purpose, using the backside like a wrecking ball while cleaving through her flesh from the sides.

    Yasha''s spikes made it through and ripped at Yuka''s robe, but she barely noticed. Her unrelenting, focused fury slammed into the blonde, splattering brain matter through her golden hair. She was a crumpled mass of bone and gore, twisting and turning its way towards restoration. But Yuka wouldn''t let her off that easy.

    She renewed her strikes, going lower and twisting her torso into an unwound pretzel, detaching her legs. Sweat and exhaustion soon spilled off Yuka, but she still refused to relent. Even once Yasha was a heap of entrails and viscera knit together with broken bones and cleaved organs, Yuka still smashed and splattered her again and again, fighting against the unstoppable tide of healing. Finally, Yuka screamed to the heavens, for herself and no one else, and stepped back from the mess, shaking the remnants loose as best she could.

    With sickening speed, Yasha stood before them once again, with not even a scratch on her. However, there was a crack in her left prosthetic. The spike-wielding segment moved slower than its counterpart and didn''t settle into a level position. Yuka bowed her head as Miss Okura looked on in pride. The entire group lamented that they couldn''t fight in her place.

    Naoko and others explained for the Sasaki moms, touching only upon the fact that Okura Mahara was dead, murdered by this crazed foreigner. If a look from Kei and Fuyuki could do actual harm, then Yuka''s pummeling efforts would have been nothing compared to the absolute destruction the two moms brought upon the vile killer. Namiko loomed with brutal anger and wanted to find an opening to help Yuka, but it was just too dangerous.

    Physically bashing Yasha again remained an option for Yuka, but it didn''t look like she had the strength for many more rounds. She may have been made of a morphing, living ferrofluid essence, but the limitations of human energy still remained, Misaki surmised. And she had another thought.

    Inspired by what she was able to do with her dark fuzz essence to protect the others, Misaki wondered if a version of that might be possible for Yuka.

    After a few more rounds of beatdowns, Yuka pulled back and instead did her best to temporarily cripple Yasha while also making progress on her increasingly battered prostheses. As Yuka retreated to regroup and catch her breath, Misaki whispered the idea to her.

    Chika and others endeavored to especially protect and comfort the Sasaki moms from the rotating fight carried out on the side of the hallway. Miss Okura also received attention. Ayame attempted to learn everything that had happened since she was last conscious while also passing along mentions of her spirit being like a crystal that she could tune to receive and refine the vibrations and feelings of others to treat them medically and spiritually. She deduced she had been used as a transceiver of communications from and for this company.

    Kosame again supported and guided her younger sister Bianka as she furiously focused with her eyes still shut to come up with something that could help Yuka in her fight. But, hopefully, Misaki had already found it. She stepped back from Yuka before Yasha attempted to make a renewed strike towards them. It missed badly.

    Immensely frustrated, Yasha pressed her artificial arms against one another, as though crudely trying to fix a pair of loose gloves. Yuka pressed one of the serrated edges against her own flesh and gently peeled off a piece of herself. A tiny hunk that looked like living black coal settled gently into her hand, not dipping through the flesh to return to where it was supposed to be but just sitting apart as she restored her hand and heaved it at Yasha like a stone.

    The projectile sailed through her throat and created violent turbulence, like a chemical reaction bubbling through her disorganizing flesh. Furiously, Yasha struggled with her awkward, cracked artificial limbs to pry it out, but the spikes did more damage than she could heal. Sweat poured over her flesh as she struggled to keep her head balanced and stable.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Yuka advanced, looking for a wedge point on the prostheses, as Yasha tumbled to her knees. When she got close, the blonde whimpered and begged, "Friends! Help! I need help! I gave my fortune to the cause! Come to my aid!" She again brought her arms up to protect her face, as she did when Miss Okura attacked. The old woman narrowed her eyes in anger and looked like she wished she had a renewed burst of energy to slice some more of the fiend.

    Though Yuka didn''t take a step back, she hesitated in her next one. A sense of mercy that Yasha would never answer in kind. Moments later, a puff of chill air passed around and through them, like a bitter ghost. It was followed by Haruka dropping through the ceiling next to Yasha. She had a pair of sun-bright blades with a lacing grip in each arm, they looked like molten katanas pulled from a forge moments ago.

    Her mothers gasped and flooded her with questions. Haruka clenched her jaw and refused to look at them or her biological grandmother. Yuka shook her head and bared her teeth with a wad of spit held close in her cheek.

    "Oh good. They sent you. Please finish her off for me." Yasha cackled.

    Haruka slowly rose from the brace position she''d dropped into. She held her swords high and gazed sharply at Yuka. Misaki nervously squeezed her hands against her mouth. She remembered what Haruka had said in her memory. But it didn''t have to mean anything. She wished that the damn girl would stop standing on the side of the bad guys for once! She wished that she could do more to protect the girl she loved, even though she had so many powers beyond her comprehension. She was so powerless in this moment, and she could barely look to see what came next.

    After a long pause, Haruka announced, "Stand down. I am under orders to remove you."

    Yasha got to her feet with a twisted smile curling her lips. "Do more than that. Slice her up a little, even if we can''t kill her."

    A quiet moment passed before Haruka turned to face Yasha. She tipped her blades up and told her, "I''m talking to you...murderer."

    "What? What kind of nonsense are you speaking? Have you forgotten who is in charge, who your Goddesses are?" Yasha stumbled, hissed, and wiggled her prosthetics around in bitter fury. Miss Okura smiled behind her hand.

    Haruka maintained her position and gestured the tip of a single sword towards the ceiling.

    The voice of the company politely cleared its throat and spoke with anonymous clarity, neither young nor old. "Joshy. Hey. Listen. We just want you to know that we deeply appreciate the time and money you''ve invested in our mutual causes. Your presence and influence have been invaluable in allowing us to advance our objectives. Unfortunately, every professional and personal relationship reaches a point where it needs to be reevaluated. Your attitude, your preoccupations, and your problematic actions recently and throughout the years have caused us to decide that we''re going in a different direction. One that doesn''t include you. This is goodbye, not good luck, but we did have some fun times. Our representative will see you out."

    Yasha remained silent, stewing, fuming, and absorbing that explanation before bursting out, "YOU FUCKING SISSY WEEB PERVERTS! How fucking dare you! I will rain unholy fury upon each of you fucks! I will burn your so-called kingdom to the motherfucking ground! Fuck whatever immortality! I''ll watch you fucking die!"

    "Always a pleasure, Josh", was the last thing said from above before the communication crackled and went silent.

    Panting with unspoken words she still wanted to say, Yasha looked like a trapped lion with broken legs and no teeth, surrounded by advancing hyenas. The ripples from the dark fragment had quieted down to a low vibration in Yasha''s flesh.

    It still seemed to bother her like a tuning fork pressed against her head, but she continued to speak. "Did you hear that? They deserve the worst. And I can deliver it. I will hunt them down. You don''t know them like I do. You don''t know where they come from or what they''re like. Human, yes, but far too clever. I should''ve known they would betray me. I''m inconvenient. And now we''re on the same side and want the same things."

    Haruka leveled a blade right at Yasha''s cheek and pronounced, "We are not on the same side, now or ever. Follow me to the exit. You will be returned to your world of origin. You will have no more dealings with the company. If you resist, I may choose which parts don''t need to make the trip with you. Do you understand my meaning?"

    Yuka extended her dark blade towards Yasha and pressed, "You can''t just let this monster go. No matter what mistress you serve."

    Haruka leaned her head and finally looked at Fuyuki and Kei, even though she spoke to Yuka. "I have obligations that I cannot break. No matter how much I want. She is a husk now; she is nothing. She''s not worth the time or pain. Let it be her fate to be small and vanish to nothing." Yuka scowled and shook her head, but she turned away from Yasha. Misaki begged Yuka to look at her, but Yuka just looked away.

    Yasha bowed her head and agreed to all the things she was supposed to do. She looked so contrite. What the others didn''t see in time, but Haruka kept her eye on, was a small grenade-like device tucked in the elbow of Yasha''s right arm prosthetic. Before she could chuck it at the group, so that Yuka and Misaki would have to watch more death, Haruka casually extended a blade shaped like one of Yuka''s shields as a scoop and shoved the live grenade deep into Yasha''s stomach.

    Haruka said softly, "For her..."

    The stunned blonde didn''t have a moment to speak or scream as the contained explosion rocketed underneath her skin like crimson water in the form of animated ground beef. She looked more like a sculpture trapped in horror with jerky claymation. The blackness of the Yuka shard flashed through her system like a bloodstream flow of corrupting ink, attacking her wild efforts to restore her body to a human shape.

    Like an impossible, perpetual motion machine, all the forces within tried to bring her back to her normal shape. The violent spasms, twists, and shakes just accelerated till she was practically frozen in place, like a preserved Pompeii victim made of silently screaming flesh. Misaki did not envy her that fate and hoped it would remain for as long as possible. But she still had to look away, along with several others in the group, especially the Sasaki moms. Naoko looked like she was close to vomiting, and Chika seemed especially queasy as well. The old lady breathed a sigh of relief and said a quiet prayer for those who couldn''t be here.

    Soon, a translucent, almost gel-like cube dropped from the ceiling, just as Haruka had, and captured what remained of Yasha like a specimen on a slide. The ground beneath Haruka''s feet started to become porous and turbulent. She folded her arms like a corpse in a coffin but gave one last glance at her adopted mothers, her real grandmother, and the girl who desperately wanted to be called her sister. Haruka said nothing as she and the preserved Yasha fell away.

 [98] Yuri Worlds 98 â€“ Revolt

    Yuri Worlds

    [98] Revolt

    The question of what they were supposed to do now was answered by Bianka speaking up in the silence afterwards to declare, "I''ve got access! I can look at the entire system. The security is kind of crap. It''s a surprisingly simple setup. It''s like they never expected anyone to try to breach it. Clear hubris. I assume all the stuff that''s stood in our way so far is how they intend to keep people out and not actual computer security."

    Kei resisted her recent urge to hold back, be afraid, and cling close to her wife. Being next to her was an immense comfort, as always, but she was a carer. Hospitality.

    Bianka located another storage room, which was well supplied, where the Sasakis had been imprisoned. Similar to their cell, there weren''t many resources for the kind of cooking they preferred to do. Kei collected and sorted what she could, and somehow made little meals for everyone. It was her valiant effort to keep everyone''s minds off the horrors around them, the beings seeking control, and the anxious possibilities of what lay ahead. Never mind trying to parse the holy warrior appearance of her daughter coming and going.

    Between makeshift snacks and a breather, Bianka explained the magnitude of her discovery. Access to the entire system was important because it meant they could finally get out of here directly. No more having to wander twisting, shifting, and endless ivory tunnels without any clear sense of where they were going. She also explained that, despite how much they''d walked, they hadn''t made any real progress.

    She referenced her description of signs and symbols arrayed in a massive combination and how exhausting they were to parse into anything meaningful. Misaki chimed in that Mari mentioned the operating system for calling up different areas was similar to referencing specific numbers in a phone book. She then briefly explained to the younger girls what a phone book was. Bianka latched on to this analogy and made some quick notes to help her search through what she called the "index".

    But new problems soon arose as she struggled to crack open these newfound capabilities of the device. She was hit with overwhelming exhaustion and sleepiness, especially with her eyes shut and searching.

    Obviously, the company could tell what she was doing, or someone who worked for them, and attempted to slow her down. This enforced lethargy soon spread to everyone in the room, as though it were an oddly infectious sleeping sickness. It was different from the enforced freeze or what could have been perception filtrations. Considering the multitude of distractions, spells of tiredness, and other moments small and massive that pushed and pulled Misaki in so many different directions, she had to wonder if she was just finally aware of the cruel trickery of the company.

    She just couldn''t keep her eyes open, despite how serious this moment was or how much energy and animation she had mere moments ago. It had all been sucked out of her, perhaps by some animalistic, obedient breeze that happened to pass. There was a clear, additional ache that exacerbated her exhaustion. Attempting to stretch her foot to get rid of the feeling just made the joints pop again and again without any sign of relief.

    This was how it would end. They would quietly drift into slumber and be placed back in their exhibits. All the truth and clarity they discovered would waft away, as though it were no more solid than incoherent rambling from the dreamscape.

    Where would Misaki be? Clearly, she wouldn''t get off with just a slap on the wrist and a shove back in her proper place. She had truly rebelled, and she had an ability that, while it might not touch the rarefied heights of the quantum immortality they were seeking, hindered their power. Going home wouldn''t be possible.

    Would the others even remember her? They had already edited out Yuka from her mothers'' minds; how much harder might it be just to strike her from the records and thoughts of the handful who actually knew of her existence? Chika and Nami were sure to fight the hardest and be left with ghostly trails of her in their lives.

    All the critical thoughts fled from her head. Holding her heavy eyelids up became increasingly impossible. It sounded like Bianka had something in mind she was desperately working through but couldn''t quite complete the necessary components or articulate the problem out loud.

    Fuyuki actually had the clearest perception of the situation, warning everyone around her with a struggling groan that it seemed like they were being surrounded by what she termed knockout gas. Misaki could tell that it was nothing quite so writerly dramatic as that. Kosame struggled to grab her sister or anyone else. She reached unsuccessfully for the girl she loved, uselessly grappling for some sliver of Naoko to whisper to and embrace.

    Ayame had conceded that this fight and moment were losses and settled into a comfortable position of quiet meditation. The old woman fought the most, wrestling with every ounce of tiredness as if throwing a relentless bear off her shoulders again and again. Kei gently comforted her wife, as though placing her to bed after such a long day.

    Misaki saw Yuka with her blade arms out, the limbs wrestling with coherence as much as the rest of her. Everyone else fell away from her eyes, even her critical sight of her mothers. Yuka saw only her and reached only for her hand as they stumbled to the floor, straining to make contact. Somehow, their hands reached¡ªhuman hands, not weapons. They pulled each other close and conceded this battle. Perhaps a new world was impossible, and perhaps fighting cruel humanity at the level of a god was beyond them.

    A wall of darkness followed as their breathing slowed. Then the darkness wavered. It wasn''t a solid thing, but like a heavy curtain on a window that could be pierced by rising sunlight. The brightness wobbled, as though filtered through a dense tree fighting to contain its brilliance. That light could not be stopped, could not be dimmed, and could not be snuffed out. And it shone across all of them.

    Huge pink sakura blossoms at the peak of their color. Books about dancing monkeys. Absolutely, freshwater eel. No one else likes it, but it''s delicious. And, once again, eels, because they''re so strange and wriggly and don''t actually seem beautiful, but there''s something special that I love about them. Pigtails. I don''t think I would look good with them. But I never tried them, and I should''ve.

    Favorite type of flower. Book that makes you giggle. Favorite dish. Favorite species of fish. Way you always wanted to wear your hair but never tried...

    Maharu...

    Misaki and Yuka could barely fight through the tears in their eyes. Light filled the room with a truer purity than they had ever known, a richer white than the false ivory blinding every corner. They couldn''t see a face, but they all absolutely felt a presence.

    Bye. Goodbye. I''m so sorry we didn''t have more time. But I treasure every single moment.

    Their eyes were streaked by waves of tears. Misaki and Yuka held onto one another to carefully balance their way to their feet, sniffling and glancing around with uncertainty.

    Everyone else seemed similarly shellshocked, although speaking about what they just experienced was impossible. Kosame squeezed a hand to her heart with her eyes shut and her head bowed. Naoko expressed a similar sentiment, but with her hands together prayerfully and a hopeful look upward. Bianca had furiously redoubled her efforts at navigating the tablet.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Ayame was actually on her feet, looking more focused and energized than Misaki could remember seeing in her for quite a while. The old lady had similarly received a second wind while offering up a prayer. She wasn''t hopping to her feet or bouncing to break down the walls around them, but the wear and tear done to her body by Yasha''s tortures didn''t appear as devastating.

    The Sasaki moms appeared lost but also focused in a way that Misaki wished she could share in. Her friends, her traveling friends, looked relieved to see her up and aware and also rising to her feet like everyone else.

    "Death to the company. Good riddance to the asshole that killed Maharu. And I don''t know why Haruka is being a jerk. But I''m ready to get out of here. I have access through the system, and I refuse to fall asleep again." Bianka''s voice was rough and worn, as though she had been crying for days or had aged decades beyond what even the old woman experienced. All the humor had left her, and she felt as angry and laser-focused as Yuka. Misaki could see and sense that they all felt the same, even though they didn''t give voice to those thoughts. She didn''t need anyone else''s intuition or radio broadcast power for that.

    They grouped together like a small army of ants working cohesively. The next door was sealed at first, but Bianka managed to shut down its security, and something heavy from the storage space provided an alternate key. Clusters of workers in white wandered towards them from adjacent junctures.

    Yuka brought up her blades with a little extra length, and the serrations for Yasha smoothed down to efficient, glinting edges. They paused several feet away and started to back up. It wasn''t long before they stopped seeing the workers except for faint twinkles of retreat.

    No matter how many corridors they switched through with Bianka''s reassurance that she was guiding them towards their destination, it never quite seemed that they were actually making progress through this blinding labyrinth. They did eventually arrive at a destination, but it wasn''t a waystation like Misaki expected they might find. Nor was it a strange, broken pathway back through an impossible stretch of cellar. It wasn''t even an access tunnel. Before them was an open room with panels along the sides and what looked to be a microphone set in the center console.

    Several members of the group looked around at one another in uncertainty. Bianka stumbled forward without the help of her sister, blindly flailing with her tablet, and announced, "We need help. They''re so powerful. But we were able to shut them off¡ªshut them out of our minds. We can leave; we can walk out. But they have so many girls captive as experiments or worse. None of us are free until all of us are free. New world, breaking of the old. I can open the door for them, flood the system so that they can''t even begin to contain the rebellion, and grab them as hosts, but we need to tell them. Let them decide. I don''t know what''s gonna happen. All I can do is open the channel."

    The girls looked around at one another with stiff uncertainty. Kosame had all the charisma but not all the intimate knowledge necessary. Bianka needed to hold the broadcast open. Ayame had influence too, but she wasn''t the sort of speaker this moment required. The old woman had fire, but this called for a younger voice. The travelers were part of this, but this was not their world. Naoko practically ran away from the microphone. Truly, only one was best suited to this task.

    Yuka stepped forward. She fluttered with the same butterflies as Misaki. She wasn''t an inspiring speaker to lead a rebellion against wannabe gods. She was just a kid who wanted to rest and hug the girl she loved. She looked at Misaki and took a slow, single breath before stepping up to the mic.

    "Hello. You don''t know me, but my name is Cerberus. I am as young as I sound and as scared as I sound too. I''m talking to you because we are trapped. We are, all of us, trapped by forces of darkness disguised as light. You are, all of you, sleeping in a cruel, dissecting white light that intends to destroy your heart and everything that you love. There are pathetic people who have been using us, who have been using our world, and the girls in it to advance their lives and livelihoods at the expense of everyone. They have twisted the foundation of all worlds towards bloodshed, fear, and pain because it serves their desires. They have kept you asleep; they have kept all of us trapped in a nightmare of their design. They have killed innocents; they have broken minds and hearts. They claim divine power and respect, but we are their food, their bleeding ambrosia. They are not goddesses. They are demons, and we will throw off their shackles, rip them from our lives, cast them from our world, and burn their false heaven to ashes! Stand together! Rise up! Free yourselves! We are with you. We are together! We are Shimai, true sisters bound in flesh, heart, and soul for all eternity!"

    By the end, Misaki could imagine Cerberus, Yuka, or whatever name was truest to her standing before a podium with all the scared little girls hiding in the dark, speaking to them as the sister of all. She didn''t know what came next, but she prayed for the best.

    Once she was away from the microphone and Bianka confirmed that it was no longer broadcasting, Yuka allowed herself to breathe again, and doubt filled the words she spoke and the words she hadn''t said. She twisted her mouth around a few times and reflected on the overall structure; she had no time to prepare, like any of the speeches in her language classes. She didn''t cover any of the actual reasons and evidence about what was going on, the real horrors of the company, or all the stuff they knew. Yuka fussed and fidgeted, meekly wondering if she should just try it again.

    Then came a rumble, the earth quaking beneath their feet even though there wasn''t any earth to shake. Bianka switched on the monitors around them with a few simple commands, and they saw the results.

    Everywhere, in captivity and in the world they knew, girls all over, some frozen until the company could get back to dealing with them, broke free. They ripped themselves out of the chair lifts, out of confinement and captivity, and swarmed the workers in white. There were no weapons other than those they were able to fashion and find. Some froze in place like statues, but the vast masses spilled forth.

    Yuka covered her mouth in horror as the ground and floor opened up to swallow some as suddenly and shockingly as Mari falling into oblivion. But girls around soon desperately grabbed for their fallen comrades, linking together and holding one another up to rescue whoever they might lose. Soon, the floor stopped undulating and opening and whipped to a hardened consistency. After that, the walls fell away, yielding to the masses of girls. They had one chant on their tongues and minds.

    "SHIMAI! SHIMAI! SHIMAI!"

    In another section of the facility, Misaki watched with surprise and a twist of emotion. The wristband girls, the smallest captives, burst out of the nursery, swarming together as a liquid, launching mass, enveloping all that stood in their way, speaking the same battle cry along with the words, "For the nice lady!"

    War. They had gone to war with the false goddesses in their glass heaven.

 [99] Yuri Worlds 99 â€“ Burst

    Yuri Worlds

    [99] Burst

    Chaos didn''t take long to erupt in every camera view. Some sections of the futuristic-looking structure simply dissolved like ice under too much heat. Other areas crumpled and cracked like whale baleen. And quite a few were trashed and smashed, like simple sets that were ornately decorated and easily destroyed. Fire, with improvised incendiaries, licked the once-magical contours of the space like it was less than plastic stuffing.

    "Wow..." Chika spoke aloud, and everyone else echoed the same stunned sentiment. Even Yuka was without words, despite all she had just said to strike the necessary spark of rebellion.

    Kei looked to her wife, who wore a clear measure of pride about Shimai. They had each been scrutinizing the girl with hair that didn''t come close to resembling theirs. She didn''t have a wireless connection with either of them or anyone else, just because a little piece of what was once her was being used as a block for thought invasions.

    Their moods and presences reminded Misaki of an engine struggling to start up. She could recognize fragments of their usual affection for their daughter when she arrived home. It was like they had a sense of what was supposed to happen, but the triggers and connections had been severed, leaving them with nagging sensations, like almost recognizing a familiar book while not being able to place what it meant. She would do everything in her meager power to make sure they remembered her daughter. Exactly how she would accomplish that was the problem.

    Yuka checked on her moms, quietly basking in the radiance of their pride. The imagery on the screens occasionally shifted to other cameras. The escapees swarmed the workers, with some not getting up afterward. Occasionally, these confrontations turned into pitched battles, with both sides dropping girls. Yuka laid an arm across her head and grimaced when she noticed these scenes.

    Bianka tried to investigate the authenticity of the footage, but the effort was soon rendered moot as the conflict reached their level of the facility. Girls in torn, light, and scavenged clothes wielded all sorts of items from walls and cabinets to use against their captors. The spaces soon lost their absolute whiteness. Many of the girls hurried ahead to places unknown, chasing intangible exits.

    Plenty of conflicts occurred in Misaki''s world to show the less romantic side of a revolution against authority. This world wasn''t filled with bloodless coups, peaceful wars, and gentle protests. Yuka and the others had to come to the quiet consensus that some things were painfully messy. They did their best to guide the girls that rushed by toward safety and away from violence. Some actually flailed fearfully at the group, but Yuka only needed to pull out her obsidian blades and wiggle them around to scare them off.

    "We better get going. The battle has reached its peak. Some of them are going in the right direction, but I found escape routes. We can get everyone back to where they need to be. And the travelers can return to their world too, I think."

    Home, their home. Misaki wasn''t sure if she wanted to take that exit. She stood with Yuka and the others. One of the things they had mentioned in passing was the revelation that Melting was a lie, at least as far as Mari had confirmed it as a scarcity ploy. Chika and Namiko also fussed and floundered with a myriad of conflicting emotions about heading back to their world.

    Leaving the others and those they cared about didn''t feel like an option, but the prospects before were mired in the uncertainty of fighting through bureaucracy to get another ticket out. Now, that uncertainty was whether the battle would spill across the boundary, what would happen to their Earth, and whether the company would shut down the technology and escape the conflict zone. So many unknowns.

    "I found the mass. That missing mass and where they keep it. Marked as a reservoir. A life reservoir. Probably what they supplied Yasha with to keep her from dying. It''s distilled. Not the entire thing, but they have it kept down here, up here, or wherever here is. That part isn''t clear. But it belongs to the world of Misaki, Chika, and Nami. And partially to us as well. Like holding back the water, to see what dries out. At least as I understand it¡­ Which is not very well." Bianka cradled the interface and carefully peaked open a sliver of her eye before returning her attention to the device.

    Yuka nodded. "We have to send it back where it belongs. Reverse the damage they''ve done as much as possible. I don''t know how we can mend the foundational destruction, but returning what was taken should be a start. Bianka? Can you get everyone back to where we need to be in Akechi?"

    Bianka tilted her head like she saw an invisible typewriter playing out a message. "It''s difficult, but whatever blocks there were that confused my directions have been taken down. I can direct everyone back home. And I can get our guests back to their homes. Although I don''t know what will happen if we release the reservoir. There are a lot of big, red, angry warnings in the system telling me not to mess with it, and these I don''t think are bluffs or manipulation. This stuff is like pure, distilled human sunbeams. I don''t know what it''s going to do."

    Yuka acknowledged her friend but also reminded her that they were trying to do as much damage as possible to these bad guys. Bianka pointed out that breaking something like a nuclear reactor without knowing the consequences might do more harm to them instead. That gave Yuka pause. Misaki wondered if they should be careful when they reached the reservoir.

    They looked to the old woman, but she admitted that exact knowledge in this sphere was beyond her. Namiko and Chika looked pained with uncertainty about so many things, but they pointed out that if the company took this from their world, their memories, their lives, and what used to be their happiness, then they had to do something about it.

    The Sasaki moms seemed especially uncomfortable with the outpourings of violence but urged that Ceri''s heart was in the right place. They hoped that their daughter Haruka was safe, no matter what, and that whatever mind-warping she had undergone would soon be alleviated. Yuka encouraged this sentiment while restraining the flood of emotions beneath her careful expression.

    Naoko led the pack through the pale wilds with Bianka as her blind guide. Ayame shared a thoughtful, tender hug with Yuka and Misaki, a blessing hug that she knew their mothers and intended mother-in-laws truly wanted to give them but didn''t know they should. Whenever it looked like the angry girls they unleashed might hit them with friendly fire, intimidation from whatever Yuka could bring forth was enough to keep them at bay.

    Getting to the exit point was actually not terribly difficult; several doors were already open in that direction, and girls were spilling out practically from everywhere. They just went with the most passive crowd and followed them. The way out did indeed resemble the way they got in, with a simulation-like cut of white joined seamlessly with active cityscapes, foreign locales, forests spilling with girls, and rural climates like home. Bianka led them to one of the quieter pathways, with the shrine almost as they had left it but with tipped-over booths, scattered decorations, tumbled seats, and a morning sky.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Stepping through to the other side was as easy as leaving through an open door. A couple of the girls scouted ahead and confirmed that it wasn''t a trick and that they could see all the familiar landmarks. The only ones who lingered behind were Bianka, Kosame, Yuka, and the three travelers. Bianka was needed to guide them the rest of the way to the reservoir, and her big sister was needed to guide her. Doubt lingered like a rough sketch on a wall about whether breaching the reservoir would be the final nail for the company or do more harm than good. But not taking this final step could cost them a chance to set things right.

    Ayame shared one last, kind gesture for those who stayed behind. The Sasaki moms lingered as though every warning call in their intuitions was blaring and they just couldn''t hear them. For Kei, this left her especially uncertain. Fighting with themselves, Kei finally made the decision to grab her wife and circle back quickly.

    They grabbed the strange girl, Cerberus, and wrapped her in a hug that felt too emphatic and close for any hug they should give someone they just met. But she was this young, scared teenager who had struggled to get them out of here and bring them back home. She deserved it.

    Neither of them understood, but they shared in that hug all the same and included the girl''s close friend, Misaki, in that comfort. They showed relief to see that stressed young girl lose some of her tension with their support. Miss Okura bowed her head and offered simple, final words of encouragement.

    Naoko split her fingers in a familiar, fictional alien gesture, and Misaki wondered if she was going to pull out a common, quirky, or rare quote from the series and characters they each knew so well. Rather than that, Naoko simply stated, "Send them to Hell for all of us." Each side of the group expressed hope that they would be reunited again soon and hurried off.

    With just their small group, their pace was much quicker. Yuka took opportunities to scoop them up like she was a massive black bat that could hover along the ground. Kosame screamed at first but eventually got into it. The route felt more like veins lacing through deep, colorless bone marrow spreading through an invisible body, and they were rising to the brain to strike down the final fortress of control. On the last leg, Bianka announced a branching route they would have to take.

    The reservoir connected directly to the travel headquarters, also known as the waypoint from which the original four travelers arrived in this world. If all went well, and there were countless reasons to think it wouldn''t, then Bianka and Kosame could drop there and immediately take the passage to the big city, from which they were only a couple hours from home. The others could continue on to the other world or wherever else. Despite all the chaos, complications, and developments, Yuka expressed a delighted flair of joy that she would finally see another world, the world that the girl she loved came from, and hopefully restore it to its full splendor.

    Misaki felt nervously daunted at the encroaching reality that Carrie Francesca Fowler wasn''t just going to be a series of dream-like confused memories but her reality with whatever physical dimensions that entailed.

    For Chika, that same thought weighed heavily, along with her secret desires for mega boobs, which she could potentially be staring at in a few minutes. For Nami, she didn''t have clear enough recollections to delineate what Fiona meant to her more than the name that Misaki urged was important. But everything she thought she knew defined her as a man, a strong one who carried immense burdens alone and stood up for her friends. A man who could handle stupendous tits and not struggle a moment with that burden.

    The girl reality that loomed before her was possibly the scariest thing she could ever imagine. Chika was prepared but still defined herself as manly enough to be a beautiful woman. Neither knew who they would be once they were awash in the reservoir of truth.

    Pushing closer, they expected workers to align themselves like troopers in a space battle with weapons they hadn''t seen before, and waves of followers devoted to the goddess of the company. No loyalty to a queen here, just swarms of terrified ants.

    Some outliers amongst the masses spotted them and attempted to push them back, not so much for loyalty but more because they were entering a dangerous area and had intentions. Yuka pushed back even harder, turning her black swords into obsidian battering rams. None of them were a match for their advance.

    The so-called reservoir looked very much like a dam saturated in white crystal. Vertical tiers extended up in ways reminiscent of the space show''s many iterations of warp cores but stretched for far more levels. It didn''t take them long to climb stairs and scaffolds to reach what was clearly the pinnacle.

    A stretch on the other side contained a sloped shaft that led out of sight with branches and junctures, bending space and reality to lead to the waystation that kindled so many memories from just a week ago. How could it have been only a week? Misaki marveled at the memory. She was a different person than the one who arrived, despite changing physically in transit.

    That no longer Franklin, that barely Misaki, thought she was so confident with her new shape and a fresh world with boundless possibilities seeking a space in her imagination. She never imagined the people she would meet and the ways she would change them and herself forever. But then, forever wasn''t here yet, and change was still happening.

    Standing at the highest point in the goddess kingdom, Yuka looked out at the monument to the company''s supposed power. She didn''t know where she was supposed to strike first or whether the strength she had would be enough. Bianka delved through her access and shrugged before simply offering up, "Hit it."

    Taking a deep breath, Yuka drew back the strongest smashing shape she could build out of her limbs and slammed the translucent reservoir as hard as possible. A moment passed before a vibration echoed through the floor like a delayed earthquake.

    Chips and fragments of the structure above them began to tumble off. Cracks spread, radiating to the sides, before the shaking started to slow. Yuka brought her arms around for a second strike.

    The cycle started anew with a fresh wave of vibrations, this time more violent than the last, hard enough to shake them from where they were standing and force them down to their knees to keep from tumbling over the railing. On the lower levels, a few of the workers in white did fall, with crazed, terrified screams filling the air. Yuka had no time to focus on that unfortunate collateral damage before she started slamming the structure again and again, building up momentum and pushing the vibrations to accelerate and combine.

    Eventually, she stopped and took a breath. Everything shook but also dangled in a strange hum of peace. Just when it seemed like the structure would quiet down once again and resist their efforts to break it, the entire wall blasted open like a shattered glass watermelon, spilling a rainbow of light and life through the air, sparkling with raw, awesome power and ominous danger.

    The flood had begun.

 [100] Yuri Worlds 100 â€“ Flood

    Yuri Worlds

    [100] Flood

    Despite the clear gravity of the situation, they were afforded several seconds to prepare themselves for what was about to splash over them. Yuka didn''t have the ability to die, which Misaki hoped wasn''t a fib from the company. However, if anything seemed like it would be a danger to her, this monumental mass of stolen, distilled life force was a leading candidate.

    Fortunately, Bianka made a note of an emergency escape hatch hidden into the wall according to the main schematics and desperately screamed for them to hurry over there as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, like so many other critical doors, this one was invisible and especially intangible to find the seams and latch. The Nishikawa sisters practically tore their nails off, probing every inch of the door, as Yuka brought out the bat swoop of her arms to protectively cover everyone, with Misaki right behind her.

    The mass that tumbled out contained some measure of anti-gravity, which slowed its descent through the chamber. It bought them some time, but not a lot, as the first wave splashed near Yuka''s batwing shield and just barely slid over the side. Half-screams, swiftly snuffed out, soon followed. They resisted the urge to listen as the sisters finally managed to pry the emergency door open and pull everyone through.

    Yuka caught a thick glob on her arm and stifled her own scream as she retreated through the emergency door. They slammed it shut before the force of a greater wave crashed into it. The material buckled and hissed but didn''t yield as the blast flowed down.

    Misaki inspected her loved one''s limb and discovered that a sizable piece had been simply erased from the obsidian flesh, like a large chomp, instead of the ashen fleck that the security threshold had taken out of her during their escape effort. She couldn''t find any sign of what had been sheared off Yuka. Biting through the discomfort and exhaustion, Yuka gave a morbid smile and extended what she had of her body to fill in the void of what had been taken.

    She remarked softly, "Maybe I can die. Or something like it. I''m okay. It just hurts when I try to do anything at all. No biggie." Misaki hugged her tightly and helped Yuka to her feet.

    The girls made their way through the emergency access corridor and eventually stepped out onto a high platform overlooking one of the side junction paths. What they saw below was horrifying.

    The workers in white were scrambling to get out, stepping over one another, stumbling, and getting crushed like colorless lemmings scrambling to safety. But the swift, rainbow-sparkling wall crashed through the chamber and rushed on top of them. Their voices fell silent.

    When the rainbow wave was over, no bodies remained. There was only a sprawling mass of blended black outlines mashed together like inverted, unnatural police chalk traces¡ªfrozen memories of their last moments.

    It reminded Misaki of how the Sasaki moms had been shoved into storage. Although she doubted that any of the girls below might be recovered. Though there was no lingering smell, she envisioned astringent paint thinners like acetone, turpentine, and benzene splashing and melting once animated, living art. The real Melting. Namiko and Chika both looked away and held it together. Kosame raised her head to the ceiling and barely resisted the urge to vomit over the ledge.

    "Dear sister, you don''t know how blessed you are right now," Kosame softly whispered to Bianka, grinding her jaw to keep everything down. At least it was mostly festival food. Misaki had to question herself about why looking down didn''t instill her with vertigo or nausea. Too many things. She just hoped that the little wristband girls weren''t caught in this crazy flood.

    Bianka explained that because of the spillways and conduits, even a breach wouldn''t send the reservoir blasting through the entire system where escapees and innocents were trying to get out. Misaki had to wonder if there were innocents among the workers, brainwashed or forced by the situation to obey cruel goddesses.

    Where the reservoir went after the catch basins was the problem. The waystation would secure most of it, but then it would begin flooding what Bianka could track of the entire transit system and potentially shut it down. Getting this close to that section of the system allowed her to finally dig into the particulars. Too much of it was isolated and quarantined from wider access on her level.

    "We need to hurry," Bianka pressed the group. "The catch basin will hold for a time, but if we don''t do anything about it, then everything will be flooded, all the worlds connected to the transit system. I wasn''t sure what the next step would be, but the system hinted that it could just be shunted into an uninhabited world. Thank goodness for that, although that would be our last option because we would lose all that mass. So would the company. But at least no one would get hurt. The better option I see now is that there''s something called a rainmaker that can infuse and collect energy from a particular world. If we turn it on with the mass directed into it, I think we can make it rain in the other world. Restore it to how it was before the company stripped it. But we''ve gotta go now."

    Bianka pushed all those words out at a fantastic speed, only slowing briefly at the important parts while dashing along the escape corridor with her sister barely able to keep up and her eyes still shut. Misaki found it immensely frustrating that Bianka couldn''t see the whole picture of the system.

    So far, everything had been fortunate¡ªalmost too fortunate. As though some invisible hand was leading them along with breadcrumbs exactly where they wanted to go and apparently where they wanted to guide them. She just couldn''t imagine why the company might want them to break everything like they were doing. Considering her conspiracy-heightened brain, she suspected that Bianka was having similar thoughts and hopefully probing every path before them with skepticism. Assuming the pieces of herself she gave the others were still working.

    Not worth stressing about. When and if shit went south, they''d deal with it then. Till then, run and do what they can.

    Reentering the waystation area was surreal for Misaki as they entered from the side corridor through the emergency access tunnel. It made her think of sneaking onto an abandoned film or theater stage after hours. She saw where all sorts of people milled about and got ready to go to places unknown. Were all those people actually travelers or just extras? The chair she sat in when preparing her luggage, putting on that little innocuous wristband, checking her timer, and feeling ready for a unique adventure was still positioned exactly the same as she left it. Chika and Nami took breaths and also stole a glance at where they had been last in this place.

    Bianka and Kosame rushed off ahead and confirmed that the steps up that should take them to the city were not blocked, and there appeared to be a live connection through the archway portal there. Bianka could see that this wasn''t actually a waypoint in a side universe used for transit but rather just a location in the backstage of this world. More deception.

    Before the Nishikawa sisters parted ways with them, Bianka pressed that if anything untoward occurred, the path up the stairs would hopefully remain open for them. If not, they would have to backtrack and figure it out. Bianka passed the device to Misaki and carefully fluttered open her eyes. She immediately had to squint against the artificial but still sharp military-style lighting. She staggered and teared up, but her big sister supported her. She and Kosame made sure to give each of them a hug before they hustled up the stairs.

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    Just the four of them now. Yuka pushed on ahead quickly, inspecting side doorways but not finding anything of note or concern. They all helped her look. It wasn''t long before they backtracked to the area where they first arrived in this world. The gold and blue archway was there, but it was sealed shut. Misaki noted that gold and blue also showed up a lot in company things.

    Yuka cursed, even though she said it softly, and gave a look of embarrassment toward Nami and Chika. Fiddling with the side console just produced dull thuds like a heavy monster kicking the wall. Checking around revealed the problem. Everything here was locked down and marked as only accessible through an alphanumeric strand location that Misaki recognized as the designation Travel Anywhere gave to represent their home world. They had gone through and locked the door behind them, trapping them here. And the flood was coming.

    It wasn''t far off¡ªa sound like thunder but shifting and rustling with creaking, bulging weight swirling above their heads. The unshakable presence of a massive Jacuzzi on the floor above them. Kicking, hitting, and smashing the control console, especially with every weapon that Yuka could possibly summon, didn''t help.

    Digging around for anything nearby that could work also proved fruitless. This felt like the worst-case scenario. They had bashed open the dam, but instead of spreading the life-giving energy to where it needed to go, it would just flow back into Yuka''s world and likely cause untold chaos and destruction. Just what the company intended. Pain and suffering were the point, as Mari told them.

    Namiko got in a few more good cathartic hits along with Chika as Yuka found a wall to tiredly slide down with her hands cradling her head. Misaki crouched beside her, but Yuka couldn''t bring herself to look at her.

    "I fucked up. I shouldn''t be allowed to be so angry at Miss Okura for the choices she made. I wanted to hurt them. I really wanted to hurt them by taking back all that they had taken from us. Give it back to you and everyone else. Blast their world to pieces; show them. I never wanted any of this to happen, though. All the chaos, all the bad things that I can''t do anything about, all the death already carved out and rushing to arrive. I''m so sorry. I''m so sorry to everyone. There''s nothing¡­ I can do¡­"

    The melancholy in Yuka''s voice gently faded as she looked across the room at the arch intended to hold a wormhole, portal, or whatever the truth was about how one traveled from one universe to another. She carefully got up and approached the still, gray surface behind the arch. Yuka pressed a hand to it.

    Softly, she muttered, "What if it''s still there? Like an afterimage, like a scar..."

    Yuka explained her thought process to the others. "They want me to be able to split myself into pieces across universes. Since they used the opening not too long ago, there might be something left over. What if whatever talent they want me to develop might work? This has got to be the best opportunity. I have to succeed. I have to send myself to your world. But the particles and all that handed stuff. The food and everything. I''d have to be like you. Like how you are over there. It''s a lot. I know some meditation from Ayame, but I don''t know if that''s how it''s supposed to go. Maybe I can''t do it; maybe this is pointless, and I''ve killed us all."

    The others gathered around her. They looked around. Chika swallowed. "Do your best. I would''ve gone the same way. I did go the same way. What those bastards put me through and put all of us through deserves punishment. And recompense. I don''t want to die. But I am with the souls I want to be with in my last moments."

    Namiko nodded. "Yeah, maybe we could run if there''s no chance, but¡­ I will launch you all up the stairs with everything I have and buy as much time as I can. Fuck the company. Let''s do it. Together."

    Sitting in the proper position and doing everything Ayame taught her to do, Yuka controlled her breathing as much as possible as the horrible sounds above them swelled like an insect swarm hunting them down. The others attempted to breathe at the same time she did, so they didn''t introduce extra outside noises. They held perfectly still despite so much trembling in their colorful, anime limbs.

    Whatever Misaki could offer, she gave it as a mind, a focus, a love, and a heart, transmitting to the girl she wanted to marry, the girl she loved with everything, even though they had this silly, confusing starfish connection. That didn''t matter. Everything that the company tried to convince them of didn''t matter. All the dangers of their own making, ready to pounce, didn''t matter. All that mattered was this moment, this quiet, solo eternity in harmony with the soul she loved for no other reason than love itself. Love was her choice, not her destiny, not her completion, not the pressure of others, or anything else. Her choice, Yuka''s choice¡ªtheir love crafted by beautiful little moments.

    That first hug so secretly close to here, huddling in a cramped ladies'' restroom on a train, walking together, sheltering together in an old shack, laughing with beautiful laughter on the roof of the school with fireflies lighting their stage, naked in several sumptuous baths, and bearing their hearts in the comfort of bed. Riding on a train, walking in the mountains, fighting for each other''s lives, defending one another, caring for those who needed it, mourning those they lost, standing up to smiling evil, playing innocent, and fighting for justice.

    Together but separate. Together but separate together but saturate together but separate together with separate together but separate together but separate...

    That was it. Yuka''s eyes burst open, and she stretched a hand towards the wall. She didn''t say anything. Then she wobbled and gave a wretched cough that practically tossed her lungs on the floor.

    Urgently, they all asked if it worked. Yuka collected her breath and started to shake her head. She grimaced and sighed. She had to say, "I don''t know. It felt like I did something, but I''m not connected to whatever happened. I don''t know if there''s another me over there or if I just wasted our time. Sorry. But if I''m over there, I know I''m fighting hard to give us a chance. If that universe hasn''t killed me first. Maybe it...I don''t know. It might be fun to see what I look like where you come from."

    The torrential sounds above them accelerated to monstrous levels. Misaki faintly remembered the El Ni?o years when she was a kid. False memory, but it still came to her in this moment.

    They had mere moments to decide if they were going to retreat either to the emergency access hallway or the steps. Then that precious blue light flared across the portal, like the hottest fire released, with slivers of gold.

    "COME ON!" Yuka''s voice screamed from far away, even though Yuka hadn''t spoken. The four of them scrambled together, led, launched, and hurried with all the muscular and breastful power that Namiko had at her disposal.

 [101] Yuri Worlds 101 â€“ Landing

    Yuri Worlds

    [101] Landing

    Landing on the other side of the threshold was much more violent than last time for Misaki. It felt like being cast from a dryer in the middle of the heaviest spin cycle. Add in the fact that her depth and color perception were completely thrown off by the so-called "normal" layout of their world.

    She was home, back in her world, the "real" world. And every inch of it immediately felt fake. The blurriness returned from dreams and visions. Not as pervasive, but it was an annoying lack of clarity. And she was Franklin again. He was Franklin.

    Whether intentionally or not, although Franklin leaned towards intentionality, Dwight rolled with the group and protected them from the rough floor like a muscular catcher''s mitt. His cheek was dripping blood, though, and his shoulder looked quite bruised. The recessed pit leading down to the blue and gold archway had been a quaint and curious feature at their departure. Now, it felt like it chewed them up like jagged molars.

    "Is everyone all right?" Yuka''s voice called out from several meters away, even though Franklin could feel her right next to him. Sitting up, it wasn''t long before he glimpsed Yuka, and she glimpsed him. Franklin assumed he''d lost his anime attributes on this side of the portal. It made sense, but he didn''t think about the fact that so would Yuka.

    Franklin''s first feeling looking into her eyes was that she was just as strikingly beautiful as always. The artful shades of her hair had diminished to a low-luster tint straddling black and a deep metallic gray. Her lips were much more prominent, with ''real-world'' details of naturalistic pink rounding out subtle aspects of imperfection. Her eyes still seemed beautifully vast while tamed to such a slight shape.

    He was already so used to how anime noses projected, were shaded, and existed on colorful faces that looking at what should''ve been a normal one took a dive right into the uncanny valley. Fighting not to show any expression that might make Yuka feel bad about her appearance was his highest priority. Slightly below that, he was resisting the urge to glance down at her chest.

    Franklin''s peripheral sense of its presence was more pronounced in this world than in the other. Or maybe her yukata had been yanked snug by their tumble. He really shouldn''t have been focused on all that, considering he had a bigger pair mere moments ago and might be moments away from a monumental return when the flood arrived. But he couldn''t avoid it.

    In answer to the question lingering in the air, Guy and Dwight checked one another while Yuka checked Franklin. Her blushes were much subtler here, but she wore clear signs of sheepish curiosity. Quietly, she remarked, "So, that''s what it''s like? I have a lot to learn...."

    Clearing her throat after that, Yuka called out, an echo of her own voice: "No broken bones. Or other injuries. Do we need to start running again?"

    From a side chamber, a twin of Yuka poked out her head and crept over curiously. "Oh, wow. I was worried that maybe it projected or teleported me rather than making a duplicate. But there I am. We are. Whatever. I heard an alarm, but I was able to shut it down, and this guy in gray charged me. I had to hit him. I sort of hope he''s okay, but just a little bit. As far as running, I don''t know, but it seems like a good idea. Also, it seems to be nighttime here, which makes sense with the whole mass issue. According to what I can read on the computer, there is a disparity of thirteen and a half hours. I''m already missing Bianka and Nao."

    They rushed over to the other Yuka''s side and examined the control area. It was reminiscent of a lab tech''s station in an X-ray or MRI suite. The setup was mildly different than the demarcation point they left through a week ago.

    It still had the recessed pit that they encountered at full force, but otherwise, the walls were much closer on all sides, leading into a narrow hallway. A man in gray lay sprawled across the control room with an oozing, bloody head wound that both Yukas and Franklin felt affected by despite the distance. Dwight''s blood didn''t bother them, as he cleaned up the worst of it.

    The Yuka who was here first squeezed her arm around her stomach and looked intently at the floor despite her comment. The Yuka who came with them rested a hand on her double''s shoulder and shared a kind look.

    They both leaned back in shock when sections of her shoulder started to separate like dark, magnetized gravel and pull towards the other. Franklin recognized the effect as likely similar to what he felt when getting too close to Yuka. They stood safely apart for a few moments, and the double''s cohesion returned to normal.

    "You shouldn''t have stopped. I''m no longer necessary. They''ll try to use me. I should just go home..."

    Despite how tiny their eyes were now, Yuka''s eyes got so big in fearful concern. "You''re alive. You''re me but¡­ Oh my gosh, it''s so hard to think about. What if I were you? I can''t do that to myself. But you''re right. Why does everything have to be so complicated?"

    All throughout her words, Yuka''s other self eagerly nodded, as though she shared the same thought through a wireless brain. Franklin felt a familiar sentiment in watching the other Yuka pantomime a hug and a pat for her twin that could only be shown and not felt.

    Dwight checked ahead around the corner for anyone who might try to get a jump on them. He came back with the news that it appeared to be currently clear but that the lights were in low-brightness mode, so it was hard to see everything. Chika made sure that their rescuer received the kind of hug and shoulder pats that her counterpart couldn''t give, and which would still be slightly dangerous for Franklin with what was inside him.

    Assuming they got out of this, what would their relationship be like? There were plenty of ways to make anything work, he told himself. They had to be careful not to get too excited or intimate, or else Yuka would accidentally suck his soul from his body. No biggie. Love takes sacrifices. Franklin gently held each Yuka''s hands long enough to make them smile but not so long that he felt the cruel magnetism start.

    "Just so you know, I am not sharing, so you better inhale me or gobble me up or whatever is least painful before those bastards try to come after me. For now, I suppose double the fighters is good while we deal with this place." Both Yukas brought out their weaponry, in the form of especially long black blades with blunt, bashing reverse sides, when their hands were free.

    Still, no one showed up on either end of the dimly lit hallway. Unfortunately, something did. A whirring, strange ceiling turret descended with a shimmering blue light, like it was preparing to put on a rave. They pulled back just in time, as the faintest shine of a projected beam was bright enough to leave a painful afterimage. It was more like arc welding and left a smoldering, black mark on the wall and floor.

    Fortunately, both Yukas had an idea. They had already used their projections as mirrors. And it was a simple matter to heighten the reflectivity. They both made large examples and turned them against the turret. Both resisted the powerful lure to gaze upon their reflections.

    But instead of having to reflect the beam back on itself, the reflections, especially with the two of them, confused the thing as it jumped back and forth between their mirrors like it was rapidly sliding across a raincoat. All they had to do was get underneath it and project the tip of a sword to shut it down.

    However, it was booby-trapped. First, a surge of electricity shot through the air like a lightning strike, riding the rod of Yuka''s projected blade. That threw both of them off their feet and staggered everyone else quite a ways back. Before they could even begin to recover, a spurt of reddish liquid flew and splattered in all directions, as though the machine had actually been alive.

    It burned like acid, and no amount of screaming dulled the pain. Security blood. The Yukas got the worst of it, but Franklin received a thick splatter along his arm. It simultaneously spread the sensation of crazed fire ants swarming over and burrowing into his flesh, along with the sharpest burn, and a horrible paralysis. He wanted to beat every member of the company to death. They used this on poor innocent wristband girls, relentlessly. It was a miracle of kindness that the whole lot of them didn''t despise everything human.

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    Guy and Dwight showed some signs of discomfort, but nowhere near the blinding, overwhelming sensations swallowing the three of them up. Franklin considered, when the constituent components of thought were possible, that was probably something they threw in for travelers, or maybe it was because they were each temporarily hosts to what eventually found its home in him.

    Yuka couldn''t die, and, in this case, it seemed true enough even though the suffering the two of them fought through left them sweaty, barely willing to take a breath, and trembling to move even an inch. Removing them from the blood and slowly cleaning it off allowed their obsidian essences to revert back to a semi-liquid state. Collecting their wits took a few moments longer.

    Landing party Yuka mentioned, "We have to do something about the flood. From what Bianka said and what I was able to see when I arrived, there''s only so much storage space at that place in the backstage of¡­ My world. It needs to be fed into the rainmaker thing soon. All that is in the deep storage level. We''re not too far from it. But if they have a security system full of those, I don''t know what we''re going to do." She grunted through the pain and recovery, needing to pause every few words.

    Dwight didn''t flinch as he tore scraps of his clothes to scoop up and absorb the biggest pools of blood that were hurting his friends. Whatever pain he was feeling didn''t show on his bearded face. Their yukatas had all been translated to the "real" variant while preserving what had been torn out in recent hours for Maharu and so many other little tasks.

    Once the worst of the agony waned, the Yukas took a moment to scrutinize Dwight''s face as though it were flowing with a rich, fresh epiphany of clarity beyond the pain. Franklin''s features had received their first attention and curiosity. Guy''s earned a quick glance, but seeing an actual beard was so different from what they had discussed about what they were supposed to look like. Neither of them experimented with a Cerberus shape that might contain some approximation of it, but Franklin could tell that the two of them were itching to utilize the bevy of new knowledge when the moment and the world reached a less crazy state.

    For now, they had to get to the rainmaker. Guy and Dwight became the scouts, checking past where the low light reached. Franklin feared for them every time they slipped beyond his sight. But, after a round of nervous heart shudders, they safely reappeared to beckon them onward.

    Each sliver of progress down the hall raised the mounting tension that there had to be some other security system just beyond sight, possibly something luring them into the worst trap so far. The recovering Yukas walked safely apart from one another but gently close to Franklin. He wasn''t sure if the separate directions made it better or more like he was being vaguely cleaved in two.

    The weirdest part of the whole thing was walking around as Franklin, even though that should''ve been the life and the skin he knew the best. But the life was a lie, and the skin didn''t show the truth. Hopefully, if they could direct what had been stolen from them to the right place, maybe the truth would finally be known and seen. He would know and remember Carrie Francesca. And her little sister Silvia. And their friend Fiona.

    Would Yuka still love her though? Come on, she had to retort to herself. Wasn''t that just the same fear that Yuka felt about being a monster that couldn''t be loved? The same note that, in clich¨¦s, Franklin remembered from Gal Hotner streams of the meme question, "Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

    She would love Yuka... he would love Yuka, whether she or he or a big gooey tar monster. And she...he told her as much when they all had an opportunity to catch their breath. Both Yuka squeezed his hands so tightly to the point of painful crushing, as though it could share the same emotion as a full-body hug.

    They both acknowledged that, in the distant past of several days ago, the presence of Carrie Francesca terrified them as not being a representation of the genuine article. But she wasn''t truly herself then, in the closest approximation of the company taking her over. Both girls dwelled on the implications far more than Franklin ever intended, sinking into doubt, before he firmly and decisively planted kisses equally on each of their lips.

    That was the past. Live for now and look forward. Both girls fumbled in distinct ways despite sharing the same sentiment of hot nervousness and the subtle cues of human adulation.

    No further security measures popped up on the ceiling or any other space before them as they arrived at an access stairwell that led down.

    They tested that the door not only opened easily but could be opened again from each side. Still suspicious, Dwight returned to the original chamber to grab the keyboard by the computer that opened the portal to prop it open. He returned with a stern expression and the keyboard.

    "The guy wasn''t on the floor anymore."

    Simultaneous waves of relief and nervousness crossed one Yuka''s face. They all looked around cautiously, but there were still no signs of anything or anyone in their way. There was no other option; they had to descend and hope that they could make it to the pump.

    Halfway between the feeling of a hospital space and a cramped submarine, even less light filled the stairwell, but still enough for them to hustle down the stairs to the last landing. They barely breathed the whole way down but finally heaved a long sigh when that door opened up.

    The hallway that followed looked like every other one they''d seen since arriving, very much the secret military facility aesthetic rather than the cozy and anonymous AAA office sense the top side exuded. A room marked RAINMAKER beckoned them with open doors and glass windows.

    A silvery version of the tablet that Bianka used lay flat on a metal table, along with a full computer setup. They scanned each of the screens, and Yuka pointed swiftly to the information on one that mentioned the waypoint with another letter and number string that apparently represented her world. A red warning flashed noiselessly, explaining below that containment needed to be flushed because it was at ninety percent capacity.

    The instrument for that occupied the center of the room on what looked like a tall, rounded, silver upright vacuum chamber set on a small platform. It had several levers that bent and pushed in different directions, like stiff spider legs. Pictographic instructions on the side encouraged them to tilt each lever forward and shove it down and into the center body. They easily clicked into place. The top soon rose like a chunky silver handle on an umbrella.

    Checking again with the computer, it communicated that the flush was in progress. The capacity number swiftly started to fall. The reservoir was being transported locally through a portal, or at least that was how both Yukas understood it from the screens. They permitted themselves a moment of vanity, checking themselves out in the dark portions of the screen.

    It wasn''t long before a new alarm went off, this one with a sound. The flood was being sent here. Unfortunately, the rainmaker hadn''t been activated, and it would only fill this underground space.

    They fumbled frantically to figure out how to activate it. When the others turned to check on their escape route, they looked on in horror as every one of the doors swiftly slammed shut with structures similar to the one that Namiko was just barely able to hold up. These were too fast for Dwight to do anything about them. A figure crossed through the window with a smile and a bloody, white bandage on their forehead. One Yuka after the other brought out their blades and swung at the glass. It didn''t so much as chip.

    They were trapped and about to be flooded.

 [102] Yuri Worlds 102 â€“ Rainbow

    Yuri Worlds

    [102] Rainbow

    Each of them made a pounding effort at the locks and windows but just came away aching and frustrated. Franklin surmised that it sure seemed like they actually wanted them here. A trap from the beginning.

    Both Yukas attempted their anchored leverage push, which worked at breaching the confinement force field. This time, even with two of them, they couldn''t make it budge or force a crack. That made sense, as it was poured concrete.

    The different devices seemed like they should give them something, but the controls had been locked out, and no interface interactions made anything happen. None of them slumped to the floor in resignation, but they paused in place and barely dared to breathe.

    "There''s gotta be a way," Dwight resolved. He searched around the edges of the room. Guy looked high while Franklin scoured the floor and low places.

    "Here!" Guy stretched on his toes and hopped, gesturing to the highest point in the ceiling. It looked like an inverted drain in a sink with a split cap unfurled beneath it. After scrutinizing what was written on the edge, Guy determined that it was the outflow valve for the Rainmaker. Even though they couldn''t do much else with the devices, at least a pipe map clearly demonstrated that if they sealed it, then it would flow directly into the main feeder. All they had to do was close it.

    But it was so high up there, looming like the interior of the massive water tanks they built in the hills to save aquifer water during the arid parts of the year. Both Yukas stretched into the air as far as their gooey blackness could reach. They capped out at about twelve feet with any sort of grasping ability remaining before losing cohesion and needing to pull their constituent parts back. Dwight swiftly looked around and did some math.

    They didn''t have any objects they could pull to stack other than perhaps the keyboards, monitors, and tablet. And they were unlikely to support them. If they wanted to reach the top, they were going to have to be literally on top of one another.

    Dwight had no qualms about being the base of the stack, especially with his usual muscles back. Guy knew that he would have to be near the tip, but neither Yuka would allow him to be in danger at the top. That would be their job. To get a little bit more, they clung to and braced themselves with the device at the center of the room. Standing on top of it was too tenuous, but they inched their way up to get as much height as possible.

    Even with the five of them bordering on performing a circus act with every muscle burning and every ounce of dark entity essence stretched from Franklin''s puffy cloud push to double Yuka tendrils, they still fell just heartbreakingly short. Before the girls could call it quits and try to provide the best protection for the others when the deluge finally came, one Yuka stopped the other and reminded her, "Three. Ambitions of three. That''s what they said. Three-headed Cerberus. What do you think?"

    They wobbled, and Franklin gathered what was going on. One more. The two of them could bring on one more, and that would be enough height. Once again, a situation crafted to lead them in this direction. It didn''t feel good. But what other option was there?

    The room shook with the shifting weight of so much coming their way. It was worth a try, no matter what. The top Christmas tree ornament on an exhausted, human structure that felt like it was made of dried needles haphazardly stacked together, Yuka closed her eyes and tried to find the same place that had carried her to another world, the same emotion and connection. It began and ended with Misaki¡­ with Franklin¡­ with Carrie Francesca. They each had their own special names of the moment and aspirations of forever. Together but separate. That imagery brought the cacophony of their breaths into a focused cohesion, which then carefully split into one more breath.

    Wavering with the new weight, Yuka carefully clung to her second doppelg?nger. Franklin had seen a fluttering of the air above her before the third appeared, but nothing more distinct than that. It had been like Yuka just willed another her into existence.

    This one didn''t speak or bother with the surprise of being born. She had one job to do with unbreakable intention. They were so close, even with her regular fingers. She could hold the edge of the structure and almost push it together. But it just wasn''t enough. Not enough strength, not enough stretch. The Yuka at the top screamed as a thunder greater and heavier than anything they had ever heard or felt swelled through the edges of this tank, this prison, this place of death.

    Top Yuka stretched every black fiber of her being around the stopper, around the drain, willing it to be closed, straining for every last millimeter to join the damn thing together. Just when it seemed the splashing cascade was at the opening, an overwhelming sea breeze of disintegration looming to fall, she smashed her head into it and was greeted by a heavy mechanical thunk finally sliding into place. The weight of the deadly flood shuddered against the stopper but then was sucked up as though through a mystical straw, rising from the depths up to somewhere beyond.

    Physically and mentally exhausted, it took an oily mattress for all three girls to bring the three boys down safely. Checking the display, they felt relief to see that the display showed "Rainmaker filling for use". This quiet moment was unfortunately brief as a multitude of new alarms erupted that had nothing to do with the Rainmaker device. The entire building, the entire structure, was now on a manic, angry alert, and they had a hunch it had everything to do with them.

    Third Yuka barely had time to be introduced, let alone offer her thoughts on existence. She was indeed mute and couldn''t do much more than gesture and panic. Fortunately, the six of them combined for just enough strength with black taffy and Dwight muscles to finally rip the main door open.

    There were workers in gray at this level, but none seemed to care about them. Those who so much as looked at them the wrong way got to see the longest black blades each could produce.

    Even with the feeling like the entire world was going to fall away, climbing back up the stairwell required breaks before they finally made it to the parking garage level. The lights pulsed around them, and some even burst with crackles and sparks. The space was sparsely filled with vehicles, and it was easy to find Dwight''s car. However, the keys went with their bags when they parked last week.

    Not that that was going to stop Dwight. He squared up his elbow to crack the window. Fortunately, Franklin stopped him in time with a different idea. It was no trouble for the original Yuka to extend a narrow protrusion under the window and into the door to press the power unlock button without having to leave a scratch on anything.

    From there, she started to focus on willing her flesh to become a key for the ignition. But that wasn''t necessary, as Dwight had a spare tucked into a deep recess in his seat, affixed with a lot of tape. The flash of a sudden, modest fireball warmed the garage a little too much and provided plenty of light. They''d seen enough.

    Dwight cringed for the sake of his car but had no qualms about leaping several curbs to take a straight shot at the gate blocking the exit. It broke away easily, but not without leaving several shrieking, painful scratches in the hood and along the side window.

    For all the chaos they had witnessed so far, once they cleared the underground parking garage ramp, the world around them was hauntingly quiet, serene, and normal for this hour of night. They took a side street so they wouldn''t have to deal with the signal lights.

    All three Yuka sat scattered around the back with modest separation but closeness to Franklin. This wasn''t a time for words, but Franklin was able to read the quiet notes on their faces, even at the dim revelation of the world that their imaginations strained to calculate. Every flicker, shift of light, and shadow offered miraculous new sights. Franklin had to admit that the subtle qualities of this world preserved something special, even in this dehydrated state. They made it onto the old highway when a real rumble found them.

    If they didn''t pay attention to the particulars of the low noise, it might be easy to dismiss it as a simple, distant thunderstorm over the eastern desert. The attention of the Yukas was mostly focused on a bright, hat-shaped Pizza Hut building. But it was hard to ignore what flowered like a bomb in the night. A blast of pure, shadow-melting light seemed like a sustained shot of morning mixed with flares of color. For Franklin, it made him think of what he always expected the northern lights to be, but cycled faster, like one of those old searchlight advertisements put through a color wheel.

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    Finally, the wail of police, fire, and other emergency vehicles cut through the relative silence. Moments later, a beam of concentrated color with more laser-cutting intensity than the security turret shot into the sky and curled against it like hitting an invisible parabolic dish. The swarming radiance literally seemed to fall like a slow, seeding rain in waves that fluttered out from the center. Franklin was reminded of distant, hot summers made of phony memories of aiming a hose high into the air and waiting for it to splash him in the face.

    Where the geyser of rainbows and light landed, it was like a new world spread forth. The land received a dawning breathed full of noonday brightness. An awakening. Before it swelled out too much, Dwight made a quick turn to the left to take them south from the street they were on. Part of Franklin had to wonder why they were bothering to rush away. It was finally going to rain in the desert, and it would be a good thing to be under the storm. At least, he hoped so.

    The trio marveled at the great falling fountain of color. Occasionally, one of them would try aspects of their boyish efforts but never the full figure or the complete picture, absorbing the new knowledge surrounding them and the trio of inspirations nearby.

    Dwight pushed the car as fast as it would go parallel to the eruption before they started gaining distance from it again. Everyone made sure they were buckled in. The four of them were in the back, with Dwight driving and Guy presenting like he was the copilot. The car was at capacity.

    This route presented the advantage of very few slow traffic lights that enjoyed the sadism of holding streets empty of travelers to patiently wait on its schedule for the sake of authority. Not that it seemed like Dwight was going to give a shit about those so long as the route was clear to treat like a four-way stop. They buzzed past the government land, dotted by massive hangers where experimental aircraft were built. They never saw any UFOs, UAPs, or anything else made of unknown initialisms. He had to wonder what secrets this land would hold upon restoration.

    Slowing briefly to check behind them, they glimpsed a wave washing across the land, a wave that reminded Franklin of swaths of destruction from a radiating solar flare or an unstoppable tidal wave. It wasn''t destruction. At least, he desperately hoped that it wasn''t. But it was swiftly coming their way.

    In replays of the Disney Afternoon, Franklin recalled an epic storyline at the culmination of the DuckTales series, though in syndication nothing ever really ended. A golden goose was unleashed from some ancient temple along with a world-consuming power of pure gold. The brilliant shine of what was advancing toward them had a pervasive bluish-gold luster beyond the flowering of all other colors. And it was moving as swiftly as that cartoon memory, which surely meant it was keeping pace with the car.

    They weren''t more than a few miles from home, which seemed like a reasonable destination. They could push towards the big city or out east with Vegas ambitions, but why delay this rebirth? Any violent debris launched from Travel Anywhere''s headquarters in the chaos was far away. Dwight seemed to sense this as well and pulled back from a frantic, pregnant woman rushed to the hospital pace to a much more reasonable one.

    Pulling into their driveway felt like such a surreal conclusion. Three iterations of the girl Franklin loved marveled at the mundane aspects of the tree in front, engorged with a cornucopia of questions they had thus far withheld. They got out and ambled towards the sidewalk, where they were afforded a decent view of the faintest cusp of the wave advancing towards them.

    More emergency vehicles and cars gunning it along the cross street obscured whatever other sounds and the idle tweets of ambitious evening birds in the blooming trees above. Guy turned in nervous circles, swooping from the road back over to the safety of the driveway.

    Without their phones, it felt surreal not to receive emergency messages or frantic comments from everyone they knew. Gal Hotner was sure to be the current recipient of a swarm of concerned and confused social media posts. Dwight turned in his own orbit before pulling several folding chairs out of the closet for the six of them. Time to kick back and watch the quiet apocalypse. The chairs were surprisingly comfortable as soon as they slid in place with their legs locked.

    Franklin was exhausted in a way that went beyond the jetlagged confusion of losing over a dozen hours in so little time. Rubbing his eyes in every way imaginable did nothing to dispel the grit and tiredness that had taken root as bitter rocks. Guy swiftly slumped into a micro-nap before bouncing up with alarm and uncertainty. The girls had their own little moments of exhaustion.

    One Yuka delighted at all the possibilities spread out before them, along with wild hopes that the spillover of this infused energy would enrich and brighten the shores of her world. Another imagined living in this place, along with the transfiguration to come. It all felt so swift, so shockingly swift, that none of them had yet taken a moment to catch their breath after being shoved through the door, surviving a booby trap, surviving another trap, sprinting, driving, rushing, and anticipating.

    All she really wanted at this time, with all her heart, was for Franklin to touch her hair. Unfortunately, he only had two hands. Teasing without concern, Franklin wondered aloud if she was playing into the whole hell doggy sentiment. The Yukas put on a harmony of plaintive whimpers and bowed their heads. A little scritch and scratch with gentle strokes brought on blissful sighs. But also nagging realizations.

    Being close to Franklin didn''t stir the magnetic pull, nor did the relative closeness of Yuka''s sister selves. Examining the reaction, they noticed a faint flutter of light flanking their limbs like a guardian force of tiny fireflies. Separation and cohesion persisted between them. Thanking back, the girls realized that it had been like this since closing the valve in the high ceiling.

    Theories soon abounded. None of this felt incidental. Despite the freedom of their escape, the ivory prison walls still felt near. Perhaps the company wanted them here, wanted them like this, split and solidly separated from one another. They resolved that they needed to flow back together and restore themselves. But it felt more like pushing against a physical person than a fluid fragment. The three pressed and pushed as tightly as possible, but nothing would yield.

    With the transformation wave soon upon them, all sorts of scenarios rushed through their thoughts and voices. Franklin reached over and wrapped the entire group in an all-loving embrace. The girls settled together with truly relaxed breathing. They chuckled lightly and wobbled on unsteady feet. The consideration of trying to use their ropey tendrils or hungry blades to consume one another fluttered in the air before being rejected.

    A distant, silent scream almost surged out as the distinctions between the three of them flowed together, like a blurry image coming back into focus. In an instant, there were just the two of them, Franklin and Yuka, seeing only one another and holding each other with perfect, balanced support.

    As the others braced for the noonday rainbow rising towards their door, Franklin and Yuka wrapped around each other with comfort, fearless hope, gleeful peace, and wafting serenity as they pulled together in a roaring kiss to be a greater tower of light and love blasting across the landscape than what was slowly seeping upon them. They held each other close, the world together, still apart but bound like a single heartbeat, singing a simple but beautiful melody. A kiss for the ages.

    Moments later, the wave to wash away the former world arrived. And there was nothing but light.

 [103] Yuri Worlds 103 â€“ Rebirth

    Yuri Worlds

    [103] Rebirth

    "Wow..." Their eyes were still closed even as the effects of the wave continued onward to its next destination.

    They literally kissed themselves into a new reality. Franklin knew so much had changed within and throughout, and he wanted to see it¡­ Well, she, from the various sensations swiftly asserting themselves around her body. Yuri Worlds. Both of their worlds. Although that was the term the company used, and it felt bitter in her mind. Worlds that shared more than they realized.

    She could sense when Yuka finally reached the boldness to flutter open her eyes. They met one another with first sight. Yuka looked very similar to how she usually did or was supposed to look. All the animation signatures and special flutters of life settled back into her face.

    But there was more; her eyes still didn''t have the unnatural span of her home world.

    They were still awe-inspiringly grand, with a warm richness like milk swirling in rich cocoa. Her nose retained the peculiar depth of this reality while swarming with a deeper color palette, less pastel and more like precise oil art shades. Still anime, clearly, but the kind that shifted from an expert, gorgeous weekly presentation to a rare, detailed filmic experience. And the rest of the world around them abided the same traits.

    Night had slipped back its subduing cover upon the traits of the world. The buzzing street lamps swamped the dull tones with brisk exaggerations. But there was a luminescence that pervaded the landscape like glow-in-the-dark paint with the traces and accents of their true colors. Franklin still resisted checking on herself even as her new, restored forever name tickled at the edges of her consciousness.

    Guy stood beside her folding chair, gripping the back of it, practically frozen, and looking down at herself. She got hit hard. Her poor little sister and the support she likely now needed.

    Instead of purple-tinted hair, her locks had returned to a similar brown shade. It was slightly darker, even when accounting for the current light, and lacked the distinct curls that clustered around her once femboyish shoulders. She had been granted an outfit of light and bright pink with a simple sleeved top and a pleated, flowing skirt. Her yukata was nowhere to be found. It was hard to say if she was as big or bigger than Namiko had been, but she was close. She was up there with the personal watermelons they would buy that came in a two-pack, and Guy would slyly hold them up against his chest. Now, her arms provided a brace of support, and her melons couldn''t be put away.

    Her expression contained surprise and uncertainty, not alarm, fear, or regret. They hadn''t been transformed; they had been restored, the light, dull lines and tones of their lives splashed with a deeper palette, filling in all the empty spaces and bringing back what should''ve been there all along.

    Dwight stood by her car and inspected her arms. She looked classically pretty to Franklin''s eyes, reminiscent of a last-century siren lounge singer with her dark swoop of long silken hair favoring the left side of her head. She hadn''t been cut short or small when it came to the feature she favored most in the other world, but there was definitely a downgrade toward a more reasonable scope.

    She had a clear and flowing shape, situated comfortably beneath the dipping neckline of her blue top, which continued with her snug jeans wrapped around her broad hips. Dwight wore a look of wariness, but also without signs of fear. Her full lips and vast blue eyes bore small traces of the bearded man she had been. And she certainly didn''t look slight with the full, rigid, ropey cut to her polished, slim, but clearly still powerful arms. Her friend and little sister regarded her with heightened curiosity, clearly hunting for some sign in Franklin''s fresh features of how they looked to her.

    Looking down revealed plenty about her fate. A black T-shirt with short, slim sleeves slipped over her upper half. Considering the partial host within, it felt oddly appropriate. Her jeans were of a similar cut to Dwight''s; there just seemed to be less of her to contain. She was small¡ªso freaking small¡ªexcept for where she shared characteristics with her little sister in not-so-little ways. Mercifully, she hadn''t been gifted in her true life with the same or anything close to Namiko''s boulders or Silvia''s bursting bevy, but she well earned her place as a runner-up. This was her? This would be her for the rest of her life?

    She didn''t anticipate uncertainty or dysphoria about the recrafted contours of her body. More, it felt like slipping off a weird costume after an interminable amount of time. This was just her; as unfamiliar as it may have felt due to deprivation, this was her body. She was Carrie Francesca, although Franklin and Misaki both earned fond feelings as names. Saying a simple goodbye to them wasn''t possible. They were each and all a part of her as much as any heart beneath her skin she was born with or that had been put there by nefarious hands.

    Yuka traced her fingers over her carefully and asked if she was all right. The rubber band whipping of shapes, perceptions, and being over the last hour or so wasn''t the most pleasant trip of self, but where they landed was preferable to further traversal.

    Walking in the altered landscape of reality presented more adjustments, similar to wearing a fresh prescription of glasses that heightened but also cast an unreal sharpening of reality. Nothing quite felt like the proportion, color, or structure that it was supposed to be, while clearly now closer to what it always should''ve been.

    Once again, they needed Yuka''s stretchy efforts to slip a flat, dark limb under the door and turn the deadbolt to let them inside. Seeing their familiar home space rendered in meticulous, artistic oil paint and pen deserved several solid seconds of inspection and contemplation before they treated it like home.

    It was still very much their house¡ªnot a Japanese animated translation of that house but rather a special anime art realization of that space. Yuka''s attention settled on nagging areas of clutter and disorganization shoved to the side despite the best efforts of the trio to handle them most days. Franklin adjusted a few things, even though Yuka assured her that it was no big deal.

    She focused instead on the fact that the house felt much more spacious compared to hers, even though they shared similar shapes. The front room and part studio for Gal Hotner recordings still existed, even though they could already see the branding had shifted to Silvia Says.

    Franklin found the funniest addition, a little circular cartoon on the wall with librarian glasses and a figure played up to Jessica Rabbit levels. A cartoon with cartoonish proportions in a cartoon-infused world. She did her best not to tease her little sister too much about the design. Franklin had a hunch that she got teased plenty for it. Silvia blushed at first but also gleefully owned the design, posing the same way before it, planting a pair of prop glasses from the shelf on her face, and striking the same bust-pushing pose.

    "Twins!" Franklin gleefully declared. It was good to have a quiet moment to breathe. Yuka did her best to join in, but Franklin could tell her mind was an intangible, razor-thin distance away in her home reality, wondering how the rebellion, the recovery, the aftermath, everyone else she cared about, and so many uncertainties had played out since their escape. They both knew she could see exactly what was going on, but considering that was exactly what the company desired, she couldn''t risk it.

    To take her mind off that, Yuka urged the girl she loved into the nearest bathroom to check out how she looked now. Two of the bathrooms had mirrors propped up against the wall, but the nearest was the biggest.

    Franklin stumbled way more than she intended, especially considering she didn''t have a problem with her limbs or weight distribution. There was definitely more weight in certain places than others. But her pants were a secure fit, and her shoes, which she''d forgotten to remove, didn''t hurt, despite being incredibly similar to the ones she sometimes wore with the heel crunched down enough to jab her.

    Seeing Carrie''s reflection sent a powerful, electric tingle through her. This was her. Her and Franklin''s hair were strikingly similar; Carrie''s was maybe a little bit darker. And she was so tiny. Well, not absurdly tiny, but so tiny against her expectations. This didn''t feel wrong. Franklin had large, strikingly broad, manly hands that he used one last time to support the girls in the tank room. Now they were so small. Not elegant, not flush with feminine splendor, although also not boyishly weird against the rest of her body.

    Her face and features left the clearest impression. Franklin projected a sense of perpetual glumness from his bulky shape to his worry-knotted neck, unnaturally worn William H. Macy aspects, and desperately unflattering nose. Carrie could be that man''s daughter. Everything was gently smoothed out, although untraditionally shaped. Her chin jutted sharper than she wanted, and her limbs practically had a monkey''s span ready to climb tree branches. And she retained that soft sadness, her eyes highlighted and traced with serious emphasis. She thought she looked downright gothic and grumbled as much to Yuka.

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    "Well, then we''ve gotta give you a makeover and see what look makes you happiest. I think you''re so beautiful. You were beautiful the moment I welcomed you to my world, beautiful with every touch we''ve shared, and seeing the beautiful boy you could be. I''m sad I didn''t get to see more. Still, I love every single moment since your wonderful kiss. I''m not gonna play favorites, but I think you''re super snuggly right now too." She demonstrated this by wrapping her arms around Carrie''s girlish waist and teasing her for being so much more beautiful than she could ever imagine of herself.

    Carrie swiftly shot back by pointing out how amazing Yuka''s boobs were in the reality of this world. She was so embarrassed to look at their splendor and yet couldn''t turn away as a man or now as a girl who had "several features of note". They didn''t compare to Yuka''s beauty. Swarms of softly spinning compliments, matched by loving teases and playful prodding, danced through the air like sugarplum fairies of emotion.

    Yuka made absolutely certain that the bathroom was tidy and organized with all the altered accoutrements of Carrie''s life. The other bathroom was clearly intended for Silvia and Fiona. Grabbing the best brush available, Yuka made her weak in the knees with a luxurious, perfect caress of her hair. It wasn''t long before they were all over each other with nervous, delighted, and fervent touches.

    The bedroom, to the left, of course, was just as thrown together. Yuka swiftly did her duty by making it look even better than her own. Carrie still had a job on the computer in the corner. It wasn''t customer service anymore but rather technical book editing, with several projects marked with stages of progress along with reports from assistant editors she managed and creative efforts on the side. She could figure all that out later; she was still only halfway through her vacation, after all.

    Anxious, string-like reminders of what may be going on and ongoing beyond this quiet house tugged at them both to rush back to the north and sift through whatever wreckage there may be of Travel Anywhere. The mournful wail of a passing emergency vehicle didn''t portend anything but that some things remained the same despite all the changes.

    They had so much to do, so much to take care of, and so much to fret about. But just sitting together on the bed, with no emergency or danger looming above them, drew their eyes shut and their bodies carefully close to finish and extend their earlier awkward nap, with the restful blanket of darkness replacing the scalding authority of light. If the others checked on them, a mention or a presence escaped their tired, drifting thoughts.

    Sometime later, twinkles of light washed through the curtains like refracted water. It took several uncertain moments for Carrie to be the first to rise from the bedsheets. She puzzled over the world presented to her. This wasn''t the resort because the bed was too high. And that wasn''t the ceiling of the Sasaki house. Innately, she could also tell that it wasn''t and couldn''t be home because of the fluid and flowing bright visuals of anime pen marks. But it had to be her room because everything fit. A soft, girlish groan issued from beside her, and a slender, careful arm probed for hers.

    Sleepy Yuka, with disheveled locks and little squints, happily found her. They bumped heads with a giggle and leaned warmly into each other, even though they both felt like roaring fireballs of trapped heat from the sun beading through and the covers too close. Cleaning off the fan and letting it go at a good clip solved that. But now that they were loosely conscious with aspects of awareness, both of them wanted to see the transfigured world in broad daylight or whatever counted as day at this time.

    Yuka pouted with disappointment about the shower layout. Sitting and showering was preferable, but she accepted standing so long as they could do it together.

    Before that, they found that the others were up. Silvia was flipping through her own, altered streaming schedule and making judicious cuts and changes for her return next week. The news hinted at mass visual hallucinations due to a chemical plant discharge, advising everyone to stay indoors, not that that would matter.

    The amount of normalcy instead of chaos was surprising. Silvia already had theories about all this stuff having the same perception-shifting effects as what the company served up in light and dark varieties. Breakfast would be ready soon, and Yuka raised her eyebrows at the ingredients involved in an "American" breakfast, but she promised to at least try it once.

    Opening up the front door was like Christmas morning and a day home from school due to snow. The world outside felt breathtakingly special. From tracing their feet along the pavement to seeing the glinting reflections of the leaves as light spring breezes danced the light into a thousand precious sparking shapes.

    Yuka had plenty to say about the makeshift structure of the lawn and the close but inhospitable layout of the houses. She was flummoxed that saying hello to your neighbors was a bizarre activity. Her friendliness was easily explainable as a side effect of whatever occurred last night to make everything look all trippy, according to the older lady with puffy gray hair at the end of the block. She had traces of smoothing like Miss Okura but still subtly wore her age.

    The colorful, glittering cars streaming on the road with Monday morning routines to get to also earned a raised eyebrow from Yuka. The graffiti was mostly gone, with complicated street art filling its place. The land was greener and held a rustling, vibrant bloom of spring energy suffused with a blinding radiance that merely licked the surface of this world. Perhaps in time, the full flower would bloom when it swelled into the earth and soul of all things. Their walk was full of quiet, whispering uncertainties but also brimming with idealistic possibilities.

    They arrived back with far too much sweat clinging to their clothes and opted for a quick shower before breakfast. Silvia and Fiona expressively wiggled their eyebrows, and Carrie offered a comfortable change of clothes for Yuka afterward. One fortunate find was a set of spare keys.

    Though the showering conditions were less than ideal, the two of them made the most of it, sliding, slipping, and shifting their limbs as though engaged in a careful dance that only they would ever see. At a lull in the hot water, where the warmth of puffing steam whitely shading the air diminished and laughing sniffles drifted away, they looked into each other''s eyes and found a perfect harmony of quiet, singing trust.

    Carrie expected to feel the boundaries between them melt as she spun in the lure and thrall of magnetic love. But that wasn''t what happened. Instead of part of her seeking to be with Yuka, a small but precious shard of the rich, chocolatey, electric, watery, indescribable, shy, rejuvenating core of her partner''s essence traveled to her. Shared and given forever. All she had to do was accept.

    Gladly. Without a second thought. Without a doubt and with all hope. It was so warm when it touched her soul and burrowed to join with the rest of its sister. That was a strange and surreal feeling; they didn''t talk about it, but they danced in the twists of love until they finished up and dried. After dressing, Yuka took a few inhales through her nostrils at the smokey completion of breakfast. Despite her skeptical expression, she seemed quite delighted, humble, and happy to partake.

    The eggs were the fastest and easiest to enjoy. The other items took a little longer with their presentation, but she at least sampled everything from the potatoes to the ham and French toast. When the plates started to clear afterwards and questions of what happened now began to form on their tongues, the front doorbell gave a pair of casual rings with the screen door swinging open.

    Fiona put her cooking apron away and hurried to check what it was. Silence followed from the hallway. The same happened when Silvia opted to go check on her. Yuka and Carrie glanced at one another in confusion and leaned to try to see what was happening at the front of the house. Carrie''s first, fearful inkling was that the freezing power the company wielded against those they cared about had returned. Despite everything, she knew that Silvia and Fiona had retained the little smudgy, dark buttons she had given them as protection.

    Eventually, they could hear Fiona release a long breath and solemnly say, "I''m sorry. You both should probably come to the door. It''s¡­ It''s important."

    Swiftly getting up from their chairs, Fiona had the door cracked open wide enough to see outside, with Silvia looking like she wanted to punch as hard as she could through the opening and destroy whatever was on the other side.

    Right in front of the doorway stood a calmly smiling Maharu, her arms casually folded behind her and her ears hidden beneath a black hat.

    "There you are. You two had quite an evening at the company''s expense. I hope you''re both well and rested because we have a lot to discuss this morning. And I have a deal to offer...."

 [104] Yuri Worlds 104 â€“ Offer

    Yuri Worlds

    [104] Offer

    Yuka immediately summoned a long, piercing black blade that reached around Silvia and shot straight for the blue-haired girl. She didn''t waver or attempt to move out of its path. Right before contact, a glowing blue and yellow charged field surrounded the tip and pushed it back in a manner reminiscent of magnetic braking.

    Through yelping pain, Yuka continued to push harder until Carrie reached for her shoulder and squeezed it gently. Finally, Yuka relented and drew back her attack.

    Maharu adjusted the same priestly robe as she wore in their last encounter. Her body, coloration, and overall animation leaned more towards the other world than this one, but not so hard that she tilted towards the uncanny. Still, there was something clearly off about her compared to everything else around her. After a moment, she remarked, "I would prefer it if you didn''t do that again. I don''t have any other spares of her available at the moment."

    Silvia smashed a fist into the wall, and Fiona clutched the door to the point where it was quivering. Yuka answered, "No more hiding behind innocents. Bring your real face to talk."

    Maharu snorted at first before breaking out another wave of practically crazed giggles. "My real face. Of course, you would like that. How long would I last? You would rather kill me than talk. Such a shame. Such a sad sad thing. May I come in?"

    Silvia huffed. "Are you like some vampire or undead that needs permission to enter?"

    She tipped her head and shrugged before stepping her foot on the tile hallway before withdrawing it. "Of course not. See? Just common courtesy on my part. Well? May I enter?"

    "What if we say no?" Fiona pressed.

    Maharu turned up her hands. "Your prerogative. It''s your property, not mine. I still have business to discuss, so then I would have to ask that you all step outside and if I may use the front porch bench for the next few minutes. It''s already a lovely spring day, and it would be quite a nice location to discuss important matters."

    Silvia couldn''t hold back. "You killed. Your...friend brutally murdered the face you wear. You locked us away like property. You took over our minds. And worse. So much worse. You sucked the life out of our world. Why shouldn''t we torture you until you bleed and scream? Why shouldn''t we kill you?"

    The company girl took a quick breath. "I must apologize that your vacation didn''t quite go the way you expected or intended, and uncomfortable realities were revealed. But I killed no one. I must confess to a small temper and apologize for our last communication concluding with hostility. I accept full responsibility. As for why no harm should be done to me? You can''t do any harm to me. My pain receptors in this host body just don''t work. Allow me to demonstrate."

    She immediately grabbed her right arm and wrested it out of its shoulder joint with an audible pop. The dislocated shoulder dangled disturbingly without even a flinch of discomfort on the girl''s face. Twisting around, she swiftly popped it back into place.

    "So, it is a waste of time to try to hurt me. I''m just here to talk and offer an amicable deal that will preserve everything all of you and all of us want. And we can discuss it wherever you prefer."

    Fiona twisted her cheeks around as though trying to grind down one last morsel of breakfast in her mouth. Despite the freshness of the air and the feeling around like after a recent rain still clinging to and nourishing the earth, a nagging dustiness, carried by a harsh wind probed her nostrils. Silvia squeezed her hands together until they hurt with every trembling muscle. They looked to Carrie and Yuka to decide. Carrie relished the idea of pretending to welcome the false goddess inside and then slamming the door in their face a few times, even if it was pointless.

    They agreed to talk inside and walked over to the living area. Maharu naturally chose the biggest, tallest couch. Everyone else sat together on one of the long couches, with Yuka the closest to this opponent and Carrie right behind her, Fiona in front of Silvia, and Silvia pouting at, as she quietly commented, being treated like a fragile princess. Maharu waited until she had perfect silence to lay out her proposal.

    "All we want is Cerberus. Yuka. Whatever she desires to call herself, we''re inclusive and understanding when it comes to the recognition of names and gender identities. We want you to agree willingly to come to our labs and allow us to test and examine your threefold, amazing quantum immortality so that we can enrich the lives of our loved ones and the lives of our constituents."

    Yuka firmly shook her head and responded, "Don''t lie to me. You don''t have any loved ones. You can''t love, and no one loves you. You want immortality, but that precious, alluring fruit will turn to ashes in your mouth."

    Maharu shifted slightly, as though bracing herself against discomfort, even though she claimed no pain could be transmitted to this body. "You make too many assumptions. But that''s fine. You''re young. Lessons and wisdom will come to you in time. If you agree to let us research and harvest your developing powers...harvest doesn''t mean sucking your brain out or dissecting you. You will easily survive our examinations with a minimum of discomfort. But, if you agree, this world will suffer no consequence, and we will make no attempt to recover what was released last night. The events in the world you consider your home, such as the violent insurrection that took the lives of many of our friends and coworkers, will be forgotten and forgiven. Any consequences for the actions of those you care about in that world will also be wiped clean."

    Yuka turned and gestured to the others. "And everyone here? Will they be left alone?"

    The young girl''s eyes flicked across each of them before she responded, "I will leave them alone. Everyone here, their pets, their grandmothers, and so forth, will not be harmed by my hand." She raised her hand to show.

    Carrie narrowed her eyes and thought that still left plenty of wiggle room for sneaking out of a verbal contract. She pressed her point, emphasizing the need to check on whether they held up their end of the deal. The other world needed to be guaranteed safety, so that the girls there were not controlled, not to be used like products, their minds erased, and their bodies wielded for communication. Carrie spilled out every sickening detail and pushed it in the company''s face.

    The entity inhabiting Maharu''s body fussed and shifted, as though a pin had been placed on the seat and they were wiggling to get off of it. "...Of course... there are so many worlds out there. We can be gracious and permit¡­ We''ll let all those in the system, from those wristband...girls who were so frustrating to recontain to everyone that you just tossed back out into the world without explanation, be permitted amnesty. It''s anarchy at the moment to see countless people just popping back into existence after being missing for several days. We could''ve taken care of it much more quietly. But they shall be free to choose whatever untamed society they prefer. I promise you that."

    That sounded good to Carrie, but she was still careful. "You will protect me and everyone else here when traveling, so we''re safe out there and can return home safely."

    A raspy breath that sounded older than her face and body rattled past Maharu''s lips.

    "I promise you safe passage through our transit gates, as much as I can promise any technology will work. But the trip will be as safe as your last journey and comparable to any trip you take on transportation in your world. In our care and custody, I swear that you and anyone else who wishes to travel from this house. Or from the places that you have made...friends and family... will have everything, especially memories, kept as safe as I or anyone else with the company would want to be kept in the same circumstances. I promise."

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    All that went on for quite a bit, and Carrie again wondered if there were any loopholes or distinctions that she missed. It sounded fine, but she knew to be very careful with this most human of monsters.

    "What about my mothers and their memories of me? Can you restore them?" Yuka chimed in.

    "No. Their memory loss was an unfortunate consequence of their temporary storage process. It''s like data loss on any device. Perhaps they might remember with enough prompting and connection to other parts of their brain, but there''s nothing I or anyone else with the company can do to restore those lost memories."

    The others wanted to call that out as bullshit and protest, but Yuka bowed her head and slowly sighed. "Fine. I wouldn''t want any of you to do anything to force them to remember anyway. You''d just cause more pain and suffering. Just leave them alone and let them remember the truth. What about Carrie and whatever she has inside that blocks you out?"

    The company girl leaned back in the chair with her feet carefully planted on the carpet and her attention focused solely on Yuka. "I know you would know I was lying if I said I had no interest in what she was able to do. I really want to know what happened. That''s why we paired the two of you up. To learn what happens. My apologies if that touches a nerve, but that''s all it means to us. An experiment I would like to get results on. I know it means love and a heartfelt connection for the two of you. That''s nice. But I don''t care. Our key goal is quantum immortality through Cerberus. If we have to wait for results from Miss Fowler some decades from now, with her natural passing, then so be it. As I said, you have patience."

    Fiona briefly squeezed her hands into fists before pointing at their guest with a clenched jaw and telling them, "Even though I know you won''t feel it¡­ I really wanna punch you right now." Silvia echoed that sentiment and cracked a couple fingers on her hand. Maharu narrowed her eyes and leaned forward.

    "If it would make you feel better, you may punch me. I can also behave as though it actually hurt, even though it won''t." The company girl presented her bare cheek with a hint of a smile. Carrie cradled the same sentiment close to her heart. And clearly, Yuka fostered a similar rage within but wasn''t going to allow the company the satisfaction of wielding it. None of their group seriously thought that Fiona would lash out, but she held her hands up for quite a while before bringing them to rest.

    Silence and uncertainty wafted through the room when the words stopped. The silence was finally broken by Yuka taking a breath and announcing, "I''ll do it. I will do it. I''ll turn myself in. But I have demands that are not negotiable."

    The blue-haired girl moistened her lips and inquired, "And those are?"

    Yuka raised both hands with a forest of fingers to count off her points. She reiterated everything that had been brought up with regard to protections, and she especially emphasized concerning Carrie, "You will not touch her or any of my friends. Furthermore, everyone gets free, guaranteed safe travel anywhere in your transit network for life. No exceptions and no complaints. You''re going to take care of them. My mothers will not ever have a problem or ever have anything to worry about. And you''re going to help them refurbish the old hotel. Naoko will get a free ride to any science university she wishes. And you will provide complete archives of any lost media or programs that don''t exist in our world, which she is curious about. Kosame can freely get into whatever law university she wants. She can also travel and visit any romantic location she names. And for Bianka, whatever technical university. And she has complete access to any and all government records from our world that she requests. You may be seeing a pattern."

    Maharu rubbed her eyebrow and, with dripping annoyance, responded, "I see it. What else?" Yuka laid out that there would be a special fund set up in Maharu''s name for victims of violence and protections for animal hybrid girls in her world. Miss Okura would also be taken care of. Even her older sister would be treated respectfully. They would provide whatever expenses and assistance the local shrine required, along with a special memorial for where Maharu was taken from them. There would also be a memorial for Mari and abundant compensation for her family and anyone else related to her.

    At this point, the blue-haired girl chimed in that the company already intended to provide in that way in the aftermath of her unfortunate loss. Yuka retorted, "Good. Then whatever you were going to do, double it."

    Maharu sighed and cleared her throat as she asked if that was all. Yuka had one more big thing.

    "You''ll give us a week. You owe us a week. All of us. Their vacation was cut short by your bullshit. They deserve at least a week back in my world or anywhere else they want to go, with every luxury and accommodation. And I want a week with the girl I intend to marry. And that''s it."

    Here, the girl on the couch gritted her teeth and tensed up. "I expected you would come with us promptly. A week is a big ask. Yes, their vacation was to be two weeks¡­ But no matter what someone is promised, we aren''t guaranteed anything. That''s just how it is..." Carrie noticed that the tone of that last sentiment carried a different weight than everything else they had said to them. She wondered about that but had no intention to pry.

    Yuka held firm. "Promised or guaranteed doesn''t matter; these are my requirements; these are my demands. Accept them or..."

    She jumped in and said, "I accept. The company accepts your proposal. In addition, we will provide pleasant accommodations for you during the required time that we must study and attempt to harvest your abilities. We''ll even provide you with direct communication with your friends and family near and far, but you will be considered in the employ of the company until we learn what we need to learn. This will all be in writing, and you can sign it after you read through it and verify, of course. Is it a deal?"

    Carrie wanted to shout out that this felt like the worst kind of deal with the devil, and there had to be some hidden loophole or problem that would bite them all in the ass. But she couldn''t find it at the moment.

    Stretching up from the chair, Yuka puffed out a long breath, looked down at her hand, and then back at Carrie. She had just one thought about what to say.

    "You''ll be alone."

    Maharu chirped up about keeping things social, scientists making sure of her psychological welfare, keeping communication channels open, and so much more. Yuka didn''t dwell on any of that; she kept her focus on Carrie.

    "You''ll be with me. In my heart and my thoughts always. Forever, no matter what. A thousand years. I''ll never be alone. I can do this. Let them have their silly eternity. We''ll have more. I agree. I''ll sign whatever."

    They walked towards one another with Yuka''s hand extended and Maharu''s reaching out casually. They shook on it, with the company girl bowing her head and smiling.

    "Pleasure doing business with you. And now I must be off. Do enjoy your week. I''ll be back at this time Monday morning to collect."

    Like a whisper of luminous smoke caught in a sudden breeze, Maharu disappeared.

 [105] Yuri Worlds 105 â€“ Week

    Yuri Worlds

    [105] Week

    "Why did you do that?" Fiona held her hands around her head with her hair brushed back.

    Yuka stretched her expression a few ways before finally settling on a slight frown. "I know. We went to war with them. We messed up their place, I cussed them out, and I swore I would get revenge. Revenge is not off the table. But a lot of people got hurt; people who fought for us died. I saw on the monitors when they fell, and I don''t even want to think about what happened to the nursery. If I can make a small sacrifice to ensure their freedom and ensure things change, then that''ll be worth it. I don''t feel good about making a deal with them. But those fuckers treat everything like a commodity. They can torture me; they can suck me dry, but if I can protect those I care about because of that, then I can endure whatever bullshit they throw at me through my never-ending monster life. I don''t know, but this seems like the only option so those I care about don''t have to suffer."

    Carrie flashed a sympathetic expression but still clung to a sense of wary uncertainty. Fiona and Silvia leaned back with their jaws tense but didn''t say anything else about it.

    Yuka puffed out a breath. "We all need to look over their contract and make sure there''s nothing they''ll hurt us with. Not that there''s any court in any land that can hold them to it. But it''s what we''ve got. And we''ve got a week; you all have a week, and I have a week. I don''t want to waste a single moment of it. Show me the rest of your house. Show me your world; let''s have a vacation!" She perked up and tried to channel the same sort of energy that Maharu was able to whip up effortlessly, despite her secret sadness. It was a rough imitation but a valiant effort.

    They made a proper list, collecting all the really nice places in the area to show her. At least areas that existed before the flood. Limiting this week to just this world was a faint disappointment, but everything had been so transfigured that much of it seemed like an entirely different place or the other side of the world from where Yuka lived. The news still endeavored to downplay the differences and foster calm. Already, the reality of procreation in a world saturated with human energy had fragmented ideologically.

    Any girl, anyone could have a baby with anyone else. For a faction, this was the most delightful discovery of this wave now finishing up across the globe. For other factions, it was the most horrible development to go with the twisting of the flesh. On the whole, a more subdued conflict than Carrie expected in the fallout of the changes.

    And there was more¡ªso much in the minutia and the details. Too much to really absorb from local television or social media. They instead focused on things around them.

    Fiona learned that she had the same job as before, with all the heavy lifting required and as many smiles from her girl self as Dwight commonly shared in snapshots from work and social events. Silvia''s shtick had shifted from femboy, which Yuka lamented she never got to witness, to a versatile voice actress with a highly animated Vtuber setup. Cartoon on cartoon again.

    The house didn''t have any fresh rooms, but the side area by the carport was made up as a relaxing den. Their counterparts had made more progress in refurbishing the separate garage, building a functional and relaxing shed beside the old tree, and enclosing sections of the rear patio. The raised, outdoor bench off to the side by the preserved doghouse turned into a planter drew Yuka''s attention to curl up and sway.

    The paperwork from the company hadn''t arrived yet, and Fiona and Silvia opted to take Fiona''s car to scout the area and check in with friends they knew from work, especially at the comic book store, where Silvia was still employed. Carrie found it remarkable that the wind was so sedate. Local gusts often compared to the flesh-stripping supernatural wind that had caught them several times in the other world. If the weather had also been affected by the watery infusion of human spirit, Carrie was at least glad that it mollified its temper tantrum tempest inklings.

    She brought a pale, knit blanket from inside for them to cuddle under, even though it was more of a decorative item. Yuka gently shifted her legs to rock the hanging bench. She admitted with the others gone that the way breakfast had been cooked actually left a sour presence in her stomach, but she didn''t want Fiona to feel bad about introducing her to local cuisine. Yuka gently but supportively leaned against Carrie. They kept close, but not close enough to activate the magnetic pull.

    Meticulously, Yuka adjusted Carrie''s hair, freeing long locks from her pink t-shirt collar. It tickled like a long, luxurious paintbrush. She adjusted Yuka''s hair too.

    "Did I do the wrong thing?" Yuka posed her question to no one in particular, speaking it towards the painterly clouds and the soft flutter of animated leaves.

    "About the company?"

    "Yeah. Fuck them. They''ve been controlling us for who knows how long, shaping worlds, lives, and realities just to fit their needs. But the two of us wouldn''t be here if not for them, though that''s a happy happenstance for us instead of any intention on their part. They tortured us, they killed others, and they''ve broken and twisted so many things. I have to wonder if what we know as evil and good only exists because they made them. But that would just feed their goddess complex."

    Rationally, Carrie found it unlikely that these bastards were actual gods. Only human. There had to be something greater, something better, and she felt like they glimpsed that with the hopeful lingerings that felt like Maharu. Yuka fluttered with concern that those were just another trick or an illusion they wanted them to see. Carrie couldn''t totally assuage that fear but lent her hope in bright feelings about the moments and the memories. They fanned away and swatted at ambitious little flying insects fattened with art and humanity, thirsty for more.

    "I don''t think I can go home again. Ever." Yuka shut her bright eyes and released a long breath.

    She explained, "My moms might remember me, but I can''t forget the fact that they could lose their memory again. It''s heartbreaking once; I don''t think I could endure it if it were blended with hope. My elder sister is not the girl I ever thought she was. She''s complicated, but she also broke my heart. I miss Ayame, and I would like to give her a hug. And maybe I could forgive the old lady someday. I love Naoko, Kosame, and Bianca. But I''m not like them. I''m not human, or at least not the same sort of human. I don''t know if that matters or not, but it makes me fuss like itchy and uncomfortable clothes."

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Carrie gently touched her hand to her back and reassured her that she was human. The wristband girls, who seemed the least human-like, made kind sacrifices; they hurried to the cause, endured great pain, and still managed to find joy. Yuka sighed.

    "What if that''s not how they''re supposed to be? The company messed with so much. They created a hunter-and-hunted cycle of suffering out of what were once more like clouds and fountains. They shaped me, but they didn''t make me. I worry about being a monster. What if I truly am one? A big black blob of carnivorous fury. An eldritch abomination, as Naoko sometimes refers to mysterious creatures. I supposedly live forever. I can''t die. What if I was as bad as them before they got their hands on me? A true monster, a horror from beyond. It might be better for me to be stuck in a lab and quarantined from the bad things I might be or become. That probably doesn''t make any sense, but it''s what I feel and fear." She still looked deeply queasy as she huddled next to her.

    "What about the fact that you are so caught up and worried about all this?" Carrie pointed out. "A godlike monster or creature of darkness would never give any of this a second thought. It wouldn''t dwell on a bunch of teenage girls, cute bands of blackness, or an old woman. You do."

    Yuka shifted around on the seat, tipping the bench in chaotic directions. "Then, maybe I''m a broken goddess of lost memory and forgotten vile purpose. I don''t know. I don''t want to be that, even if an eternity were to pass. I want to be who I choose to be, even if I don''t have a real choice. What matters to me are moments¡ªprecious little moments, stupid little moments, human little moments. My big sister teasing me about a gift years ago. Holding it out of reach and proposing what it could be. Returning it to me with a joyful hug and a kiss on the forehead. It was a stuffed toy I thought I lost, but she hunted for days and weeks to find it. It''s gone now, and it''s such a dumb thing to remember, but I treasure that silly little moment along with so many others..." Uncomfortable burping accompanied her blurry tears as Carrie continued to rub her back and listen.

    "I have such precious memories of everyone. Silly Naoko and that one comic book. Maharu and the slapping fishtails. Kosame and the dreams she''s texted me about in exacting, hilarious detail. Bianka''s tofu theory. Ayame and the even bigger teddy bears her moms used to collect. The weekend that I took care of the old lady''s garden. And so many indescribable memories with my moms. The old tennis racket. The first writer''s convention we went to together. The hungry closet. And the meal we don''t talk about. I have so few years, but they are so rich. I can''t forget them. I''m terrified I will, that I''ll turn out some ageless beast who doesn''t have anything human left."

    Carrie wanted to have a laser focus and comprehension of exactly the right words to tell the girl she loved that all these fears were unfounded. That she was deeply and truly human, no matter what secret history might be locked away as darkness in another reality before she was shaped and tortured into what she is now. But she had told her all of that in so many ways. It didn''t need to be said. Yuka knew her words. They didn''t need repeating.

    Instead, she adjusted her touch to a focused caressing, conveying what truth she could share through a subtle, tactile communication. The wobbles of the hanging bench started to resonate into a careful, focused forward motion, shifting up without rising too high and settling back without undue tension on the chains.

    The fears ebbed away from her spinning thoughts as Yuka settled into a drowsy, relaxed state. She quietly mocked herself and grumbled.

    Look at this great and terrible three-headed beast of unearthly legend rising from the darkest depths of an ancient realm, able to fashion anything it can imagine of itself into an unstoppable weapon with powers to survive all dangers, and all she wanted to do was conjure up a fluffy pillow and sleepily snuggle every inch of the beautiful girl she loved. She almost got up from the seat until a sneaky sunbeam fluttered across her and provided the tipping point into sleep.

    Carrie stroked her hair and touched every gentle spot that wouldn''t interrupt her nap.

    You can be anything or anyone you decide to be. Whatever choice you make, it is your truth. It didn''t really feel like the glorious epiphany that she was looking for, but Carrie found herself still thoroughly exhausted despite what sleep they were able to get last night. Maybe later some grand truth would draw together like words on the horizon she just needed to squint to catch.

    The real horizon didn''t have any specific truths to offer her at the moment, although that didn''t mean it wasn''t lovely to look at. One benefit of the human energy deluge was that it matched a regular rainstorm with the inversion layer smog dispelled with painstaking artful clarity. She could watch it all day. Mercifully, the drifting, caressing air wasn''t weighed down by any sirens, anxious noises, or screams from frantic birds.

    Yuka would wake soon. She knew that was coming. Questions would still flow along worry-filled rivers that she hoped didn''t truly matter. Kisses would follow, frantic little touches of hope pleading to balance out the quiet by desperately grasping for every moment of love and reassurance. Fiona and Silvia would be back after that with stories that were silly, captivating, and delightful.

    The contract would come, likely some immense, daunting tome full of provisos, qualifications, and more lawyer speak. Fortunately, she would marry a cute girl who was going to be an amazing lawyer. Maybe they could squeeze out a few more stipulations and concessions before Yuka had to write out ''Cerberus'' on the dotted line.

    After that obligation and just enough recovery, they would have a whole week, which would scream by at the speed of light. And then...

    Even though they were different, softer hairs hidden beneath an army of soft ones, several nervous strands stood on end across Carrie''s neck. She had an impression like a light glinting far off¡ªgolden and persistent. It reminded her of some nights when the drapes weren''t nearly enough for the light twinkles from across the street. She had thought about these before, but the memory returned. If you tried to look directly at the little shimmer, you would never see it, as though it were stealthily sneaking around the edge of her lens.

    This, like that, had to mean something. She just had no idea what it could possibly be.

 [106] Yuri Worlds 106 â€“ Afterwards

    Yuri Worlds

    [106] Afterwards

    Yuka wound up sleeping till Fiona and Silvia returned from their excursion. She attempted to wake up, sit up, and offer an explanation all at once. Her eyes lightly fluttered, followed by flailing around the seat, and being smothered by a cough. With Carrie''s help, her second effort achieved everything she wanted but much slower.

    She needed some time in the restroom, and, despite her efforts to deflect blame from breakfast, Fiona just about dropped to her knees in front of the restroom door to apologize for what her cooking did to their guest. Yuka did her best to reassure her that wasn''t the cause. She speculated about different microorganisms in the body between different worlds and how there were food travel warnings back in her world about certain countries depending on the local situation. Fiona and Silvia had bought some groceries on the way back in the hopes of making an even better lunch.

    They had jumped without authorization. The fact that the only negative consequence so far had been her rumbly tummy was a minor miracle. She rejected the prospect of a medical checkup considering a variety of different factors, but primarily because she wasn''t a normal human. As irritating as it felt, she knew, and they knew, that bringing up any health issue would have to go through the company. And it wasn''t a health issue; it was just exhaustion and indigestion.

    Carrie brought up the fact that she had trouble with food after the festival earlier, so perhaps it was actually that, but with a delayed reaction for Yuka, who latched onto that as the solution to this puzzle. Meanwhile, Carrie wasn''t quite so certain of that assessment. She also kept in mind the fact that the company had these invisible air entities that had been around and threatened them, even though Yuka did seem to scare one off. They''d been feasting on their energy and the energy around them, as well as moving it around like invisible, hovering snakes.

    It took a little bit longer before Yuka felt she was finished and comfortably snuggled up to Carrie on the couch. As expected, Fiona and Silvia had snippets to share about the world around them. The most remarkable sight at the comic book shop, where Silvia still worked part-time, was the absolute transfiguration of some of the regulars who stopped by with their own fantastic stories and conundrums.

    Bruce, now Bridgette, was the proprietor of a nearby, smaller shop and absolutely gushed with girly cosplay ambitions in the place of her once beefy, bulky reality. She had a shy, unexpected partner now in the form of an adorable blonde renamed Luna, nervously wrapped in alternate-universe Gwen Stacy hero garb. And this dynamic duo was just one example of a plethora of cute combos created due to the flood.

    These sweet hints of love pushed Yuka closer to her partner. Fiona got the opportunity to check in with her boss, who had ballerina ambitions. Silvia''s boss had become a pouty, childish cutie. She noticed the surface scratching along the right side of Fiona''s car and had already recommended a detailing place to remedy the worst of it.

    Around the time of the third transformed comic book regular mentioned, a firm and precisely regular knock sounded from the front door. It felt especially serious. Once again, Fiona attended to it first. A delivery girl in gray had a small package. As anticipated, it was the contract. The discomfort in Yuka''s bowels shut off, as though illness and tiredness were the luxury of relaxed moments.

    The delivery girl explained that they had as much time as they wanted to review the contract and all the details. She had a truck nearby where she could wait in perpetuity for the rest of the day. As a merciful bonus, she explained that the company would only be counting the enforcement of the contract from one week at the time of signature. Yuka wasn''t even on the clock yet.

    The paperwork arrived in a hardened cardboard box with a pull-out tab and a velvet folder within containing glossy but light double-sided pages enumerating all the obligations on both sides if they came to a mutual agreement. A dense forest of legalese sprawled out from the very first page.

    Not long after the contract arrived, there was a second knock at the door. Another delivery girl, this time with a very recognizable load. She had their travel bags and possessions logged in with Travel Anywhere. Everything that was dropped off in their room at the Sasaki house after the resort trip also made it into the bundle.

    That included all their keys, clothes, books, and miscellaneous possessions. Not included in the delivery were Carrie and Yuka''s phones, for the obvious reason that they were likely still hidden under the tree by the shrine. A fortunate yardstick demonstrating that the company didn''t know or see everything.

    An alluded-to bonus came with this second delivery girl; they gave them one of the tablets that the workers used. It was neither white nor gray, but rather a perfect, glassy, glossy matte black. Fiddling with the device and reading through the included instructions revealed it could directly connect to phones and other sources for communication. The interface already had SOMA NAOKO pinned on the side as a contact. Yuka felt a simultaneously warm and cold shiver rush through her body. Unfortunately, Naoko wasn''t available at the moment to connect.

    The four of them traced through every line of the contract document. The word ''revocable'' popped up more than once, but only about ''violations of good faith agreements''. If Yuka terminated her service to the company, actively sabotaged the efforts of the company to examine her, or committed harm against any representative of the company. It sounded reasonable enough.

    All the promised benefits were laid out, with protection pledges delineating everything for friends and family. It was all there, as Yuka expressed. Technical details on the full resources and refurbishment of the location behind the Sasaki house. The exact security clearance gifted to Nishikawa Bianka concerning the national government. Tuition, room and board, and expense coverage.

    Carrie found and focused on protections related to herself. She would be wholly and prodigiously protected from all mortal dangers that could befall her. That sounded fine, but it also kind of sounded like they intended to put her in bubble wrap and inject her with Cerberus immortality.

    Some live corrections were done to add free book subscriptions where appropriate, mostly for the sake of seeing what the company would allow to be amended. Within minutes, the delivery girl printed out the altered pages with the new changes.

    They went over every single inch of the document. Some phrasings and formats bordered on confusing and weird, but nothing stuck out as dangerous or nefarious. Getting to the final signatory page didn''t take as long as any of them expected. It still bordered on book size, but a small one. After flipping through for one last check, Yuka waited until the clock announced the new hour. The morning was almost over.

    She wrote out both her official birth name and Cerberus with a nervous, slightly shaky hand. It was done. The delivery girl was also a notary and took care of all the documents. She then handed a receipt saying that a representative of the company would be here to ''receive compensation'' in exactly seven calendar days.

    The exact time locally was recorded on the receipt, along with advice not to flee or do anything that might void the agreement, like attempt to harm or kill a company representative. And it was done. Both of the delivery girls left, and the house and world were quiet again. Naturally, one of the routine emergency vehicle sirens had to swiftly fill that void.

    One of the first things they did after the contract was finished was take the rambling, incoherent list of destinations and fun vacation possibilities and organize them into days and objectives. Fiona assured Yuka that her car was readily available for wherever she wanted to go, even if she wanted to run away to the other end of the world, as far as she could drive. The matter of the scratches and repairs was scheduled beyond this week.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Furthermore, she dug into a special crevice in her bags and retrieved the loaned black handkerchief with puppies that Yuka gave her on the train that very first day. Yuka had forgotten all about it but thanked Fiona with a smile, even though she reassured her that she could probably keep it since so much had changed and she had no idea what possessions she''d have beyond this week. Carrie promised to use her vacation time to retrieve their phones and get Yuka''s back.

    Related to the phones, Silvia went to work like Bianka, scouring what was returned for any signs of alterations or hostile software retained on the devices. She did some complicated stuff that Carrie didn''t quite comprehend, involving a sequestered safe mode load that wouldn''t transfer a virus to the rest of her computer while inspecting the files.

    Ultimately, the only way to ensure nothing was on the phones was a clean install with the newest files safely preserved externally. The only important things were some text messages and photos taken over there. Chika had actually done more videos than Carrie expected, and the same went for Namiko. Watching the video files on the big screen in Silvia''s work area brought a calmly happy and faintly melancholic mood to Yuka.

    It wasn''t long after that that Carrie and Silvia found their family album in the middle of the bookshelf in the den. Documentation of an anime reality still had a strange and surreal aspect to it for Carrie. Fiona and Silvia professed the same, while Yuka tried to understand the distinction. She had seen each but not long enough with what the three of them considered the normal color swath to describe its nuance.

    However, Carrie found that each encounter normalized it for her incrementally. She wasn''t quite at the point where looking out at the new world with its texture, tones, and artistic impressions felt genuine yet. But she would have to live with it for the rest of her life.

    She felt in a quandary that she couldn''t quite work out one way or the other. Why was anime more human? Wasn''t the original, depleted version with all its naturalistic tones, gritty nuances, and detailed, lifelike colors supposed to be closer to reality? Why was cel shading the effect of having more human energy? She doubted she would ever know. But looking at her parents, now her and Silvia''s moms, in old photos was an absolute trip.

    Instead of the gnarled, nearly snarling gray-haired scowl of her mother, there was this light, bright-color-clad lady with trim glasses and a poised figure. She knew from her fragmentary memories orbiting the flower girl of the past that her mother hadn''t been transformed into a pious, gentle saint, but there was something less harsh and cruel about her in the reflections she had.

    Silvia struggled to unearth what she knew was there. But the oppressive aura of the Horner clan was like trying to squint through a brilliant sun''s glow while searching for some cold, distantly orbiting world.

    While mom was the bearer of the light brown genetics, never mind that an artistic world probably still didn''t work on Disney cartoon inherited characteristics, the pretty lady who used to be dad was the darker brown one. However, Carrie had to admit that reproduction no longer dealt with bodily material but rather spiritual fragments. So maybe it did work in peculiar ways after all. Dad, or other mom, adored button-up plaid, just as Misaki had envisioned, and her figure sure put a stress test on them. More attributes passed along to her daughters.

    Silvia gently planted her head against the book. "Your parents always felt more like my parents than my original parents ever did. I just wish I could remember them as they''re supposed to be now."

    Carrie wished the same and wrapped her arms around her sister. Silvia rocked gently in her embrace.

    Yuka endeavored to cheer both of them up, pointing to different photographs and imagining what occurred outside the preserved margins. Carrie''s touchtone was the wedding as a flower girl and a general left-turn impression. Fiona came over in the hopes that something connected with her friends might trigger recollections in her as well.

    "Volleyball. Volleyball kind of sucked..." The words came without further details, like a lightning strike in Carrie''s thoughts. Silvia puffed out a long, thoughtful breath in response, slowly nodding her head but still grappling with an invisible space for something to hang onto that might steady her or provide proper footing.

 [107] Yuri Worlds 107 â€“ Uncertainty

    Yuri Worlds

    [107] Uncertainty

    Yuka sort of understood their hesitancy, especially when Carrie offered up the analogy that it was rather like looking Cerberus in the face as a toy after everything that happened.

    When this started, before they went on their journey, these figurines were just theoretical images, barely people. More like amusing shells for them to inhabit. Considering everything they learned within and around themselves, seeing these little things verged on repulsive. A version of what the company did, gladly, unknowingly indulged.

    Again, Yuka understood the symbolism, but she also said, "These are the representations of you. No matter how they may have started out, they are as alive as any of us. You lived these lives. You didn''t just use a mask for entertainment. You each became Takano Misaki, Takano Chika, and Yamane Namiko. These represent your dreams, your trip, the friends you all made, and the lives you genuinely lived. They may not be your forever names, but they are the names you shared in genuine, heartfelt Shimai. You can''t leave them naked and forgotten. No matter how things went on that turbulent and uncertain vacation, they are part of you, and you are a part of them. You have to¡­ Love them as anyone should truly love their heart and share it."

    As Yuka finished up her thoughts for the three of them, Carrie could tell that she was feeling and hearing words that she needed to listen to as well. Everyone worked together to pull up a nice, comfortable folding table that had plenty of room for art supplies and lunch.

    Lunch was a light curry with rice, which Yuka assisted in preparing. Silvia took charge this time, confessing her wish to make something delightful for the Sasakis as a thank you for their hospitality and everything they had to go through. Fortunately, Yuka was able to steer her towards several simple, wonderful dishes she could make that might hopefully survive the journey to the other world. Silvia took extensive notes.

    Though they didn''t have the enjoyable condiments and side dishes at the Sasaki moms disposal, Yuka soon declared lunch fantastic. Painting the figures, however, wasn''t quite so smooth.

    The paint that Fiona provided was a high-quality modeling paint well suited to the task before them. Yuka used a slightly different variety, which she applied to a roll of heavy-duty drawing paper. She had no particular objective in mind; she just wanted to paint for a bit. Unfortunately, none of them were able to do much painting on what was before them.

    Yuka considered the expanse of trees around the shrine area back home as a rough landscape, but she soon blotted them out with white. It made sense that she would be indecisive and uncertain about creating art, but the hangups of the three of them were harder to explain.

    Their alter egos should''ve been easy to paint in the colors and textures they lived with for a week. But questions about the exact tones, outfits, and whether liberties should be taken with making less direct copies and more Fionami, Chivia, or Micari swarmed in their minds.

    One thing they were mostly able to agree upon was skin tone, but their clothes, eye colors, and hair looked like they had been run through with bleach. Yuka had only gotten to the stage of concluding that she wanted to make trees but didn''t know much more than that. She had a handful of pines and the suggestion of a greater forest, but the rest of her landscape might as well have been a polar oblivion. They eventually put their art projects away somewhere safe.

    Other adventures with uncertain destinations popped up when Silvia finished a few items in the bathroom after they had put the folding table away. She reflected long and hard on the colorful, foreboding packages of tampons that looked more like bright Go-Gurt tubes set casually in one corner. She was the first to venture towards that undiscovered country, even though her older sister felt a shudder when walking beside them.

    She practically screamed when looking up the least TikTok-style video with helpful information because her phone had been set to max volume. Everything she needed to know easily filled the runtime of a YouTube Short. She braced herself, but it turned out the hardest part was the preparation and spreading her boobs enough to feel like she was seeing the problem.

    In the aftermath, walking out of the bathroom, she looked and ambled like a cowboy who''d just ridden a horse for a long stretch. She was really bad at hiding what just occurred and soon gave all the messy details to the others. The leaden realization that this would be a part of their lives for the rest of their lives hit hard. Fiona was the next to venture forth, opting to do it alone as well. Silvia passed along all the same videos with the advice to keep the string up so that it didn''t chafe.

    When she came out, Fiona actually flexed with a smile. Carrie knew that she was supposed to go next, but she had several other very important and critical tasks to do¡­ Like finding the gallon jug of water in the fridge and having several sips of that, even though it would make bathroom activities more stressful. She wiped the sweat from the big container all over her hands to keep her body sweat from showing up.

    Yuka wrapped her arms around her comfortingly. She''d been in the same place, and she would wait as long as her loved one needed to help her feel comfortable. If she didn''t want her around, then she understood that too. "I just want to help. Whatever you need."

    Carrie understood that, and she knew that her anxiety and nervousness were ridiculous, especially in the context of all the things she had faced in the last week, from passing through to another reality to dodging death against a psychotic murderer, running through a forest, plunging through unknown depths, breaking out of a heavenly prison, and fleeing a flood that would erase her and leave nothing behind but an outline. Sticking a tube of absorbent cotton in her body shouldn''t have been so scary.

    When she finally had enough, perhaps too much, water, she straightened, adjusted her clothes like one of the characters on the space travel show in a later generation with a good tug, and walked to the bathroom with Yuka following closely and offering focused support.

    Once they were in the bathroom with the door closed, Carrie had no problem just doing her business. But once the main event arrived, she wiggled her legs and felt desperately sweaty, despite the room actually being rather cool. It was so silly, because they had been involved in far more embarrassing and personal things with one another. The deepest part of their essence and soul was shared. This was nothing; this was just some flesh between her thighs. It didn''t even serve a direct reproductive purpose in this version of reality.

    Yuka was so kind and understanding, though, making sure she had as much privacy as she needed and practically cheering her on throughout. The actual task was simple and easy with every reminder. It was only when everything was done that Carrie considered the fact that they didn''t know how cycles worked in this world or if they were in the middle of one or not. Yuka admitted it was a quandary but assured her that was fine. It might be a little uncomfortable on the way out if nothing was going on, but it was better to be prepared and practiced. Ultimately, they all removed their tampons, just to be safe. The poor snail she hadn''t acknowledged in forever was sure to be thrashed.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    In a return to the bathroom later, Yuka proposed looks and ideas for how her loved one could shake off the uncertainty of her dour, practically dark demeanor. Purple was proposed as a pretty punctuation tone in place of black. It had already served both of them adventurously in fun dresses.

    Digging through Carrie''s closet presented a bounty of disappointment for both of them but also measured possibilities. Her entirely female alter ego leaned towards a muted palette with safe and comforting combinations. Still, Yuka had something to work with.

    She came up with a nice fusion of a lightly girly blue top that didn''t make Carrie feel like her boobs were exploding in everyone''s face and a pair of pants that matched her hair color. Walking around as a girl in that outfit still managed to make her vaguely dizzy. It was all mental, considering laying down in bed didn''t bother her, getting naked in the shower didn''t bother her, and changing her clothes before wasn''t an issue either.

    She had to deal with the fact that this wasn''t just a one-time or temporary situation. She was going to get intimately familiar with those little injectors. These clothes would just be a normal part of her wardrobe. Now it was her turn to feel like she had to go to the bathroom for hours on end. Yuka''s reassuring presence helped immensely.

    After she was finished helping the girl she loved brighten her look and disposition, Yuka checked out a few items in the closet to see if they worked for her. Carrie wished that she could''ve pulled out a guitar from the other side of the bed or whipped out some musical talent to serenade the girl she desperately loved as thanks for making her feel like less of a dour gal.

    Instead, she swallowed all pride and good sense and presented the first love song that popped into her head. Since she had already started singing, there was no reason to stop. It was a ridiculous, outdated 1980s tune, one that got caught in her parents'' heads more than once and had migrated to hers. Yuka didn''t interrupt her. She scooted over to the bed and listened attentively as Carrie fumbled her way through her warbling, shaky crooning. Carrie admitted that, especially with her altered instrument, she wasn''t doing too badly. It was nowhere near Fiona''s savant-level precise tone awareness, but she thought she sounded better than her little sister, even though she apologized internally for making that comparison.

    Of course, with how much had changed lately, there was no way to know if the paradigm hadn''t shifted too. Silvia could''ve become an unconsciously perfect singer, and maybe Fiona was back to square one with the new arrangement. This postulation survived only a few minutes until the others showed up and resolved that the prior status quo persisted.

    Yuka vigorously applauded Carrie''s admirable, kind effort. It also triggered a memory for her. The melody was mildly reminiscent of something that her big sister sang to her once when she was young enough to be scared of the dark and especially of the old hotel.

    What she sang wasn''t as important as the encouragement she gave her. Haruka told her that singing kept bad spirits away and other bad things away. The act of singing, the joy of the emotion, and the preoccupation with remembering the song were important. You need to keep at it with a song that sticks vividly in your head until the scary things can''t creep in, she explained. You needed several minutes of the music you knew best.

    They each hoped they would never have to use something like that, but they gave it some thought and pinpointed their favorite songs to sing to scare away the monsters. Silvia suspected that her screeching would be enough to keep her safe. Fiona settled on a tune with simple but easy-to-remember lyrics. Carrie had a few prospects but wasn''t sure which to go with. Her brain from more than a week ago would''ve told her that it wasn''t such a big deal, but considering all the craziness they had gone through, protection for something supernatural sure seemed like a worthwhile prospect.

    Between humming their chosen songs, the three of them started putting their returned bags away. That included all the books that came with them on vacation. Yuka delighted in each of them and in the fact that, despite coming through back channels to this world, she was not only able to understand everyone around her but also read the language. She made a note of particular tomes that she might skim through later and also checked the communication device they received with the contract.

    When it first arrived, she sent a text to Naoko but hadn''t received anything back. As might often be expected, not only did she receive a text reply right as she was going through the books, listening to a variety of songs that the others harmoniously filled the house with, and enjoying the sun through the side window, but a phone went off as well. This hyperactive round of chaos brought more laughter than anxiety. Fortunately, the call was just a spam call, the same as any before.

    As promised in the documents and by the company, Yuka was able to connect to Naoko''s video feed on her phone. It randomly pixelated a few times and had buzzing audio amidst the silent sections, but it was comparable to a phone signal in the area rather than from an entirely different universe. Yuka hugged the screen in relief, and her friend swiftly did the same, even though she nearly dropped her phone.

    Yuka thought Naoko looked slightly different. She soon confirmed that there were some visual oddities along with a wide range of other wild things. It was due to some light rain that bore flashes of light. Which confirmed that the flood had managed to circulate back. It was uncertain whether the Rainmaker had an ancillary apparatus in the other world, but Naoko confirmed that there were no mysterious deaths or floods on their side. They had a lot to talk about, not all of it good.

    From what Carrie and the others could gather and what Yuka filled them in on later, the company wasn''t bluffing when they said that turmoil had beset Yuka''s home. It wasn''t war, and it wasn''t like the sort of things the three of them experienced several years ago, or however time and reality actually worked with company meddling.

    No one really knew about the company, but Bianka had seeded notions online that were still waiting to bear fruit. Several influential members of the government had either stepped down or resigned because of rumors and anger about their ineptitude in dealing with the current crisis of girls who were missing suddenly appearing and word of strange creatures. The most xenophobic blamed interactions and transits to other universes, missing the point and being maddeningly close. Locally, everyone was trying to focus on Golden Week and brush all the confusing uncertainty aside.

 [108] Yuri Worlds 108 â€“ Treks

    Yuri Worlds

    [108] Treks

    Carrie expected Yuka to at least mention all the happenings with the contract and the company. But she pressed her colorful lips closed when anything ventured near the subject. As far as explaining how she was communicating, Yuka focused on the vague mention that they had company technology in their possession. Documents confirming the tuition grants and other promises from the contract hadn''t arrived at Naoko''s doorstep yet. Yuka tensed with that but did her best not to show irritation. Carrie understood that it had been mere hours since the agreement, but considering how quickly the forces of the company could work, there really was no excuse for them dragging their feet or sending out traditional letters to friends and family. Not that there was anything any of them could realistically do about it aside from screaming into the device and hope someone was watching.

    Yuka confirmed, mostly by swinging the device''s camera around, that the other world the travelers came from had been transformed by the flood they unleashed. Naoko swiftly started capturing the screen footage along with insurance screenshots. She got a good look at the forms the three of them had wound up with and raised her logical eyebrows at "Chika".

    Naoko also had some of the same criticisms, curiosity, and advice about the house setup and use of space as Yuka. A peek around outside reminded Yuka that she''d seen so very little of this new world, especially in the daytime, post-flood, aside from a brief walk.

    The communication device didn''t appear to have a battery icon or a method for recharging. That could be good, implying that it either had a renewable source of power or one that lasted so long that measuring the minuscule drain wasn''t necessary. It was limited to direct communication, though. A fragment of bad news from Naoko highlighted that Kosame injured her leg in a scuffle involving agitated and confused returnees getting back from the shrine. She was in good spirits, along with putting on melodramatic laments at such a random injury.

    Other news dealt with the Sasakis doing a lot of nervous wandering to burn off anxiety about being alone without their daughter Haruka. This pulled at Yuka like an invisible rope she wanted to follow to return to familiar lands. She resisted this urge as well as all the others. The old woman was as well as she could be, but Naoko hadn''t seen her yet since everything that happened. She likely still had her fading hair and less elastic skin, unless the sprinkles that hit them had benefited her as well. As for Ayame, the clinic was closed this Monday over there because of uncertainty and the international crisis, but she couldn''t stop herself from taking emergency patients, especially injuries from recent events. She''d tended to Kosame.

    Yuka leaned back and absorbed all this from her friend. Carrie could see and feel the yearning stir within the girl she loved to bring to bear all the different talents and forces she could wield in aid of her friends. The girls spent much of the time after that talking about the most random sci-fi silliness, along with books, clothes, and a dozen other stray thoughts. Yuk had one clear and firm resolution, though. She had seen so little of the world and ventured on this strange vacation so hesitantly.

    With help from the three of them and Naoko tossing out the most random ideas, they came up with priorities from their list of possibilities. Driving around town like Silvia and Fiona had done on their own was absolutely necessary, no matter how bizarre, rude, and disturbing this other world might be. Beyond that, she had seen the mountains in the distance and wanted to experience them in much the same way she had shared her own mountains with them. Carrie could sense the unspoken desire to make a very suggestive mountains reference, but the desire and the moment soon passed. The beach was absolutely necessary too; she''d seen it colorfully flutter across the screen during the otherwise useless morning news. Geek venues and precious entertainment spots spilled out of Silvia''s focused phone searches.

    Possible treks to local museums, zoos, historical areas, and cultural havens piled up like a dish brimming with sumptuous aromas and even more inviting flavor profiles that Yuka wasn''t sure if she could even begin to partake in before the meal was up. But she was sure going to try.

    Eventually, there was nothing more Naoko could offer in words and nothing Yuka was willing to reveal. She also didn''t allude to possibilities, reunions, or promises she couldn''t possibly keep, but the mood remained optimistic and cheerful throughout. They said goodbye without much preamble, as though it were just the end of another routine phone call.

    In the lingering, quiet aftermath, Yuka desperately resisted the urge to tear up with everything she declined to say. Carrie embraced her tightly and emphasized that they still had so much before them to see and explore¡ªan entire world that no one could ever fully know. In the same way that a week would never do justice to Yuka''s homeland, they could never do any sort of justice here, but they had to share it.

    One interesting element Fiona noted was that they had only had a pair of unfortunate visitors to their front door. On any typical noontime, ranging from the middle of the week to the weekend, there might be a wide range of unexpected knocks.

    Occasionally, it would be a handyman looking for work doing some job that they were already ready to take care of but had to put off due to scheduling. When their extremely late, Mediterranean-climate fall eventually arrived, they would hand off the job to help those guys out. More commonly, it would be a proselytizer from one religion or another championing their rock concert or barbecue to help appeal to a wider audience. None of the events were bad, nor did they ever have the aroma of a timeshare event. Carrie just never felt like it was for her, same with her friends.

    What did she believe now? It was hard to disentangle. It would''ve been nice to easily and confidently proclaim that a kind, benevolent, merciful power held sway over reality. And she had plenty of passing evidence to suggest that maybe things weren''t as bad as she feared. Yuka existed in this world.

    Yes, she knew that their existences were a tangle of dark motivations and nervous uncertainties. But she wanted to believe the sway of evil, greed, and suffering didn''t hold the ultimate power. Love. There had to be love.

    Whether that was a God above all, a cycle of eastern reincarnation she didn''t understand but Yuka probably grasped better, pantheism of a bewildering variety, some sort of shamanism, or a spirituality no one had discovered yet, she had no idea. Her parents and extended relatives would plead with her to give herself up to one in particular. It was simple, don''t you understand? This is your immortal soul!

    It wasn''t that she doubted spirituality by this point after all their different experiences; she just had no idea what to do about it. Yes, some sort of group of business-minded individuals or entities of human nature had been sucking human souls out of the gaps between worlds and riling them up into a battle royal. Reproduction in another place came down to sharing a part of your spirit. And she had left her body and been at the edge of what sure felt like oblivion.

    It was too much. Too much to process. Too much to integrate into a belief system. Too much for one person to comprehend. Other, better, smarter girls, she knew, would''ve resolved it to their benefit and growth as human beings. What she trusted and felt faith in was grounded in Yuka, in love. It didn''t matter that the reality of that sentiment might have been simple, confused narcissism, because they were linked by black goo. She had to believe there was more, and she couldn''t besmirch anyone else for hoping in the same way.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Carrie did her best not to show the details of this extensive internal, philosophical scrutiny with a blank face or a distant stare. But the others still noticed that she seemed rather pensive, suspecting that going outside made her nervous. Fiona and Silvia relayed every comforting detail they could manage about how the world was both normal and had also changed for the better. Carrie smiled and nodded.

    It was interesting but perplexing that these series of thoughts occurred to Carrie right then since, when they opened the door to head off on their drive, waiting for them, neatly tucked into the side of the screen door, was a freshly printed newspaper-style manuscript proudly announcing that even though Jesus was a girl now, that didn''t change His/Her love for you.

    Yuka seized upon the little paper and scoured it for fresh details about this world. She noted that some of these kinds of self-printed materials existed back home. There were isolated groups, some more fervent and radicalized than her mother''s calm, cool sentiment toward Shimai. It was often concentrated on social or nationalist isolation. Some pushed for the unity of all girls around the world into a singular goddess being. Yuka soon set aside the paper and marveled at the patch of world just outside their front door, even though they had seen it several times today. It still offered up fresh wonders.

    The wind toy fluttered under the shifting branches of the tree out by the fence. It was a forward-leaning duck made of wood with fluttering limbs and legs. They all giggled as a light gust made it turn and wiggle in place. Yuka grimaced and groaned at the visible marks on the right side of Fiona''s car, but she reassured her that it was fine, it wouldn''t cost that much, and it was worth it to escape those bastards.

    Yuka relayed that she understood that; she just lamented that she hadn''t thought to include compensation for it in the contract. Fiona reassured her that she was already doing more than enough. She smiled back, but it was a weak smile.

    The car had a lot more room with just one of them each. Yuka enjoyed the windows but liked sitting next to Carrie even more. She joked about sticking her head out the window. Fiona urged her to do that if she wished. Yuka immediately turned bright red, with a practically cartoonish shade to her cheeks.

    Despite her embarrassment and uncertainty, she still lowered the window and marveled through the opening as the air gently wafted and played with her hair. When it occasionally picked up, she narrowed the opening to prevent Carrie from getting blasted. Considering how often Franklin encountered sinus pain from the wind, Carrie deeply appreciated her concern.

    Putting the world in motion with this curious expression of art first made Carrie tighten her teeth, considering looking out the window of the train several days ago left her queasy back in Yuka''s world. However, it was soon obvious that Yuka was the one who needed the occasional break. Recalling the train incident, she commented that it was only fair.

    The brightest blossoms of winding spring glinted even sharper across the gorgeous landscape. Rocks and sand were still in abundance, but a new tableau of colors spread like a twinkling carpet of soft and sharp shades.

    Yuka had trouble at first, but soon developed a system of absorbing the overall landscape, focusing on a specific point of interest, and following that with her eyes before landing on a new one. She had to rub the space above her eyes with her knuckles a few times, but she didn''t have any complaints. Carrie gently rubbed other parts of her for relaxation.

    Nothing that came into their purview shocked or amazed them, but the quiet touches and subtle shifts of tone and life were still remarkable beyond words. Everyone was a girl. But not everyone followed the distinct anime girl mold from the other world. It generally had the character of a Japanese anime attempting to sincerely depict an American town, but with the most monumental budget to present always-changing art in a 360¡ã pan. That alone deserved gawking.

    Some random people on the street were definitely living it up with large, lacy dresses and other clothes turned into fresh art. Most just wore normal clothes, which extended the sense of odd realism but also surreal translation. It wasn''t rotoscoping, CGI, or anything else that Carrie could really pin to a work or style she''d encountered before.

    She focused hard on not letting it become mundane and ordinary because of desensitized exposure. This world was special; it had been infused with the very essence of life and flooded over until every drop of land was touched by what once had been so desperately scarce.

    Carrie wanted to hold on to the twinkles of wonder Yuka gleamed with as she focused hard on everything that flowed past her. She recognized their version of Seven & i Holdings and promised that they would stop off at one of them soon, with the caution that their version wasn''t quite as nice as what Yuka knew.

    Seeing everything, even in their relatively cozy suburban area, just wasn''t going to be possible. But Silvia suggested some prominent landmarks and mapped out a course on her phone. They''d brought along the communication device, and Yuka made sure to save video to it since Naoko was currently away. The separation of hours put her around midnight. Hopefully, with the mass adjustments, the hours would remain consistent. It occurred to her that the current time lag had to be comparable to real-life Japan and America. An interesting coincidence.

    The list of things to do locally wasn''t that long. It included some parks, animal preserves, and performing arts venues. Yuka didn''t stress too much about the locations they were going, so long as they did it together. A general gloss of the region, along with the discovery of a cozy stuffed animal store, was the early focus. Each of them picked up something, from Yuka''s fluffy, sleepy wolf cub to Fiona''s purple octopus, Silvia''s happy cat, and Carrie''s black lab, which she shared with Yuka.

    The owners of each establishment they chanced across had a vaguely disconcerted, distant look when they weren''t talking. As though they knew everything was different now, but they didn''t want to say it or couldn''t put it into words. A fair number behaved as though they were wearing costumes they hadn''t quite settled into, simultaneously desperately exposed and wishing to apply a protective layer. The four of them hinted at recent events, but most reactions were noncommittal and uncertain.

    Yuka adored their small hike through a hilly wilderness preserve nestled on about two hundred acres in the middle of the city, but so distant from it that it felt like somewhere else. It wasn''t too hot, and the scarring winds were still playing nice. Carrie hesitated to show off the land because it seemed so barren in comparison to the verdant climes nestled in the other one.

    To Yuka, though, this was a strange and surreal territory alluded to in certain programs and prodded at in the margins of the show they both adored. And the deluge seemed to have awakened a second nature as curious roadrunners, lopping hares, lazy tortoises, and more wandered throughout the transformed landscape. The rabbits especially earned Yuca''s attention as she carefully tried to bend down and tempt them with little treats from the visitor center. They all eventually scampered away, but a few did pose for her to smile at.

 [109] Yuri Worlds 109 â€“ Beach

    Yuri Worlds

    [109] Beach

    An old bookstore and a barbecue place rounded out the evening with a jaunt along Main Street. Yuka browsed the menu cautiously, but Fiona and Silvia guided her towards the safest things for her recovering digestion. The local modern art plaza was nothing compared to other options in the area, but Yuka still delighted in the experience, especially with Carrie holding her hand.

    When they arrived back at the house, they kept going with everything they touched upon earlier, except what colors to paint the figures and art. A Silvia test stream session hinted that her altered role still encapsulated the same broad details of being an entertainer.

    As tiredness wrapped around them again, Yuka actually fashioned an area in the shower to sit. It was awkward and not as organized as the one back at the Sasaki house, but it worked. In bed, the two of them leaned back with just a sliver of pillow, watching the ceiling as though it were invisible and the twinkling stars above were revealed.

    One of their reflections before sleep involved the rural area Yuka knew so well compared to the dense cities all around her that she could visit on the train. Here, everything was packed together, with travelers regularly traversing it in cars. Her world had plenty of cars, some driven by shrine administrators who had no idea how to safely handle a steering wheel. They giggled.

    But here, cars were a vital link. Silvia had regaled her about the local transit system, but it clearly wasn''t the primary method of navigation. She indulged in videos of the dizzying proliferation of cloverleaves and bridges intersecting the land to the south.

    "For me, the city brings people together. I suppose it''s reminiscent of Shimei. A coordinated chain of linked girls. Live together and share together. Here, it''s like ten thousand islands safe in bubbles. It''s not bad, and Akechi had separation too, but the distance was a reminder of the need for connection and community. We always got together, and it wasn''t just for festivals. We checked on each other. Even in the city, that is important. Again, not bad, just very different." Carrie acknowledged that but also felt like this world was still the weaker one, despite the boost. Yuka eventually fell asleep with one of the books from the shelf practically squeezed against her face while Carrie held her. Fortunately, sometime in the night, Carrie put the book away for her, and that corrected their terrible bedtime posture.

    The morning brought a slow, careful waking but also the melancholic realization that one of the days was now gone forever. Breakfast was a much better occasion this time around, and thoughts soon turned to one of the lower items on Silvia''s list, which promised adventure and possibilities. They had to get swimsuits for the beach.

    The three of them had options from their inherited lives, but the sentiment leaned toward getting something by choice. A handful of not-terribly glamorous but nicely discounted clothing locations clustered along the main drag. Silvia quipped about how she might need titanium to hold up her load, but she did actually find viable outfits with metal support. Unsurprisingly, she gravitated towards her preferred tones of pink. The problem was the style choice in the one-pieces.

    Some options terrified her, especially those with a narrow fabric strip binding her chest like slim bars in a prison that the mounds could just slam through if she turned the wrong way. Others got rejected because they felt more like waterproof nighties than what she was going for. The one with a single tie around her neck looked pretty, especially when gazing at the mirror from over her shoulder, but it had no hope of sustained structural integrity. The final candidate did drift towards boob hammocks, but putting them through their paces made her feel comfortable and safe from wardrobe malfunctions.

    Carrie awkwardly tried everything she was offered. She was uncertain about the cut window across her hips and the way that her crotch presented. Certain possibilities felt like half-hearted fusions of black, shiny, sliced-up scuba wet suits melded with snug t-shirts. Putting on a slick fashion show for Yuka occupied her thoughts more than any outfit destination.

    The sleeveless one with slices of red like a jet-black fish exposing its gills across her body was the only one that Carrie actually felt happy with. Fiona had no drama or fuss with selecting a lovely, traditional, simple blue one-piece with little gray ornamentations. Yuka opted for one that reminded Carrie of Olympic swimmers with its full-coverage front, dense neck area, and glossy shine.

    She pulled on the front several times, but what she had wasn''t making more than a subtle dent in the material. Carrie assured her that if it were possible to share that aspect she had been bountifully blessed with, she gladly would''ve abundantly gifted as much as possible to the girl she loved. Yuka assured her it was fine.

    Once everything was ready, they headed south towards their version of the big city. Dipping and diving through the hills caught Yuka''s attention as she realized they were over half a mile above sea level. She had to wonder if that accounted for some of her drowsy spells.

    The swell and crush of humanity, infused with boundless energy, flowed from the swarm of vehicles like busy insects renewed in their work. The spirals and spins of roads joining the mighty cataracts urged her to look away and huddle close to Carrie. This world, her world, and so many others had spiraling complexity hidden under the veil of simplicity. So many places to go that could never even be glimpsed in a week unfurled on the menu of upcoming exits. The worst part of the journey was the slowing, chaotic traffic swarming early on a Tuesday.

    Naoko had gotten back with wide-eyed fascination and praise for the videos Yuka provided and was staying up late to enjoy the feed. Kosame even made a brief appearance, shuffling carefully and regaling the transformed trio with warm and creative praise for their preciously beautiful forms.

    The beachfront was so close, yet it was an aching journey along sneaking concrete cathedrals. Like in days past, the endless mass of people, not even a daunting gathering compared to other places on this earth, put the fear of smallness back in Carrie''s heart. But it was okay to be small, she urged herself. It was okay to be the ''little one'', a part of something greater.

    Their eventual arrival at the oceanfront, after a veritable eternity of routes and detours through blissfully rural excursions with fruit stands and small towns, was a monumental relief. The water felt painfully out of reach, but the artistically rippling waves called to them.

    They stopped at a cozy patch of beach that looked well-tended to but was not overrun with crazed girls fumbling with their first-ever bathing suits. Once they parked, Yuka took a long moment to not only breathe but also admire her friends and linger with her lady love.

    Right before the pavement transitioned to sand, she stopped and checked on Carrie with a concerned glance, trying to resolve something that she had only seen out of the corner of her eye. Looking full-on, she couldn''t discern it. What she witnessed didn''t feel like a bad thing, but it still felt like an important thing that she should''ve figured out.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Continued scrutiny didn''t resolve the secret, so she shrugged, and they continued onto the sand. Carrie had no idea what Yuka was looking for, but she did sense a strange warmth concentrated in her abdomen, despite the sun not shining on it. She wasn''t sure what it was, but she felt a random urge to smile.

    The beach was full of discarded trash, pockmarking the otherwise pristine sand. This section of the landscape wasn''t that busy, but the fallout of past swarming crowds remained. Fortunately, at a market nearby, they purchased oversized trash bags to throw away some of the more manageable junk.

    Yuka made it her duty to take the lead since she jokingly noted that it was impossible to kill her with toxic trash. She was soon nervously, blushingly pinwheeling her arms and emphasizing the fact she was just joking; she wasn''t actually going to put her life in danger to clean up things. They understood, but Fiona sure as hell wasn''t going to let her be stuck doing it all alone.

    They combed the beach and actually inspired newcomers and those walking along to contribute, even if it was simply throwing away empty cans, especially preemptively. Yuka noticed a lot of the eating and walking habits that came up with Yasha, and Carrie confirmed that they were surprisingly common.

    Also common were girls slowing down to practically gawk at the four of them. There were girls in shades, their hair in awkward tangles, their forms blotted out with windbreakers and oversized pants, along with many who proudly showcased what they had. Attention from them fell first and most obviously on the mountainous splendor barely secured by Silvia''s swimsuit. She did have, and wear when she was out of the water, a small glossy jacket. It clearly did nothing to safeguard against the possibility of a jiggling thunder avalanche.

    Fiona got looks for quite different reasons, her muscles rippling rigidly but with a feminine cut across her dense, toned swimmer''s physique, encouraging obvious blushes from onlookers. More than that, she soon collected an entourage of meek and dainty ladies awkwardly dressed as works in progress concerning fashion. Carrie half wondered if marriage proposals were that far off. For all the rough edges, disappointments, and shortcomings of their world compared with the other Yuri World, some moments fostered familiar cuteness.

    The question of who looked like what several days ago lingered in the air, but there were no bold volunteers willing to out themselves or moments that called for that question to be spoken. They lived in the now of adorable possibility. What happened before could be set aside as unimportant.

    When Carrie presented this notion as a hint to Yuka, she smiled and agreed that no matter what past of deprivation and uncertainty had existed for this world, it deserved a future free of those constraints. Her tune changed, however, when Carrie hinted that the same should be true for poor black goo entities forced into certain roles, no matter what they were before.

    She squirmed, wriggled, and reached for a contrarian take on her situation. Carrie put on a metaphorical defense attorney''s hat to defend a client who didn''t want to be defended from themselves.

    Her knowledge of courtroom procedure and rhetoric was as tenuous as half-remembered black-and-white films, reruns of Matlock, and the occasional Law and Order episode, but that included awareness of My Cousin Vinny to cover some of the holes. Carrie felt the tickling temptation to throw on an accent for the sake of humor, as she knew some of the same cultural touchstones existed in the other world, especially from television cartoons. She resisted it, though, instead focusing on an earnest delineation of responsibility.

    The company created a hostile realm; they sucked so many dry and blew around the essence of human nature, playing goddess with countless lives. Even if a forgotten form of Yuka was a predatory creature, a wild beast, or even a monster, there was no way to tell if that wasn''t another creation of these greater monsters wearing and wielding the worst of human nature while blending their kin up into a slurry made of pain to consume for power.

    Yuka was smiling, but that smile slowly faded from her face as she thought about Carrie''s argument and its ramifications. "No matter what I ask from them, what I can provide them is exactly what they want. I shouldn''t have given up. It''ll only mean deferred suffering for everyone I love. I should''ve died, been wiped from existence by the flood. Take me back to whatever I started as. I would miss you, but knowing you''re alright would bring me peace."

    Carrie vigorously shook her head. "You don''t deserve to die; they do. Kill them¡ªI mean, overcome them. Work against them from the inside. Make them think they''ve succeeded, but then turn it around on them."

    Yuka sighed. "Might not be possible. I''m letting myself be thrown right into their mouths."

    "Then bite them in the mouth!" Yuka snorted and noted that she was belaboring the analogy. But she appreciated the thought. Carrie wasn''t letting it stop there. She heaped appreciation and love on her partner, with the others double- and triple-teaming the warm sentiment. Random passersby may not have noticed how beautiful Yuka was in her cute swimsuit, but they were going to announce it to the whole world.

    The precious girl squeaked when words failed her, and her limbs twisted together. She appreciated their kind words, even though she was at a loss for how to respond to them. She attempted to mount a futile counteroffensive, reminding the three of them of how beautiful they were and how tempted she was in the swimsuit shop to pattern herself after one of them, or at least make herself a little prettier. Trying that out in public seemed like a good way to get people staring at her for all the wrong reasons, but she was still tempted to try it at the next convenient moment.

    While Carrie focused on the attention that her friends got from other girls on the beach and the hope that they would realize Yuka''s radiant beauty, she totally missed the fact that an assortment of nervous girls gave her starry-eyed looks too, feet wiggling in the sand, eyes turned away, and their arms scrambling for stability. One looked like she could be Yuka''s sibling, with a puffy ponytail of black hair and brown eyes with a hint of bright rust. She adjusted practically every inch of her green one-piece outfit with translucent silver segments above her chest and around her waist. The girl seemed so lost, and Silvia decided to snag her.

    Miraculously, she didn''t collapse. Despite a hurricane of fear across her face, she was able to hold it together and convey that her name was Yumeko. At least, that was her name now. It used to be Yuto. The first name rang an old bell for Yuka, not only for sounding similar to her own name, but she also recalled that Naoko mentioned there was a prominent character that featured in a long-running series of shows some seventeen years ago, before either of them were born. Unfortunately, that was all she could remember about it.

 [110] Yuri Worlds 110 â€“ Nuptials

    Yuri Worlds

    [110] Nuptials

    Oddly, that mention triggered something in Yumeko, and she crossed her arms in careful contemplation. She squeezed every animated muscle connected to memory but couldn''t draw even a drop of detail out of her head. Yuka lamented that she couldn''t remember more to help the girl out. Naoko surely would''ve known all the details that eluded them. Since Naoko was still in bed, they threw out the most random names that popped into their heads. Most didn''t sound real.

    But the action of flinging out whatever names and words that popped into their heads brought a genuine smile to Yumeko''s face, even though it didn''t unearth the memories still stuck in the depths of her brain. They invited her to sit with them on their beach blankets. After some nervous waffling, she accepted.

    Yumeko fumbled and flailed about her early admission to all the stuff that everyone seemed to keep quiet about before sheepishly admitting that this was just her second day as a woman. She had a girlfriend who was absolutely rolling about the whole situation, especially regaling her with stories of all her serious-faced new bosses in loose and rumpled suits trying to make it seem like everything was as it had been. Her greatest fear throughout the entire thing was that the girl she loved wouldn''t be interested in her anymore. She suggested it was the exact opposite, her words petering out and transforming into a hot blush on her cheeks.

    Before, Yuto was an artist and singer who helped out at a goofy local store themed around time travel. Despite the massive changes in her life, those specific details appeared constant. She also assured them that, though she had curious, wandering eyes, she wasn''t trying to flirt or ogle. This awkward assertion soon tumbled with uncertainty as she flapped her arms and sprinted through a fervent, attempted clarification that never quite arrived at its destination.

    Yuka did the duty of wrapping an alarm around her and assuring her it was fine. Then their guest broke down in an absolute flood of tears, touching upon a plethora of nervous thoughts and considerations about how much had changed, how much hadn''t, and what to expect from a world of fresh chaos. At the end of all that, she admitted that she really had to go to the bathroom and had been holding it ever since this started.

    Urgently, Silvia took her by the hand and marched her to the public restroom. When they returned, Yumeko looked like she had been through several violent wringers, but she settled without trembling upon their towels. Silvia had passed along some notes on feminine hygiene during their trek.

    Though they had only met minutes ago, they were conversing like longtime friends. Other girls nearby struck up random chats, noticing that Yumeko had been crying and offering help if it was a serious matter. Carrie thought about Shimai and smiled to herself. The entire world had been changed, transformed, and infused with energy that it should''ve had all along.

    It was broken before, and it still felt broken, like nature swollen after the end of all things, with everyone wandering around wondering what they should do now. The light of a fresh day came. Life continued. Gorgeous new flowers bloomed in the distance. Not an end, but a new beginning. A chance for everything to be better.

    But that was tempered by the fact that they would soon have to say goodbye to Yuka, even though she desperately hoped it wasn''t a forever goodbye. The bastards had a practical eternity while she didn''t; they could wait her out and keep the girl she loved locked away until she was frail and gray, depending on whether this new world even permitted aging.

    She had to hang on; she had to keep her determination; she couldn''t ever forget what Yuka meant to her. A thousand years, as they promised one another. She could wait in the darkness deep inside Yuka, barely a silent grain inside her soul. No matter what it took, she could tolerate it.

    Yuka was making an impossible sacrifice, and so would she. But that was later; they still had today and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. A shallow handful of a future, but something to hold onto and never squander. Especially with moping on a sandy, beautiful beach and not jumping into what was probably still very frigid water this time of year to scream and splash. Fortunately, they soon remedied that by rushing as a group to the receding, fizzing waves.

    The turning and churning style of the water still evoked realistic, natural forces, but the animated energy suggested something more like paint rushing and crushing on top of itself. Carrie knew well to be wary of appearances, as there were plenty of local news warnings about pollution and toxic tides, along with an unfortunate host of everything humanity cast into the waters. But it felt nice, and it flowed with dizzying energy as it rushed in and lanced them with a blast of icy water. They giggled and gasped together, even Yumeko, as she ineffectually braced herself with her arms against the splashes.

    The water carried undulating patches of dark, mysterious seaweed beneath its surface. The overall appearance of the ocean was not only sharper and clearer than she could ever remember, but it seemed free of the debris cluttering the shore. She took a small, experimental sip before spitting. It still had the wretched bite of salt water.

    Once they''d gotten past the frantic surprise of dipping in the ocean, Carrie floated with her head tilted up, watching the artful skies. Yumeko was a good swimmer and made quiet, relaxed laps at the edge of the drop-off. Fiona ventured just as far but didn''t express confidence in her swimming stroke, so she made sure to check for sand beneath her. Silvia was happy to linger where she could be immersed in the back-and-forth pull without losing sway to one direction or the other. Yuka didn''t venture too deep but cautiously advanced to stay near Carrie.

    Seemingly following their example, the hesitant scattering of swimmers soon proliferated. Clarion cries of joy and excitement saturated the air. It wasn''t long before they returned to the shore and their spot on the sand. The sand clumped and crumbled in places but was a loose, fluffy powder around where they sat.

    Yumeko hopped up a few times, as though she were waiting for someone or something. She soon explained that her girlfriend was supposed to drive over here to pick her up after her walk. She double-checked the time on her phone with a nod and sighed. Calling was an option, but she didn''t wanna do that yet. After all the recent soul-sharing, it had come time for Yumeko to add the four of them to her phone. Carrie provided her information but advised that she didn''t currently have access to her phone.

    The same was especially true for Yuka, who settled on the explanation of being a foreign traveler. They each delighted in speaking in Japanese, even though it was peculiar and awkward, because the others could still understand them. Their inflections and intonations carried differently, but there was otherwise no way to tell they were speaking a foreign language.

    What they talked about wasn''t particularly secret; they simply referred to locations and sites familiar to Yumeko, which Yuka had to struggle with due to their disparate realities. She recognized some details, but it might as well have been an entirely different country.

    To cover for herself, she admitted that so many things changed all around her and that her memories of this and that were unreliable. In place of specifics, she went with safe details about shrines, transit, and wilderness. Food also matched up well. Confusion occasionally drifted across Yumeko''s features, but she shrugged it off.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    A question eventually hit about their connections to one another. Siblings, close friends, and then Yuka took a deep breath and announced, "We''re engaged to be married," gesturing between herself and Carrie. That should''ve shocked or at least startled her partner, but Carrie just felt serene calm and peace. Certain things fluttered through her thoughts. Yuka was technically young, in whatever iteration of herself this was for her, although time, reality, and so many other things eluded precision.

    And even though she suspected that the moms would''ve gladly given their approval if they understood or remembered, the legal uncertainties probably wouldn''t pass muster. Not that Carrie found it absolutely necessary to legally be together when everything else was a foregone conclusion, but whatever made Yuka happy.

    Yumeko brought up the fact that this area was one of the most popular on the coast for elopements. Countless little chapels were scattered about in the hills, ready to provide their services. Her girlfriend brought it up more than once, but they both found themselves too chicken to take the plunge yet. She had a wide variety of curated suggestions that they investigated and was eager to share.

    Staring down the confident, delineated reality of marriage instead of the discussed, abstract aspect of it did quicken the pace of Carrie''s heart but didn''t dull her determination. Why not get married right now? It didn''t have to be perfectly official or even legally binding. They had witnesses.

    The closest chapel was actually just a block down the road. Yumeko asserted some nervous confidence in leading the way. They had to pack things up and set them aside in the car before slipping into their walk. Just as their new friend relayed to them, there was a tiny, palm-fringed, pristine white building with a glittering golden bell in the front tower. It looked like a location from an old movie. Both Yuka and Carrie''s tummies decided that now was the time to harmonize in gurgles and discomfort.

    Fortunately, despite the austere impression and simplicity of the interior, the church actually contained a sizable, modern bathroom with sun-bleached surfaces and dusty scatterings. The chaplain fit the expectations of a surfer in vestments. Sunglasses, jeans, and a wide crest of bleached blonde hair.

    The initial message was that recent events had caused too much uncertainty for them to offer their normal slate of services. That didn''t deter. The legal stuff could be worked out later; they just wanted the intention and the commitment to be made public. The wedding officiant brushed her full locks back and reflected on that. Not a request she typically got. But she could oblige, especially since there was no one scheduled for a while.

    One wrinkle was their separate cultures, along with so much more. But they kept it as simple as Japanese and American for the sake of explaining. Yuka laid out, and Yumeko nodded in confirmation that Japanese ceremonies tended not to focus on vows exchanged but rather presented a letter of gratitude to the parents. And there were many other ritual aspects. They wouldn''t be able to perform it at the Akechi shrine, but she hoped they could do some of the traditions and perhaps blend the two traditions together.

    Clothing didn''t matter to her, food certainly wasn''t a big deal, and to heck with gifts, but she urged that it was all about connection between people and places. The togetherness, the unity of commitment. Placing that in a ceremony of heart and spirit. Yuka and Carrie both understood, even though the others still had questions. The details were relatively easy for the chaplain to arrange.

    Since they weren''t doing a legal ceremony, she urged that there was just a small charge for the use of the building and a handful of guests along with her services. She had the legal papers and wrote up her own document related to the events of the day. It didn''t really mean much, but it meant the world to the two of them.

    They first cleansed their hands and mouth with water in a method reminiscent of the first entry to the shrine, although far more makeshift with what their host had available from her cupboard and a simple blessing of the water. Large kitchen measuring utensils would have to do.

    Next came offerings of food and alcohol to the Goddesses, represented by freshly baked bread from the chaplain''s oven and a measured amount of beer from her fridge. The leftover was measured out in three cups for a later portion of the ceremony, with the first representing gratitude to their ancestors and divine creators, the second representing the present that they shared together as a couple, and the third promising their future.

    Parts of it felt like any wedding ceremony, with their host substituting some parts of their script for goddesses and spirits where required but also leaning heavily on the Christian tradition.

    Yuka went first with her vow. It followed all the traditional language about in sickness and in health before she offered her personal lines.

    "I swear, with all my heart and all my soul, that I will hold you in my thoughts no matter what time passes, no matter what foes stand against us, through whatever separation may befall us, against the passage of time, no matter how weak or lost I feel, no matter what anger, no matter what suffering, I will never let go of our commitment. Though every trace of light may fall and every shadow burn away, I will love, remember, and cherish you every day I am granted, no matter what face I wear or name I share. Always and forever together, beyond a thousand years..."

    Carrie softly quipped that a vow like that really wasn''t fair because there was no way she could match it. Yuka shrugged and urged her to do whatever she felt in her heart. Nothing felt good for this moment, but she eventually started to speak.

    "I swear to you with all my heart and all my soul that even though I may not be guaranteed a thousand years, I will fight with everything I have for every moment we can get. I would gladly be assigned the duty of standing in for your beating heart, tireless and devoted for as long as you need me, if only to know that you are protected and we never have to say goodbye again. I swear I will always stand by your side through all trials, through all pains, through all uncertainty, and through all lost hope to kindle the faintest ember of light to shine when you need it and to shade you from any scorching brightness with restful, dark protection. No doubt within or cruel voice without will ever take me from the best of your beautiful heart. I don''t know what I can give you, but whatever I give, I give my all with every ounce of what and who I am, always."

    A faintly raised eyebrow was all the commentary the chaplain provided following their words as she completed and ordained the ceremony. To finish it off, they shared the cups to drink each blessing. A full sip of the past and a generous gulp of the present. But Carrie fumbled with the last part and barely moistened her tongue by accident. It was fine; it was just ceremonial, and the chaplain compensated by giving her strongest blessing and encouraging them to kiss.

    Joyously, they joined together and swiveled in place with giggles and boundless smiles. This day would pass into memory, and this week would slip away too swiftly. Terrible things were on the horizon, and they could not look away, but for this precious moment, it was nothing but blue skies and brimming hopes.

 [111] Yuri Worlds 111 â€“ Reflection

    Yuri Worlds

    [111] Reflection

    After the ceremony, and after they had acquired and safely secured all the legal paperwork, Yumeko, Silvia, and Fiona returned to the beach intending to walk down to the pier at the end of the road. Yumeko''s girlfriend finally texted her back about a pick-up after lengthy apologies regarding getting lost in outfit ideas for her at a nearby clothing store.

    Yuka and Carrie stayed behind at the chapel. The building had a small balcony that overlooked the area at the top of some winding stone stairs. They climbed carefully. A pair of broad-back bamboo lounge chairs greeted them at the summit. The view, with the sun loitering on the water due to the strange angle of the shoreline, calmly reminded Yuka of home. A breeze softly fluttered at their hair, flapping the longest locks over their eyes.

    They each appeared as though they had something they really wanted to say¡ªthe start of something profound. But just the faintest groans emerged. Comments about what just happened, about the beauty of the world before them, and a dozen heady, beautiful thoughts should''ve been an erupting waterfall of words, but it was all dammed up.

    Frustration crossed their faces as they abandoned speaking and simply reached out an arm for one another. But the gap between the chairs was too wide. It was easily resolved by a rough, insistent scoot that did more than enough, practically clacking the two chairs together. They pulled each other close and leaned back with relief.

    Silence settled aside from birds darting above and cars passing in the street until Yuka softly started singing. It was supposed to be Japanese, but it still sounded harmonious in translation as she softly progressed through an English version.

    The song told the story of a little monster that lived in the closet of a classroom. It was so afraid to come out because it was scared of all the noisy little girls around. Late at night, everyone who lived nearby could hear strange and wild sounds coming from that school. They thought it was a vengeful spirit, angry and horrifying. What they didn''t know was that the sound they heard was the little monster breaking down in mournful tears every night because it was so lonely.

    One night, this little girl was there late because her mother was a teacher. When the wailing started, her mother urged her to leave with her. But this girl was strange and a little bit brave. She wanted to see what was causing all these stories and fears. She snuck away and found the closet where the little monster was curled up so sad.

    She wasn''t afraid of it, even though it was terrified of her. The girl touched, squeezed, and talked to the little monster. The little monster was baffled by how the girl wasn''t dangerous. Her hugs felt nice. But the girl had to leave because her mom was looking for her. She promised she would be back soon.

    And she returned every night she could. They talked to one another, and they danced. She showed the monster everything in her classroom and explained about girls and the world outside. The little monster had a friend.

    They treasured every opportunity to spend time together. But there was a problem: the little girl''s family was moving away soon. She would be too far away to visit the little monster. They both cried, but the little girl promised she would tell stories about the little monster wherever she went so that everyone would know how wonderful it was. She made the little monster promise that it would be bolder and not afraid when it came to making friends. It promised to try.

    Time passed, and without the little girl who helped it so much, the little monster retreated to its old ways. However, occasionally, it would find ways to sneak out and do nice things for the little girls at the school. But it was so desperately lonely and struggled not to be scary when it cried.

    One day, it was so tired of the sadness and the loneliness that it decided it would just step out into the light of day, and whatever happened happened.

    In the middle of a lesson, the little monster walked out of the closet and offered itself up to the swarm of little girls. There were screams all throughout the room, not of terror¡­ but of joy.

    Everyone in the school knew the story of the good little monster who watched over and blessed them. They had shrines dedicated to it that it never knew about. And standing at the center of the room, all grown up and now a teacher, was the precious little girl who opened the little monster''s heart. They danced and sang together in celebration.

    When Yuka finished, Carrie had already gotten her several spools of toilet paper to use as impromptu tissue. She admitted that the song actually started out as a story for kids before being made into musical form. There were a bunch of folklore tales involving monsters that she knew, but she thought that one was the best because it wound up so happy. Carrie knew a few of them from her studies before the trip, even though they were the versions that used to exist around here.

    "Today has been so perfectly magical already, and there''s so much left to it. At the same time, it feels like it''s all speeding away from me. Like all these cars rapidly chasing one another wherever they''re going. I can''t sit still. At the same time, I have to sit still, or I won''t enjoy it. I don''t know what to do. I''m so happy, and I''m also so scared of how soon we have to say goodbye, and I don''t know when we''ll see each other again."

    Carrie wrapped her up in her arms and held her close. That served as a better comfort than whatever words she might wield without certainty that she could back them up. A topic then flashed through her mind.

    "What should we call each other?"

    Yuka responded with rising and falling eyebrow wiggles, as though they were furry little boats on an invisible ocean trying to ride out the tide.

    "What do you mean?"

    "My name is Carrie Fowler. Your name is Sasaki Cerberus, or thereabouts. My name was Takano Misaki. We''ve gone through a lot of changes. And none of that has altered my love for you. However, all that feels so formal. What should we call each other when it''s just the two of us? I kinda hinted at this with Ceri. I''ve thought cutie, sweetie, honey, and all sorts of familiar little words. But what would you like?"

    She grasped her meaning but admitted that back home, such terms were generally rare. The typical notes were "my love" and "my dear" in the way that Kosame emphasized them most egregiously. But Yuka admitted that they didn''t necessarily have to follow any of that precisely. They could play at least as loosely as they did with the ceremony.

    "What words make you happy?" The same question fluttered out of each of their mouths in various states of formation. They laughed together and gave it some quiet thought. The topic of shortening Cerberus cutely had already come up, but since that sounded so close to her partner''s name now, Yuka felt reticent to lay claim to it. Cute and goofy possibilities spilled out without judgment or certainty of where they would go.

    "A part of me. A part of my heart. ''My love'' is still cute. ''My dear friend'' is a little too light. My thousand years? My echo. My reflection, my best. Makes sweetie way simpler. Care is also nice if you''re okay with that."

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Carrie readily accepted Care as their thing with one another. Her mind dashed between all sorts of possibilities, landing particularly on the silly little notion of Ceeyu. She played around with ''see you soon''. My love and my heart were also nice, along with simple Cee. Despite all that wondering and pondering, they didn''t really come to any further conclusions except to use words that made each other happy as they came up with them.

    Yuka''s relaxation would''ve been preferable, but her mind leapt from this topic to thinking about contacting Naoko, or at least leaving her a message about their ceremonial joining. She knew that her friend wouldn''t judge her for marrying without her mothers'' permission; it was beyond their control. But the voices of social pressure inside her head left her sweaty and tense. Carrie had to level some heavy-duty care on her loved one to take her from a nervous puppy to a calm and relaxed one. The tears started to come back, but gently brushing her hair helped.

    It took a while, but the two of them stood up from the bamboo chairs, as centered and serene as they had laid out on them. When they met up with Fiona and Silvia, there was some disappointment that Yumeko had already left with her girlfriend, but they all had her contact info, along with several cute shots to show off.

    After indulging in the sand and the beach to the point of contentment and snapping several more shots and videos with the communication device, they roamed around the small resort town before deciding it was a little too opulent.

    Yuka earned a proper trip to a 7-Eleven, and the area had a surprisingly fancy one. Despite that boost in standards, she folded her arms and scrutinized the small rows. She promised not to judge it unfairly but to let the others decide on snacks since nothing drew her interest. As with the challenging breakfast from a few days ago, she sampled carefully and ate lightly.

    It was still relatively early in the day, so they made the decision to venture towards downtown Los Angeles and Little Tokyo. Parking was stressful for Silvia as the navigator, even though Fiona looked quite relaxed. Immediately, Yuka latched onto a distinct aura for the region. It felt like home, even though it was a small, carefully tended snippet transplanted like a delicate bonsai.

    The anime transformation from the flood hadn''t skipped over this area. Colorful girls with the eyes, height, and character of Yuka wandered about with uncertainty in their steps but dedication in their poise. Selections of public art, nothing like what they witnessed on their trip, lined the walkway. Beautiful gardens stretching in ornate tiers and cresting from side rooftops caught everyone''s eye. Yuka had to see the museum on the side, and she was gleeful to experience the street foods and noodles compared to back home.

    Fiona and Silvia gave the honeymooning couple some time alone and checked out the small market. It wasn''t so much a romantic jaunt, as Yuka blasted through a narrow amusement park as though she were inspired by Maharu''s rocket launches. She resisted the urge to pant on the wagashi shop windows. Anything she wanted, though, her¡­ wife promised to get her.

    More than the food, Yuka delighted in greeting whoever she could in her native tongue. Even though it wasn''t a foreign language to Carrie, she used simple words haltingly, as though she were just learning Japanese. Her efforts were somewhat confusing as she spoke simply, but the women with feathered eyebrows noted that her use of language and intonation were precise. She eventually went back to talking normally after Yuka got in plenty of teasing nudges. And they bought plenty of little sweets to share, sampling half each.

    If they were hungrier, they might''ve tried the shabu shabu. Instead, Yuka opted to sample their soba since, with Haruka''s supposed buckwheat allergy, it just wasn''t prepared around the house. In fact, Yuka confessed that many of the things she''d sampled so far were usually things she avoided out of consideration for her elder sister. And, since they were items that her mothers rarely prepared, they had less of a chance of being primed by expectations and memories that restaurant quality would never be able to match.

    Her conclusion, after devouring so much that Carrie half expected that she would have a cartoonish potbelly to show for it, was that it was the best of her expectations without the salty bitterness of things that she feared she may not experience again for a long time. She slurped hard and looked especially happy with her lady love sitting next to her at the noodle bar. With a plethora of dressed-up women and dazed tourists looking like they fit together with soft, artful lines traced across their bodies, one could really believe that they were back in the other world, if only for a moment.

    Yuka greeted all the girls around her warmly with words in Japanese and whatever else translated. Some of their ethnicities were difficult to precisely discern. One had lightly bluish hair reminiscent of Maharu without looking anything like her. Carrie couldn''t tell if it was dyed or a sign that whatever animating force washed over them had intentions to turn things super anime.

    While they were there, they opted to be as social as possible, an uncommon sight for a city center such as this. Carrie suspected that their actions raised eyebrows, especially from the restaurant owners, but they weren''t doing anything negative. The mood of the crowds soon brightened.

    It was clear that tension still loitered in the air, like a haze deeper than the downtown smog that once clung to the big city, which had been expunged by this new art style. When they left, the after-effects of this courtesy were noticeable in the cheerful sense that spread through the area, quietly evocative of what Fuyuki called Shimai. A sense of community among these still shell-shocked sisterly girls.

    Bakeries along the thoroughfare wafted with twisting, complicated fresh aromas that brought warm feelings and opened nostrils. After a last pair of pastries, they checked out a miniatures shop before heading into the museum. It was far simpler than either of them expected. Paintings, along with various cultural totems, themed the different wings of the museum.

    As with everything else, the girlish turn toward the world and culture had sharp overtones throughout the space. Spirit mentions had spread all around. Feminine imagery and shapes saturated the sculptures in particular. Girl and woman seemed potently synonymous with human in the scattered phrasings and handwritten explanations for artifacts.

    The visuals were fascinating, and the implications were curious, but Carrie could tell that the effects of the flood on the world were deepening and sinking into the marrow. It made her wonder what was coming next. This was a restoration of the way things used to be, but how would they develop?

    Would the ultimate result be even more pronounced than in the other world? Would they literally shift to become like them? It was a prospect that excited aspects of Carrie but also deeply terrified her at the same time. Change is scary, especially when you have no idea when and if it''s going to stop or where it will leave you. All they could do was hold on and hope for the best.

 [112] Yuri Worlds 112 â€“ Completion

    Yuri Worlds

    [112] Completion

    Yuka made sure to take plenty of documentary photographs of the museum for Naoko. With the communication device back in the car, they had to rely on the modest, spare digital camera that Silvia brought along from her collection for their phoneless sakes.

    Carrie asked around about the exhibits and eventually came across some curators in kimonos. They appeared quite baffled by their own bodies, let alone whatever changes had occurred to their surroundings over the last several days. But they recollected enough about the way things used to be to offer Yuka information regarding the contrast.

    The best part, however, was that they were able to open up the museum library to showcase a wide variety of historical titles that Yuka desperately wished she could take with her and hungrily absorb. Pictures and light reading would have to suffice.

    They met up with the others after their excursion at the small, strikingly fancy compact mall on the side of the complex. Several large, contemporary businesses had latched onto the edges of it, but the main body still contained a core that felt out of time, separated from the rest of the world like an artifact of the 1980s infused with Japanese energy.

    Though they didn''t buy much at any of the little stores contained within, it was a fascinating trek. Bootleg copies of a wide variety of foreign and regional titles filled the shelves of a particular business that still believed that Betamax was king. The dedicated anime location acquired a surreal character considering the reshaped essence of the world. By this point, they started receiving some groggy interactions from Naoko as she semi-coherently interacted with the saved media.

    The four of them closed out the evening with a trip to Pasadena and a board game caf¨¦. Once again, as seemed to perpetually be the case, Yuka was inundated by the sheer weight of possibilities, limited by the time they had and the choices they needed to make. Every game possibility felt exquisitely tempting. Ultimately, they opted for several small titles with simple set-ups and reminiscent styles that kindled wistful smiles and quiet hopes about someone they all wished could be present for this.

    Maharu would''ve loved this trip; it went without saying. She would''ve discovered so many special little moments and brought them to blazing light. Her exuberance would''ve blasted them in all directions, and they would''ve realized experiences not even their boldest ambitions were tempted to seek. One game, in particular, had an automated player off to the side, and they quietly treated that as their missing fifth companion.

    The evening stretched as long as they could endure, especially once they returned home with tired eyes, but bodies suffused with calm despite the acknowledgement of exhaustion. Carrie and Yuka carefully wrapped fragments of colorful metal around their fingers in place of actual rings. They could get them, even though they knew to be patient. But screw being patient.

    The next day, they got fitted for simple rings with a subtle obsidian texture. Light on the underside with blackness on the outside. Naoko passed along that a lot of the turmoil was finally coming to a crest, with calm now reasserting itself. Carrie tried more bright colors, especially shades of pink reminiscent of her sister''s sharp tones. It soon became evident that those colors didn''t suit her, but she was able to flaunt and tolerate them without getting too worried about it.

    Instead of bounding along the bumpy freeways with a blistering swarm of frantic drivers spilling off in all directions, they opted for the commuter train. Yuka immediately and fervently had strong opinions about the entire experience. The train was better than Carrie remembered from her last time using it. She suspected the floods had gotten into these spaces as well and shifted them towards the ideal of the other world. But they weren''t quite on the same level yet. Yuka''s thoughts about bathrooms in general had been restrained. She did appreciate their more consistent paper. But she missed other simple amenities and considered care everywhere. At least she had her Care.

    Relaxation wasn''t really in the cards with this day''s plan as they made their way through the local zoo. The hills leading from one exhibit to the next were exhausting, but the sights were well worth it. Yuka took time at the petting zoo with the long-eared rabbits. She lavished appreciation on the snakes and marveled at so many other species.

    Some she never heard of, while others were quite familiar, and she scrutinized their kinship to creatures she was even more familiar with. None of them appeared to have acquired humanizing elements, despite noticeably expressive eyes and more pastel subtleties. Just sitting for a while and watching the diving, dashing otters frantically and earnestly play with one another was one of Yuka''s favorite parts of the trip.

    She enjoyed all these experiences, especially the company of her friends and wife, but Care could tell that the Little Tokyo trip and the beach colored her expectations. She wanted to see the culture of this world, and Carrie wanted to showcase it. Fortunately, the timing was just right for a spring festival in the Echo Park area.

    Carrie thought it was rather underwhelming, even though there were great displays of fresh and planted flowers everywhere. Yuka was just glad to be witness to a snippet of her wife''s culture. Granted, it was an event that Carrie had never even heard of before, let alone had much interest in. So, Yuka had to know: what was her culture?

    And this question left her stupefied for a response. Her parents were a mix of English, German, Scots, and a little sprinkling of Eastern European descent. When their ancestors came to America, they brought aspects of their home culture with them, but they were the sort to obscure those attributes and attempt more to blend in. That blending extended to their children, whom they encouraged to focus on school with their family history kept as a vague glimmer of the past cloaked in random expressions of languages they didn''t understand. And all that faded away.

    That didn''t deter Yuka. Using Fiona''s borrowed cell phone, she did some searching into the Saint Andrews Society. They also seriously considered playing a round of golf to at least find some touchstones. The frantic pace of that Wednesday didn''t have as many events, travels, or encounters packed into it as the other days of the week, but the conclusion still felt exhausting by the time they got to one of the few remaining video game arcade caf¨¦s.

    Still hugging her book from the night before, Yuka woke up on Thursday morning with her eyes wide and unblinking at the ceiling, as Care knew her mind was ravenously racing. She explained that she had a nightmare that she had to eat the world because poison was popping up all over the place and she was the only one who could safely consume it to keep it from spreading.

    Yuka feared that the lingering, hungry feeling she felt in the forest by the shrine when she first started using the name Cerberus was an insatiable part of her monster aspect, one that she could only ignore but never appease or satiate. What monstrous hunger could ever be overcome?

    Care had no words of epiphany, as was often the case, but she showed her with love that she wasn''t scared of her wife. That helped push away some of the dark feelings, but this day would be more low-key than the others. They spent a decent amount of time at the house and walking around the neighborhood, looking for positive signs of the energy taking root and fostering fresh revelations. The dull tan and sandy patches of the desert had been replaced by faint mosses and artful pools of blooming clover, along with blasts of wildflower tones.

    Finding signs of family, especially for Fiona, became the preoccupation, along with interpreting more of the volleyball youth remnants. Breaking free of her concerns for a while, Yuka joined a Silvia Says stream as an innocuous podcast guest. She didn''t have much to offer in the gaming sphere, aspects of the transformed pop culture, or anything else, but then everyone was on unsure footing, and the comedy of that uncertainty melted with earnest glee and exuberance. Everyone agreed that Maharu would''ve been the perfect addition with her soaring energy levels. Though they tried at points, no one could match what she would''ve been able to provide.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    The possibility of finishing up the figurines on stream emerged, but they saved them until after it ended. It wasn''t long before they once again had to face the empty canvases they had left. Knowing what was nagging at the back of her mind, Yuka went to work painting her friend, albeit relatively crudely in shape and style. Her gaze searched skyward with dreams and imaginings to deepen the world around her.

    From that point of joy, the central thesis of Maharu as a thematic anchor inspired her to give little flourishes and flaws of character to trees, mounds of dirt, and peaks of shadow around the edges. Surely, with her fertile mind, the girl would''ve christened each and every feature with a vibrant fantastical narrative, expanding upon their evident details into richly revealed, hidden realms. It pained Yuka and the others not to be able to hear and know those precious inspirations.

    As for the figurines, the waffling and confusion about whether they should represent the past, the future, or some amalgamation of self and character dropped away with realized clarity. These were memories printed, created, and intended to preserve the experience of their trip. It didn''t matter that things soured or became complicated after the fact. The lives they lived that week deserved sincere recollection. Once that came into focus, it was just a matter of fine-tuning the color tones to match their experiences in the mirror and the way that this world now interpreted those tones. It became painstakingly slow work, especially when critical parts needed to dry before more applications could be done. However, they did eventually finish them.

    Takano Chika had such a sly, sneaky, and suggestive presence with her expression of glee, wanting to leap off the material. She absolutely deserved a little fuku, displaying a playful amount of skin mid-bounce. When Carrie looked at the figure, her warm brown eyes felt like they were searching just for her across a crowded room, with her tiny, sculpted hand and painted nails about to reach out. A few slight liberties were taken, but Silvia admitted that she really wanted to try it in that form and hoped that the follow-up and completion trip would allow her to do so.

    Yamane Namiko had a cloaking, body-subsuming crown of pink hair to be properly colored and shaded, which Fiona took the vast majority of her time to get right. She joked about needing to buy more paint to properly cover her boobs.

    Despite the silliness, she faced the task of painting the figure with the utmost seriousness. Her outfit, with its softly printed design, resembled the kimono she ultimately wore. So, Fiona endeavored to match it as much as possible while skimming through the photos she and Chika took during the festival.

    Care cursed her unsteady hands as she carefully went through the primer and color mixing she wanted. Even with exactly the right shade of lavender to highlight Misaki''s eyes, it felt more like she had just blotted a droplet of black on top of them. Drying brought relief as it settled into the proper color.

    The mixing for her alter ego''s hair brought her to the point of wanting to just slap an obsidian tone on and call it a day, but she persisted and wound up with something that retained the blacks while hinting at the subtle undertones she saw in the mirror during their trip.

    The efforts were painstaking and protracted, with a lot of stretching, getting up, rethinking, and finally composing the pieces and shades that suited their little lives for the week. The finished products, especially after sealant, stood there accusingly, as though they had messed up something that still needed to be corrected. But they let them go and let them dry.

    Yuka''s painting had a surprisingly loose quality, with some of the trees blurring away as though out of focus on a camera. Maharu''s features became more of an impression than her actual solid form, but the message of joy was still clearly communicated.

    Everyone praised her composition, and Yuka made it clear that the work was going to her wife to keep. Naoko received a high-resolution snapshot on the communication device, but she always intended it to go to the girl she loved, a better reminder of that night in the forest with their friend, like a daughter, standing and strong, looking towards the stars and possibilities instead of down in the dirt begging for help.

    Care told her it was beautiful, and they made plans to preserve it and place it in a proper frame, even though there were parts along the edges that probably needed a little bit more paint to finish it. However, Yuka decided not to complete those little details and instead lightly smiled and told her, "I''ll finish it when I return home after all this, promise." It was a big promise, but one neither of them questioned.

    A casual bookstore trip along with quiet and significant roaming around the region capped off their Thursday, but big plans lay ahead for Friday and the weekend.

    To match their trek on the other side, they went to a local resort in the nearby hills, which still had faint traces of snow remaining. Silvia covered the cost of everything, despite concern from her big sister. The journey up was manageable but winding. The resort loomed like an oversized log cabin, with quiet ostentation.

    The honeymoon couple got special treats and Japanese dishes prepared by a cheerful chef who proudly wore her feathered eyebrows with an undimmed smile. This one hadn''t been here for a thousand years, but it proudly proclaimed it had passed one hundred.

    No natural hot springs were here to greet them, but the hot tub still felt pleasant. The activities around the resort included a lot of jumping, climbing, and bouncing, with fresh-faced little girls unrestrained in their announcements that being little girls was so weird and they needed to get haircuts.

    This world had changed so much, and the desperate, quiet plea from everyone around was to ignore the naked emperor. If they waited, then perhaps it would all go away, just as patience had failed so many times before.

    Yuka had the best time chatting with the little girls and asking them the sort of hushed, curious questions that she knew Maharu would''ve exuberantly desired to ask of any little girl. And she wanted to know as well.

    Care picked up on it easier, but Yuka also discerned that the kids had complicated emotions when it came to how they looked now compared to a week ago. They had no qualms about pointing out every detail, even if it prompted uncomfortable blushing from Carrie.

    They used to be boys, and now they are girls! But it happened to everyone, so it was OK. It wasn''t that they were super sad or upset about it; it actually felt normal, and they could be any sort of girls they wanted, even practically like the boys they used to be. It was just all the darn hair that most of them gripped about. Fortunately, the resort had a very nice salon and barbershop.

    For fun, when no one but her wife and one kid were looking, Yuka would make Cerberus faces and wink, as though showing off a secret magic trick. Her modest reputation as the magic lady soon spread and earned her plenty of suspicious looks from the other resort-goers. I didn''t get them in trouble, but the staff regularly made loops around wherever they were and often encouraged kids to head back to their families instead of talking to the "nice lady".

    Silvia and Fiona soon got into the act by distracting and entertaining the little ones. Silvia did it with her bad singing and stream-of-consciousness goofiness that didn''t impress the kids. But Fiona more than made up for that with feats of strength and the most exhilarating rides on her back.

    It wasn''t the greatest resort, but the four of them were excited for a beautiful final weekend together.

 [113] Yuri Worlds 113 â€“ Farewell

    Yuri Worlds

    [113] Farewell

    After dropping all her bags off, Yuka and Care flopped down on their massive king bed. The tension in the last couple of days with urgently going every moment to provide lasting, beautiful experiences for her wife had left Care with a dust-kindled cough and a sinus headache that crunchy rotations of her head in slow circles hadn''t done much to alleviate.

    Despite the massively swollen, soft mountain tops when she looked down, the girls hadn''t fostered any back pain, electric tension, or divot marks from her bra straps. And the fact that her little sister didn''t have any complaints on any of those points either made her wonder if the magic of human energy went towards the megalithic lifting of their weights.

    Maybe all of that would come for her someday, when she least expected it. Maybe her self, who had and should''ve occupied this life, prepared her with just the right amount of adjusted support that she had been slipping into without wisdom or expertise. Still, she worried that maybe there was some sort of muscle stretching and exercise she was supposed to be doing to keep everything comfortable and repel the cruelty of gravity. Maybe she didn''t need to be creating problems.

    Yuka delighted in their little kitchen and view of the wilderness. She had been partially relieved and disappointed that the hinted American mythology of Bigfoots, Skinwalkers, and UFOs were not only rare sights but practically impossible to track down, especially around here.

    Sure, she was learning that a quick search on the Internet turned up a wide array of questionably legitimate, breathless tales from people who had an uncle or a friend of a relative who saw something when they were young. They would smell strange, nauseating aromas deep in the trees, like rotting flesh full of disease, and then the entire wilderness would go silent, as though a vicious predator was lurking just out of sight. Yuka fashioned a provisional plan that she might turn into a massive black blob monster with huge eyes and go stomping around looking for all the supernatural sights. It immediately occurred to her that she would then probably swiftly become a creature of legend herself.

    Instead of flaunting all that outside, where she might accidentally terrify some innocent kid, she practiced her capabilities in the privacy of their suite. They made sure there were no secret cameras planted. If there was anything, they didn''t find it.

    The first round felt like warm-up stretching before proper exercise. She loosened the dimensions of her limbs and shifted their colors around the gamut of the rainbow. Care felt a pang of jealousy that Yuka could so simply cast off her human appearance along with all the human aches. She had no mutable bones or muscles; she was still bound to her shape despite being host to a limb''s worth of that dark potentiality.

    Like playing the strangest game of charades, Yuka asked her to throw out different forms for her to attempt. Instantly, Care''s mind was void of all suggestions. The first thing that collided with her thoughts, like a stray particle collision lighting up an experimental darkness, was to see if she could replicate her appearance from the other world with a gently exaggerated color palette.

    This was a simple task for Yuka, but it also challenged her to do something even more playful. After softening her features to the pinnacle of anime quality and shifting the oil paint back into a proper pastel, she gave a hint of purple to her locks and tinted her eyes a brilliant shade of lavender before fashioning the rest of her body after the Misaki mold so painstakingly reconstructed in miniature.

    Surreal felt like too frail a word for Care to grapple with the fact that her reflection from a week ago was standing separately and smirking out of her control. And it wasn''t long before she was hugging herself. And Yuka felt even more snuggly as her¡ªan unreal amount of snuggly¡ªto the point that Care had to question whether her wife was presenting her form honestly or making it extra squishy for the sake of fun.

    She raised an eyebrow and asked the question. Yuka blinked. She hadn''t intentionally done anything to make herself softer. They experimented, and even when Yuka returned to her regular form, she retained a certain velvety, squishy presence over and beyond her typical contours. More than that, Yuka relayed with fascination that the pain and discomfort she felt with trying to assume a different form previously were now absent. It still required a certain level of concentration, but not active resistance, for her to maintain it.

    After messing around with the variables, the only conclusion that made sense was that part of it had to be something the company did to push against her. And the rest of it seemed to draw from pressure and nerves. She was so deeply relaxed and sedate on this trip, and that emphasized all her gently squishy contours. Pouting, Yuka attempted to slip into Cerberus mode and brace herself all big and tough like Fiona did with her muscles. But insidious tickling and the most loving embrace from Care immediately softened her into a giggling, squishy pile verging on happy goo.

    They stretched back on the bed together and snuggled atop the covers. Yuka''s eyes were lost in Care''s radiant gaze. The sweet smiles they shared with one another beamed brightly until Yuka''s slowly dimmed. Her muscles trembled, and her lips quivered as tears started to form around her eyes and leak sideways against the bed. Care gently asked her what was wrong.

    "I wish it were different. If we could just be¡­ Just be like this and not be so afraid. I don''t want to be afraid. I just want you to be happy, and maybe I could share in it. That''s all I want. But it''s too much to ask. Why...why... why can''t we just have happiness?" Care stroked her cheek gently, and Yuka coughed behind her hand. The cloudy sentiment soon cleared with the possibilities of the weekend¡ªhours that could wash away fears of the future. They had time, a little bit.

    Challenging herself further and wanting to show some toughness in front of her wife, Yuka knew it would be too easy to bring up the hardened protection and blades from before. She instead focused her thoughts and intentions around what she gleaned from their three male forms, along with passing snippets of others she and her companion selves noticed dimly out the window as they raced to escape Travel Anywhere. Her experimental efforts provided a solid foundation to project boyish Cerberus more confidently.

    Her hair darkened in spots while adding a polished sheen. It poked up in places, hovering between unkempt and stylized. Her eyes broadened but didn''t grow. The dark qualities, bordering on pure blackness, surrounded and washed over all other traces. Care had to admit the look was a little bit spooky. It hovered towards an unintended, bad boy feeling. And she adopted some of the sharp, dark eyeliner qualities that Care felt uncertain about because of the goth impression. Excessively moving, undulating jet-black hair crossed her shoulder and probed the developing suit she slipped into.

    The detailed qualities of the suit fluctuated with Yuka''s uncertainty. At some points, it was just a single black piece, more like a drape buttoned together to keep it organized with an ivory swath divided by a black tie. In other moments, the collar piece looked like a shinier version of the rest of the outfit before brightening to a flat, matte silver. Yuka played around with the specific lean, jutting qualities of her nose and jaw, clearly wanting them to look more pronounced and dignified, but not quite getting everything how she wanted. Between the shaping of her accentuated, boyish form, she gave the smallest burp.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    The form that she settled on for the moment without any major changes retained a stark, slightly off-white shell-toned collared shirt with a black tie and matching hair rising and fluffing across her boyish face; the back trimmed away her neck protectively. As with her previous suit as body efforts, getting it to lay right just didn''t quite translate. It was an awkward, puffy bag in parts while feeling stretched taut in others. From around behind her, little snake-like ropes of braided hair wandered up like they were being charmed. Pausing his efforts, Yuka presented his Cerberus self and asked with a voice casually evocative of Franklin''s, "Well? What do you think?"

    Care smiled and had interesting thoughts for this form of her wife. It was the same mystical allure as in the forest. This was Yuka, as she chose to present herself rather than the body she had been planted in. She wondered about the fact that they had been pushing away the goth thing, but Yuka had wholeheartedly embraced it. That earned a playful little head wiggle from the boy as he admitted that there were aspects to embracing the darkness that made her feel relaxed.

    Though he may be cute, soft, and adorable with gentle care for the one he loved most of all, there was still more to him under the surface. He was a dark entity. That didn''t mean evil; that didn''t mean a monster in human flesh. Those were labels that the company decided to impose upon the worlds between worlds. As his dear friends and beloved reunited with their true aspects, he was still searching for his reclaimed truth. It was scary, and he didn''t want to become something he fundamentally was not, but he needed to understand the full honesty of himself.

    But Yuka also needed to know that if anything about his presentation bothered her or made her feel the least bit uncomfortable, because he would immediately return to more comfortable skin for her sake. Carrie smiled warmly and pulled her puppy close. "I love you. Whatever makes you happy also makes me happy. Be yourself as much as you possibly can this weekend. I embrace all your faces as your true face. And I''m so happy to share in all your aspects. Don''t be afraid to be soft and cute and handsome and spooky and mysterious and smoky and brooding and surprisingly taller than me and everything else that is you, my beautiful Cerberus."

    Despite how manly and cool he projected himself to be, cute squeaks and joyous whimpers flooded his presence like a dog returning home after an eternity of loneliness. He was just Yuka and Cerberus. And their weekend was full of this interesting combination of selves.

    When Silvia and Fiona came over from their room, they put the new boy through his paces with notes about voice, body language, how the external apparatus should situate and feel, and getting that suit to look classier. The lodge had plenty of indoor activities to keep them occupied, but Cerberus and Care focused their time out in the wilderness, amidst the cool temperatures and traces of snow remaining this late in the season. Some of the slopes created snow overnight and still had enough for playful trekking.

    The weekend flew by with puffy jackets, wobbly skis, aching tumbles, and quiet moments sitting and watching the alpine edges soften to verdant pleasures. Care was sure that the landscape had once been practically the same shade as the patches of rough desert where she lived, but the ground burst forth with bright and vibrant life. She hoped the blossoming continued.

    Cerberus, between sneakily shifting on and hiding away her secret face, actually dropped into bed more than any other excursion or activity. She looked so overwhelmingly exhausted despite the perky vibrance of everything around her and her brimming enthusiasm. She could''ve again lamented the fact that she was tossing aside even more precious minutes and hours, but every one of those restful moments was spent clinging close to Care. It did leave them with full nights of practically camping out, watching the skies with only the faintest traces of spilled light from the big city feathering the edges of darkness.

    Eventually, inevitably, they arrived at Sunday evening, with just the drive back to the house and one night remaining. Care expected Cerberus to twist with stress and fear, but instead, a monumental droopiness spread over her. She hung as loose and limp as boiled pasta. Whatever headaches she and Care had accumulated lately finally passed. Cerberus was proud of most of the external aspects of her boyish presentation, and she refused to let her wife go.

    Upon their return to the house, she practically went with Care to every restroom visit, and they essentially slept that last night together in the same skin. The edges of temptation practically pushed them to give in to the magnetic pull of their compatible essences. But they resisted just enough.

    Morning, breakfast, waiting. Goodbyes and tears had already been shed and were repeated quietly and achingly with fervent energy and resigned simplicity.

    "I love you. A thousand years. Ten thousand years. Whatever it takes. Together, always." It could''ve been said with more elaborate, lyrical flourishes to make Kosame weak in the knees, but that was enough. Quiet, personal words softly shaped.

    Silvia gave the biggest hugs possible, wielding as much softness as she could swing around, sad to be losing a sister. Fiona challenged her by squeezing just as tight. Yuka regretted that they hadn''t made it to the comic book shop, where Silvia worked part-time, to sample all the joys her imagination fostered. But there were a dozen, and there were a hundred likewise missed opportunities and moments that slipped away in portioning out the hours into what felt best.

    Every ounce of emotional goodbye drained out as the minutes slipped to noon. Soon, after the hour chimed, there was a modest but insistent series of knocks on the front door. Mercifully, Yuka''s escort wasn''t the shell of Maharu but a nondescript delivery girl, picking up their obligation.

    "Ready?" The anonymous girl pointed out that Yuka was allowed a small travel bag with changes of clothes, personal items, and books if she so wished, even though that wasn''t explicitly noted in the contract. Fortunately, she had put together such a bag, held by Fiona depending on whether they were allowed. It felt like such a small, barely carry-on item to take with her. She hugged it tight to her chest and smiled at everyone before resting her eyes warmly on her wife.

    "I love you. I will always love you, no matter what happens. I''ll see you again soon. Please take care...Care..." The Care-full repetition had been a recent, delightful discovery, which they used playfully at every moment possible. One last hug, one last embrace, before Yuka drew back, saving her Cerberus side within and coldly announcing to the girl in white who arrived to pick her up, "I''m ready."

    Without any more drama than that and barely a whisper of sound, both of them wafted away like smoke caught in a sudden breeze. Care, who had managed to hold it together through the entire proceedings, instantly tumbled to her knees and fell even further on the hallway tile, having no energy to support herself as tears forced their way from her eyes. Every sad song, every happy song, and every melody that she could conjure up from the void tossed and wrestled through her thoughts as the strongest spell and most mournful lament.

    If she could break down the walls and blast away the nefarious forces with the simple fervor of the songs she wished in her heart to spill, feel, and echo for eternity, she would do whatever it took. But every possibility and every hope felt so desperately, achingly out of reach. There was nothing to do but cry.

 [114] Yuri Worlds 114 â€“ Remember

    Yuri Worlds

    [114] Remember

    The moments, hours, and days immediately after were the worst. Care cried so hard and unrelentingly that she was soon so literally dehydrated that Silvia and Fiona nearly rushed her to the emergency room. They were able to get enough fluids into her.

    The only thing that kept her sane at that time was the pleasant delusion that Cerberus couldn''t possibly be gone. It happened so quickly. It had happened with surreal efficiency. They quietly went through their evening; they woke up in the morning; they prepared everything; and then she left in an instant. She hadn''t even released the widow''s anguish trapped inside her. She hadn''t really cried. They treated it more like he was getting on a plane and would be coming back in a week.

    Maybe, just maybe, she thought, the time of her loved one''s absence would be hilariously short. In a few days, she''d hop back, happily knocking on the door, telling them that everything was finished; they found what they wanted to find within her, but it wasn''t everything they wanted, so they just let her go. That could happen.

    Every sound outside, even when it was clearly a bird rustling the branches, activated Carrie''s hope that it was Cerberus returning to her. Worse levels of sinus pain and stomach discomfort than Yuka suffered in the lead-up were rubberbanded into her. Her nervous consolation was that maybe, because of what she was feeling, that meant she drew away comparable unpleasantness from her partner.

    She knew that time, as it always did, would mute the worst of it. Carrie went back to work¡ªwell, into her new work for the first time. She didn''t have to wear an EEG or slavishly mark every single time she peed beyond the expected minutes. She was basically her own manager and kindly dealt with her assistants, who were also reeling from the world they all now lived in.

    Writing out technical information was surprisingly simple. Her other self left her notes about what terms to avoid, what phrases to focus on, and what oversights to be mindful of. Technical writing had to be understandable by a wide range of people with vastly different experiences. It had to be precise; it had to be sharpened and honed with clarity and simplicity. No flowery ornamentation to the words.

    She checked and used foundational documents from the collaborating writers as a baseline to compose wider structures. She picked up the precise nuances of expert terminology and fashioned it into her brain as though she''d been learning it all her life. Refining the language until it had the most punch per syllable occupied her days.

    Fiona and Silvia always checked in and made sure she was comfortable and relaxed. They provided stories from the outside about strange plants blooming around the comic book shop and the cute date that Luna and Bridgette went on. Carrie learned not to cry in front of her little sister and friend but to wear an iron smile for them, not too wide and not too passive. When she had certain nights free, she communicated with Naoko on the device to see how things were going over there.

    One of the first things she passed along were all the secrets Cerberus kept about her sacrifices. Naoko nearly cried, seething but without anger that her good friend, her best friend, hadn''t laid the painful truth before her. Carrie didn''t need to explain to her; Naoko understood the choice Yuka made, even though she desperately wished it had been a different one.

    Thankfully, she had received papers and packages about strange lost media that shouldn''t have existed but still found their way to her doorstep. Bianka received and cautiously disclosed the equivalent of Freedom of Information Act documents. No UFOs, and suspiciously, though not unexpectedly, not much in regard to the company, but still plenty to get girls angry about normal, banal forms of corruption.

    Her girlfriend was walking with a slight limp but doing much better, and she was already planning the romantic destinations she knew they should both visit on the company''s dime. Large donations had been made to the shrine, in the Okura family name, and to the Sasakis, who were hiring for the start of the refurbishment of the old hotel.

    School life was gradually getting back to normal, and Naoko recently made a new friend, a transfer student with long, cotton candy-style hair fairer than Namiko''s. Ayame sent along fond wishes, but Naoko hadn''t heard from Haruka since their escape. Carrie noticed but didn''t mention that the compounding stresses of everything looked like they had started to ever so slightly feather Naoko''s eyebrows when she leaned close on the communication device.

    Several weeks into this new existence, Carrie still felt sour stomach side effects. Practically every day, nausea gripped her, and she upchucked from a little bit to a lot. No one around her questioned it because she was still recovering from the separation, but changing meals and lightening the styles of dishes did next to nothing to help her constant troubles.

    To minimize the possibility that it was a kidney stone or something similar, she regularly took time to exercise at the gym with Fiona, trying jumping jacks and other moderate exercises. The workouts made her feel better despite the intense jiggles she had to work to control, but ultimately didn''t halt the strange sickness.

    They noticed that some other ladies locally, especially Yumeko on social media, were experiencing similar symptoms, so they wrote it off as a temporary side effect of exposure to the flood of energy until they had reason to suspect differently.

    The weeks passed, and Carrie suffered through the best she could with this strange but restored body. Her petitions to Travel Anywhere publicly, through electronic correspondence, written letters, and whatever else she could throw at them, continued without pause until finally they informed her that she could visit Sasaki Cerberus.

    When that news came, she would''ve gladly just left through whatever portal they pointed her towards without a bag, identification, or anything else she needed to take with her, so long as it took her right into her loved one''s arms. Fiona and Silvia took care of what she would need, along with providing her with a temporary, disposable phone. Carrie promised to track down her and Yuka''s phones around where they would have been left, even though her little sister and friend didn''t have much hope that those devices could be recovered in usable condition considering nature and all the events since.

    They escorted her like heavier bodyguards than they actually were to the partially rebuilt facility and went through a similar but more uncomfortable version of the workup and medical check, which felt even more like bullshit than the last time.

    Fiona smiled and leveled her serious eyes as she warned Carrie to be safe.

    Silvia reiterated this with her words.

    "Come back to us."

    Carrie smiled and nodded.

    Then Silvia turned her angriest expression on the nearest worker who cared.

    "Bring her back safely, or else."

    -------

    The boat bobbed with a slow, steady motion, rising and falling in the front. That somehow didn''t upset Carrie''s tender, uneasy stomach. She stared across the way to the distant shore and the slim, jutting towers of silver and ivory, like ancient animal bones stripped to their bare essentials but not quite fossilized. Out here, on the water, the presence of the dense city all around fell silent.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    The trip back had been thoroughly uneventful. Traveling alone worried her, and Fiona and Silvia begged to go with her, but Travel Anywhere explained that they couldn''t arrange a trip for all three of them on such short notice, just Carrie.

    No dark wristbands awaited her on arrival, and there was no pretense of burgeoning crowds navigating the interdimensional thoroughfares. Even the little timer was absent. But she had plenty of documents and several checked bags with important luggage.

    The world she arrived in felt very much like the one she remembered but also subtly and irrevocably changed. The main portion of the travel center was cordoned off, and she had to be rerouted to the south along the shoreline. Rather than taking a circuitous bus trip back to the train station, she opted to bridge the gap with a small ferry crossing the bay. It was a rickety thing that didn''t look like it often carried passengers, but the fare was decent.

    The smell of the water was sharp but not unpleasant. She looked out over the lazy waves and noticed a storm of seagulls swarming in a slow, living twister around a distant, floating carcass. With the infusion of a portion of the flood back into this world, Carrie expected that the glowing, animated vibrance that first enchanted and mystified them at the beginning of the trip would only be sharper, like putting on glasses that tinted towards beauty. But this was a real world, just like hers. She now saw all the rough and nervous places she''d been blind to.

    When they arrived at the dock, the ferry girl actually returned her money with a slight bow, a subtle smile, and no further explanation. Carrie attempted to thank her when she hauled her bags off and leave behind a tip, but the boat was already gone before she could. That helped pay for her ticket to Akechi.

    Riding the train alone wasn''t really riding alone with the shifting, settling multitudes of girls on their way to one place or another. Still, she felt the sharpened loneliness of not having her sister, friends, or wife nearby. Plenty of girls said hello and wished her well, but they just drifted past with that simple, subtle courtesy and nothing more. She appreciated the restroom layout, despite how tight it felt, and thanked her stomach for keeping her lunch down.

    Grateful to be on her way, Carrie relaxed. For the sake of simplicity, she''d been given her Misaki form again. It wasn''t too different, despite the slight decrease in her bust. Napping with everything pulled close protectively, she set the loudest possible timer on her loaner phone and rested against the bench as awkwardly as possible. Soon, her heels hurt, snapping her out of a sudden bout of sleep. She felt a weird sense, as though someone had settled onto the cushion next to her and scooted over protectively.

    Opening her eyes, she could see that the entire bench was empty and soon wrote it off as a quirk of the train as it swiftly jostled and stretched along its route.

    She''d phoned ahead through Naoko and was embarrassed to see the Sasaki moms exuberantly waving for her when she arrived at the station. They instantly treated her like a lost daughter finally returning from a long trip, lavishing hugs, heaping concerned questions, and shouldering the burden of her bags. They had some of the worst feathering around their eyes, along with clear tiredness in unmistakable rings. Carrie¡­ or Misaki to them, turned around their prying questions and asked why they were so exhausted.

    Their initial efforts at repairing and reconstructing the old hotel were well funded by their mysterious benefactor. What they had the most of lately was time to dig in and push through, but it was exhausting labor.

    They asked about her trip. Misaki noted that she essentially had her promised remaining week along with visits to her¡ªthe strange, mutual friend who saved them from captivity. Could she help with the reconstruction? The moms wouldn''t hear of it! She was once again their guest, not their labor force.

    Throughout their trek back, Misaki dropped little hints about the quietness of their house, with Haruka moving towards her forever name soon and living alone. She dropped the breadcrumbs of the possibility that some of the now-empty storage rooms upstairs might be useful if they had a second daughter. Both admonished her that they were too old at this point to really think about that, and they had so many things they needed to do. The hotel at least needed to be completed before they could even think about adding to their family.

    Kei lingered on this thought though. She noted that there was a certain presence of emptiness that was hard to shake, which reminded her of the nagging feeling when starting a trip or preparing for something important, like you just didn''t double-check your preparations enough and there was something you must''ve forgotten.

    But it was absolutely ridiculous to think that they could''ve forgotten an entire daughter! That was just one of those leftover dream memories they both had been having lately of seeing another, unfamiliar face. It was only a dream, a translation of their fears and concerns into unexpected forms.

    Arriving back at the house really did feel like returning home. Misaki placed her shoes in the proper way that she learned during her last stay, politely helped out where she could, and treated the Sasaki moms with warmth and cheer. In turn, the two moms stopped just short of proposing they adopt a girl while scouring Misaki for signs of hunger, ill health, and unhappiness. Their likely soon-to-be adopted daughter concerned them by laughing at the couch-hogging presence of the screaming whale breaching itself through the cushions. They urged her to sit down and relax as much as possible.

    It wasn''t long before the others came around to warmly greet her. Naoko led the way and embraced some of Maharu''s missing, blazing energy. She wasn''t the same level of firecracker and feisty rocket, but she genuinely aspired to raise the same enthusiasm and emotions. Her still slightly hobbled partner, Kosame, beamed gleefully as she spread love around the room. Bianka soon joined the group too, wearing softer, more flowing outfits than her usual fare.

    The trio of schoolgirls delighted and ruminated on the college possibilities before them. As Yuka had keenly anticipated, Naoko was a STEM aspirant, specifically wanting to focus on experimental science. Kosame was confidently a law lover, even though she was a lover of many things with minor thoughts towards luscious languages. Bianka wanted to further her recent critical findings into actual changes in society.

    They each had so many things to show Misaki, talk about, and show off, especially the new karaoke machine the Sasakis intended for the hotel, but she had obligations first and promised they could indulge all of that later. Kei walked her out but also showed off the bright, repainting progress of the old hotel.

    "I think it would be quite perfect with a third story symmetrically reflecting the first. Then it would be a proper hotel. Not too big to overshadow the house or draw the concerns of neighbors. My wife pitched me a few different ideas for what to call it. But her favorite and mine is probably the simplest: Mecchen House. I don''t know how I''d feel about a dorm with more than a dozen hyperactive young girls. It would be less lonely. But there''s a limit between embracing Shimai and being drowned in it, as I try to tell my wife."

 [115] Yuri Worlds 115 â€“ Hope

    Yuri Worlds

    [115] Hope

    Kei attentively and motherly escorted Misaki on her way, and Misaki took every opportunity she could to mine little details from Yuka''s life and seed them in her mother''s thoughts. Wasn''t there someone else they knew who liked that certain space show? How did they become acquainted with Naoko and Kosame? Wasn''t it strange that there were a lot of extra toys along with a bed and arranged table space in addition to Haruka''s room upstairs? And so forth. She pressed without pushing, and the mom had carefully considered but flimsy responses. Kei was intuitive, and something inside her began to sift through the noise and put little pieces of realization together.

    Ayame wasn''t present at the clinic, but a sign explained that she would be back shortly. They continued to the shrine, where Misaki personally confirmed that it had received the necessary funds not only for a tribute area to Okura Maharu but also to establish a support fund for hybrid human-animal girls. Misaki took some time to offer up prayers to the departed.

    She had considered placing her offering at the Okura family home, but the old lady communicated through Naoko that she didn''t expect to be around for long, certainly not long enough for the tribute that her granddaughter deserved. The impromptu shrine in the old hotel was respected, but the setup would eventually be moved to a nicer location. This was the most appropriate place.

    Going through her bags, Misaki retrieved a set of pressed, preserved sakura blossoms and a gleeful blue monkey yelling while riding a rocket set for space. It would''ve been a perfect companion for the screaming whale, but it deserved to be here. Besides those things, she left a beautiful, glittering candle that she lit and left with a solemn prayer and a heartfelt wish. That wasn''t enough.

    She went out into the forest by herself to the cabin, where their lives changed forever. She''s gotten permission from the local government and the shrine to place an engraved plaque beside a tree in that clearing. It had Maharu''s name and a little story about a princess from a magical land who danced through the forest, and, though she fell, she got up and continued to dance with a smile on her face. As she made sure the plaque was secure, a little light fluttering of the breeze pressed against her hair, and a warmth like a friendly presence bent over her shoulder.

    When she stood up, all traces of that presence were gone, but she knew it had been there. She said one last prayer and left.

    Hunting around the forest area for where they left their phones was not the part that Misaki looked forward to. The patch at this bright time of day compared to the middle of the night seemed like two entirely different places. Fortunately, they had disturbed quite a lot of moss while running away, and an obvious groove had been retained on the ground, leading her right to the marked tree.

    As expected, neither phone turned on, and they were flecked with dirt, dampness, twiggy weeds, and damage to their cases from the elements. But Bianka was skilled, and she was sure the girl would be able to recover some of the photos and data to bring back home.

    Cutting across from the forest to the fields, Misaki marveled at the landscape. So many things had tinted her simple enjoyment of this place, but taking in the sharp tones of the sky, breathing in the softly fluttering wind, and standing there with hope in her heart brought back the purity of her first glimpse.

    "Be careful."

    The words arrived just loud enough to hear, carried from far away but as clear as though they had been spoken right by her ear. Misaki had to look around several times in all directions before she finally spotted Haruka sitting off to the side and staring at the same sky. Her robe was long, flowing, and practically matched the tall grasses stretching in all directions.

    She approached Haruka and asked her what she meant.

    "The company doesn''t care about any of us. All they care about is getting what they want. Whatever deal you and my sister made with them doesn''t matter if you do something they don''t like. So, be very careful, please."

    Misaki agreed without complaint or question. However, she didn''t know how much she could do about that warning since she was wholly at the whim and mercy of the company if she wanted to visit her wife. They talked for a short while, with Haruka calmly apologizing as though she were waking from a long dream and listing out her sins within. Everything she did, though, she made clear was by choice.

    "I thought that by helping a little bit and making myself useful to them, I could earn safety and security for my loved ones. And we keep making the same mistake. I wasn''t allowed to do anything about the danger that Joshua Feland presented to my...biological sibling. I still searched for ways to suggest it to you and others. But it wasn''t enough; I secretly did so many things to learn more and find a way. But it still wasn''t enough. My penitence shall be long, and I accept it."

    Haruka explained that she left the restraints on Yuka just loose enough that she knew she would be able to get out of them. That and a dozen other little ways were how she hoped to move the hands of fate as much as possible. About her grandmother, she noted that she had stopped the old woman from jigai tanto several times, but she doubted she''d be able to stop her forever. Misaki put together that it was a version of what she knew as seppuku.

    "Why can''t there be happiness for all of us? Why is it like this? Why is there such a struggle?" Misaki didn''t expect those words to come out of her mouth, but she felt them, and she couldn''t restrain them.

    The girl, with usually pristine white hair that looked ever so slightly smudged by where she was, tilted her head back, took a deep breath, and responded, "There was a time when I believed in many things. I was small and young. I knew nothing and everything. I believed in a world of pure happiness. But that is not this world or any other. These are worlds of reality, harsh and cruel. We have to work hard to make them beautiful. And, even then, nothing is guaranteed. Yes, there is the company, but there are always people and things like the company. The cruel exploit the weak because they can and because it serves their needs and wants. We will always struggle against those forces. The only thing we can hope to do is protect one another." She released a long breath and had no further words to offer Misaki.

    The notions espoused by Haruka grated against her feelings and sensibilities. Optimism didn''t have to die as you got older. No one had to resign themselves to fighting the forces of darkness and cruelty as a battle that could never be won. Her small, frail little sentiment at the end couldn''t be all the hope that was out there. There had to be more, but she didn''t have the words or energy to verbally tussle with the elder Sasaki sister.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    It wasn''t an argument; it was hardly anything, but Misaki took a deep breath and declared, more for herself than anyone else, "I choose to believe in hope and love as the greatest power in any dark, cold world, one that will always bring light and life... Don''t forget your adopted moms. They miss you. Take care, Miss Sasaki Haruka. I hope we see each other again sometime, and I hope that is a happy time."

    And she left, not looking back to see how Haruka responded to her tightly clutched words with clinging, trembling hands. The girl didn''t call out or call her back; it was like she wasn''t even there anymore.

    Misaki followed a crude road to get back to the main one, taking her to the entrance of the clinic with the sign down and the door unlocked. The inside felt exactly the same as she had left it, although the burned-out light on the side had been replaced with a fresh, gleaming bulb and a pristine cover that cast a sharper, starker light than all the others around it. She squinted and looked around. The slumping, bloated teddy bear with a flopped-over book and cape appeared as exhausted as she felt right then, with all the little worries, feelings, and fears pin-balling around her consciousness.

    Ayame wasn''t in the waiting room lobby. Instinctually, Misaki braced herself for a distant, shouted diatribe with all sorts of incoherent terminology and meaning, a sure sign that the company was still poking around her quartz-like psychic radio consciousness. But the girl with orange hair, who was older than she looked, casually made her way out of the staff bathroom with a small rectangular phone pressed against her ear and affectionate words spilling out. She had to be talking to her daughters. But it wasn''t the most normal conversation.

    "Mucus is not going to eat you. The expectorant warriors will take it down. Just keep in your little cave of solitude next to the humidifier. You better watch Blinka, though. I think she''s eyeing your cookies. She''s probably going to sell them in her secret shop in the worm realm. Be good; don''t bother your sisters while they''re studying, and I''ll make you the best soup you''ve ever had when I get home. And I''ll use my magic touch to make all the bad things go away. Love you and rest... you goofball." The mention of cookies made Misaki realize that the variety sugar cookies that Fiona prepared especially for Naoko still needed to be delivered along with her little sister''s travel-safe, best cooking effort to give thanks to the moms for hosting them.

    Silvia made it absolutely clear that this was not her full reimbursement for their kind and amazing hosting. It was closer to her first payment in an installment plan and the best that she could send along with her sister. Ideally, Silvia requested that Misaki use those exact words if they asked. She was tempted to surely embarrass her sister by spilling all her frantic, fervent truths about needing to repay her debt. Tempted, although not heavily so.

    Setting her phone down on the counter, Ayame spread out her arms and gleefully beckoned Misaki into a hug that felt like half of a Maharu-level professional wrestling move. Misaki wiggled a little as it was clear that Ayame, once she had her in her loving grasp, wasn''t going to let her go. They caught up with the broad strokes, details, and minutia of their lives since the craziness in the white corridors and the uncertainty of the deep dive she did inside her soul.

    Misaki was sure she had an explanation for what the nurse ran across when trying to fish illness out of her essence. With everything they talked about before in the white place and since through Naoko on the communication device, Ayame understood in broad strokes that her friend Yuka/Cerberus was a chimeric creation of the company blending humanity and a primal dark essence that existed in the seams between realities they tortured and manipulated with suffering until it did what they wanted. Ayame lamented that they couldn''t do anything about the young ones in the wristbands still within the assembly line of the company''s cruelty.

    But the nurse pointed out, "What I felt inside you is complicated for me to understand. It left me speechless and confused for a good while before I figured it out. I agree that it''s probably connected to having a part of Yuka within you. But it wasn''t just that, and it wasn''t something dark you were hosting. I was wrong¡­ As I said, you have a remarkable power and a remarkable strength that I can scarcely comprehend and that I hope you nurture. It''s not there because of Yuka, the company, or anyone else. It''s you in a very special and unique way. And I''d like to believe that part of you, that fundamental and essential you, is absolutely beautiful, and that''s what Yuka fell in love with, not spirit narcissism or some other scientific mumbo-jumbo those fuckers wanna throw out as they try to handle everyone like puppets on strings to shove their disgusting voices through."

    That was a beautiful and hopeful notion for Misaki to hear, even though she wondered if Ayame was just trying to reassure her the same way as her under-the-weather daughter. The nurse added that she had been monitoring the others after the little black, protective buttons essence that Misaki gave them eventually wore away. The company didn''t appear to have made any more incursions or possessions that she could sense or see, and she was now attuned to that invasive frequency. She admitted that they had probed her a couple times, especially when she was sleeping, but she easily pushed them out.

    Clearing that heavy topic, they chatted casually for a while as Ayame made some tea for her guest and then suddenly perked up and smiled blissfully as she noted, "Oh, by the way, congratulations!"

    Misaki frowned, bewildered by that statement, turning it over and repeating it a few times. Ayame approached her, set her arms on her shoulders, moved them to her waist, and nodded her head once. She informed her that she had a natural nausea and vomiting aid that she knew worked well from experience.

    Still, what she was getting at went over her head until Ayame glanced right at her abdomen and then back up at her eyes.

    "...Oh...oh....OHHHHH! Oh, oh, oh! Wha... but... is that possible? There was just¡­ Maybe one time..."

    Ayame winked. "Clearly, the intention was there, as was the acceptance. It only needs to happen once. Let me get you those medicines. I can also give you a spiritual boost for the months ahead with just the right treatment."

    Misaki agreed to all that, feeling stunned and rather dumbstruck. The months ahead will surely bring challenges, but also joy and hope ready to blossom within. She smiled faintly and cradled herself.

    She couldn''t wait to share the happy news with everyone, especially her beloved Cerberus.

 [END] Yuri Worlds â€“ Epilogue

    Yuri Worlds

    [Epilogue]

    Carrie patiently waited before the sixth security gate for the guard in white to go through the same unlocking procedure that each of the previous guards had directed her through. This seemed like overkill.

    She listened carefully and came to the rudimentary understanding that each of these was like a nested doll universe contained within the previous. That didn''t mean any of them were smaller than the ones before. Each contained a dizzying plethora of distorted cosmos, translucent ivory pathways like bleached classical astrolabes, and the same shallow impressions of divine authority the company flaunted in the backstage of Yuka''s home universe turned up even higher. Pointless theater, she concluded.

    Each guard she met looked like she could''ve been the twin of the previous, but for slight, subtle distinctions: hair in a ponytail instead of a bun, how far their noses projected, and the prominence of their eyebrows. Like photocopies of the same person, which weren''t exact reproductions of the original. They also behaved exactly the same, casually verifying her identity and asking her to sign her name on an empty white sheet clamped to a clipboard, which she did as Carrie Francesca Sasaki. None of the guards responded to her choice of surname, simply nodding before ushering her to the next.

    This charade continued until she got to a complicated, steampunk glass-style vault door looming the size of an entire city block. All the circles, spirals, and dizzying loops looked like they could predict the weather for the next thousand years. The different patterns crossed, intersected, and eventually slotted together to reveal a vast walkway across a deep, glow-washed-out chasm. On the other side, the guard pushed open a simple three-meter door, revealing a modestly sized chamber within.

    The interior had the same tone of stark white as everything else. Several benches spread across one end of the room, with a modest living space on the other. It looked like the pieces of a house bleached and stripped down to the essentials. Carrie could see a bedroom with a simple but comfortable queen-size bed, a restroom and shower area nearby, a small exercise gym, one of those familiar tablets, and a micro garden with dainty flowers and green tomatoes. If not for the faintly buzzing blue and gold force fields filling every open space, Carrie might''ve thought it was just a strange style of exploded, minimalist apartment.

    Cerberus was situated at the far end, facing away but pausing at the noise of the door opening. He was in boy mode, but with dense, inky black locks flowing past his shoulder, practically obscuring his entire head. Instead of the suit and tie Yuka had been practicing previously, he wore a silvery jumpsuit.

    "See you," Carrie announced softly but clearly, with a cheeky smile beaming in his direction.

    Her wife snapped his head around cautiously at first. When he caught true sight of her¡ªnot an illusion or a trick¡ªall the tension in his features fell away. Cerberus hopped to his feet and scampered across the sleek, white floor like a reborn puppy.

    "You made it!" His voice surged to unexpected heights, leaving the realm of any Cerberus efforts and bounding clearly into Yuka tones. Despite the energy wall separating them, Cerberus gleefully crashed into it for the closest thing to a loving embrace they could offer one another.

    Fiercely glaring at the guard, Carrie demanded the field be put down for her to be allowed admission inside. The guard''s answer was a simple, unequivocal "no." The response carried no emotion. Those were the orders. She contested several ways, but the guard leaned against the nearby wall with her arms folded and her head down, as though practicing to be a statue.

    "I''ll take what I can get," Cerberus responded with a faint smile. His male form eased away and diminished until he was back in his Yuka state. She wiggled around gleefully, stretching on her bare feet and flapping the now-oversized sleeves of her jumpsuit as though trying to fly over the threshold. Carrie moved as close to the barrier as possible, and they exuberantly mimed their hug.

    "How have you been, Care? How are your little sister and Fiona? Did you get to see anyone else? They don''t tell me much, but I learned they let you into my home world. How is Naoko holding up? Is she still with Kosame? Is she okay too? How about Bianka? Did my moms start with the reconstruction yet? Did you get to see anyone else? Sorry, I should slow down, but it''s been so long, and I''m so happy to see you." Yuka''s voice wobbled with emotion, on the verge of tears. Care motioned to stroke her hair and smiled.

    They sat together, right next to the field separating them, not bothering with the platforms and chairs further back. Care glossed over some recent stomach upset but couldn''t resist slipping in an incongruent, knowing smile while reflecting on the signs. She regaled her wife with small and silly details of work before assuring her that Silvia and Fiona were doing fine. Care admitted that she revealed all the stuff to Naoko that Yuka had kept quiet about her sacrifice. This didn''t bother her in the least. She just smiled and nodded.

    Care filled her in on practically everything regarding the events of her trip so far, although she avoided mentioning Haruka and the biggest news of all. Yuka beamed about the possibilities of this soon-to-be Mecchen House, even though melancholy dimmed her smile. She settled with a sigh of relief that Maharu was properly remembered.

    Glaring at the way her wife was confined, Care asked Yuka how the company was treating her. Yuka shrugged and responded, "About how I expected. Samples taken with all sorts of needles and probes. Tests, scrutiny, and focusing. Doing everything they can to bring me to the state they want to examine and harvest. I swear I''m not trying to block results, but I just haven''t been able to do anything like I did. I don''t know if it''s a panic response, fear, or something else. They even put me on a cliff once. How long has it been? I don''t know whether to trust their measurements of time."

    Carrie confirmed that just a few weeks had passed. Yuka marveled that it felt like months on end. She missed everyone, but she missed Care so much.

    They leaned forward, testing what felt like a static electrical zone at the cusp of the field. Moving closer and closer, a sliver of that magnetic pull passed between them. It was that urge, that need to be close, to practically be one. Not just the completion of a broken spirit, but something greater. For a fleeting instant, they each felt like they might be able to cross the barrier, as though it were just an illusion, and truly embrace, truly touch, feel one another, and dive into the other''s soul for all eternity.

    The guard gave a rough cough, and they retreated a few inches to show that they weren''t doing anything bad. Their loving chat continued with the lightest and most ridiculous things in a cheerful array. Then they fell silent for a moment, as did the rest of the room.

    Suddenly, a figure in a gray military uniform entered from the door behind them. They took a few steps forward and addressed Yuka specifically. "Subject Cerberus? I have unfortunate news."

    Yuka focused her attention and suspicion on the company official, not betraying a single twitch of anxiety. Care did likewise, tensing her jaw.

    "We regret to inform you that your....wife, Carrie Francesca Fowler, suffered a pattern cascade en route to this facility and did not survive the trip."

    "What... What does that mean? I don''t.."

    The military woman reached behind her and pulled out a long, glassy tube with a luminous golden light circulating within it, like a strange, detached fluorescent bulb. Mari warned them about... Oh no. It was a weapon. Yuka realized what was happening moments later.

    "What''s...why...NO NOOOO OH GODDESS NO DON''T PLEASE NO!" Yuka screamed so loudly that the sound seemed to blot out everything around the entire room. Carrie tried to rise to her feet, but something was holding her in place, refusing her legs the strength to even quiver.

    "Please noooooooo! Not like this! She didn''t do anything! This is not what we agreed to. Don''t kill her! Don''t kill my wife!"

    Yuka rose to her feet as well, pounding on the shimmering forcefield, her expression contorted and wild, begging the gods beyond for some sort of intervention. "Anything! Anything you want! I''ll do anything you ask! Please stop STOP STOP!" Yuka''s sobs swelled with crazed hysteria.

    The woman in uniform approached Carrie like a machine, expertly focused on her task. Primal panic surged through Carrie. Her trembling hand lowered to her abdomen in a futile attempt to protect it. She never got the chance to tell Yuka she was pregnant.

    Carrie turned to look at her wife, a torrent of emotions flowing through her and tearing her apart. Then, somehow, peace washed over her. She was here, and yet she wasn''t. In danger, yet protected. Lost and yet right where she needed to be. Yuka furiously fought to get free from her containment, but the force field simply burned hotter against her.

    The military woman stood right next to her. Carrie released a slow breath. She was okay. A friend was nearby. She was waiting for her, exuberantly waving above her head and rocketing in circles with glee to see her again. Carrie smiled at her wife and told her, "Don''t worry. It''s gonna be okay. It really is. I love you, my beautiful Cerberus. Forever and always. For a thousand years."

    The bar of light came down, unleashing a deluge of light that engulfed Carrie''s body and mind, stealing every thought and feeling away. Her flesh dissolved in an instant, transfigured into pure light. Where she was sitting, an eruption of black tendrils, like strands of black sausages with sloppy, obsidian spaghetti noodles, spewed out. All that was left of Carrie, the piece of Yuka''s dark entity leg.

    Yuka released a scream of unearthly agony that had never been heard in all the multiverse, the volume of which shook the air and made the white walls tremble. Her pain and suffering rippled throughout the entire realm and beyond.

    She crumpled to the ground, smashing her knees and hands and collapsing into a blubbering pile. The officer in uniform coldly observed the remains where Carrie once sat, withdrew the luminous tube, and stepped away.

    Soon, Yuka rose up, her smoldering pain becoming a burning fury.

    "I''LL KILL YOU! I''LL KILL YOU ALL! I WON''T REST UNTIL I SEE EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU SUFFER FOR THIS! I SWEAR I WILL!" Yuka''s voice twisted, echoed, and expanded beyond its mortal capacity. It wasn''t Yuka''s voice anymore, but more like a chorus of ancient, warbling, cosmic monstrosities. All angry beyond reason and desperate to exact revenge.

    Yuka...no, Cerberus, stretched in all directions, her black essence within looming like a tree, like a dark brain cell, like a horrifying tumor growing and multiplying. The sizzle and burn of the containment fields didn''t matter. They were no match for her wrath. She ripped the walls apart.

    The guard finally motioned forward, retrieving a device from her pocket that resembled a smaller version of the tablet. The guard flicked her thumb over a series of tiny, glowing lights. A secondary force field engaged, containing the rapid growth of Yuka''s dark presence. She slammed through it like it was water, dashing a tendril through the air. The guard didn''t have enough time to scream before her head was gone, and the rest of her flopped to the ground in bloodless pieces.

    The military woman slammed a patch on the white wall, and an absolute torrent of human blood poured from the ceiling. Yuka sizzled like she was cooking on a grill from the red river pouring over her. It barely slowed her down.

    She slammed another part of the wall, and a violent cascade of arcing electricity blasted Yuka like a lightning strike from the heavens. This time, she froze in place, staggered, and then tumbled off her feet, totally paralyzed. She fell so close to Carrie''s remains, settling into a heap.

    All Yuka could do was stare helplessly at all that was left of her wife. She mouthed the words that she wished she could''ve said to her again and for every day of her life: "I love you too. I love you for a thousand years. Always. Together forever."

    The magnetic feeling between them¡ªbeing connected, being part of the other''s body¡ªjolted the dark remains, like a pair of living magnets desperately trying to act on metal filings in their hearts. "Please..." Yuka begged with everything she had¡ªto whoever and whatever would listen, to the universe, to goddesses she didn''t know if she even believed in anymore. "Please don''t leave me. Don''t leave me alone. Don''t go. Not like this. Come back."

    The door swiftly hissed open again. Things left through and things came from the opening, but all Yuka cared about was what was left of her wife. The rest of the world fell away as Yuka lost herself in sorrow. Then came a painfully familiar voice, Maharu''s voice, wielded and warped by the company, like a monster hiding in human skin.

    "My hands are clean. See? I didn''t touch her. Not that I''m only using that semantic distinction. There''s plenty of mention in the contract to allow us a clean out. I''m afraid we just couldn''t let her live. We are patient, and we could''ve waited until her natural death. But we can learn so much from examining the piece of you that grew inside of her. And you... Look at you, so powerful when you aren''t restraining yourself! Just as we suspected. You just needed the right motivation to take your abilities to the next level. Pain and suffering are always the greatest motivators. There''s a lesson to be learned from all this."

    Yuka hissed, "You killed my wife... You''re getting nothing from me, ever again. And you''re gonna wish you could kill me."

    "Is that so? That''s a shame. Your high school friends were so happy about their future. Your mothers were finally beginning to remember you. Everyone was so happy. It''s such a shame what will happen to them if you don''t cooperate fully. Do you understand?" Maharu tilted her head and put on a knowing smirk. Yuka glared angrily without saying a word. She repeated her question, like she was dealing with an insolent child who wasn''t paying attention.

    Yuka clenched her teeth. She dipped her head and nodded.

    "Good! Remember. It''s like what I''ve been saying to you since you arrived. Play along. Be quiet. Don¡¯t make waves¡­ and maybe you can have what you really want.."

    Yuka clearly wanted to curse out the company entity inhabiting Maharu, but she knew it was pointless.

    Someone was examining Carrie''s remains on the seat and held up a tablet for Maharu to look at. She read it and glanced over at Yuka, commenting, "You didn''t know, did you?"

    Yuka remained silent and didn''t move. She didn''t know what game this was or what they were talking about. "Know what?" She finally responded.

    "Your wife was pregnant."

    A shard of ice sliced through the remains of Yuka''s heart. Even though the company had every reason to fuck with her again, Yuka immediately knew this was true. She knew it in her soul. A heavy, painful breath slipped out of her. Their daughter, their child, gone with her wife. She didn''t cry. Yuka had nothing left.

    Maharu turned her attention back to the remains on the chair. "Now that that''s sorted, we have the right to study the enigma and see if she manifested any repeatable phenomena. That blocking ability of hers definitely needs to be dealt with. She might''ve been close to quantum immortality as well. Still worthy of study, but a pale shadow to you, Cerberus, the demon dog of Hell."

    Cerberus stared at the blue-haired girl with the uncharacteristic cruelty stretched across her face and said, "Hell? I swear, with every last drop of my being, that my vengeance upon all of you will be eternal. Every moment of my immortal life will be devoted to your destruction. You cannot imagine the horrors I will visit upon you. I will bring Hell to you and everything you care about until I know you are finished."

    Maharu laughed. "See? Motivation. Excellent. I can''t wait."

    From the side, one of the workers slid a containment vessel around Carrie''s remains and sealed it in a chamber like the one that contained the leg before. Darkness swallowed all sight.

    ----

    "WHAT?! NO! That can''t be how it ends! Yuka¡­ Cerberus was supposed to escape from the bad guys, take them down, get reunited with her wife, learn she''s going to be a mom, and then live happily ever after! There''s gotta be a happily ever after!" Krystal Muller hopped up and down in front of the television.

    Blessin Cross urged Krystal to relax and said, "As I explained earlier, we were watching a record of the past from another universe. It happened a long time ago, and considering what Cerberus is like now, how could you possibly expect a happy ending?"

    Ruth bowed her head contemplatively and held her tongue.

    The three women shared a long couch pushed in front of the big television at the back of Blessin''s New Age store. The video on the screen was dark, as though the signal had been lost. Ruth was dressed in a light brown outfit that looked more like western garb with twill and tweed. Her voluminous pockets made the other girls jealous. Krystal had on baggy, purple cotton pants and a baggy shirt with her youngest niece''s favorite colorful Australian television doggies. Blessin wore what she swore weren''t pajamas decorated with several posing Iron Mans, including one amusingly distorted by her boobs.

    Krystal shook her head. "It''s not fair! No one should have to go through something like that. Cerberus and Carrie were in love, and they had so many plans for their future. And the others. I have to know what happened to the others. Naoko, Kosame, Bianka, the Sasaki moms, sweet Ayame, even Haruka, and the old woman. And then Carrie''s little sister and her friend Fiona. I will tear universes new rear ends, if I have to, to find out what happened!" Krystal barely resisted using sharper words than that. She was doing her best not to swear, even when she was out of earshot of her nieces.

    "Calm yourself, Miss Muller," Ruth tiredly remarked. "We all watched the same record of the past. And that was the extent of the information it transmitted. I received the file from an unnamed benefactor. Nothing was removed or edited; it was merely translated by my people into a form we could view on a standard entertainment device."

    The setup in the living area of the store was quite cozy, with plenty of snacks and refreshments arranged on the coffee table in front of the couch, including a decadent triple chocolate cake that Ruth had partaken of more than once, a bottle of sparkling pink lemonade, several varieties of cheese, organic hummus, and a big bucket of freshly popped popcorn.

    Krystal spread out her arms. "But there are so many questions left unanswered. I have to know what happens next."

    Ruth leaned forward. "As far as my people can ascertain, Cerberus remained in the custody of the company for quite some time, occasionally escaping from them and returning to the underworld of reality from which he was first taken and reshaped. He would attack the company at several opportunities, making good on his word."

    "Well, I can''t blame her," Krystal expressed with her hands folded in front of her. "I would''ve done the same. My mother nearly forced me to that point."

    Blessin noted, "Cerberus isn''t innocent, not anymore. She wounded several blameless parties without cause and chased us around an underground warehouse. She also threatened to unleash a multitude of her kind upon us. Whatever she is now, so cold and dark, is vastly different than what she was in the days recorded here. She was a good woman with a kind and caring heart. Now, she truly is the monster, ravenously obsessed with revenge, that she feared was within her or that she might become."

    Krystal drooped, her hands tightening around the long locks of her golden blonde hair. "And that nuclear terror she instigated, which destroyed several of your worlds. Your friends and acquaintances mentioned that."

    At this, Blessin raised a finger for a moment before drawing it back and grimacing to herself. "Oh, yeah. Right. It''s often never really a good time to admit the things you know you should. The nuclear thing never happened; that was just an effort by a me from another universe to implement a lockdown protocol in the secret warehouse where we were holed up. I figured she knew what she was doing, and it would be better if I just played along. So...yeah, that one was on me rather than Cerberus."

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    That admission left Krystal a bit flummoxed and wondering if Cerberus wasn''t the bad guy that everyone claimed she was. The matter of pronouns concerning Cerberus had come up earlier during a break. Ruth firmly leaned on the side of male ones, while Blessin vacillated between a variety of them, and Krystal preferred female ones. On the matter of Cerberus as an entity of good or evil, Ruth sat up straight and noted that he had enslaved and time-dilated an entire small fragment of a universe for unknown experimental purposes, perverting methods taken from the deep archives of Beyond. Krystal dipped her head and acknowledged this. But she had a wide swath of doubts and concerns.

    "Perhaps...I can assist with the points of contention and uncertainty?" A figure cloaked in black leaned in through the hallway from the front section of the store, their face completely obscured but their figure slight and feminine.

    Blessin popped up, not raising her hands but stretching her body to provide a crude wall between the cloaked stranger and the others. "I thought I locked the front door. Who are you?"

    "You did," the cloaked woman answered casually. "Sorry." She held up the door lock and put it in Blessin''s hand before stepping further into the room. "As for who I am?..."

    The woman lowered her hood to reveal crinkly, off-white hair much longer than they had last seen it. Her face didn''t look much older, but her eyebrows were extremely fluffy and feathered. She looked far more realistic than the expected anime style. She wore wide, all-black shades over her eyes.

    Blessin gave a sigh as she looked over the dismantled lock from her front door for signs of damage. "You could''ve just knocked..."

    Krystal gaped and breathlessly asked, "Sasaki Haruka? Are you Sasaki Haruka?!"

    Haruka bowed her head solemnly. "Yes. I apologize for the intrusion. I waited until you all finished watching the archive. As you may have deduced, the data was collected by Cerberus''s leg fragment inside Miss Fowler''s body. I recently managed to acquire it from a company facility. This is the most complete existing independent account from the early days of the company. And it corroborates other information I have been collecting of critical importance."

    Krystal asked, "Do you know what happened to everyone else? Naoko, Kosame, Bianka, the Sasaki moms, Ayame, your grandmother, are they alive?"

    Haruka glanced around, looking for a place to sit on the couch. Blessin cleared a spot and urged her, "You should take those silly shades off, especially indoors. Or do you need them for light sensitivity?"

    The white-haired girl took a seat on the other side of Krystal, nearest Blessin, and remarked, "I don''t wear them for me. I wear them for everyone else. Time has not been kind to all of us." Haruka raised the shades and glanced around at the three of them.

    Blessin did her best not to flinch, but Krystal quietly gasped, and Ruth leaned forward curiously. Instead of normal human eyes, Haruka had orbs of charged, bright blue plasma, like someone had replaced her eyes with a set of the star Sirius.

    Haruka replaced her shades and added, "But it could be worse. About the girls and women that I knew growing up. That happened a very long time ago. Literally thousands of years for everyone else to catch up with the company''s artificial version of now. But I remember. Soma Naoko... Nishikawa Naoko eventually..." Krystal gave a much higher, happier squeak than she expected to make.

    She continued after a pause, "Naoko became an accomplished scientist, a happy mom, and a talented baker on the side. She got old young, mainly due to stress and worry about all the terrible things she couldn''t do anything about. But she never resigned herself to the sidelines. She lived a good life with Kosame and loved her dearly until their last day. Soma Kosame. They switched surnames in marriage as their forever names. She practiced law at a small firm and found joy in a theater troop where she could pretend to have several lovers without ever breaking Naoko''s heart. Their daughters were so beautiful. That''s all I know. It''s wretched with the living forever that I had to outlive them and so many others. I couldn''t bear it with their children."

    Krystal pressed her lips together and quietly nodded.

    Haruka continued, "Bianka, or Miyu, as she chose for her forever name after marriage, actually became a member of parliament, pushing for systemic change. She was the best aunt to her sister''s girls. She designed modestly popular games, launched well-regarded privacy programs, and traveled the multiverse through alternatives to TA, always searching for answers. Ayame knew about Carrie and nearly passed out that terrible day. She remained at the Akechi Clinic, even after it gained many other medical professionals and specialists. She helped out often with fostering and housing hybrid girl orphans. My grandmother survived longer than any of us suspected, finding a second wind in caring for those scared little girls. And my mothers¡ªmy ado¡ªmy mothers eventually finished the hotel refurbishment. They remembered my sister, but in fragmentary bits and pieces. They always waited for her and hoped that she would one day return home. She never did. They never saw her again."

    Krystal gently rubbed her eyes and flailed around for the nearest tissue or closest approximation in a brown, recycled, abrasive napkin. Ruth offered her a handkerchief and told her to keep it after she''d blown practically the entire contents of her nose into it.

    Blessin leaned forward with her hands nestled on her chin as she asked, "What about the younger Fowler sister and Fiona? What happened to them? I presume Silvia was just as angry as Cerberus." Ruth leaned back on the cushion and took a sip from the strawberry lemonade in her cup.

    "I would also presume so. I never saw either of them again after that. And I presume they didn''t ever want to see me again either."

    Ruth gave a faint snort. "Maybe you presume too much. But that''s not for me to say. Forgiveness is never impossible. Or something like that." The old woman took a long sip of her drink and said nothing else.

    Blessin squinted at the old lady on the other end of the couch. Ruth was the one who brought the three of them together. She had learned of the scattering of Cerberus to the winds of the multiverse in reduced, confused pieces by the actions of Blessin''s other self and wanted to coordinate and share knowledge.

    And they had a good time unwinding after hours and after work. Krystal was added most recently to their little group at the behest of Ruth, since her mother/father recently came into the employ of an emergent concentration of Cerberus they wanted to keep an eye on. He was the same one performing those concerning experiments.

    Blessin carefully narrowed her eyes and squeezed her chin as she asked just one question: "Ruth... What''s your last name? You never gave it. I always just assumed it was Beyond, for obvious reasons. But that''s my assumption." Krystal turned to look at Ruth as well, eyes wide.

    The old woman puffed lightly. Blessin wondered what color Ruth''s hair had been when she was younger.

    "My name doesn''t matter. I chose my name a long time ago, and it only matters to me. Please leave it alone. It''s not important."

    A small device chimed in her light brown tweed pocket, and she swiftly fished out an alabaster device that vaguely resembled the company tablets they had seen on the screen, only thinner and more advanced.

    "Excuse me... family issue," was all Ruth responded with before sliding up from the couch and walking around to the kitchen off to the side.

    Blessen watched her as she stood and exited. Did her hair, despite being such a faded gray, have the same texture as Silvia''s? She was nowhere close when it came to the chest region, but Blessin knew there were plenty of ways around that sort of thing that didn''t involve medical intervention. Maybe her face had some similarities to persons in the multi-hour, streaming-like series presentation they just witnessed, but Blessin couldn''t be sure that she wasn''t just trying to convince herself of that idea.

    After a few minutes, Ruth returned, put her device away, and wore a stony expression, which commanded none of them to ask questions about any of that. Haruka set her hands on her lap and cleared her throat before announcing, "As I mentioned, there is a critical matter related to the materials I have given you. It is the key reason that I brought all this to your attention. While it is important that you understand where Cerberus came from and all these details about the company, communicating this information is my most critical goal."

    Haruka pulled out several folded sheets of white paper that looked just like the ones she gave Misaki. She read off the first.

    "I can have any body, any form. And when we harvest the true immortality within you, I can have whoever I want as a spare. Nothing can stop us... They succeeded. The company has quantum immortality, and they have spread into countless innocent, unknowing lives and latched onto those people as hosts. Spares..."

    As Haruka elaborated, a lightbulb went on for Blessin; she raised a finger and proclaimed, "Horcruxes. I used to be a big Potter fan. But it sounds like, by way of Manchurian Candidates, sleepers that have part of them inside? That''s so fucked up!"

    The white-haired girl looked faintly puzzled at her analogies, but an extended explanation made her nod that the comparison wasn''t too far off.

    Krystal chirped up, "So, how do we stop it?"

    "We don''t. We can''t. Once someone has been infected, the only recourse is the removal of the affected region, typically in their brain. Radiant beings have benignly implanted themselves in humans in the same way. But the company is cancerous. Right now, they exist in approximately fourteen percent of the multiverse population. They have no intention of stopping until they have spread to every corner of existence, every life, and truly seized the mantle of gods."

    Scrunching her forehead, Krystal reflected for a moment and mentioned the encounters that the Blessin and the people she knew had when Cerberus attacked them. "Cerberus swore to destroy every last trace of the company. When he attacked or she attacked or whatever, could that just have been an effort to remove the company from someone who doesn''t know they have them inside?"

    Ruth shut her eyes, with her hands holding her head, as Haruka gave only a slight nod. "That''s possible. Although I don''t know all my sister''s motivations. It was not my intention to acquit Cerberus of sin; I only wanted to show you how it began and warn you of where we are now. The company will not stop, but Cerberus has one plan to destroy them. He calls it the City¡ªthe compression of everything in existence into a single realm. Bringing it all together. Only by collapsing every possibility and wave function into a single space can he truly and finally destroy every piece of the company and be sure they won''t spread again."

    Krystal turned up her hands with curiosity and said, "It sounds like it could work. Put everyone in one place and weed out the bad actors once and for all."

    "It would be devastating. It would be unimaginable. It would be absolute chaos, havoc, destruction, and death on an unparalleled scale. It would obliterate almost everything in existence, leaving only the tiniest trace. It''s madness," Ruth responded with wide-eyed fear.

    Blessin quipped, "And a very complicated toy commercial and a disappointing redo. I get the picture. Reality is screwed, and whoever wins, we all lose. So, what do we do? We can''t just let everyone''s worst-case scenario happen."

    Ruth briefly mentioned her reality powers but hammered home their limitations. Her new charges were promising, but she didn''t want the biggest responsibility of all things and all worlds shouldered by them. They would break. Blessin noted that her acquaintances had capabilities, even though some of them were dormant, as did she. But this definitely sounded bigger than what they could manage. Krystal remarked that she had some talents and was curious about her nieces, but it was again on an entirely different scale.

    But what Haruka had brought up returned to their thoughts. Fourteen percent. That was a large number affected. Blessin asked first, "Do you happen to know if anyone we know personally might be in that percentage? Or any of us?" She gulped hard.

    Immediately, Haruka reassured them, "The three of you are not affected. Not yet. I confirmed it. The growth rate is gradual now but has the potential to accelerate like a von Neumann probe exploring a universe." Despite the implication, that geeky reference brought delight to Blessin, intrigued Krystal, and earned another nod from Ruth.

    Warily, Blessin soon followed up by pressing, "And what about friends, family, and people we know?"

    Haruka unfolded three papers and passed one each to the others. They read what was written silently.

    "...Shit," Blessin said with a long, pained sigh. "That''s a lot."

    Krystal covered her tears with her hands, but they soon overflowed. Ruth stared at her list with her jaw clenched and her nails digging into the couch cushion.

    "You are completely confident in these names?" Ruth pressed.

    "Yes," Haruka assured her with what felt like a steady gaze from her covered eyes and the stars beneath them.

    "Well, I want to get very drunk, even though I shouldn''t. And I don''t¡­ know what to do. I don''t know. Some things are just too powerful. Maybe if we could time travel back to when the company started and just strangle them in the cradle. But what else can we do?"

    Haruka pressed her hands together, as though in a prayer she didn''t speak aloud, before announcing, "I have some ideas. But I think we should ally ourselves with Cerberus. Our ultimate goals are the same. While his plan is madness, he has capabilities we do not. If we work together, we may not need to destroy countless worlds just to stop the company."

    Ruth bristled at this proposal, summarily shooting it down. The others were unsure and asked Haruka if she had even spoken to Yuka/Cerberus lately.

    With melancholy in her pose, Haruka responded, "Sadly, not for a long time. Despite what Miss Ruth said, some things can never be forgiven. I hated my sister when she was first placed in my life, like finding a wretched, black insect crawling around in your bed. But I played the dutiful role. Now, our rules are reversed, and she hates me beyond reason, and I just wish I could talk to her one more time like we used to."

    That dismal aura saturated the others, like an overwhelming fragrance that no wafting hands or circulating breeze could dispel. The only one who avoided its presence was Krystal, who braced herself, sat up, and declared, "We''ll figure it out, for our loved ones, for friends, and for everyone out there. The will of evil can get close to victory, but it can never truly win. It sounds silly, like the hopeful wish of a little girl, but hope is a powerful thing. The greatest of things. Hope endures even when everything else seems lost. I have faith in hope. I have spent so long in darkness and despair. I am home now, and I''ll fight for it with everything I have."

    Haruka actually let herself have the faintest trace of a smile. Ruth shielded her mouth, and Blessin reached out for Krystal''s hand in comfort and support, running through all her best prayers.

    The tension in the room remained in the air, but questions soon popped off about why Haruka didn''t look like anime anymore, along with Cerberus, for that matter. It wasn''t related to old multiverse travel methods of integration. Haruka had a long-winded explanation on that topic, which none of them could parse into anything more reasonable than "magic".

    Blessin vented about recent Disney+ originals on streaming and started searching the available programs for something to lighten the mood. More snacks came out, along with the most bewildering pop cultural topics, which fostered the deepest furrows of confusion in Krystal and Haruka.

    As they settled back into the couch, just looking like four friends about to enjoy a mediocre but cathartic show up next, Blessin did her best to let herself relax.

    Tomorrow, they would start saving the world tomorrow.

    [END]

    ----

    And thus ends Yuri Worlds. That was a massive singular story idea, and I am not sure if the actual epilogue did it justice. But it was necessary because it sets up what comes next.

    My first thought when I originally came up with the idea for Yuri Worlds was the same territory as the film and television series adaptations of Westworld. And one of the very first ideas I had was the story arc of Maharu.

    There is going to be much more carnage at the festival in the original draft, somewhere around a dozen slaughtered by Yasha, with potentially multiple named characters dead. That''s why, on the train, the little vision has more of a body count. I was still considering the possibility pretty late, even though the personality that developed with the killer was more of a savorer of blood than a chugger. That''s what I made a large cast for though.

    The other notion that emerged very early on was that this was going to be a prequel in the timeline of the stories. My anxiety throughout was how to present it as feeling like it took place in an alternate 2023 in the relative present or future and then segue that into letting people know it was the past.

    I didn''t want to just smash people with a hammer, telling them it was a prequel, but I feel like I had to go in that direction eventually. The other major component and the big twist was that this was Cerberus'' origin story¡ªmaybe their backstory, but not the full backstory. It was something I very much wanted to convey.

    I actually had a long-standing plan for Cerberus to be a cute girl at some point; that''s why some of that pops up in little hints related to the character from time to time. But the idea I had for where, what, and when to do it just didn''t feel right, so it turned into this.

    So the murder was one twist, being a prequel was another, and then Cerberus, and finally the relatively minor twist about multiple Yuri Worlds. It''s also the title. And then, of course, the ending emerged as one last twist.

    That last note was very much something my muse pitched to me as to what the ending should be. I already had a discussion between the crossover characters about their challenges and the future. There needed to be events that clearly separated Cerberus/Yuka from her youthful innocence and who she became. Not quite Anakin to Darth Vader, but somewhere in that ballpark. But I also requested that there be a tiny sliver of hope and ambiguity at the end.

    Is Carrie dead? I think there''s always hope.

    This was an incredibly exhausting chapter to write, and I needed to bring in a certain amount of assistance to get through it, which I''ll talk about in separate postings. I was hopeful that this wouldn''t take a blasted eternity and that I would actually have a low-stress week, but all sorts of things are happening, and stresses find me anyway. It''s sad to say goodbye to the story because I lived, loved, and delved into these characters for half a year. I still feel like there is an immense quantity of life and discovery to mine from them. I don''t want to say goodbye, but stories have to end.

    The rest of the chapters for this week will be relatively short leftovers from this first arc of stories. It''s narratives that I couldn''t find a use for with the whole Flush With Pride section. It''s primarily cute stuff but there are a few NSFW, salacious notes.

    Then, in October, we begin Mystery Lake. Inevitably, as this week proved with needing to take care of stuff around and outside the house again, I may eventually need to put the series on a sabbatical or hiatus because of life issues. But I feel good about having a complete set of five stories that will soon be six. The second round of narratives is going to be quite daunting because I have to go back and build upon existing stories as sequels in the overarching narrative while making them friendly for newcomers. No pressure, but I do have some ideas.

    I hope you enjoyed Yuri Worlds. No poll this time. Have a great day!

 Bonus Chapter â€“ Flush With Pride â€œRefresh Yourselfâ€

    Craig glared at the email from the district office with notes from the principal. They were only giving him a fourth of the money he asked for to repair the vandalized boy''s restroom. He''d had to bring supplies from his other jobs and make custom repairs to keep things together.

    But a bunch of hooligans, who got away, had ripped the seats off and ruined the paper dispensers, not to mention what they had done to the sinks. Just wiping it down had taken a whole evening.

    With a sigh, Craig stared forlornly at his budget as he clicked through the first results on Google. Going deeper and deeper, he paused when he finally came across a site with a weird name but better prices than anyone else.

    Flush With Pride? He snorted at the name but gawked at the breathtaking prices. His eyes glossed over, and he frowned at some of the fine print, but it looked legit. He ordered plenty of everything. Seats, holders, covers, new faucets, cleaners, and a set of urinals to replace the broken ones. He even bought a feminine product dispenser. Mostly to thumb his nose in the vandals'' direction. The district was moving towards all-gender restrooms anyway. And if they messed with it, then the seller would reimburse.

    He even went and ordered some spares since it came in under budget. Within a week, a mountain of packages bearing the site logo arrived at his office.

    Setting aside time after classes, Craig went to work. He put on his tough overalls, boots, and jeans and made sure everything was okay. Bolting it all in was a cinch. The smell of fresh equipment and an alluring aroma he couldn''t quite place overwhelmed him.

    The packaging had warned that "exposure to multiple products could have mental and reality effects" but he had all the windows open and, as he liked to say, "this wasn''t his first rodeo".

    Soon after the faucets and with a vigorous application of the cleaner, Craig noticed that he''d staggered in place. He didn''t feel woozy, but he got a breath of fresh air and brushed his long, dark hair back before retying his ponytail.

    Finishing with the mockingly placed feminine product dispenser, he suddenly felt a rush in his groin. Slipping into the nearest stall, he lowered his jeans and sat on the toilet. A heavy flow gushed out of his crotch. He noticed his penis wasn''t bumping up against the edge of the seat. This notion made him worry until she chuckled and noted that she didn''t have one of those.

    Gently wiping her crotch with the fresh toilet paper, Carol checked the rest of the bathroom and gave her nod of approval. Not bad. She did it all by herself. Adjusting her bust against the rough overalls, she secured her tool belt and closed up the restroom for the night.

    Those naughty boys will have quite a time trying to mess with the restroom now, she told herself.

    ----

    David Ford hacked into a handkerchief as he waited for the faculty restroom. Straightening against the wall sent a surge of aches through his back. He almost considered calling for a sub, but his pride got in the way. With how often he scolded his English classes for missing days, he couldn''t bring himself not to show up if he could get on his feet. Besides, this was nothing.

    Just the years creeping in and undercooked chicken. He was three times the age of his freshman students at forty-two, balding and gray around his beard, so he had to give three times the effort, as he liked to pontificate for the drowsy masses.

    Gurgling deep in his bowels threatened to erupt, and the 1950s-style door was showing no signs of opening. Too dignified to knock, he resolved that he needed a Plan B. Between here and his classroom was a student restroom he''d heard needed to be remodeled due to vandals. If it was done, then he would have no problems and just explain that he was checking in on it if anyone got nosy. If it wasn''t finished yet, then he could beg the janitor, a lovely gearhead gal named Carol, for some respite for his guts.

    Settling on this plan, he strode as confidently as he could make himself appear, with suspenders holding his black slacks up and a plaid shirt and tie secured around his neck. It was all polyester, and it all felt uncomfortable, making him sweat like he was under a constant heat lamp.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    The halls flowed with light foot traffic. He held out a formal wave to one of his students, Rebecca Bell, as she made her way over to the school library. She waved excitedly over her head with a bundle of books under her other arm. Fortunately, she didn''t stop to ask him some academic questions.

    He hurried the rest of the way and was surprised to find the restroom not only open but looking much better than any of the others. Striding across the tile, he paused to marvel at the interior.

    It smelled good, fresh, and with a touch of sharp floral hints. He smirked and wondered if the boys would complain about that. Peering through his thick glasses at the tampon dispenser to one side, he double-checked that he was in the right restroom, but the urinals seemed proof enough.

    Clutching his side, he opened the nearest stall and planted himself on the seat with relief. He expected a loud and smelly result, but the sound and odor seemed muted, swallowed up by the chemicals and fresh restroom aroma that pervaded everything.

    Scooting his plump rear back on the seat, David soon noticed that there seemed to be more seat than he was expecting. Steadying himself with the railing, he took a breath and shut his eyes. Another peach-like presence enveloped him, like a teen girl''s perfume sprayed in his direction. But it didn''t overwhelm or press him to sneeze. Instead, it was warming and nice.

    Leaning back, he attempted to adjust himself so he wouldn''t spray out the front notch in the seat. But he couldn''t find himself. Blinking his eyes open, he suddenly felt weird in so many places. Gushing straight out of his bladder without the dangling length of his dick was a drippy, messy wave of pee.

    Fearing for a moment that he''d been mutilated by some hidden razor, David soon realized other things had changed too. He could see without glasses. His legs, burly and rough in those polyester pants, were slim and soft with a swath of gentler corduroy. On his shoulder rested a long, twisted shape that connected to his head. And on that shoulder and wrapping around his chest...

    Fumbling with nervous denial and fear, David staggered to his feet and finished his business. His gut was quiet, but the shape of his rear felt strange. Dabbing the wet, empty place between his legs set his brain on fire with panic.

    Desperately trying to put on clothes that weren''t his own, he staggered to the mirror and gazed in shock at his reflection.

    A disheveled freshman girl with light-brown hair tied into a ponytail past the middle of her back stood there with wide, blue eyes. Her nails were painted a sharp, pastel blue, which shimmered even in the dim light of the restroom. Below, between a pair of soft, narrow arms, David could see the broad, obvious but underplayed pinnacles of her breasts jutting through a blue-and-white tie-dye top. Snug, black corduroy pants showed off the shape of her girlish legs, and blue sneakers completed the ensemble.

    Venturing back into the stall, David spotted a bright-blue purse bedazzled with sparkling stars and a weighty backpack similarly adorned. Dragging them away, she soon found a student ID labeled "Lacey Bell". Checking the mirror, she realized that she bore a striking resemblance to her sister, Rebecca...David shook her head. Sister?

    She had to get out of here. Bolting and jiggling through the door, she blanched with a last look at the tampon dispenser. Scooting to the side, embarrassed about coming out of the boy''s restroom and not exactly sure why, David did his best to cling to his male memories.

    But they faded even more when Rebecca caught up and gave her a big, sisterly hug. He knew he used to be David Ford, but who wanted to be that old loser when she could be smiling, happy Lacey, just fourteen, and with so many cute teen boys around? Shame she couldn''t wear anything prettier without making teachers mad. For now, she pulled her top snug against her breasts and put on a playful grin.

 Bonus Chapter â€“ Flush With Pride â€œPlay Togetherâ€

    [AKA - Love Blossoms Between Friends]

    ¡°You know what I mean, bro?¡±

    Brian honestly had no clue what Clint was talking about as he pumped the overinflated football in his hand out a few times before cupping it in his open palm. Still, he obediently nodded and offered up, ¡°Oh yeah. Totally.¡±

    Brian played some junior high ball and managed to be both ignored and critical enough that his coaches kept him in the same spot till JV high school. All he figured he might get out of these years was a cool letterman jacket, some relaxed Fridays, and a bit of exercise. That was until he met Clint.

    He not only didn¡¯t ignore him, but he also recognized how critical he was to the team and always kept him involved. As his strategy thoughts and deep planning washed over Brian¡¯s brain, Brian not only wanted to be a better player, but he found himself lingering at Clint¡¯s backside as he walked away. He knew enough drama students and flamboyantly out there dudes in classes to have a hunch about what was going on. What puzzled him was that he had a long history of checking out cheerleaders, cuddling giggling girls in the back of the room when he thought the teacher wasn¡¯t looking, and marveling at actresses.

    But everything inside his body went gay for Clint. Maybe it was that thing called love, but it left him enormously frustrated and seeking constantly to rub one out. Brian grumbled to himself as they walked to the recently repaired, once-vandalized boys'' bathroom. He didn¡¯t really have to go, but he also wasn¡¯t ready to lose sight of Clint after practice yet.

    ¡°It¡¯s fundamental, dude. It¡¯s all about building things up and faking where you¡¯re going to go. The game is mental. If you can be at point D before they even know you left point B, then that¡¯s half the battle.¡± Tucking the football away in his gym bag, Clint held the door open for Brian as they walked in. The rancid, wretched, and generally nauseating odor that infected every single bathroom on campus, despite how clean it looked, was absent in the tiled hallway as they made their way past the sinks.

    Brian threaded his way between the sinks and the ancient trash cans made of oil drums as Clint unbuttoned his fly and stepped up to the nearest urinal. He cautiously responded, ¡°Yeah, I get that. I¡¯m just not a big plan dude. You¡¯re the team guy.¡±

    With an echoing laugh that pitched strangely high against the tall ceiling, Clint chuckled and brushed back his blonde hair, which seemed a little shaggy. His stream flowed out, like splashing a full bucket. Brian crossed and re-crossed his legs.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have¡­*cough*¡­¡± Clint¡®s voice shot up, like he suddenly got pinched hard in the nuts by his cup. Frantically, Clint wiggled and pinched off the stream before glancing towards the stalls. Shaking it out, he muttered, ¡°Maybe number two¡­¡±

    Brian raised his eyebrows but didn¡¯t say anything. He still didn¡¯t need to go, but the blood diverting between his legs made him wonder if he could at least try. Glancing towards the mirror, fresh without any gang sign vandalism, he thought for an instant that his face looked weirdly smooth. Glancing again, the illusion diminished but didn¡¯t seem to quite go away. Touching it with his hand reassured him that the stubble was still there.

    ¡°Aaahhhhhhhhh¡­¡± A long, girlish sigh traveled from the stall Clint entered. Scrunching up his dark eyebrows, Brian questioned, ¡°You okay¡­i-in there?¡± His initial inkling was to add ¡°man/dude¡± but some nagging intuition made it slip his mind.

    The heavy splash of peeing should¡¯ve sounded about the same as the urinal, not that Brian was trying to listen to Clint pissing. But the sound felt intangibly off. And then it suddenly stopped. The voice that echoed against the stall door sounded like someone else.

    ¡°Better now. Whew!¡± It was a girl; it had to be a girl. Brian, again in the drama department, knew some guys who could reach a weird falsetto, but this was not that. This was not Clint¡¯s voice caught in a weird register. This was totally a girl, and the only thing he could think was that a girl was hiding in the bathroom, and Clint must¡¯ve planned this. Tension and melancholy surged through his beating heart and dripped sweat behind his ears. He hoped that Clint wasn¡¯t pulling one on him. He doubted his heart could take it. But it was the only thing that made sense. The lock clicked open, and someone stepped out.

    The figure sashayed from the stall and checked her gym bag on her shoulder. She was a good head shorter than Clint. Her hair had his dishwater blonde tone but cinched back into a fluffy pink tie, with light strands framing the edges of her face like cottony yellow streamers. A silver heart pendant hung around her thin, soft neck as she adjusted her sports windbreaker. Her arms, as they poked through the long sleeves, were toned but minuscule compared to Clint¡¯s beefy, muscular limbs. And more than anything, Brian gaped at the immense shape formed by her bust that barely fit in her white tank top, like a snug wifebeater. Her cleavage looked like something that would get you sent to the office for dress code. They weren¡¯t as big as her head, but their expanse could stretch from her slim, marker eyebrows to her soft chin. Pale pink lipstick accented her full lips.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    For all the strange, new qualities, Brian noticed the familiar shape of the girl¡¯s face, which felt like Clint¡¯s, but after a long, lasting bath in strange hormones. Despite the eyeliner, she had Brian¡®s eyes. And that nose, although missing the presence of reddish bumps from athletic nose strips, was one he could¡¯ve picked out in an instant. And her butt, definitely fuller than the one Brian was used to staring at, was also one he couldn¡¯t deny.

    After washing her slim hands and drying them with a paper towel, she slipped close to Brian, pressing skin to skin, so warm and soft, and kissed him on the cheek before lingering on his open mouth. He couldn¡¯t keep what was in his pants from bumping against the soft, yielding features of her jeans.

    Claire. It hit him at that moment that this was Claire, his girlfriend. What was the other name he was trying to think of? Was there someone else in the restroom? It slipped his mind. Probably wasn¡¯t important. Claire enthusiastically leaned, turning to place her backside against him. It was like so many shameless couples during passing period who acted like the shadows were enough to hide them.

    But there was no one else here. No one to watch. Someone could come in at any moment, which made his heart race. Her hand slipped into his waistband and traced him. He was close and could see the sly smirk on her face. She desperately wanted to play a few private games.

    She didn¡¯t seem worried that anyone could pop through the door and interrupt them. She surrounded his soul and teased every bit with warmth. It didn¡¯t take long before Brian released all the tension he could ever imagine, and she was his obedient receiver. Claire was amazing.

    Catching his breath, Brian puffed and staggered towards the nearest stall. He had to clean himself up before the next class. Without thinking, he slipped his gym pants down and plopped his butt on the chilly but comforting seat. He felt his still-tense aspects struggling to pee against the edge of the bowl. A swift current flowed lower on his body, straight into the porcelain. He made the same gasp of light-voiced relief as Clint. Brian dabbed lightly and wiped from front to back until he felt air dry.

    Standing, he jiggled lightly in the confines of a special order bra covered by a cute burgundy, short-sleeved top that flashed her soft midriff. As always, she had to do a little dance to hike up her snug jeans, encasing her flowing, plump rear. She held her breath in as the buttons barely clasped. Walking out, she inspected herself in the nearest mirror.

    Long, black hair with a bird-like curve at the top rested against her shoulders and sprawled out in long, straight strands to almost meet her bust. A bust that challenged Claire and nearly beat her. Not that Brianne wanted to show off. She preferred understated tops when posting her pics on Instagram and blushed whenever the boys called her a ¡°goddess¡±. Her raccoon-like, shadowed eyes were always something Claire told her not to worry about. She had such tiny arms, especially for her 5¡¯1¡± height. She was dwarfed by several inches when she stood by Claire, but Claire always made her feel like the biggest girl in class.

    Sneaking behind her, Claire somehow found a way inside the prison of her jeans with her slim fingers. Brianne squirmed and almost had to clean herself up a second time from Claire¡¯s loving assault. They kissed. Puzzling for a moment, Brianne almost thought she tasted something special on the edge of Claire¡¯s lips. It had to be her dirty imagination.

    They sometimes had adventures together with a certain JV linebacker, but, no matter how much she liked boys, Brianne loved Claire even more.

    Hand-in-hand, they made their way out of the restroom and off to their next class.

 Bonus Chapter â€“ Flush With Pride â€œDonâ€™t Be Bulliedâ€

    ¡°Hey, fatass, catch!¡±

    Jason felt the wind knocked out of him and barely resisted farting with the sudden pressure against his soft, large stomach. He almost barfed as well.

    Looking up through his glasses at the swirls and stars in his vision, he resisted tears. ¡°Ha, you got me, Tim.¡± His answer had coughs around it, which made Tim stagger back and mutter something under his breath. Every day. This was every single day.

    At first, a long time ago, he thought Tim wanted to be his friend. He didn¡¯t have a lot of those in high school. A Chinese transfer student who was overzealously friendly and a deep-voiced, gay kid in the drama club were the only reliable ones. They were his friends, mainly because they actually thought it was a good idea to stop by his house to do class work and sometimes watch something or play a video game. Tim would talk to him in History but also snap and berate him. Jason constantly figured he did something wrong, so he tried to make a habit of giving him stuff or doing things that might cheer him up. It didn¡¯t work.

    Tim¡¯s favorite things were interrupting him when he was working and bringing up stuff, like when his younger brother was visiting the school and Jason tripped on some grass and his crack got exposed. Tim told him that his brother got cancer and died from ¡°seeing too much ass¡±. Jason wasn¡¯t especially gullible, but he tended to take people at his word, so when he showed genuine concern about his brother, Tim laughed in his face.

    He threw things at him, with bruises to show. Jason tried to imagine that this was just the way Tim was, and it was still okay. But Tim always showed up in his favorite classes to make them Hell. He was strategic about his torment, always finding ways to couch it with a confident smile while Jason himself covered for him. It was so much. It was too much. He had always been a big guy, but, for a time last year, he did his best to lose weight by walking around the neighborhood and skipping some meals at home. His parents were a bad influence, encouraging him to eat everything on his plate and having very established notions about portions.

    All told, it didn¡¯t really put a dent in things, and he soon slid back. This day, he happened to wear a cream-peach-colored blazer he thought looked pretty cool, but Tim just relentlessly scoffed that it was ¡°faggy¡±. Halfway through the class, Jason just couldn¡¯t stand it, and, holding back his emotions as Tim made fart noises with his every step, he asked the teacher for a restroom pass.

    This teacher thought Jason was actually screwing around, and Tim and Jason were thick as thieves. But he eventually relented and let Jason go. He walked slowly past the wide, old classrooms. Exhaustion shook his body with soul-sapping stress. His eyes glossed with tears.

    The nearest bathroom was around the corner, but if he went there, then he¡¯d just get back to class sooner. Instead of that, he followed the main open area over to the other end of campus. He remembered that one of the really good bathrooms had been vandalized, and the custodians closed it up for a few days to fix it. He crossed his fingers, and the repairs were done. A comfortable place to rest for a few minutes, untouched.

    The door was open, which was a promising sign. The inside smelled harshly of all sorts of cleaners. He rubbed his eyes, and they finally felt dry. Plodding through the bathroom hallway, he quietly surveyed all the new equipment. It looked good; it looked better than most of the stuff around campus. Hand dryers that didn¡¯t look like they¡¯d been around since the 1980s. Modern sinks with infrared sensors. Soap actually refilled in the dispensers. Practically the closest to heaven you could get in high school.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Walking over to the large stall at the end, Jason took a long breath of the fresh aroma and slipped over to the seat. Often times, it felt like he had too much ass to comfortably position himself on these, but this one felt just right. It seemed to cup and contain his behind in a way that didn¡¯t hurt or anything. Bending forward, he found the position to be surprisingly easy to hold. Usually, his rolls of flesh fought back with sweaty tension, but it was like they weren¡¯t even there.

    He let out a squeak of gas, like opening the lip of a balloon. It soon turned to echoing, roaring notes. Shy embarrassment about how loud he was soon fell away with the comfort of relief. Messy sounds soon followed, but there was no sense that he was filling the bowl.

    Still, he felt oddly lighter and liberated. The presence he left against the seat still felt soft and rounded, but much narrower than a few minutes ago. In his front, he felt concerned that his dick was buried or tucked up somewhere in his fat folds because of how it felt streaming piss from his body. Before he could really think about it, though, he automatically grabbed some toilet paper and dabbed a strange patch of his flesh with sensitive folds of skin.

    Finishing up in there, he puzzled over the fact that it felt like he left half of his clothes behind. Instead of his 3XL cotton pants, he discovered a pink and blue plaid skirt. It looked much too small for him, but somehow it fit perfectly when he pulled it up. His immediate worry was that Tim would make even worse fun of him for wearing a skirt to school. Slowly, though, that tension ebbed away, and Jason posed in the mirror.

    He had a supple, pert, rounded ass, much smaller and delightfully hinted at by the skirt. Flipping it up, she inspected her curvy but tight shape with a knee tilted. Her peach blazer shifted and receded into a fashionable pink tank top. Her arms and waist were soft and full of gentle touches of girlish fat. Her tits in that top¡ªshe just upgraded to specialty E-cups¡ªpractically earned a glare from every security guard on campus.

    She read the dress code rule book, though, and she wasn¡¯t in violation by the barest of margins. She couldn¡¯t help she was a big girl with monumental boobies and cleavage to follow. Even with a few layers, it was easy to look positively scandalous.

    Everything about her was so deliciously thick, and she knew it. No matter what she wore, there were always eyeballs trailing after. After washing her hands and checking herself out again in the mirror, she pranced her way back to class.

    Finding her seat, she leaned towards Tim and playfully dropped a pen in his lap. He shuttered and gulped before softly speaking, ¡°Oh, hey Courtney. Back already?¡±

    Courtney flared a coy smile across her lips as she bent closer to her prey. It was so much fun to tease little Tim. On the first day of high school, he asked her out, but she left him hanging. Every so often, she played with him like a fish stuck on a line, just dragging him along obediently. Such a simp.

    Yet, oddly enough, she had this sneaking suspicion, which practically everyone else in class shared, that he actually had the hots for the big buff quarterback on the senior varsity team. His name was Max and he actually asked her out too. She wondered what kind of fun she could have with the both of them wrapped around her fingers.

 Bonus Chapter â€“ Flush With Pride â€œAround the Officeâ€

    "Fire him!" Allyson''s voice rose to a sharp, jarring punctuation, like she''d violently coughed the words instead of speaking them. "He''s gross, rude, and belittles what we work on, and I refuse to work with him."

    Gene rubbed his balding head and looked over the documented incidents Allyson had brought to his office. It wasn''t as though he didn''t know the kind of guy Randall had been since they met in college.

    He gave harsh, stone-faced ribbings to all the guys around the dorm, then would walk it back as if it were a joke. Restraining his opinions and physicality was not something he did. He was the kind of dude who''d see you at the fridge, smack you on the back, and call you a piece of shit with a smile. But he also drove Gene several hundred miles when he needed a ride. For every insufferable, dickish move, he put up as hard as he wouldn''t shut up.

    But Gene knew things around the business had crossed a line. They always wanted to make an indie game studio. Randall had the engine tech down and could create whatever they needed with ruthless efficiency. But their first lead artist, Tammy, quit soon after Randall kept staring at her ass, called her work "Tumblr leftovers", and did a bunch of other little things like changing her bookmarks, which Gene didn''t think was that bad but which she took pretty hard.

    He had to admit that for every crude, untempered, and provocative suggestion Randall made, he also fixed everyone''s computer when something went wrong, and he laid off during the days when things were rough and busy. Part of Gene wanted to tell Ally that she didn''t know Randall like he did and that sometimes Ally and the other women on staff could be rather hypersensitive to the least little thing from a guy like Randall.

    But he was the boss and the leader, and he knew he needed to keep in mind all the management groundings he knew and not the hunches of years before. It was rough. Randall was a vital part of the business, but his not dealing with his co-workers respectfully, treating the three women on staff differently, and leaving the only restroom smelling like a junior high gym locker added up to a high cost for the questionable benefits of keeping Randall around.

    Even Brit, who was tough and gave as good as she took while playing along with ass slaps, said in the document that she was tired of Randall. Tracy''s section was the longest and most intricately detailed. Skimming it, Gene agreed, "I will deal with it."

    He called Randall in during one of his good moods, where he fussed with the stuff on the walls of Gene''s office and gave him a hard fist bump before asking, "How is it going, bro?" Then he suggestively compared the UI design to a "satisfied kitten" with just enough leeway to keep it vague about what kind of pussy he was talking about.

    As Gene got into the accounts, Randall scoffed, "I bet it''s all micro-aggression bullshit. Dude shows the least bit of dominance, and some chicks clutch their pearls and roll in the aisles." Gene focused on the restroom matters, and Randall went a little quiet, wringing his hands.

    "Okay...okay. I get a little fired up sometimes, and I can''t always be master of my domain and all that. It''s meditative. If they would rather join in, they are always welcome. But I need to take a break sometimes. It''s not like I''m marking my territory. I keep things clean."

    Wrestling with aggravation, Gene had to admit that Randall raised charismatic points. It was hard to argue with him like this. But the three ladies on his staff of fourteen, not including himself, were of one mind when it came to Randall.

    He''d even seen sour looks from the other men, as they had degrees of acceptance for his demeanor. Some would go to bat for Randall; others would be silently glad he was gone. Gene wasn''t certain where he fell. He just wanted this resolved as soon and simply as possible.

    After that chat, he only admonished Randall and let him know that he was on thin ice. The rest of his day was spent avoiding Ally with her long, black sweep of hair and her "emu"-like appearance (as Randall jokingly characterized it). Randall also remarked how she had "no ass" in her "boy jeans" and that her top was like "hanging a white towel on a pointy rack".

    Gene spent his evening and after-work time looking for some bathroom cleanser that might better mask or remove the aroma Randall left behind. Maybe something Zen and relaxing would help everyone get along better. He knew it was a hopeless hunt, but after several pages deep into Google, he came across something that drew his eye. Flush With Pride.

    The prices were shockingly good, even for a wholesaler, and he noticed a focus on deterring peeing on seats and other things. The monthly rent included a discount clause if they replaced or repaired any of the main fixtures. And the low cost of buying on this site would be a net profit. Ordering everything he could, Gene made sure to add in a long-lasting, oddly-phrased industrial spray for cleanliness, physical management, and "enjoyment".

    He held out on a staffing decision until everything arrived a week later. He puzzled over the "safe to install" markings and "targeted use" notes but got everything put together without much trouble.

    The first couple of hours the next day had him on pins and needles about whether there might be some psychological or at least placebo effect. A certain energy did permeate the air, but Gene wasn''t sure what it meant.

    A few hours before lunch, Allyson was the first to really try out the remodeled restroom. She sat and did her business, enjoying herself and feeling lightly intoxicated by the new, fresh smell. But when she tried to get up, she found something warm and needy wrapped around her groin.

    Before she could process the foreign sensations, they wrapped around her. It felt like a statue come to life, a porcelain person pulling her into their embrace. But instead of hard and cold, the presence was warm and intimately wet. It clung to her engorged clitoris and drew it out like a fleshy piece of taffy. With focused pleasure, she felt her entire groin turn inside out. Her labia puffed up and dropped with a new weight between the folds.

    Though her heart raced in uncertainty, her immense clit was fast becoming something else. At a point of mind-melting, erect ecstasy, a gusher of a climax surged through her new organ and into the awaiting porcelain presence, which had taken on a supple, soft girlish shape with the statue form of an eager reservoir and jiggling breasts wrapped in an anonymous, encompassing bodysuit that resembled a statue.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    As Ally drove her hard cock into that attentive void, she vaguely reflected on the impossibility of her change as her white top slipped snugly across her broad, toned chest. When the semen freshly pumping from inside her finally felt depleted, she staggered over to the mirror and regarded herself.

    A man looked back. He still had her long, dark hair, though not quite as long. Now over six feet, Ally realized her name was Aaron, and he felt really good in those boyish jeans. Brit and Tracy gave him looks that he''d never seen them give before. They still chatted, but the tone was subtly and immensely different.

    For once, Aaron felt like Randall didn''t matter anymore. He had a sharp retort for his sass and kind ones for the pair of ladies at his side. Things changed even more when Tracy and Brit had their own restroom encounters. Soon emerged Bryan and Terry. The three new guys were still as thick as thieves, driven to work, and just as talented.

    Despite their changes, they still behaved much as they had before, with the same interests and personalities. Randall, however, noticed something was amiss but kept it to himself.

    Gene, who also recognized that he now had all men on staff instead of three women among the rest, gulped as Randall slipped away to the restroom with a barely disguised tent in his pants.

    His heart racing, Randall plopped on the seat and stroked himself through his pants before nervously lowering them. With all the warmth raging through his erect cock, it didn''t take long before he felt a manly pair of porcelain-toned hands enveloping his shaft as more hands teased under his shirt.

    Giving in to the cascade of sensations, he squirmed as the length of his hard dick dwindled to an aching love button adorning a slick, tight pussy with engorged, drippy lips. Riding the responsive, eager dick projecting from the fixtures, she leaned into the rough, kneading tease of her rising, bright nipples, her soft, pillowy flesh stretching further and further from her chest. She embraced the unrelenting assault on her senses as wave after wave of her first female orgasm crushed her ability to think of anything else.

    When finally released from the torrent of sensations, she managed to finish her regular business with her girlish bladder and a dab of paper. On uneasy legs, she slipped over to the mirror. Just a glance at her girlish shape brought a shuddering reaction from her trembling thighs.

    She was several inches smaller with her now-long brown hair pulled into a clean ponytail, with stray locks adorning her rounded, gentle features. Finally, she looked just how she felt. All the manly push, bitterness, and snark faded from her spirit. This is how she wanted to be all through college¡ªa playful, coy, fun little nymph with delicate curves and thighs hiding secret feelings that threatened to explode. His fantasy whenever he jerked off was brought to flesh.

    Just seeing her was enough to nearly wash away everything. And on top of all that were her black-rimmed, silver librarian glasses, which she could bite on and tease with her full lips. And her unassuming tan dress with white dots. Like the innocent girl next door with a fire in her belly that couldn''t be easily extinguished.

    She squirmed even more as she realized how easily she might be exposed to all the men right outside with the barely-professional hem of her dress. She ruffled it up slightly, and her heart raced at how close her intimate secrets were to being exposed. Her plump, delicate, dancer-like legs were completely hairless and felt like a sexual invitation on their own.

    And then there was the deep dive of her cleavage. Suggesting a snug bodice without any protective support, her dress had the top two buttons undone, and she could envision undoing even more. About to lose all control of her raging libido, she did the buttons up and managed to slip on her tan pumps before daintily making her way out of the restroom.

    Squelching a rogue realization that she had to use the ladies'' room from now on, Randall went back to the office with a new but long-fantasized name in her life. She was Angie.

    Demurely returning to her desk, Angie wrapped her soft thighs together tightly as she adjusted her glasses and managed to get back to work. Of course, the new guys gave her pert ass a few smacks as a quid pro quo, but they didn''t expect the breathless, shy embrace of their behavior from the new and only girl in the office.

    Though she still managed to get as much work done, Angie fought with the swelling, hot, blushing thoughts that she was indeed the only woman in an office full of guys with long, hard dicks. She drooled.

    It wasn''t even the end of the day before Aaron and Angie made a kind of amends in the broom closet.

    Gene caught himself staring at Angie more than once, especially when she came into his office alone. The energy in the workplace was accelerated and yet focused. More stuff got done with such a cohesive plan of attack that he didn''t even need to call a daily meeting to get updates, let alone set things right like he normally did.

    At the end of the day, only the three former girls and Angie had changed, despite everyone but him using the remodeled restroom (he used the personal one in his office out of uncertainty). As everyone was heading off for the evening, Angie slipped into his office once more and casually sat right on his lap.

    Flummoxed and nervously aroused, Angie planted a warm, lingering kiss on his lips as she said, "Thank you. Thank you so much. I finally feel...right."

    She explained her rush of thoughts from the restroom and her entire lifetime of frustrations. He questioned if Randall was trans, but Angie shrugged and resolved that it was more "love of oneself as a woman". His heart was, in a certain way, rough and bitter. But the notion, joy, and fantasy of being a woman felt not only like his true self but also the balance of her being. Gene didn''t know what the difference was between that and trans, but he accepted Angie''s explanation.

    Though she ran her hands over Gene''s still confused body, she restrained her full sexual feeling to a simple kiss and a repeated thank you. Playfully, she wondered if the former ladies would return to women, hoping that Aaron would choose to stay. And she also wondered whether Gene might have some secret love "she" wanted to release too. Or perhaps one of the "other sexy boys".

    Giving back ownership of Gene''s lap, she waved daintily and said goodnight.

 [1] Mystery Lake 1 â€“ Take the Plunge

    Mystery Lake

    <<Arc Introduction>>

    [Mystery Lake - Arc] [Storyline - Washed Away]

    This is the sixth book. This is not going to be as heavy or lore-connected as Yuri Worlds. Granted, I thought Yuri Worlds was gonna be a relaxing narrative, so you never know. This started as one of my first ideas in the story sequence. It''s loosely inspired by a novel I read a couple years ago. You''re going to see appearances by familiar figures and some connected themes and events.

    The first couple of chapters are a little on the shorter side because I hadn''t quite figured out the style and format for the series when I originally composed them. I don''t really have a lot of expectations for this book in particular. I am really leaning on the interactivity this time. Bring out all your suggestions about where this can go. You can keep them light, or you can make them spooky, or whatever floats your boat. The main concept I have going on is a bunch of people thrown together because of a weird lake. One gimmick I have is that I am thinking of doing occasional POV chapters focusing on certain characters as interest arises in following them.

    This book arc is entitled Mystery Lake, and the subtitle I gave it is Washed Away, but I''ll just call it Mystery Lake in general. Keep it simple. I can modify the names if I don''t like them. There are mature adult elements, language, nudity, sexual content, and violence. All characters in adult situations are 18+. For visual and info references to the character here and the entire series of stories, please check out the detailed Glossary.</a>

    Mysteries await, just beneath the surface. How deep are you willing to dive?...

    ------

    Mystery Lake

    Washed Away

    [1] Take the Plunge

    "We have a tantalizing share of local folklore. I¡¯m sure you all recall accounts of women in white with long dark hair by the side of the old, winding roads, whispers of curious cryptids like Mothman portending danger, sightings of Skinwalkers, and myths of the legendary fae folk. But I have a story about the most interesting mystery on this end of the state. It¡¯s a take on a little lake most people try to avoid.¡±

    Ms. Clifton, the folklore teacher at Ferris University, held her class in rapt attention, and it wasn¡¯t just because of the way her cleavage was pressed up like a soft, alluring mountain range by the tight grayish-purple suit she wore. She adjusted her black, round glasses, brushed back her short black hair, and smirked.

    ¡°I find it suspicious how the authorities often close campgrounds in a certain area right at the peak of the season, when they should be open. There''s always such a fuss and so many wild stories. Local tribes, including one that no longer exists but for some elders, have passed down legends, and I shall share just a little with you. You see, there''s a special place... A mystery lake with strange, magical properties. I hear tell that it gave rise to stories of fountains of youth in Florida and elsewhere in America. But that¡¯s not all. Spirits inhabit these waters, making the lake and its surroundings their domain. They change the lives of all who dare to approach them. A young, rugged virile man might wash and emerge a gorgeous goddess of rippling curves, luscious locks, and an insatiable appetite.¡±

    It was impossible not to notice that each physical reference was emphasized by Ms. Clifton moving her hands along her own features, settling her hands on her hips with a wink before biting the tip of her glasses. The men, and quite a few of the women, leaned forward in their seats with coats around their laps and blushes on their cheeks.

    Stepping lightly in her red heels, Miss Clifton¡®s mountain range bounded adventurously as she walked to the marker board and wrote a series of numbers. Coordinates. She tittered lightly, ¡°This could be the location to anything. But if you¡¯re feeling truly adventurous this spring break, you might have an interesting time finding what there is at this latitude and longitude. It will literally change your life¡­¡±

    ----

    ¡°So, that¡¯s what this is about? I thought we were going to some water park.¡± Joel laid a beefy, tanned arm across his head and yawned. He was in the backseat of the car with his girlfriend, Jess.

    Jess adjusted her glasses, wiggled her eyebrows, and chimed in, ¡°You thought there¡¯s a water park in the middle of a forest?¡± In response, Joel gave a quick pout and poked her with his elbow. She poked him right back and snorted with a smirk.

    In front of them, in the middle seat, sat Alyssa and Layla. Alyssa was one of the last additions to this strange little expedition, and Layla said she tagged along because she was bored. Barry had the wheel while Duncan had the copilot seat and explained things.

    Duncan chimed in, "A lake is kind of like a water park, if you think about it."

    Joel counted on his fingers, "Water parks don''t have brain-eating little critters, unseen rocks you can crack your head on, and leeches."

    Duncan acknowledged all that but reminded him that this was a special, supernatural lake. Joel pointed out, "It could still have all of those things." Duncan rubbed his forehead and didn''t have an answer. They drove on.

    It was a gorgeous spring day at the start of break. Term papers were all complete, and tests were finally in the rearview mirror. Joel didn¡¯t have any real plans but to chill with Jess as she caught up on all sorts of streaming shows she said she wanted to watch together. He wasn''t into most of them but couldn¡¯t complain about the company. Then Duncan came over and asked if they wanted to visit a ¡°magical lake¡±.

    The guy was an unabashed part of the geek squad, but he made their Wi-Fi work better on more than one occasion. Barry was Joel''s roommate, and he activated his prankster side because he was so willing to believe anything he said. Nothing too crazy or mean. He once made him think there was a hot girl in his bed with an anime poster and some perfectly positioned pillows. They kept ''Himiko'' around for the rest of that semester. It was a running joke that she was always unexplainably sticky.

    Another good one was turning all his phone alerts into ladies saying how hot he was. Joel was particularly proud of getting that to work because of how far it stretched his limited tech knowledge. It did cause a little embarrassment in math class, but Barry should''ve had his phone off at the time anyway. Otherwise, it was just innocent stuff like starling him with disembodied voices or getting him to believe they were giving away video games on the other side of campus when it was just a buddy of his who had hilariously bad one-dollar titles to get rid of. Although some of them actually became cult classics among their group.

    Nothing intended to hurt the poor guy was the code Joel kept. He was never malicious, and he eased off when it looked like Barry was having a really bad day. All he really wanted to do was toughen him up a bit so he wouldn¡¯t be quite so gullible. And if anyone out there actually tried to hurt Barry, Joel would come down on them with fire, brimstone, and whatever else he had.

    He didn¡¯t really know the girls in front of him. Joel gathered they were some kind of sociology or psychology majors, but he hadn¡¯t asked. Jess knew both of them better than he did, and Duncan apparently knew them pretty well too. Alyssa hadn¡¯t really said much the whole drive. To Joel, she kind of had a horror movie actress thing going on. Pale skin, thready eyebrows, a massive forehead, and immense, dark eyes. He was sure that Jess could think of some appropriate book word for what she looked like, but he understood that asking would leave her annoyed.

    Jess was like the Yin to his Yang. At least, he liked to say that to everyone. She had the smarts. He had the muscles. They did match up in that his pecks were hard-chiseled from months straight working out in the college gym, and she had a pretty toned body. He deeply appreciated the roundness of her boobs, even though he knew he shouldn¡¯t bring it up so much. She had the most going on of any of the girls in the car, and that gave him a little flash of pride.

    This day, she had on a nice gray top with a fashionable black vest that neither hugged nor hid her breasts. There was also plenty of cleavage for him to steal glances at. He thought of it like a young teacher who dressed with just a little edge and who he had no problem taking independent study with. The ink on her arm of the Alaskan wilderness also oddly turned him on. She told him it was based on a painting of where she grew up. He never got any tattoos of his own because he thought his body was fine as it was. His natural bronze tans were the only decoration he needed, but he really dug women with tats.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    He rubbed his eye and glanced out at the forest passing beyond the window. Alyssa looked out with her head down and her arms crossed. Maybe she was tired too. They woke up for this was around four, before the sun even came up. Joel was feeling the early hour.

    For the trip, he knew everyone had packed several tents, a big mess of supplies, a GPS, and a satellite phone for emergencies since their regular phones were unlikely to get any kind of coverage out here.

    So far, Duncan had been regaling them with the story he heard in his folklore class. Joel knew about the woman who taught it, Miss Clifton. She was truly mysterious. Just randomly applied to be an adjunct one day and then started teaching soon after. A few of the sociology professors vanished and were never heard from again. Naturally, Joel assumed she¡¯d gone black widow, and parts of them were buried in her basement. With how she looked, Joel once admitted that if she invited him over, he might actually take the chance.

    Joel scrutinized the parts he could understand against the things that went over his head. Apparently, this lake had special powers to liberate your best self. A transformative experience if you soak in the waters. It was on public land and had several routes in, but most were inaccessible or closed. Because it was some revitalization thing, Joel surmised, all the rich folks in the state wanted to keep it for themselves.

    Excitedly, Layla put a finger to her chin and pondered whether they could borrow some of the water and take it with them to sell, like a drop of the fountain of youth. Duncan actually had a similar idea, but he couched it by saying that he wanted to make sure he had a sample to take back with him to analyze so that they could move beyond legends and rumors and native folklore about this place and actually get a firm grasp on what it was and did. Barry chimed in about the constellations and how this had actually been near several strange astronomical rituals. So, aliens.

    Joel had to fight the swimming desire to point out the window and yell that he actually saw a gray dude standing in the trees, but he couldn¡¯t be sure that Barry wouldn¡¯t slam on the brakes and possibly roll the car. After about three hours of looping, dipping, rising, and slow-curving roads, they came to the right signage that Duncan had mentioned.

    The entrance was not only blocked, but there were several large logs in the way. Fortunately, they were no match for Joel and his muscles. They had just enough space to jog around on the side through a clearing and then move the other obstacles out of the way.

    Barry got a little nervous about how illegal this might be, but drove them onward without complaint.

    Arriving at the actual lake, they made their way slowly around the perimeter to check for anyone who might be watching. It was about a mile and a half to circle all the way around. Some areas had been cut for camping nearby, and there was a pier over the water, but otherwise, there didn¡¯t seem to be much in the way of amenities. Generally, Joel wasn¡¯t very impressed at first glance. If this place was supposed to be some sort of special lake, then he figured that they would¡¯ve been swiftly surrounded by drones, guys in black helicopters, and jeeps the moment they got to it. Nothing so far.

    They parked the car a little bit off in the dirt and swung it around to easily unpack their stuff. The girls immediately started taking photos with their phones, and Duncan even got a few snaps.

    Settling in felt pretty normal as Joel hauled the big items out to put around in a circle. They cleared a pit with some rocks, and Barry took the ax out to the tree line to chop some firewood and whatever else he could find. Joel quipped that he better be back soon and without a hockey mask.

    Barry overreacted at first, declaring that he would never do anything like that. He soon put together the joke but made the wrong horror movie music reference. Duncan surveyed the water but didn¡¯t get too close to it. He also warned the others not to jump in quite yet because he still had more to reveal. Joel didn¡¯t quite like the sound of that; in fact, it sounded exactly like what a serial killer might say, having brought them all here. He kept an eye on Duncan as they set everything up.

    Once they had everything unpacked and assembled and Barry brought back enough firewood to keep a fire going overnight, Duncan filled in the missing details.

    ¡°This is indeed supposed to be a magical lake. All that is true, but here¡¯s the thing: Miss Clifton alluded to this when she gave her presentation, and, ultimately, I was able to confirm through the legends and stories of the area as having a historical basis at least. This lake imbues those who take a dip in it or otherwise partake of it with spiritual energy to invigorate and transform their lives. By changing their sex¡­¡±

    Joel bent forward and glanced around. The others were doing the same. Even Alyssa seemed to perk up and gaze at Duncan. They all appeared to be waiting for the punchline. Duncan cleared his throat and emphasized, ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure what to believe, but that¡¯s just what I¡¯ve been able to piece together. Anyone who takes a dip in the water has their physical sex transformed. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m not curious.¡°

    Joel broke the ice. He gave a boisterous chuckle and turned up his hands. ¡°Seriously, dude? Oh man, you got trolled by a teacher prank? I didn¡¯t know Miss Clifton had a sense of humor like that. Classic.¡±

    Duncan sighed through his nose and responded, ¡°The events of this location are diligently researched and extensively documented. Miss Clifton¡®s own admissions that strange things happen at this place add reliable credence to all that.¡°

    Slapping his knees, Joel asked, ¡°So, are you gonna prove it with us? Ask for volunteers to take a dip?¡°

    Duncan rubbed his chin and shook his head. ¡°It would be easiest to have a test subject. But I wouldn¡¯t ask that of any of you. I mainly just wanted to take samples and¡­¡± He faded off.

    Joel rocked his head. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a load. We wouldn¡¯t all be here if you didn¡¯t think one of us might go for a dip.¡±

    Duncan cleared his throat and waved his hands. ¡°Forget it. I don¡¯t want anyone to have to, even for purely scientific reasons.¡±

    Shaking his head, Joel stretched his legs and smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about it. We¡¯re gonna settle this right now. Hey, Barry¡­ You like science, right? Let¡¯s do an experiment together.¡±

    Barry crouched and looked around. His blonde hair sat in little tufts like a buzz cut on a TV show from decades ago. He appeared balding most of his life, with a high forehead and cloaked patterns of fuzz against his pink skin, with a slight mustache only visible when the light caught it. His eyebrows looked like uneven punctuation marks trying to get away from his face. His mottled blue tropical shirt looked rather out of place in the woods. His pants carried flakes of firewood that he hadn¡¯t yet shaken off. He was a bit doughy, but not much shorter than Joel.

    Before Barry could ask what he meant by that, Joel had him in a wrestling hold from behind. He¡¯d got him like this once before and knew that he couldn¡¯t get out of it.

    Yelling in confusion, Barry begged him to let him go, and he almost did. Drop him in front of the sand before the water and have a good laugh about the whole thing. Joel¡®s main concern, aside from how much he was kicking and struggling, was all the stuff that Jess warned him about before they left about brain parasites in pond water. Plus, he knew the water was sure to be shallow, this close to the edge, so he had to make sure he threw Barry in where he wouldn¡¯t get a bleeding concussion with no hospital nearby. No worries about the leeches, at least. Fortunately, he had more experience than he would¡¯ve liked to admit roughhousing with his brothers, as they each threw each other into basically pond water worse than this.

    Barry dragged his feet and tried to get out of his grasp, but Joel gripped him harder. The others seemed like they wanted to intervene. That Layla girl stepped sideways and back a few times, but not forward. Jess was flailing with her hands high above her head, even though he couldn¡¯t hear her above everyone else. Duncan seemed to be yelling something. To no surprise for Joel, the quiet girl, Alyssa, was being quiet and doing basically nothing but watching.

    When he was in position, Joel heaved Barry in a sideways motion instead of chucking him with his head down. To his relief, Barry landed on his legs with a tumble in just a few feet of water. In an instant, he was up and sloshing toward the shore. No limps, wounds, or bruises.

    Sliding his hands across his pants, Joel gestured and proclaimed, ¡°Science! Like that Archimedes guy. And myth, folklore, or whatever totally busted. So, can we, uhh...¡± Joel scrunched his eyes up and watched as Barry made his way out of the water. Something was weird about him though.

    Somehow, Barry no longer had a thin scrabble of balding blonde hair. Instead, thick, flowing bands of water-slicked locks matted over his back. His face retained a subtle pinkness, but his large nose receded into a pert, slender shape. His bushy eyebrows, with their chaotic texture, became a sharp, groomed oval above his wide eyes. The changes were enough to make Joel wonder if the group had somehow pulled a switcheroo on him and the real Barry was hiding in the shoals while whoever this was took his place.

    His pants slid off as he stumbled over the rise onto the shore, and his boxers soon followed. From behind, Joel got a pretty darn good look. A supple, curvy posterior shook as she got to her feet. Between her thighs, he could glimpse a cleft, sensitive skin, and absolutely no balls. Walking back around in front, he shook his head in shock as Layla came over and quickly offered a towel to wrap around the blonde girl. Barry¡¯s top was loose on her otherwise, but the drenched cloth clung to her chest. She had a defined, broad, and rounded slope to clearly challenge Jess.

    There was no way for him to deny it. Barry had been turned into this blonde chick. Heck, it was real! He had no idea what to say to that.

 [2] Mystery Lake 2 â€“ Exposure & Consequences

    Mystery Lake

    [2] Exposure & Consequences

    ¡°I feel so weird¡­¡± Barry¡¯s voice retained his soft-spoken, often muttered cadence. This made the girl he became sound reserved, but with a breathy soprano.

    She lifted up her soaked Hawaiian top up for just a moment before Layla stopped her. It was enough for Joel and Duncan to see that her breasts were even greater than the clingy cloth suggested. Joel needed a moment to draw his attention away and will down the sudden rush of blood between his legs. He already knew that Jess would be angry about everything else but understood that if she saw him sporting wood for the transformed Barry, then her wrath would be on him like that of an avenging angel.

    Even automatically analyzing what cup size they had to be yanked more precious blood flow away from his brain. It wasn¡¯t a rigorous assessment, but he judged that they had to be at least double D¡¯s from the shape, the clear, swollen hang, and the sheer expanse. Some uncertainty in his mind lingered with that brief reveal and whether it meant adding another D or slipping further into the alphabet. That understated, quiet, geeky Barry was hiding this sort of potential to be unlocked by this freaky lake really burned through Joel¡¯s neurons.

    Layla led Barry by the hand over to the car, and the awkward silence remained until Alyssa broke it sharply with the venomous words, ¡°You asshole.¡±

    The fact she had even spoken rippled through the group with surprise until Joel registered the words and realized everyone was looking at him. He scowled and retorted, ¡°Me? I¡¯m not the one who got a bunch of people to come to a lake, saying it was some sort of fountain of magical experience, and it turns out it¡¯s just a pond of dick swapping.¡±

    Duncan folded his arms and shook his head vigorously. ¡°I didn¡¯t make anyone come here, and I certainly didn¡¯t throw someone into a lake just to try to prove a point.¡± Jess wouldn¡¯t even look at Joel. She scurried over to the car to help Layla with Barry. Brushing his long, manly locks back, Joel plopped down in front of the biggest of the tents he put together and scanned the group.

    Okay, maybe he might¡¯ve screwed up. But he certainly wasn¡¯t going to admit it like this, with everyone laying into him. It wasn¡¯t long before Layla guided Barry back over to the group. Somehow, they had found, likely in Jess¡¯s clothes, a peach, triangular bikini top that barely managed to contain Barry¡¯s salacious new shape. If she moved too vigorously, it seemed like she might flash all of them.

    Even with a pair of drawstring pants and a windbreaker to cloak the bikini top, Joel marveled at the new girl¡¯s shapely waist-to-hip ratio. She was shorter than the other girls but made up for it with a tight package. Joel moistened his lips and genuinely struggled not to stare. However, his body felt no qualms about the visceral, biological magnetism pulling him towards girl Barry.

    She was hot, and, if not for the myriad of ways that Jess would murder him, he was ever so slightly tempted to flirt. Would this version of Barry respond gullibly to every compliment he could pay her? It wasn¡¯t like he would have to gussy up or fake them since she was genuinely gorgeous.

    ¡°When do I turn back?¡± The new Barry quietly asked. ¡°I thought, maybe when I got dry. But it¡¯s gotta be a time thing, right?¡± Her green eyes seemed sharper with her new form.

    Duncan curled his fingers across his mouth and blew a loud breath. ¡°Folklore and legends tend to be open to a myriad of interpretations, with word-of-mouth acting like a telephone game and details often getting muddled. It¡¯s impossible to really pin down some of¡­¡±

    Barry¡¯s voice pushed into a high-pitched, hysterical feminine tone as she begged, ¡°How long?!?¡± In the back of his head, Joel wanted to imagine she was begging for something else. He wished his libido and dumb sense of humor would just quit it for five seconds.

    Nervously shifting his feet, Duncan fussed and soon blurted out, ¡°It¡¯s permanent. From what I read, the native ritual involved volunteers who had lost their way in their society and needed a change. Some just wanted to fulfill their spirit and commune with the spirits of nature. But it was clear in the language and what Miss Clifton said as well¡­ It¡¯s a one-way trip for anyone taking the plunge. Men become goddesses, and women become powerful, manly warriors. I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±

    Barry¡¯s pretty eyes widened even further, and her curved, fair pink lower lip dipped and began to quiver. Joel¡®s imagination could do a lot with that, but he was trying to keep things under control. It didn¡¯t help that she dropped to her knees on the ground, and a furious shockwave of jiggling boob threatened to unleash everything from inside her top.

    It was bad enough that Jess had been winding him up last night and in the car, and then he was surrounded by two other girls. Although Layla seemed way too perky for him, and Alyssa was too much of a downer. He stretched up to walk away and give himself some privacy, but all that blood decided now was go time.

    As he stood and faced the new girl on her knees, the full bracing contours of his stiffy looked like it was about to split his pants. In addition, with the position of his clothes, his pants drooped, making the shape even more obvious. At least his pants didn¡¯t come off.

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    He had about two solid seconds, he figured, where he might be able to drop to his knees in agony and pretend he¡¯d been bitten by some erection-inducing poisonous snake or spider. He was sure he read about those somewhere online and was also pretty sure that they were only in Asia or South America, not the Midwest. Falling over and jumping into the tent seemed like a better idea than sticking around. Unfortunately, he only managed to do the first part.

    ¡°WHAT THE HELL?!?¡± Barry let out a textbook girly scream to Joel¡®s pained ears. The sentiment was echoed by a furious-sounding Jess, joined by Layla for a quick ¡°Woah, dude!¡±, and Alyssa¡®s disgusted, ¡°Oh my God!¡± Duncan just sounded suddenly confused, as though he had missed the big moment.

    It took Joel a moment to right himself into a sitting position, by which time Jess was right there with her hands balled into fists on her hips and enough venom in her blood to burn his face off. ¡°I can¡¯t fucking believe you!¡± At least his hard-on now decided it was time to take a nap.

    Jess tried to hoist him to his feet, but he slipped out and held up his hands. He looked to Barry, who had a bright blush but left the jacket she was wearing open. He could¡¯ve called out what the new girl was wearing and asked why she didn¡¯t put on one of Jess¡¯s sports bras or a big sweater or top to cover up all that business. It was almost like they wanted him to be turned on. But he didn''t go for that.

    Of course, at this point, Alyssa handed one of her sweaters to Barry, and she slipped it on. It didn¡¯t do a whole lot to hide her breasts. Joel stood up, as basically everyone hated him. Duncan was off to the side, stretching his mouth between several grimaces.

    ¡±I say we toss him in.¡± Alyssa pointed a blue-painted nail at him. Joel lowered his head and gazed through the group. Despite those big words, no one made a play for him. Jess stood her ground and frowned at Alyssa¡®s statement. Duncan certainly wasn¡¯t going to do anything. Layla appeared more like she wanted to protect Barry than anything else. Alyssa definitely wasn¡¯t going to do it alone.

    Joel countered, ¡°Why don¡¯t you just calm down? I made some mistakes. Barry¡­ I¡¯m sorry, man...woman? You know what I mean. This is not the way I wanted it to go, sincerely. And so far as how things look, what the man said. It makes goddesses. Dude, you¡¯re gorgeous, and while I have the greatest goddess of all¡­ I¡¯m still gonna appreciate breathtaking beauty.¡± It was his best effort.

    Alyssa immediately rolled her eyes. Layla cocked her head and looked inscrutable. But Jess let slip a quick smirk before returning to her frown. Barry dipped her head down, squirmed slightly, and hid a blush with her hair. He didn¡¯t even have to turn on the full charm.

    A prickly kind of peace settled over the camp as the girls attended to a very nervous Barry as Joel was left alone with Duncan. Time passed with snippets of a fashion show on the other side of the car. Eventually, Barry came out wearing an outfit with a snug, colorful top that looked to be borrowed from Layla, with Alyssa''s relaxed jeans, and that bikini from Jess still on underneath. Joel held up his hands in contrition and made sure, without being lurid, everyone knew he was keeping his amigo in line.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Alyssa yelled from his right. Joel looked up to see a wave of water flying towards him through the air. Alyssa had taken the bucket from their gear used to put out the eventual fire and filled it with water. Joel had a sneaking suspicion about where that water came from. No matter how fast he could juke, the splash wave was too big. It got him good.

    ¡°Joel!¡± He could tell that Jess was screaming his name. The water utterly soaked him and started tingling as soon as it touched his flesh. The changes were rapid.

    His muscular arms melted first, as though made from something less substantial than wax. He could feel his broad chest muscles shrinking next as his hips flared out. Even though the water plastered his clothes to his flesh, his pants quickly gave up the ghost and plunged to the ground. Fortunately, his top just barely kept his changing body from being exposed.

    Through his top, looking down, Joel could see his chest soften and spread out into womanly breasts. To his indignation, though, they were nowhere in the ballpark of what Barry had acquired and barely even passed Alyssa. They were evenly tanned, alluringly dark, and obvious. Between his legs, his compadre rose one last time to the occasion of having breasts so close before melting into a sensitive beacon somewhere between his thighs. The air played with that point and a faint gap, which sank inside him with a rush of feelings.

    He was a lot smaller looking at everyone else¡ªeven freaking shorter than Duncan. The only odd thing was that his long hair actually felt shorter, just brushing his shoulder instead of cloaking his arm as it usually did. Spitting water out of his mouth, Joel scowled at Alyssa, holding the empty bucket.

    Alyssa looked to Duncan and declared, ¡°Looks like the water works, even if you take it with you. Myth confirmed.¡±

 [3] Mystery Lake 3 â€“ Barryed in Changes

    Mystery Lake

    [3] Barryed in Changes

    This was not the way I expected to spend my spring break. My big plans were to make a high-quality astronomy website with all the cool photos coming out compared with the old ones, but I couldn¡¯t quite get the sizing where I wanted it to be for hosting.

    After that, there were a few series online I¡¯d been meaning to watch, and then my Steam backlog.

    ¡°Barry?¡± Duncan Rogers, my neighbor, came knocking at my door with an optional quest proposal: Join him and a party he was putting together to visit a supposed magical, mysterious lake up north, near the border with Canada. I could¡¯ve said no; I was getting better at the idea of rejecting without guilt. But I found myself intrigued.

    Joel Griffin would be coming along, though. In freshman year, I thought he was a total meathead without enough of an intelligence bulb to read by. And he had it out for me. But I noticed that when he put an embarrassing thing on my phone, some of the girls in my math class actually kind of looked at me for once. He probably didn¡¯t intend that, but it wasn¡¯t the worst thing.

    His jokes weren¡¯t really that funny, but he knew when to quit. My dad always told me to trust first, but Joel pushed that to its limit. Sometimes, I humored him. A big guy like that was useful when we needed to move stuff around the dorm. He wasn''t a bad roommate, either. Somehow, he knew to make the best dinners whenever I was feeling crappy.

    Along with Joel, he told me that Joel¡®s girlfriend, Jess Butler, would be coming too. And then he had thoughts about asking this one girl I figured he had a crush on, Alyssa Eckhart. She had this sort of subdued, almost goth mood about her and didn¡¯t say much in class. She looked kind of like Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice crossed with Shelley Duvall in The Shining. Too intimidating for me, but more power to Duncan.

    Out of everything, it was his mention of Layla Eggers that got me to go. She was like sunshine beaming out of a person. Instead of eyeliner to make her eyes look like she was a decomposing corpse, hers were a playful accent to punctuate her smiles. She had streaked golden locks in feathered tiers like a starlet of yesteryear. Her lips were plumply pink, like something out of my dreams. Even if we only went to a shopping mall on the other side of the state, I would¡¯ve gone with her.

    Since I had a reputation for being the best driver on campus and it was my car, I drove through the dips, rises, and stretches of the forest. I sweated when we needed to sneak around a blockade. Not because I thought we were in any danger, but because I had never done anything this questionable before. I nearly lost my mind when I saw a gardener at school, and we were stopped in a loading zone. I wondered if he could arrest us. In retrospect, that was dumb, but it was how I felt.

    When we arrived, the place was pretty for this part of the state, and it was nice to basically have like a private lake. Even though this was the kind of situation where you run into Bigfoot, aliens, or the government doing something it doesn¡¯t want you to know about.

    I went to go get some firewood, and Joel made a slasher movie reference. I bristled that he was trying to scare the girls, but I did my best to play off it. I couldn¡¯t remember any scary movies I¡¯d seen recently, though.

    My thoughts were all about Layla, and I didn¡¯t want her to think I was some sort of creepy guy. I tried not to go too far into the woods because of all the astronomical stuff about this region, and the crazy folklore had me on edge. If someone started calling my name with my own voice and smelling of rotting meat, like a Skinwalker, then I was climbing the car. Fortunately, there were just squirrels.

    Joel set everything up, but I noticed he was watching me a lot. When Duncan revealed the secret of this place, I felt thoroughly skeptical. That sort of thing was reserved for Chinese springs in anime TV shows. Fantasy. Not to denigrate the stories of local tribes, but they were just stories.

    Of course, Joel got into it with him. And then he turned his attention to me. Before I knew it, he picked me up and was dragging me to the water. My first thought was brain-eating amoeba. I could tell Joel wasn¡¯t going to just toss me without a care. He knew how to roughhouse without hurting people. At least my phone was safely put away. I just didn¡¯t want any part of it, and at the same time, I wanted it to be over so we could have a good laugh and forget all these crazy lake myths.

    The lake didn¡¯t feel like the worst place to land. The water was cool but not freezing. It cushioned and propped me up after a roll. Fortunately, I was able to get to my feet and stagger to the shore. Immediately, though, I felt absolutely weird and funky.

    My hips seemed so awkward. Swollen but slim. Plush but lean. And it felt mechanically complicated just to step onto shore. A moment later, it dawned on me that my ass was bare. What I could feel between my legs wasn¡¯t normal. So much flesh and yet so little, and it was folded, split, and raw. If I had to describe it as anything, then it felt kind of like when my allergies go off. A deep, sensitive point inside me. Vaguely like it was consumed by an intangible fire. I didn¡¯t want to imagine it dripping, like my nose did during those times.

    The fact that I clearly had girl parts between my legs was immediately overshadowed by the fact that my damp shirt clung to the most ludicrous curves imaginable. Massive tits rose from my chest like a practical joke prop. Ha ha, someone stuck oversized balloons on you. No joke.

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    The weight of them pulled on my back, pits, and neck. They moved, jiggled, and reacted to me in a way only vaguely muted by my soaked clothes. How could I possibly deal with these things until it wore off?

    Layla rushed over with a towel as we recovered my pants. She wanted to know if I was okay. I would¡¯ve been better if I was still myself in that moment. All the girls crowded me, and it was quite intimidating because of decades of feeling like girls were some distant thing to admire from afar and not actually interact with. I just wanted to hide away.

    I felt so weird and told everyone as much. My drenched Hawaiian shirt would have to go. It was already starting to feel irritating, clammy, and heavy against me. I started to take it off before I realized, with alarm, that there was nothing under there to hide how I looked. I just flashed the other guys. Well, just the guys, since I wasn¡¯t one of their number right now.

    Layla led me over to the far side of my car. To say the walk was surreal would be the biggest understatement. I wasn¡¯t sure what to hang onto. Keeping my thighs together to muffle things down there had the opposite effect. Trying to restrain these wild tits required pushing slender arm flesh against yielding warm boob. Layla helped me undress. She was the first girl to see me naked outside of my family. Not exactly the scenario I daydreamed of.

    We were basically the same, and that kind of blew my mind. She fumbled around the backseat with what clothes everyone had brought. I got permission to take pretty much anything. It again melted my brain that all the girls'' clothes in the back were stuff that I could wear and not look weird. Well, weird for me, but not weird for a girl.

    Holding a quick breath, I gestured to one of Jess¡¯s bikini tops. Layla raised a lovely eyebrow and asked me if I was sure.

    A lot of me wanted to say no and just go with the safe stuff. But I was a girl, and I figured, why not? It felt so insubstantial to actually cover me. I was so vivid and exposed. Layla had some running shorts, which took care of my lower half. Still so surreal. And then she added on what seemed like a tracksuit with drawstring pants and a windbreaker for my crazy top. Fortunately, there were plenty of sandals to spare.

    Walking back was a battle against my timid nature. Crawling into a sandy hole never to be seen again seemed like a good idea. Joel noticed what I was wearing and paid extra attention to it. Being smaller made it feel like every gesture that others made was somehow patronizing. I was, however, used to that in general and eager to find out when this would wear off.

    When Duncan unfurled the truth after dancing around it, I wanted to scream that he was lying. My soft legs gave out from under me. I couldn¡¯t even hold my mouth up to talk. Maybe plopping on the ground on my knees was a little melodramatic, but I didn¡¯t feel like hiding my emotions.

    Joel got up soon after, and it was easy to see the outline of his¡­ Himself¡­ His well, his stuff through his pants. He took a nose dive, but we all knew. Any other day, I would¡¯ve laughed it off or yelled the things that guys were always supposed to yell when something gross happened. But this day, he was different. Not just the kind of cool guy and surfer dude whose orbit I only entered due to derision and pranks, but a man with a certain scent carried across camp on the breeze.

    Uncensored, my mind envisioned just the two of us. He still joked and teased, but slipped warmly around me with his big arms and leaned close over my shoulder. He breathed on me, and everything quivered. I could feel him rising as I settled into his lap, vulnerable but wanting to be that way. And if we were naked together...

    I felt abject embarrassment and screamed, ¡°WHAT THE HELL?!?¡± as much to where my thoughts were leading me as to Joel getting hard just from me being around. His girlfriend chewed him out, and Alyssa slipped over by my side. She offered me one of her sweaters for more coverage than just the windbreaker. I was fine with this outfit, but I put it on anyway.

    Joel tried to smooth things over. I wasn¡¯t sure what to think when he referred to me as a ¡°goddess¡±. The sniffles were definitely starting between my thighs. I had so many new thoughts to try on and think through. The girls eventually took me back over to the car for a more coordinated outfit. It felt more like they just wanted to dress me up in all sorts of things, but I obliged. At least what they settled on looked decent and felt comfortable enough. I kept the bikini top on for reasons I didn¡¯t quite understand.

    Reflecting on everything and still getting used to walking around like this, I noticed that Alyssa snapped up the bucket for the fire and walked over to the pier. Scooping carefully, she came up with a bucket full of lake water. Joel wasn¡¯t really paying attention, and Duncan was off to the side. The other girls soon noticed and took a few steps back. I didn¡¯t, but then I was far enough away that I didn¡¯t seem to be at risk. Granted, if another dose of the water would change me back... I wasn¡¯t sure if I would jump at the chance yet. I wanted to let this soak in more.

    Joel tried to jump with the water that Alyssa hurled at him, but it got him all over, especially in the face. Watching a transformation was way different than being the subject of one. I could see Joel¡¯s thick muscular arms turn into tanned but slender girlish limbs poking out of his top. I felt sad but also satisfied to see him become more petite than anyone else. Her pants couldn¡¯t stay up either.

    ¡°Bitch¡±, sounded strange coming from a girlish voice with the intonation that Joel gave. I honestly didn¡¯t expect her to use that word, but I could understand. Alyssa rocked her head and held out a hand, as if to say, ¡°Takes one to know one.¡±

 [4] Mystery Lake 4 â€“ Pressure

    Mystery Lake

    [4] Pressure

    ¡°Bitch¡­¡±

    It was not a word that Joel wielded easily or flippantly. He appreciated female dogs as some of the most loyal and cunning animals. Alyssa was welcome to vent and get mad. But to force him into this was not cool. Casually, Joel removed the last of her clothes and stood there stark naked.

    She was skinny, with her ribs obvious below those modest breasts. On second thought, maybe she was being unkind to them. They seemed like they had the potential to fill perhaps a D-cup and definitely a C-cup. Their prominent hang displayed the same confidence she felt from her regular chest. Below, she had sprawling hips despite her skinny body, tiny butt, and no hair down there. For emphasis, she went from jiggling her new tits to sliding slender hands across the shape between her legs. Alyssa appeared dissatisfied that she wasn¡¯t wrecked.

    ¡°You going after my man, Dunc, next?¡± Joel accused. Alyssa raised her dark eyebrows and nervously shot her gaze around. Duncan, who still gave the events a wide berth, looked up in surprise that he had even been invoked. He appeared as though he really wanted to look at what Joel was showing off but resisted.

    Jess came over to Joel''s side and offered to help her. Joel had no qualms about spending the rest of the day buck naked but welcomed her help as she led him over to the other side of the car. Alyssa drifted over and scowled, as if to suggest her clothes were totally off-limits for loaners this time.

    Joel didn¡¯t even wanna wear them anyway. Jess rummaged through her bag and came up with a pair of jeans so tight that Joel felt like they would¡¯ve popped his balls like an overripe pimple and cracked his rod just trying to get them on. Since she didn¡¯t have either of those now, it just felt like the fabric was giving her a pelvic exam. Not a notion she wanted to dwell on. She had no clue how Jess squeezed into them without breaking some bones. That earned some kudos.

    The top, fortunately, was actually a pretty decent fit, with a ring of her skinny stomach revealed and her boobs looking pretty decent. After slipping on a pair of flip-flops that only stayed on because she tightly gripped with her toes, Joel strolled close to Barry but was still an arm''s length away. Duncan and Alyssa moved over to the pier and were quietly chatting. It didn¡¯t look like Alyssa was going to shove him in, but Joel honestly had no idea what she might do. She looked at Barry and dipped her eyes.

    ¡°I am truly so sorry, man. I fucked up and messed with bad spirit forces. Sorry you had to pay the price.¡± She didn¡¯t advertise her words with a booming invocation. This was just for Barry.

    Barry tilted her face a few different ways and searched her with those gorgeous green eyes. After a minute, she nodded and answered, ¡°Thanks for taking care not to split my head open.¡°

    Joel was glad she noticed. Carefully, she laid a hand on Barry¡¯s shoulder. And that was that. Just because they looked like girls didn¡¯t mean they had to act like vendetta-spewing, devious double-crossers with fake apologies and phony smiles. Jess eventually found and passed them a sizable hand mirror. They shared it to inspect themselves since taking a look at their reflections in the lake would be too risky.

    Barry¡¯s biggest surprise was seeing exactly how enormous her bust appeared, no matter how she shifted her clothes. An ever-present, hot blush colored her features. Otherwise, she marveled at her shifted face and whispered, ¡°I look like a model¡­¡±

    Joel reiterated her mention of ¡®goddess¡¯ and Barry gave a plaintive squeak evocative of, but of a different character than when he startled geek boy Barry. The poor guy twisted between awe and mortification at the social implications. He could barely get a grasp on when he seemed to look decent as an early-age-balding blonde man. Looking like a freaking sex bomb had to be spinning her with a tornado of bewildering emotions.

    It wasn¡¯t as much of a shock for Joel to see herself. She knew she looked awesome as a man. What pestered her were the faint variations. She expected a pendulous, unearthly mountain of flesh jiggling from her chest. She assumed that instead of honed muscles, she would have the voluptuous curves of one of those classic clay figures from antiquity in celebrated museums from history class. Instead, it all felt muted and insubstantial.

    She wondered if the difference came from immersion in the lake versus being splashed in the face. If Alyssa had robbed her of the full possibilities of her shape, then that was another indignity. It was weird to feel the desire for more, but Joel figured if she was going to be stuck this way, then she at least wanted the same head-turning power as a woman she held as a man.

    She pondered what Duncan told them. He had said that a dip in this lake was some sort of permanent ritual. But that didn¡¯t necessarily mean that you only got one try. What if she wanted to re-roll her result, as Barry sometimes referred to with his table games? Duncan had said that there was a lot of history, folklore, and confusion when it came to the exact details of this place. Maybe he was just sugarcoating it for Barry, but that didn¡¯t necessarily mean he was off the mark.

    At the same time, Joel had no idea what would happen. Maybe a second dip turns you into some kind of animal spirit, and she¡¯d wind up as a horny doe. A lot of myths and legends went for that kind of thing. Among her ideas for what to do, she could easily envision dropping her head, barreling towards Alyssa, and tackling her off the pier into the water.

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    It was a pleasant thought, but she wasn¡¯t going to do it. That was the kind of solution Alyssa would take. Get someone else into trouble. And then Alyssa would be the martyr, and Joel would be a total pariah.

    She had to think. If all those wild feminists around college were to be believed, then Joel should¡¯ve had some sort of mental boost from all this. The power of double X chromosomes and estrogen flooding her body should¡¯ve naturally boosted her intelligence.

    She didn¡¯t mind that. She just barely got through classes, and they were still all prerequisites. Jess wanted him to get a focus somewhere in the sciences, but that was too heavy for him. She was going into psychology with a minor in linguistics. She always talked to him about all sorts of books she was reading on the side, and they sounded good. But he couldn¡¯t get more than a few pages before switching over to something funny on YouTube. Jess tried to explain that his difficulty focusing actually suggested high intelligence that they didn¡¯t really have a ¡°metric¡± for, but he suspected she was just being nice.

    He was a meathead, but it would¡¯ve been kind of cool to know shit as well. Be able to talk to Jess about her books on the same level and not feel like a child talking to an adult.

    She didn¡¯t immediately feel any smarter just from having a cleft between her legs, skinny limbs, and alright boobs. The water probably just translated what you already had, she figured. If so, then did that make her now a lesbian, or did it shift over from the same deal and mean she was as hungry for a thick stick as her manly self loved the cat?

    Only Duncan was left with one between his legs. Thinking about the guy didn¡¯t trigger any sudden epiphanies or feelings. But then it wasn¡¯t like the ladies were all rushing to get a piece of Dunc on any normal day. No disrespect, just the facts.

    However, Joel detected a presence in the air when the wind shifted over the water, blowing from the pier towards them. From this distance, there wasn¡¯t enough to tell.

    Leaving Barry to sit there and ponder her own new realities, Joel got up and approached Alyssa and Duncan standing over the water. Alyssa brought her arms up as though she were about to pull out some karate moves. Joel snorted, held her hands up, and then put them behind herself. Alyssa didn¡¯t back down, but she lowered her hands in return.

    ¡°Just curious¡±, Joel explained, then added. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna touch you; I''m just investigating.¡±

    Duncan seemed to have no idea what was going on. He stepped back, checked where he was in relation to the water, and positioned himself at the center of the platform. Gingerly, Joel bent her head forward and took a strong whiff. There was definitely something there. Pressing her nose near his shirt allowed her to really catch the aroma.

    Alyssa made an indignant, muttering sound but didn¡¯t say anything else. The scent didn¡¯t seem all that different from regular guy sweat and the lingering remains of a masculine aroma. She wondered if her original clothes had any remnants of this. Get turned on by the man she used to be¡ªnext-level narcissism.

    And there was something alluring in Duncan¡¯s aroma. It was muted by the wind and perhaps by the kind of guy he was, but she could definitely detect something there. It was pleasant, did something to her, and made her do something she never would¡¯ve imagined before this moment.

    Joel bent up and kissed Duncan firmly on the lips. She held that position without wrapping her arms around his neck or pushing more of her flesh against his. He seemed too shocked to kiss back, but his lips twisted and yielded beneath hers. And Alyssa was pissed off. She began kicking at her legs and looked like she wanted to use her blue nails on Joel¡¯s face.

    Rushing up from the shore as Alyssa screamed at her, Joel noticed Jess joining them. The tussle, with Duncan looking for the nearest pylon to grab onto, twisted and turned as Jess tried to pull Alyssa off of Joel. With an angry, twisting elbow, Alyssa smacked Jess in the mouth. She staggered back and ran out of board underneath her.

    Pulling away from Alyssa, Joel yelled for Jess and jumped into the water after her. Somehow, neither of them hit the bottom. Joel knew that Jess was a poor swimmer, so she watched her head as she plunged beneath the water and struggled to support her upper body above the surface. Kicking and yelling, Joel carried her until there was enough beneath her feet to make it back to shore. Jess had already changed though.

    Her clothes looked like she was going to burst out of them. Jess¡®s neck was practically thicker than both her original arms had been. This new version of her sure looked like he lifted. Her long hair retreated into her head as a rough, dense, water-matted pile. The new man¡¯s face was broad but clean-shaven. Lifting his too-tight shirt up, Joel could see that he had broad pecs that stretched out so much that they almost seemed like hardened ghosts of her breasts. His legs were thick and about to split her pants.

    Arriving on the shore, Joel had a moment to assess that no changes had occurred to her. This was apparently what she got. She sighed and shrugged that off to make sure that Jess was alright. None of the new man¡¯s clothes were going to last very long, so she carried him over to the car, where hopefully something in the sparse things he had packed as a man would be enough to keep her decent.

 [5] Mystery Lake 5 â€“ Choices

    Mystery Lake

    [5] Choices

    Joel wrapped a towel around Jess as his clothes came off. It had to be one of the beach-style ones because it had a lot of real estate to cover. Meekly, Jess apologized for no reason that Joel could understand.

    It was just the two of them, although Layla bunny-hopped sideways a few times to check in on them. Alyssa was the last to leave the pier after Duncan retreated over to the tents. Barry looked nervous, but Layla lingered around.

    Joel despised the skintight pants she was wedged into because, when wet, they felt like paint spread over her skinny ass and squashed labia. At the same time, she didn¡¯t feel like shredding them with the Jaws of Life to get something else on until they had dried somewhat.

    Jessica was fortunate that Joel liked to go bulky and stretchy. His spandex pants sufficed. The problem was when she looked down at Jess¡¯s crotch and couldn¡¯t get the idea out of her head that this brand new man was trying to sneak a full freaking half-link of kielbasa out of a meat market on top of some hairy buns. That wasn¡¯t as much of a problem as the introduction of so many feelings into Joel all at once. She resisted the urge to peek while he changed. Save a little mystery for now.

    Even with the pants on, she couldn¡¯t get the impression out of her head of the anonymous lump. Jess seemed to notice her attention and quipped, to deflect some of her obvious embarrassment, with some of her regular tone but a much deeper timber, ¡°See something you like?¡±

    Joel worked on finding a top for Jess, even though it wasn¡¯t the most imminent concern. She snuck quick glances at his enormous pecs. Eventually, they went with a windbreaker not too dissimilar from what Barry had on earlier. As Joel turned to go back to the group, Jess caught her insubstantial, richly-tanned arm and guided her back to face him. The new man had the same manly aroma as Duncan, but it was way more concentrated and mixed with the lingering traces of Joel''s old body from those clothes.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡±, Jess said, gazing down at her. Joel shrugged and sighed. ¡°What for? Wasn¡¯t your fault. I¡¯m just glad you didn¡¯t get hurt. I will always pull you to shore, no matter what weak-ass muscles I¡¯m saddled with.¡± Joel found herself hearing a weepy warble in her voice, as though she were about to cry. Fucking goddamn stupid estrogen flooding things, she ranted to herself.

    Jess pulled her close with her broad arms and rigidly firm body. Immersed in that heady, confusing, and alluring aroma, Joel released a long breath and told him, ¡°I¡¯m sorry too, but goddamn boys are tempting and smell so fucking good.¡± Jess gave a manly smirk, chuckled, and kissed her forehead. Joel kissed him back.

    It made Joel feel so diminutive to be held by a big, strong man who used to be her cute girlfriend. Such a girl thing to do. But he was a girl now and probably from now on, and whatever ego was left in tatters from his manly self didn¡¯t matter. She just wanted to be held. Under the clammy, aching cold of her slowly drying tight pants, it felt like the space between her legs wanted to light her entire soul on fire. She got herself a towel that almost felt like too much for her, even though it wasn¡¯t even the biggest one they had.

    Jess whispered that it was okay, and they walked back over to the tents. They had split into obvious groups, with Duncan on the far side he seemed to favor, and Alyssa a cautious, conscious distance away. Barry lightly meandered on the side towards the car, with Layla sitting next to her. Jess and Joel sat the furthest from the tent that Joel put together. The group dynamics were painfully awkward.

    From his bag, Jess had extracted a set of wipes to fix up his lenses. He grumbled faintly that so long as this spirit curse, or whatever it was, turned her into a ripped and rugged man, then the least it could also do was patch up her astigmatism. Meanwhile, Joel glanced around the circle and saw everyone moping, with just Layla showing any sort of enthusiasm while playing what looked like hambone on her legs and making a small, popping noise. She was strange, but at least better than Alyssa.

    Hopping up, Joel finished the fire pit at the center of camp with stones and logs. Jess helped her with taking some folding chairs out of the car as well as finding a few sitting logs. They had moss and bugs, but they were better than nothing. After setting everything up, Joel eyed the lake and instead opted to go find a separate stream for water. However, they had no way to test it. Fortunately, the water they brought with them was sufficient to cook up a crude meal.

    Duncan fretted about people watching the lake site and whether they could see their fire. Barry¡¯s concerns about being observed by the government popped up again, but Joel noted that if they wanted to find them here, then they had left plenty of signs already. Better to have something they could dry their clothes on and cook with. At which point, Joel stripped¡­ or rather dragged, squirmed, wrenched, and fought her way out of the less wet pants and managed to kick them off.

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    She folded and rested her clothes beside the heat of the fire. Jess got quiet as Joel strutted naked over to the car to pick out a loose tank top and one of Jess¡¯s favorite knee-length skirts. Never in a million years did Joel imagine he would be choosing to wear one of his girlfriend¡¯s skirts, but it was far more comfortable than the jeans. She could¡¯ve poked through the underwear options, but considering how small and skinny she was, she expected it would be uncomfortable, bunched up, and more irritating than nothing at all.

    With the fire crackling, she settled on the log next to Jess and bumped shoulders. Jess bumped her back and slipped that big, beefy arm around her slight form. She submitted to it with a certain ticklishness sinking through her body. Here she was, the cute girlfriend, sitting with her boyfriend. That role chafed at her. She was supposed to be the protector. What did that make her now? Thinking about it twisted and contorted her thoughts in a dozen different directions.

    Would she be like a princess, with a delicate, flowing white dress to contrast her vivid skin tone? Perhaps she had a destiny to build up her muscles again with tae bo, wall climbing, and vigorous swimming. Become an adventure girl like the ones in Duncan¡®s video games. She would have to train Jess if she wanted to keep the bulk of her lake spirit granted muscles. They sometimes worked out, but Jess felt far more comfortable curled up with a book than curling weights.

    Might she become the bookish one if this fresh hormone infusion meant something to her neurons? She had no idea. At least figuring it all out with Jess sounded like a nice prospect. Alyssa remained off by herself while still ostensibly in camp. Duncan was likewise isolated, but Joel knew that was a comfortable position for him.

    Barry looked better, although she was still dumbstruck by her new body. Layla made a series of hand gestures when she was finished with the percussion. She appeared to have a comfortable rapport with Barry. Then, suddenly, during a lull in all the conversations, Layla got her feet, dusted off her hands, and simply declared, ¡°Well! I suppose it¡¯s my turn. No need to put it off.¡±

    Without a preamble, she got up and started walking to the shoreline. Barry was the first to put it together and called over to her with concern. Layla paused and pivoted on her legs. She grabbed her chin for a moment and remarked, ¡°Nude would be better. No ruined clothes. Miss Watson? Could you please find me my green towel in my bag and bring it over?

    Barry, whose last name was Watson, swiveled her head between Layla¡®s calm countenance and the questioning group. Next, Layla slowly unbuttoned her blouse as she walked to the pier. She folded the garment casually and then unstrapped her bra. ¡°Anyone have use for a 28C? Might have to wait and see on that.¡° Her jeans and underwear went down next, along with a cute pair of pink socks.

    Layla playfully whistled while in the buff and making a neat pile of her clothes. Barry was the most unsettled and nervously approached her. She beamed a bright smile for Barry and gave a quick, lean-in hug with her arm wrapped around Barry''s neck before whispering something private. That settled, Layla frolicked to the end of the pier and scanned the water.

    Turning back, she looked to Joel and asked if there was any part she should aim for. Joel shrugged and just told her to keep her arms close and point with her feet. She saluted, posed as instructed, took a few steps back, cried out what sounded like ¡°YOLUYD!!¡±, and leaped from the end of the planks.

    She got full immersion with a significant splash. Alyssa panted out a ragged breath as she watched. Duncan brushed back his wild hair. And Barry cupped the top of her head with her hands. Joel had to wonder what Barry and Layla had been talking about, but she was glad at least someone in the group had gone into the water voluntarily. She had no idea if that meant anything to the results but watched with interest.

    Almost a full minute later, a figure breached the water and grabbed onto the planks to hoist themselves back onto the pier. Even from this distance, she could tell that Layla did not get the short end of the stick. The man pulling himself up had long, golden locks, like a classical hero. Unlike Jess, he wasn¡¯t ripped everywhere. He definitely had taut, tight, pronounced muscles and a stomach with a decent six-pack. His features didn¡¯t push towards ruggedness but rather retained a certain boyish softness. He giggled and shook the water from his beautiful body.

    Barry hesitated, but eventually made it over to him with the towel requested. After covering up, the new man smiled at Barry and gently kissed her on the forehead. After blushing instantly, Barry returned the favor before dipping her head and leading him back onto land.

    Joel glanced over at Duncan and Alyssa. She had to wonder: how long would it be before those two also got in on the action?

 [6] Mystery Lake 6 â€“ Forgiveness

    Mystery Lake

    [6] Forgiveness

    Not that she wanted to physically or, in fancy words, push anyone about it. She was just curious. Four out of six of them had been touched by the water, one way or another. Maybe becoming a guy might mellow out whatever was up with Alyssa. Joel could only hope. Becoming a girl had done things to her that she was still trying to figure out.

    The carefree way Layla just jumped into the water earned Joel''s respect. Jess went over to help Barry provide the new man with something more comfortable than that green towel. Barry¡¯s Hawaiian shirt was actually considered, but Layla ultimately went with one of his SpongeBob tees. He wore it much differently than Barry did, with some areas tight and stiff and others quite loose. For pants, he put on a pair of blue flannels that looked like pajamas. The shaded bulge that curved down caught her eye for a moment, but it also made her turn to check on Jess.

    All this was so strange for her, considering that when it came to dicks, Joel, as a man, would at most make a joke or simply yawn. Dicks were to be ignored or made fun of. Now, they suddenly felt strange and scintillating. She blamed hormones and whatever weird voodoo this lake was pumping out. She had as many ideas about sitting on manly Jess''s lap as she once had about cute glasses girl Jess sitting on his.

    Her hand was also slim enough that she was sure she could sneak her fingers under the waistband of his pants and find that warm kielbasa not hiding particularly well underneath. It was fortunate she retained her tan, or else her blush would be as obvious as a splash of red paint on her face. Of course, her twisting mind imagined getting something else on her new face.

    On the other side of the campfire, Layla playfully wrapped his strong arms around Barry¡¯s slim waist. Joel figured the poor guy must be melting into a puddle inside from this level of human contact in general, let alone translated through such soft, sensitive, and supple flesh. Submissive and shy meant that old Barry was stuck with his computer and a multitude of idle thoughts. The same now meant she was a tempting target. Joel figured that once she rebuilt her body, she would have to toughen poor Barry up in girlish ways to withstand the horny, manipulative boyish masses and to protect her from her own gullibility.

    Alyssa seemed to catch enough of the group''s nonverbal flirting with giggles, smiles, and looks to roll her eyes and groan. Layla was the best at ignoring Alyssa''s rudimentary commentary and continued to cuddle with Barry as he excitedly suggested, "We should pick new names! Layla is one of the best, cutest, coolest names, but I need something more appropriate, like... Mango. Because there is a man in it. Although there¡¯s also the fruit. That might be confusing. Harlan. I don¡¯t quite like that one either. Oh! I know¡­ Brock! He was the coolest character! And there was a lot of fan stuff that turned him into a girl, so it makes sense, I guess!"

    Barry recognized the reference from a video game, or what Joel figured was some kind of video game, and encouraged the newly christened Brock. As for herself, Barry tossed out a few different sci-fi show characters before landing on one named Chiana. She thought about using the more common Chiara before Alyssa snapped and stomped back over to the pier.

    Duncan followed after her, but slowly. Meanwhile, Joel and Jess celebrated their new names as Barry seemed to settle on Chiara, but not with absolute certainty. Jess wrestled with a flood of possibilities before deciding that simple ¡°Jake¡° would do. Joel teased him, roaming a hand near his waistband without getting too adventurous.

    All Joel could think of at that moment for herself was The Police and a certain song. She crooned, ¡°Roxaaannnneee¡­¡± and that earned a few chuckles. The new Jake mused and agreed that it was good.

    In her mind¡­ Roxanne turned the name around a few times. It could also be turned into Ro, which Barry noted was some Star Trek chick, Roxy, and Anne. That last one felt a little bit too bland for her. But Roxanne made her flesh goose pimple. Whatever the implications of the song, the way it felt in her brain signified all the differences that separated her from Joel.

    Of course, all this was pointless screwing around, because, to the rest of the world, they were just four people no one knew who just happened to show up in the company of a guy who was taking a folklore class with a mysterious woman, accompanied by some quiet girl who looked like she wanted to stab someone. The local sheriff was going to scream foul play the moment they tried to walk back into their lives. But that was all for later.

    As Roxanne toyed with Jake, an echoing cry rose up from Alyssa at the end of the pier. Her arms cradled her face, and then sank down to pound her legs. Duncan kept his distance but reached out an arm to comfort her. And Roxanne didn¡¯t give a damn.

    Actually, that was wrong. Joel didn¡¯t care. She had splashed him out of existence. And whatever ennui or drama was going on, it wasn¡¯t her business what that girl decided to do with her life. Unfortunately, Roxanne felt herself drawn up as she stood and walked cautiously towards the lake. Freaking estrogen.

    With folded arms, she faced the two of them. When Alyssa realized she was there, she hissed. ¡°You leave me alone most of all!¡±

    Roxanne held out her arms. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what I did to Barry; I gotta live with that. And being gross. But you splashed me in the face and made a decision for me that wasn¡¯t yours to make. It turned out okay, but then you also took Jess¡¯s decision away from her. An accident, but it''s still on you. The fact she didn¡¯t even blame you for a second just shows what an amazing, beautiful person she is. I want you to apologize to her, please.¡± Roxanne gestured across the water to Jake, whose eyes were wide and curious, then narrowed with affection as he heard her words.

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    Alyssa shook her head and clenched her fists. "You...YOU..."

    "This is not about me. The person I love deserves a modicum of respect. Please..."

    Modicum was not a word that Roxanne expected to emerge from her lips in what she hoped was the correct context. Estrogen juicing up those brain cells hopefully. Alyssa tightened and shook, as if she wanted to hurl the worst invectives (there goes another one) she could think of. But as she stood there, all the tension spilled out of her body. Her pale face almost looked as slack as a mask.

    ¡°¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­ I¡¯m sorry so¡­ sorry I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± The first round felt pained before it faded into a pleading whimper. Some of it was muffled, and most of it flopped on the boards like a fish struggling on the shore. Tears reddened and blossomed color across her cheeks.

    Hoarsely, she drifted to the words, ¡°I actually had this weird crush on Joel... So confident, so together, so not like me. And then Dunc. Oh my gosh. I¡¯m so messed up. I just¡­ if only I could be like Layla, happy and not caring, like Barry, who believes everything with excitement, or like Jess, who knows what she wants. And smart, motivated Dunc. But I am me, and not a day goes by that I don¡¯t tell myself that it would be better if I stopped existing¡­¡± She wheezed the words out like she was a squeeze toy, and that was the last air and sound she could make before she desperately sucked in her breath to try again.

    ¡°The color of my outside is also the color of my inside. I¡¯m rotting. And it doesn¡¯t matter. My family forgot me long ago. I made my way here with debt. So much debt. Debts that I solemnly promised to repay, but there¡¯s so much. I¡¯m worth more dead than alive. And it hurts just trying to dig myself back to the surface because everything pushes me down. That¡¯s me. That¡¯s what¡¯s left of me. I¡¯m sorry. That¡¯s it.¡± Alyssa closed her eyes and lowered her arms as if she expected them to fall off or all the blood to slide out of her.

    Swiftly, Roxanne wrapped her up in the biggest, tightest hug she could manage with her insubstantial body. Their breasts mashed together, even though they had less to talk about than any of the others. That felt more disconcerting for Roxanne because she was the one without a bra. Roxanne definitely understood the usefulness of leaning or bent hugs. But that only occurred to her when she was done comforting Alyssa.

    Or thought she was done. Because when Roxanne started to release her, Alyssa clutched her arms tightly around her, as if Roxy was a big sister she hadn¡¯t seen in ages. It was hard for her to breathe, but she endured it, stroking Alyssa¡®s long, dark hair as she sobbed on her shoulder. She also did her best not to look at Duncan, who stood uncomfortably to the side.

    Eventually, Alyssa let go and stood there. Slowly, she began to undo her top and slip out of her pants. Duncan cleared his throat and carefully edged his way to the side of the pier to get out of there, but Alyssa stopped him.

    ¡°Maybe¡­ maybe we should do it together¡­?¡±

    Duncan looked like he was going to overheat and faint. The poor guy. His wild hair appeared muted slightly with several rounds of sweat and moisture from the water. Joel had kept it a secret, but when they met at the beginning of the school year, his first inkling was that Duncan was an androgynous girl with gorgeous but unkempt hair.

    His eyebrows were as thin as delicate pencil marks. The shape of his face was modestly boyish, but with a delicate softness that would make him look pretty cute in drag. The guy already had a nose like a girl with a narrow bridge and a delicate curve at the end. His eyes were also alluringly jewel-like, with a hue somewhere between blue and green, like a sea at rest. The skin around his eyes was also slightly creased at the top, making them even prettier.

    She had no idea what this freaky lake would do with Duncan. It could understate his look and make him a slight girl on the other side, or it could overcompensate. Assuming Dunc went along with Alyssa¡®s plaintive idea.

    Alyssa was already down to her underwear, which was a soft, almost playful shade of pink. Duncan drew a nervous breath as he shivered and reached for his pants. His heart had to be surging out of his chest as his tighty whities left little to the imagination as to where his blood flow was going. Roxanne grinned and raised an eyebrow. Bit of a waste.

    As poor Duncan fumbled and wobbled to lift up his shirt, Alyssa grabbed his hand and promised to brace him so that he wouldn¡¯t take a tumble before it was time. Pulling down his underwear, his manhood jutted and bounced like a toy. Alyssa casually reached over and gently but firmly took hold of it.

    Duncan barely managed to stand as his heart worked overtime to send blood to his face as he burst with a nervous blush, while filling up his lower region and struggling to have enough left over to keep him conscious. He didn¡¯t last long; he covered Alyssa''s hands and dribbled over the wood. She cleaned up seductively before whispering, ¡°Could you do the same for me when you see me on the other side?¡±

    That was almost enough to send Duncan into a second round, but he took a long breath and nodded back. ¡°Promise.¡±

    It was honestly like Roxanne wasn¡¯t even there, not that she minded. The others felt like a world away while Jake lingered at the start of the pier, obviously hoping Alyssa wasn''t going to hurt his girlfriend.

    Naked, with Alyssa¡®s clean left hand holding his right, Duncan walked to the edge with her. Alyssa put her back to the water, facing Roxanne and the shore. Duncan followed suit.

    They each shared a deep breath as Alyssa said, ¡°Here we go.¡± And Duncan added, ¡°To the other side¡­¡±

    Leaning back, they plunged in.

 [7] Mystery Lake 7 â€“ Not Alone

    Mystery Lake

    [7] Not Alone

    Duncan and Alyssa both remained beneath water for almost a minute, just as Layla had, before breaking the surface together. Roxanne¡®s eyes widened immediately. Now she was really irked about getting splashed and whether that short-changed her form. Duncan looked absolutely gorgeous!

    He himself had invoked goddesses, and what Roxanne could see of her new body definitely looked like a goddess from myth. She had prominent ¡°flotation devices¡° to help her out of the water. They jiggled and bounced as she pushed herself above the surface and looked around for Alyssa, who had already made it over to the edge of the pier and offered his hand.

    Duncan took it, twisting, looking down, and flailing in embarrassment and uncertainty. Getting to her feet with Alyssa holding her up, the brand-new Duncan was revealed.

    Her hair didn¡¯t get that much longer, but it was slick against her face and darkly plastered to her neck and shoulders. Her eyes seemed even more beautiful. She had an ivory-soft complexion, not too different from Duncan¡¯s stay-indoors pallor, but refined and delicate. Her hips had widened considerably, and a thick, rounded style of ¡°badonkadonk¡± (the technical term Roxanne chose) followed her out as she swiveled to check the lake.

    As far as her immense chest was concerned, she had Chiara easily beaten. The side-boob spilling over to the front and overwhelming so much of her chest left the startled, timid new girl unsure of where to rest her arms and especially unsure about what she looked like beyond the vast Grand Tetons.

    "Hi..." was the first thing she said with a dainty hand raised and searching for a place to land across her soft, fair flesh. Roxanne found it pleasing that Duncan was actually slightly shorter than her, though the arch of her hair on her tanned head made the difference seem larger than it was. Her voice sounded high and girlish without even trying.

    Alyssa looked like he had been modeled after Layla¡®s slighter but still manly form. He loomed large over them all with a broad, fuzz-dappled face. His neck seemed like it had done plenty of lifting of its own. His chest was broad, rigid, and ripped, with plenty of packs to spare. He should be posing on the beach to get a little color. There wasn¡¯t quite a kielbasa on display, but it wasn¡¯t lacking either.

    It only took Duncan a moment to look over and see exactly how former girl Alyssa had filled out. Her hand wandered a few places around her leg before she simply offered up, ¡°Oh¡­¡° Roxanne mused that the girl could easily give the guy a full tit job and then some. Alyssa seemed rather at a loss for what to do with her masculine form. He didn¡¯t seem upset or disappointed, and his eyes easily took in Duncan¡¯s form.

    What surprised Roxanne, as she turned to make sure that Jake grabbed some blankets for them, was the speed with which Duncan reached out for that fresh sausage meat. The girl squeaked when her hand touched it, but she didn¡¯t retreat from gripping it tightly.

    ¡°Oh God!¡± Alyssa gasped as her manhood rose into the air from Duncan¡®s ministrations. Plaintively, Alyssa stammered for words and managed, "It''s... it¡¯s okay... you don''t..."

    Duncan just took that as a sign to go harder and faster. To Roxanne¡¯s surprise, Duncan eagerly squatted down and set her mouth to work. In the back of her mind, she recalled something Barry and Duncan said and wondered if the ravenous new girl was trying to speedrun this. Her sexual ferocity didn¡¯t stop there. As soon as she had a clear line of her saliva across that newly emerged flesh, she rose up and did exactly what Roxanne pondered, popping that sausage between her big pillows. And she didn¡¯t stop there, as she stretched up on her tiptoes, grabbed the powerful length, and guided it against her soft thighs. At most, it just squeezed lengthwise against the edge of her without penetration, but Roxanne wondered if that next step wasn¡¯t far off.

    She further wondered if there might be a downside to full exposure, since busty Duncan had gone from shyly stepping out as a girl to practically losing her virginity in such a short time. Mercifully, the frantic energy slowed, and Duncan returned to squeezing the new toy with her hands before it finally erupted.

    Alyssa sweated in exhausted shock as Duncan brought her decorated hand to her mouth. Unlike when Alyssa had done it, the new girl hesitated but took a clear breath before finishing the job. Alyssa managed an exhausted comment of "Jesus..." Roxanne knew for a fact that Duncan, despite his soft-spoken nature, could damn well keep a promise.

    Roxanne raised an eyebrow as Duncan went back to check her hand for any remaining traces. Did that stuff really taste that good? Joel wasn''t the sort to mess around with his own. Jake appeared with a large towel for Alyssa and a smaller one for Duncan. Roxanne noticed that Duncan''s expressive eyes were still fixed on Alyssa¡®s manhood as it drooped and settled from all that excitement. Down, girl! Don¡¯t break the damn thing in half before he gets a feel for it. Roxanne kept this thought to herself but encouraged the two of them to head back onto dry land.

    Duncan wrapped herself up in the towel, with the upper folds barely stretching to cloak her jutting bust. Below, it made for little more than a mini skirt, the space between her legs provocatively hinted at and her big butt fluttering up the back. Softly, Duncan admitted, as she tested the fit of the towel and brushed her hands through her still-wet hair, ¡°I wanted this. So badly. Not quite this much, my goodness. But this feels good.¡± Her confident gaze faded into shy reserve.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Roxanne thought she had it figured out. The lake doesn¡¯t really grant your wish. Barry, gullible and shy, given an outgoingly gorgeous body, needed to beware of tricks and charm. Herself, muscular and tough, placed as a skinny girl with a slight presence. Jess, an understated and thoughtful lady, bolstered with muscles and toughness she might not know how to use. Layla....Well, the theory kind of fell apart there. She seemed like she would be happy with anything. But Duncan apparently wanted to be a girl, a slight one, from what she expressed, and instead was given a form very much out there. And it remained to be seen with Alyssa.

    Despite Duncan¡¯s qualification, she didn¡¯t seem disappointed. Every few steps, she bounced her knee to give her breasts a noticeable jiggle against the towel as her posterior followed suit. Roxanne stepped away to let Jake, Brock, and Barry deal with clothes. She tended to the fire instead. It didn''t take long before Duncan had a skirt of her own to flaunt and flutter with a silver top. She twirled in place as Roxanne flashed a quick smile.

    Casually, Roxanne inquired, ¡°Trans?¡±

    Duncan adjusted her top and swayed her immense hips. ¡±I don''t know. Never been to a therapist and never been this brave. Daydreams. Fantasies. And quiet sadness. But I wanted this so much. Even if every minute after this is a disappointment. Even if I get clobbered with lady troubles and back problems. And ripped pants. Still worth it to my soul. Which makes me freak out to admit. But it¡¯s good to say and not couch it in any sort of excuse."

    Actually, that sounded couched in a whole lot of little excuses to Roxanne, but she wasn''t going to start something about it. She smiled and nodded.

    Duncan cleared her throat and asked, "Are you okay? I assume it¡¯s not the same for you, but maybe I shouldn¡¯t assume.¡± She raised her eyebrows.

    Roxanne took a long breath through her nose. ¡°Yes. Miss Rogers. I¡¯m all right, and I¡¯ll be okay. Just still trying to figure out how a man¡¯s man like me didn¡¯t become a woman¡¯s woman.¡± She saw that Duncan was warmly delighted with the ¡°miss¡± take. Thoughtfully, Duncan squeezed her hands through her sleeves and proposed, ¡°You are always deeply admirable. But then you¡¯ve always been cool. None of that has changed. I¡¯m glad you came, but I¡¯m sorry about how things went. If that makes any sense. Also, what do you think of the name¡­ Miranda? Personal fave. But just trying it out.¡±

    Roxanne nodded to Miranda, concluding that the name was ¡°lovely¡±. Alyssa returned and lingered around for a while, wearing a tight blue shirt and jeans she just managed to squeeze into. Despite how intimate they had been, the two of them now felt like nervous strangers. In between searching for words, Miranda clapped her hands and hustled over to the car. She returned with one of the empty two-gallon water jugs.

    ¡°I know we sort of resolved a little bit about how the water works, incidentally. But I want to get a good sample and perhaps put it under a microscope, and then I also know some people who might be interested but couldn¡¯t make it. Can you help me?¡± Roxanne followed her over to the pier and, despite her diminished muscles, worked together to fill the jug almost to the brim. Marveling, Miranda remarked, ¡°The water here is so pristine, I can¡¯t tell looking at it that it came from a lake like this rather than a specially purified source. Fascinating!¡±

    With her arms crossed, Roxanne listened patiently as Miranda wiggled, jiggled, and geeked out over all the little discoveries of the lake. After tucking the big bottle in the back, she pulled some water-testing supplies out of her bag and dipped samples onto the papers. In retrospect, Roxanne thought it would have been better to do this sort of testing before. Miranda concurred and noted her results on a pad. Alyssa lingered, and Roxanne casually asked him, ¡°You all right?¡±

    Alyssa seemed unsure about the question but didn¡¯t bristle the same way she used to as a woman. ¡°Yeah. I feel fine. Maybe I was expecting something more, but this is a good start. A fresh start on a better life. From here, it''s gonna take inventing a new identity and a bunch of stuff from shady people, but it¡¯ll be all right.¡± Alyssa had a name picked out as well, but with the added detail of a new surname for a clean break from her past. Ross Hanover to replace Alyssa Eckhart.

    The morning started to shift as the fresh, brand-new sheen of the moment gave way to calm and curiosity for what next. In between analyzing the water, Roxanne managed to ask Miranda about how a certain thing tasted. Timidly, Miranda whispered, ¡°Tangy but sweet, and a little like chili but diluted. Quite an aftertaste, and I don¡¯t know¡­but I wanted Ross to feel sexy about it. I¡¯m probably weird¡­I¡¯m definitely weird. But that¡¯s how it was for me. I''d do it again in a heartbeat.¡± Her face blushed brightly.

    Without warning, the relative quiet was broken by a flurry of birds blackening the edge of the sky and swooping around. Moments later, they all heard a loud engine roar down the dirt road as a black van pulled into the clearing. Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched.

    Out of the passenger side stepped a lanky, thin man, bordering on emaciated, wearing dark sunglasses. He wore a black suit with a rumpled white shirt and long, black tie underneath and what looked like a catcher¡¯s helmet on his head.

    He clapped his gaunt hands together and declared, ¡°All right, you horny kids, get your stuff together, put that out, and follow us in your car. Now!¡±

 [8] Mystery Lake 8 â€“ Questioning

    Mystery Lake

    [8] Questioning

    It took the six of them a few minutes to break down their camp and get everything packed into the car. Jake, Ross, and Brock tried to do the heavy lifting, but despite their beefed-up muscles, none of them knew how to do it effectively. Instead, they fumbled around like a bunch of pubescent teens who got five inches taller over the summer.

    Not that the girls were immune to this body-dimension confusion. Miranda''s jutting ass kept getting in the way; she was thrown off by her new balance, and she was unprepared for how much real estate her tits monopolized. Chiara encountered similar obstacles but gradually corrected because of Barry''s innate uncertainty and hesitation. Roxanne felt persistent frustration at her tininess, but soon pivoted to taking smaller items and crawling in the back to rearrange things. Being able to move around nimbly in smaller spaces wasn''t the worst aspect of the change.

    They got rid of the stream water they were going to use for cooking, and Miranda quietly urged Ross to keep the water jug hidden under everything in the trunk. Ross and Brock settled into the back seat, while Roxanne and Jake took the middle section, and Chiara held the steering wheel in a death grip as the driver once again. Miranda remained the co-pilot.

    The physical disparity popped up again as Chiara struggled with her seat to find a comfortable position. She disliked the way the seat belt pressed against her chest, and her legs had to adjust their muscle memory to the pedals. The amount of hair around her head also bothered her. It took Miranda''s hand on her shoulder to finally calm her down as they wobbled their way from the dirt and back onto the rough, bouncy road. The new girls with the most to bounce had the worst time on this stretch.

    Roxanne and Jake expressed some skepticism as to why they were following this creepy guy since he didn''t give his name or who he worked for. Chiara considered trying to drive off, but ended up following the black van to a modestly sized ranger station. While about half of the group hesitated when they got out of the car and the strange man motioned them inside, they all eventually did as they were told.

    Chiara feared an interrogation room with mirrors, a steel table, and harsh lights. Instead of that, they were offered a long couch with several pillows. The strange man grabbed a rolling chair and sat down, facing them. He first asked if they needed anything, like water. The six of them looked at each other, but no one spoke up.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. No brainwashing solution. Just some refreshments," he joked.

    Through the main door stepped an immensely tall, bulky person, who they guessed was a woman, judging by the practically lethal mass protruding alarmingly from her chest. She looked like the result of shaving an angry grizzly bear and trying to squeeze it into a three-piece suit. She had the shape of a bodybuilder welded to a female sumo wrestler, dwarfing what any of them had now or even Joel before. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes. The strange man looked over his shoulder and asked, ¡°Squirrel thing done?¡±

    ¡°No¡­¡± She answered with a growl that sounded ferocious and rippled menacingly through the room. The man raised his hand, and the huge woman stalked back through the door. When silence returned, he gestured with his hand and explained, ¡°That¡¯s Rydia. She terrifies me. But she''s good company. As for me, I don¡¯t think anyone needs to be afraid of me. I¡¯m just here to help. Agent Cerberus with..."

    He unstrapped the strange helmet he had been wearing and placed it at his feet before taking off his shades and tucking them in a pocket. His eyes were dark, but seemed relatively normal. The so-called agent rummaged through another pocket and came up with what looked like a small Rolodex of cards.

    ¡±Hmmm¡­ the Department of the Interior. Let¡¯s go with that. It seems like you folks had quite a party going on. Illegal trespassing. Dumping. And so on. Now, I¡¯m not interested in punishing you. I just want to keep things quiet. I want to know that when you go back to your school, you won¡¯t tell everyone that you went to a strange little lake up here and saw anything out of the ordinary. That¡¯s all. It''s been hard lately, crazy. We''ve all been pulled in too many directions. I got an eye injury, a mild concussion, and almost... lost a leg." The strange man paused to take a breath with a quiet, almost reflective melancholy filling his expression before he sat up and continued.

    "And that''s just dealing with people, not what these woods can throw at you. I much prefer the city, honestly.¡± The agent gestured to his pocketed glasses and the helmet with a chuckle.

    He pressed them about whether they could keep all this quiet. Ross was the first to answer, firmly and flatly, "Yes.¡±

    The agent clapped his hands together and celebrated his cooperation, emphasizing, ¡°I¡¯m so glad to hear that. You help me get all this squared away, and I guarantee I can help each of you avoid so many headaches. Headaches that come from things that are a bit difficult to explain to most people. For me, it¡¯s just a simple mouse click to remedy. Making sure there¡¯s no errors, misspellings, or confusing identities on the public record. Why¡­ Helping out the federal government like that might even mean a generous reward for each of you, assuming you can all be helpful and accurate in what you can tell me. Who did you tell you were coming up here?¡±

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Ross blandly stated that he hadn''t told anyone. As for Roxanne, she mentioned that the people in her dorm knew she was going on a trip, but she didn''t give them any details about where she was going. The same went for the rest. The agent didn¡¯t take any notes; he just leaned back in the chair and rocked gently.

    His next question was whether they had taken anything from the lake. He gave examples of a fallen twig, a special looking stone, or some other notable memento. Again, Ross was the first to answer, ¡°Nothing. Just firewood for the fire, and that¡¯s back at camp. We used water that we brought with us because of health advisories about lake water.¡± Ross looked over at Miranda, who was hugging a pillow to her chest and shifting her legs. Everyone else in the group confirmed it. Chiara gulped and squeezed her hands together, but played along.

    The agent raised his hands and smiled a gaunt, unsettling smile. ¡°Excellent! That location is very special to the natives, so there are rules against taking objects from the land, like picking up a tourist trinket. And I am also glad that you brought your own water. There are...all kinds of parasites out there. Wouldn¡¯t want you kids to spend spring break sick to your stomach. One last thing before we¡¯re done. I¡¯d like all six of you to confirm your names for proper documentation. Then, not only can we get all sorts of silly paperwork smoothed away for everyone¡­ but I can also make sure you¡¯re all compensated for your cooperation. All I ask is that you don''t come back here. Or you may have to spend some unpleasant time with Miss Rydia, clearing things up properly. Sound good?¡± Toward the end, the agent sounded like he was rubbing rocks together to create the sound of his words, but with the last question, he perked up and cracked another unsettling smile.

    All six agreed that those were fair terms. The agent pointed at them in turn and asked their names.

    ¡°B-baa¡­ I mean Chiara Watson.¡°

    ¡°Roxanne Griffin.¡±

    ¡±Just Jake Butler..."

    ¡°Brock Eggers. B ¨C R ¨C O ¨C C ¨C K. E ¨C G ¨C G ¨C E ¨C R ¨C S. Like the Pok¨¦mon guy.¡±

    ¡°Ross Hanover.¡±

    ¡°Miranda Rogers. No uncommon spellings. I can spell it out.¡±

    The agent waved his hand and assured her that it would be fine. He still didn¡¯t write anything down as he clasped his hands and announced, ¡°This should be taken care of by the time you return to your school." Roxanne realized then that they hadn¡¯t told him which school they went to.

    Towards the end of this surprisingly simple interrogation, the agent slipped an old Casio-style watch out of a pocket and prodded the tiny buttons on the side with a degree of confidence that soon turned to irritation and fumbling for whatever tools he had. Brock leaned forward as if he were about to tip out of his seat and offered to fix it.

    The agent eagerly relinquished the watch, and Brock strummed his fingers across the tiny buttons on the side as though playing a familiar instrument. Soon, a series of pleasant and satisfying beeps issued from the device, and Brock fanned the watch across his wrist, as though this were an impromptu prize presentation on The Price Is Right. Brock motioned to return the device to the agent, but he gestured with his hand and assured him he could keep it.

    And that was about all they needed to do, as the agent soon wrapped up his presentation.

    "With that, you¡¯re all free to go and have a wonderful rest of your vacation¡­ Unless there¡¯s anything¡­ Anything at all that might have slipped your mind or just not come up. You can feel free to mention it now¡­ if there is anything else¡­¡± The look he gave was unsettling, but none of them cracked.

    Without any further ado, they got back in the car and continued up the rough road. It was a little strange that the closed-off area marking the entrance had seemingly disappeared without a trace, along with the massive logs blocking the path. At least that meant that no one had to get out and push them, like when they first arrived. Only when they were back on a regular two-lane highway with normal traffic did everyone start to breathe again. Roxanne told herself that she wasn¡¯t so much scared as unsettled by the so-called agent¡¯s nature. Her best way to describe it was feeling like he wasn¡¯t entirely human, despite the fact that he wore the guise of a man. The same went for his hulking associate.

    Miranda pressed her hands together and thanked everyone for not mentioning the water. Ross shrugged and noted, ¡°Way I see it, he didn¡¯t press about the water, even though we mentioned it, so if it¡¯s a problem, it¡¯s his own fault. I just hope he doesn¡¯t screw us over. If he can fix our paperwork, then that¡¯ll help a lot. No matter what happens, I¡¯ll take care of what I have to¡­to make a new life for myself.¡±

 [9] Mystery Lake 9 â€“ Breakfast

    Mystery Lake

    [9] Breakfast

    "... and so, I became Queen of the Lizards in science lab room 725."

    That was how Brock chose to conclude his brief but incredibly complicated Byzantine story for the others, which included multiple digressions within the same sentence and non-sequiturs about the creation of the metric system and the very first official snowball fight in Western Canada.

    Roxanne had no idea why she even listened to half of it. The biggest mystery of all was where Brock got the gob of peanut butter on a butter knife that he consumed in the middle of his rambling story.

    Ross didn''t seem at all bothered by anything Brock had done or said since that agent let them go, as if this was a new, unstated competition between them that would show who had more patience. Well, she didn''t care about winning. Her only concern at the moment was what they were going to do now.

    The original trip proposal included the expectation that they would camp around the lake, with a big question mark as to the events of the rest of the day. Then they would drive back before dusk or find a place around here to spend the night. The possibility of lingering longer had been cautiously floated by Duncan, but without any force behind it.

    They each had their own plans for spring break, even if some of them were meager. Netflix and crunches for Joel and Jess. Dorm redecorating and website building, respectively, for Brock and Chiara. Miranda and Ross were expectedly reluctant to reveal their plans, before and especially since the new alignment of selves. Roxanne could probably guess from their actions on the pier that they would be asking for a private room wherever the group wound up staying for the evening. Not that she and Jake would be any different. However, the question remained whether the third likely couple would follow suit.

    Chiara was diligent with her driving, focusing every ounce of her attention, but Roxanne could tell that her mind wanted to be with Brock in the back seat. The blond boy wore that mysterious so-called agent''s strange Casio watch proudly and prominently on his wrist. It looked exactly like the kind of thing that would be bugged or contain a secret knockout gas sprayer. Maybe that sounded too much like a spy movie, but Roxanne didn''t like it. Brock seemed to love it, though, so she was in a bit of a pickle. Oh well, plenty of other things to worry about in the meantime.

    Like Roxanne''s overwhelming urge to fart. The last thing she had as a man for an early morning snack was a leftover can of beans, and they were making their final tour through her new system. Clearly going to be a series of manly toots. She was under no impression that girls didn''t fart. Jess disapproved that quite well. The last leftovers from the remains of being a boy. She could hold them down for a while, but they were an inevitability.

    She noticed that the others had plenty of little physical problems of their own. Jake was still getting used to the kielbasa. Encumbrance sounded like one of those big words that was just big enough for that big thing. She wanted to help, in a wide variety of ways, but let the new boy figure out his comfort level for now. They could talk about such things in private later.

    Sitting didn''t feel particularly natural or comfortable to Roxanne now that she had more time to think about it rather than deflect on anything else. Miranda had a queenly pillow planted beneath her. Her hips felt like someone had cracked them all out of shape, and there was a weird little wrinkle of flesh that not only traced there but snuck around the rest of her altered body, like some sneaky, stubborn crease in a bed sheet that was impossible to stamp out. And that avoided talking about the void down there.

    Not that ''void'' was anywhere close to an accurate description of the steaming cavern with a mind of its own. The skirt provided more of a vent than the crushing clamp of those painted-on jeans, but neither option was a solution. Probably the only solution was to get better acquainted with the deli section. Not a crazed, splaying herself lengthwise urgency, but another obligation to release eventually.

    Looking around, it was obvious that the other amateur girls had their own things to deal with. Miranda struggled with the urge to poke her fingernails in her mouth every so often for a nibble. Every time she yanked them back, they inevitably found their way there again. It was hard to see that much of Chiara from Roxanne''s position, but she was doing an admirable job of not letting any physical distraction impede her driving. Roxanne could only imagine that it must have felt like the most persistent itch in every corner of her body.

    Where were they going, and what were they doing now? The general motivation leaned toward somewhere to eat, but the flaky cellular connection left no hints as to a destination. Just leave it up to chance, and the next restaurant they glimpsed by the roadside could be a one-way trip to far more than some toots with few restrooms in sight. At the same time, hunting down another campsite with an uncertain variety of other campers and a lengthy setup to make any sort of meal would be encroaching on an ordeal.

    "Do you think Miss Clifton had a personal experience with that lake, and that''s how she knew about it?" Miranda''s question was cast to the back without any real preamble, like a composed but stray thought. Jake quietly brushed some grit from his eyes and appeared on the cusp of providing a lucid response. Ross in the back clearly didn''t seem interested in sharing any more thoughts now with the rest of the class since announcing his liberation from his past. Brock listened, but seemed more wrapped up in delicately programming the tiny buttons on the watch.

    Miss Clifton didn''t start out as a Miss? Before today, Joel would have found that idea ridiculous. If anyone was firmly in Lady Land, it had to be that teacher. Of course, she now found herself a clear and likely permanent resident of that place, despite her former status. It made sense with the rest of the mysteries surrounding Miss Clifton. Did it mean that she never met anyone like this Agent Cerberus? Or had she broken an agreement by telling a lecture hall full of students where to go?

    Miranda brought up many of the same points that were already fluttering through Roxanne''s head, but her key piece of evidence was a suggestive, arching, unnecessary gesture across her body evocative of Miss Clifton''s figure. However, she had practically more to talk about than the teacher. This thought gradually occurred to Miranda as her eyes lingered on herself uncomfortably turned and half straddling the armrest. She eventually asked for one of the blankets poking out of the trunk space and spread it over herself like a cloak.

    An uncomfortable lull followed. They all had their moments of shock, anger, confusion, delight, clarity, and hope after their transformations. No one had given voice to the question that settled at the top of Roxanne''s thoughts: What now? Assuming the spooky man in the suit kept up his end of the bargain, they could go back to their lives. But what would their lives look like?

    Roxanne didn''t know a thing about practically everything about being a girl. At least she knew that Jake would be there to support her, and she would support him. All that forgettable junk about pads and cups and little absorbent things that went up inside was no longer forgettable. At least at the moment, she didn''t feel like she was about to erupt in a flood of blood and abandoned baby stuff. Squeezing her thighs together both felt like a bad idea and a small comfort.

    Ross relinquished her willful neutrality and chimed in on the Miss Clifton conundrum: "Just because she''s a full¡­ package doesn''t mean she went through the same thing we did." The new boy, with a vaguely sparkly vampire sense, didn''t quite scowl at the rest of them, but it sure looked like he wanted to sharpen his expression on a whetstone. Miranda swiftly concurred, her legs flaring out from the side of the seat and uncovered by her blanket. Ross obviously stared as he moistened his lips before swallowing, coughing, and fumbling for what bottled water they brought with them.

    Jake nestled next to her, seeking out the kind of cuddling they always did, only she was bumping up against now uncomfortable dimensions, like a Great Dane hunting for familiar puppy proportions. She just didn''t have enough lap, and Jake didn''t seem quite ready for her to get into his. Roxanne noticed a slightly dogeared, classy romance trade paperback tucked beneath Jake''s feet, clearly forgotten from the wee hours of the morning when she started skimming through it before the twisting character of the road left her queasy and unable to get that far.

    Working her nimble toes and toned thighs, Roxanne managed to wiggle it over to her side and slide it into her grasp. The cover looked all fancy, with a pastel watercolor presentation of some European street. Of course, the main character was a woman, a somber fashion designer looking for a partner, sipping Long Island iced teas with a few gal pals. A promise of work in Paris had her venting and fretting like it was going to be an ordeal. Annoyance and apathy were the main emotions Roxanne projected toward the characters and the plot in general. Obviously, just changing her biology wasn''t going to overhaul her interests. But there were some moments.

    Listening to the main character describe someone she hadn''t talked to in a while made Roxanne reflect. Most alarmingly, the stupidest tiny strings of description about that situation actually made her eyes feel like they were slightly cloudy, gathering the condensation for tears.

    Screw that! No matter how much of a girl she was now, there was no way she was gonna cry over such a silly and inconsequential scene in an average book. But the damn thing soon made her eyes water. Fortunately, Brock unleashed a sudden, distracting outburst from the back.

    "WAIT! PLEASE STOP THE CAR!"

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    Chiara reacted quickly, slamming on the brakes, barely avoiding a fishtail with screeching tires, and carefully pulling onto the narrow shoulder. Directly in front of them was a diner with a wide sign with pink, fancy, looping lettering on a large, round, black pole announcing, "Molly''s Diner". A small, cartoon burger on a plate topped the name. The building had a faded mural above the windows with vignettes of Harley-Davidson motorcycles, hot rods, and other touches of Americana. White and pink siding surrounded the building, with a faded green roof above. Empty patio tables with large red and yellow plastic chairs flanked the front.

    It wasn''t empty inside, and plenty of cars filled a good half of the parking lot. Carefully, Chiara managed to start breathing again and steered the car around the shoulder and into the entrance of the diner. Sheepishly, Brock squeaked an earnest, insistent apology but gestured boldly and happily to a poster on the side of the building. It took a while for the others to resolve the image and text.

    Brock proclaimed, "ALL YOU CAN EAT BREAKFAST!! ALL YOU CAN EAT!!! All!!!" Each word underscored his exuberance with more enthusiasm. Ross leaned away, wide-eyed, as if he''d never seen anyone so excited about anything, especially this. Jake wore a placid wash of quiet amusement as if he''d seen this all before and was enjoying the ride. Chiara peeled her clawed, cramped fingers from the steering wheel as they pulled into an open parking spot conveniently adjacent to both the building and the road. Miranda broadly grimaced and gulped as if she had just returned from transforming into a giant frog.

    Slowly, except for Brock, the group slipped their way out of the car and onto the slightly cracked pavement. Brock stood in front of the advertising poster and slammed the surface with a slicing arm. He reiterated his all-you-can-eat breakfast mantra. The expression on his face was surprisingly serious. Ross groaned but refused to admonish the boy. The poster contained, in addition to the emblazoned words Brock adored, a large, steaming, anonymous breakfast platter dripping with syrup over pancakes, bright sunny-side eggs, toast, and a massive slab of ham. Roxanne noticed in some text on the side that the word "breakfast" was misspelled, with the odd inclusion of the letter "I".

    Even though it looked like Brock wanted to run up to the glass front door and rip it open, sending a shock wave of air through the entire building, he resisted the urge and scampered back to Chiara, who looked surprised that he remembered her at all. She fumbled a bit, dropping the car keys more than once, then flailing about with her balance to recover them.

    Roxanne wondered again about what words they exchanged right before Layla became Brock. It wasn''t her place to pry, but it felt like a needle dragging through her brain¡ªsomething she just couldn''t put to rest. Maybe it was the effect of what she had said to Jake to reassure him cascading through her thoughts. Likely, she suspected that Layla would say something like "jumping jellybean banana splits" rather than anything coherent. Ross scoped around the building, catching sight of some raccoons fleeing from the dumpster. Miranda did some peculiar pirouettes on her way to the curb, as if she imagined it was secretly an outdoor ballerina studio.

    The group separated, with Chiara and Brock lingering behind and Jake pushing forward to hold the door open for everyone. This felt like the opportune moment to ask. Taking a deep breath, Roxanne inquired offhand, as casually as possible, "What did you say to one another earlier, before you jumped in, Brock?"

    The question was couched in carefully considered body language, with Roxanne leaning back and keeping her arms behind her, her small stature hunched even more than usual, and a submissive frown on her face. Brock looked momentarily puzzled, and Chiara glanced worriedly between them. A smile swiftly sprung from Brock''s face, and he replied, "I was just reassuring her. I said, ''Don''t worry, I''m not going anywhere,'' because I don''t want Chiara''s sweet heart to ever feel fretful." For emphasis, Brock deliriously draped himself over the stunned Chiara without pressing his weight down. The poor girl blossomed with trembling squirms and a blush from Brock''s cheery sentiment that would make a steamed lobster jealous.

    Roxanne preemptively kicked her ripe ovaries as a warning not to mess with her emotions any more. It was in vain, as her eyes grew wide and glossy and the soft, high-pitched response "Awwww..." escaped her mouth. This immediately caused Chiara to worry that Roxanne might have bumped her head at some point this morning. She did her best to recover by giving her roommate a fluttering smack on the shoulder that felt more like a tap from a butterfly than anything Joel would''ve done.

    Jake ushered them into the diner, and they lingered around the cash register with several older patrons sipping coffee at the lunch counter, which turned at a ninety-degree angle to lead deeper into the restaurant. A woman with frizzy, graying hair in a small, tight bun and a bright pink apron emblazoned with the restaurant''s logo approached them and asked where they would like to sit. Brock immediately announced, "All-you-can-eat breakfast! And a table for six!"

    Several of the nearby patrons looked up from their meals and squinted skeptically, appraising the newcomers. Yeah, Roxanne knew they looked like cityfolk. The woman whose name on her lapel was "Debbie" replied, "All right. Just so you know, all-you-can-eat breakfast is only until one and no substitutions. Ham, two pancakes, three eggs, sausage, hash browns, and your choice of toast to start. You can refill any two items at a time. You''re welcome to sit wherever you feel comfortable. Will it be one check or separate checks?"

    Ross adjusted his clothes several times with tugs on all sides and scanned around the restaurant, searching for some reaction. Chiara clung to Brock''s arm as if it were the only thing keeping her from tumbling to the floor. Brock practically sparkled with dreamy delight while listening to the recitation of the all-you-can-eat contents. Miranda stood with her back straight, but her arms crossed over her chest to downplay her boldest feature. Her eyes, like Ross''s, danced around the dining area. Jake adjusted his glasses and puffed his breath.

    The six of them settled into a circular booth with faded and faintly distressed pink leather cushions and the occasional patchwork of pink duct tape. Brock slid the deepest into the ring, his back practically against the corner of the building. Chiara carefully scooted over to his right but ended up a respectful distance away. Jake took the opposite end from Brock, with Roxanne next to her. On the other side, Miranda settled comfortably next to Chiara atop her big butt, while Ross seemed to have the same idea as Roxanne at the opposite opening. Although she suspected that the man only ended up there because it afforded the easiest escape route.

    The menu, placed in a metal centerpiece filled with jellies, butters, salt and pepper, and a bottle of Heinz ketchup, looked like a patchwork of several different styles, with recent additions to the prices scribbled on. Roxanne raised an eyebrow at the current cost of the all-you-can-eat breakfast, but Brock wasn''t the least deterred. Clinks of plates and silverware, sharp hisses of grilling, and a quiet classic country song warbling from the rafters were the only sounds that filtered over to their end of the restaurant.

    A young woman in the same uniform as Debbie ambled over to their table, extracted her notepad, and mechanically asked if they wanted anything to drink. The name on her lapel read "Sherry" in neat, block letters. Roxanne glanced at the woman and noticed that her eyes were visibly bloodshot and her hair was also frazzled, but otherwise she seemed perfectly composed. Her figure was as subdued as Alyssa''s used to be, but without the pale pallor. Ross peered across the table at Roxanne, as if he somehow psychically sensed the comparison she was making.

    Everyone asked for water, but Miranda also wanted whole milk, while Roxanne went with orange juice. Chiara had been focused on sneaking smiles over to Brock while casually scanning the menu. She glanced up at their waitress, and all the color instantly drained from her face. Chiara screamed like she was being murdered and hid behind her menu, desperately leaning into Brock for protection.

    Absolute silence fell over the diner, and every single eye was now staring at them. Quickly, Jake popped up from his seat and nervously and clearly apologized to Chiara and everyone around. "Oh my gosh! I am so sorry. I stepped hard on your foot. I''m a big, clumsy oaf! Are you okay? I know it''s been tender lately."

    Jake''s desperate lie allowed some normalcy to settle back in, even though Roxanne could still feel eyes looking at them askance. Brock wrapped his arms around Chiara and motioned to her leg, playing along. Tears streaked Chiara''s eyes as she looked away from their waitress as much as possible without making it look like that was what she was doing. She stumbled through her order for the country omelet with rye and apple juice. Awkwardly, the rest of them went ahead and placed their full orders. Roxanne chose the French toast platter, Ross the large chocolate chip pancake stack, Miranda the egg and sausage skillet, with the country ham breakfast for Jake, and Brock not wavering from his commitment to the all-you-can-eat breakfast.

    Their waitress cocked her head slightly in Chiara''s direction but didn''t ask a question or comment on the outburst. She walked away slowly, and Chiara finally managed to breathe, although slowly and with difficulty. Roxanne worried that the poor girl was about to puke all over herself. She asked gently, "Are you all right? What happened?"

    Chiara''s eyes flicked around the room. She mouthed words, but nothing came out. Everyone at the table leaned closer, and she said softly, in a panicked, breathy whisper, "I know this is crazy. But she has no head... I swear it...no head at all..."

 [10] Mystery Lake 10 â€“ Reality

    Mystery Lake

    [10] Reality

    "What?¡­" Ross asked, glancing over at Sherry as she walked around the area behind the counter to give their order to the cooks. She seemed perfectly normal, cracking her neck slightly and twisting her arms as she picked up a fresh pot of coffee and refilled the cups at the counter where requested.

    Chiara kept her head down, refusing to look across the way at their waitress. She shook her head and gently whispered, "There''s nothing there. I don''t understand why. It''s just a hole." She briefly stretched out her tongue, as if she were going to retch, but only gave a small cough that she covered with her hand.

    Miranda tucked her chin between her fingers and stared at the table in front of her before looking at Chiara and speaking in a reserved whisper, choosing her words carefully. "What if we were exposed to a hallucinogenic? I mean, in addition to everything else. That might help explain why that¡­ government official wanted to make sure we were okay on our camping trip. The lake is associated with a lot of native traditions, and there''s a decent amount of customs out there involving altered states. Ayahuasca has been relatively decriminalized in Detroit, and there are certainly groups in the state that use it. That I''ve heard of...that I''ve heard of. But there could be a natural amount of some aerosolized substance either in the water or the area. Chiara went in the lake first, so maybe, I don''t know." Miranda gestured around for emphasis, pausing at points where her unruly boobs accentuated her words in ways she didn''t intend.

    Ross replied in a guarded whisper, "What are you saying? We''re gonna see stuff?"

    Miranda set her arms on the table. "I don''t know why Chiara is seeing stuff. Does anything else look off?"

    Chiara squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "If there is, I don''t want to know. Maybe someone else should drive if¡­ I have vision problems." Roxanne felt a flare of pride that Chiara went along with obscuring their meaning for any nosy restaurant patrons listening in. She didn''t know that Barry could fib without getting flustered.

    Chiara still looked terrified, though, and she regretted being so far away. Brock reacted swiftly to hug her, wearing the determination that his touch could magically fix whatever was wrong. It couldn''t, but Chiara gave him a friendly, lingering look. Brock didn''t relent; he cradled her shoulder, holding her steady, and gave her a gentle peck on the forehead.

    Chiara looked like she was surely going to break down in tears, but she managed to swallow the worst of it like a thick, unpleasant medicine. With Brock at her side, she took a precisely measured breath, straightened in her seat, set her feet on the carpet around the table leg, and asked, "Where is the waitress right now?"

    Roxanne had the best viewpoint over her shoulder and managed to spot the waitress on the far side of the dining area, working her way around the window seats and back toward them.

    An older dude a few booths over fixed a skeptical look on Roxanne. She raised her head and narrowed her piercing blue eyes at him. He soon grunted and looked away, choosing to sigh and stare out the window at the road. Roxanne quietly relayed her findings to her roommate.

    Hazarding a quick, upward glance, Chiara raised her hand, almost touching her face, and mostly shut one of her eyes. She controlled her breathing and looked across the diner. Scanning the space, she worked from left to right and positioned her hand to cover every trace of pink that moved.

    She got a few false alarms from colorful decorations among the bright, themed knickknacks on the walls, but managed to take in the full scope with only a small sliver of her vision obscured. To be sure, she scanned back the other way before quietly announcing, "I don''t see anything else... that bothers my eyes."

    Brock assured Chiara, "I''m here. You don''t have to be afraid."

    Hesitantly, she swallowed again and moved her hand in front of her face a few ways before finally letting it drop. When she did, her breathing immediately quickened with fear. The others could tell that her eyes snapped to the part of the diner where their waitress was standing.

    Everyone seemed to lean forward slightly. Chiara gave a halting breath and managed to squeak out, "Still. Nothing else. Just...that." She took a deep breath and then placed both hands protectively over her face, as if consumed by a raging headache.

    At least they had some sense that whatever was happening to her seemed to be confined to this seemingly innocuous individual. That didn''t seem like a hallucination. But what else was left?

    Ross wrestled with his thoughts on this and quietly expressed, "With all due respect, this could be an episode. We''ve been through a lot, life-changing stuff. I hate to say it, but some kind of hysteria is possible." He grimaced apologetically at Chiara, then specifically shot a look at Roxanne. Roxanne smiled knowingly. Ross scoffed and had to ask in a whisper, "How do you know?"

    The historical meaning behind ''hysteria''? Her succinct response was to gesture to Jake right next to her while still calmly smiling. Roxanne''s desire to pluck out some choice terms that were rattling around in her head for Ross was at an all-time high, but she resisted that temptation because it was clear that bigger and weirder things were going on around them and differences like this were small.

    For a few moments, it seemed as if Ross might press the point, but he returned his attention to Chiara and asked her about physical symptoms she might not be recognizing. Her heart was racing slightly, but for obvious reasons based on what she claimed to have witnessed.

    Her stomach felt tight, with gurgling discomfort threatening both ends. Sweat had popped up along her back with prickly heat and cold clamminess. A different waitress, closer to Debbie''s age than Sherry''s, appeared from a side kitchen door, hoisting a tray with all their drinks. Chiara sipped urgently but sparingly from her glasses, shielding her eyes behind them as much as possible.

    The drinks brought her immediate relief, even if that relief was purely psychological, from the act of having something to do rather than as a remedy. And the drinking also had a side effect, as the icy water and chill apple juice dislodged the outgoing end, and her trim tummy gave a plaintive wail.

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    Soon, Chiara asked the quiet question, "Uh... restroom?" She remained wrapped in Brock while leaning toward Miranda. Ross politely scooted off and out, clearing the way for both of the girls to get to their feet. Brock trailed after Chiara, but let her go with an encouraging smile. Roxanne didn''t really need to use the restroom, but she figured this was some sort of gender siren call to flock together and opted to join the others. Jake almost went too, out of habit, but all the new boys stayed to guard the table and await their turn.

    The trio kept Chiara shielded behind them so she wouldn''t have to engage with whatever was going on with the waitress. It was easy to maneuver around the young woman because her attention wasn''t drawn to them. Even the other diners seemed to have lost interest in their group.

    Roxanne thought that if Miranda''s theory had any weight to it, then it was possible that their hallucinations were so strong that they completely made up their transformations and everything else since they arrived at the lake. But if that was true, then it seemed likely to Roxanne that everyone here would notice something about them.

    An obvious cross-dressing remark would have come up from Debbie or someone else. But no one even remotely reacted that way. Now, if someone were to say that they were just seeing things in that respect as well, then she would ask how on earth could they possibly know anything at all? Some things had to be taken for granted as a baseline of reality.

    And her reality included walking to the ladies'' room. She could imagine whipping it out one last time, but expected that reality to be a dripping mess all over the floor. The restrooms weren''t themed, but Roxanne noticed that the lowercase "i" had a heart. The interior was nothing special, and the trash can off to the side looked bad and smelled even worse.

    Arriving as a trio fostered a small sense of camaraderie that Roxanne didn''t feel was that helpful. Chiara''s eyes were only on the prize and the comfort of the large stall in the corner. She zoomed all the way there with her shuffle. Roxanne stopped first to wash up before she sought out a spot of her own. Fortunately, there were enough for all three. Miranda hesitated at her choice, as if she were looking at one of these stalls for the very first time. Roxanne nudged her, and she went the rest of the way by herself.

    The stall was exactly the same size as every other one she had ever used. No special additions or odd subtractions, except for a small but conspicuous rectangular trash bin tucked away in one corner. It didn''t smell like sugar and rainbows, just regular garbage. The height of the walls on all sides may have been slightly raised, but not to the point of being odd or offensive.

    One momentary confusion was whether she should raise up her skirt or drop it around her ankles while sitting on the seat. The weathered tile floor didn''t look damp or untrustworthy, and the skirt was a modest length, so she opted to unzip and clinch it as comfortably as possible with her legs splayed.

    Actually going brought a flash of primal panic that something was wrong. It wasn''t supposed to come out like this. She practically zipped through all the stages of grief for her dick. Phantom subconscious denial that it was gone, just had to jiggle the sucker loose. A flare of anger that the pee was getting all over. Finding certain benefits in a streamlined stream. Resignation at the amount of care and comfort she would have to give her little drippy hotspot. Fledgling determination that she had accomplished so much with her masculine body, that she could absolutely kick ass with whatever was thrown at her on the other side.

    Getting in there with her crotch wasn''t nearly as intimidating as she expected. Just another thing of flesh. She could wiggle it around, spread it, stretch it, or tie it in a bow. Maybe not that last thing. The territory was shifted around, and the boundaries stretched, but it had a crude familiarity, especially considering her extensive hands-on previews courtesy of Jess. And she threw out a few farts, just for old times'' sake, for the freedom of it, and to clear a little space for breakfast.

    She didn''t really pay attention to hints from others, but it sounded like Chiara wasn''t having the happiest time while Miranda committed to complete stealth mode on her padded throne. The other girls met her at the sink afterwards with defeated, thousand-yard stares. After washing up, she metaphorically chucked the silly parts of pride in the garbage and gave a quick hug and pat to Miranda without being overwhelmed by her massive hemispheres, and applied a lingering embrace to her roommate. Both girls, however, swung around and double-dipped. Roxanne issued an audible sigh, a little chuckle, and a roll of her eyes, but didn''t deny either girl in need.

    They shuffled out and soon assumed the same stance that had brought them here. Chiara slipped to the back but didn''t remain there. The waitress, Sherry, was again on this side of the diner, and they would have to pass her to get back to their table. Chiara could have kept her head down and squeezed her eyes shut as the others led her back. But she raised her head and looked directly into the chasm of all her fears. Her voice caught in her throat as they passed, and she looked as pale as Roxanne had ever seen her, but she swallowed, squeezed her little hands into fists, and walked purposefully back.

    Most of the ways there, she leaned closer to the others and whispered, "There''s something on her back. Something dark."

    Roxanne paused and looked over her shoulder. She didn''t see anything. All that met her eyes was Sherry''s blonde hair, pulled back in an awkward, side ponytail, with a few curly strands splayed across her shoulders, a smattering of old acne scars, the punctuation of random freckles, and those raccoon rings around the bloodshot white only faintly disguised by the application of makeup. Her chin did seem a little too straight and sharp, and her ear wasn''t precisely in proportion to the rest of her face, but those were ridiculous details. Her head was there; it existed.

    Right? But as Roxanne scrutinized the waitress one more time, she didn''t know what to think. Something was definitely wrong; she could feel it, even if she couldn''t see it the same way Chiara could.

 [11] Mystery Lake 11 â€“ Hungry

    Mystery Lake

    [11] Hungry

    They found their entrees already arriving when they returned to the table.

    The all-you-can-eat breakfast seemed to have been undersold by the description on the menu and by Debbie. It was served to Brock on a massive platter that should''ve been host to a Thanksgiving turkey or ham. The absolute mass of it all was like at least three of their meals stacked together. Brock did not seem intimidated by it. Roxanne shuddered to think that it might not be out of his league. He dug into it with a passion, starting with the hash browns.

    Miranda''s egg skillet was also impressive, with four over-easy eggs artfully arranged on a bed of potatoes, ham, onion, and cheese with a little jalapeno to spice it up, a side of toast with a pat of butter, and her tall glass of whole milk. Ross'' chocolate chip pancakes were a sizable stack with plenty of whipped cream, a generous portion of fresh blueberries and strawberries, and a little chocolate sauce drizzle on top.

    Jake''s country ham breakfast featured massive, fluffy biscuits covered in dense sausage gravy swimming with mushrooms and onions, a slab of ham to rival any of the pancakes on Ross''s plate, and a wide swath of fried eggs. Chiara''s country omelet was no slouch in heartiness, packed with ham, cheese, bacon, peppers, and potatoes, a thick slice of rye toast with jam on the side, and a refill of her apple juice in a frosty glass. By comparison, Roxanne''s French toast was far less intimidating. A stack of three large slices, topped with fresh blueberries, a dollop of cream cheese, a sprinkling of cinnamon and nutmeg, and a dusting of powdered sugar¡ªthe whole thing drowned in a veritable lake of warm syrup.

    The unspoken concern around the table was how much of this meal they could get through before they would have to tap out and ask for some to-go boxes. Aside from Brock, who had somehow, mysteriously, already consumed half of his plate in a blur of efficient and relentless pursuit of every hapless morsel. The eggs barely left a golden drop by the time his fork was finished. The hash browns were demolished like a miniature beaver dam, slathered with a red row of ketchup.

    Roxanne didn''t know what to think. Guys who frequented the college gym often had big appetites, and, as Joel, he managed to pack away quite a bit by the end of the day. But this was something different altogether. It was like something out of an eating contest, but without breaking a sweat.

    The sheer spectacle of the black hole that was Brock''s stomach held their attention for several minutes before they remembered that they should be eating as well. Chiara gave a whimper as she looked at her meal. Brock pivoted from inhaling his food to take a quick sip of water and asked what was wrong.

    "Peppers. I didn''t know there would be peppers in this. I''m allergic to bell peppers. They bother me a little. I guess I was distracted when I ordered," Chiara mumbled miserably to herself. She reached over with her fork and tried to scrape them out and pile them elsewhere on her plate.

    While doing so, she strategically shielded her view of Sherry with her other hand. Brock frowned and suggested asking one of the staff to take them out or make a new dish. Chiara nervously declined, not wanting to make a scene, especially with everything else going on.

    Roxanne frowned at her roommate. She remembered how, soon after she met Barry, Joel asked for his help in cooking meals for the others in their dorm. He was eager and hardworking, but one of the first dishes called for diced green peppers.

    The poor guy didn''t say anything; he just meticulously handled everything without complaint and spent the rest of the evening with protective food service gloves on his hands, unfortunately after the fact, because of the red marks. They did a heck of a lot more than just bother her a little. Without hesitation, Roxanne offered to trade with Chiara. Jake made a similar proposal, and so did Miranda. Brock wasn''t allowed to share his entr¨¦e; otherwise, he would have immediately piled Chiara under with pepper-free options. Even then, he motioned to sneak his best stuff onto a clean area of her plate.

    Chiara flailed and assured everyone else that it was fine; she could eat around the peppers¡ªno big deal. Roxanne wasn''t having any of it. She swung around, grabbed the booth and the table, and surveyed the room. The mysterious Sherry was far away again, but the other, older waitress who had delivered everything was within reach to get her attention.

    Roxanne flagged her down and told her in an authoritative but polite voice that her friend was severely allergic to green peppers and hadn''t realized her meal contained them. The woman curled a hand to her chest and frowned sympathetically. She noted that her niece had a terrible allergy to scallions and eagerly took care of everything without any fuss. Not surprisingly, Chiara was still stressed but nibbled quietly at her toast.

    Brock temporarily left his food alone to squeeze Chiara into a snuggle. She sniffled and leaned into Brock with her eyes closed. On the other side, Miranda rubbed a hand down Chiara''s back. Roxanne often found that the only remedy for Barry''s stress was to give him time to figure it out, but she appreciated the others'' help. Jake still wanted to offer some of his dish for Chiara to sample, even if it wasn''t a trade. The absolute river of thick, churning gravy as an enormous bulkhead on his plate probably had something to do with that. Ross offered up some pancake.

    To Roxanne''s creeping annoyance, Ross scrutinized her with another one of those looks. He didn''t say anything overt, but she got his meaning. Not that she cared. She had already said her piece to Alyssa, and the girl heaved her regrets while claiming that she had actually had a crush on the boy she used to be, even though she snuffed that boy out with a bucket of lake water.

    What mattered was that she made sure Chiara had a meal that wouldn''t leave her sick and hurting. Whatever displays of friendship and care Ross wanted to see from her wouldn''t be enough. She wasn''t going to put on a show just to make Ross think that being a girl made her a better, more compassionate person. The temptation to point out that Ross seemed like a kinder, gentler person as a man than as a girl wormed its way through Roxanne''s brain, but she resisted the urge to make something of it.

    Only after a few cautious smiles and relaxed breathing had settled into Chiara, with a carefully posed arm shielding her vision of the rest of the diner, did the rest of the group return to their food. Chiara still quietly received little samples of everyone''s entr¨¦es as she nibbled through the rest of her toast, even a ninja ham sneak from Brock.

    They all had more than enough to eat, plenty, and then some, especially for those of them with smaller bodies and probably corresponding stomachs. Then there was the outlier case of Brock, who was cleaning his plate while still looking famished. Roxanne could only shake her head quietly and blink in astonishment.

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    Jake looked similarly at a loss to comprehend and rationalize what he was witnessing as he ran a hand over his broad, beefy stomach, as if Brock had somehow wirelessly distributed some of what he had consumed to the others. Not quite as mysterious, but still curious, was the fact that Miranda, despite a thick, still largely steaming layer of shiny meat and egg, had taken a good chunk out of her pan without any visible discomfort or slowing down.

    Ross, on the other hand, had carved a slice out of his pancakes but already looked like he needed time to recover. Roxanne had taken care of the top layer of French toast and found herself regretting choosing carbs over protein. Rookie mistake. Jake gifted her with a little combo of ham, egg, and more biscuit bits than she could ever want, while barely putting a dent in the mass of his plate. Roxanne knew it was a bit of a clich¨¦, and one of those things that everyone said, that country diners would feed you well for a fair price. That was the talk of all the truckers. But this almost felt absurd.

    Soon, the replacement omelet arrived for Chiara, and it genuinely looked as if they had packed in an additional egg or two as an apology for the first one. It had practically the swath of a full quiche pizza that Roxanne remembered seeing once served to several people. Chiara adamantly thanked the waitress and apologized for the trouble.

    She waved her hand with a smile to dismiss any concerns, commenting, "It''s all on us. Some of us have been at this for so long, and some are just starting out. We gotta help each other out if we make a mistake. Your waitress, Sherry, extends her humblest apologies for any mistakes. Anything that''s upset you. We all just wanna make sure that you all have more than enough to eat. We won''t let any of you leave here... hungry. That''s a promise." She smiled broadly at the group and took down what Brock wanted for his two-choice refill.

    Roxanne squinted at this waitress. She looked like any ordinary, older waitress you might see in this kind of joint. Maybe in years and decades past, she''d be puffing her way through a pack or more to keep going, her voice a scratchy but still cordial croak. Her scrutiny didn''t reveal anything strange or unsettling, certainly nothing as startling as missing everything above the neck. Chiara kept her arm up surreptitiously to shield her eyes from the main portion of the diner, but she didn''t flinch from this lady. As she finished her notes, she gave Chiara a lingering look and asked politely, "You all right now there, dear? Anything else?"

    Chiara''s eyes and neck jerked from the first nibbles of her dish, as if she had been sleep-eating. She cleared her throat, failed at not sounding nervous, and assured her that everything was fine, then tentatively tested the lie: "My eyes are just sensitive today, and I dropped something on my toe; that''s why... there was a fuss earlier. Sorry..." She threw in some squints in the direction of the windows, even though there was very little late morning light coming through at that angle to complain about.

    In response, this waitress mentioned that she could drop a few blinds to make it more comfortable since they were alone in this corner. Even though Chiara assured her that she was perfectly fine, the lady still lowered one about halfway, cutting the little glare to complain about down to practically nothing.

    Chiara sighed and kept a few fingers by her eyes without looking up. Once again, Roxanne felt proud of this reaction. She couldn''t even imagine Barry at the beginning of the school year crafting something like that to say without breaking down in stammers and practically the urge to weep. Not that she wanted to make a liar out of her friend, but there had to be a balance.

    Soon, this particular waitress left them alone. Roxanne peered after them, finding nothing amiss but still feeling uncomfortable for reasons she couldn''t place. Chiara offered to share her food with Brock while he waited for his second round of plates, but he reaffirmed his commitment to the all-you-can-eat breakfast, although he also griped about how his stomach felt less substantial now compared to before.

    Roxanne looked on skeptically, but Jake gave a solemn, subtle nod, as if Jess had witnessed an occurrence of copious consumption on this level with Layla before. Her meager tummy gave a faint gurgle of concern, as if terrified that she might put it through something similar. Holding back a hiccup, she stuffed some of the fruit into her mouth to silence it.

    Ross shifted away from trying to carve through the entire tower of pancakes and instead crept his fork along the top, whittling down the penthouse. Miranda couldn''t continue her sprint through the skillet and instead picked out a few choice fragments to eat first, leaving the landscape full of greasy holes. Next to her, Jake had given up on conquering the biscuits and instead shoved what he had together into a light brownish mass so that it at least looked like he had eaten a decent portion. He quietly released the second-best belch Joel had ever encountered with Jess. Unfortunately, it was muffled by polite restraint and a napkin fluttering in front of his face to smother it. And Chiara was already putting in some work, progressing through that epic omelet.

    Quietly, sheepishly, though, she noted that it could have been interesting to test whether her severe allergy abated or altered due to a clear "genetic shift". Roxanne disagreed, noting that it wasn''t a good idea to test her while they were far away in a rural area. Chiara nodded and nibbled.

    It wasn''t long before the chatty waitress returned with two large plates for Brock, but also a frown as she looked across their table.

    "Your pal have to go to the bathroom? I hope he enjoys when he gets back."

    Roxanne frowned and glanced over where she expected to find Brock sitting, waiting to consume more. But no one was there. Jake helped return the massive original plate without so much as a crumb of toast left behind and curiously craned his neck to see if Brock had crouched down to grab something that had fallen. The waitress lingered for a moment before leaving to attend to other customers. They all looked at the mysterious empty spot with confusion and concern, but only Chiara was close enough to unravel the disappearance. She offered her dainty hand to carefully lift up another.

    As the five of them watched, what emerged from the lip of the table was a familiar swath of honeyed golden hair but reattached to a soft, girlish face with a nervous expression. Layla, with Brock''s boyish clothes draped over her. She peered fiercely at the fresh plates, eager to continue, and replied, "I might need to hang on to that bra after all..."

 [12] Mystery Lake 12 â€“ Hidden

    Mystery Lake

    [12] Hidden

    The fact that the whole group didn''t explode into confused, incoherent questions seemed like a small miracle to Roxanne. They were probably too stunned. That was how she felt. Duncan didn''t doubt that the folklore of the lake involved a permanent transformation. Spiritual awakening and shit. Admittedly, she should have known something like folklore wasn''t that reliable.

    Awkwardly, Layla scooted her way back into the seat. SpongeBob was wrinkled and distorted across her body like a deflated balloon, though her returned breasts helped out a little bit. It was still dipping precipitously for the middle of a restaurant. The flannel pants were struggling to hold on, but she wiggled them up underneath enough to be decent.

    None of the others said anything, clearly still trying to process what they were seeing. Ross blinked with a nervous wiggle of his head and his arms planted on the table. Chiara helped Layla sit up. Once settled, she dove for the replenished sausage as if it were her only lifeline for survival on a stormy sea. More soon vanished after it with her voracious appetite until the refill plates were empty. All the while, her cheeks bulged to chipmunk size, and her jaw worked tirelessly. She clearly noticed that they were all looking at her.

    Her simple answer was, "I have no idea. Though my tummy feels bigger again. Ready for more."

    Ross pressed a hand to his forehead and quietly wondered. "Is it the food? The water? Why did you change? It doesn''t make any sense."

    Miranda leaned over to Layla and asked, "What happened just before? Why were you under the table?"

    Layla rubbed the edge of one plate with her fingers and thought about those questions before answering, "I thought maybe I dropped a fork. I went looking for it, and while I was down there, my tummy felt a little bloated, and I wished that I had my regular one. Then it started to feel better and not so crampy, but I was back to myself. It just happened." Jake pushed up his glasses and squeezed a hand to his lips.

    Ross hissed bitterly, "It''s not fair. Was it just temporary? Why did you turn back? You went in right before me. Something should have happened to Chiara first, then everyone else in order."

    Miranda gulped and nervously chirped in a reserved, quiet voice, "I''m sorry. It''s my fault. I got my own hopes up and obviously made assumptions. It''s temporary, I guess. We''ll have to do something about the clothing situation before it gets even weirder... Layla''s regular clothes should be in the car. Maybe¡­ Jake, do you know where?" Chiara''s eyes darted around at everyone''s uncertain words but didn''t settle on anything away from the table.

    She seemed especially nervous and worried to Roxanne, but she could discern the faintest glimmer of relief in her girlish expression, the kind that Barry often displayed at the end of a particularly social dinner session in the college cafeteria, where he had to give the overall impression that he wasn''t mortified by every word that came out of his mouth and was heard by any stray girls who joined their group. Although he was getting better around Jess.

    This experience would be good for Barry, Roxanne resolved. He lived as a completely different person for a few hours. Granted, his exposure to social stuff in this Chiara skin was limited to a few grumpy small-town folks and overworked waitresses, aside from them and those ''people'' in black suits. But every little bit helped. It might be enough to motivate Barry to understand that girls weren''t quite as much of a separate species as he sometimes feared. Although Alyssa did make Joel wonder.

    Might as well go back to thinking in their birth names, Joel conceded. She adjusted her top, said an internal sayonara to the girls, awaited her own reversion, and decided to take on another slice of French toast to bolster the energy for her male self. Jake seemed to come to a similar conclusion, but with more uncertainty, fussing with his clothes and making sure everything was secured so as not to cause any wardrobe accidents. He paid particular attention to the top, where his boobs would eventually pop out again.

    Miranda''s reaction was the most pensive, with tense wrinkles along her brow. Joel wished she could give her another hug, but it seemed that the time for hugs was quickly coming to an end. Although she admitted that he could probably afford to be a little gentler with Barry in some ways. As for Ross, he was still firmly on the denial side of things, with a sharpened gaze searching for some small detail in Layla''s reappearance that would discount the obvious conclusion and rule this all out as a trick.

    They had tried to keep the peculiar aspects of their conversation down to vague mentions and careful whispers, but considering that they had the potential to pop back into the opposite sex with clothes that no longer fit them, being circumspect about their situation seemed practically impossible. Still, it would probably be easier to have Layla duck down under the table again whenever one of the waitresses came back over to their side.

    There would be questions, of course, but Layla wasn''t too far removed from Brock with boobs. She and her alter ego had some definite differences but also a decent amount of similarities that the older waitress might not notice between them. Hiding still sounded like the safest option.

    Before Joel could suggest this to Layla, she vanished, like an instant cut in an invisible film between her blinks, only to be replaced by her male self, as if he blipped in at the same moment. It wasn''t a crude jump like in an old movie, but rather a seamless, swift shift, though without the perfect smoothness of a morph. Brock''s clothes now appeared slightly disheveled and probably stressed, if they had any awareness of the back and forth they were being subjected to and hadn''t signed up for. Joel could relate.

    With a strangled hiss, Ross crackled, "What the fuck is going on?!" The last few words had to drop precipitously in volume as the waitress who had been taking care of them alongside Sherry returned to cheerfully follow up and remark with a chuckle that the big boy was really putting away the all-you-can-eat breakfast. Brock, however, looked a little on the green side, clearly queasy and pressing a hand against his mouth. That didn''t stop him from replenishing his meat quotient with two more plates.

    The waitress paused after taking down the refills and asked if they wanted their drinks topped off. Then she commented, "You folks are real energetic. Never seen the like in these parts for a good while. Thought y''all would''ve had more of an appetite. You alright? I hope the meals are to your liking. Wouldn''t want to make any of you sick now."

    Joel¡­ Although maybe Roxanne was here to stay for a bit... found her tone odd. It activated the little hairs on the back of her head¡ªthe ones that remained. Nothing about this waitress was unsettling; she was a diminutive lady with glasses and graying hair pulled back about the same as the others. Her folksy concentration seemed a little bit high, but that didn''t bother Joel much.

    Some people liked to play a certain personality and character, and others just acted that way because that''s how they were. It wasn''t that. There was something that rubbed her the wrong way, just like that Agent Cerberus. In fact, what made her uncomfortable this time felt much worse than that other encounter. The best way she could describe it was like a phantom finger sneaking around to touch you where you didn''t wanna be touched, but with words.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Maybe it was a side effect of the lake. Chiara got random hallucinations. Joel got stress paranoia. And Layla was stuck shifting back and forth between boy and girl, getting all queasy. She really hoped that Miranda and Jake weren''t hit with similar symptoms or worse.

    Ross took it upon himself to be the one to answer this time and replied, "Thank you very much; no, no, it''s fine. We''re just college students, so we''re used to subsisting on a little bit of ramen and some leftover snacks, so this kind of meal is a surprise. A very pleasant surprise. Some of us have bigger appetites than others. But that doesn''t mean the food isn''t good. It''s very good."

    The waitress paused noticeably before responding, "College students, you say? You must think we don''t get many of your kind around here, huh? College students." Her smile was pleasant, but something felt off about that response. Roxanne didn''t know what it meant, but the words seemed to linger in her mind longer than usual. Ross grimaced, his jaw clenched, cleared his throat, and answered meekly, "I didn''t mean just suggest anything. I''m sorry."

    The waitress raised her chin slightly and replied with a slow, deliberate pace, "I''m glad to hear it. Don''t you worry now. No hard feelings. Glad y''all are having fun." She turned back towards the kitchen and vanished through the door.

    Roxanne looked around the table. Ross looked like he was the one feigning a headache now, his hands pressed together on his forehead. Probably a real one was coming on. Miranda had her hands folded in front of her face, almost in prayer, and her eyes tightened into concerned slits. Chiara looked flushed, as if she had caught a fever.

    Her eyes were downcast as she continued to just nibble at the massive egg creation in front of her. The most alarming shift was in Brock. Still a man, but the playful glow and carefree attitude that had persisted through so many challenges were gone. His eyes were so tight and fixed that they might as well have been carved into his face. The soft playfulness, like a dancing ocean wave, around his jaw had become unyielding and sullen. Jake was tense and twisted, his muscles flexed to the point that they trembled slightly. Joel knew that his Jess probably couldn''t do much with those guns, but having him beside her and doing her best meant everything. She kissed him softly on the cheek, and he barely even noticed.

    "What on Earth is going on?" Miranda asked in a guarded whisper, not expecting any answers soon.

    To put it all together, Roxanne reflected that one of their waitresses was serial killer creepy, this place was rather unwelcoming, and strange stuff was happening to them. Swiftly moseying along sure seemed like a good idea. She pitched the idea to the group that the next time that woman or anyone else came to their table, they should ask for the check and the boxes so they could leave.

    Layla looked down at her empty plates thoughtfully and wore a disappointed expression, but nodded for Roxanne with certainty. Ross couldn''t even mount a snippy protest; he just nodded and started to push together everything left on his plate for easy packing. Miranda did the same with her food but also pulled out her cell phone to check the signal strength. There wasn''t any¡ªnot even a flicker of a single bar that occasionally popped up like it had earlier down the road. It was the same for the rest of them as they checked their phones. The offline resources provided a brief distraction, but no one wanted to look away from the diner for long, not even Chiara.

    The colors of the place didn''t seem quite as vivid as they had when they first arrived. A subtle fuzziness, almost like an inescapable haze, lingered between the seats, as if the glasses Roxanne didn''t have had to be cleaned to resolve it. Most alarmingly, the same haziness extended out the window, as if the world beyond their booth had been reduced to the blurred colors and shadows of a child''s painting. It wasn''t fog or even the smoke from last year''s Canadian forest fires. It was something else, something unnatural.

    They should''ve run; they should''ve realized something sooner. When had they last looked outside? How quickly had it changed? Where was the car? Why did the parking lot seem both desolately empty and packed with a confusing array of vehicles that looked like theirs but weren''t? They were all missing some crucial detail.

    When had the other customers vanished? Why did it seem like that wasn''t quite the right word for it? Where had all the lights gone? Was it always this dark here? Why had she only noticed this now?

    "Guys? What...?" That was as far as Miranda could get. She looked down and noticed that there were still plates in front of them, but they weren''t filled with a wide variety of breakfast foods but rather dark clumps of moss, like something torn from the deepest shadows of a garden. Feeling around in their mouths, their teeth and tongues were covered with gritty dirt and crushed grasses. It tasted sour in their mouths but also had the musty smell of damp earth, mold, and decaying leaves from a forest floor after the snow had melted. They had been chewing and swallowing this stuff for who knows how long.

    Roxanne wanted to throw up, and the others didn''t look much better. Poor Brock cradled his tummy and looked at all the empty plates in front of him. Chiara flailed and struggled to hack up every bit of what she had swallowed, which admittedly was a lot less than they had consumed. Did she know? Was that why she was so reluctant to eat? Jake searched for something¡ªanything he could use to clean out his mouth. The edge of his sleeve would have to do. Ross trembled wildly as Miranda struggled to help him, but the boy practically threw her off as he tried to get every trace of what she thought were chocolate pancakes out of her throat.

    "So energetic. You love to see that in young people. It''s wonderful. It''s sooo tasty..."

    The waitress stood over by the lunch counter¡ªonly it wasn''t really a lunch counter anymore, but rather a decrepit, burned-out, mostly destroyed surface that might have once been a counter. And the waitress didn''t look anything like she had. Her flesh was glossy, oily pitch-black, with wild, sprawling dark hair, as if she''d violently attacked it with a comb and a razor blade. Her teeth were big, so desperately horrifying big. She had large, yellowy, torn, ugly wings looming above her shoulders. And she wasn''t alone.

    Next to her stood another waitress who looked almost exactly the same, except her hair was twisted and knotted as if it hadn''t been washed in decades. Sherry was also there, as could be seen by the torn, blackened, but still visible name card on her lapel. She had no head, as Chiara said.

    What was left of her looked human enough, but it was a human abandoned in the forest for a long time and somehow preserved well enough to still look human, but with a pervasive, rotten disease of the flesh. Over her headless shoulders peered what looked like a lumpy, shaved rat with wings like spiky, shattered glass, gnarled teeth, and dirty claws. Blank, sightless white eyes watched them.

    "And I''m afraid you can''t leave until breakfast is finished..."

 [13] Mystery Lake 13 â€“ Hollows

    Mystery Lake

    [13] Hollows

    Roxanne knew this had to be a hallucination, just as Miranda speculated was going to happen. It didn''t make any sense why everything would turn into a nightmare and the wait staff into monsters. It was just too much, so it must be a hallucination. She must be imagining this. She closed her eyes and concentrated on forcing herself back to reality.

    When she opened them again, they were still there, but the other customers were no longer missing, or they were missing in a different way. Instead, she saw a collection of forlorn, withered figures seated in the booths and chairs, with only faint wisps of hair or perhaps a fragment of an eye to suggest that they might once have been human. The only thing they had in common with each other was that they all sat with their heads slumped and their arms limp and dangling lifelessly.

    Chiara screamed again, and Brock pulled her into a tight, protective embrace while Miranda reached for Ross, but the boy was like a statue. Roxanne reached for Jake, but the big man already had his arms around her.

    The remains of all the plant-like garbage they had in their mouths clung like rancid peanut butter as Roxanne stammered, "Who are you? What are you?"

    The winged, oily, black-toned women gave each other knowing grins. "Why, we''re the Hollows. Don''t you know us? You smell like fairy, but you''re as dumb as human rocks. What curious things you all are."

    An odor invaded and pervaded Roxanne''s nostrils. It reminded her of the stubborn mold and mildew that he couldn''t seem to get out of her parents'' old shower, no matter how many times he applied elbow grease to every single corner, along with the strongest sprays that made him choke, just to stand in the area for hours afterward. Persistent rot that refused to go away, in a barely human form.

    Jake supported Roxanne with words of his own, held close like a protective bundle. "What do you want from us? Leave us alone!"

    The Hollows chuckled, a moist, twisting sound like a swarm of insects in a swamp invading every human inch. The one closest to Roxanne leaned forward and answered in a surprisingly maternal tone, "Now that''s an odd question. We want nothing but for you all to be full with your breakfast, sweetheart. Aren''t you satisfied? We can bring out more food, as much as you want. You just keep eating and eating, honey. You look so hungry. You poor thing. You''re so skinny. So famished. All skin and bones. Honey, we need to put some meat on you. Just keep on eating. We take good care of you at Molly''s. No one ever leaves hungry."

    Roxanne shivered and shook her head. She doubted anyone left this place alive or anything close to it.

    Plan. She had to come up with a plan, or something terrible was going to happen. Talk. These creatures sure seemed to like talking. She had to keep them talking.

    "I don''t want to complain, but I''m afraid your stuff is a little too vegan for my taste. I''m looking for real meat. Some big thick... kielbasa, I''m talking sausages that would make a man weep." She avoided looking over at Jake to acknowledge her spontaneous inspiration.

    The Hollows blinked with their endless black eyes and tilted their heads. It seemed that this reaction was unexpected for them.

    Roxanne continued, "Not those dinky sausages. A big, fat bratwurst. I''m not looking for anything too fancy, mind you. But a nice, hearty meal, something a growing girl needs. Hard, girthy, and slathered in mustard, the yellow stuff that makes a woman moan." Roxanne demonstrated, moaning and yowling like a cat in heat, "Mmm! I want to feel that meat all the way down. And I can''t stop with just one. I''ll eat two, three of them. Or maybe just one really big one; I''m not too picky."

    She moaned again. Jake''s face was a little red. The Hollows looked at each other. They seemed really confused. Maybe it was working. Roxanne pressed, "Come on, you know you want to give it to me!"

    The waitress in charge approached slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. Her eyes darted over the six as if she didn''t quite understand what was happening. "But why do you need any more meat? We have brought you meat. We brought you everything you asked for and more, sweetheart."

    "That''s just your cutesy salad stuff for little girls, not a meal that would fill me up. I''ve been craving a real man''s meal all day. You can''t deny me my meat. Beef, hamburgers, pork chops! You got those big, juicy steaks? The real deal, not imitation made from grass and dirt, you got those?"

    Her eyes drifted to Brock, who continued to look very skeptical. She was skeptical of herself as well. But if these bastards were gonna play an all-American diner, she was going to ride that as hard as she could. All entendres intended with hard meat love, the kind that made arteries scream with joy.

    "Aren''t you a good old-fashioned diner, serving real, red-blooded meat?" Roxanne''s voice rose in challenge. She would have loved to crack her knuckles loudly and proudly, but her girlish hands wouldn''t let her.

    The lead Hollow''s eyes narrowed to inky slits, and her mouth curled in disgust. "We can serve whatever you like, sweetie."

    Roxanne snorted, "Yeah, right! You don''t have a damn thing on the menu that would put real hair on a pair of diamond-hard, dripping tits! I want my food so hot and greasy it gives me a carpet burn!" That didn''t make any sense, but all the better. To accentuate her point, she let out loud moans of exaggerated pleasure and did a few awkward hip gyrations for good measure.

    Oddly enough, Jess demonstrated this sort of thing as a joke many weeks ago, and Joel''s version at the time had her rolling. Like this, the performance had a little something more. Jake pinched his mouth shut while still holding her.

    The other Hollows chittered and murmured sharply, as if this were the most repulsive thing they had ever witnessed. The lead one backed off, her face twisted as if she just stepped in a pile of shit. She soon regained her composure and continued, "Now, honey, that''s just not the kind of talk I like to hear. Why don''t you relax? We have more food coming up. More than enough. You all just keep eating, and you can stay as long as you like."

    "Nah. I''m full of that stuff. I don''t want any more food from you. I want a juicy bratwurst, one so big that it splits me open. With creamy mustard that coats it so thick that the taste is all you can feel as you suck it off deep in your mouth and swallow it, so that it satisfies you like nothing else." She made slurping noises with her tongue and gave more exaggerated, enthusiastic moans of satisfaction while rhythmically thrusting her hips in front of the Hollows to make the point.

    The others caught on and followed suit. Miranda was surprisingly adept at it, grinding and humping the table as she ran her hands down the curves of her body, squeezing her ass as she slapped it against the cushion. Jake raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes focused on Roxanne, which she appreciated in between acting out the most debased pantomime possible. He got into it as well, thrusting against the wood. Brock whirled and shook himself around, as if he were having a seizure.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Not exactly what Roxanne was going for, but the creatures still looked suitably appalled. Ross''s efforts were rather artificial and forced, but that didn''t seem to be a deal-breaker.

    Chiara''s version, however, made Roxanne so proud again, as the girl threw herself into the act like an exotic dancer bound by the tiny space allotted to her. She even went down between her legs, undulating as she grabbed her breasts and moaned about hot meat. The Hollows recoiled in revulsion, and the nearest cocked her head and put on a voice closer to her human form as she responded, "What the fuck is wrong with you humans?!"

    "I just want to be stuffed like a turkey on Thanksgiving!" Roxanne shouted, "Can''t you give me that?"

    "No!" They said together as one.

    "Why not?! What''s the big deal? You''re a diner! Serve me, I need my sausage!" She made one last dramatic display, moaning and shaking her butt in the air, thrusting it forward for all to see, and pointing it so that it was hard for them to look away. Their mouths hung open, and their heads tilted like confused birds, wondering why in the world a human would make that face or sound, let alone behave like that.

    Finally, it was too much. One of them uttered a horrid hissing sound like steam erupting from a kettle as they retreated to the kitchen. The others quickly followed. As the last one vanished through the door, she turned with an expression as if she wanted to spit. "You''re all crazy!"

    Once they were gone, Roxanne collapsed against Jake. "That was the best I could come up with. If you guys have anything else, let me know."

    "If I think of anything, you''ll be the first to know, bratwurst lover," Jake said, massaging his hip gently and smiling slightly.

    Despite the tension of the moment and the fact that they were still in a dark, ruined, and terrifying diner with creepy figures lifelessly left by the other windows, Miranda laughed softly, as if suppressing a cough, and I asked, "What psychology thing was that? That was amazing."

    Roxanne had absolutely no clue, noting that the only thing she remembered from her barely attended psychology lectures were the names Freud and Jung, and she wasn''t sure how to spell either of them. Jake figured it had some psychological name but couldn''t conjure up the words right then.

    Ross spoke in the quietest whisper, questioning, "Why don''t we just run?"

    In response, Roxanne pointed to the nightmare outside, with a tangle of unknown cars in perpetual darkness surrounding the diner. "If you want to try, be my guest. I don''t know if we''re in a dream, another world, or what, but I will fight it with whatever I have, for everyone I can."

    "Only you...would think of fighting monsters with sex and horniness...." Ross softly groaned, then gasped in panic. "I don''t want to die when I finally might have my life back, and it''s already slipping away. Don''t fuck me." Ross fumed and watched the kitchen door closely.

    There was no possibility of actual cooking or any of the other tricks of it being a diner. They all braced each other for the next round of whatever was to come. Brock looked genuinely worn out for the first time that Jake could recall. They waited. Breathing came in hesitant bursts. The patches of underbrush and dirt in their mouths that they had once thought were breakfast still lingered despite coughing and spitting up as much as possible.

    The glasses of water left on the table looked so perfect, but there were so many exhausting illusions that those had to be just one more. A mouthful of choking sand.

    "They are old and picky..."

    The voice came from the counter. It sounded just like Sherry''s and, at the same time, like a poor imitation gurgling out of a mouth that didn''t exist anymore.

    "I don''t care. And I will show them that even though I am young, I can be just as fierce."

    The headless corpse, with the rat thing perched on its shoulder, stepped towards the table. Sherry''s ruined hands extended to ensnare each of their wrists. Roxanne felt her strength slip away.

    She tried to pull herself to her feet and yank free from the trap, but it was as if she was pulling on dead, numb flesh that extended everywhere from Sherry and all over her own body.

    A chill ran up her spine, and her stomach turned to fire. But her hands were gently pulled down to rest on her own lap. She felt something else¡ªa tingle at the tip of her nose and the faintest brush of lips across her forehead¡ªlike a parent would give to a child. Not her parents, but other parents¡ªbetter parents. She felt warm, protected, and safe. She didn''t need to fear the thing she was so afraid of.

    Her head lolled around, as if the bones inside were no longer holding it together. She could see the others in a similar state as Sherry gently pulled each of their heads back, like a child playing with dolls, to get a better look at them, as if she still had eyes.

    Roxanne could see Chiara with the same nervous, trusting smile, wanting to believe the world was a beautiful and hopeful place where strangers could be trusted. Miranda, with gentle, heartfelt, warm concern, shyly dancing around her gender issues with cautious boldness. Brock, with his exuberant, boundless energy, bringing light to all the dark spaces with just a little turn of his lips.

    Ross with his tension and frowns, but it wasn''t the kind he usually had; it was the strength of a protector, remembering his past of abandonment but hardening that pain into love and productive help. And Jake, beautiful Jake, with his concern for others, even when he should have been pulling himself up, his brows turned inward and his mouth tight with the scrutiny of love, making sure that every smile was genuine and not a shallow cover for fear.

    Some were her friends, some still strangers, and some annoying faces she really didn''t want to see. But she was so happy for each and every one of them as the room brightened and cleared, if only in her heart. It was fine. Everything was fine. They just needed to keep eating; they just needed to relax and be polite to their hosts. That was all there was to it, and then...

    The bell at the front of the diner tinkled gently, so lightly that it seemed like it was a mile away and underwater, but she could still hear it. Through the consuming mass throbbing against her ears, there was a voice¡ªa man''s voice like gravel gliding across stone.

    "Hello there. Are you open? My name is Cerberus, Agent Cerberus with the county Health Department. I''m afraid I have a few questions for you."

 [14] Mystery Lake 14 â€“ Help

    Mystery Lake

    [14] Help

    The remains of Sherry and the parasite on her shoulder shrieked and skittered away like a flurry of bats in a cave. The other Hollows stepped forward as she retreated.

    "You... what do you want? This is not your place. This is not your space. Go away!"

    Cerberus was dressed as he had the last time they had met: thick black glasses and the same suit, though he had ditched the helmet. In the vast darkness of the diner, he looked more like the outline of a person than the actual shape.

    "These kids are my responsibility. They are leaving with us. If you have any objections, my associate Rydia and I will kindly take them under advisement. But you won''t like our advice."

    A hulking mass shifted in the darkness, as if a piece of the firmament itself had aggressively stepped forward. The growl that emerged was more like the earth shifting than a human voice. Roxanne couldn''t see Rydia, but she could feel her presence.

    "This is not your business; this is our feeding ground. You''re interfering!"

    "You have no idea what is or is not my business. And you don''t want to get on my bad side, Hollows." Cerberus replied without a single trace of fear or hesitation. "Let them go, or you will regret it in ways you cannot imagine."

    It was hard for Roxanne to see with all the black-on-black and dark creatures, but she was sure that Cerberus''s arms were much longer than they should have been, and it felt like his shape extended in all directions, as if he were the embodiment of the night sky, a void between the stars that consumed all and left nothing behind.

    Barry told Joel about that once, and it really stuck¡ªabout how empty space was, so infinitely, maddeningly empty. How could it be so empty? And that emptiness, that endless, empty, hungry, consuming abyss, was now staring down a pack of creatures she didn''t know were dark fairies, ghouls, or whatever with broken glass wings. And those same terrifying creatures...now looked like they wanted to cry for their mommies.

    Their tone immediately shifted to a demure, respectful note barely above a whisper. "We apologize if we have offended you and your associate. It was not our intention to anger. We were only feeding. It is what we do, as we have done for ages. The little one is young and still working on her visions, and they smelled so good¡ªan easy meal for the youngling. But they sour their flavor with coarse, wicked humanity. They are free to go with you or wherever they please. There are better, purer souls elsewhere."

    Cerberus took a few steps forward and remarked, "That''s a lot of talk. I''m a talker myself. But right now, I am more in the mood for results, if you please."

    A crunch, like fingers snapping together violently, filled the air in the space, which suddenly felt much warmer and brighter. Roxanne looked up and was almost blinded by the noonday sun. They were in the parking lot, sitting on the sidewalk. She turned around to look at the diner. It was nothing but a cement slab with some minor supports, a worn, faded fence surrounding the property, and a dense collection of overgrown shrubs and wild plants. The elevated sign for Molly''s diner was still there, but it was barely a trace of white on broken lights. The cracked and gravelly parking lot contained only one car, theirs. There was no one else but the six of them in sight. They were alone.

    "Can we fucking go now?" Ross asked, not so much for permission but as a plea thrown behind him as he sprang to his feet and rushed over to the car. The others soon followed suit. It took Chiara a shaky moment to press her key into the lock and open the doors for the group. They swiftly assumed all their previous seating positions, although it looked like Ross wanted to cling to as much of the front of the car as possible, not because he wanted to sit with Roxanne or anyone else, but more because it put as much distance as possible between him and that damned diner.

    Chiara practically looked like a wavy blur with all the shivering she was doing, fumbling with the ignition and the wheel. Miranda, back in her seat beside her, reached over and wrapped her hands around Chiara''s arm to calm her down. The shaking lessened but didn''t stop. It was enough to help her guide the key into the ignition and start it up. A moment of silence lingered in the cabin before the engine roared to life, as if waking from a long nap. The clock on the central touchscreen read shortly after one in the afternoon. All-you-can-eat breakfast was over.

    Everyone clung tightly to their seats, as if they were perfect statues, all obediently propped up. As Chiara swung around the car, she squeaked in alarm as Cerberus stood in their path with one arm raised above his head. Roxanne was pretty sure that he hadn''t been there a minute ago, but that was the least surprising thing about him lately. He brought his hand down, and Roxanne noticed that he was holding a large metal thermos in his other hand. Calmly, he gestured for them to roll forward and shuffled over to stand on the driver''s side. Chiara slowly advanced, her feet trembling above both the brake and the accelerator. She slowed the car to a stop right next to the strange man in black and gradually lowered the window.

    Cerberus leaned toward the window to look in, but kept a healthy distance. He cleared his throat and said, "Nasty bunch. Sorry you had to deal with that, but it''s been taken care of. At least it wasn''t squirrels. I promise you''ll all feel better once you put some distance between you and this place. Your stomach may feel a little upset, but that should pass soon. You''ll soon feel quite hungry again."

    He turned and pointed to the two-lane highway. "I recommend Pete''s Truck Stop just right down that road, no turns, about three kilometers. If you''re looking for something hardier, I can vouch for Sophia''s off of West River Branch. You just take the second left and follow it to the local Grange. Big purple building, for some reason, but clearly marked. Damn fine cup of green tea, too." He emphasized the point by showing off his thermos.

    Cerberus concluded their conversation. "I hope you folks have a nice rest of your day and vacation, and I really hope we don''t need to run into each other again." Roxanne was sure there was more he wanted to say, but he didn''t. Chiara''s hands remained firmly on the wheel as her head nodded through everything Cerberus said like an obedient bobblehead doll.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    The man in black didn''t bother to wave or say goodbye. Chiara carefully accelerated away from the remains of the diner and the parking lot that now seemed so desolate. As promised, the nagging feeling that they had eaten rotten wild grasses and dirt faded. But it left their tongues parched and their bellies grumbling¡ªBrock''s, most of all, for the loss. One concern nagged at Roxanne that she suspected would never get answered: Where and how did they go to the bathroom? Her hands didn''t appear dirty and didn''t have any lingering odors on them either. Perhaps best not to think about it. They passed around water from the back and held the lukewarm bottles close.

    Roxanne knew there was a hell of a lot to say about all that, but no one could or wanted to talk about it. Those who could check their phones found that the tiny data bar that had been popping in and out was finally back, though not with enough connection to be even remotely useful as a distraction from all the recent events. Roxanne actually considered picking up the blasted romance book she had abandoned beside her feet. She looked behind her.

    Layla was back, with her sleeves flapping gently, as she seemed to slowly be recovering to her usual level of enthusiasm. She was humming and bobbing her head, but not making a sound. The watch from Cerberus was still on our wrist. She had to wonder if he was tracking them with it, and maybe that wasn''t a bad thing.

    She reflected on all that had happened since they stopped, not that she expected to make much sense of it. Fake diner like a spider trap. Dark predators teaching a young one how to hunt. And the smell of fairies. Apparently, they had that on them. It felt like more than a hunch, but Roxanne suspected it had something to do with the lake.

    Well, if they ever ran into something like that again, she knew that insulting their prudish sensibilities was one way to go, though they still needed outside help.

    The road ahead of them straightened out, feeling more like a proper thoroughfare than a secret, fragile ribbon of cement barely carved into the ground, tracing the strange contours of the wilderness. Next to Layla, but so very far away, Ross curled up like a forgotten fly on a windowsill and stared blankly through.

    Chiara and Miranda considered using one of their phones to play some music over the audio system, but Miranda grimaced as she scrolled through the autoplay selections on her phone. Though a hesitant film major, Duncan had collected a wide and eclectic list of ambient and suspenseful official soundtracks and instrumentals.

    When he went over to visit Duncan''s dorm, his friend wasn''t just in the middle of a regular afternoon nap but an epic final battle between good and evil. Joel didn''t mind his musical choices. It just wasn''t the music for right now, when they were all still reeling. Chiara''s phone was probably still full of upbeat and energetic Japanese pop tunes with a mix of K-pop and other, similar-sounding stuff beyond Joel''s awareness. Layla would likely and happily get into it any day, even right now. But it would still feel strange.

    Joel could probably guess what kind of music was on Ross''s phone and figured it would just be a downer for the group. And Layla''s playlist would probably have the same problem as Chiara''s. Not that Roxanne thought that Joel''s or Jess''s taste in music would have been any better. He leaned towards classic rock and techno, dance, and electronica for workouts; Jess definitely had some spillover from Joel, along with alternative and indie. Maybe this moment didn''t call for musical accompaniment. Just push down the road to somewhere far, far away from here.

    It wasn''t long before the truck stop that the agent had mentioned came into view, with a bigger, bolder sign than Molly''s. Chiara slowed down and checked with her co-pilot, then behind her. She didn''t ask any questions, but none of them looked like they were ready to answer. She pulled into the stop, which wasn''t quite as big as a Buc-ees Joel knew from family trips down South, but it still looked comfortable with plenty of options to replace what had been sublimated away from their bellies.

    Parking was slow and creeping to get around the busy gas pumps, but they found a spot off to the side near a display of propane accessories. Chiara parked perfectly in the bright white lines between two other cars, leaving everyone plenty of space to open their doors. She shut off the engine and slumped forward, resting her forehead on the wheel and letting out a sigh that was more of a whimper, but she didn''t cry. A long spell of quiet filled the car, interrupted only by muffled announcements from a loudspeaker at the front of the building, vague pop songs, and the faint conversations of people coming and going, paying and peeing.

    No one wanted to move or say anything. Miranda eased back into her seat, as if she had just finished a 10K race, and gave herself a few steadying breaths. Jake leaned gently against Roxanne''s head while her hands gripped his tightly. It wasn''t until then that she realized her eye had been twitching. She had no idea for how long.

    Behind them, Layla leaned forward in her seat and spoke in a calm, warm, full, and caring voice like everyone''s mother when they were at their lowest and most frightened: "It''s okay. It''s over. We''re safe now."

    They all needed that to give them something to hold on to, even if it was a comforting lie, and an even worse set of horrors was poised to drop on them next, and this truck stop was another cruel illusion about to ensnare them.

    The six released their seatbelts and scooted their way to the doors. When they stepped outside, it felt strikingly warm, like stepping out of cold storage and never noticing for the longest time how frigid they''d been. But this was normal for April in Michigan.

    This was real. It had to be. Roxanne noted a variety of truckers striding by. Several gave them lingering looks, with one whistle aimed in the general direction of Chiara and Miranda.

    Yeah, real enough.

 [15] Mystery Lake 15 â€“ Hold On

    Mystery Lake

    [15] Hold On

    Before they went in, they asked Layla if she could shift to male mode since Brock''s outfit made her look like she just crawled out of bed and threw on a theoretical boyfriend''s duds in less than a minute.

    She strained and squatted like she was trying to pass a difficult amount of gas, but her form didn''t deviate one inch from her normal Layla configuration. Maybe her hair twinkled, but that could have been a trick of the light. She stopped before she got woozy and admitted, "I feel like my tummy just doesn''t want to do it. Too hungry, too disheartened, umm...disstomachated? Disstomacheted?"

    Absolutely not a word, but Roxanne didn''t mind. Miranda frowned, though. Layla noted that she was wary about trying to transition back because jumping between the two really bothered her and nearly made her "Charlie", which was her name for ''ralph''.

    She gave no further explanation about her terminologies, but in the back of the car she changed into a variation of her regular clothes, with more of a slant toward spinning psychedelic, bold colors splattered willy-nilly over fluttering shorts and a loose, long-sleeved top with just a hint of midriff. This time, she grabbed a few eyeballs of her own, but they mainly belonged to one woman with big glasses, vaguely resembling Jess''s, who scrutinized her with the full force of her eyebrows, as if she had just committed the gravest crimes of fashion.

    The men, a smattering of stray truckers along with frazzled fathers trudging back to their cars, caught one glimpse of her and reacted as if they had inadvertently caught a full-force glimpse of the sun somewhere in the overcast sky above. One even let out an open-mouthed, silent scream. Layla looked as pleased as punch, as if this result was exactly what she had been aiming for. Chiara slipped over to Layla''s right side and carefully maneuvered her dainty hand as if performing a human crane game, looking for the right spot to safely position her arm to support her.

    Layla practically jumped at Chiara, squeezing both arms around the startled girl and pressing their lips together in the most insistent kiss. The kiss continued relentlessly, with Layla leading the way with her ravenous mouth motions, to the point where Roxanne worried if Chiara would remember to breathe through her nose, or at all, and not pass out.

    When Layla finally released her, Chiara looked more like a posable statue, with Botox shot into her features. Her lips dangled helplessly, unsure of what to do now with the rest of their existence. She looked across the short span of pavement at the others. Roxanne sent her a smile of encouragement¡ªthe first smile she truly felt in what must have been an eternity. Ross just looked stunned, but not unhappy, and was resisting the urge to look over at Miranda, even though they had done far more adventurous things not too long ago. Roxanne wanted to smooch Jake so hard right then, but she also wanted to see what happened next with Chiara. She had some thoughts and a few words prepared in her mind. But she was not prepared for what actually happened.

    Chiara moved her head a few ways with uncertainty, as if someone had the remote control for her gestures, but they weren''t quite sure how the knobs and switches worked yet. She looked over at Layla, who still had a full-blown, gleeful smile spread across her lips, invading her cheeks. Chiara leaped for Layla, wrapping her up in an unrestrained hug and practically twirling her around, while giving her the full embrace of her lips and a kiss just as insistent. That drew a few stray whoops behind them that weren''t entirely from the men.

    Chiara didn''t hold her version of the kiss quite as long, pulling away with an irrepressible smile that refused to leave her lips. Layla gave a pretty little peck on those lips and smiled back just as warmly. Roxanne gave her friend a full round of applause. The others in their group were the only ones who joined in. Now Chiara decided it was time for her to be embarrassed and sheepish about this. Once again, they needed this.

    The interior of the truck stop was much bigger than Roxanne expected. Most of it was about the same as any full-service gas station, with a wide area dedicated to snacks, drinks, and little metal rollers keeping hot an assortment of hot dogs, cylindrical chicken fingers, and greasy morning sausages. Roxanne was tempted to fulfill her prior declaration, but these looked alarmingly dark.

    There were three decent-sized aisles dedicated to various automobile-related products, from air fresheners to batteries to full-size coolers. On clearance were a few remaining winter essentials like ice scrapers, snow brushes, yooper chooks, blankets, and snow boots. Beyond that were a few more aisles of trinkets for tourists that toed the line between American and Canadian: little fluttering pennants and stars and stripes banners next to hockey paraphernalia, maple leaf stickers, and candy.

    A large freezer section offered up many choices, but Roxanne had to turn away. She swung around to gaze out the large windows at the world that still existed beyond. Reassurance. And she wasn''t the only one; Ross had also wandered back to the automatic door, as if she were taking a free dive and it was the only source of air. Soon, Jake and Chiara followed, with Layla close behind.

    Roxanne knew what this was; she paid enough attention to Jess and her psychology notes on PTSD to understand what they were going through. Some part of her thought she was tougher than that, but it didn''t matter how tough you thought you were. It was just how the body responded to trauma.

    They would probably have to get one of the long tables and face the windows while they ate, just for that added bit of reassurance¡ªthe reminder they weren''t locked away in the dark with monsters anymore.

    Hunger and all the surrounding smells brought them to finally focus on the fresh meals on offer. The stop had four separate, smaller versions of major chain restaurants crammed into a still-sizable area, with about a dozen large tables spread out and mostly occupied except for the wide one in the corner they grabbed. Layla and Chiara were again the adventurous ones, with their chairs facing away from the window but still slightly turned, while Jake and Miranda pushed their seats to the side to split a bit of both, while Roxanne tried not to make anything of the fact that she was sitting on the same side as Ross. Trauma didn''t mean weakness.

    They again took turns together, using the spacious restrooms with nearby showers and a lounge, but Jake and Ross went first. When it was the girls'' turn, Chiara looked like she was about to turn into a giant tomato at the stark realization of where she was going with Layla. Not that it mattered a single lick to Layla as she nearly hoisted Chiara up like a prize and pranced to the potty.

    Roxanne looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eye was still twitching, and she could feel dark shadows around her bright blue eyes, even though she couldn''t see them. Her black hair looked like it had been trampled by elephants and blasted by a hurricane. Her tanned skin had taken on a pale tint that was easy to see under the harsh, artificial lights above.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Miranda scooted over and gently bumped Roxanne''s shoulder, giving her a quiet, sympathetic smile. Behind them, it looked like Layla was the friendliest shark, dragging Chiara away into the extra-large stall to pee together. Or something like that. It was hard for her to tell with that one, and she preferred not knowing for sure.

    Once some measure of quiet had settled in the area, Miranda asked, "You okay?"

    Roxanne looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eye was still twitching and she could feel dark shadows around her bright blue eyes, even though she couldn''t see them. Her black hair looked like it had been trampled by elephants and blasted by a hurricane. Her tanned skin had taken on a pale tint easy to see under with the harsh, artificial lights above.

    Miranda didn''t look much better, even though Duncan''s brownish curls were usually a little messed up, and that pale, freckled face always tended to look tired. But on a girl as cute and pretty as he was now, the signs of strain were all the more obvious. Roxanne noticed that she was holding on tightly to the edges of the sink for support.

    Without thinking about it, Roxanne wrapped an arm around Miranda''s shoulder and pulled her into a hug. The girl rested her head against her and didn''t say anything; she just took several long, uneasy breaths, like every effort was expended to keep air in her lungs. This hug didn''t have an expiration date, just as long as she wanted it.

    For a moment, it sounded like Miranda might start crying, but she held whatever she had together.

    "So weird that turning into girls was not the strangest thing that happened today," she mumbled with a small laugh. Roxanne just nodded in response.

    Behind them, the stalls did the faintest bit to muffle whatever it was that the lovebirds were doing. Slowly, Miranda released herself from the hug and splashed her face as Roxanne had done. Giggles could be heard, and that was all Roxanne wished to know.

    Miranda went to do her business while Roxanne decided to check out the options for a shower. The waiting room lounge contained a handful of male truckers leaning forward to watch a basketball game, and a Nintendo Switch, with a few scattered controllers on locked cords, displayed the opening screen of a wrestling game. The touchscreen claimed there were no showers open at the moment, but there would be soon. The price was a little more than she wanted to pay, but she reluctantly reserved one.

    Back in the cafeteria area, Layla and Chiara had already returned and pushed their chairs together to slide freely between the seats. Jake had word about the food options, with opinions about each. No all-you-can-eat anything, which Layla lamented, but they did have a decent-looking pizza place, Asian fusion, a small burger stand, and questionable tacos along with the usual gas station fare, plus some offerings for coffee and a huge soda machine that covered the far wall.

    Roxanne let Jake choose for her, so long as it was comforting and filling. Pizza seemed to be the ideal choice all around, although Ross opted for the house noodles with as much meat as he could get. Chiara lent Roxanne the car keys so she could look over the clothing options in the back. Jake winked at the fact that maybe they could share a shower. Roxanne responded that it might be a good idea because of the cost and asked if he wanted her to grab a change of clothes for him.

    Jake raised an eyebrow in concern and lightly touched Roxanne''s cheek while asking the same question that Miranda had put to her: "Are you okay?"

    She didn''t really answer Jake either, giving him a soft kiss on his manly but smooth cheek and then on his lips before sharing a calm smile. Jake let it go and said that she could grab whatever out of the car she thought might look good on him, probably something that Joel used to wear. There were a few alternates they hadn''t gone with by the lake. As for what Roxanne would change into, she had some thoughts. As long as it wasn''t those impossibly tight jeans of doom, she joked.

    Alone, Roxanne traced her way back through the automatic doors and around anonymous faces that she sensed were probably checking out her ass or sneaking a peek at her modest rack as she made her way to the car. She popped open the side door and scooted over to the back. It had plenty of space back here, even with the rear seat up. The windows were also lightly tinted. A couple of them probably could have camped out in this.

    As she shut the door behind her and crouched down to look at the bags, she noticed that her vision was blurry. Tears...damn tears. They tried to get her as she comforted new boy Jake and then reading that blasted pulpy romance crap... Estrogen trying to mess with her again.

    She tried to wipe away the tears, but more kept coming. She squeezed a hand to her mouth, clenched her eyes shut, and felt the sobs whimper out of her throat as her chest ached. And they just kept coming as her sobs grew stronger. She had to press her head against the floor of the car to muffle them as best she could. She should''ve saved this for the damn shower. It didn''t matter if you cried in the shower, and the walls were probably thicker.

    Just get up, Roxanne; don''t whimper and weep on the floor like a baby. Go and shower, and it''ll all be better. You can get clean again, like you need to. That''s what a shower is for. Get the damn dirt off of you. Let the pain wash away, let the fear drain off, send it away. Just stop it! Stop being like this. You, you stupid... stupid, useless... weak idiot! Get up! Get up, Roxanne! You''re supposed to be a man! Act like one! You don''t deserve to cry!

    Her teeth bit into her lower lip, and she tried to hold her breath to stem the tears, but they kept coming, no matter what she did. And no one was coming to save her, to hold her, to tell her it was okay.

    Because you don''t need it. Because you don''t deserve it. Because you''re a fucking man between the ears, where it counts! Get up! Get the hell up, you worthless piece of shit! You''re not supposed to be crying like this! You don''t have the right! You''re not weak! You''re strong! You''re supposed to protect others, not let them protect you! You''re the one who''s supposed to comfort them, not the other way around!

    She had no idea how long she stayed on the floor of the car, just sobbing. When the last tears fell and the sobs stopped, it felt like the hardest workout she''d ever done, but without the rush of endorphins and accomplishment that followed it. She could''ve just laid on the carpet for hours. It was already minutes¡ªtoo many minutes. The others would come to check on her, and she couldn''t let them find her like this. But her body was exhausted, her mind was drained, and her soul ached with a lingering emptiness.

    She was a hollow shell.

 [16] Mystery Lake 16 â€“ Recovery

    Mystery Lake

    [16] Recovery

    Roxanne pulled herself up carefully, just trying to remember how to breathe normally and keep her hands steady and her mouth straight, so she didn''t look like she''d just spent ten minutes sobbing in the trunk of the car. She needed to find a change of clothes for herself and Jake.

    Finding stuff for her transformed girlfriend was easier than looking for something she felt like putting on. Joel wasn''t the kind of guy to pack a lot of changes of clothes, but fortunately, Jess had done the bulk of the packing while he was still waking up and processing that he had said yes to a trip to this unknown lake upstate. She didn''t realize that she was actually packing for herself. Roxanne grabbed Jake a stretchy, flexible, space-themed polyester top with stars and nebulae splashed across in bright, vibrant colors and gray jeans.

    For herself, Roxanne considered a pair of simple denim cut-off shorts and a black shirt but put them aside for later. She rummaged through the options until her hand found something unexpected: a pale pink dress with an absolute forest of flowers swarming all over it. A dark sash wrapped around the waist, and the sleeves were relatively long, but the fabric didn''t feel heavy. The hem would probably be quite low on her, but there was no danger of it dragging on the ground. She knew this was one of Jess''s dresses. That she was even considering wearing something like this bewildered her, and yet the color was so vibrant and cheerful... like she wanted to feel.

    Screw it; she was going to try it. To hell with what was screaming in her head about how she had to look and act like a guy and all the other bullshit. Just put on a freaking dress and be a girl for a while. It won''t kill ya. It''s just some dumb clothes. The group had avoided the issue of underwear, and she didn''t think there was anything that would fit her comfortably, but she found a pair of silk shorts that clung to her shape. Her previously liberated kitty wasn''t happy with the confinement, but at least it was better than those damn pants practically crushing bones.

    Up top, she had conceded that jiggle was just a thing that happened to this body. At least it was nowhere near the scale of the others. One of Jess''s older sports bras looked promising. She was probably committing some awful fashion faux pas for which the lady who criticized Layla would turn around and tut-tut about her crime as well, but trying it out was kind of nice.

    Luckily, they had packed plenty of trash bags for the trip, so she stashed the clothes in them and took a few final breaths before leaving the car and striding back to the truck stop. She didn''t notice anyone sizing her up like a slab of meat this time around, but maybe she was just becoming desensitized to it.

    When she got back to the table, she saw that Ross had a large, still-steaming plate of noodles stuffed with beef, chicken, and shrimp. The others were splitting practically a whole combo pizza lacking peppers between the four of them. Jake hopped up from the table and retrieved several slices from a warming pan on the counter. They were all meat-lovers-style, with large portions of sausage included. Roxanne quickly dug in and made sure Jake got an appreciative smooch. She plastered over any sense that she might have been crying with exuberance for this meal and a focus on the others.

    Chiara squinted with concern, as if she could see through all of her cheerful bullshit. Miranda looked around nervously, like she was worried she had missed some vital cue that she should have caught but didn''t. Jake noticed, too, but held his tongue, even though Roxanne could tell there were concerned words sitting on the edge of speech.

    She suspected that their shower would be full of questions she wasn''t interested in answering. Ross kept his head down and simply scarfed down the noodles, grabbing as many as he could and hoping they wouldn''t dissolve into nothingness or worse.

    Layla didn''t go to town on the pizza as adamantly as the false breakfast. Roxanne suspected it wasn''t a factor of fear but rather a matter of wanting to enjoy it at Chiara''s measured pace. The depth of gas station food grease also played a part. Even the sparse vegetables looked like they had been caramelized and cooked into honorary meat masses. Maybe Ross had the right idea in sticking with fresh fried noodles. But pizza was comfort food, and Roxanne needed the comfort.

    She fought to savor it, to slow down and take in each bite instead of stuffing it down to make her forget. Gulps of water helped her pace it, especially the free, icy water from the large, wall-mounted soda machine. Her guts responded swiftly to that, shoving whatever remained from the dark diner toward the last door. If only the rest of her could let go of that place so simply. She managed to shove as much of the meaty pizza into herself as possible without breaking down the exit. It wasn''t a pleasant balance, but it would resolve itself soon, one way or another.

    Roxanne clung to a restful moment of stomach satisfaction before the gurgling began. Back to the big, fancy bathroom to put in some sitting time. Everybody poops. Just because she had a girlish form didn''t alter any of that most human equalizer. Still had guts, and they still had shit to do.

    Clearing house certainly helped and tempted her to invite another slice or two to join the pizza family party, but the limit was already here. No need to push a good thing over the edge. She did lament the fact that the people working the pizza place only set out packets of crushed peppers and parmesan after they were stuffed.

    Roxanne had managed to keep her side bundle a delicate secret through lunch. Jake was permitted to peek at the clothes she picked for him, but only that much. He approved, but also raised his eyebrows with questions about when he was going to join in the shower activities. With a wink, Roxanne assured him that he wouldn''t be left out.

    "I just need a few minutes," Roxanne sighed, rubbing her eye in a place that just refused to get rid of the grit.

    "Without me?" Jake asked with a distinct pout.

    "For myself." Roxanne leaned her forehead against his and gave him a soft kiss. "Just me and my thoughts."

    "Just for a few minutes, I hope." Jake gave the base of her neck a little peck and whispered, "I have thoughts I want to share too."

    Roxanne couldn''t help but blush as she reluctantly parted from Jake, with a few more pecks as reminders, and made her way to the showers.

    The automated system had called her number a few minutes ago as she was finishing her pizza. It printed her individual passcode, which had no noted restrictions on sharing and even an encouragement that couples and partners could shower together if they wished. Just clean up after.

    A long shiver of several emotions rushed through her body. She had strutted around naked at the lake, practically wanting to jump Jake''s freshly boy bones and sweet sausage, but now that crazy edge was wearing off. It was just sex, but it felt monumentally different in this form. Something new and strange from a different perspective. She was in the girl side''s shoes, and it presented a lot of issues when you sat down and accepted the full context. Layla had the luxury of bouncing around physical forms like a happy little pinball, but Roxanne doubted it would ever have been much of an imposition for that girl.

    Jess shared her thoughts on the physical nature of their relationship, back when things were normal. They communicated and listened a lot before they did the deed. Protection was important, though they trusted each other as their first and only so far. But Roxanne knew intimately that her feelings were different as the intended recipient of contact rather than the provider. The fuckee rather than the fucker, put crudely.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    It wasn''t the remarkable swath of kielbasa that filled her with all these unfamiliar feelings, although she knew she should have been wary of that department. It was the whole ball of wax. It was accepting a role that made her stomach gurgle something fierce, no matter how good or bad the pizza felt within her.

    There was a difference between messing around with some scrambled parts and being intimate with the person you loved in ways you had never ever considered before. They had fooled around a bit with butt stuff and some role-playing, but neither of them had been into domination on Jess''s end or anything they thought was really out there. What they wanted together was comfort and security. At least Roxanne thought so.

    What if putting it up her turned the new boy into a sex maniac? Okay, it was a ridiculous thought. But not being in charge, not being in control, shook her to the core. She was so much smaller, lighter, and weaker than before. Jake could easily do whatever he wanted to her. He could press her up against the wall and run his big, strong hands all the way down her naked body. Squeeze her and make her beg for... wait a dang minute... what was she thinking? Was she actually afraid of this, or¡­ was she turned on? Stupid estrogen.

    She needed to clear her head with the shower. That was all she needed. Just a few minutes to wash away all the bad, all the confusion, and all the pain. Then she could deal with everything else. Just give her this.

    The code worked on the door on the first try, and she peeked inside. Joel had tried one of these for the heck of it at the end of a long, solo road trip. That had been in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, and the lights were half burned out, with an oppressive aroma of cleanser splattered everywhere, along with the distinct impression that the room had been pilfered from an old hospital and planted here. This one was adorned in solid, grayish burgundy tile that looked like it could survive an apocalypse or two and not even suffer a scratch.

    There was a place for her bags, all her possessions, and some built-in metal hangers for her clothes. Practically a resort level of amenities for this kind of place. She put a quarter in to dispense a mini bar of chokingly pungent soap and quickly undressed.

    The shower itself was basic. But there was plenty of room for three or more people to stand under the head and do whatever they liked. She cautiously stood with her legs apart and leaned against the wall experimentally, with nothing particular in mind¡ªexcept turning on the faucet and letting the water wash over her.

    Like every public shower ever made, it had little warning between shooting out ice-cold, screaming jets of lancing pain, immediately followed by steaming, angry walls of fire hotter than the sun. Stretching over to the side like a ballerina dancer, she carefully turned the knob until the blasting water static settled into the most harmonious form it could provide. At least water pressure wasn''t a problem.

    She stood under the stream, eyes shut tight, and let it blast like her own personal power wash, soaking her skin, saturating her spirit, and sending all the bad things to a watery grave. It took several minutes before she even went hunting for her soap. A little hand towel to collect suds and gently scrub would''ve been preferable, but her skin was just going to have to put up with the fact that she wasn''t the most tender caretaker. No regiments of creams and moisturizers. No treatments or exfoliation routines. Not even any fancy loofahs. It just had to suck it up and not be a little bitch about it. That was the deal, right, skin?

    Her breasts did receive careful treatment, though, as it didn''t seem right to treat the girls quite so roughly. But her face could take it. The twitching eye couldn''t be scrubbed away. In fact, the soap made it worse, giving her the feeling that the orb was about to sneak out of its socket and go rolling across the room.

    A few more minutes, and she would have no remaining credible excuse for leaving Jake out. Stretching around carefully, she sent a long text with the code number, which otherwise just said, "Ready." Although she had no idea if she really was.

    Jake knocked gently on the door and waited for Roxanne''s clear confirmation before opening it. She stayed in the shower nook until the door completely clicked shut. Sneaking a peek around the wall, Roxanne saw that Jake remembered to bring all the things that a good skin and body carer wouldn''t think twice about. Even a loofah.

    She had also neglected towels, so it was a good idea that Jake had several. Roxanne stepped around the corner of the open shower, dripping, increasingly cold, and fully exposed. It wasn''t the first time, but it felt deeply personal.

    Jake looked at her softly and stepped closer to stroke her cheek.

    "You look better. You stopped crying."

    Roxanne tensed up. "How did you know?"

    "I know you. I saw when you almost burst into tears pulling me out of the water, and I saw when my silly book yanked on your emotions. And you were away for several minutes. Your eyes don''t turn red and puffy that much, but I could still tell. You didn''t even try to hide it."

    Roxanne wanted to say something tough and confident in response¡ªnot a rough rejection, but a sure-footed pivot. Blame the dust in the back and the smell of some of the clothes for irritating her eyes. Just a little bit of tearing up, nothing that major. But she totally broke down and cried right there in front of Jake. No holding back, no restraint¡ªnothing to stem the flow.

    Jake pulled her into a close, comforting embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling his hands stroke her soaked hair and caress her dripping skin.

    "You were so strong back at the diner, so brave," he said quietly, "but even heroes cry sometimes and need someone to help them."

    She lost it, she totally lost it all, sobbing loudly into Jake, his shoulder barely muffling her as the tears rolled down her cheeks and her body shaking with sobs as the stress, the fear, the exhaustion, everything she''d held in as private pain spilled all over Jake. He held her tight and grabbed a big, fluffy towel to keep her warm. They stayed like that for several minutes¡ªan embarrassingly long time for Roxanne¡ªbut Jake held her tight and stayed with her.

    "How do you feel now?" He asked after the worst of the sobbing had finally ceased, and all that remained were sniffling tears.

    "Like both warmed-over and frozen crap," Roxanne replied, wiping her eyes and trying to smile weakly. "But I''ll live. Just... just don''t tell anybody, please. About me crying. It''s just between us, okay?"

    "Of course. Always. You like to say you''ll always pull me to shore, but sometimes the currents in life get to be too much and you need to swim together instead of pulling all the weight by yourself."

    Roxanne raised a damp eyebrow and commented, "You might be stretching that metaphor a bit...but I''ll try to keep that in mind."

    They smiled together, and a calm peace settled over them. Softly, Jake inquired, "Is there anything else you''d like to just keep between the two of us?" His eyes twinkled with that unmistakable Jess mischief.

    Roxanne had no idea what bright, embarrassing color her whole face and probably body turned in the aftermath of that question, but she felt hot enough to flash dry herself off.

    Before her determination failed, she responded, "Yes." And had to just barely restrain herself from ripping off Jake''s clothes.

 [17] Mystery Lake 17 â€“ Shower Sex

    Mystery Lake

    [17] Shower Sex

    Jake got undressed for her before something was torn in her fervor. Roxanne marveled at him for a quiet moment. The alluring ways the freaky magic of that lake had twisted the template of Jess and infused it with reasonable and absurd masculinity were a revelation. The lean contours of Jess''s face retained a playful energy despite the broadness of his shoulders and the sharpness of his chin. As Joel, standing so close would have pushed him away, like two like-sided magnets. But Roxanne felt like she couldn''t help but join in his influence, his aroma, and his gentle love, just waiting there for her to seize it.

    Refined abs dominated his chest, intense muscles swelled across his body, and perfectly swept brown hair accentuated his familiar and yet unexpected face. This was Jess, not that Roxane needed any proof of that fact. This wasn''t some secret brother or other relative of hers. This was her, transfigured in so many subtle and enormous ways. Like putting on a silly cartoon muscle suit, only the muscles and everything else were real.

    But it was still and always precious Jess, who gently poked him when he needed it, reminding him of so many appointments that slipped past his ears, dispensing humble advice that made him groan when he received it but which changed his life. A girl playfully adventurous and yet intensely protective. A soft, squishy snuggle bunny and a determined force willing to blast through anything that stood in her way. Carrying a bold tapestry on her arm, and also shy about looking scary.

    Between Jake''s legs, the mystery and ambiguity of that prized kielbasa were drawn away, presenting its full potential. She had imagined it in a few different ways but still managed to be surprised by the truth. It was indeed a fat, throbbing sausage, unhindered by tufts of hair and proudly posed on a fleshy beanbag pedestal. Joel saw plenty of examples strolling through the lockers and showers of the gym. Again, he would''ve ignored it all or made a joke. Not much of an expert, even with personal familiarity. But Jess''s had to be pretty close to perfect because of who it was attached to. Porn stars would surely be jealous, and smaller men would lash out bitterly. She seized it.

    His response was immediate. Already summoning blood from throughout his body, the rush order came through marked urgent. Her knee-jerk reaction was to detach herself from the full reality of what she was holding. Just an overgrown love button, just a harmless meat straw, just that fried sausage wiggling a little. But she didn''t want to detach from the moment; she didn''t want to make Jess''s body an impersonal thing. Neither Jake nor Jess deserved that, whether a boy, a girl, or anywhere in between, or even outside those boundaries where Layla roamed. This was her girlfriend/boyfriend''s dick, and she was going to respect it.

    However, Jake wasn''t prepared for the vigorous handling that followed, as she kneaded, rubbed, traced, squeezed, and artfully manipulated the blazing tower as if it were a pliant hunk of clay warmed by an unseen sun.

    "Holy crap, babe... please, slow down just a bit," Jake whimpered, panting. "Or else... or else...consequences."

    Roxanne opted not to heed this warning, instead chasing Miranda''s personal best with Ross on the pier. She opened her mouth and did exactly what she promised humorously to those dark creatures. No yellow mustard, but she expected some additional flavors soon.

    Her boy flailed and moaned as she threw a thousand mental warnings behind her and sucked, caressed, licked, and did so many other things that flew past her mental filter at the speed of light. It didn''t matter that Jake had an aroma far removed from Jess''s counterpart and that the sweat and grime of the day, the car, and that horrifying diner bothered the pizza family just settling in below. Or that she was literally trying to swallow more than she should have. Something irrational was driving her on almost as much as another irrational arrangement was holding her back and restricting her with countless silly admonishments.

    Jake had to muffle a scream as his fingers curled around the towel bar beside him, trembling with a gyration of pleasure far more earnest and necessary than any earlier display. Roxanne accepted the consequences, but there was a lot more of it than she anticipated. She couldn''t hold all the love in and had to let some of it dribble out of her mouth, onto her chest, and even a little onto her legs and the floor below.

    Swallowing all that took effort. It wasn''t the best thing, feeling like it was coming back around and dipping down. Again, she didn''t get sick, but it felt close. Jake kissing her on the lips helped, but she felt bad about still having some in her mouth.

    The best analogy she could come up with, even though it wasn''t one she wanted to dwell on because the mere thought upset the pizza people, was somewhere between hot snot and egg-white congestion. The unfamiliar texture was more of an issue than the flavor, which she did her best to suck down without sampling. But it was salty and bitter. Maybe lovers of anchovy pizza could appreciate it, but she didn''t know what the heck Miranda was talking about with tangy, sweet chili. Maybe if she chased it with some barbecue sauce.

    Jake looked down with concern and offered a towel to help her wipe off. Roxanne declined, instead walking around the corner to wash herself off and rinse her throat. She had a quick cough but soon recovered.

    It wasn''t long before Jake joined her in the shower, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his hands on her stomach, and giving her a loving kiss on the back of her neck as he held her close.

    She wanted to turn her head and smile seductively about how sexy he was, how good that tasted, and how awesome it felt, but even without the loud coughing, she knew that Jake would''ve seen through that fib. Jake wiggled his eyebrows the way Jess often did when she wanted to make a point she didn''t want to hammer home too hard.

    Yes, they did this kind of thing the other way around, decently often. Roxanne reflected on the many times that Jess calmly and confidently presented the conclusion, like it was no big deal, certainly nothing like what she was still coughing about. She wouldn''t take them back, but she would''ve reciprocated much more.

    Jake continued to lavish kisses on her and gentle trace across her body. His hands explored the skin she barely cared about, soon seeking out the curves of her breasts. They were modest compared to the others, but Jake treated them like they were the best in the world. He teased her nipples to attention with a gentle massage and then moved to kneading them, coaxing a series of soft sounds from Roxanne that she didn''t know she could make.

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    "I love you," he whispered softly in her ear, and her heart pounded as hard as if she were in the middle of a heavy workout session at the gym.

    Roxanne turned her head and embraced Jake''s lips with her own as she melted against him, feeling the heat of him against her skin. Everything about being with Jake felt so familiar and yet so desperately foreign. She had been in charge and insistent about the first round, taking it on.

    Now she was the receiver, and that nervous panic wanted to flutter and fly out like a trapped animal. But Jake was so comforting and enveloping that fussing would just be turning away from his love. His fingers continued to dance across her skin, teasing her with the slightest of touches and sending bolts of sensation straight through her as they traced across her chest and down between her legs. Jess had experience with this most intimate instrument and firmly pressed her first lesson upon Roxanne.

    It wasn''t long before Roxanne didn''t know what the hell was happening to her, and she didn''t know if she''d be able to stay on her feet.

    "I have you," Jake whispered again as she gasped and panted, her fingers squeezing into Jake''s arms as his fingers continued to drive her into a frenzy of sensations. She couldn''t even begin to understand them. The best she could parse was like being pummeled by a storm at sea, and in the best way possible.

    "I love you," he continued, his voice soft and reassuring, his hands strong and steady on her skin, his breath warm and soothing, and his lips sweet and tender. "Let go. I''ve got you. I can hold you."

    Meekly terrified at what she was feeling beyond all rational thought but also blasted by the most remarkable fountain of tingling she had never before known, Roxanne closed her eyes and gave in. Jake told her what he was doing and made sure she approved, but she had been reduced to someone amid multiple Novocain shots at the dentist, only she was feeling everything instead of nothing. Was she broken? Was something wrong? This didn''t seem like a normal thing.

    She clung protectively to Jake as he took her to places that bordered on transcendence. Her entire lower half felt like a throbbing wellspring of undreamt pleasure. It was so much; it was too much. The dang boy hadn''t even put it in! Just fingers and tongues. Was she going to die when the sausage went inside her?

    Jake assured her that they would only go as far as she felt comfortable. She was already on a surreal cloud nine and practically out of her body. By the time the actual waves hit her, she didn''t know how much more her spirit could take without completely unraveling into a pile of girly goop. It was good; it was so fucking good, but she was just along for the ride, and there wasn''t anything she could do; she couldn''t do anything; she couldn''t...!

    Roxanne''s eyes rolled up in her head, and she felt an avalanche of pleasure run through her entire body, from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair and everywhere in between, as the most wonderful, profound feeling rolled through her. The aftershocks continued, like she was on a vibrating string attached to the happiest depths of her soul.

    As she came to her senses, Roxanne shivered as her butt rested gently on the tile floor, the thunder of the shower washing over her. Jake still had his arm around her protectively, holding her as she slowly got her bearings.

    "Holy shit. That wasn''t normal, right? Was I just a bad lover? That felt so freaking weird," Roxanne asked.

    "You weren''t a bad lover. However, you are a rare girl, it seems. I read somewhere a while ago that a relatively small percentage of women have full-body orgasms. You seem to be one of them. And I didn''t even have to put the sausage in you." Jake grinned. "How was it? Looks like your soul left your body and flew away."

    Roxanne looked at him wide-eyed. "I have no idea, but whatever it was, it was the most intense and amazing experience of my life."

    "I''ll bet. You haven''t stopped smiling for the last few minutes," Jake chuckled. "Wanna go for round two?"

    "I don''t think I can. At least not in the shower. Let''s just wash up. I need to shampoo my hair anyway." Roxanne sighed contentedly. Her crotch, barely above the cold floor because of her butt, was doing things she didn''t understand, but it just felt so good. So damn good. Not only was the smile she felt on her face irrepressible, but her entire body had an effervescent energy she had never felt before and that she wished she could have forever.

    Jake promised to take responsibility for finishing her shower while her legs recovered. She giggled like she was drunk or high as he massaged shampoo into her hair and rinsed it out. The smell of flowers washed over her, and she took it into her being with delight, inhaling it as if it could grant her even more happiness and energy to carry inside her.

    When the shower was done, Jake turned off the water and wrapped his arms around Roxanne, lifting her up and carrying her like a princess. Roxanne laughed and kissed him on the cheek as she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder.

    Her mind was floating with bliss and love. She had never felt so content and at peace. Was this the kind of girl she would have been if she had been born as one? What a thought!

    There''s a small area on the other side of the shower that allowed Jake to gently set her down within easy reach of the support bars. She cuddled up to the towel he gave her and squeezed it affectionately around her body. Teasingly, she slid the material around her boobs to provide a deep curve of cleavage.

    "You''re okay, right?" Jake asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. Roxanne nodded, as though she didn''t have any more words. Jake put on his clothes first and approved of Roxanne''s choices. She beamed back at him.

    But when Jake checked the dress, he raised an eyebrow again and looked over to confirm with her, "Are you sure you want to wear that? It''s mine, but I think it''ll fit you."

    "I''m sure," she beamed brightly and carefully pulled herself up on her still-shaky legs. Jake assisted with a steady hand. The dress went on easily over the shorts, and Roxanne swished it playfully while carefully holding on. Her smile still hadn''t faded for a moment. Her legs were beginning to support some of her weight, but she held on to Jake''s arm to be safe.

    She nuzzled Jake warmly and he asked again, "You okay?"

    "I am amazing. Never felt better."

 [18] Mystery Lake 18 â€“ Exit

    Mystery Lake

    [18] Exit

    Roxanne''s legs remained shaky as she helped Jake tidy up and organize everything. Whenever she felt like she needed it, she would lean against him or grab the wall for support. She cheerfully suggested that she fold everything neatly, something Jess had reserved as her job back at the dorms because... Well, while Joel had exuberance and strength, he couldn''t figure this stuff out.

    Looking down at the items to be consolidated, Roxanne concentrated her determination, poised her small hands, and grabbed the garments to perform just as professionally as her former girlfriend. A few minutes in, it was clear that nothing so far had granted the poor girl a coordination boost. She pouted and laid everything out as neatly as possible for Jake to complete properly.

    Watching Jake, same as Jess, flip, fold, and stack together all the clothes they just changed out of into a perfectly neat pile literally rivaled magic. She pantomimed the movements, but it didn''t help. Joel had asked her to demonstrate it several times, and he focused every brain cell on the task but soon found frustration creeping in before retiring to the kitchen to cook up something savory.

    Despite this minor setback, Roxanne still remained upbeat and briskly beaming, aiming her cheer at the door that led back to the rest of their group. She wanted the others to see her dress and share in the energy now surging through her veins.

    She''d never expected Jake''s vivacious... A big, quality Jess word¡ªkielbasa and more¡ªto activate so many feelings and possibilities, like a big bang of self-explosion and creation. But she was a new girl for it. She didn''t want this feeling to go away. Her dress felt and looked fantastic. Layla would probably love it the most, along with the cheer in her voice and the spring in her step, as long as she didn''t take a tumble.

    When they were all packed up and out the shower door, Roxanne took her shower receipt, came to terms with the final price, and electronically signed out the room as finished and to be cleaned before its next use. Walking down the tile floor was not the easiest affair, as the hallway only had a handrail at certain points, not across the full length like in a hospital. But Roxanne trudged her plucky way to the lounge, where she took care of everything.

    Jake swiftly shadowed her, but she was able to make it on her own. Her voice practically bounced with the cadence of each sentence. Several of the truckers were still watching sports, but they actually turned away from the game to get a curious gander behind them at Roxanne going about her business. She didn''t intend to attract their attention, nor did she give a nod of acknowledgment in their direction. But they paid attention to her anyway.

    The clean-shaven trucker seated in the corner raised his head slightly and commented, "You seem mighty cheery, young lady. Hope you''re having a good one so far."

    "Oh yes!" Roxanne answered brightly, with her hands folded together in front of her, "My day has been a roller coaster. You wouldn''t believe how it started. Disagreements with friends. Being detained at a ranger station. Problems where we first tried to have breakfast. But a heavenly shower to wash away all that junk has put me right back to rights, like nothing ever happened."

    The trucker seated next to the other, who had a thick, blond mustache and a dirty goatee, chimed in, "Well shoot, I was thinking about skipping a shower myself. But you just about sold me on it better''n a commercial, sweetheart."

    An inkling passed through Roxanne: these men were about a hair''s breadth away from outright flirting with her. If not for Jake and all his broad muscles looming nearby, waiting for her to finish, she suspected they might be bolder than they were. It was a surreal feeling to process, rippling the waters of her mind like a cast stone.

    Joel had run across an odd assortment of flirtations in his time, stretching back to junior high, when curious eyes first began to pay attention to his muscular potential through puberty. Some guys would stay in the locker room for suspiciously long periods without changing. They would talk about their uncles or some house up north in the wilderness. Joel never made the connection that they might be dropping hints. Even the girls who wanted to sit on his lap or squeeze his big, strong arms felt like silly friend things. Looking back, it was embarrassing, and why Joel didn''t want Barry to make the same mistakes, especially at his age.

    Just to make sure she hadn''t accidentally picked out a dress that was secretly see-through, she adjusted herself and scoped out the material as casually as possible. The sports bra she''d slipped on underneath wasn''t even visible, though a certain rounded bulkiness hinted at its presence, but nothing naughty. Same went for down below as she brushed out whatever wrinkles from the cloth clinging to her remaining after-shower dampness.

    Just because she was cheerful didn''t mean she was willing to stick around. She politely told them to have a good afternoon and then slipped back out. No need to listen to whatever their response might be. Despite the sense of a little lesson about containing her exuberance and not swinging it around like a blazing beam of light, Roxanne continued to express her sentiment. Fortunately, they didn''t remain in one place long enough for it to be a problem yet.

    Swerving away from getting lost in the forest of trinkets and trashy snacks, Roxanne slipped over to the other four of her group. They all looked like they could use a shower of their own, which she highly recommended, though probably not for the price they paid. If only everyone could share the same shower.

    Barry and Joel had seen enough of each other in male mode that showering no longer prompted poor Barry to worry Joel might do something juvenile, like a locker room bully. Miranda was likely to speculate a whole bunch about the nature, character, and possibilities of showering naked, carrying on an entire life within, before she ever touched a drop of water. Not that Roxanne came at it any quicker until Jake gave her the proper push and then some.

    Despite her effervescent, carefree, and perky mood, the thought of Ross or Alyssa as a shower companion immediately hit Roxanne with a down-dip in sentiment. Part of Roxanne wholeheartedly wanted to fix this shit and extend an olive branch to the creepy girl-turned-off-brand vampire boy. It wasn''t necessary.

    They were just two presences passing by, pushed together by circumstance, splashed with consequences, begging for forgiveness, hoping for a new start, and fearing the full force of the world around them. She assumed the only reason Ross hadn''t gotten more irritated with her lately was because Miranda had gotten him laid; the boy was still clinging to some code of feminism with Roxanne''s new face, and they had bigger problems.

    Walking out from the aisles of packed, puffy bag snacks wasn''t at all like stepping out of a changing room, onto a catwalk, or anything dramatic like that. But Roxanne still felt her heart pounding on the bones of her chest, as if everything beneath the humble, soft orbs was a prison and it just had to escape. Her legs still felt wobbly, but she kept her eyes open for anything to lean on, and Jake was just a few steps behind.

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    The four were waiting for them. Ross was still facing the window, nibbling on the crust of a single-slice pizza addition to his empty plate of noodles. The sunny blonde duo still had their seats cutely pushed together like they were playing a game of musical chairs where they both got to win. Miranda had her cell phone out and propped up against the table. From the amount of eye rubbing and eyebrow wiggling, Roxanne wondered if the Wi-Fi wasn''t the best. She was also the first to notice the two of them returning and look up.

    Miranda''s reaction involved more eye action, a flurry of blinks, and glances at everyone around her to make sure that she hadn''t stumbled at the wrong spot and into an alternate universe. Roxanne let the bright feelings flow through her features, and Miranda scrutinized them for the seams of a prank mask.

    A perceptive tact, considering that Roxanne wasn''t entirely sure that this wasn''t some sort of prank, especially one she was playing on herself. Her male ego had to be around somewhere, and he wouldn''t like this. What if she decided to call herself a version of Roxy? Would that be more of a feminine push or an androgynous acquiescence? Her girl self had all sorts of fancy words stored in the depths of her brain, just waiting to be luxuriously fanned out. She couldn''t decide if ''Roxy'' was cuter, but at least it was shorter.

    She waved lightly to the others, barely managing to keep her exuberant smile from flying off her face as she spoke, "Everyone ready to go? Feeling good, all full?"

    Ross quickly turned away from the big windows to glance over at Roxy. His reaction was surprisingly muted, as if his full perception hadn''t connected yet, or he made the assumption that this girl standing next to him had to be some truck stop hospitality worker or that Layla had suddenly teleported several feet to utter happy words. Each possibility was equally likely.

    When it dawned on him that something else was happening, his jaw tightened with protective ferocity, expecting the worst. He received a cheerful, unexpected hug from Roxy, wrapped sideways around his prominent, pointy shoulders, and a tiny peck on his cheek. Jake''s jaw dropped.

    Roxy''s voice was as chipper and boisterous as a dancing drink of water. "Ross, I know we''ve had our differences, but I just want you to know that you''re my friend, and I hope your new life takes a turn for the better."

    Then she swiftly turned to Miranda and remarked, "Mira! Taste can vary..." She had a whole lot of words bouncing around in her head like balls in a lottery, but despite her exuberance to be open, honest, and cheerful, part of her still understood that saying all the words, even if only the six of them were actually listening, wasn''t a good idea.

    So instead of outright naming and detailing about Jake''s fluids, she looked back at Jake, smiled, and then licked her lips with a tilt of her head. Despite that very limited expression, not only did Miranda''s eyes immediately widen in recognition, but Chiara''s jaw dropped, Layla leaned forward, and Jake''s eyes bugged out as a blush exploded across his cheeks. Roxy wanted to have more to say to the others, but all she could think to say to Chiara was the same encouragement she always wanted for her, especially with Layla by her side.

    She was about to squeeze a lot of warm feelings together when Ross swung around sharply and shot back angrily, "What the hell are you doing? What''s with this farce?"

    Clearly, Ross was expecting Roxy to respond with a snark that would expose whatever this ruse was. Instead, Roxy flinched back as if Ross had physically struck her. The smile on her face wavered a little and faded. Meekly, she replied, "I''m sorry. No farce. I just wanted to encourage you."

    Ross was completely taken aback. It was like expecting to shove a nosy great Dane and finding you instead punched a friendly puppy. He was without even soft words, except to ask gently, "Is that¡­ Joel or someone else? What happened in there?"

    Recovering her smile and energy, Roxy replied, "I''m Joel. That''s me! But this is the real me. A bit different than before, but it''s still me. Me! But I''m also Roxy now, or the full Roxanne, if you prefer, but I think Roxy is cuter!"

    Ross looked to an uncertain Jake for some sort of explanation. Carefully, Jake framed the events in the shower: "We had a long chat about important emotional matters, and then we spent some private time together getting to know one another in our current bodies. Roxy... has a lot of strong feelings that can affect her emotionally, and it took some time for her to deal with the full effects of the shower. It''s easy to get overheated about things. All of us have our own little quirks now. But this is the person I love, and I stand by them. She''s not jerking you around; she''s speaking to you from her heart." Jake wrapped his arms around Roxy''s waist, where the dress band sat, and she leaned against him thoughtfully, her eyes closed.

    Ross didn''t know what to say or do. He just sat there in stunned silence. Layla spoke up without shouting, "You''re very pretty, Miss Griffin. You look great with a big smile on your face!" Layla also smiled brightly, with no reservations. It was as if her infectious happiness filled the room with joy.

    Roxy thanked her warmly, and they all started to get ready to go back to the car. From over by the order line, they heard a gruff, unexpected voice respond, "She''s mighty pretty; I agree."

    The man who spoke up was a bearded man with a dark salt-and-pepper fringe, wearing a fair blue t-shirt and a navy blue trucker cap. His eyes swept over the group as they stood up with their belongings, but his gaze lingered on Roxanne the longest.

    "Thank you, sir. Have a great day!" She offered back.

    The trucker didn''t leave it at that, even though Roxanne had moved on. He continued to talk, "I saw you when you showed up and all the times you''ve been over by the lounge. You look good. You look real good. Can I ask you some questions? Are you free this evening, or perhaps tomorrow? I have an extra sleeping bunk in my cab I can share."

    Roxy frowned and shook her head. "I think you have the wrong idea about me, sir. I''m with my boyfriend and our friends, and we have to be on our way. Good day to you." Jake stepped forward protectively, and Ross stretched up in his seat.

    "Plenty of room back there. We''d take real good care of you," he smiled with his top teeth.

    "No," Jake answered sharply. "Leave my girlfriend alone. We''re going now." Roxy agreed with Jake, and the two of them left, hand in hand. The others followed close behind.

    Roxy snuggled Jake. Despite his tough look and strong answer, she could feel his heart thumping fast and loudly in his chest. To make matters worse, they noticed that the trucker was casually following after the group, as if stalking them.

    He didn''t do anything overtly threatening or intimidating. Roxy told her flourishing optimistic side that they were just reading too much into a folksy response. Not everything out in the countryside was a threat, but her legs twitched, much like her eye had, as if they still weren''t quite ready to support her. There was nothing to worry about, but she felt a rush of relief when she was back in the middle seat of the car, even though the creepy guy was still looming in the parking lot.

 [19] Mystery Lake 19 â€“ Destinations

    Mystery Lake

    [19] Destinations

    Chiara again had to grip the wheel tightly as she backed out of the spot, doing her darndest not to look in the guy''s direction. She had no intention of backing into him threateningly unless he tried something.

    Ross, in the back seat, looking through the rear window with the harshest death glare he could manage, seemed like he would have no problem burning rubber right at the guy until he flattened him. Roxy focused on Jake as his heartbeat began to slow to a normal level. Soon, they were out of the truck stop and back on the road in the direction they''d been heading. But in what direction were they heading?

    Miranda chimed in for Roxy and Jess''s benefit that there had been a brief discussion while they had been away, when she finally managed to secure feeble access to the meager free Wi-Fi provided by the truck stop. She used it to do quick research on recent matters above and beyond what Duncan had been able to do since Miss Clifton''s lecture. That included looking up the names Cerberus, Rydia, Molly''s, and a bunch of other things. She provided the summation.

    "I couldn''t find much. This area is cloaked in so much legend, as Miss Clifton alluded to, but it''s not well documented. It''s this general hearsay and feeling in the air. Missing 411 stuff, where people just vanish from the world without a trace, even though they are only a few feet away from civilization. Mentions of pocket realities. Not that weird from what we''ve seen. But there''s a shop not far from here called Triton''s Trinkets & Oddities. Several links that I looked up used them as a location with several interesting references. Not only that, they are the publishers of several pamphlets about the legends in this area. Even more, I thought I recognized the name because, in the supplementary materials for Ms. Clifton''s class, she actually cites Triton. Unfortunately, they don''t have any hours listed, but they are in the very small town of Neverwink, Michigan. It''s barely on the map, and the Google stuff is super fuzzy, but I saved the exact address. As long as we follow the map, we should be able to find them. And maybe some answers."

    Chiara frowned at the dashboard and noted, "We probably should have filled up back there, but I don''t want to turn around now. We only have under half a tank left. So, if you get a connection again, see if you can find another gas station." Miranda dutifully agreed to this task as the co-pilot.

    Without a connection, Miranda was limited to offline maps and apps that kept directing her to Wau-Ke-Na down in the southwest instead of up where they were. She overrode that and pointed it to where it should''ve been going in the north, very close to the border.

    After a few more minutes of fiddling with the map and puffing long breaths of frustration, Miranda leaned back as comfortably as she could to look in the back and remarked, "I''ve been thinking about how those things... The Hollows... I don''t know if that was a proper name, but remember, they said we smelled like fairies, and that seemed to be important to them. Unfortunately, what I know about fairies is limited to Disney movies, some books back in elementary school, and maybe a handful of games and independent films that stretch the folklore. I know there are evil fairies, and those three definitely seemed to fit the bill. But maybe they were something else. That means fairy tales are more than just old stories. Anyone else know anything about fairies?"

    Miranda didn''t focus in Chiara''s direction because she was driving and she didn''t want to distract her. However, Chiara offered up a little bit when they came to a red light near a logging area.

    "My grandparents on my mom''s side are from Ireland, although the Watsons are Scottish. I was very young when they were alive, so I don''t remember much. My mom may have told me one story, but it was a typical "don''t go in the woods because there are monsters" thing. Oh, and the banshee wail when someone in the family dies. That terrified me because I would sometimes hear it in my dreams as a kid and think it was real. I know there''s swimming black horses. That might be Scottish, though, on my dad''s side..." She stopped talking when the light turned green and refocused on the road.

    Miranda nodded and turned to check on what the others knew.

    Roxy was still energetic, even though that energy had turned into a nervous fidgeting and picking up the once abandoned trashy romance novel to peek and poke and see if there was anything that her new feelings might better latch onto. She probed and plumbed her thoughts, sifting for something she might have retained from boring classes, rare trips to the library, or anything else that might be the least bit helpful. Unfortunately, she shook her head and had to squeeze a temporary frown onto her face in response.

    Jake had some recollections on fairies from courses she had taken, but they tilted more towards history and were less on specific folklore and mythology.

    It was something, though, and luckily she had saved her notes on her phone and was able to read off the main points. "The fae, or fair folk, are often seen as mercurial but merely mischievous. Unseelie courts are more dark and cruel. The aos s¨ª literally translate as the ''people of the mounds''. The sidhe, or the Tuatha de Danaan, also known as ''the people of the goddess Dana''. They came from four cities: Falias, Findias, Gorias, and Murias. The fomoiri and fomorians were another group, but they''re often seen as evil. A lot of different stuff associated with water, but I didn''t take down the specifics because the instructor glossed over that. That might be something to ask at this Triton place."

    Miranda started by swiftly taking down notes before Jake commented that they had the same type of phone, and he could just send it over wirelessly without a dedicated connection. Not everyone had that, but Miranda promised to modify the text format into something universal that would work for sharing with everyone else.

    Compared to this outpouring of information, Ross and Layla in the back couldn''t possibly compare, but Layla gleefully laid out everything she knew about fairies. "So, no surprise, but fairies aren''t just little, sparkly creatures that live in the woods with bunny-deer friends. There are all sorts of fairies all over the world. Pixies, sprites, elves, brownies, goblins, trolls, gnomes, nymphs, and dryads, just to name a few! The Hollows might have been a kind of fairy too; like Mira said, dunno! Definitely the dark kind. Some of them eat babies! And they can lure you into their realm of dangerous and magical mirth and trick you into staying with them forever. The Otherworld! It''s beautiful but also sooo deadly, and people don''t usually return from it! There are some really cool games with lesser-known creatures, and some are super hard to beat. My hand went numb playing this one..."

    Ross coughed to interrupt. Layla paused there with a smile, and Miranda politely remarked that what Layla told her was really helpful. She didn''t write down as much or as furiously as she had with Jess, but Roxy noticed that Miranda was definitely taking notes on her phone when she named the creatures and mentioned the Other place. Layla flashed a friendly thumbs up and laid back. Ross shook his head. He had nothing to say about fairies.

    Miranda sighed and scrolled through the collected information. "Clearly, not just stories. Freaky. Makes me wary of the world. As if fear needs any help there. If we can avoid it, I really don''t want to camp around here, especially after sundown." That was an easy prospect for the group to agree upon. Roxy was actually looking forward to camping before the lake happened, and maybe she wouldn''t give it up entirely, but not in this territory, not in fairy country.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Everyone settled down after that and watched the dipping road and dense forest pass by. Roxy still felt joyful, but it was like playing a beautiful song with silence all around. It disappeared into the dark. The energy was still in her, but it was as if the weight of it all didn''t want to translate into smiles on her face.

    It was better to be subdued and silent. Jake still smiled at her, but it was a carefully crafted smile, not one that overflowed, burst forth, and beamed with sunlight. The implication was that he wanted Roxy to simply offer up the same pleasant little smile. She did, but it still felt wrong to hold back the symphony inside.

    It puzzled her that something as silly as a smile meant so much to her. Joel didn''t smile the way she felt now. He smiled, but it was a photogenic grin, a clever smirk, or a confident curve of his lip. Roxy smiled like it was the only thing she could do to translate the bliss that was surging through her soul. It was weird, and maybe there was something really wrong with her¡ªbroken in her brain¡ªbut she liked being ridiculously happy.

    Jake put himself against her, breathing and touching pure light and ecstasy into her soul. It sounded like a bad book¡ªan overzealous celebration of sex that no sex could ever possibly live up to. But she was living it; she felt as if an invisible tap had been turned on, and she didn''t know how to shut it off or if she wanted to. Terrifying, but beautiful.

    She thought about making a self-service infusion of whatever this was, but her legs were still pulsed slightly, and she had to prop herself up carefully from time to time. Joel knew from Jess and others that girls could quietly and surreptitiously press flesh, like rocking some thighs. It just felt wrong to do it in the middle of a crowded car, especially with Ross looming with the desire to return to every possible lewd accusation.

    It was a miracle that he didn''t latch on to her comments at the table, even though she dodged around the most suggestive elements. Later, she told herself, be patient and try it out later, in private. A thrilling, scientific experiment to see if this crazy, rare, mind-melting arousal required the touch of another or if it was just the touch. She was tempted to tickle the itch with the book at her side, but maybe it was a remnant of the boy she used to be or something else entirely; she didn''t want to do it that way.

    Time passed with the road flowing past them. Miranda checked her map and noted that they were still making progress, though perhaps not as swiftly as their speed suggested. It was beginning to feel like their drive to this tiny town was taking forever. Probably an illusion, along with recent stresses and thoughts of all this mystical folklore. But the group made sure to check that they weren''t just in some old movie loop where the same scenery passed by without any progress made. Roxy wanted to drop a rock somewhere obvious by the roadside and hope they never saw it again.

    It wasn''t long before they came to a series of long, bright blue reflective metal signs flanking a roundabout. They marked all the minor municipalities and sorted them by their direction.

    One way listed Tanglecreek, Bleak Harbor, Havenshire, Windemere Hollow, and Shady Bend. None of them were keen to wind up in Bleak Harbor; Tanglecreek didn''t sound much better, and that H-word was right out. The second path included Midwich, Everville, Spellwood, and Wonderwood. Roxy avoided saying out loud that they really liked their wood around here. The last one around the circle was the best, though, as it cited Climax, Ample Hills, and South Lips.

    Roxy didn''t know what to do with herself and resisted giggling. Miranda broke the ice and offered up dryly, "I feel really close to Ample Hills. Maybe I should get a place there someday."

    Jake chuckled, and Roxy held herself to a smirk. Even Ross made a sound like a cousin to laughter.

    However, no Neverwink showed up anywhere on the signs. They even made a few more rotations around the circle to double-check that they hadn''t somehow missed it. That particular tiny town''s name was nowhere to be found on the signs, even though they''d taken the time to mention a dozen of them, including the most ridiculous-sounding ones.

    They weren''t worried about this development; at least Roxy wasn''t trying to be, and everyone else in the car was looking around, their breaths held but not too tight. Miranda sifted through what she had available on her phone while plugged into the dash charger to keep that lifeline going. She soon concluded that the silly set had to be the one, especially since they were the closest places to Neverwink and that sign only contained three listings. Each road seemed practically the same, but they took that one.

    It was well and truly stretching into the afternoon, with the modest springtime light feeling quite meager before the looming trees and the tense climate. Though she had been resisting it, Roxy flipped to the last previous section of the romance book she could remember before Brock excitedly announced about breakfast.

    It was ridiculous¡ªexactly as ridiculous as she remembered it from a while ago. It was silly, worthy of ridicule, and written in a style that still made her roll her eyes. She kept reading.

    ========

    ...Once more, Jane found herself gazing upon the manly form of the mysterious and handsome stranger with the long black hair that rippled like the midnight ocean, his face as sharp and striking as a thunderbolt from Zeus himself. She couldn''t resist the pull of the man''s eyes and soon found herself drawn into his powerful embrace. She was swept off her feet as he picked her up and carried her into the cottage, their lips locked in a passionate and tender kiss. They fell into a frenzy of passion, tearing at each other''s clothes as they stumbled into the bedroom, their desire consuming them. He laid her gently on the bed and crawled on top of her, his eyes glinting with mischief as he prepared to unleash his exquisite skills on her delicate, quivering body. As she lay there, she knew that this was where she was meant to be. She was no longer afraid of her feelings or of losing control. She let go and allowed the wild storm of emotions to sweep her up in its passionate embrace. She was ready for anything he had to give her, and she was more than happy to take it all. As she gazed into his eyes, she felt a deep connection between them, and she knew that this was a moment she would never forget. His lips found hers once more and they melted into each other''s arms, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. They surrendered themselves to the passion of the moment, letting their desires consume them. As the waves of ecstasy washed over them, they knew that they were meant to be together, and nothing could ever keep them apart. Their love would last for eternity...

    =========

    The mysterious stranger description made her glance back at Ross, but only for a second so he wouldn''t get suspicious. The mention of mischievous eyes reminded her sweetly of Jake. Being swept up, the sense of harmony, and the beautiful translation of feelings and thoughts that she felt like she didn''t have words for existed on the page even though they were still embarrassingly overwrought. All this didn''t make it a good book, but the book rekindled the feeling that made her giddy inside, even if it was a frail translation and imitation of her experience in the shower with Jake.

    Her heart wanted to cling to this crude literary island. She kept checking out the window and felt the same rush of relief as the others when a new sign appeared, updating the towns ahead, with Neverwink mercifully tacked on at the bottom.

    They were okay.

 [20] Mystery Lake 20 â€“ NOT OKAY

    Mystery Lake

    [20] NOT OKAY

    However, they still had problems and concerns, especially the fact that their fuel was getting lower and lower the further they drove. The estimate counter on the central tablet was doing the frustrating, spinning circle thing that all computers seemed to do when they had no idea what else to do.

    Everyone was on the lookout for a gas station, or the faintest sign that one might be tucked away on a side road. Rationally, Roxie knew there had to be one eventually. However, rationality felt like a distant concept from their experiences today. Happiness still sailed through the sea of her soul, but it had a glassy trepidation, with clouds threatening on the horizon. The irrepressible urge to laugh might still emerge if she coaxed it out, but it had become sadly easy to just let that lifeblood drip off the vine.

    Chiara hawkishly scrutinized everything on the dash, hunting for some fuel savings she hadn''t considered. Keeping Miranda''s phone charged was important, but she searched for something else that could be safely shut off.

    The A/C wasn''t necessary, with the occasional waft from a cracked window to circulate the air. While the tablet control was on, it regularly went into sleep mode during cruising. Chiara used slopes to ease off the accelerator and didn''t push it past the 50s. She even gingerly shifted her weight to give the car that little extra help. They still had a quarter tank, but the numbers were dropping faster than the percentage on Jess''s old phone, even though it felt like they were doing practically nothing to drain the battery that fast.

    They were past the point where they could just turn around and head back to the truck stop, where they knew there would be gas. But there had to be gas here. Drivers passed them from time to time. The signs were awash with towns that totally existed. Yet there was so much forest that never seemed to end. Surely even Ross wanted the little lumber company they passed a while ago to keep all this crazy nature in line.

    At least it was still decently light out, though the fearsome fingers of dusk were starting to hint through the branches that grew thickly out of sight. The road ahead returned to a long and twisting silver string, with the same turns, slopes, and hills picking them up and dipping them down. All of it didn''t feel like it was leading anywhere, but they had no choice but to continue ever onward. Neverwink... more like never get there.

    In the back, she checked on Ross and thought for a second that he had transcended into his sparkly vampire phase, but it was just a slight gloss of sweat that the whistling of the balmy weather through the window crack refused to clear away. Layla''s serious face set awkwardly on her features as she slowly rocked back and forth, like a metronome. Ah, yes, restroom. The vague, distantly pressing possibility of another potty trip lingered, but at the back of a long list of other worries and fears to filter through first.

    Jake also seemed concerned about the state of their friends in the back. A shame that Layla didn''t seem to have more control over her girl/boy transitions; then she could simplify at least half of her restroom needs, assuming it wasn''t the pizza family deciding to take a vacation on the log flume. Roxy somehow held her giggles in.

    Up front, it looked like Miranda might be fading, but Chiara was practically carved from painted marble with the sole purpose in her life to guide this godforsaken car as far as humanly possible with every iota of her strength. She wanted to reach out and touch her gently to let her know that everything was going to be fine.

    Mercifully, over the next hill, the world decided to finally cut them a break, as the distant glittering of a new blue sign signaled that not only was there a fully featured rest stop half a mile away, but that half a mile beyond that had gas refueling along with a ranger station and a bunch of other stuff they couldn''t care less about right now. Chiara almost started to cry as she breathed and flopped down in her chair like spaghetti returning from human form, but she didn''t lose focus and held on to the wheel.

    Despite the blessed beacon, a certain amount of anxiety remained until the road leading to the rest stop appeared. It soon widened into a large loop containing the typical state restroom buildings made of mottled tan brick with hat-like, jutting, dull orange roofs that looked like lost and faded versions of old Pizza Huts. So many tall trees flanked the forward-slanting empty parking spots. Flowers and fresh blossoms abounded throughout the swath that stretched with a slight hill in a glorious display of bright spring. Roxy knew it would be even better in the fall with the sharp explosion of shifting colors.

    They pulled into a spot not too far from the central buildings with a long walkway and metal railings, with a brick fence separating a small area with plaques and the restrooms from the woods. The dark, broad trees seemed to be probing the air with their slim tendrils poking through the fresh leaves. Everyone took a moment to ooze their way out of the doors, except for Layla, who hustled ahead with urgent matters to attend to. Chiara quickly followed her precious snuggle shark to the ladies'' room. Roxy was the last to head towards the buildings.

    She turned to glance at the meager mound hill that rose on the other side of the lot. She squinted and thought she saw something shifting through the branches, but it could have been anything from a deer to a normal human wanderer. Nothing was clear. She turned away and walked forward with a long, careful yawn, carrying slivers of her carefree mood. Picnic tables and a few barbecue areas were set up along the long path and around the looming brick wall. The main section contained a plaque honoring the American Legion, with the facilities sponsored by a local charity.

    Roxy entered the women''s restroom building and didn''t expect much. The entrance jogged around an area with a green door that looked like it had been here since the 1960s and had only been painted a handful of times since. The floor was the same resilient, hard tile that all of these places used, and the stalls were a glittering, warped metal, with most of the doors creaking with the fair breeze through the narrow, yellowing windows above. The doors, which wiggled and shifted, were all bent or badly creased, as if someone had tried to kick them to pieces with every ounce of strength they had.

    This restroom seemed generally cleaner than the men''s rooms at these stops, but stray, foul aromas wafted heavily along with dark and bloody masses she didn''t want to look at packed into the oil drum trash cans. Graffiti, as always, was inescapable, disgustingly racist one-liners scrawled in jagged, black permanent marker.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Roxy didn''t have to go urgently, but she also knew if she passed up this opportunity, her entire digestive system would start throwing the wildest parties as soon as the door shut. She gripped her enthusiasm and happiness tightly like a protective cloak as she waddled around and endeavored to shift her dress away from any potential contact with the minefield of stray damp patches on the tile. A little of her blood and a decent portion of her cheer drained away when she realized that the first toilet she selected had no paper. Fortunately, the second one had some massive rolls of less than tissue paper thickness and quality.

    Regardless of the warmth and comfort of the outdoors, the restroom felt blisteringly cold, and the most frigid focal point was the seat she placed herself upon, even after making absolutely sure there was a cover for it. Her legs were not happy, her delicate parts were not happy, and she was not happy, even though her spirit desperately wanted to be. Fortunately, her stomach did its job, and the log flume was well attended. The now-buried fountain put on a brief display, and she was glad to creep out of there.

    The faucet shot a superheated stream that wanted to strip the flesh from her fingers. She finessed her way out of being scalded numb. Layla soon popped out too, scampering like she was playing an especially acrobatic form of hopscotch to avoid the worst spots. Roxy wanted to say something, but she finished, breezed past like a fierce wind, and was out the door without speaking.

    Roxy could understand; she didn''t want to spend any more time in this space than she absolutely had to. But it was peculiar that Layla didn''t speak to Chiara while she was finishing up. Perhaps she had and Roxy just didn''t catch it, they texted, or Layla just had something urgent she needed to deal with back at the car. Still, peculiar.

    She poked around at the other stalls and felt thoroughly disconcerted by the fact that they were all empty. She had been right behind Chiara. Miranda had to have been just behind her. They were walking together. Did the other girls accidentally go in the wrong one? If so, they should have realized it by now and made the correction. Something was off.

    After checking the bathroom once more to make sure she hadn''t just been dense and missed the obvious, she confirmed that she was absolutely alone in here. And wanted to get the hell out as soon as possible.

    Striding through the door of the bathroom, she once again realized that there was no one around. No men, no women, no children, no pets, and no sense of any sounds nearby that would indicate where they might be hiding. She tapped into her spare supply of enthusiasm and happiness, but it was faint nourishment, like a rebreather on scuba gear that refused to position itself properly.

    Rushing away from the buildings and back to the parking lot, with the railing still where it should be but everything else out of sorts, Roxy... Roxanne did her best to remind herself to be calm. The most rational explanation was that she''d nodded off in the middle of something, and the others had decided to leave her in the car to rest. And this was a dream. When did it happen? How much of her recent memory could she actually trust if this was an illusion?

    Roxanne''s legs were reverting to their previous jelly state, but not because of bliss.

    She clutched the railing and shuffled slowly forward, trying to find her way back to the parking lot. She hoped and even prayed. Her heart raced with the image¡ªthe certainty in her soul that the car would be there and the others would be there too.

    The doors would be open, some of them stretched out along the side or cozily positioned, enjoying the decent weather while looking forward to the gas station fill-up ahead and the clear, short span that would get them to that strangely named store and all the answers they could ask for.

    The car wasn''t there, her friends weren''t there, and not a single vehicle was in the parking lot. It was impossible. It was soul-crushing. It made no goddamn sense. Not even the railing in the middle was enough to hold her up as she slumped to the lukewarm ground, her legs twitching and trembling uselessly beneath her. Tears didn''t fall from her eyes, but not for lack of trying to push them through the bulkhead of happiness and hope that wanted to burn brightly inside her again.

    The trees all around loomed and swayed, like their creeping touch would soon descend and envelop her in a thousand cruel hands. In the quiet that swarmed like a ringing tidal wave about to crush her and everything she knew, an artificial rumble sounded from somewhere far away. A machine, a vehicle, or perhaps a gardener using a leaf blower. But it was something¡ªsomething to cling to and something to hope for in the midst of all that made no sense. She looked around, turned to check as far behind her as she could, and raised her head even though she couldn''t lift herself off the ground.

    The world looked so desolate, so quietly peaceful. A place after all the humans had left but her, maybe a place that had never known the touch of any person until she arrived. But maybe she wasn''t alone.

    Patiently waiting for the rumble to resolve, she soon discerned that it had to be an engine¡ªa car for sure. No, something bigger and diesel-driven. Around the tree-shrouded start of the loop, she witnessed an eighteen-wheeler amble along the cement and come to a stop on an unmarked parking lot patch with all the little squeaks, shutters, hisses, and rumbles as the engine slowly settled down. She shed a few tears of gratitude, happy to at least see someone in this strange version of reality. A cab door opened, and feet met pavement as a figure made their way around the truck.

    It was him. The trucker in blue with a dark cap and a broad beard. The pervert they fled from. He slowly doffed his cap to her and wore an insidious grin that traced through his facial hair. His eyes looked different, like glassy, polished stones, less a gray or a blue than a simple, sharp, reflective crystal set in his face.

    "I made you an offer. I don''t like it when someone refuses my offer, especially a little lady as scintillating and beautiful as you. Don''t worry, even though we are alone now, I am the consummate gentleman and will treat you exactly as you should be treated¡­ All night long."

 [21] Mystery Lake 21 â€“ Jess For Success

    Mystery Lake

    [21] Jess For Success

    I was a very quiet baby when I was born. Not a preemie or a C-section. I came out without a single grudge against the world. I was just happy to be here.

    And I left almost as soon as I arrived. I swelled up with a dangerous rash referred to by some long medical name that I can never remember. Mom practically became a nurse, studying everything about my condition and trying to recommend treatments. Dad, on the other hand, didn''t even see me until a month later, after the danger had passed. My first introduction to what my family would be like.

    When school asked me to draw my parents, I just put Mom in several outfits to show what a quick-change superhero she was, and Dad was a charitable dash outline of a person. The Invisible Man.

    Despite having plenty to complain about, I still maintained this cordial spirit toward the world. Stuff sucked, but my complaints wouldn''t change anything. Just work hard. At least Dad never complained about money.

    Whatever I asked for was deposited. As I approached my teen years, I mounted a tenacious rebellion, offering to pay him to spend at least one nice day around me that didn''t have conditions, terms, or limitations. My piddling, recirculated allowance couldn''t possibly compare to even an hour of what the Muller Corporation matched. I just had a glimmer of hope that being family might make up the difference.

    In one of my favorite games, Earthbound, the main character''s father is the telephone. If only mine could be that much. But I should be grateful that he provides for me and loves me in the fiduciary language he understands.

    Alaska was an amazing place to grow up. I helped out in a local store owned by a friendly family. The oldest brother taught me Yup''ik and treated me like the little sister he never had. I spent hours every day just walking in the wilderness. At that age, I had idyllic daydreams of finding a wolf and befriending it like something out of a storybook. I also wanted to track down an Adlet. I was going to outdo the storybook princesses. I just sprained my ankle and gave my mom a whole new set of fears.

    It was devastating when we moved, but Dad promised we would see more of him since he was going to work at the central Michigan offices of the Muller Corporation. That didn''t happen, but our new house was nice. Mom liked to joke that we wanted to move somewhere warmer than Alaska, so we went to the Midwest.

    As part of the whole teenage rebellion package, I got a tattoo on my left arm when I was way too young for it. The guy who did it was originally from the same area as me, so I just let him draw the most beautiful landscape with more critters than I had ever seen in person back there. Mom and Dad were both understanding about my choice, which soured some of it. School made me wear long sleeves, even on the hottest days, because I might over-''stimulate'' my classmates with such imagery. Ironically, I was more afraid of getting in trouble with my school than I was of getting in trouble with my parents.

    But I kept running into trouble, despite my desires. One particular teacher got especially mad because she noticed me squinting at the board whenever her back was turned. She shamed and pressured me into getting glasses, which I absolutely needed. Mom threw a few nervous fits about all that, especially because of macular degeneration and other retinal conditions throughout her side of the family. It stressed me out. I felt like the gift of being able to see this beautiful world wasn''t something I was guaranteed forever. I was just grateful for every day I had.

    Glasses helped, although I still often got headaches and eye strain. They were uncool for quite a few years, with me wrapping up my stomach in a tight bow of arms to hold it all together. One day though, it suddenly shifted, and I guess I was part of the cool things once more, not that I trusted to rely on that state of things. Trust was hard. I didn''t give it up easily.

    And that''s how I faced college. Anticipate that things are going to be messed up, and you can''t rely on expectations. Sometimes, it works out for the best.

    For several weeks, my schedule was completely scrambled, and I nervously avoided talking to the people who could fix it. But because I was in an English class way below where I should''ve been, I happened to meet Joel Griffin.

    "You''re beautiful" was almost the very first thing he said to me. His pervasive, subtle, deep tan reminded me of The Rock and that older boy back in Alaska. But it was such a silly thing to say. Who just tells someone they''re beautiful out of the blue?

    I strongly suspected that he was just pulling one over on me. He''d already made light of a few things in the class that really deserved it, with insightful but annoying criticism. So, I figured I was his next target. But there was something special about his bright blue eyes. He later described meeting me as if he were looking at the Northern Lights, something rare and beautiful that only he could see.

    I didn''t know what to say. I was so flustered and grinning ear to ear that I went through the whole class without even thinking about my schedule. I made sure to get his number and dorm room before he might have slipped away and out of my life.

    It''s funny how so many of the other girls I introduced him to acted like he was this big, scary, intimidating wolf that I finally managed to befriend. He was actually the gentlest puppy, all the way down.

    He got me into good, regular exercise, ranging from proper weight training to long-distance walking and even a smattering of swimming, both in the pool and in wilder forms of water. I could barely breathe in front of the intimidating expanse of a relatively modest lake. Joel placed his arms on my shoulders with the lightest of feather touches and assured me, "I will always pull you to shore."

    I teased him with the image of dragging a dead weight through the seaweed. Sheepishly, he fumbled for a sweeter way to phrase that. I will bring you back to shore; I will guide you back on land; I will take you from the waters; I ain''t gonna let you drown! They were all better ways to put it, but I treasured his initial sentiment the most because it was the truest expression of what he felt.

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    I love the way he smiles. If everyone else in the room isn''t smiling half as much as he is, he''s trying to figure out a way to fix it, whether it''s with a home-cooked meal, silly ideas he can''t keep in his head, or questions that make you wonder in the very best ways. He always likes to laud me with celebrations about how I remember all the stuff that won''t stay inside his head, like appointments, tests, and precious memories. But he always remembers the most important things, without fail.

    When spring break arrived, I had a small list of shows I wanted to watch that I thought would appeal to both of us, with some geared towards Joel and others that were more my style. With all that in mind, along with heavy studying and assignments to complete during this free time, I almost declined Duncan Rogers''s proposal that we go chasing after some strange, unnamed lake that Miss "Cliffs Ton", as the student body alluded to her body, randomly teased.

    But Joel could see the connection between Duncan wanting Alyssa to go with him and hoping to grab Barry and Layla. He had an idea that this would be a big camping adventure where Barry would toughen up his skin, open his heart to Layla, whom he obviously had a painful crush on, and come back a better man. Joel went so far as to lay out a rough plan where he would mess around with Barry, who would either stand up to Joel and become more resilient, or Layla would comfort him after Joel played the heel to Barry''s baby face.

    It was not a great or well-thought-out plan. Joel admitted that while I was packing everything we would need. Eventually, he said he would try to improvise something to get the same effect. Again, not the best idea. But he tried.

    Messing with him wasn''t the same as dunking him, though, and I tried to get him not to do it. At least Joel knew how to do it right, but I was still frustrated with him. And then I was shocked when Barry started to change.

    The poor guy ended up as a girl with backbreaker boobs. He/she looked so dazed. I was immediately worried about trauma and shock, even though we were clearly dealing with something beyond explanation.

    Barry actually went for a surprisingly girly outfit, even though he never really seemed the sort. Duncan was far more of the sort.

    As if all that wasn''t a bad enough cluster bomb of mess-ups, Joel got horny. I know it wasn''t his fault; the situation was crazy and unique. But he started it when he could''ve found a more subtle, gentle way to bring them together. I cursed, even though I don''t often do that, but it was early, and I was already freaking tired.

    Alyssa''s sentiment was uncalled for, though. I knew her from a couple classes last semester, and she was happy to do the lion''s share of the work on any annoying group assignment. She had a bad home-life situation and often closed her eyes in exhaustion as she blindly tried to take the best notes. But making more of a mess out of that situation was not helping. Not that she would listen to me. The bitch...

    I was ready to forgive and forget the mistakes after Joel''s awkward but earnest apology. I was not ready for the horror and shock of seeing my big guy literally melt before my eyes and sprout boobs.

    The only thing I could do was concentrate on solving the problem in front of me, get Joel some clothes, and prevent further chaos. The pants were a bad idea, but I didn''t think throwing the poor guy into a skirt was a good one. I didn''t want to insult an already mortally wounded masculinity.

    It was difficult to know what to do that would help. Everything you know and are is suddenly ripped away and turned upside down in one shocking moment. Giving them a mirror to look upon this devastation felt like the worst thing, but at least it was better than one of them using the lake as a reflective surface, and who knows what chaos might result from a second dip.

    Plenty of chaos arrived anyway, as Joel did more self-searching than I expected so soon after by giving Duncan an experimental smooch. I should have been as pissed off as Alyssa, in yowling, flailing cat mode. But I understood that Joel didn''t mean it. I wanted to think as kindly of Alyssa, too, even as she crashed into me, and I went in the water. My first thought as I sailed through the air was fear of losing my glasses. My second was to make absolutely sure I didn''t have my phone with me. And after that, it was probably, oh shit, am I going to be a guy now?

    Yeah, and what a guy. Joel launched herself through the air as soon as she saw me start to fall. Even though she was so much smaller than me and I was becoming so much bigger, she kept that promise, and I was swiftly on the shore.

    Being a guy, both met and was so far away from any of my rare notions about the idea. My long hair, which I enjoyed at that length, had been snipped. My hips felt smooshed with everything else, kind of squeezed in and out. The biggest distention was also the most obvious. Aspects felt like a weird hernia down there, but that was not even close to a good description. Turned inside out, but not painfully. Still not accurate. I apologized to her because we were all messed up now. She wouldn''t accept it, repeating her promise while emotions she usually kept under control got away from her.

    Soon, it felt like she was apologizing for letting me fall in. People I know who''ve seen the two of us together often comment on how I pour my heart out to Joel, and he gives this reserved nod, a smile, and a kiss. But that is him saying, I love you in the most heartfelt way. It doesn''t have to be said, spewed, and erupted like one of those overwrought romances I know I''ve read too much of. We just get it.

    I was having way too much fun teasing my poor, melted cutie about the new equipment between my legs. She wanted me so badly, and I figured that was some supernatural dealie about the lake, especially from what Duncan alluded to.

    Things got wilder and wilder as Joel did much more than just flirt as a girl in front of me. I wanted to do things to her, but I was able to restrain myself and hold back the full wave of craziness. Although craziness was just getting started on us.

 [22] Mystery Lake 22 â€“ Jess Do It

    Mystery Lake

    [22] Jess Do It

    Layla went in next, and Joel... who soon chose the name Roxanne, did what he always did, no matter what kind of body contained his beautiful soul. She wanted an apology from Alyssa for me, even though it didn''t matter. It was about showing the kind of person he and she really were. If only Alyssa could understand what I see in him. This moment should have shown her clearly, but I guess there was still too much in the way.

    I was genuinely afraid that Alyssa might hurt Roxanne. Not that it mattered to that darn, beautiful, self-sacrificing hero jerk who should''ve thought more about her own safety. Fortunately, it turned out all right. I guess.

    It was monumentally weird to watch the before and after acts between Duncan and Alyssa. They didn''t really seem compatible to me, but you don''t need that much to have a little fun. I couldn''t imagine Joel like that, but she was projecting a randy mood, and I had to wonder.

    All the new names felt really rushed but also strikingly appropriate. Roxanne felt like a name Joel would throw out. Rockin rocks, lady, hehe. For me, I like the letter J, and I prefer to keep things simple and straightforward. My mom was always about Jessica Elizabeth Butler. Jess is enough for me, as is Jake. Forget it, Jake, it''s a sex-twisting lake...

    As I helped with Alyssa''s clothes, he paused for a moment and quietly repeated his apology. I gave him a hug that probably no one else could see. He didn''t expect it. Not like completely changing my physical form and identity was going to actually change who I was as a person. Same with Joel, and I hoped with everyone. Alyssa¡­ soon-to-be-Ross... appreciated it, but looked rather confused, as if he was already into the whole iceberg guy thing.

    When the Man in Black arrived, I really wanted to be cool by just heaving the entire load of camp into the trunk, but I knew innately and clearly from all of Joel''s gym training that muscles don''t just make you strong.

    The guy, or whatever they were, and their even weirder associate didn''t feel seriously threatening. I sensed a certain, long-festering sadness in him. As if he had lost someone very close to him. It might have been a while ago, but you don''t get over something like that. It can turn you into a hardened rock, like my mom became, protecting me and not letting anyone or anything in for fear of getting hurt again. Or it can turn you into a wandering, floating fragment like Mom with Dad. She lost Dad a long time ago, though he still showed up at the house every few weeks to wander the halls and say a few words.

    I was just glad to be done and moving on, even though I had no idea where we were going. I appreciated Layla''s stories, as I always had, whether she was spouting a jumble of sentences masquerading as an impromptu speech for some class or using her puppetry skills as a goofball. It was fitting that, after some serious soul-searching, she chose puppetry and costume design as her focus. I had to wonder about the watch, even though I had the other distraction of seeing Roxanne sneak my little romance novel into her hands for a private peek. Another thing I never thought I would see out of my man.

    And that was especially true when her tear ducts began to wiggle as she tried to cloak their soggy secrets. We were all distracted when a too-good-to-be-true diner popped out of nowhere with proud, colorful promises. Alas, it was too good to be true.

    I wanted to throw up at what my meal had become, and I was so glad that Roxanne was by my side, even though I desperately wanted to be the one in front and protecting her and the others. How can such a doofus, an amazing one, be so brave? I don''t know where she got the idea to assault the manners and appetites of those dark creatures, but it almost worked. The guy not from the Department of the Interior and his partner had to bail us out. I closed my eyes for most of it.

    The urge to puke stayed with me for so long. So much for tough boy Jake. I clung to Roxanne like I was still the smaller one who needed protecting. So many of my psychology notes twisted around in my head, but it''s very different when you''re living things that refuse your efforts to deny them.

    My general perceptions of reality and how it should be took a few hits from that bewildering lake and what immediately followed. Those hits became a relentless assault. I needed music, but I wasn''t going to be rude and play without sharing. But despite our needs, we wandered our way to a place that promised a possible respite.

    The question of whether we had actually peed previously in the den of dark creatures that wanted to digest us was not one I ever needed an answer to, though I suspected Roxanne was working through that imponderable. At least I could say with absolute¡­ Nearly absolute certainty that I peed in a decent, rural truck stop. Whichever came first, whichever was real, didn''t matter, but I feel like I learned a few things.

    Peeing with an attachment is preferable. Handling the hose felt ungainly, especially with the awkward rope I''d been dealt by happenstance. The dribbling afterwards was a lot. Ideally, I would have liked to snap it off and use it at my convenience, like a portable potty. The way it got sticky and sweaty against itself and everything around it gave me plenty of understanding for why it''s necessary for a guy to adjust himself.

    I scooted in beside Roxanne so that I could look out through the windows and see her precious face. She looked broken, and I could understand that, but it hurt so much that she kept me at a distance. This useless emptiness was awful. I filled it by finding out what this place had to offer, from the pizza to the burgers to the pasta to everything else.

    It was not an overflowing abundance of choices. But it didn''t have to be, because it just had to cross the threshold of not being a place that wanted to kill us.

    When Roxanne came back, we played a little game like we were both normal, everything was fine, and nothing was bothering us. All the while, I could see her eye twitching and her cheeks getting so red. It was subtle, and Joel could always play anything that upset him off like it was nothing. But I knew.

    I let her go take that shower alone, and I waited. It hurt so much to know that she was suffering in isolation. And it was such a relief when she finally opened the door to me.

    The words I knew inside that I wanted to say and that she needed from me were the easiest words I''ve ever spoken in my life, but they were also monumentally difficult, emphasis on ''mentally''. I probably made them look so easy, but the right words never are.

    I held Joel as she cried harder and more needfully than I could remember crying since a quiet day long ago when I realized that my father would never actually be a dad. I would never have the daddy I always quietly yearned for. And that wasn''t something that Joel had to fill or could possibly give me. But Joel helped me start to heal those spaces. And I gladly comforted them with whatever I could give.

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    Joel always saw himself as the consummate, pinnacle, perfect iteration of a man with all the hard and soft sides necessary. Not entirely serious, though he could make a good case with a smile and a smirk. It only made sense that she should match that man. Although I was probably making a shallow, superficial interpretation of each. It was just good to help her.

    Then things got wild.

    If you''d asked me at any point previously, maybe even ten minutes before, if I thought my loving boyfriend would do what she did to me, I would have giggled and said that Joel usually has a hard time getting his mouth around certain intimate aspects. No way. But there she was, practically inhaling as ravenously as she joked about. And now it was no longer a joke.

    Describing and comparing the feelings and sensations between one sex and the other tangled in my brain like a once-in-a-lifetime dissertation idea. This was all after the fact, because right then there was no way my brain was up for anything other than surviving the onslaught.

    Surprise played a factor. Just trying to process being touched and overwhelmed like that. Add to that the fact that this is completely unexpected from the person I care about most, and the actual climax is just whipped cream on top of a spinning sundae of sensations. It''s a heck of a lot of cream, though.

    Poor Roxanne never imagined she would be in this position. I could sympathize, but I also knew it was a learning experience, even though I didn''t want her to learn quite like this. It''s a bummer that I didn''t taste better for her, but so many different factors determine stuff like that.

    She totally and happily deserved a good time for herself. Luckily, I had some experience in that department and brought it to bear. But no matter how much experience I had, the results were far more immediate and pronounced than I expected. I had to dial it back, or else I worried she might get dehydrated or pass out and hit her head. Getting weak did occur, and we spent half of the good time just sitting and trying to keep her conscious.

    Although I doubted I could seriously break her, I was concerned about how close she was to an altered state or inebriation. I mentioned some medical statistics about full-body orgasms, but this felt beyond even that. The gold and blue glowing also left me with concerns. But she was happy, so it was difficult to complain about the results.

    My gosh, though, my big strapping total man boyfriend had become such a soft, squirming, giggling, delirious little lady that I had to be careful about not wrecking with too much pleasure. Despite that vast chasm of character and expression, I was still totally turned on and loving her. This was the same soul, the same heart, that I fell in love with, and I knew she loved me in all sorts of quiet, playful ways. We may never be the same again, but nothing has changed. Even with her wearing my cute dress.

    Back at the table, I began to get frustrated with Ross. She has a certain bullheaded impression of Joel, and no matter what he says, what she does to him, or what he does for her, nothing can shake it. Absolutely frustrating.

    Layla and Roxy were a combo I could watch all day, but it was spoiled by the ass-hat in the trucker hat and dirty blue shirt. I had to be tough and be the man for Roxy, even though it was such a challenging role to pull off. I doubted that I was doing it right, but I had the right look for it, and that was probably enough. I did my best not to lose it on the walk back to the car. The jerk was still there, and it wouldn''t be a good idea to hit him in public, no matter how much I imagined it. As if I''d actually be able to do it off without spinning around and falling flat on my ass.

    But in the car next to Roxy, with her smile still beaming and her legs needing my support, I could really believe I was a gentleman. Not that I wanted to be one. Male psychology in my classes felt the most uncertain and the saddest. Joel helped fill in the blanks where my professors claimed to be such experts. Being a man can be so debilitatingly lonely. You have to protect, you have to show strength, you have to not show other things, and you have to do it all without the kind of support system that girls take for granted. Not that boys have it rough or girls have it rougher, or this or that is the ultimate tabulation of good and bad in society. Everyone needs love; no one wants to be alone, and it can be so hard to find happiness.

    I just needed the light switch that Layla could summon to switch back and forth. Be Jake for the moments I needed it, and be myself for the rest. No matter what lay ahead, at least there was Roxy, and there were all these people around me who understood what I had been through and what I was going through. The rest of life, as always, would be the most challenging part. Mom would freak out or finally stop freaking out. Dad might not even notice a difference. And finding myself in all the great and small confusions would always be the hardest part.

    Miranda''s mention of fairies let me help a little with the notes I had backed up on my phone. The meager treatise of information felt like a lot, but it essentially encapsulated most of what the class had ever provided on the subject. It was a shame that Miranda''s folklore class was going to pick up this exact subject next month. We needed it right now.

    After that, things quieted down, and what remained was to drive to the place of promise Miranda had discovered. Sitting with Roxy kept me fueled. Smiling was so easy for her and such a challenge for me with the mounting weight, like countless invisible but inescapable bricks pressing down on my head and shoulders despite the impression of muscles holding them up. Roxy wanted to show a similar smile to mine, but I wanted to tell her that she could beam as brightly as she wished.

    We would definitely have to figure something out at the motel or wherever we wound up this evening to perk her up without immobilizing her.

    Assuming we actually made it somewhere. Fortunately, we encountered a series of signs that listed every single little blip on the map except for the one we wanted. Poor Roxy held her tongue even though it looked like so many delightful things were urgently running through her brain. Ross was basically breathing down her neck and in her mind, even though Joel didn''t bother with self-censorship.

    She didn''t restrain herself when it came to that silly little book that kept gnawing at her. Surprisingly, and yet not surprisingly, I could see her actually spending time with it, taking in aspects she clearly had never considered before. For Alyssa, that probably would''ve been an advancement in men understanding women. I didn''t need that, nor did Joel. We understood each other. But this was the way things were. As inescapable as the other way.

 [23] Mystery Lake 23 â€“ Jessed Us For

    Mystery Lake

    [23] Jessed Us For

    At least the darn Wink town finally showed up on the sign; we just had to make it through all the other horny-sounding ones first. And the calls of nature beginning to scream. It felt absurd that so much and so little seemed to pass us by. Attention grew and mounted until finally¡­ Release with a piddling rest stop for urgent piddles.

    Half of us practically launched out the doors as soon as the parking brake was set. I did my best to keep pace and take in the spring-blooming serenity. It was still somewhat strange to have a full cadre of seasons spread out before you year after year.

    I braced myself for the men''s room with the worst of expectations and the lightest of breaths. It wasn''t utopia; it wasn''t even a really nice library that kept the facilities clean, but it also wasn''t sprayed with strange colored leavings on the walls and seats. And that happened in far too many ladies'' rooms. The mini-pools and surely urine spots marking the floor were not ideal, but they were avoidable.

    The urinals tempted me, but I still preferred the relative comfort of a stall. Just outside the building, I caught a blond blur blasting across the pavement. Same look as Layla, but I had no idea why she would be in such a hurry to get back to the car. The moment got even stranger when I checked over to my left and Layla was still there, stretching, yawning, and generally ambling over by the other building. But the figure I''d seen was clad in the same clothes and had the same look and feel of hair as Layla. Were doppelg?ngers in fairy lore too?

    Layla soon met up with Chiara for a cautious cuddle. I glanced over to the restroom and found it puzzling that Roxy hadn''t gotten out yet. Miranda soon emerged, and I asked the three of them if Roxy was still in there. Layla rushed back to check, while Chiara clasped her hands together. They all did their best to check, but with every passing moment, my heartbeat was pounding against my eardrums.

    No way, no fucking way, that she would just vanish like that. Don''t you dare do this. Screw your Missing 411 fairy bullshit! Give her back!

    I stomped around with my eyes tracing every single corner of the rest stop, pressing my gaze through the trees, and wandering as far as the area would allow. We all searched, combing every single corner that we were allowed to touch and then some. Layla, aside from me, was the most frantic and urgent searcher, shouting all sorts of rhymes and pleas for Roxy. If not for the morbid moment, some of them were quite catchy.

    Scouring the rest stop and trying to communicate the situation to the limited authorities of an uncertain caretaker and a perplexed gardener was the height of frustration. It had to be fairies; it had to be something terrible, something like those hollow things. Why couldn''t all of this just leave us alone? We didn''t do anything. We didn''t deserve this, especially Roxy.

    On the other side of the parking lot, I searched around the small, raised forest on a hill, trying to push it aside like a rude curtain, hiding secrets I desperately needed to know. Through that comb-like narrowness, I looked back and thought I saw something¡ªsomeone who wasn''t there, who shouldn''t be there, but whom I knew. They were on their hands and knees, as frightened as I was. It had to be Roxy, poor Roxy, deflated and depleted. But as soon as I stepped back through the trees, there was nothing to see but all the other expected people and things.

    Not a hallucination; it just couldn''t be one. She was here; she had to be, and whatever bastards were doing things to her, they better pray that Roxy finishes them off first before I get my hands on them.

    =====

    "FUCK YOU! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" Roxy managed to crawl back to her feet with the help of the middle railing after losing her footing. The strange trucker slowly advanced on her.

    "Such harsh words, dearie. But such actions by them are the point."

    "STAY! BACK!" She didn''t have anything to really threaten him with, and she knew she looked hopelessly pathetic as a threat. Her barking tone was something, and at least he still kept some distance.

    He showed his empty hands turned up. "I''m not here to threaten you. I''m just here to have a little fun. And I''m sure you''ll enjoy it too. We can make each other happy."

    Roxy shook her head, her eyes intensely focused. She kept her attention on him while sidling away. "Not interested." There was nothing in the area to run to or use for shelter. The nearest oak was too much of a climb, and everything else was vertical and prickly before it offered any kind of support. She could run back to the buildings, but it was even more of a climb to get onto the slippery, corrugated, faded orange roof. Neither prospect was going to happen with the current state of her legs anyway.

    The only other option was to make a sprint for the bastard''s truck and hope he left the door open and unlocked¡ªmaybe even left the keys behind. Yeah, right. And a pile of gold to go with it. He stood there, calm and confident, no way there was an easy way out for her.

    "Come on, do you really want to play hard to get? We''re just going to end up in the same place after all these games." He sighed and yawned theatrically.

    "Hard to get? I will rip off the nearest branch, shove it up your ass, and then pop your goddamn twig and berries off like a hood ornament for a car!"

    The trucker paused, looking genuinely taken aback. "That''s really quite uncalled for. I''m only proposing sex, Kralate in Faretend. I swear, I''m a gentle lover."

    She had no idea what he meant by those strange words, but she didn''t care. Roxy didn''t like her footing on the worn ground near the cresting tree roots. There was scattered, slippery mud. She was liable to trip if she had to run. Perhaps it would''ve been better to make a stand in the bathroom, even if she would''ve been trapped.

    The guy still kept the same modest distance from her, his empty hands showing and his creepy, glassy eyes reflecting in the light through the trees. "I don''t want to press this point rudely, but I''m afraid you can''t leave until we''re finished. This is a hollow place, a little pocket of my own shaping, a shadow of their world with a light intrusion of ours. When it''s over, everything will go back. In fact, I know you''re getting more out of the deal than me. The uproarious pleasures. I just need a little relief, and it warms my spirit. Come, come to me, sweet lady Sidhe, and I shall bless you with ecstasy. And you shall feel the better for it."

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    "Sidhe?" She had heard that name before. It was in what Jake recited from his class notes. The other oddity was the way that he referred to ''their'' world and ''ours''.

    "Of course. You are a lady of the blue light and gold gleam. Blessed with ravenous carnality. Of the fair folk with sweet delights. I seek only a humble taste to share with you."

    "Are you bonkers?! I''m not a fucking fairy, and there''s no way in hell you''re getting a taste of anything! Go shove a carrot up your piss hole and gape it!"

    The bastard took a hesitant step away, as if slapped. "You are so rudely uncouth. I can''t imagine how you were raised. Though...I still find myself captivated."

    Roxy narrowed her eyes and hurled forth the most lurid and detailed insults: "Go rub your dick with sandpaper! Go fuck a dead raccoon in the ass and suck out its rotten cum and puke! Fondle a cactus and jerk off with that until your penis bleeds Swiss dick cheese!"

    Her litany of insults drove him back but also kept him close. The bastard seemed both offended and intrigued. He opened his mouth and said the thing she least expected him to say: "Will you marry me?"

    "WHAT THE HELL? NO!"

    "I have never found such harsh words so titillating. It''s rare to find one so unwilling to drop her panties. You have truly left me smitten."

    Damn fairies! Fuck, marry, and kill was not supposed to include "all of the above". What kind of fucked-up Otherworld did these assholes live in? She didn''t want to know, and she certainly didn''t want to be a part of it.

    She crouched down, grabbed a fist full of dirt, and threw it in his face. "Get back! Get the fuck away from me, you fucking fairy rapist!"

    He blocked the dirt with his hat and wore a quizzical expression. "Rapist? Oh! You truly wound me with such a human word. I am no rapist. I make love and give fountains of pleasure to fairy ladies everywhere¡ªsome cunning courtesans, some sweet, na?ve maidens, some seeking adventure¡ªbut none who have ever said no. I know a lady fairy''s body better than she knows herself."

    "Listen to me... I. AM. NOT. A. FAIRY! I''m barely even a lady. Get it through your boneheaded skull. You fucked up, and you are fucked up. I want nothing to do with you." She hissed through her teeth, her body trembling with fury and panic.

    The trucker shook his head, his glittering eyes squinting as if poised over a foul smell. "Nonsense. The gold, the blue, the shimmer. I know the mark of the Sidhe when I see it. In fact, your shimmer is so bright, I nearly hesitated. Only princesses and those destined for such fates would glow so brightly. Since you have neither called upon your guard nor used magic against me, I can only assume that you are destined, which would make you and I a perfect match for future royalty."

    If only she could bust out some magic on his ass. Ice queen his balls. Do something worse to him when he first showed up at the truck stop and make those Hollows pay without having to wait for whatever Agent Cerberus and Rydia were to help. Strength to defend herself and those she cared about. But she wasn''t some magical fairy princess like this lunatic thought.

    "I''m just destined to kick your ass and make you eat it!"

    The trucker frowned and looked genuinely puzzled for a second, as if taking the time to parse what that meant. He held his chin with his fingers and mused, "There are those truly ignorant of their destiny, despite holding immense power to shape it. You clearly¡­ OW! YOU HIT ME! Stop that! Ouch!"

    Roxy closed the distance and literally swung a leg around to assault him on the side. She didn''t want to touch him, especially his ass, but she had to do something. This bully was going down. She swung again, connecting with the opposite side and crumpling his knee.

    He looked shocked at her sudden assault, but that soon faded with a cruel grin. He brushed off his shoulder and laid his cap back on his head. "I think that''s enough foreplay. I would prefer you to surrender yourself and be an eager participant, but if this is what it takes, so be it. Just remember that you have brought this on yourself. You clearly desire a rough lover, and I shall deliver."

    Roxy braced herself but was surprised at how fast he was. He yanked her arm back and pressed his face into her chest. She struggled to breathe and stay on her feet, but she kept fighting, punching at every open spot, kicking where it mattered, and scratching where she had to. That didn''t deter him, as he pressed himself on top of her and held her. At least his breath didn''t smell nasty, more like he''d been chewing on too much mint. Not that it did anything to distract from the nightmare that was pressing down on her. No matter how he smelled, he was a piece of shit.

    The bastard just wouldn''t relent. His gross presence loomed over her. As he consumed her senses, the world around her dimmed and blurred, like falling into a fresh nightmare. She found herself in a new place¡ªa vast field covered with long grasses and flowers. He pinned her down with his strength and breathed against her neck. Her teeth were ready if he came closer. But he drew back in sudden surprise. She broke free and crawled to put at least a few feet between them. He just sat there on his knees in that endless field, perplexed and uncertain.

    "You¡­ You smell like fairy. You have the shimmer. And yet¡­ You reek of human, gaggingly male. What are you? You are Sidhe, and yet not. I cannot fathom. But it does not matter. I still want you. I can pinch my nose and bear it. Come."

 [24] Mystery Lake 24 â€“ Protected

    Mystery Lake

    [24] Protected

    Before Roxy could struggle to her feet, he overwhelmed her again, seizing her by the waist and pulling up her dress. Her mind flared with every defense technique that ever crossed her mind. She kneed him in the face but didn''t flail wildly with her legs. They stayed down and angled forward for protection. It was a hopeless cause, but she would fight for every inch.

    He had his grip around her shorts underneath, and she focused everything she had into one last attack of arms and legs. He shuddered briefly and reached out again. She struck him a second time, and he crumpled at her feet. No time to waste. She dug her heels into the altered ground beneath her and pushed off the grass, wishing those damn legs would stop being such weaklings.

    They shook, quivered, and refused to stay steady under her, but they held her weight enough to lift her into a standing position away from the bastard. She was about to stagger backward, cascading head over heels, but she bumped into something, as if she had found an invisible wall to brace herself against.

    It was truly strange, like someone was with her. Hands even held her tired shoulders as she managed to catch her breath and let go of the aches. A voice whispered against her like a stray sliver of breeze. It was as calming and comforting as a summer day spread across her skin. Like a big sister she had never known before. You''ll be fine; just breathe. I am with you.

    Roxy settled into the feeling, and the serenity surrounded her like a perfect shield. She looked over, across the endless field, at the bastard getting back to his feet. Only the fear she felt sublimated away, and now he seemed so small, so desperately pathetic.

    A rumble filled her throat, like a growl surging from beneath, from somewhere unnatural and intimate. Her attacker paused, and his ears seemed to twist with fear. His eyes widened in alarm, and his mouth dropped.

    "Oh¡­ Shit..."

    Roxy felt the ghostly hands of her new invisible friend cradle her and guide her arms up. A voice rose from her throat with a frightful potency she didn''t realize she had, speaking words she didn''t know in a harsh and alien tongue: "Mashares tolka ferrik cull matare."

    The trucker fucker dropped to his knees with his eyes quivering and meekly responding, "I am so sorry... I humbly beg your forgiveness on my kalamek."

    Neither Roxy''s companion nor Roxy herself believed that bullshit. Shifting together, they raised Roxy''s left hand in a sweeping arc and brought it down as if cutting an invisible cloth. The expansive grassy swath fell away, and they were back at the rest stop, back on the pathway. But it was immediately different.

    There were sounds, there were people, and the voice she wanted to hear most of all.

    "ROXY!" Jake cried out in panic and relief that felt so far away, but he came with arms wide open to embrace her. What flash of strength she had just moments ago staggered and struggled to push her towards him, but it was enough to reunite them. She wobbled, but Jake held her steady and turned to protect her with his body.

    "What did you do to her?" Jake practically roared from deep inside his chest. The words exploded and echoed across the pavement. Despite their ferocity, the people and families in the area didn''t flinch or turn in surprise at the sudden, shouted question.

    The cowering trucker panted and presented his empty hands, just as he had before. "Nothing, absolutely nothing. She just... She has such tremendous power, and her aura... She is a destined princess of light. She will be as magnificent and glorious as they come. And I have the honor of knowing her. It has been the greatest privilege of my life."

    Roxy wanted to flip the fucker as many birds as she could throw. But she felt the strange ethereal friend on her shoulder lean over and whisper gently. It wasn''t so much words as an entire thought transmitted at once. She gestured to the left, to Ross, who was standing off to the side, almost touching the grass by the trees. Her friend bent her head forward, as if they were giving a sign. Ross squinted but nodded slightly before walking over to the restored car in the parking lot, though Roxy assumed she was the one who left, not it.

    A deep part of Roxy, closely connected to Joel, was worried about what was happening¡ªabout being commanded by this strange presence. Only it wasn''t a command. She had a lure¡ªa kind of glamour and radiance¡ªbut Roxy knew she could easily reject all that in a moment. It was a suggestion, an idea, like secretly passing along a prank notion that would be so perfect.

    While Ross was away, Roxy laid it out: "He tried to force himself on me. I''m okay though...I think." She felt Jake''s arms and body tighten, but his grip remained tender.

    "Did he hurt you?"

    "No. He tried, but someone''s looking out for me, and we''re both really pissed at this douchebag." Roxy quickly added, "It has something to do with that stupid lake, but I can''t be sure what."

    The trucker looked up and asked, "Lake? What lake?"

    Ross lunged at him, carrying one of the plastic cups from the back and hurling its contents at his chest. A stretching, sprawling mass of water splattered his blue shirt and ricocheted across his arms. The trucker shrieked as if it wasn''t water but more like a melting acid that splashed him.

    Immediately, his shape started to shift, as if an invisible, intangible presence was reshaping him like soft clay. He fell to the pavement, squirming in terror. His arms dwindled to dainty limbs and his legs slimmed, while his body lost its former, bulky heft. His hair grew, spilling across his shoulders, overwhelming his cap, which tumbled over and away from him.

    The biggest change was at his drenched chest, as an unmistakable, massive bosom swelled up, straining the contours of his shirt like the water was fostering flowering, soft mounds. A terrified blush filled the former man''s cheeks as she sat up shakily.

    Her clothes barely stayed on, especially her pants. She fumbled nervously and glared at the group. Before she could spit out bitter words, Roxy''s friend nudged her and politely asked if she could say something. Roxy had no objections.

    A calm passed over Roxy''s body as a gaze, glittering like sapphires through her eyes, focused on the transformed trucker and said, "You won''t be alone for long. I hope they have fun with you."

    The new girl''s eyes widened in terror as Roxy made a single sharp, high-pitched note with her mouth. It sounded bright and bold enough to shake glass. A quiver passed through the trees, like shadows awakening. Roxy narrowed her eyes with a smile.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Flailing for something in the air, the trucker yanked down what looked like an invisible courtesy curtain and vanished. A moment later, Roxy glanced at the others and told them, "We should go now."

    After she said that, her quietly supportive, invisible friend drifted away, trailing a soft, comforting hand against her cheek. Roxy returned to herself and wobbled, needing Jake''s support again.

    The others had a mountain of questions dribbling out in half-finished sentences, especially Jake. Roxy shook her head and reiterated the last thought she was left with, encouraging, "We need to go. Get in the car. Gas up down the road... If that''s real."

    Chiara made the first move toward the car. Jake stayed close to Roxy. Ross lingered back to retrieve the fallen cup with a look of uncertainty. Miranda seemed torn between trying to puzzle clues out of this location and encouraging the group to hustle. Layla busted out what she clearly thought were approximations of karate or judo moves, slicing through the air and sliding her foot along the grass.

    At this point, the scattered crowds that had recently materialized in the area began to look at the six of them with concerned expressions, suspecting them to be somewhere between performance art and the strangest iteration of a family unit. Despite how they looked, none of them hesitated in their efforts to scramble for the car doors.

    Arriving first, Chiara puffed hard, efficiently slipping the key into the lock and disengaging the doors for the others. They slipped efficiently into their now familiar spots and coordinated their seatbelts, with Chiara easing into reverse. From there, there was an unfortunate log jam of leaving traffic plodding their way around behind them. Roxy hoped that the warning wasn''t especially imminent, since no one seemed to sense any danger in the air.

    They were still bound by the posted speed limit but threaded it as much as possible to climb back onto the highway. Once there, the sign noting further amenities wasn''t the only assurance that things had been set back on their paths. The traffic was much denser than previously, which made more sense for a road like this. This raised several concerns for Roxy as she tried to parse recent events into something that made sense.

    This feeling of isolation had persisted for some time in their journey. Was it just because of the trucker fucker? Was it because of this region and the whole fairy country idea? Or had they just come across a very strange stretch of road, and the other events were coincidences? The signs clearly reiterated that they were within spitting distance of the suggestively named towns and their destination, so some of it had to be real. Small comfort that the wannabe rapist couldn''t conjure up extensive illusions, although how he found her and did what he did still left her shaking all over.

    Roxy squeezed close to Jake, and he wrapped his arms around her. Despite what she wanted to tell her brain about who this was and how much he meant to her, her body still flinched fearfully. More psychology and trauma to deal with. Why couldn''t she just forget the whole damn thing happened?

    She could sense that Ross had several questions he wanted to launch through the air, but he restrained them until the frail promise of a refueling station solidified from a roadside hope into an actual reality. It wasn''t as big as the truck stop, but it still had plenty of open pumps when it came into sight.

    Everyone braced themselves as they pulled into the one on the end with the easiest escape route. At least the prices on the tanks looked frustratingly genuine. Miranda and Chiara went in together to put cash down inside. The others kept their eyes on them as long as they could. Layla slid a hand over Roxy''s shoulder. She smiled at her gently in appreciation and gave her hand a quick squeeze before removing it.

    Outside, the girls returned, and Chiara started pumping, although the nozzle overflowed from the last time it was used, and she had to scurry back from the spill. Miranda helped her set it up, and then she walked protectively around the car. Leaning forward from the back, it was quite obvious that Ross wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.

    Roxy glanced out the window; the gas flowing into the car sure seemed real enough, along with the smell, the other customers, and the thing that wheels ran over, triggering a bell. The place didn''t even seem to have full service anymore. It was one of those little, old-fashioned quirks that they kept the bell.

    She watched as the counter stopped at twelve gallons. The faint sounds of birds fluttered near the station. The girls outside asked if anyone wanted any snacks, but none of them were in the mood. When they returned and Chiara confirmed a full tank on the dashboard and the tablet, Ross made a small sound, testing out the faintest sliver of his question.

    Roxy responded, "I don''t know what happened. I went to the bathroom, then I was alone, and then I was with that bastard. He claimed I was a fairy, some sort of princess, but he said a lot of shit. I don''t know what to make of everything that happened when I saw you all again." She looked to Ross with an unspoken question about whether he wanted to add anything to that. He firmly held his tongue and shook his head without elaborating.

    It wasn''t long before they were back on the road with everyone sinking into their seats with the sentiment of a full day of exhaustion, despite the relatively early hour. Roxy wanted to curl up and shut her eyes, but the darkness behind her lids offered no easy respite. Phantoms and figures that loomed in shadow crept toward her with gnarled, smoky arms outstretched.

    She didn''t see the trucker; he was gone. She knew that. But she saw the next thing that might creep around her shoulder¡ªthat might wear an unassuming face but have jagged, hungry teeth. Her legs were finally starting to feel normal again, but the rest of her was trailing behind.

    Ross dug around in the back and retrieved a small, light blue blanket from someone''s bags. The way he held it carefully made Roxy wonder if it was Alyssa''s. Ross flashed a scowl, as if he expected her to say something about the offering. Roxy just accepted it and squeezed it with a friendly smile and a nod. The warmth was a small but necessary comfort, even though the car didn''t feel cold, but something inside of her did.

 [25] Mystery Lake 25 â€“ Never Wink

    Mystery Lake

    [25] Never Wink

    The named municipalities so prominently featured on the signs ended up being rather underwhelming. Climax was a single stretch of houses with a general store, an animal feed place, a post office, a church, and an unmarked storefront. Ample Hills was a nearby neighborhood consisting of mostly mobile homes, with some more stately homes scattered among the trees and a few small farms mixed in. It had a schoolhouse but no other signs of a town center. Lower Lips was actually situated on a hill. When they got to Neverwink, it was hard to miss it.

    The town had an ornate sign in a slender oval placed on a stone base. The style of the name was looping and fancy, with golden letters and blue trim, and it functioned as a truncated advertisement for several local businesses, such as a bowling alley, a gun place, a hardware store, and a fish and tackle shop. The population was listed as just over 2500, and the red-brick-toned downtown stood out.

    Miranda quietly grumbled to herself that her phone still wouldn''t connect to the regular mobile Internet and update her map. That seemed more the fault of the service provider than any supernatural interference at this point. Chiara drove carefully through the narrow main street while the others scanned every storefront for the name Triton. The presence of an actual Starbucks occupying what used to be a bank was mildly surprising but cheerfully familiar.

    Jake latched onto the small bookstore near the corner with a bold, white sign emblazoned on its covered, rounded awning called the Book Hook. The area even had something for Layla with a costume shop titled Dress Yourself. A classic rental store with actual DVDs and a bold assortment of records and eight tracks called the Crow''s Nest caught Miranda''s eye.

    The others also found things to pique their interests, as Ross watched a large pet shop named Critter Corner, even though it wasn''t at the corner. Chiara slowed the car down the most to peek through the tinted windows of a comic shop named Excelsior with all kinds of colorful displays. Literally something for everyone, which felt suspiciously like the perfect trap from a new set of clever fairies trying to eat or fuck them. Roxy wasn''t gonna shake that concern easily, but she did her best not to stress. Nothing specific to her came up, but she wondered if that was because she was deliberately avoiding thinking about any of them.

    The shop they were looking for showed up on a side street. It was in a faded, dark brown brick building with the slogans of old factories preserved and painted on the side. The store had no window or storefront. Instead, it was subtly marked with meager, classical lettering painted over an iron door in front of steps leading up. They parked at the back of the street next to a parking meter that made a louder-than-normal buzzing sound, like a disgruntled hive of bees.

    Miranda led the way as best she could, twisting and turning while walking forward and backwards and testing the stability of her new balance. Chiara fretted about the ambiguity of the parking meter, noting that it was limited to two hours and allowed six after that, but there was also a sign that said the meters were not in operation after certain hours. Jake wrapped up Roxy more comfortably than the blanket she had left behind on the seat. Layla found Chiara''s hand and swiftly dispelled some of the parking stress. Ross walked alone, weaving around the edge of the curb, almost into the street.

    What passed for the entrance to the store had a plethora of small advertisements, both faded and fresh, splattered across the brick. Some of them were local businesses; others spoke exuberantly of UFO conventions passed, along with disclosure reports, ancient landmarks, and energy levels. It sure seemed like the right place, although Miranda wore her skepticism front and center about first impressions. Just inside, in a small nook, was an elevator with a narrow, manual sliding door covering the front. It smelled pungently of an impressive amount of paint and cleanser, raising concerning questions about what happened in there to require all that.

    The stairs were sharply cut, rising with barely enough room to fully plant one''s feet. The new boys, in particular, had a hard time adjusting, opting to prance sideways up them. As they got to the top, new smells hit their noses, like old wood mixed with teacher''s supplies, 1980s lounges, and tuna fish. The worst of these began to fade as they approached the landing and faced a small hallway leading to a wooden door with an ornate brass handle. Miranda reached out first, turned it gently, and peered through the threshold.

    Inside, the space was absolutely packed with just what it said on the sign: trinkets. The walls were covered in racks, shelves, and desks bearing everything from classical jewelry boxes to old lampshades, darkened glassware, faded posters, peculiar contraptions, esoteric furniture, psychedelic rugs, and a forlorn assortment of misshapen and disheveled toys. And that was just a glimpse, a small fragment of what was on display. Along the walls were an absolutely staggering assortment of tomes, ranging from delicate, darkly yellowed pamphlets to rich, ornate hardcovers that still glittered like golden treasures. The paranormal and supernatural interest slice was soon evident with an assortment of Ouija boards, scale model UFOs, labeled rocks, bottled curios, bright tarot cards, crystal balls, elaborate grids, and flickering, lit candles.

    It was almost too much to take in. The six of them stuck close together, as if lightly worried that the sheer mass of objects all around might lunge out and pick off the weakest. A counter in the back held an old-fashioned cash register. Plenty of other items hung behind a table with a man swallowed up by a blue nylon folding chair that sagged in the center. Soft, puffing snores drifted around the room as he spread out with his eyes shut and head dipped.

    They approached the man and glanced at one another. The guy had a practical wreath around his head of puffy, thick gray hair that bloomed somewhere between smoke, sea foam, and loose forest brambles. The dark accent of a light beard with a goatee traced his chin as a slow yawn drifted out. His clothing was a dense, vivid tie-dyed mix concentrated with light pinks and fair blues. A literal, colorful tie looped around his neck, almost down to his dark blue pants. The man shifted in place but picked up the snoring right where he left it.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Miranda offered a subtle throat clear to rouse who seemed to be the proprietor of this establishment. The sound made the man stop snoring for a few seconds before getting right back to it. Next up, Jake tapped a hand on the counter and rang the bell.

    The man shifted but didn''t awaken. Long snores drifted out of his mouth as the group struggled with ideas of what else to try. Miranda proposed a next level of calling the listed number of the shop. Roxy raised an eyebrow and gestured at the sleeping man in front of them.

    "Hello!" Roxy hollered at the top of her lungs. "Anybody home?"

    Surprisingly, the man behind the counter didn''t stir. Her swift speculation was that a fairy enchantment had rendered him unresponsive. Though not everything needed to involve fairies. He could just be deaf. Or a very hard sleeper.

    The group scanned the area for anything that might surely produce a louder noise. A strange grandfather clock seemed like it would produce a rumble to quiver the entire room. After searching around the apparatus, Layla found a button marked simply "test" and gleefully pressed it.

    As expected, a deep, thrumming gong sounded through the antiquated wood and vibrated against the firmament of the building as if one of the Ancient Gods were clearing its throat in anticipation of its return. The six of them had to shield their ears to stand the noise. The sleeping man behind the counter shifted his head position slightly but experienced no interruption. Considering how hard Roxy felt that shuddering wobble in her legs, she didn''t know what this guy''s deal was.

    They could waste their breath and effort on countless other methods of trying to wake him, but Ross suggested roaming around and seeing if there was anything posted, along with going ahead with that phone call. He suspected that leaping the counter to physically shake the man out of whatever state he was in would more than likely do the trick, but also probably prompt alarm, fear, and more local police than they wanted. Dealing with those two mysterious agents of whatever was more than enough.

    Several silver music boxes on display were beautiful but didn''t seem to produce enough sound. Ross and Chiara crouched before a dense set of antique bells from all around the world, some made of glittering crystal, some with intricate brass designs, and a few resembling a cross between a church bell and a small chandelier. Plenty of objects in this place seemed to make enough noise to wake the dead from an eternal slumber, but every careful test wasn''t enough for this dude. Roxy''s idle theory about fairy enchantment sure seemed like the right tact.

    Chiara found a small collection of tin wind-up toys, most with faded labels. There was a proud, muscular cowboy, a stoic figure of a Native American from decades past, and a dainty, girlish figure with a pink parasol. Winding them up set off a series of noteworthy sounds, with the cowboy whooping, hollering, and firing off his pistol, the Native American chanting and singing in a way that made Ross narrow his eyes in annoyance, and the girl loudly singing an old Southern song. They each felt some ringing in their ears afterwards, but the snoring behind them continued unabated and unaltered. This was getting to be silly.

    Running out of options, Miranda called the direct number for the store on her phone. She expected a loud, screaming ringer to burst out in alarm, but the room remained silent. A click issued from Miranda''s phone, and a voice calmly picked up, "Triton''s Trinkets and Oddities. How can I help you?"

    The voice sounded like it came from an older woman, but one with a well-honed stubbornness to her words. Miranda glanced around curiously for a moment before responding, "Good afternoon; we may need some help. We''re at Triton''s Trinkets and Oddities, but there''s a gentleman who''s asleep at the moment. Are you the answering service?"

    "I''m his mum. Has my son conked out again? You oughta give them a slap for me. I''ll be right down in a minute. Sorry for all this." The voice on the line soon hung up, leaving them with hopeful anticipation but still plenty of questions.

    From the back of the room, a solid minute after that call ended, they heard methodically ambling footsteps with a steady, awkward cadence descending from somewhere above. Moments later, a wall that didn''t look like a door at all popped open to reveal a series of stairs leading up. Through the new opening ambled an older woman with stringy, distressed white hair curled around her head like a plume of tea kettle steam trapped in place. She wore high, black stockings around her legs and pink sandals. A cane with a screaming eagle head clutched in her grip supported her as she crossed the carpet behind the counter.

    Miranda started to speak, but the old woman raised a finger with a prominently poised eyebrow to silence her before any words came out. The old lady was dressed in shimmering green polka dots, stretched and contorted across a black outfit like stars under the influence of a black hole. Roxy felt casually proud of herself for remembering this scientific tidbit.

    Even as the old woman reached the counter on the other side and gave a few noisy cracks of her joints, she still resisted speaking and encouraged silence from the group. She moved a display over to the center of the table and spread her arms out theatrically behind a tiny silver bell set on a matching plate. Printed words, secured and wrapped in heavy tape, adorned the front and read, "RING ME".

    Having presented this, the old woman took several steps back, glanced at the still-sleeping man, and waited for something that none of them quite understood. Skeptically, Roxy approached the bell and checked out the mechanism. The handle at the top, partly made of wood, pulled back like a small lever, or slicking down prominent, errant hair. Not knowing what else to do, Roxy pulled and released.

    The strange top slid along the grove to the other end, like a pendulum following what a pendulum does, and when it ran out of momentum, it made a sharp, distinct, but ultimately reserved tinkling sound in a high-pitched tone, nearly at the edge of her hearing. Instantly, the sleeping man left his relaxed, restful state and sprang to his feet with an unsteady wobble, quickly correcting his balance and opening wide gray eyes that matched the simple color of his hair.

    "My apologies; welcome to Triton''s Trinkets and Oddities. How may I help you, fine folks?"

 [26] Mystery Lake 26 â€“ Eugene

    Mystery Lake

    [26] Eugene

    After this introduction, the man sniffled once and rubbed his eyes gently. He fumbled to his right and retrieved a smartphone with a case that complimented his already colorful appearance.

    "Just ten minutes off. Oh, hey, mom. I guess the sign I put on the door fell off again." The man elaborated to the six of them that the shop was temporarily closed for his afternoon nap. "It''s a bother to lock everything up in this building, so I usually put up a sign up saying that we''re closed for an hour. I guess it didn''t stick well enough¡­ Or I forgot. Anyway, not important. How can I help?"

    The man''s mother puttered around behind him, picking up a broom and casually sweeping some mud away from a spot. Roxy had plenty of lingering questions about how on earth the guy could be in such a rock-heavy state of sleep and immediately bolt up at a single, specific sound. They weren''t critical questions or urgent questions, but they were absolutely bugging her at the moment. It seemed that the others had similar thoughts and concerns. Miranda didn''t deflect to them as she presented the key issue.

    "I''m a student of Miss Clifton''s at Ferris University in Grand Rapids. I found that she cited you several times as a notable local folklorist. We''ve run into problems where what we thought were just stories have turned into something much more serious, and we need some help."

    The man''s quick response caught Roxy''s eye. His cheerful, light demeanor first tilted downward, his lips settling like a tiny, deflating balloon. He attempted to restore that initial level of exuberance, but it was a painful effort. He set his hands on the counter and drew in a breath as if to calm his thoughts. Roxy could tell that he knew something.

    After rubbing his forehead a few times and brushing his thin beard, the man cleared his throat and properly introduced himself as Eugene Triton. "Yes, I have a very professional academic connection to Miss Alice Clifton. We communicate by email, maybe once a month. I met her a little over two years ago when she needed my help for¡­ a local research project involving details of a lake just south of here. A place rich in folklore and legends. Our first interactions were relatively brief. I was skeptical of her claims and her overall scientific approach. But we came to an understanding."

    It sounded to Roxy as if Eugene had more to say than that, but his voice trailed off. The mother gave a slight chuckle through her nostrils and continued sweeping.

    Miranda took a deep breath. "Did Alice Clifton encounter any supernatural beings commonly referred to as fairies or other entities in the fairy lexicon?"

    Eugene''s face twisted with a wide range of emotions, most of them uncomfortable. "That is a question best addressed directly to Miss Clifton. I wouldn''t want to speak for her or break confidentiality about the contents of our correspondence."

    Ross asked bluntly, "What was his name before he jumped into the lake?"

    Eugene''s mother immediately stopped sweeping and glanced over. Eugene grimaced and brushed off his tie-dyed clothes before taking a long breath. "Sounds like you folks have some peculiar questions in mind. I don''t know if I can help you with all of them, but I''d be happy to offer you what I can find out about local folklore and certain types of supposed supernatural creatures. Let me grab a few things."

    As Eugene hustled over to one of the bookshelves, his mother flashed him a skeptical look before resuming her work. Ross shifted around with a clenched fist, as if he wanted to find some so-called trinket set nearby and punch it bitterly in revenge for not getting a clearer answer. Miranda squeezed her thumb against her forehead and waited warily. Layla scanned her surroundings, specifically looking for the best and most interesting toys she could discover nearby, or at least the most interesting puppets.

    Chiara was existentially puzzled and deeply worried that none of them had specifically addressed the problem at hand. Jake seemed increasingly ready to find the nearest available cushion, no matter how dusty, and call it for the rest of the day. Roxy would have had no problem sharing that bounty with him.

    Though it took a while, Eugene returned with several loads of specially sorted tomes. He began, "There are a variety of modern interpretations of fairy tale structures, myths, and folkloric traditions. Creatures that can turn into wolves, red dwarves, the routine Paulding light in the Upper Peninsula, and more. But specifically, to Fae matters in local folklore, I have materials related to house spirits such as Boggarts, doppelg?ngers, and the Hollows.

    Roxy lunged forward with animated interest at this last point, while the others released murmurs and similarly encouraging notes. Eugene selected a particular item from the stack to focus on.

    "The Hollows. Parasitic. Name comes from the fact that they hollow out their human victims and use them as hosts, like skins or masks. Apologies for the unsettling imagery and descriptions. What mainstream culture treats as fairy tales and what they actually are is a wide gulf between the highly sanitized and the darkly disturbing. For example, many supernatural entities often present a foul, rotten, or putrid aroma. It''s the best way to distinguish them from something normal. The Hollows have no such warning signs. They can present the presence and illusion that nothing is wrong until it''s too late to escape. They will feed their victims, though the food they offer has no real value, and instead starve, and it will eventually contain hypnotically powerful substances to keep their victims from ever wanting to leave. They usually inhabit abandoned human spaces and fashion them as alluringly as possible. If you ever run into one, you''re advised to make yourself as disgusting as possible to their polite sensibilities. They have immense pride and a low tolerance for unclean human things. Though even that may not be enough to escape their clutches. A very dangerous species. Their taste is prideful, and they enjoy eating others of their kind who wander into their illusions."

    Eugene apologized in several ways for that description, recognizing that it was a very light gloss containing unsubstantiated elements of folklore patched together succinctly. Then he focused his attention on the four ladies in the group, as if he were worried about offending their sensibilities as much as one could offend these Hollows. Like Miranda had been doing, Roxy squeezed a hand to her forehead with her fingers pressing into the skin as if she could easily peel it back to reveal something critical beneath. The common quality between that damn diner and that fucking trucker was that each of them clearly mistook the group for fairies, and she couldn''t figure out why.

    Miranda reassured the proprietor that all these details were immensely appreciated and quite helpful. Taking a careful breath, she relayed a physical description of these entities, which Eugene''s resources were sorely lacking, aside from vague mentions of dark skin and jagged teeth. Eugene''s body language made his suspicions clear. Ross looked like he just wanted to blurt out all the shit they were holding in. Roxy got there first.

    "We went to this lake, and we went in it. Ever since, a bunch of unnatural creatures think we smell like a bunch of fairies. And the six of us changed physically. I don''t need to know if Miss Clifton had the same experience. That''s her business. If you know anything about what we do now about it and about all these monsters trying to crawl up on us, it would be greatly appreciated."

    Roxy felt proud of this version of what she wanted to say, as opposed to being super nicey nice about it or being uncomfortably blunt in a way that would piss off Ross, though she suspected Ross might still find something objectionable.

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    Eugene gave a cough, which he promptly smothered with his elbow, and then took a few breaths to recover before answering, "I don''t know the name of the lake or all that much about it. But I learned about it from Alice. She learned about it from someone else, though I was never privy to the exact details. She had an experience at the lake, which is all I would prefer to say. But the six of you probably understand what I mean if you''re referring to comparable changes."

    The mother set the broom down against the wall and sighed in exasperation as she broke into the conversation. "It''s a fletching bit swapper lake. Ladies become gents, and gents become ladies. Alice was such a sweetie during the time she spent with us. She had quite a few troubles, too. I gave her some helpful recommendations. She''s got the jumbo tabungas, as the kids might say. I can see that that''s not an uncommon result for those who have been to that place." Her eyes flicked to Chiara and Miranda, who both did their best not to react with bright embarrassment and failed.

    "Mom¡­ Really...? Yeah, Alice experienced a life-changing happenstance during her time in the area. And that''s as much as I''d prefer to elaborate on for the sake of personal privacy. If you''re willing, I would like to interview each of you to better understand the phenomena. This would be done in a very private, comfortable, and safe setting where nothing you say to me would leave that room. I would exercise the utmost reticence and care." He cleared his throat and almost glanced behind him at his mother, who had narrowed her eyes.

    Miranda responded the best to the analytical tone and decorum, wrestling with her own fortress of philosophically charged science-y words to arrive at her response, "I am delighted by your academic interest in the phenomena. I''d like to help. Maybe if it was just the lake. But we''re trying to figure out what we can do to keep these Hollows and other fairy species from trying to harm us, aside from what you''ve already mentioned."

    Eugene nodded vigorously. "Of course, of course. In fact, since Alice was here, I''ve actually collected a wider variety of preventative suggestions, just in case. It varies by culture and tradition, but among the key suggestions is to turn your clothes inside out. This can free you from the lure of their magic and glamour when you are in an unfamiliar place. Tokens are said to be effective¡ªa small piece of iron, the traditional four-leaf clover, or salt. Gifts, especially clothing, can warn away some house creatures. This has been adopted by pop culture. Certain plants, such as primrose and St. John''s Wort, provide protection for a home. Daisies and red berries can protect a person from being taken away. And offerings of bread and milk can appease certain fairies. Keeping lucky horseshoes seems to have grown out of the iron tradition. When encountering fairies, it''s best to avoid eye contact and pretend you haven''t seen them at all. Avoid fairy mounds and rings, and especially don''t try to break them. Those are the big ones I know offhand, but I have a few books scattered around that go into specifics."

    The mention of bread and milk immediately made Roxy think of Santa Claus.

    Layla leaned forward on the counter, eyes wide, and asked curiously, "Does all that really work? I knew about turning your clothes and pockets inside out one, because I like to do that for fun anyway."

    With a curious eyebrow raised in Layla''s direction, Eugene cleared his throat and remarked frankly, "Interesting. I must warn you all that I honestly don''t know if it will work. I''ve had a limited range of supernatural experiences that can''t be easily explained away. These include a strange woman on the side of the road, all in white with black hair, who disappeared into the mist one evening. Walking sounds in an abandoned house not far from here. And a series of coordinated shimmering lights in the sky. Despite the time I spent talking to and helping Alice, I never came across anything undeniably unexplainable. I trusted her story and the details of her claimed....experiences. There were enough oddities to push me in certain directions, but that''s all."

    Layla gave a quick smile and stood up. With a swift breath, she stretched out her arms and encouraged Eugene to watch her. The gray-haired man was immensely puzzled by her display and request but did as she asked. Roxy actually had a hunch about what Layla was going for, but the others appeared thoroughly perplexed.

    The contortions, stretches, and twists that Layla performed could easily be mistaken for a New Age meditation routine combined with gymnastic flourishes. Layla tensed up in several places, her closed eyelids straining as if fighting to find a certain thought. It took a good while and some relaxation, but soon she opened her eyes and Brock was back. He immediately looked uncomfortable in his Layla clothes.

    Eugene staggered back from the counter with wide bug eyes and unleashed a brisk, bold torrent of unknown curses that sounded more like a gibberish foreign language than genuine swears. This wave of shock continued as he frantically panted and held out a hand at his side, reaching for something but not quite knowing what.

    "¡­ It''s real. It''s all¡­ actually real. One crazy thing, one little thing, one thing... I had no idea. I had no idea. I was only hoping, only guessing, that impossible things might actually be possible. I''m gonna... I''m gonna need a minute, some coffee, and probably something else. It''s real. I wonder what else is real?..." At the end of all those feelings and that multitude of words, he sagged slightly, as if whatever had been holding him up had released its hold and he needed to exert twice the effort to keep his body from sliding to the floor.

    Eugene''s mother, still standing behind, gave only a brief nod, as if this little display by the blonde was exactly the sort of thing that confirmed an ocean of thoughts for her. "Plenty else is real out there, Euy. I told ya. I''ll be upstairs, preparing for our guests. How do you take your tea? I also have hot chocolate and spiced cider, if you prefer those. Along with sugar cookies, muffins, lemon tarts, and brownies¡­ Not the kind you need to worry about, fortunately." Compared to the warming plated, truck stop pizza slowly sliding its way down Roxy''s guts, that sounded delightful. They all passed along their drink preferences as Eugene continued to reel from the mulleted, blonde boy who looked like he was about to rip out of his clothes.

    When the bulk of the shock abated for Eugene, he was still gawking at Layla''s fairly altered smiling features. She gave him a double whammy, though, by casually transitioning back to her girl state to relax strained seams. The poor guy appeared just as bewildered and awed by the second round as the first. A rush of green uncertainty passed through both Layla and Eugene, albeit for vastly different reasons of threatened ''Charlieing''.

    Only after provisionally accepting what he had seen did Eugene begin to ask if he could record the moment as a record of supernatural evidence. Layla was eager to offer herself up, but Ross raised the specter of this information getting out into the world and drawing attention to themselves. Eugene promised not only to keep it protected and locked away, but to make sure that their identities were obscured for their safety.

    When Ross brought up the matter of the agents following them, Eugene noted that Alice had no similar experiences with supposed shadowy government officials following her. He hinted that she had stayed for a modest amount of time and reported incidents that suggested faeries, but nothing quite like that.

    Letting go of his shock, Eugene paced and murmured about a particular book he wanted to find, though he didn''t know where it was indexed. He would look for it and encouraged the group to head upstairs and enjoy his mother''s hospitality.

 [27] Mystery Lake 27 â€“ Sip

    Mystery Lake

    [27] Sip

    Opening the partially hidden door required a careful turn of a random piece of wall. Eugene explained that the apparatus actually came with the building, which used to belong to an old man and part-time watchmaker with a penchant for creating elaborate mechanisms.

    Roxy felt a surge of pride at being able to open the secret latch without struggling. Granted, the old woman could do the same, but small victories for her shrunken muscles. The steps were much more comfortable than the ones leading up to the main store. They were plush, red, and white satin, like padded slices of Santa laid beneath their feet. Not Roxy''s favorite mental image, but the only thing she could think of at the moment, with Santa otherwise on her mind. The banister was a polished black wood that looked rather flimsy but held securely.

    The group ascended slowly and carefully. Small yellow, old-fashioned lights, like 19th-century London lantern sconces, flanked the stairs on alternating ends and also loomed on the ceiling high above.

    A restroom with pink fur splayed all around, especially curled atop the toilet seat, lay directly ahead, with hallways to the left and right that looped and curved, with multiple bedrooms glimpsed through half-open doors. The beds, draped in fluffy black and white covers, suggested something more like a classic bed-and-breakfast or a sliver of a hotel ripped out and pasted into this setting.

    The contrast was especially clear as one followed the far left route into a more traditional living area. An oddly placed mudroom contained cubby holes for shoes and jackets, with utilities to the right. A modest but long kitchen was blasted with neon effervescent green, like a thick coating of leftover cake frosting.

    A larger living space was visible through the far doorway, with a sliver of office suggested beyond that. A round Formica table with eight chairs comfortably arranged around it awaited them. The space held a faint trace of the sneaking, antiquated aroma of so many artifacts pushed beyond their years with the ambition of preservation. But that trace was overwhelmed by steaming, blasting, fresh billowings, and the sweet, dancing combination of breads, confections, and fruits that dominated the air. No matter what instructions her stomach gave her, there was no way she was going to refuse the fresh foods banging on her nostrils.

    They gathered around the table, with Jake taking up his familiar position next to Roxy on the right. Restored Layla and Chiara once again snuggled their seats together, essentially across from Roxy. Ross and Miranda were over to the left, with just the busty brunette as the barrier between Ross'' wrath and whatever Roxy had left. The white-haired old lady set an ornate silver contraption on the table that looked like the high-rise version of the jam and condiment...thingie with all the crap stuffed inside. She wanted to call it a cozy, but that was a different tea thing, like a pillow. It fit better. A little contraption that kept all the random junk in a cozy place.

    Roxy wasn''t much into tea, but neither was Jess. Not the sort to have little girly tea parties. Would Roxy, if born a girl, be into girly tea party crap? It didn''t really matter to speculate; whatever Roxy, who might''ve been born to the Griffins instead of Joel, would be a fundamentally different person for whom comparisons were impossible. Would her brothers have treated her differently? Or would she roll with their stuff and be a total tomboy?

    The name thing bugged her way more than she expected. Not knowing the names of things didn''t really bother Joel. A word that didn''t immediately and naturally come to mind or have connections and links was the kind of word people just threw out to show they knew a whole bunch of words they could throw out, she decided. Words that meant something were worth a heck of a lot more than words that just raised eyebrows because you came up with one in a million out of some book. She really wanted to figure this out, though. Probably those estrogenic brain juices doing their thing.

    Caddy! Like the golf guy. Although it was probably spelled differently. She didn''t even have to try to siphon some bandwidth from the flaky cell service on her phone to find out. Mercifully, the older woman had not only told them there was Wi-Fi they could connect to, but she knew the details and the password. It was easy enough for anyone''s phone to connect.

    Roxy didn''t want to be rude by doing phone junk while this lady was their host, but this was a rare opportunity to actually do something on the phone. Joel wasn''t welded to his phone most days, but the absolute void since they slipped into this strange wilderness with wild strangers made her crave the sensible world that had been torn away from her this morning. Granted, the one thing she wanted the phone to cough up was a confirmation that her caddy comprehension wasn''t misplaced. It didn''t matter. And yet, it still totally mattered to her.

    It was a dizzying balancing act to divide her attention between this idle search task and the spiced cider cup coming her way, plus an assortment of everything else weighing down her plate. The old woman helped her coordinate everything so there would be no accidents. It was a stupid thing to do, but part of her wanted to try it.

    Multitasking. Jess was so much better at it than Joel. Not that he couldn''t do it. He routinely coordinated several tasks around the dorm kitchen, in his room, and then with roommates at the same time. But that felt like a rough and awkward switch between different modes, like selecting different power levels on a switch. Didn''t girls do the same thing? Jess alluded to the fact that there was a disparity between that style and what she maintained. Again, it really didn''t matter. Not like Roxy''s brain was going to suddenly rewire. Or so she would have thought a few hours ago, but the feelings soon after, the emotions gushing forth, and the intimate changes she was working through all suggested a biochemical and neurochemical point of no return in the midst of the magic. All those smart words.

    She might never be able to go back to being a guy. The thought felt like an iron sentiment slamming into her soul. She could live as Roxy. Agent dude was going to cover the paperwork. She still had Jake with her, people back at college could be resolved, and family wasn''t a big deal anymore. Her life was hers to live as she chose. Only she didn''t choose the life of Roxy; Ross did. She was fundamentally different, a totally different person, and yet she hadn''t changed. Jess would probably have a lot to say about that if she found the will to lay everything out like exposed organs. They didn''t change; their love for each other didn''t change. At least, that was a really nice sentiment to hold on to.

    Of course, everything was different. Her brain was thinking differently, her body was pulsing with a fundamentally different apparatus, and Jake was dealing with something similar. She could tell.

    Those were a whole lot of incoherently deep and flailing thoughts for a moment of pushing herself to coordinate a snack, softly sipping a hot spiced apple drink, and trying to articulate thoughts she scarcely understood.

    When her web searches finally found something, even if it wasn''t quite what she was looking for, a shiver passed through her body. Hollowware. Basically, the kind of items that the old woman laid out. The name didn''t matter, but it felt like she was haunted by a sliver of that place she was trying so hard to forget. She sought a window and a trickle of light dripping through to calm her racing heart.

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    It was strange that the remnants of Molly''s diner and the terrible things she fought with horny talk left a more lingering impression than the bastard who tried to force himself on her. She flinched from Jake, but that was right afterward. She was already doing better now.

    That bastard tried to have his way with her. Every remaining fiber of his masculine being should''ve been angry and disturbed beyond belief that the piece of shit tried to violate not only her space but the space of a poor girl who happened to be him as well. A sensitive spot on her forehead throbbed, as if the eye twitch had returned and decided to migrate north to a friendlier climate.

    Jake''s one hand cradled her shoulder, and his other hand rested on her knee as she tried to pretend that nothing was bothering her. The old woman noticed their quiet and reflective nature and smiled with a clear twinkle in her eye. "Please enjoy everything. I can top you off if you need it, and if you want anything else, within reason, I can certainly whip it up. I''ll be making quite a bit of meatloaf this evening, and I''ll be adding a little bit more to make sure all y''all are well fed. Any allergies I should know about?"

    Half of them chimed in about Chiara''s pepper sensitivity before Chiara could even begin the first word of an answer. The old woman took down a note and then asked if there was anything in particular they''d like her to leave off as she worked her way through the recipe. Miranda was more concerned about them intruding on their meal.

    The old woman snorted in amusement. "I make more than enough. Don''t you worry. We always eat fine, and so will you. If a meatloaf has meat, Euy will eat it. I just enjoy taking care of guests. I have had quite a few careers in my earlier days, from head chef to cruise director to off-Broadway producer to head hostess of a tea house in Kyoto, just to name a few of my favorites. My name is Maggie Triton, and I''m honored to have you all as my guests. I would love to know all about you and your stories if you''d be willing to share them."

    Roxy figured she''d have to be the one to jump in and really start the conversation properly once she took another sip from her cup. But Chiara actually sat up, folded her hands gently, and began.

    "Thank you...Mrs?"

    "Simply Miss nowadays. Although I''ve been a Mrs. a few times. I don''t mind either."

    Chiara nodded briefly, as if she were suffering a shiver. "Understood¡­ My name... I am... I was¡­ I mean..." She swallowed what was in her throat and then stuffed a few small bits of cookie in there before trying to gather her resolve again. Layla gently bonked her shoulder in support.

    Miss Triton urged her to go with whatever she felt most comfortable with. Ross raised a skeptical eyebrow but said nothing. It took several breaths and a decent amount of practice before Chiara managed to come out with it: "My name is Chiara Watson now... Although I''m still getting used to it because my name used to be Barry," Chiara maintained the ability to be conscious and look Miss Triton in the eye.

    The old woman met this admission with refreshing calm. She noted it was a beautiful name; they were both beautiful names. Her eyes focused on Chiara''s face, and she gave a careful squint of scrutiny. Before Chiara could get nervous or scared, she explained that she was simply trying to intuit what Barry was like. That still made poor Chiara quite stressed. She looked like she both wanted the old lady to hit it on the head, but she also seemed curious about stumping her.

    It didn''t take too long before her assessment emerged. "Barry. Modest height. Anxious disposition. Caring to a fault about everyone else first. You''re doing better, and I know you''ll get better yet."

    Chiara reeled at that, but Roxy wondered if it was something like a cold reading done by supposed psychics. None of those reads were too far afield from the girl''s current appearance and disposition.

    The next of their number to volunteer for this reading was Jake, who kept it similar to Chiara''s rough template, giving her original name. After looking at Jake from several different angles, the old woman relayed, "Jess. Solid, dependable, and with an adventurous streak. You used to have rather long hair. Psychology major. I forgot to say, but I think computer science for Barry. Sorry if that sounds presumptuous. How did I do?"

    Jake nodded and gave an exuberant thumbs-up of approval as he nodded his head. The old woman turned to look in Ross'' direction next, but Ross promptly raised his hand and stated clearly, "My name is Ross Hanover, and that''s all I wish to reveal and have you talk about, if you please."

    The old woman accepted this refusal gracefully and moved on to the next. After Layla played along with her names, she gave a few uncertain moments concerning the girl, taking longer with her than anyone else and going through various impressions before remarking, "Layla. Clever, energetic, and quite hungry...ha."

    That last one certainly characterized her breakfast ambitions, but the old woman''s hesitation in listing those qualities certainly made Roxy frown and wonder what was going on. They''d all been around a lot of crazy creatures and entities lately. Her first thought was to wonder if maybe something unseen was clinging to Layla and throwing off her impression.

    If so, she was totally gonna kick its ass harder than that fucking trucker. The old woman cleared her mind and reestablished her focus before confidently reiterating the trio of terms to Layla''s delight and the relief of the others.

    Miranda also presented some difficulty before she relayed, "Duncan. Reserved, observant, and especially skeptical¡­ But also like a joyful kindling seeking the strength of a fire. I see a great passion in you that has rested before and is now ignited."

    That strikingly specific assessment earned a cheeky but thoughtful grin from Miranda as she scrutinized the old woman back just as much as she scrutinized her, with a pleasant smile.

    Roxy wound up the final one. She strongly suspected that giving up Joel would be enough for the old woman to work her way to a tough guy with a confident tan. Joel. Jovial, down to earth, and protective. Something like that.

    Once again, the initial look acquired several head turns, along with her mouth covered with her hand, before she finally settled on her answer.

    "Joel. Emotional, romantic, and powerful."

    What¡­? Joel did have strength, of course, but he was so far from emotional and romantic. The lady clearly had mixed signals going on or whatever, trying to take what she was saying, apply it to the old name, and make guesses. A little frustrating, but she seemed harmless and quite cheerful and hospitable. In response, Roxy gave a guarded smile but not a decisive nod.

    It wasn''t long before Eugene made his way upstairs with several specific books in his arms and a serious expression on his face as he relayed, "I found details about that lake that I had missed before..."

 [28] Mystery Lake 28 â€“ Discovery

    Mystery Lake

    [28] Discovery

    Eugene practically inhaled a mug of what looked like blistering coffee and scarfed down several of the nearest available cookies before picking up a thin book with dark brown and light gold ornamentation along the spine and cover and flipping through it.

    "That lake has several unofficial names in a variety of native languages, depending on who claims it. It''s not in any public records. But the name that comes closest is Lake Chelabrin. This is one of the few resources that I can find. Lake Chelabrin is mentioned, dating back to the early 19th century. What happened to Alice and the six of you has been rumored for quite some time. The legends about it coincide with the Fountain of Youth. That was one of the things that I passed along to Alice and wrote up for her. But this text goes into the oldest namings. I can''t pinpoint the original name or whether it comes from the Ottawa language or Potawatomi. But the meaning is¡­ ''the death place''."

    Now that would have been the one crucial piece of information Roxy wished Miranda or Alice had known and shared. If Duncan came to Joel''s door at an early hour to ask if he wanted to go to the death place, then there was no way in hell that he and Jess were tagging along. In that situation, it was also unlikely that Barry would have been the driver. Maybe the whole prospect of this trip falls apart and none of this ever happens. Would that have been so terrible?

    They''d be back at the dorms, finishing up their first episodes of whatever Jess recommended, with a little bit of action, a dash of comedy, and plenty of cozying up with air-popped popcorn. The shower scene never would''ve happened. At least not like that. But it didn''t need to. Right?

    What about Barry? As Chiara, she''d made so much progress towards a steadying confidence that Joel had never imagined she''d reach. But she had also been placed at the base of an immense mountain she needed to negotiate, and that wasn''t just a euphemism for boobs. A brand new life, they had all been dumped, splashed, shoved, and smashed in which they honestly had no idea what to do with. Even Ross, who clearly needed the reset button, was in just as deep.

    What about Miranda? That gleeful little girly smile on the pier felt precious. Joel definitely would have preferred it if it hadn''t occurred while they were standing at each other''s dinky level in clothes they''d never even considered wearing before. Maybe, in some version of events, Duncan gets the kind of personal evidence he really wants about the stuff that this wacko death lake can actually do. And only those who want to be changed wind up so burdened. How? Not the point. But they lug a jug of those stashed, secured two gallons back to campus, and by noontime, Joel is already free of thinking about what this little trek even meant.

    Then he hears everyone talking about a busty new co-ed with Duncan''s unmistakable look of contemplation dancing cutely across her features. Maybe this Barry still winds up dunked a little and the new girls take a resolute step towards better lives. She didn''t need to get directly involved in all this. In some alternate version, maybe even Ross and Joel wind up as buds without Alyssa splattering her issues all over the place. But you don''t ever wind up with the ideal version you wish.

    What about Roxy? She didn''t have to be Roxy. That girl was a mistake. She never needed to exist. Just camp out, never have a problem. Chill happily with Jess. Moderate Alyssa''s craziness. Let Chiara and Miranda be happy in their new skins. Layla and Brock would be happy either way. All Roxy ever accomplished was toothpaste her guts into a pair of crazy pants, make dumb lewd jokes, smooch the wrong person, get creeped on by some asshole, and be horribly traumatized by events she hadn''t even begun to process. None of it sounded like a win for her or anyone else.

    Death place lake. If only they knew. Of course, the ominous mention also triggered a vast flurry of whirling concerns about what the hell that meant for them. Fortunately, Eugene didn''t leave them hanging for too long, as he flipped through the book in front of him and picked up on the thought.

    "You''re in no danger, any of you. Immediate danger. That''s not a friendly name, but it''s not a deadly warning either. It''s just what happened there. Now, this section is lightly expanded on in folklore. Have any of you heard of a fairy type known as the Asrai?" Eugene kept his eyes down on the book, barely glancing around the table. None of them had.

    He presented a few sketches from the book of what appeared to be a diminutive, stylized mermaid. Light applications of color to the design radiated a sharp azure glow, like the cinematic suggestion of water reflecting in a cave but confined to a humanoid form. A golden shimmer danced across her lower fins. Her hair was reminiscent of seaweed but splattered with bright green paint. The depiction wasn''t at all horrifying, but there was something inhumanly unnatural about it, like a computer generation plopped into the real world. They waited for Eugene to continue his explanation.

    After turning the book around a few times to check where he was and then reading further, Eugene continued, "The Asrai exist at an interesting intersection of stories about tragic romances where fishermen find beautiful women and want to take them home with them. Often times, it''s about keeping her in human form. Selkies and their sealskins. I can detail that aspect of the folklore if you require context."

    Layla was obviously fascinated by this and all the images and snippets Eugene shared, but the others were tense with the uncertainty of what the heck this lake meant. Miss Triton backed off to let her son hold their attention while she tidied up the unused, extra, and emptied portions of their snack.

    "The Asrai are intimately tied to bodies of water. They seem to have a delicate, fragile constitution and can''t be out of the water for long. They prefer the night. Oddly enough, they share certain similarities with trolls and other dark, fairy-tale types. Those creatures are transformed into¡­ or back into frozen stone. If you take one of the Asrai away from their familiar shores and watery homes, they don''t dry up. They melt¡­ Turning into water."

    It was a lot of detail, but Eugene still sounded like he was dancing around the point. Roxy urged him on without it seeming like a desperate shove.

    "It''s unclear from what I can find if these fairies, once transfigured, will ever return to their former form or if they are just now water. But the details of this lake are unmistakable. There is no lake, not really." Eugene puffed a long breath with his hand blocking the spittle. Roxy absorbed that as much as she could. She both understood what he was getting at yet felt completely mystified. He had to spell it out.

    "Lake Chelabrin is made of dead or undead fairies. It contains more of these creatures and their remains than I can possibly comprehend. At the same time, there is an addendum that they may not be dead so much as just sexually smashed together, trapped as if one big...umm, orgy party happened and never let up."

    They jumped into a big wad of fairy-fuckfest corpses. Jake fell into that natural, unnatural vat of fairy shit. He dunked poor Barry in that watery goo. Joel got splashed with that melted mass. Thinking back, she tried to remember if any of it got into her mouth. It did. She fucking swallowed the remains of horny fairies. That managed to feel more disgusting than her fledgling swallowing efforts in the shower. No fucking wonder all sorts of dark and horny creatures were after them; they splashed around in a mass sex grave.

    Roxy gently put her drink to her lips as a brace to keep it all down. Just managing to hold the bare minimum together was hard enough. She saw the others in her peripheral vision before gradually checking in on them.

    Chiara clearly had the greenest gills of the whole group, as if she had accidentally consumed fairy bits as well, and all of it was about to return from her system. She swallowed roughly and haltingly breathed a few times but managed to keep it all down, especially with a little assistance from her cup as well. Maybe brain parasites would have been a preferable alternative.

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    The others weren''t jazzed about this news either. Miranda''s pale countenance bordered on Alyssa''s pallor. She wobbled slightly but quickly got support from both sides to prop her up. Granted, her support from Roxy and Ross wasn''t the steadiest bookend. Scrutinizing Ross, Roxy had to wonder if it was the corpse part or the sex part of this folkloric explanation that bothered the vampire boy the most. He and Mira took the deepest, most sustained plunge into all that. Strangely enough, they hadn''t run into anything specifically weird. Layla, that weird shifty business. Chiara, seeing the headless Hollow. Jake¡­ Well, there was the kielbasa.

    Only half of them had encountered peculiarities after the splash zone. Considering Joel''s meager exposure, she couldn''t make a connection between the amounts of liquid. Sexed up corpse liquid. And results or side effects. She swallowed a little bit, but surely not as much as the others.

    Thinking back, she struggled to properly visualize the moment when Barry went into the water. He got soaked, and he should''ve been coughing up the water, spitting it, and getting it all in his nose. But she couldn''t seem to remember if that had happened. It was such a small detail that she didn''t even think about it. When Jess went in, Roxy would have expected that poor Jess would be sputtering and spitting up lake water as they came ashore. But that wasn''t what happened either. They got drenched in typical fashion, and there was plenty of water around their faces. It should''ve soaked in.

    She hadn''t been the closest observer of Layla''s plunge, but that time it seemed like her face was specifically avoided. Like it was beading off the same way as old Scotchgard ads with rolling orbs of liquid. Why hadn''t she noticed this weirdness before? Blame it on too much weirdness from spontaneously changing sex. The same trend occurred with the last two to jump in. The only outlier... was herself.

    When Alyssa splashed her, a good portion of it caught her right in the face. She definitely swallowed some measure of that lake water. She attempted to spit it out, but it practically felt like it clung to her like glue. So what? The skin had pores with all sorts of medical mumbo-jumbo. Probably one of them had to have a cut somewhere on their body, especially with Barry''s usually dry skin. But what if they didn''t, and it was just her? What if she was the one who had ingested dead and horny fairy juices? Fuck...

    Eugene''s mother laid her hand over her mouth and asked her son, "That''s awful, just awful. All those fantastical creatures. Do you think it''s just a mass grave, a battlefield, or a ritual?" That last note brought a shiver through Roxy that seemed to echo and resound as if it were trembling in stereo. She had a hunch about which, if the feeling came from her companion.

    Her son sighed heavily and replied, "I can only guess. It''s clearly an awful place. I wish I could have warned Alice not to talk to her students about it. I don''t know why she seems to have been so reckless and cavalier about it. Her experience wasn''t all sunshine and roses. Nothing like what you''ve told me, but still not the kind of thing you would go recommending to everyone you meet. Strange. I''ll pass along a carefully worded update via email, and we can go from there. Otherwise, what do you think, mom?"

    She scrunched her eyes at her son. "First of all, I''m not letting this group leave until they''ve had a much nicer evening than the day of trials I can see in their eyes. They''re staying for dinner and, at least, the night. After that, they''re welcome, as long as they need a place to figure out this lake and whatever else. The ladies definitely need some pointers. Are you all on spring break?"

    Miranda hesitantly confirmed that with a little nod before glancing around at the others. "Yes, it is spring break. But we''re not really together as a group. We just happened to be traveling together out of curiosity. And because I sold this as a fun little day trip to see a quirky lake mentioned in folklore and maybe change my life and..." She trailed off.

    Roxy cleared her throat and picked it up. "We''re together, bud. Doesn''t matter how we started out this day. Doesn''t matter how we feel about each other in the positive or the negative. We''re together now. I''m not presuming that we have to feel exactly the same way about this crazy day. But we''ve yelled, cried, made mistakes, and stood together against evil forces. Our lives will never be the same again." She placed a supportive hand on Miranda''s shoulder.

    Of course, she knew Ross would be the most challenging link in this sentiment. It was dangerously close to yelling Kumbaya when she doubted that some of them would want to spend much time together after this incident was over.

    Ross amended, "We''re not together. We''re just stuck in the same situation right now." He didn''t churn out that statement with harshness or rancid bitterness. He simply spoke as if he were making a necessary correction. Roxy didn''t fight it. She had sheltered joy and idealism now, sheltered by herself or by her friend inside. It was probably a good idea to mention her pal, who might have been what the bastard was latching onto. Not that it was really any of their business, but it had the hallmarks of possession.

    Who was she? Who was her friend? A fairy princess? Some sort of royalty-to-be, like the fucker suggested? Had she actually accidentally inhaled a fae princess? She wasn''t going to process her through her kidneys and bladder, was she? She seemed to remember that was the plot of some science fiction comedy episode on Jess''s list to watch more of over the break.

    Another question occurred to her, but she didn''t have a good segue. Roxy nodded at Ross'' assertion, "Of course. Thrown together. Put through a really crummy situation. More than just that awful lake. I was wondering if there was anything in your resources about fairy lifestyle matters. Umm... see, you mentioned death, but also the little death. There''s a strange... exaggeration of some sensations with... that sort of thing from an altered perspective. And it''s been suggested that the¡­ Pleasurable aspects are part and parcel of a certain fairy creature experience..." Ross wasn''t going to like that second part, but there wasn''t much she could do about it. She kept her focus on Eugene, even though the old lady seemed to be more sympathetic to the peculiarities of what she was inquiring about. So many fancy, smart girl words dribbling out of her brain...

    Her request and explanation took the long road with starts and stops, but the guy worked out her intentions, flipping through several pages of the book in front of them until he came to a certain section.

    "I have something in that regard. It''s hard to parse what can be considered canonical because certain judgments of original folklore were eventually integrated into the Judeo-Christian tradition, stripped of certain original meanings, and also received transplanted contexts. The clergy were the first recorders of folklore traditions, so they were biased. Creatures are made more angelic or devolved into demons. Because it''s a living oral tradition with limited permanent records, it''s more of a feel for what was probably the original intent. What stories do people continue to tell in folklore? The, uh, depicted fairies were quite sexual. There was one section I read recently where lady fairies experienced an overwhelming expression of feeling that left them half paralyzed and permitted...group interactions that took advantage of that state. Yeah..."

    With all they had witnessed this day, it didn''t surprise Roxy that there was fairy shit that assisted in gang-bang attacks.

    The old lady shook her head and commented, "A lot of awful bastards in the fantastical world, I''m afraid."

 [29] Mystery Lake 29 â€“ Evening

    Mystery Lake

    [29] Evening

    Roxy had only been of legal drinking age for part of the year, though it was forbidden in the dorms. Needing a drink, or at least something to spice up her spiced cider, was more of a general sentiment than a request. Though it seemed like the old lady would oblige if asked.

    Moments later, she mentioned, "I can refresh your drinks or offer up something a little stronger. There''s a wine cellar. We own the second and third floors and the basement. Brandy or sherry perhaps?"

    That name elicited an instinctive shudder from Roxy and a slight fidgeting from the others. The old woman picked up on that and suggested a few different options. Layla went for the offer first, which surprised Roxy a little. Ross followed, and Miranda followed his example. Chiara asked for a tiny bit, and Jake and Roxy finally requested the same.

    Even without supernatural interference, they probably wouldn''t make it back to Grand Rapids before nightfall. The updated Google Map live traffic had a lot of red and yellow scattered about, if she could trust it.

    Sifting through her phone apps, she found a recent text message that she hadn''t gotten the chime about. It was just her eldest brother, Russell, checking in with his weekly text message to see how his little brother, Joel, was doing. For a split second, Roxy was tempted to just spray out the details of everything that had happened.

    Hey, bro. I am now a petite, cute, emotional gal with insecurities about my mediocre boobs and a long way to go to regain my impressive muscles. I''ve been reading a trashy romance novel that practically squeezed out the last traces of my masculinity through tears over the dumbest, ham-fisted scenes. Jess is doing well; she has a massive slab of man meat between her legs now...

    Yeah, not a single word of that was going to work except for maybe "hey, bro." And that vague response was just going to invite oodles of follow-up requests and FaceTime. She couldn''t just leave him hanging, either. He would sniff out the silence and imagine the worst possibilities. He always genuinely cared about what his other brothers were up to, much more than their parents ever did. Shit, this random old lady cared more about her than that crappy part of his family. They sure as hell weren''t getting a text message, but Russell deserved one, even if it was full of blatant lies and omissions. She had a few more hours before he''d get concerned, since now he knew that she''d read it.

    Some strange, new part of her that felt like the giddy gal who Jake placed so much love within desperately wanted to gush forth a frantic range of gratitude and love for all the things, big and small, Russell took care of. Her eyes got a little bleary, but she quickly blinked that condensation away and set the phone down.

    Maggie Triton... though that felt far too formal for her age but perfectly apt to her attitude... soon returned with an assortment of drinks and a wide range of glass sizes, perfect for savoring the smallest samples and making full fills perfectly modest. It didn''t take long for the spirits to soothe some of the worst anxieties crackling in the air. Roxy wasn''t sure who among them was legally allowed to drink, but frankly, she didn''t care. And the old lady had the same attitude. Eugene flipped through the back pages of one of the books but had nothing new to offer. A menagerie of urgent and idle unanswered questions floated around like some strange species of colorful deep-sea critter.

    The others knew that she felt someone else inside her. That should have been the most pressing question, but the opportune moments were swaddled in so much confusion along with the urgent fury of what that bastard tried to do to her. Perhaps some of them thought that this other she thought was with her represented a stressful break that shouldn''t be pressed on, or else more cracks would appear.

    The voice she spoke with and the way she commanded Ross to strike back felt like more than a mental episode. But she had no idea. How could she know if she was going crazy or not? The multitude of things that constituted reality now felt crazier than genuine madness.

    Yes, there was a rigorous timeline of events to reveal, but what emerged in the uncertain void was casual conversation. Eugene turned the books or placed them at his feet around his chair as he elucidated, his word, about the oddity of how they found him.

    "I have insomnia issues most nights because it always feels like there''s so much research I want to do and need to do to keep up on the latest developments and how much is being published in the paranormal community. Not to mention broader interests like collecting, modeling, and a variety of other things. Even without the electronic lure of the Internet, there''s so much that I need to focus on that it''s an absolute blessing to have Mom to ground me and remind me of what I should be doing. By the way, yes, mom, I got your message about the roof. I''ll get the things I need for the patch this weekend. And I picked up the mail and left it in the main inbox for you before I started my nap. ¡­ Anyway. About what you asked." In the middle of his conversation, Eugene got up and did some dirty dishes over by the kitchen, folded a few things together, and scrubbed the drainboard. Roxy raised an eyebrow.

    With the accent and flavor of this ongoing multitask, shifting from one to the other on that end of the room, Eugene reflected and relayed, "I have always been fascinated by hypnosis. My father, who was a skilled diagnostician, also performed quite a bit of hypnotism and treated it like a game with me and my little sisters."

    The old woman chimed in, "Dee Dee is always so adamant about being the one who can go the deepest into trance. She was heartbroken when Peter refused to hypnotize her when she spontaneously started sleepwalking and getting night terrors. Vivian has always been so talented but has never cared. Far more interested in imagining cartoon designs than visualizing instructions. And you had the hardest time. That''s why I''m so proud of you... as I always am. I''m sure dad would be so delighted and eager to share his special words." Eugene smiled calmly and leaned his head back, rubbing a finger around his right eye.

    He glanced around at the others and noted, "We digress. But hypnosis was always a challenge for me to understand what I was supposed to do and to calm my mind properly. It wandered wildly, even though I''ve never been diagnosed as having a deficit of attention. I''ve often suspected that part of it was anxiety because I tend to be naturally anxious, though I probably don''t look it. And I''m digressing. A couple years ago, I realized I wasn''t sleeping well or enough, and I almost dropped a practically priceless item I was putting away. I had to fix that. Fortunately, I kept in contact with a guy my father trained many years ago. He''s really good, and he lives in town."

    Stolen story; please report.

    Again pausing from the main thrust of the story, Eugene offered up this man''s information for the group to optionally add to their phones. His stated reasoning referred to the usefulness of hypnosis in recalling supernatural events that might be blocked, seemingly erased, or otherwise hindered by unnatural forces. Not that he was suggesting that they had anything of the sort, but he just wanted to make sure they were aware of this local resource in case anything came up that required jostling loose.

    Roxy actually gave the prospect some casual thought. She didn''t seem to have any gaps in her memory. The only suspicious spans were shortly after they had left the lake, when she had plunged into the romantic narrative. After that, practically everything involving the Hollows wore the cloak of illusion. Not that she was particularly interested in spilling all the illusions of that dark space. Pretending that what she ate during the first half of her stay had the taste and consistency of a decent breakfast kept her from feeling any greater disgust.

    Curiosities about the agent and his partner might be worth prying into, but she had seen enough in a horrifying glimpse of what seemed to dwell beneath his face. Then, seeing the truth about the bastard at the truck stop was not an avenue she wanted to explore. Otherwise, there were some suspicious sections when they drove without normal traffic or any of the expected rest stops and refueling stations. Maybe it was worth looking into, but she didn''t know.

    Eugene expanded on his experiences with his father''s hypnotist prot¨¦g¨¦. He used a blend of techniques to finally get past what Eugene thought were his limitations. And what he enabled for him was a musical trigger for deep and not easily interrupted sleep. The gray-haired man relayed that if they tried to physically shake him, as they mentioned was their next option if the call didn''t work, he might rouse briefly before settling back down. But he would probably wake up eventually. The trigger broke in case of emergencies and had inherent weaknesses.

    Aside from this anecdote, Eugene leaned on another matter that came up. One curiosity of paranormal studies that had recently intrigued him was the possibility that ill health, current issues, and other unbalanced matters were sometimes related to repressed, suppressed, or simply buried matters just beneath the surface.

    In particular, Eugene was aware of studies in which real, medical doctors took patients into deep past regressions, even past life regressions, in the hopes of finding sources of problems. Roxy shouldn''t have been skeptical about any of this, considering the day she''d had, but she still felt a twinge of uncertainty. Eugene acknowledged similar inklings.

    When he was under hypnosis, it was a long and uncertain process. But they discovered one thing in particular: Eugene had been a woman in a previous life. This practically colored his cheeks as brightly as the reddish portions of tie-dye splattered across his clothes. He mumbled through many of the details and stammered through others. The woman, Erica Burke, lived in the mid-21st century. In the future...

    Unfortunately, they never really plumbed her experience for details about this era because, whenever it came up, it was like running into radio interference that jolted Eugene out of his trance. Instead, they focused on her fears, issues, and traumas. In the admittedly shaky and nebulous theories of what this was supposed to do, unlocking the stuff that bothered Erica and integrating it with Eugene should have cleared up his issues. But all that appeared to be a longer and more painstaking process than simply setting up sounds that made him sleepy and woke him up later.

    Miranda leaned forward, quite interested in this tidbit. She did a lot of listening and a little bit of questioning about the vague details before announcing, "There''s one thing that I sort of forgot to mention that I wanted to bring to your attention. We managed to take several gallons of lake water with us. I experimented with it and found it to be of highly pristine quality, which now makes sense with what you suggested about its origin."

    Eugene''s eyes widened visibly. "You brought that lake here? Does it still have the same effect even when separated from the main body?" That was easy to confirm with the mention of Roxy being exposed by a thrown bucket of water. And there was another incident subsequent to that. Eugene delighted in all these details. Their timeline was currently glossed over, but that didn''t seem to bother him as he dashed his pen through the margins of one of the books to make specific notes.

    His intense energy about the lake water was matched by a reserved, quiet uncertainty, with certain questions restrained in his mouth like a worn marble with uneven sections that no amount of moving around could possibly resolve. It wasn''t the most difficult prospect for Roxy to at least guess where the man''s mind was going.

    Meanwhile, his mother waffled between a cheeky grin barely sheltered behind her fingers and an inscrutable Zen pose. She seemed to be quite amused by her child''s display. What that meant, Roxy didn''t know. But the way they spoke and interacted seemed genuinely lively, healthy, and respectful of each other. It suggested the mother would have been happy no matter what her son chose to do or be. It warmed Roxy''s heart and made her wish that her family situation could be the same. If only.

 [30] Mystery Lake 30 â€“ Tired

    Mystery Lake

    [30] Tired

    The ambivalent rift of emotions Eugene was struggling to reconcile didn''t hinder his agreement to bring in a sample of the lake water to be examined. Considering how precious and strange the water in the backseat clearly was, Roxy randomly wondered if they might return to the car to find the liquid pilfered or sublimated away. But despite that concern, all of it was there, except for the relatively modest sample that the bastard received right to the chest.

    Presented in a clear container that Eugene volunteered for the task, it was an easy matter to visually confirm Miranda''s assessment that it appeared to be clear, natural water. A smell test added virtually nothing, as the water had the same moist aroma as any other water sample.

    What they presented for Eugene''s scrutiny was several times larger than the meager cup encounter with the nameless rest stop bastard, enough to take a good chunk out of what they had collected. Still a heck of a lot less than the angry bucket splash that transformed Roxy''s life. Enough to change Eugene''s, too, and the lives of anyone else who might come into contact with it.

    A multitude of rudimentary theories formed in his mind as he considered the absolute density of fairy-related water and the addition of rainfall, groundwater, runoff, and other transfer sources. No matter how pure the sample looked, he suspected that some of it absolutely had to be composed of a mixture of different types and sources of water. Or, as Eugene nervously proposed, there might be properties representative of the fictional ice-nine. To test this, he had a few theories about dilution.

    Evaporation should have transplanted the contained water into the circulatory system of the water cycle. But if that were true, then what level of fairy water was enough to transform? It boggled Eugene''s mind and played havoc with the rest of their thoughts.

    Roxy imagined a significant amount of this lake water being poured into an ice machine and then the ice being used by a variety of random people in a motel or a restaurant. Would that work? Would it have to melt back into the rest of the liquid?

    The fact that every lake in the region hadn''t been affected by this one at least suggested that it had a limitation or some sort of magical confinement that kept it in this particular place unless moved by human hands. At least, that was the best assessment that made any sort of sense. It was probably more complicated than that, but without any real tests, they could only speculate.

    This vigorous distraction could only go so far to give Roxy a little boost of energizing wind against the depletion of her spirit. It didn''t feel like it should be bedtime yet, but she really needed something. Playing the good, happy guest, Roxy emptied what the old lady had provided her, especially the sweetest items, and drained every last drop of her alcoholic supplement. The downer quality of the liquor certainly did no favors in keeping her face from planting against the table. She persisted as long as possible before finally asking if there was somewhere she could take a nap for a short while.

    Promptly, the old lady pressed towards one of the spare bedrooms and made sure it was prepared for her use. The design of the room was classic, with little consideration given to comfortably plugging in an electronic device, probably more a fault of the painfully short cords enforced by too many devices than anything else.

    Leaving the others, even for a short time, even including Ross, brought a fresh wave of uncertainty from Roxy. The possibility was small, but not zero, that she might wake up slammed, tripped, or slipped into another one of those pocket realms or pushed back into the other realm of surely too many horny fairies and no clear way of returning. Definitely a consequence of trauma and fear. She knew that rationally, but that acknowledgment did nothing to dim its sweaty terror.

    The room also felt like it might as well have been placed on a distant planet. All sound traces coming from the kitchen were heavily muted, with the door left half open and absolutely smothered if you closed it. The thickness of the walls made it possible to imagine she was the only person anywhere. Not the most comforting thought.

    Her mind understood that if anything happened, she''d never know anything had gone wrong, nor would those around her be able to predict that she''d disappeared or suffered some terrible fate.

    Checking the far-end curtains, she soon discovered that they had multiple layers, more like intricate, freshly cleaned petticoats than anything close to her expectations. Washing up in the old, tiny adjoining sink and bath was more of a mental cleansing than a physical one.

    She plopped down on the fluffy, relaxingly cool but still perfectly warm, soft surface of the bed as if it had been specifically prepared for her much longer in advance. The pillows were no substitute for Jake, who stayed behind to continue talking to the others. It was a long time before she realized that the impression of warmth wasn''t coming from the bed but rather from her own body, which was shedding swarms of warmth like a cocooning, friendly shield.

    It was impossible for Roxy to keep her eyelids open as the cradling, firm yet yielding surface of the bed enveloped her. Fear about what thoughts, feelings, and visions she might soon witness seized her for just a moment before she lost the potent enthusiasm to be afraid and drifted off.

    "Hi, Roxy."

    Roxy''s eyes shot open, but this wasn''t the jerk and flare of a natural awakening. The light didn''t quite look right across the room or even at her hands. She judged it as if she were sitting underwater or wearing strangely tinted glasses. A strange but familiar woman sat in front of her on the same bed, as if she''d been there for a while and was comfortably settled.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "Hi? Who are you?"

    A soft, warm smile spread across her features. "I think you already know who I am, Roxy. I''m a friend. I caught you when you started to fall. I made sure that kresmet fruter got exactly what he deserved. It took a lot of my strength just to communicate with you, but it was urgent. I don''t wanna keep you from your rest. We both need it. But I just wanted to let you know that you don''t have to be afraid. I whispered gently that those awful Hollows were prideful prudes, and you did the rest. I almost broke down in tears as a companion to your tears. It''s going to be all right; I can tell when Unseelie are near. I am here, and I promise to protect you."

    Roxy felt like she was tumbling backward into a vast but invisible space. It was disorienting, as if the tether of her soul to her body was slipping like the slowest bungee cord, unfurling with no certainty that it would ever go tense and whip her back into place. Her limbs were so distant and heavy that they might as well have been massive office buildings down the block, an eternal part of the frozen landscape. The lurching sense of vertigo still lingered, though her head was finally settled into place.

    "I''m scared." Roxy could barely comprehend that she''d said those words, let alone know for sure where they were aimed. Was she scared of this woman, who seemed so friendly and sharply familiar, even though she had trouble resolving and remembering many details about her? Was she scared of this moment, which had all the hallmarks of a dream but the coherence and reality of a planted vision? Or was she scared of everything else beyond this quiet dream space and what might happen next?

    The woman''s gentle, fair smile resolved and clarified more than anything else about her as she reached out with both arms and tenderly embraced her. "Don''t be afraid. It''s going to be okay. Rest well, my dear." The last part came through as a faint, hazy blur, as if she actually needed glasses like Jake and had forgotten to put them on.

    This time, Roxy''s real eyes slipped open. She breathed a few times through her nostrils and caught a rich, floral phantom scent like the freshest laundry just out of the dryer, replacing the rancid, infectious corruption of the Hollows. This nicest smell was practically everywhere, and she allowed her tense legs to really relax and rest against the mattress, her hands no longer fighting like curled cat claws to get a grip or prepare for combat. The worst of the tension that had made her sweat all over her body faded away, and a pain in her forehead that she hadn''t even realized was pressing against her thoughts dropped like a heavy, released weight. Insistent throbbing, like her occasional eye twitch but pinging throughout her entire body, finally ended.

    In this new, easier state, she felt as if she could sink back into a dreamy peace, letting the mysteries wander cheerfully around her like the strangest neighbors.

    She sat up. The fear was still there. The tension of not being able to see the others and know that they were all right, even Ross, remained. Uncertainty about the vague, maternal figure that seemed to exist somewhere in her mind and spirit raged without actually being mad at anyone in particular, except perhaps herself.

    Fumbling around for where she''d tiredly placed her phone before completely conking out, Roxy awkwardly recovered it and brushed her fingers in all directions without plans for where she might end up. No big surprise, but she slumped down on the bed and allowed herself a quick micro-nap.

    Gathering together enough determined energy, Roxy looked down at the little clock app on her phone. Somehow, she had actually managed to sleep for well over an hour and a half. That wasn''t too bad. Roxy yanked out some factoid from class or mention made by Duncan that increments of about 45 minutes were perfect for sleeping a complete cycle. Yep. Perfect.

    Except for the fact that her neck felt like it had been kinked into a Z-shape or worse. Luckily, she still knew a few tricks from exercise workouts for getting muscles liberated from kinks, overextension, and cramps. She worked her way through the best method for this one, listening to her neck sound like gravel pressed out with a rolling pin.

    "You''re awake. Or did I wake up? I''m sorry." Eugene''s speed, cadence, and general feeling of words were already lightly familiar to her. He poked his head into the room from off to the side and bowed politely with a submissive presentation of his body. Roxy assured him that she had already woken up when he arrived, and she ended her nap on her own. Warily, she asked the shop proprietor if everything was all right and if there was anything he needed from her or had any questions. His muscles tightened as he approached the bed and sat a polite but empty distance away.

    "There is one thing I wanted to mention. In this particular text, with the most extensive references to the fairy...death concern. There''s this one thing in there, almost just a margin note, that caught my eye. Since talking to the others, you seem to be the one who has experienced the greatest extent of this phenomena, I was wondering if you might have heard of a group or entity known as... the company."

    Roxy frowned and rubbed at her left eye before offering up the very first thing that popped into her head: "You mean the CIA?"

    Eugene swiftly shook his head in response. "No. The authors of this book made a clear and unmistakable distinction between them so that the reader would know it wasn''t just a mistaken, imaginative typographical error. Still, it could be an error. But they are quite specifically cited as ''the company''. No capitalization. You ever heard of that?"

    Roxy had absolutely no idea.

 [31] Mystery Lake 31 â€“ Warning

    Mystery Lake

    [31] Warning

    "Why did you ask me?" Roxy replied.

    Eugene sat up from his notes, his hands flapping like birds trying to fly away from a sudden noise. "You seem to have the most experience with this phenomena, so I thought it might be worth a try to ask. Though it''s hard to say where this note fits in with the fairy folklore. Now, if the name were the Host or the Horde, as sometimes pops up, it might make more sense. Apologies again for disturbing you. My mother should have dinner ready in a short while."

    Roxy still felt some general achiness from her sleeping position, but she shook it off. "Is everyone else fine?"

    Eugene nodded vigorously. "Oh yes, yes, yes. They''ve settled into the living room. Just general conversation. Mom''s been sharing a few favorite anecdotes. I had to get back to the shop for a bit, but it''s been quiet, so I''ve been able to poke around with the resources I have. But we''ll be closing up before too long. And I promise to keep looking. This company note is an interesting lead, but it''s so vague that I''m not sure how to follow it up. If you think of anything, anything at all, that might help point me in the right direction for my research; feel free to volunteer it."

    She hadn''t mentioned the faceless fairy princess friend. This would''ve been an opportune time to say something. But she didn''t feel like it. Not right now. Was it because her friend was holding her back? It didn''t feel that way. She could say and do whatever she wanted. At the same time, how could she be sure that the feeling wasn''t just an empty assurance? She would tell Eugene. But later.

    In the meantime, she asked him if it would be all right to look around the shop. Eugene assured her that she was welcome to freely roam the floors that belonged to them. The only restriction was that the first floor contained a barber shop, a nail salon, a spa, and a medical testing lab, and opening the wrong door led to random rooms and closets downstairs. So she had to be careful which doors she opened. That didn''t seem like a problem to Roxy. He made a few last notes in the book before leaving the room.

    Roxy went over to the old bathroom and splashed her face a little more before preparing to return to the group. The area around the stairs was quiet, with just a trickle of murmurs and laughter filtering against the walls and bouncing around.

    The living space looked about the size of a restaurant. All sorts of strange adornments covered the walls, from old, weathered maps of unfinished shores and fantastical places that didn''t exist to detailed murals of surrealist landscapes and heavenly vistas, along with a handful of hellscapes. Scattered among these vast visions were a variety of framed plaques, preserved kimonos, and fanciful paintings. Maggie Triton elaborated on one particular piece that looked like coral.

    "We went diving a long time ago in Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii. We took some underwater pictures. Even then, there was massive bleaching going on because of the rising ocean temperatures. I don''t know what it''s like now, but this is a recreation of a small part of that bleached reef. Nowadays, I''d easily be able to create a 3D design and print it from photographs, but it took several prototypes and scale models. My original plan was to recreate it all, like a ghostly memorial. But even that took a lot." She moved on to an ornate kimono hanging with outstretched sleeves, with a happier story attached.

    The old lady was an excellent storyteller, drawing her listeners in with tantalizing hooks and hints of a great payoff when she revealed the full details. Roxy curled up in the corner of the couch against Jake, who was actually recording the audio on his phone. Layla wore a royal purple jester''s hat made of furry velvet on her head. And Chiara wore a black corset over her clothes. It didn''t look very comfortable, but she wasn''t complaining. Ross was wrapped in a fleece blanket, while Miranda wore a long, light blue dress with all sorts of embellishments and buttons that she couldn''t resist fiddling with as she sat there.

    Roxy missed a lot in between, but she''d figure it out eventually. Softly, Jake used a luxurious, full brush on Roxy''s long hair. It wasn''t an unfamiliar touch, since they often did what Joel liked to call "the monkey thing" and brushed each other''s hair to relax.

    He thought it was rather silly at first, especially when Jess first suggested it, but the relaxing therapy of Jess tending to his long hair after a long day of training and cramped college desks was something he soon swiftly looked forward to. The idea still grated on him as a soft and silly pampering thing that wasn''t really necessary. But it was hard to say no.

    As Roxy, whatever protestations fell away. Heck, the mention of a nail and spa downstairs actually tempted her to go full pamper. Not that she was reversing her resolve about minimal care for her hair and skin and crap. But since it was so close and Jake was already brushing, it would be silly to push away from the direction that things were going. She wasn''t going to make this a totally regular thing, except for the hair brushing, so her body better not get used to this level of care. This was just a special, rare occasion.

    Up there felt really nice. Not as nice as down there could feel. But the fact that she even put them together in the same thought elevated this instance of hair care to lofty heights. It was really good, and it made her imagine what a proper, full-body massage could do for her senses. Not that she would go that far, but it was worth thinking about. At least a little.

    These pleasant thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp chime on her phone, signaling that another text message had been received. It had to be from Russell. She could''ve left it. Easy explanation that she didn''t have access to her phone for a couple hours in the evening. And that might allow her to put off an answer until sometime tomorrow.

    But Jake nudged her about it, and she gave the basic version that she had seen a text from him earlier, so this was probably a follow-up. Jake nudged her again, saying that it was just a text and she didn''t have to tell him everything, but he was probably worried about all the other things that were going through her head too.

    Begrudgingly, Roxy opened up her texting app, expecting the usual follow-up message from her brother, detailing his latest concerns and expressing his hope that Joel would get back to him as soon as possible, just to make sure everything was okay and he was having a decent spring break.

    The text wasn''t from Russell. It was from an unknown sender with a garbled number.

    [HIDE. NOW.]

    A sharp, jagged, icy chill rattled through Roxy''s gut. On any other day, she would have thought it was an out-of-season spooky ad campaign or some kind of scam asking for crypto, but after everything else that had happened earlier, she wasn''t about to just ignore it.

    Then, Jake''s phone went off with a similar chime. Followed by Layla''s, followed by Miranda''s, followed by everyone else''s. Even the old lady''s and her son''s. And it was the same message.

    Hide where? From what? How?

    Eugene looked at his mother first, urgent fear in his eyes. "Storage room. Down in the basement. Used to be a bank vault. Now we use it for canning, pickling, and fermenting. You should all go down there. I don''t know what''s coming, but we can lock up and hope for the best."

    Miranda popped up from the couch. "What about the water? We brought some in, but the rest is in the car."

    Jake got to his feet and offered, "I''ll help you. I should be able to carry it."

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Honestly, Roxy didn''t give a flying fuck about the death place fairy sex corpse water. The way things had been going lately, she honestly suspected that whoever or whatever was after them might be after them because they had the stuff. So it was probably better to just chuck it out the door and let those forces have it. Although they had been saturated and affected by and consumed some portion of that deathly liquid. If they wanted it all back, then that would be a problem.

    That was a strange idea to come to Roxy spontaneously, which made her suspect that her friend was trying to drop hints. She figured out this kind of thing... eventually. It was a big leap, though, and her companion didn''t really hint whether this was explicit advice or a recommendation she should heed.

    The thought of saving the water was far down the list for her, far after securing this place so that not even the most persistent rage-running zombies could get in. Before the water-obsessed duo got help from sweet Jake, Roxy posed the critical question: why not ask the texter for clarification?

    Who or what were they hiding from? How long did they actually have with "NOW"? Could they go outside? Should they try to block the door? Was it supernatural or human? All very helpful questions to ask, but how to put it succinctly was a problem.

    The old lady replied, "Simple. Why, when, how, who? And let''s get started while we wait for an answer. Do it." They each typed those four words and began to move around with ideas of how to respond.

    Layla had a plethora of exuberant ideas, many of which sounded like they had been inspired by movies. Putting an oil slick on the floor wasn''t a bad idea, except for the fact that Eugene suspected they might accidentally slip on it themselves. Creating barricades and blockades of various displays was a more promising strategy, with four possible guys lifting and moving things despite the risk of breaking store items. The question and problem were how much time they would have to execute this strategy. No reply yet.

    Turning down the lights sounded great, and making sure the hidden door was as obscured as possible was a no-brainer. Roxy had a few random possibilities stirring around in her head. Eugene had some recording equipment, and there was an overhead PA system left over from the building''s banking days. Lots of possibilities.

    Fortunately, it didn''t take long for them to get the answer they were hoping for from their unknown correspondent.

    [HUNTING. SOON. DON''T BREATHE OR MOVE. WRAITHS.]

    None of that instilled Roxy with hopefulness.

    Eugene repeated quietly, "Wraiths. Revenants. Dead and the undead. Everything we talked about with the various protections should still apply. Turn out your clothes, carry salt or horseshoes, and hopefully that''ll be enough. Unfortunately, the name is not terribly specific. All sorts of fiction, folklore, and other sources make reference to wraiths, and they can vary wildly. I would like to ask more questions, but we may not have enough time.

    He set his mother to the task of pitching more questions to this unknown recipient while he made sure everyone knew about the side staircase that would take them to the basement without leaving the building. At least that seemed like a safe way. Although it was more of a distance separator from a proper human opponent. Whether the same separation was possible with whatever the hell these things were was a big mystery that Roxy wasn''t sure she wanted an answer to.

    They started to set up some provisional barricades around the shop, with the hopeful ambition that these creatures would follow the longest intended route and eventually get bored and turn around and leave. A faint, frail hope, but something. Roxy was reminded of a certain kind of game that Barry had shown her a few times. Tower defense¡ªthat was it. They couldn''t quite reach that level.

    The implication of hiding at least suggested that physical distance did something for protection, assuming they could trust the random words of whoever it was that sent this warning message. One of Layla''s ideas had potential when she stumbled upon and delighted in an old but curious puppet with carefully positioned strings. It resembled an antiquated Punch and Judy set but was primarily manipulated as a marionette. An option to place Layla under a cloaked display booth seemed far too dangerous, but the girl wanted to do it to provide a helpful distraction. Roxy didn''t know if she could throw her voice far enough to be safe.

    They strung together what they could in the front area of the store without creating a monumental mess that might ruin any of the most valuable trinkets. The PA, however, was mostly a no-go due to a short circuit that would take too long to fix. Only one of them worked. Old building. If only the awkwardly cut steps up seemed at all like they would be a hindrance to whatever was after them.

    Covering cloaks and whatever else they could get their hands on at least made them breathe a little easier.

    Out the door was another matter. It wasn''t late. It was fast approaching evening, but a massive cloud lingered over this section of downtown Neverwink as if a personal, ridiculous storm cloud had come to rain on them alone. No one was about, not even by car, which Roxy recognized as a familiar ploy by these fairy fuckers. Still, this felt like a completely different presence than anything they had encountered before.

    Shadows were smothered by deeper darkness, with little hints at the edge of Roxy''s vision that something was lurking, creeping, and yes, truly hunting in her direction. Jake and Eugene hustled nervously to the trunk of the car and heaved the container of the remaining water, Jake practically hauling the entire mass on his own while Eugene struggled to keep up.

    With that outside task completed, everyone rushed back inside, as if alarmingly caught out in the middle of a sudden, invisible blizzard threatening to freeze them to the bone. The frigid blast pervaded Roxy''s spirit, as if no amount of coats or blankets could possibly block whatever it was from leaching the warmth from her body. Eugene swiftly sealed and covered every possible aspect of the entrance with whatever he had nearby. Whoever showed up at this point and wasn''t a malicious entity would have a great deal on whatever the heck they wanted to buy, Eugene admitted through chattering teeth.

    With that first but likely flimsy line of defense settled, they stumbled and retreated, with the elevator completely shut down. Eugene made sure that the CCTV cameras hidden in and around each segment had an unobstructed view.

    They could retreat all the way back to the living area and even further to the vault, but Roxy remained with Eugene behind the main counter. Layla set up an awkward section of the puppet display with a bug-out escape route at the rear. Jake steadied himself with a tense posture, hoping his muscles might be able to do something against whatever this was, but Roxy made sure he was behind her. Miranda helped coordinate and take back the main jug of water with the amount that Eugene requested to use as a kind of trap without a trap, an offering that likely wouldn''t appease. Ross and Chiara retreated as far back as possible with the old lady.

    Of course, all this would be moot if these creatures could just sneak around the distant wall and into the basement without any effort. It would have been so much better if they had time and an actual plan to stymie these Wraith things, plural. But this felt like as much as they could do, so they holed up where they were and awaited the inevitable.

 [32] Mystery Lake 32 â€“ Hunted

    Mystery Lake

    [32] Hunted

    The ensuing silence frustrated Roxy, as time they could''ve devoted to planning and creating more barricades slipped away with every frantic, pulsing heartbeat. Were they wrong? Were they just panicking and overreacting to a silly message meant to scare them? The darkness of the sky could have just been a rogue thundercloud.

    Well, all they had to do was wait and see. The others tightly held their breath, straining for every single trace of sound, trying to parse it as a threat. Eugene made up bags of salt with little horseshoes for them to grab once the worst of it began.

    Roxy rubbed her eyes, which had only gotten a minimum of rest and recovery. The vigorous, sandpaper-like rubbing sounded more like scraping against a sensitive live microphone. The nervous feeling almost triggered a coughing fit, which would have been like firing off a rocket in a hungry forest.

    Silence soon resettled over everything. And that was part of the problem. The walls of this old building were thick with stone and brick. But there was still a sense of the world outside of them, of cars ambling through the town center, of small-town business continuing, of people talking in the waning afternoon. All that had now been swallowed up, as if a spiky, hostile blanket had been draped over the world that was.

    Roxy tried to get a peek outside through one of the side windows, but the tinting was too harsh, or they had been covered over. Still, the scent and essence of darkness swallowed everything. And through that darkness came a sense of stalking hostility, emanating from every crack. It moved and slipped across barren pavement.

    It was followed by a faint sound of shifting, scraping, and crunching gravel. The air had a palpable, increased weight to it, slowly squeezing her entire body. Her fingers curled back and dug into the fabric of her clothing, until it was either her nails or the material that would rip and tear. Eventually, her grip relaxed, and the tension migrated to her heart, thundering her pulse. Her mouth felt so dry and crusty, as if it had never touched a drop of water.

    And in that blanketed, relative silence, nothing could be heard, and her body sought to fill that void with a single note of endless ringing.

    Suddenly, a piercing screech split the air, louder and more mind-numbing than anything she could ever imagine. The sound roared between a looming train whistle and a mournful, dying last scream. Roxy felt as if a bucket of stinging ice had been dumped over her head. Instinctively, she dove behind the main counter and covered her ears.

    Her efforts did nothing to lessen the infernal noise, and it didn''t cease or pause to catch its breath. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, both outside and within, behind and in front of her. She tried to get her bearings, but the assault threw all her directions off. Eventually, it did cease.

    Looking around her, she noticed that the previously clear but darkly shadowed room seemed to fill with hazy smoke. An oppressive blurriness consumed her sight. It made her think of what Jess told her things were like for her without her glasses. No amount of blinking or waving could dispel it. She tried to find Jake, Eugene, Layla, or anyone else in the mottled, confused, colored blobs. Statics of pain and uncertainty passed through her head as the needle was being driven. She wanted to call out, but she knew that would be the worst thing she could do.

    Just as she felt like she could begin to figure out where she was and where the others were, a cold, prickly hand traced over her shoulder. She muffled her breath before she could scream, but hopped and staggered back. She twisted around in all directions, but there was nothing there. Fuck!

    A few moments later, the others fumbled towards her, making urgent, soft sounds to signal their presence. Jake fussed with his glasses, rubbing them vigorously. Clearly, whatever was happening wasn''t confined to her. Jake shivered and continued to clean the lens, but Roxy held his arm and mouthed with a faint whisper, "Not that." Layla crawled back nervously, cracking her neck and pressing a useless knuckle into her forehead.

    Eugene wrote out and shared that something was blurring their vision. He looked like he had much more to write, his tongue aching to say it, but he withheld his words as everyone slowly moved back to their places.

    Looking around the dark space just stressed her out. She could see features and blobs and suggestions of forms, but it was as if she were going blind, losing touch with the world around her, falling into an uncertain abyss that wanted to clamp its teeth around her soul. She thought about turning some of her clothes inside out. Eugene passed around the small bags of salt and miniature horseshoes for each of them. Layla grabbed hers before heading back to her puppetry plan post.

    Roxy didn''t feel much different holding the junk, but some of the panic edge waned away. Whether that was a real effect, or a placebo, remained to be seen. Massaging with her knuckle seemed to have a more immediate effect than any token.

    During a lapse in attention, her head suddenly snapped up. There had been a sound, like distant thunder. Something roiling with heat in a microwave, deeply heated and hiding a screaming fury about to be unleashed. She did her best to pay attention to the sound, but she couldn''t pick out the notes from the ringing in her ears. Calm continued for several moments until that horrific noise resounded again. Soon, she didn''t have to pick it out of a well of swallowing silence. It was obvious, and it came closer with every heartbeat. Other sounds joined the chorus.

    Thump... scrape... thump... drag... thump...scratch...thump...

    Even though she came to expect each horrifying new iteration of and addition to those sounds, they always made her flinch, as if some secret claw were plucking at the very strands of her essence. It was impossible to tell how many there were and how many legs they had. Every time she tried, it was as if the echoes and reverberations created a distracting cacophony in her head. She just couldn''t focus, whether from natural fear or something surely supernatural.

    Roxy checked behind her again, fearing that whatever had somehow crawled behind her might make a second appearance. The haze got worse; she could only see the faint details of the trinkets and table behind the counter. The time on the clocks and any of the written labels were completely indistinct.

    Jess explained how she was browbeaten by her teachers to get glasses, but the image of the classroom becoming so indistinct and the writing on the board difficult to parse without squinting inhabited the dark recesses of Joel''s brain like an insidious mold growth. He took care of himself, but he was probably destined one day for the ailments that his grandparents had. But that was far away¡ªsome horrible future he didn''t have to think about for a long time. That alone, creeping up on her, made her legs weak from pain rather than pleasure.

    Whatever was out there, she couldn''t see it, and apparently it didn''t want to be seen. She just prayed silently, hoping that once it was gone, things would return to normal.

    Eugene brought a tablet computer down to her level and held his phone, which was connected to his mother''s footage. There was just enough light to see the others on the relatively grainy camera. All alerts and sounds were shut off with brief typing and some silly emojis to keep each other updated.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Looking at the tablet, Roxy had no trouble seeing that, at least. Several of the camera views were rough, distorted, and at low FPS. They could see the tops of their own heads in the main one. Another looked down at the stairs, with just some spill light from beyond and the fancy old sconces looking like tangled black licorice ribbons. The basement cameras, despite receiving the least light, appeared the most cheerful.

    The exterior cameras were a very rough black and white, with every motion translated into a pixelated wiggle, especially the trees along the street. Unfortunately, it could just look out straight and not check to the left, right, and below it. There was absolutely nothing to see, despite the wretched sounds. She could feel the malevolence just beyond the frame. Every single shadow that flickered and shifted caught her attention, even though the closest scrutiny revealed nothing. The sounds had to be just outside the locked door before the steps. They were right there! What are they going to do?

    She tried to ignore the fact that she felt like a noisy diesel machine coughing out breath, taking cavernous inhalations, a heart machine beating against her rib cage, and every laborious, shifting creak announcing itself to the world.

    Slowly but insistently, a force pressed against the door like a grizzly bear peeling bark from a tree. The frame squeaked and squawked as if it were being crushed to death. And then it simply settled open, as if the tiniest crack was enough to wedge it all the way. They were inside.

    Roxy could tell, even though she couldn''t say exactly how. A soul-sapping cold pummeled every exposed patch of flesh as if a massive walk-in freezer had been opened right above her. Nervously, she did check above her, but the blurring reduced it to a brown interference pattern. Nothing there, not yet.

    But something was methodically and persistently mounting the stairs not far from them. The teasing distraction of the elevator didn''t even slow it down for a moment. This didn''t feel like something she could talk to, insult, or disgust.

    The only clarity was like a nervous, rapid interference pattern from an old VHS tape that had been played too many times. Roxy wanted to spring out of hiding and hurl something that would burn it or splash it with the water and see a stunned, black-haired girl with bright red eyes instead of a monster. Maybe that would work, but there would only be one chance.

    She glanced through the many twists and slivers of glass throughout the shop, looking for some reflection or trace of what was approaching. It took a long time, filled with frantic heartbeats, and she saw a mass of shadow shift unnaturally. The thudding echoed through her being, and the scrapes assaulted her senses. Everything felt washed out except for her booming presence. It was hard to tell how many there were, but it felt like a pair. Hungry dogs, hunting and sniffing the air for their prey.

    Suddenly, Layla started singing.

    "Oh, I do believe in the light... it''s always such a pretty sight. Everything will be all right. I won''t feel a fright. Because there is the light. Let me dance with you tonight, together in the light."

    Layla''s voice wavered in the first verse, as if she were gathering together everything she had into a tight, woven rope of words to haul her up a mountain. Roxy could still hear the edge of tears in her voice, but the bright, enthusiastic girl pushed through the words.

    Trying to peer through the tangled prism of glass and check the image on Eugene''s screen, Roxy had no idea what was going on behind the counter because all the damn angles were wrong or off by frustrating inches.

    What she could sense from the mood in the air was that the creatures had stopped their advance and were scrutinizing the sounds and the area around Layla. A distraction, but what the hell did they do now about it?

    Layla continued singing, louder, more confident, and with a faster rhythm. The coherence swiftly fell away as it became clear that she was making everything up as she went along. Some of it sounded like scrambled fairy tales. Looking at the camera, Roxy could see a puppet near the wall dancing to the melody.

    The creatures advanced as it sounded like Layla was pulling back from her hidey-hole. Soon, the working speaker projected Layla''s voice toward the door at the front of the shop.

    Layla continued to sing like a joyous bird, loud and true. She was trapped in a terrifying cage with predators all around her, but none of that dimmed her spirit. It was as if she had a stage all her own.

    "I won''t run away, no matter what fear. I''ll hold you close, I''ll always be here. I want to share in my whimsical mood, and always get closer to you. We''ll open the door and I''ll lend you my voice. I have the courage, my wings shall be yours, just never let go. There''s so much to share, there''s so much to do. Spending my life long with you. We delight in the sensible view. I promise to always be true..." The creatures weren''t distracted by the multiple sound sources.

    Layla''s words were louder, but Roxy could hear the cracking. They all knew what was on top of them, Layla included. There was something wrong with a universe that allowed such a cheerful, sweet girl to be on the verge of tears.

    Though the universe might allow it, Roxy would not.

    She grabbed the edge of the counter and hauled herself over it, vaulting as if it were nothing.

    A pair of swollen, raging black masses twisted in her direction the moment her feet landed on the hardwood floor. At least they seemed to be black masses, their presence blotting out practically everything in front of Roxy. Everything inside her just wanted to scream and retreat, but she swallowed that down with her arm stretched out like a sword.

    With her other hand, she scooped up a small paperweight, the closest one sitting on the counter, and heaved it with all her strength over the center of the nightmare mass. It struck something, and a sharp clang rang through the store like a hammer striking a pipe. The mass actually staggered, and she pivoted with her arm outstretched.

    She had no idea what she was doing, but all she could think about was slicing open the world to escape the empty place that bastard had taken her. There had to be enough room in that empty space for a set of monsters who didn''t deserve to be here.

    Roxy cleaved the air along the side and pushed as close to the mass as she dared. It howled, hissed, and shrieked, but the sound soon smothered, as if several layers of plastic bags had been wrapped around it. Dropping to the floor, Roxy rushed over and told Layla to grab her hand. The trembling blonde dashed and scrambled to her feet. She hugged Roxy tightly as they made their way around the created obstacles and back behind the counter to catch up with Eugene, who mercifully looked much clearer. Everything did.

    Before he could ask what the heck that was, a relapse of blurriness affected Roxy''s eyes. The air rippled, and muffled roars persisted.

    "I tried, but we gotta do like it said and hide."

 [33] Mystery Lake 33 â€“ Hide

    Mystery Lake

    [33] Hide

    Jake stammered words of apology and concern as the three of them fell back to where he was. A rush of frantic words and uncertain questions flowed from his mouth, but Roxy quickly quelled all those anxious reactions with a kiss.

    They made sure that the hidden door was tightly barricaded, though Roxy suspected that any sealed route would probably only provide as much resistance as the front door had. Every wall they put between them felt like a shivering slice of relief, but not nearly enough. Roxy would have preferred something akin to a tower fortress from medieval times or a fortress intended for a zombie invasion.

    But none of that mattered if these monsters could simply squeeze their way through. Maybe some lava might work. But all they had was brick, wood, and a little stone. More emotional protection than actual.

    Roxy gazed at the non-perishable, abandoned beginnings of a beautiful supper laid out on the kitchen counter. Would the monsters trash all this? Such a beautiful place and such a precious space, full of gently preserved memories on the walls and in their hearts. It didn''t deserve this.

    A part of her wanted to stop her retreat, spin on her heel, stand as tall as she could with everything she had in her, and stomp towards the monster with a scolding in her heart to take it down to size. All of that was nice for a thought.

    A furious rumble vibrated her feet. It was down there, still so close, despite the apparent distance they put between them. It was only when they reached the opposite wall and descended into the narrow, tight corridor blocked off from the first and second floors that it felt like they had something between them and anarchy. Roxy paid the closest attention to the quality of her vision. It was still sharp, but the edges hinted at the returning monster.

    The basement is easily the most unfriendly space in the building, with stacks of broken masonry, bundled wires, and tangled, rusty metal tucked away in dark corners. Piles of insulation formed the rudimentary walls of a maze designed to confuse and redirect. Plenty of personal items littered the barren, cold, and stripped landscape. The storage area looked exactly as Roxy had imagined, with a dark green, practically impenetrable bank vault. Still, only a few feet stood between her and the returning tempest. The others quickly let them in.

    Layla and Chiara swiftly embraced one another, with dried and fresh tears and cautious hints of Layla''s sweet melodies lingering in her mouth. Ross sat in the furthest corner, his legs pulled up tight and his arms squeezing them practically to the point of injury. The old lady wrapped her arms around her son, enveloping him as if she had several extra limbs to spare. Miranda lingered toward the back, closer to Ross than any of the others but still giving him plenty of space.

    Could things have been different with Ross if Roxy had approached them differently? It felt like they got off on the wrong foot from the moment Joel stepped into the car and the pale girl felt his chuckling breath on her neck. They had swapped preferred positions in the car since then, but none of their sentiments had changed.

    Joel had no real beef with Alyssa. And Alyssa claimed that she had once had a crush on Joel. He was a little rough and tumble, dumb, and a general goofball. But Roxy translated each of those traits differently, and yet the frozen fortress between them remained.

    What could she possibly do to change the hardened sentiment that they simply weren''t friends? Did it even matter? They didn''t need to be buds. They didn''t have to care about each other. They just had to survive. Roxy should have been fine with that. Joel was perfectly settled on that notion. But Roxy felt something more. They had to hide; they had to survive, but Ross had the feeling that he''d much rather have done the hiding outside, with the jaws of that creature happily snapping him up. Maybe she''d never understand it, but she wanted to do everything she could for this stubborn vampire boy. Drag him away from drowning, even as he kicked and screamed to be let go.

    They kept the volume of each interaction at a carefully guarded level. Roxy passed along about the bout of blurriness and checked to see if anyone in here had experienced similar side effects from the creature. It was hopefully a good sign that everyone confirmed that they were fine. That meant there were limitations.

    Jake set the two water containers against the far wall, away from any of them. Granted, whatever went after the water would go through them first. It remained to be seen if this beast thing was after the stuff, them, or something else. Roxy suspected that what she''d done had at least pissed it off, and it would probably be looking for a rematch.

    What was she supposed to do about that? Hit them again? There were certainly enough canned goods and other decently heavy things down here to provide enough ammunition. And she didn''t have to fight alone. She had already gotten into more fights than she ever intended. Joel had often been taunted into fighting because he was a big guy, and some dudes wanted to prove themselves even bigger.

    Joel''s response was always humor: cool off the guy''s ego with jokes and ways out, win with words, or use their own aggression to keep them off balance. Talking had only worked effectively once against fairy opponents. And each time before this, she needed outside intervention. Not that she begrudged the help, but she didn''t want to have to rely on being saved. They had to protect themselves from these dark forces.

    Unfortunately, the tokens didn''t seem to have done much. Or if they did, it wasn''t enough. In the heat of the moment, Layla had forgotten about the clothing inversion and resorted to singing, but now she perked up and took off her top, much to Eugene''s immediate concern and covered eyes. Roxy found this a silly reaction for a variety of reasons, which it seemed the old woman had in mind as well, and raised an eyebrow at her son. It amused Roxy that, at a moment like this, there could still be concern about the little things.

    She waited until after Layla was done with her change to start unzipping her dress to invert it. It was a much more difficult task than the one Layla swiftly managed. Eugene straight-up turned away. Some rogue part of her had the random desire to just splash the silly guy, but she resisted the notion. Not her call, not anyone''s call. She also resisted the urge to check if the random sense Ross had when she was thinking something that involved him popped up again.

    The other side of the dress definitely wasn''t as comfortable, and the material had all the seams and rough bits showing. Back to the Future 2 mode, or something like it.

    Considering that the two of them had started it, the others went along as well. And the next was, surprisingly, Ross, who swiftly and without comment or complaint inverted as much of his outer clothing as he seemed comfortable with shifting around.

    Jake put on a little private-but-not display for Roxy. It felt like eyes more than hers appreciated the view. And not just speaking about around the room. In that sense, it was actually the old lady''s turn to cover her eyes, though she did it more subtly than her son and without any noticeable embarrassment. It was more like she was doing it for the privacy of the observed than for herself. Roxy had to wonder if she was a little biased in that perception. Layla helped Chiara change without feeling nervous, then turned to Brock and covered her.

    Though being surrounded by a big guy in tight girl''s clothes didn''t calm poor Chiara down that much, as she nervously flipped her clothes around a few times before finally getting them oriented in the right direction, all the while, to Roxy''s surprise, she was actually not wearing a bright blush.

    The old lady had no qualms about shifting her clothes around, although her son held up some pieces of cardboard for his mother, and she did the same for him. Miranda actually managed to adjust her clothes without any of them noticing, at least not Roxy. Ross wore a tense expression, which might have been connected. Whether any of these actions would have any effect remained to be seen, but at least they had that base covered.

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    Aside from following this folkloric tradition, they made sure that the tokens were nearby, and Eugene considered a possible gift. He decided to part with the separated portion of the lake water he wanted to experiment with. The liquid was placed in a visible, open container toward the stairs leading upstairs. Really, Roxy thought that they should have put it outside before all of this happened, but that was a diminishing hindsight. Placing it in front of the secret door would have been a good idea, too, but that would have required backtracking all the way with the uncertainty of what was happening above them. This would have to do.

    Of course, Roxy found herself struck with a vague need to use the restroom at that very moment, and it looked like several others also had that on their minds. For that, Eugene cobbled something together with a measuring funnel and a plastic jug, especially for the ladies. They all looked at it, but seemed to decide as a group that it wasn''t quite urgent enough to reach that point yet. Although Roxy told herself, taking care of it now during this merciful lull was better than waiting to crouch when the beast was back and stomping outside the door.

    Speaking of which, rattling issued from just outside the repurposed vault, even though the vault itself ignored all sense of motion. Timeout over, it was hunting again.

    Roxy straightened her arms in a move that bordered on balladic. Nervous quivering unsettled her firm intentions. She had to be up front; she had to be the protector, even though Jake was lightly jockeying for the same position.

    Chiara could likely see these wretched things. She wondered if that meant the poor girl would see something clearer or worse in place of the nasty blur. Layla could only shift between forms, if that was even an actual power she seemed to have been granted by the water. Eugene picked up one of the heaviest things nearby, but he could barely grip it without his fingers turning pale. His mother rested a hand on his shoulder, but he refused to turn to look back at her. He kept close to the entrance, but not in the very front.

    Meanwhile, Ross remained in the rear, in that same corner. Roxy did her best not to judge him for it, but the judgment still lingered in the back of her mind. Miranda actually ended up with a half-broken steel pipe, which might have been a decent weapon in a video game Joel remembered playing once, but she had her doubts when it came to reality, whatever their situation now qualified as. Brock and Chiara stayed behind some boxes, Brock humming gently.

    Roxy expected whatever was up there to tear through, like a wild boar or a bull. But despite the clear fury translating through the air and the earth, there were no notes of destruction. Eugene offered his tablet, but even with the door cracked open, the video interface couldn''t connect. Brock soon quieted down so they could pick up every iota of vibration. There was definitely something above them.

    It moved purposefully, its weight applied in quick succession. Roxy remembered when cats used to hop up and crawl across the tile roof of Joel''s old family home. This thundered deeper than a cat or any playfully hopping bird those cats chased up to those ambitious heights. The best analogy she could come up with was the way the rollers at the old car wash pressed as hard as they could against the faded roof of her parents'' old blue van. Persistent thunder that chased you just like that.

    The monster didn''t barrel through the hidden door. It barely seemed like the obstacle was there at all. After clearing the stairs, it had no trouble threading its way through the side hallway, although Roxy heard the echo and thud of a crash, signaling that the monster didn''t care about collateral damage along the way. She hoped it wasn''t something of sentimental value.

    The buffer of the floor between them muffled many of the details, but not all of them. Could the darn thing smell or sense them in the same way as all these other bastards who''d come after them? She wasn''t sure if she wanted that question answered, but making sense of this horrible situation might have helped. Without too much chaos between, it was finally at the stairs, with a direct route to them. They carefully pulled at the vault door. It couldn''t be locked since it had been decommissioned, but they would do their best.

    Soon, most of the group let Roxy know with hand gestures that their eyesight was being affected again. Chiara, however, still seemed fine. Shit, she didn''t deserve to see the monsters. At least she had her head down. Roxy felt the full effect of the blurring soon after. More forehead presses did little to help. In addition, she smelled a nasty, vaguely earthy aroma, less like the dirt of the diner and more like wind-blown, dried-out dust harshly collecting in her nostrils once again. She''d just gotten rid of that crap...

    The creature made it to the basement, and the same churning anxiety returned. The door was practically closed, but not all the way. The faint sliver of a crack, enough to see the cloudy presence waiting at the bottom of the stairs, felt like not enough and yet far too much for comfort. She could tell, despite the hindrance to her sight, that it was right next to the water offering.

    It perched like a panther hunting through a haze, and it wasn''t alone. She could see enough of it to tell that it was a pair, closely connected but still distinct. But the cat-like or even wolf-like analogy didn''t quite work because they had an awkward, stretched position, as if an unnatural human were pantomiming a long-legged pose.

    Skinwalkers, as Miranda had mentioned when reciting the Cliff Notes version of Miss Clifton''s presentation? Wendigo? Jess Googled while they packed and found that those were more common in this area than the previous, though the Joel of the early morning doubted that either actually existed.

    Roxy hated looking at the damn, muddled things and desperately wanted everyone in front to yank on the wheel and spin it as tight as possible, no matter how noisy it sounded. But they didn''t seem to notice them yet; they were focused solely on their offering. Would it work?

    The details were rough, but she could make out enough to notice the weird creatures were inspecting the water. They bent close, as if sniffing. She didn''t dare move or breathe; all of their attention was focused on the bottle. Then the front stretched out a limb and pushed the container aside to splatter all over the floor. What must have been a head lifted and looked directly at her. Fuck fuck fuck!

    She didn''t need to tell them to swarm around the lock. They all grabbed it and turned it with as much coordination as they could manage in that frantic moment. It didn''t matter. It came through as if the tightly sealed opening was gaping wide.

    Eugene hurriedly threw what was in his arms, but it fell short. Chiara screamed for a moment before Brock wrapped her up protectively. There were many other screams in the air, but Roxy wasn''t certain where they came from; some of them might have been her own.

    She tried to swing one arm or the other down, but it felt like the most frigid, paralyzing gale washed over her. No matter what was thrown, it failed to land. She had no idea what to do now. Thoughts were hard to focus with the blistering cold settling deep into her soul. Ross finally stepped forward.

    Before Roxy could think about what he was doing, Ross'' mouth opened wide, and a dark, inky substance vomited not only from his mouth but seemingly from every pore. It completely covered the blurred mass as a sticky thread that congealed into a scrambled nest. The confinement didn''t last long as it sank under the wretched weight and practically melted into nothingness, leaving a marbled impression on the vault floor that remained after everything else had evaporated.

    Ross just stood there in shock, as if he especially had no idea what he had just done.

 [34] Mystery Lake 34 â€“ Aftermath

    Mystery Lake

    [34] Aftermath

    Everyone was silent for several seconds before the panting began, and they worked together to nervously open the lock and file out of the vault. Even though what had come out of Ross didn''t have an immediate or lingering after smell, the dusty and musty air outside of the vault still felt better to immerse in.

    Roxy swooped back after she took her breaths to check on vampire boy. He was still standing there, like a statue, his dark hair matted against his neck with a sheen of sweat. Miranda was standing nearby, but not far from the door. Having picked up the pipe, she''d hurled as close to the creatures as she could. Roxy had no idea why she''d retrieved it, but given the uncertainty of their encounters lately, she couldn''t begrudge her keeping it as a comfort and insurance against whatever came for them next.

    Ross remained as pale as usual, but his nervous swallowing suggested he wasn''t done with whatever he''d spewed forth. He asked, just the two of them, a question Roxy knew he didn''t expect an answer to: "What just happened?"

    Miranda dipped the awkward pipe so that it didn''t look like she was threatening Ross or anyone else before asking a question of her own. "Are you okay?"

    Vacillating between coughing and swallowing more, Ross shook his head aimlessly as he brushed out his hair. "I''m sweaty. Gosh, I''m so sweaty. I don''t... I guess. I''m alive. That thing is gone. Is... is everyone okay?" His eyes flicked up at Miranda in particular, but also rested on Roxy for a few moments before returning to the ground.

    "I think so" was the best that Miranda could offer in her current position. "I think you saved us. Whatever you did."

    "Oh... cool. Guess I''m a... guess I coughed up something good."

    Roxy raised an eyebrow at the first hint of what Ross was about to say. The phrase "bulimic sorcerer" popped into her head. Whether that was close or far from where his head was going, Roxy had an inkling that whatever he was holding back was more interesting than his actual words. She wasn''t going to offer up any possibilities to reignite his ire; she was learning her lessons in that respect. Not that she was or had the intention to walk around like on broken glass with Ross. But she would let him show his voice rather than chancing to step in his shit. God, he didn''t want to be a quick study for the turns and twists of talking to those with rules and hangups.

    Whatever. Ross didn''t see himself as their friend, but he''d still saved them. Miranda did the leading, guiding Ross by the hand back over to the basement area. Jake had stayed behind while the old lady had gone upstairs to check on the state of things. Her son appeared tightly stretched between making sure they were alright and not leaving his mother alone to her task.

    Brock had his arms tightly squeezed around Chiara, especially around her chest, not caring about the geography of her body, like pressing a rubber chicken until it became two-dimensional. That girl/boy absolutely deserved a simple return to smiles. He was working on a rudimentary version, wobbling like a slow top on his lips. Chiara seemed like she really would''ve preferred breathing, but she was willing to make the temporary sacrifice of being the lovey shark''s tasty squeeze toy.

    Oh, right, restroom. She should probably take care of that.

    Ross didn''t seem like he was quite back to normal, but she didn''t really know what normal was supposed to be for the guy, before or now. At least he didn''t look like he was going to keel over in the next few minutes. So, that was something. Miranda had him, although Roxy still had no idea why the girl even wanted him in the first place. Not her business.

    It wasn''t much, but Ross gave her another look that didn''t express irritation or antagonism. Good enough for her. She went on ahead.

    Eugene had picked up the spilled bottle. No water or even signs of moisture remained on the basement floor, having evaporated or done whatever fairy undead sex goo does when released. Roxy puzzled over the fact that her companion hadn''t said or suggested much. Did the possible fairy princess lady know that Ross would take care of this by splashing the bastard? What, if anything, was she keeping from her? Invoking questions did not prompt a reappearance or an explanation.

    Chiara was finally permitted to breathe again as Brock shifted to lifting her gently, her toes barely touching the ground, as if paused at the beginning of a dance or ice skating routine.

    Roxy''s trek up the steps revealed no remnants, damage, or residue of the beast that had hunted them. The lights were not only back, but a hint brighter than before, as if to push away all slivers of darkness. One of the couches and some of the wall mounts had been disturbed, but nothing serious, as far as she could see. Where the crash and fall should have been, the only victim was an end table with some scattered magazines, which the old lady and her son were already taking turns putting back in place. The start of dinner looked a little disorganized, but not messed up. She looked through the seasonings and assorted ingredients to be mixed. The temptation to activate chef mode tickled at her senses, but this wasn''t her kitchen counter, though the old lady would probably welcome her assistance.

    "Would you like to help me make dinner?"

    Oh crap, she caught her off guard. Roxy retreated from the drainboard and informed her she was just tidying up. The old lady had watched her for several moments and sensed her experience. She welcomed her to help with dinner, but with no expectations or obligations.

    Roxy found it sharply surreal to have to deal with matters of food so soon after Ross had belched black sewage and melted the monster. The world should not be so mundane at this moment, yet here it was. She accepted the invitation¡ªsomething to keep her mind off the madness. First, though, she wanted to check out the rest of the rampaging path and help Eugene clean up. Not really necessary, but she wanted to do it anyway. The old lady continued where she had left off when the warnings came.

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    Despite the dispersion of the monster, lingering tiredness followed her as she made her way back through the most obvious path it had taken. None of the bed-and-breakfast-style bedrooms had been disturbed or damaged. Not even delicate sections of the floor appeared cracked or dented. The same was true of the weathered steps.

    It took a little more effort to unlock the secret door from this side as fatigue crept in, but she managed. As she inspected the cramped, cluttered store for any obvious changes, it continued to amaze her that not a single thing was out of place, despite how far the damn thing had stalked, their brief tussle, and it breaking free.

    Following the last trace of its movement to the entrance and then down the steps to the outside revealed no proof of their encounter. Nothing on the street, nothing in the area, and nothing as far as she could scan. The oppressive blackened mass had cleared. Normal evening reasserted itself. The approaching sunset trickled through the trees. Still so normal.

    She fussed with her itchy inverted dress and scanned the narrow side street for some sign of actual disruption. The traffic, not much when they arrived, still slipped past, but at a languid drip pace. She scrutinized the front of the building, and all the cited businesses that Eugene said they shared the space with went about their common routines.

    It would have been nice to take a walk around the downtown neighborhood, but she didn''t want to do it alone. Upstairs, Eugene was already taking a closer look at the room, looking around with visible relief. They talked for a while, sharing each other''s confusion and blank uncertainty about what the experience meant, what the creature wanted, and what had happened. Eugene stretched out on a chair and pantomimed holding the nearly full two gallons above his lap.

    "If I may ask, what has your experience been like? Your life and everything since the lake. How do you parse it?"

    Roxy found a place to lean and talk. "Not great, but it''s complicated because we''ve run into so many terrible things since the lake. Terrible, and not so terrible too. Like all that. No idea why someone or something is after you. But that''s not all. I used to be a big guy with ripped muscles, a big, embracing smile, and a love of fun. Shrinking is a huge trip. It puts you in a completely different place. I''ve changed so much in just a few hours, and yet I am still the same person. Everyone has a different opinion of what the body, the mind, and all the rest represent. I don''t know. Either I am now a guy with some physical oddities, or I am a girl with some mental hangups. My experience has been an absolutely wild trip I never expected to take during spring break. But you wanna know what you should do, right?"

    Eugene opened his mouth to provide a nuanced or uncertain answer that he held back longer than either of them expected. "I''ve experienced more supernatural, amazing, and terrifying phenomena in such a short time than I ever expected in my entire life. I would''ve been totally fine if that creature had strolled up, ignored us all, and gone straight for that miraculous, horrific water. But it discarded it. It could''ve done the same thing with everything you brought. And seeing and feeling that, with a rush hour of impending harm barreling down at me, made me really think about who I am and what I want. Somewhere in all of this is an aphorism etched in silver. Don''t try to lie to your mirror..."

    Roxy felt that she understood the meaning of that statement, but she let Eugene continue, in case she was wrong, or he had a particular elaboration in mind.

    "To thine own self be true. I want to splash myself with that water. But I''ve seen the craziness that its mere presence has brought. I can''t rely on some guy in black to offer me the same deal you all received. He''d probably try to silence me instead, if he even bothered to darken my doorstep. But I can''t hide the light, life, and truth of all that I am in possibilities, probabilities, speculations, postulations, and uncertainties that stretch to infinity. I can say sour grapes like a soured fox for the rest of my life. I can skip every opportunity and continue on the path I have well-trodden...." He paused and took a breath to collect his thoughts before continuing.

    "And I know it''s nuts to drop all this on you or any of the others, since you''ve obviously had to tolerate it rather than celebrate it. But I have in mind a clear and bold adventure that I want to undertake beyond any realm I''ve imagined for myself. I''ve been inspired by the possibility for ages and ignited since I met your friend''s professor....It''s so stupid to think, but so brilliant to feel. I know I should talk to the quiet one in your group because I can see everything I feel reflected in her eyes. I don''t know why I am asking you, and I hope you don''t feel offended or bewildered, but I was just thinking, with how you are different and yet the same, is there anything you would offer me?" Eugene had spilled forth plenty of words in the short time they had known each other, but this patch felt the most fervent, necessary, and honest.

    "Do it. But don''t swallow. The water, I mean. I did, and it feels like more complications have followed me. But you know what you want; you know who you are and who you want to be. Don''t make it any more complicated for yourself than it has to be. Screw what I think; screw what anyone else thinks. Be yourself, even if you don''t know if it''s a terrible mistake. Don''t fight yourself. You know truths before you realize them."

    Roxy marveled that such words had come out of her, probably originating from her companion, whom she almost alluded to but left unmentioned for now. These were words that also vaulted far above her head with advice that she had to cling to and ride as far as it would take her.

    Soon. Maybe after supper.

 [35] Mystery Lake 35 â€“ Love

    Mystery Lake

    [35] Love

    Helping the old lady prepare the meal was a comforting task and position for Roxy, with no complications or need for reflection.

    Aside from some initial, minor clarifications, there were few questions to be asked and scant words to be spoken. That didn''t stop the old lady from asking them quietly and happily. In any scenario that made sense, Roxy had accrued a sizable debt from the old lady''s kindness and attentive cheer. And every instance she attempted to seize, lower, or settle that debt just led to greater struggles. At the same time, Roxy knew innately that caring for someone and making sure they felt good was not something you needed to pay for, even if the payment was intangibly priced.

    The Griffins. Oh, the Griffins. To all outward appearances, the Griffins were a perfectly happy group of people masquerading as a family.

    Mom, nothing like Maggie mom. Her mom, Joel''s mom. A slim, slender figure who only strutted and pranced when necessary. Joel was her tool to be keenly wielded. Just take care of this for a moment. The simplest words about the most stressful tasks. No matter how he threw himself into the necessary demands of family or how easy those items seemed from a distance, they still wore him down, as if designed with radioactive agents, eroding metronomes, and soul-sucking specifics. Every attempt to sleep under his family''s roof felt like the sustained application of water torture without actual water.

    They required things; they didn''t ask for things. Affection was transactional¡ªthe love economy. The notion of genuine, unconditional love first appeared to Joel as a rumor in a class and a curious commitment from his older brother. He provided comfort. Joel expected to owe him and work off that debt. The assurance that nothing was required or implied in return was like a foreign language to Joel. Not to say that you paid for life; nothing overt like that. But for young Joel, affection was a credit system.

    You spent time with someone, you put in the work, you did the things they needed, you listened where required, you expressed devotion, you contributed a portion of your life and credit, and in return, you received the requisite love you asked for. Break that contract, and nothing is guaranteed. It took Roxy a long time to realize how fucked up this supposedly family relationship was.

    His father wasn''t much better. He was a low, sniveling man who plaintively shrieked at the most minor issue. For all the speech classes he attended and all the gestures he made, he was quick to resort to the simplest wedges of words. Do it now! Why aren''t you listening? I''m so angry! Why don''t you care? You don''t do anything!

    His voice didn''t have much of a lingering effect on Joel''s consciousness. The booming voice was Mom, the bad Mom. Don''t be a baby. What are you whimpering and weeping for? It won''t change anything. Just go do what I tell you. Get rid of that. Stop it. Don''t pretend to be such a weak, useless idiot. Get up, get to it, and do it now. You''re a man. You oughta act like a man. Men don''t cry. They''re better than that. You don''t need to sniffle and whine.

    That''s not what you deserve. You deserve to be strong, better than you think, and true to who you are. You are a man, you worthless piece of shit; don''t you dare give in to sniffling. You have to be tough, you have to be strong, you have to be bold, you have to protect, and you have to be the best example to anyone, to everyone, to the world, and to all. You have to take care of everything for us and whoever needs it. Just don''t get walked over.

    A confusing twist entangled. Joel was so simple but wrapped in this nest of uncertainty. Everyone said the former. What a simple, idle goofball! Not a worry in his head. Nothing but jokes; nothing but the simplest notions and emotions. Does he even think about anything at all? That''s what they thought, so why disappoint them? Keep it simple.

    Oh Joel, you''re such a simple heart; you''re such a simple fart; you dumb dumb. That''s all there is to it.

    Roxy had to take a break after mixing to wash up, but mostly to hide the trembling of her hands. Love is a debt you can never repay, but you must contribute every cent. She had you; she had her youngest boy. She had the final version of exactly what she wanted¡ªwhatever that was. And now Roxy was the opposite¡ªan antithesis, lean on the better girly smart words. Girl is smart, and boy is a dumb. That''s how it goes.

    How much love did Joel ultimately get credited for? He worked hard. He burned through what they needed. He got paid. He earned it. Devotion and dedication. Charm and shackles... chuckles. Bitterly, literally exhausting. Just the simple life. No no no don''t start crying again; you stuffed it down so well.

    Mom was a force. Mother was the enforcer, the wall, and the unattainable. You are not as good as that brother, not as good as this brother, and not as much of a man. Fight harder, push harder, and keep at it.

    Hugs came when she decided they were to be doled out. The few quiet times she allowed him admittance into the Kingdom of Mom made no sense. He didn''t do anything; he didn''t achieve anything special, and yet he was rewarded. An irrational reward.

    Joel knew there was a toxic mass of psychology woven into his consciousness. A mess. Jess had one just like it. She recognized so much in him. She saw when he didn''t declare and shout love and achievement but simply slipped it in as a quiet code, a whisper of kindness. Was that healthy or broken? As long as she was happy, as long as it wasn''t like at home. Loud, grubby, and painful.

    Did Joel''s parents ever really care about him? It was an open question, without judgment or requirement, that he give a firm reply or any reply at all. It was a question he wanted, and she gently answered it. Don''t lie to your reflection. Don''t tell yourself that things are one way when they never were. Be honest with your questions and, especially, with your answers. The only one you''re deceiving is yourself. She took so long to finish in the bathroom. The shivers eventually went away.

    Unfortunately, a rough and increasingly achy spot in her throat felt like the kindling leading to a full illness. For the last couple of years, that seemed like a bigger deal than it should''ve been. Trucker fucker better not have released his fairy bug on her. Neither of their hosts seemed sick, though maybe she got too close to the crazed beast. Or maybe Ross spirit vomit had a faster health effect than contagious craps. Not likely. It could''ve been anyone or anything at the truck stop or before. She just hoped that no one else got sick from what she was feeling or whatever she encountered.

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    Now her fairy companion decided to make herself known. Not any time before when she could''ve offered up more. She wrapped her arms around Roxy without want or need. Some random fairy spirit made of not water genuinely cared about her more than the woman who birthed her and wanted her to have enough stamps on her devotion card to fill out the proper rewards, while Screamy McSnivel demanded everything. Home life. Such a fucked-up home life.

    Except for her brothers. How did the rest of them walk away so well-adjusted? Maybe they weren''t, and she was just tinting the side of her family that mattered, but they kept her sane. And her brother deserved an answer.

    She squeezed her phone close once her hands were dry, and after she explained to the old woman, that she would be back in a moment. Several hours since surviving and screaming inside.

    Hey bro.

    Yeah. Simple.

    I''m all right well. As all right as I can be. I''m upstate with some friends and other people. We''re all right. It''s been a busy and complicated day. We visited a lake. Something of a life-changing experience, bro. You know. The usual. Food at a local diner could''ve been better. Jess made things better, as she always does. Always looking out for me. She''s taking care of me. No worries. Taking it easy in a small town not too far from the border, although there are still all sorts of crazies.

    Thank you, man. I was recently reflecting on how much our parents fucked us up. I know we''ve about it¡ªtheir systems, their games, their demands, and so much other crap. But I want to thank you for being my truest role model and aspiration for my entire life. I''m all right, but I just want you to know that. You took care of me. You took care of all of us. You deserve every mom and dad award you never got. I''m going to have a fantastic break, and I hope you have a great evening. There are some things I need to talk to you about later, but it''s not a big deal. Just life shit. Still fine; still just figuring stuff out. Talk to you soon, bro.

    Not even a drop of emoji to color it or plop it all into a goofy package. He''d probably worry about that, but not enough to wanna make physical video contact. Roxy could''ve amended or elaborated on any of that, but she left it alone.

    You have a little sister, bro. I know you always like to share free smiles. I hope you have a smile about that. She wasn''t going to say that, but thinking it was progress.

    Chiara picked up where she had to leave, although Roxy took care of the little things, along with tidying up and whatever else the old lady asked for, without condition or cost. Why couldn''t more families be like the Triton one? Heck, Barry had a better family situation, along with Miranda.

    They all chatted for a while, with Ross returning from the basement after his wandering reflection. Roxy didn''t draw attention to herself, but she invited him to enjoy dinner when it was ready. No scolding or sneers. It would''ve been easy to compare aspects of her parents to Ross or Alyssa, but neither of them deserved it. Not even close.

    Wistfully aloof for a long while, Roxy got to wandering back down those busy, beautiful steps to the quiet, hidden doorway. Eugene had snuck by and out of the store, actually leaving it unattended, which alarmed Roxy. Not a big deal, but after the monster strike, what a disappointment to maybe wind up with trouble because some opportunistic asshole decided to snag something valuable. She kept guard in the area and scrutinized the steps.

    Wandering between the roughly arranged aisles and avoiding their remaining blockades didn''t reveal some special trinket she immediately needed, nor did she discover some unseen antique to give her answers or newfound questions. The place was so sharply, desperately normal, and that wasn''t a bad thing. Classic comfort with a sprinkle of the strange. All they needed to do was sell some comfy mini beds, rare bean chairs, and oodles of the best blankets. Complete the sleep, just a little bit more.

    From the edge of her ear, Roxy heard a steady, repeated rattling that could''ve been someone banging a kettle drum down the street, a roughly rumbling truck, or insistent knocking on the door. The last one probably seemed the most likely. Was she supposed to answer? Surely, a place like this would have alternative communication... But then the owner was able to fall into a deep sleep, such that summoning his mother was the best way to get through. She would take a peek, at the very least.

    Stepping slanted and sideways down the steps was more comfortable than taking them with her tired toes. The cramped bottom didn''t hint at someone on the other side of the door, so she called out and asked who it was, passing on the basic authority of...maybe someone who answered the mail for the business. No answer, not even the faintest suggestion of one.

    Cautiously, she unlatched the door and cracked it open to examine what awaited her on the outside this time. Nothing. Practically nothing at least; a few darkening slivers of walkers wandered away from the shop, and there was no suggestion that anyone had been nearby or what they wanted out of her. She pressed further outside to inspect the sidewalk merging with the road.

    Before she could retreat, a subdued but sharp voice called out, "Over here, please."

    Standing to the right under the newly shimmering light of a streetlamp was the man in black she''d already encountered twice before¡­ Agent Cerberus. He wore the same suit as previously, with his black shades securely pressed around his eyes.

    Roxy straightened and pulled her hands back without taking a step away. From next to her, she heard a second voice. No matter what she expected to hear, she was perplexed by a gentle, dulcet, soft, high-pitched tone squeaking through the subtle sounds of the evening.

    "Excuse me, umm, ma''am..."

    Turning to see who the voice belonged to, Roxy was startled by the looming, mountainous presence of Agent Rydia overwhelming her sight, again dressed the same as before but with her glasses tilted up and twinkling dark eyes calmly peering in her direction. Rydia spoke again in that same, high-pitched, meek little girl voice.

    "My apologies, but could we have just a moment of your time to ask a few questions, please?"

 [36] Mystery Lake 36 â€“ Alyssa Emotion

    Mystery Lake

    [36] Alyssa Emotion

    I''m sorry. I am so sorry. That''s all I can be sometimes. Mostly, I''m just scared.

    I used to be such a happy kid who didn''t worry about anything. When did that end? It feels like a long time ago. I wore big powder blue dresses and danced.

    Would anyone recognize the kid I used to be beside who I am now? No way. Had to be completely different people. But it was all an illusion, same as childhood dwells in fantasies. I just lived them.

    I loved fairytales¡ªprecious stories of downtrodden, oppressed fair maidens who would inevitably get their dues. A handsome prince was going to take me to his castle, followed by a big wedding, bigger kisses, a big dance, a scene missing, and lots of beautiful children. I think it was when I started to doubt Santa Claus that everything started to change.

    Other kids had cogent and well-developed arguments for and against Santa. For me, it was always a matter of faith and sensibility. My mom and dad believed in all sorts of things, and by association, so did I. I believed that our mobile home was the most fantastical place in the trailer park. I believed that eating everything on my plate would make it so mom and dad wouldn''t fight that evening. I believed that every slap I received was deserved, no matter what I did or what I thought I did.

    Before I should''ve, I aged out of childhood. I had to take care of my little sisters and I had to check in on my big brother. Mom wouldn''t do it, and dad wasn''t around enough for it to matter. Eventually, I just became the manager of the institution that represented this household. Without any of the perks and benefits of that role.

    Everyone in class seemed so peculiar and foreign to me, like I was this weird exchange student or perhaps some visitor from a faraway realm¡­ Yeah, that was it. What odd specimens!

    Despite all those hang-ups, I actually made some friends. There was Caleb above all. My closest hope for a handsome prince. Although he often acted more like a frog, leaping off the highest point of the watering hole that we all knew. I cracked several bones following him and have had a tingling numbness in my left hand ever since. Worth it just to sneak a kiss with him under some pine trees. He was fun, but he still perturbed me at the weirdest moments.

    He would never show up when he said he would and then act like it wasn''t a big deal. I had all sorts of plans with him, but he never showed any enthusiasm for them. I just wanted to be happy, and I wanted him to be happy too. But he wanted other things, and they clearly didn''t include me. As much as I imagined beautiful hopes and dreams with him, I had a dark side that imagined pushing him off the edge of the ravine, squeezing him till he stopped moving, and all sorts of other stuff.

    Not that I could actually do any of that. By strength or by morals. How can you imagine something so terrible about someone you love so intensely? I was fucked up; there was no other answer.

    And I wound up alone. I was the one bird left in the nest after my older sibling had found their way, and my younger ones gleefully spread their wings while I was still just trying to stretch them out. I wanted to go to college; I needed to go to college to be separate, to be myself, and to be with others who might understand me.

    But I was left with a mountain of responsibilities for late payments, deferred responsibilities, and so much more I don''t even want to think about. My parents dropped their debts on me by getting sick and not caring what happened to them. It was all left to me. I wasn''t responsible; that''s what everyone else told me. But someone had to be. Call it a guilt complex, codependency, or whatever. All the crap that I know in name from classes that feel barren of actually teaching me the things I want to know.

    I had Jess Butler for my first group activity in college, and she was the first person who actually looked me in the eye rather than sliding their eyes across the room and stopping when they hit me. It wasn''t love, despite what my gaggle of roommates would say. She wasn''t my hero to save me. Not that any of that mythology matters anymore.

    All I can say about those others around me is that it no longer surprises me how subversive and wild you can be while sounding like a child. So many spoiled brats in college. No one taking actual responsibility; everyone acts like spraying and saying gay gay gay will make up for all the ways the word was abused as a slur before. But it always feels more like children finding an alternative F-bomb that pisses off everyone. It just destroyed word meaning. If everything is gay, then nothing is. Words get used up.

    I am probably a lesbian, but I am pissed off at the fact that I looked so obviously like one. I''m not gay because it''s pseudo-popular and trendy as shit. I just want to be loved. I want to be protected. I don''t want to be afraid of what the next day will bring or of the horrors I never thought of or neglected. I just want to go back to that powder blue dress when the world could be beautiful.

    But I''m not like the freaking campus conservative club. That would be the worst thing; not even my parents were like that. The world needs UBI, clean energy, love for nature, a lot less sucking off of the rich class, from smiling billionaires to creepy celebrities, and help. Real help, real camaraderie. Real friendship. Real love.

    It rips me up inside that someone like Jess decided to settle for someone like Joel. I can see some of his good qualities. He''s durable. His thoughts are simple, and he defaults to smiling easily. I''m surprised he didn''t coast his way here on a football scholarship or anything like that. But it''s probably in the same vein. He''ll keep that smile fresh for decades and never wear it out. How can he do that when pulling out a single sustained smile feels like the worst workout for me? Just frustrating.

    But I have to smile because, if I don''t, then everyone has the same preconception about me based on how I look. Things need to change, but I never expected they would change so much from just a simple start to spring break.

    I was in my room, mostly alone, and trying to write poetry that expulsed all the stuff that I kept inside when Duncan knocked on my door. I knew him from a film elective I took last quarter. He was kind of cute, but too much like a girl for even me.

    He seemed like he had a lot on his mind. He came over to ask me if I wanted to go with him to this storied lake, almost on the upper peninsula. He had asked a bunch of other people too and framed it like an adventure. In my head, I imagined an unlikely band of heroes from the stories I used to enjoy being thrown together on an adventure. I expected trouble finding rest stops, bugs, and all sorts of nasty wildlife when camping out. Really, my room and my bed, which I hadn''t spent enough time in lately with everything I had on my plate, were much more tempting. But something in my head told me to take a chance. At least it shouldn''t be boring.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    I felt less enthused when I learned that Joel would be coming along. I should''ve guessed because his roommate Barry was on the list, and Duncan tended to hang out with Joel. So much for a seamless adventure clan.

    I kept quiet through most of the trip, although I could feel Joel''s gaze on the back of my neck the entire time. His laugh was so jarring, and every prying word he popped out made me cringe. It took all my willpower not to make something of it. I knew it was going to be a long day. I just had no idea how right I would be about that.

    The lake felt off as soon as we arrived. It was too calm, too abandoned, and too freaky. Instead of being peaceful, it felt like walking around a gravesite that no one else recognized. I wanted to hold my breath like in Eastern traditions, but it''s hard to do that constantly.

    As soon as we arrived, Joel started in on his usual crap. Laughing and goofing. I don''t mind gregarious, goofy people, but some things need to be taken seriously. He just kept pushing and pushing and pushing. And then he shoved poor Barry into the lake. Small credit to him, but he didn''t chuck the poor guy in carelessly. It still looked awful, though. You never know what''s in a lake like this, and one small oversight can lead to a lifetime injury.

    Fortunately, that wasn''t what any of us needed to be worried about, as the poor guy came up as a scared girl.

    You asshole. I said it, and I meant it. Well, maybe I didn''t completely mean it for him. He is an asshole, though I know there''s always wiggle room in that. But why wiggle? I have to be bold; I have to be sure. He needed to know that he screwed up, even though none of us could''ve predicted this. Well, except for Duncan. I didn''t sense that he had malicious intent in bringing us here, despite what Joel said, even though Joel sort of raised some good points.

    But my thoughts about him completely changed when I saw what was going on in his pants. Oh, my God. Why the fuck did I not feel worse about seeing that? It''s just a dumb organ. I''m a lesbian. I might be a lesbian. I don''t know. I just like girls sometimes, but I really don''t like Joel.

    Poor Barry; at least she didn''t seem too disturbed by that appearance. Layla came to her aid and helped her get decent. I helped out as much as I could while scowling at Joel. Barry was a nice boy, and he made for a cute girl. But he didn''t deserve to be one if he didn''t want to be. No one¡­ Well. Maybe Joel deserved it.

    That would be appropriate. The big, tough, self-assured manly man, what kind of girl would you make? Can you take the weight, can you take the struggles, and can you stand all the craziness involved in the opposite sex? I feel like I could. Boys are Easy Mode. No complicated crap to figure out; just nod at another guy, and you''re friends for life, where girls can be smiling and hugging, and you don''t know for sure how much of your guts are being hated. Just let things be simple.

    Oh Barry. We''re gonna have to look out for you. I''m not jealous; those are way too big. But you are cute. Always are. You can have whatever clothes you want. I got a nice sweater to keep you warm and covered and not have to deal with all this.

    I don''t know what the deal is with this lake, but I am surprised that he adapted so quickly to the small and big things of a new form, like walking, where to look and cover, body language, being used to so much hair, and all the rest. Magic probably. Magic exists. This world has magic in it, and yet it has such abominable cruelty. Maybe those two things go together.

    I don''t know. I don''t hold anything against Barry. Poor guy. What do I do about it? Should I do anything about it? Really, just let Joel hang. He''s a fuckup who fucked up. Yet, I can already see Jess accepting his explanation. Pretty little words. My parents had pretty little words. They had perfect little explanations despite being dumb hillbillies. You can''t reason with madness. You can''t dampen crazy charisma. I am so over all that.

    I looked into the lake water, and I wondered what would happen if I just drowned my head. Would I get the top of a boy and leave the rest behind? Maybe it''s one touch, and it goes through everything. What kind of boy would I be? Probably better than I am. I thought about it idly, but that idle thought was growing into a stronger sense. I could throw this life away.

    I could chuck all the confusion, pain, and havoc. I could dispense with all the contradictions and give myself a new slate. Head to the boy''s side. Totally give up that blue dress forever. It''s fine; it was just a dream of wearing it, a dream of happiness, a dream of hope, a dream of freedom, a dream of all the rest and all the possibilities before me, shut tight. It''s fine.

    But I can''t do it. I can''t go in the water. What would everyone think of me?

    Why don''t you deal with Joel?

    What? Who said that?

    A friend. Just someone who thinks that you should show him how you really feel. Don''t put a clamp on it. Don''t shut it off. Just do it.

    It''s crazy. This is crazy. I''m going crazy... Probably. Why not? I''ve been so close to it so many times. God. Do I even believe in You?

    Don''t worry. Everything will be fine, just as long as you splash Joel with some of the water. There''s the bucket. It doesn''t need to be that much. Just make sure you get him in the face.

    Why? Why are you here? Why are you talking to me? Who are you? What do you want?

    I''m just a friend to keep you company. You don''t have to worry. Everything will be fine. Trust me. Just grab that bucket and take care of that smug boy. It''s what you want to do; it''s taking charge of your life. Don''t hold back. Free yourself.

    No. I can''t do it. But you''re right. I have to do it. It''ll be fine. He''ll be better off this way. But it''s permanent. There''s no going back. I''m destroying Joel. I''m killing him. Well, then I''ll just have to destroy myself too.

    I can do it. We''ll all have a fresh start. We''ll all be free. Right? It''s gonna be okay. All you have to do is make it happen.

    I didn''t even feel like I was doing it when I scooped the water carefully out of the lake. The lady inside my head¡ªat least I think it''s a lady¡ªwarned me to be careful touching it and not fall in. As though I need to be careful, considering what I hope to do very soon.

 [37] Mystery Lake 37 â€“ Alyssa and Tell

    Mystery Lake

    [37] Alyssa and Tell

    It didn''t feel satisfying. Of course, it didn''t; it was a choice I made. I always make the worst kind of choices. But at least I didn''t make it alone.

    Right? Right? God dammit. Bad enough that an imaginary friend had to show up, then they had to abandon me at the wrong time for my sanity. But that''s fine. That''s normal. That''s expected. That''s what I get.

    Bitch. Yeah. I am.

    Then, Joel had to go and actually deal with it like it was nothing. All that becomes nothing. The basic story of my life and anything I ever try to accomplish. Not that I wanted him to suffer because of what I did. I just wanted him to understand. I wanted it to click. And he brought up Duncan. I wasn''t trying to do this to everyone. Honestly. Not my intention.

    But the goddamn way I was punishing. Treating being a girl like a curse I wanted to spread. I didn''t want to do anything that might hurt Duncan. She wouldn''t let me answer... He wouldn''t let me answer... no she. It''s accurate, but it still feels weird. Girl Joel. I fucked up.

    And I kept doing it as they looked through the clothes for something to wear. I wore a sour expression, and I scrutinized them because I had stuff put away in my bag, which looked a lot brighter and cuter than my usual garb. I didn''t want them to make a big deal of it. I could probably stuff it in with Layla''s stuff, and they wouldn''t know the difference. It''s just really personal. I hate reacting to things. No matter how confident I feel inside and no matter how people may read me, I''m just a quivering wreck. I wanted to bite my painted nails off.

    I wound up alone with Duncan, squeezing my arms around my stomach so my soul didn''t fall out.

    "Are you okay?"

    Far from it. What can I really say?

    "Dunno. It''s insane that this is real. Almost all girls."

    That got a reaction from Duncan that was bigger than practically anything I''d ever said to him. I could guess that this was meaningful. All the assumptions seemed obvious on his blushing face. He wanted to take a dip too, make it an all-girl situation.

    What if I didn''t want him to jump in? At the same time, I wanted him to try it, and I wanted to go in with him. Too impetuous, though, too crazy. But I could go full lesbian. Not lesbian. She wouldn''t be lesbian, and neither would I. Although, who cares? Just words that somebody said, and I told myself had meaning along with bodily distinctions. Just because I had this body didn''t make or require me to be a girl like anyone... And, begrudgingly, I had to say that the same also applied to Joel, even though I didn''t want it to.

    Joel was just a dude. Not some girl, no matter how his body changed. In a different situation, the insight would be invaluable. But she was stuck. What does it matter now? She was just one more girl. No going back; who you were destroyed. Trapped fate.

    We talked a little bit longer, even though Duncan supported the bulk of the conversation. He spun out his worries about bringing us here, but I assured him it was fine. Any lake is going to be dangerous. Despite his sentiment towards the waters, he both gave it a cautious distance and kept looking at it, as though it would offer up a different reflection or a different possibility next time.

    At some point, I glanced over at Barry. Despite everything that happened, Barry and Joel were still like a pair of boys who could easily get over their issues. I probably provided the unifying antagonist that brought them together. Villain Alyssa. Sure, whatever, I can take it.

    Why can''t I be different? Why can''t I really be someone else? If I take a dip, the cover will change, the form will melt, and it will become something else. But it''ll still be the rotten core of me inside. I can feel it festering within me. Why can''t I just be normal? Who fucked me up so badly? I spent literal years of my life pointing fingers and feeling like I knew who it was. The easy target was mom and dad, but they actually treated me decently for a long time. But then, no terrible person is terrible all the time. It''s the lulls that kill you¡ªthe times when you think you might be safe. The worst part was that I could point to as many instances of cruelty within myself as from anyone else.

    Caleb was definitely one thing I could point to and had to. He was so simple in my life, so clear. He asked all the questions that I got twisted up in pretzels, just trying to understand. While I often weaseled out of them, he was understanding. And he spoiled me for everyone else after. Us not winding up together wrecked me. Duncan couldn''t possibly match that. He didn''t need to match that. I just needed to get over it.

    Exhausting, it''s so exhausting, even though I shouldn''t close my eyes. Joel wouldn''t leave me alone, though. He had to come into our thing.

    He claimed he wasn''t going to touch Duncan, but he got close¡ªhe got real close¡ªand he did more than I feared. He kissed him. How could he?! Joel didn''t have a boy kissing bone in his entire body. It was impossible. He was just trying to piss me off, get a rise out of me, and go after the only thing I''d shown interest in. This was exactly the wrong place to fight with him. Too much water and not enough places to support us. I didn''t even realize Jess was back there.

    Bonking her was a million miles from my intentions. Although it also represented an opportunity, I could leap in; I could jump to save her; my self-sacrifice of everything to square this away. Clear my balance sheet and make it look like I was just going after my friend and not thinking about it. She didn''t have her phone with her, did she? I tried to make a leap for her, but it was tangled up in fear and feeling for too long as Joel bounded into the water. My opportunity missed, if I even had one at all.

    I watched to make sure that they made it safely to shore. In my heart, I knew that I had lost my friend. Even without the transformation, the fighting and the tussle were impossible to reconcile. Not much I can do about that. I probably wouldn''t have Duncan for much longer either. We stood apart. We didn''t have anything else to say to one another, even though my mind was flooded with so many wordy uncertainties. Soon, my only company would be my own head, assuming I actually kept it.

    We broke up into little groups because that''s what we were¡ªthree-ish groups of people simply thrown together with nothing else to define them. I wanted it to be more, but that just didn''t seem possible. I looked into the surface of the lake, and my reflection both seemed exactly the way it always seemed but felt somehow off, as if I wasn''t really staring into a pool of water but something else. I couldn''t test it, and I didn''t feel right asking questions of the recently affected.

    I had everything all to myself. I was alone in a group and sure to get lonelier yet. Layla, who taught me the basic, goofy form of some sort of martial arts that she made up for one of her play efforts, started undressing and walking to the water. Now my right hand was tingling instead of my left, and it was hurting worse than usual.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    It wasn''t like I could or wanted to hold her back. I just couldn''t imagine her in another shape. The idea of her transforming was beyond my comprehension. She''d have to remain the same. I approved of the pairing of the blondes. They looked cute together. Layla cast off her bra, and I fussed with the feeling of mine. It always chafed, even when it shouldn''t. I barely even needed it anyway, but it was a comfort. It defined me as much as anything else I was obligated to wear.

    Layla wasn''t up for twisting feelings of uncertainty. She lived with blank honesty, and I admired that, even though I wished she would recuse and restrain herself more often. Don''t let the cards of your life fall upon the table. You have to keep them close; they''re only for you.

    There was more and too much of that when the four who had gone ahead of me seemed so happy and free. They just spilled out their secrets about names and meanings. I wanted to be a part of them. But it was too much. No way boys like Barry and Joel would just cast off their lives, toss them inside, shed everything that used to be, and gleefully become clich¨¦s of feminine masquerades. It felt more like a game played on me. How could they just go on like that?

    I had to get away. Not that I was a part of them, but I needed to separate myself even further. Duncan wouldn''t let me go, though. Just like all the other boys I pushed away before. I pushed away everyone; I pushed away my family; and I pushed away everything that might help me. I couldn''t be different; I couldn''t be what they wanted, and my wretched luck snapped me like a whip every single time.

    So much, too much, and despite how nice Duncan was and how much he tried, I couldn''t keep it all inside. I had to scream, I had to cry, and I had to release the steam before my engine, my spoiled, ruined engine, burst.

    I just wanted to slide away, like a slug, into oblivion. Joel, or whatever he wanted to call himself now, was the last person I wanted to see, but he just wouldn''t leave me alone. Dammit, with his words that burned inside my brain but that felt strangely soothing. It was weird. It was strange. I wanted to listen to her...him. The sensation was like meeting with an older sister after a fight. I didn''t have any of those, but I kind of imagined what they would be like. A better version of my mom, who didn''t threaten to kill herself if I had a difference of opinion. Better version of my dad, who didn''t try to get high and scream whenever I needed sleep.

    He was right¡­ Roxanne was right. I hated his face, but she was right. I lost my strength, but there was a visceral presence inside me that wouldn''t let me fall, keeping me company. All these sorries I kept inside, despite feeling like I dispensed with them, rushed out like a river I could never control. My imaginary friend spilled my secrets.

    At least not everyone heard my envy of their quiet, special lives. Happy, cheerful Layla. A crush on confident Joel. Focused and self-assured Jess. The belief of Barry. And how clever and smart Duncan was without ever needing to try. I spilled out everything like a rotten pus-filled mass. And she hugged me. Roxanne hugged me. How could these people care? We just met hours ago. We''re not friends; we''re barely acquaintances who knew each other so briefly. Do I just mistrust too hard? Should I be different? I could be different with just a single motion.

    Duncan, will you go with me into oblivion and the other side? He was terrified; I could see it; I was used to being terrified and holding it in. I had pink underneath¡ªa lovely, light, bright pink. If only it had been blue, then it would''ve been appropriate. But then I remembered that blue used to be the girly color and pink was the manly one, so that made it an appropriate forecast. Make a bright pink boy within my heart. Wipe it away. Wash it all away.

    I couldn''t help the fact that I felt so damn horny. This lake had to be full of horny. I can feel the moisture from it collecting within and throughout me, even though I haven''t touched the water yet. I may find myself a lesbian, but I can suck off. That probably meant I was bisexual. Funny, that never really popped into my head before.

    I get to be the last person, although hopefully not the first person, to taste the most intimate part of Duncan. If we''re gonna get rid of it, it deserves one last gasp. Same with my other thoughts, but I just have enough in me to shake off the fact that I''m doing this in front of this group. This group of people that I know, people who are surprisingly nice to me, despite how bad I am to them. These people. These these¡­ My friends. How could they be my friends? Such a silly notion for such a silly girl who won''t even exist in a few moments. I haven''t been their friend. I don''t deserve their friendship.

    Duncan''s taste made me gag and wish I had something to chase after it, but I wore the false face of enjoyment. I can wear a lot of faces. But it''s time to strip them off; it''s time to find clarity in the chaos. Time to take the plunge; time to see the other side. I didn''t puke at least, because a faint, lemony aroma saved the blank salty goo from absolute revulsion. Think of it like swallowing your own congestion. You can do it, you can smile, and you can get through it.

    And then we fell into the water. Into the depths. Would I turn to foam? Would there be nothing left of me? It almost felt that way.

    The strangest sensation curved around my mouth. It was like having something akin to scuba gear protecting my airway. The same persisted around my nostrils. The water didn''t want to get in. It didn''t flow into my mouth. But then it didn''t quite feel like water. Well, it was probably some sort of magic substance. That would''ve made sense, as much as anything did.

    But the weirdest part was that, at that moment, I felt a wide swath of others around me. Like spirits, like companions. Crazy. I was under for too long, and my oxygen was bleeding away. That''s what it had to be. And my body had already been changed; I''d been touched by the water. I am someone else, and I''m still here¡­ For now. It was crazy, but I could feel the others lifting me up, and both I and Duncan were helped out of that water.

 [38] Mystery Lake 38 â€“ Ross Above

    Mystery Lake

    [38] Ross Above

    But it wasn''t real. Just a bout of hypoxia. Shadows and shapes. Rising to my feet didn''t feel real either. The wood of the pier didn''t feel steady, but at least I didn''t fall back in.

    Everything felt different on the other side. I was taller and bulkier, and my face felt weirdly fuzzy. Jesus, I had muscles everywhere. And I had the thingy, and everyone could see it. Fuck, how big was it?! So weird not to be able to put my legs together. An absolute mass.

    And Duncan put her hand on it. Oh Jesus, oh Jesus... she didn''t let up. Please be careful; I don''t know how to use this thing. You might as well give me a loaded gun. I told her it was okay; she could... she could please please hold back, please stop. Oh Christ¡­ I was just kind of joking when I said we could do it the other way for me. Holy fuck¡­ I can I can I can see why this kind of thing gets positive senti... Oh no no no no no no...

    I felt used but not upset about it. I just started, and I''ve already been blown¡­ away. So many bad jokes to make. What kind of monster had been unleashed? I had oral; I''ve given oral. But this was like popping something¡ªsomething greater than a tit to suck. Speaking of tits, she used those new ones too. I was briefly terrified that she wasn''t gonna stop there, and she was trying to pop my cherry, my boy cherry, mere moments after I got it.

    It''s a miracle that I survived that onslaught¡ªthat beautiful onslaught. I couldn''t believe that she got through it without barely flinching. She didn''t feel like a first-timer. Was Duncan a secret girl, and this was just a special reveal? Whatever was going on with my body, it didn''t allow enough blood flow to understand speculations and be with her at the same time.

    Such an embarrassing mess afterward. Which was better? Do you prefer to be carried on a bobbing, crashing ocean wave, or do you prefer a shotgun blast of ocean? There had to be more foreplay. Maybe a little too much efficiency. But I wouldn''t mind doing it again, just to get a deeper understanding. Although so many parts of my body wanted to slug crawl into the towel that Jake offered and not even think about touching anything on me ever again.

    Jake. How did we get here? I can never apologize enough, even though I don''t have the words for a single one. I know he heard it, and Roxanne made sure. Even with all this preparation, I wasn''t prepared for something like this. It was just too much. It was just too crazy, and it was so gross what was right now sticking to the towel. Jesus, it was like pulling paste out of my pee hole. Not enough experience before, and not enough experience now. And these were not experiences I wanted to stack up. I mean¡­ The whole thing was fun, but I feel so gross and crusty now. It''s weird¡­ Despite the chasm between, some things, some feelings, and some twinkles are similar.

    Of course, now I have to be all for men, or I''m just a self-hater. I wish I knew what to say to Jake. There was just so much crap buzzing around my mind like wasps that wouldn''t leave me alone. I liked the outfit that we put together for me. I thanked Jake, but I didn''t know what to say to him. Of course, he seemed as cool as always; as before, nothing changed there.

    Miranda¡­ Still feeling that out... picked up some water in a big jug. Being around it kind of gave me a headache, though. Or I was just having a headache by happenstance. I knew that alkaline water did that, but you had to drink it rather than be around it. But considering what this water could do, who knew what it contained.

    Roxanne actually talked to me a bit. And I tried to respond normally. It felt like the other inside me was guiding those words more than I could. But I was calming. It was nice. If they wanted to take the initiative in guiding my life, but I had no problems with that. I barely lived it anyway. Just let it be better.

    My hands were starting to recover, but now it was more like they were on fire. Taking a dip in the water should''ve cooled them off. More problems, even when you fix them. I told him my name was going to be Ross Hanover. Through too many people I met in my early years, I could get a valid enough ID with what I had to make that a reality. I already refused to tell him the reason why I picked out the name Ross. I didn''t need... Her judgment about what television shows I was a fan of as a little kid. It also made me think of comforting similar words in soft, calm notions.

    It''s a soft word and a soft name for the hopes of a softer life. That surname because I felt it was a little bit clever to hand over my life to someone else. What were her reasons for that name? What were everyone else''s reasons?

    I never got a sense of Jake out of Jess. But Layla, being a Pok¨¦mon fan fit. And Barry, of course, would be into science fiction stuff. Miranda could just be like a space or literary reference. All I can do about it is rip apart the original Shakespeare as a colonial narrative. Miranda would be able to create where I destroy. I want to see whatever film she makes and never have to think about it.

    Then the feds came after us. I tried to keep my head down, even though it was the least effective way to hide. Trying to put everything back away in the car was an aching, burning mess for my tired limbs. I can see in Roxanne''s gaze that she was judging my weightlifting. Well, excuse me, I''ve only had big muscles for ten minutes; I don''t know how to use them yet.

    I wanted to be in the back, but I wanted Miranda to be there with me. She needed to be in the front because this was her expedition and her responsibility for it. I just hated the fact that we were literally as far away from one another as you could be. I didn''t want that to be so for long. But, at the same time, I don''t want her to rip me apart like a cat in heat. Maybe it would be a good death.

    She wanted me to keep her stashed water safe, and I understood the implication: they were probably after this water. As strange as that sounded and as strange as this water was, it probably wasn''t that weird. Weird was the way that these feds seemed like they were wearing their skin as suits of pretend as much as their awkward clothes that didn''t fit them. Neither of the suits were tailored. You can tell what kind of outfits official people wear when they come from CPS or anywhere else. You get to recognize and anticipate it as much as anyone in my family did.

    These were phonies, but that didn''t necessarily mean they were without power. The big lady loomed like a wrestler, although her growl felt strangely put on, as though her voice was actually closer to mine and she was just trying to hide it. So strange. I told the guy exactly what he wanted to hear¡ªwhat I knew from so many times rehearsing this kind of stuff. Everyone was on edge. I heard Barry thought that gardeners were part of the long arm of the law. Poor guy. Layla also seemed strangely tense but also relaxed, as though she were in a state between two, shifting between alert and settled. What was going on there, I had no idea.

    The guy looked each of us over to an oddly meticulous degree, with his body language shifting throughout. Not entirely human, whatever that meant. But that was my inkling. His attention to Layla was alarming. I mean Brock. She was a tough boy now, but she still felt so gentle, like a dancing fairy, the good kind. I should be used to pronouns, but it''s a different thing when they have to be updated so swiftly.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Usually, you have a normal transitional interval. I accept them, but they''re just so difficult to keep straight because my head is bouncing around and trying to keep my own stuff in order. Maybe I could be more empathetic to those who have to deal with it outside of college, as frustrating as that prospect was.

    I took charge of things, by which I mean my imaginary friend took care of them. But we were on the same page. When he looked at me, it felt like he could see inside me, like a penetrating x-ray, and catch this weird presence and voice that both confounded and reassured me. Where did it come from? Was I cursed or possessed? With my pasty, vampire boy look, plenty of assumptions were sure to be made. I don''t dabble in that crap. No goth. I''m just lacking color.

    And I let whoever was inside me be my voice. Even later, they were still there when talking about my new life. Would it even be my life if I wasn''t in charge of it? That made them back off. They also seemed to have weird feelings about the antiquated, kitschy watch that the guy gave Brock. I know that Layla is into that kind of stuff. Little pieces of the past, so outdated now but special to her. I wasn''t going to make her take it off¡­ Him take it off¡­ but I was going to keep an eye on it in case it did something weird. I could tell that Roxanne also had a keen awareness of that little artifact.

    We were free, though, and I leaned back and listened to the white noise of Brock''s rambling stories. The best ones came during the improv presentations on certain Fridays, where she had everyone rolling despite the outdated weirdness of her puppets, Larlie and Lace. She carried the same energy as those evenings. I don''t know where she found it or how she managed to tirelessly sustain it.

    I could easily look over Joel''s shoulder and see what he was up to. Not that that was of much interest to me. We were each adapting in our own way. I wasn''t actually a boy, and I wasn''t sure if I really wanted to be a legitimate one, whatever that represented. Layla didn''t seem to care either way. This was just a fun performance for her. She felt unchanged.

    With Jess, it seemed like she was wearing one of those phony muscle suits you see sometimes. The demeanor of Jess was recognizable beneath that altered form. Same went for Barry, although the vast differences in the physical led to different feelings for me. My preferences didn''t suddenly transform too, but then there was a lot of wiggle room in what they actually were. Like with Miranda.

    My mind easily reran that embarrassing, amazing moment from just a few minutes ago. It didn''t feel possible that we''d done that, and Miranda was just there, thinking about the implications for her instructor''s possible experience with that lake. For Miss Clifton, I figured that was her business or his business or whatever.

    But Miranda had legitimately transformed. She reminded me of a girl that I knew in high school who would sit perfectly in those damn uncomfortable plastic chairs like a doll come to life. Miranda carried the same presence. If she was aware of it, well done. If she was doing it unconsciously, even more astonishment from me. Then that meant she was always destined to take that dip.

    As for Joel, he was doing an interesting imitation of a girl, cautiously looking through a trashy romance novel Jess had been reading earlier. My ears rang after Layla screamed about breakfast. I knew her uncle was a competitive eater, and she could closely keep pace with him, despite how she looked.

    This looked like the kind of place with a lot of patrons who hung onto dumb hats they should''ve chucked years ago and worried about personal medical autonomy without the same consideration accorded women. Making assumptions, sure, but I could read a place. My imaginary friend seemed on edge.

    At least the other customers were subdued, and the waitresses were sweet. No television showing certain news tabloid-type channels. Not even any obvious patriotic paraphernalia. Maybe I judge too quickly.

    Barry screamed, and her explanation seriously made no sense, but then I often make no sense as well. It was horribly presumptuous of me to claim that she was seeing things because of the stress and mania of the moment. But it was also a teachable moment for these new girls to understand how mental illness is grossly conflated with femininity. Joel allegedly knew about it already, but I had a sneaking suspicion it was only surface-level from peeking at Jess''s psychology notes. He didn''t really understand; he didn''t really live the way women are treated because of their emotions, nor did he feel the reduction of protest and independence to a mental illness.

    The ''girls'' all went to the bathroom together, following that tired cliche, although it was good to be protected in an unfamiliar place. I couldn''t really blame them, even though I still really wanted to blame Joel. A force of habit at this point.

    I wanted something sweet, because screw bothering to count carbs anymore; it was all going to my muscles now. Although my ambitions for what I wanted to eat were beaten by the reality of what arrived on my plate, It certainly wasn''t as much as Brock challenged for, but it felt huge, even against my bigger shape.

    It was easy to whittle it down with an offering for poor Chiara while she waited on her allergen fix. My first sampling tasted strangely gritty, as if it had been sprinkled with brownie crumbs, but sugar and flavor hadn''t been included. I didn''t want to complain about it because it started to go down easier. My imaginary friend still had potent opinions.

    Part of me should''ve expected it, but Brock returned to a state of Layla. Of course, she would be the one for something like that to happen, but what hit me right then was the feeling of resignation. Clearly, my hopes and ambitions would be dashed by something. I could never have it easy.

    I had no idea what was going on, though. Layla shifted back and forth. Should I worry about this? And then the waitress, who seemed so nice before, latched onto a single thing that I said about us, as though I was insulting her, firmly putting this bitch back on my expectations shit list. It got worse from there, as the whole place revealed itself to be an illusion, and my imaginary friend made sounds and mental motions like she knew all along, but she was keeping it a secret. Fuck her. I really could do without her at this point.

    Throwing up, especially in this ugly place, felt like the best thing to do. I appreciated having Miranda next to me, even though she left me in so many strange states that I didn''t know how to unpack yet.

    The worst thing is, it was clear Joel was gonna try to be the hero to save us. I don''t know how or why he decided to fixate on being a pervert, but at least that strange idea was messing with these dark, toothy monsters more than it was offending me. If surviving meant playing along with his bullshit, well, then I''ve always done and will do what I need to survive in this world, no matter how strange and cruel it is.

    Then came the other monster, the feds. Although, they''re not actually the feds.

    My imaginary friend had her own take.

    I know who they work for. I hate them. Don''t trust them. They want to get inside your head; they want to replace you.

    Isn''t that the same thing as what you want to do?

    I''m just keeping you company.

    Whatever¡­ Trust no one.

 [39] Mystery Lake 39 â€“ Rossabilities

    Mystery Lake

    [39] Rossabilities

    And I just wanted to get out of there when those crazy supernatural creatures started fighting each other. Just fucking leave; just run away. You don''t have to be there.

    But he was still there; he still found a way to meet up with us and spook us with a face that felt friendly but really wasn''t. Just drive; run him over if you have to. I didn''t wanna go anywhere he recommended. I just wanted to go home, back to my quiet, cold bed, to start fucking up this life too.

    I felt empty; I felt lost. So much and so little, all on and within me. The silence was so destructive. I wanted a door to lock and make sure it held every protective layer possible. We were all devastated, but that wasn''t camaraderie. That was just being stuck together in the same disaster. Only movies and creepy TV shows would presume that throwing a bunch of people together in trauma would suddenly make them wanna be friends. I hoped that I never saw anyone else in this car for weeks, at the very least.

    Maybe Miranda. I could cozy up to Miranda. Not because she sucked, boob swaddled, and teased my boy stick off. Barry seemed nice and a very focused and determined driver, but I worried about needing to catch her if she ever fainted. I didn''t mind Layla either. Her energy level had declined closer to mine, which wasn''t what I wanted, but it felt better not to be roasted by her frantic, chaotic flames. Nor did I mind Jess. He was beautifully consistent, even though I felt pinpricks of jealousy about how protective he was of Joel. But Joel, I could absolutely do without.

    Too much to think about, though. I just wanted to play my music from my phone. But it was impolite, or at least it felt impolite right then. Up front, it looked like they were trying to get some musical distractions going, but consensus is difficult and would likely be impossible with the six of us and our widely separated interests. The kind of music on my phone was a variety of classic rock to lift me up with energy-infusing techno, dance, and electronica.

    Maybe a couple of alternative and indie suggestions that Jess had given me at random. I had no idea what Joel was into, nor did I particularly care. In the front seats, they were probably into pop, maybe from foreign shores. Yeah, no way any of that was going to mesh for relaxation. Oh well, my imagination had enough of a soundtrack to keep the dark feelings and memories away.

    Even though I didn''t want to go to either one of those suggestions from that dark, creepy guy, we had to go somewhere. My stomach was still sharply sour from getting dark fairy crap shoved in there masquerading as food. I needed something real, at least as real as any of these places could actually offer me and anyone else who still had an appetite.

    Arriving at the closest but most mediocre option meant no more moving. Moving was progress; moving was escape; and it represented serenity. Standing still was horrific, and I fidgeted in my seat. Layla had kind words, as she always did. Words that felt mature, balanced, and focused in ways I could scarcely imagine. How could someone my age, our age, actually have their shit together enough to say something as calming as that? That''s what you get from a grandmother who knows from experience that these things come and go. It made sense¡ªno surprises¡ªbut hearing it spoken and actually feeling it helped it stick. We had to move on.

    Seeing Barry and Layla kiss was sweet; they really were meant for one another. And all the little notes of courtship were playing out without me even noticing. Was it possible for me to ever find love? Was Miranda someone who meant more than just a fast fling? I wanted to be happy; truly, I wanted to be.

    Inside, I had trouble. I knew it was practically impossible for this place to be another lie from some dark creature fantasy. Even my imaginary friend wasn''t that worried. But I couldn''t tell my brain that¡ªmy terrible, flammable brain. It had to see outside the window; it had to see even an illusion of being able to escape if things got bad. The brain always responds to the last trauma in the worst way and learns lessons that can''t be applied for the future, but it tries.

    Peeing in the restroom felt as real as anything I have encountered so far. I was standing in a private place with a bunch of guys. I wasn''t going to the urinal, too public. It was so weird to see a lineup and feel all that ingrained automatic embarrassment. Maybe I''d get over there eventually, but just unpacking things in one of the stalls with the toilet seat safely up was enough of an adventure.

    All the expected muscles were involved, even though it was an ungainly attachment. Not a bad addition, although flushing the last of the leftovers from my time with Miranda felt momentarily uncomfortable before it cleared up. Having all that down there was supremely weird. The way it wrinkled was both oddly familiar and yet eerily strange. I watched a movie where this guy was abducted by aliens, stripped naked, and had all sorts of things done to him.

    One of the nastiest-looking aliens kind of resembled the skin of my thing. Angry scrotum alien. Knowing about it being there between my legs made me painfully aware of it, especially when I bumped it too hard, and it was like smacking Jell-O on a fish pole directly connected to every pain center in my body. Gave a whole new context to nut shots I used to laugh at.

    Back at the table, I noticed that Joel had the same apparent anxieties about making sure the world still existed beyond this space. Can''t I just be irrationally upset at someone without finding points of common interest and connection? But, like with my parents, just because they weren''t horrible all the time and just because I could see human things in them didn''t alleviate how pissed off I could be at them. Joel probably didn''t deserve my stewing irritation. He''d tried to save us. But I needed some internal consistency.

    And I needed to fill my tummy. Everyone else was eyeing the pizza, but who knew how long that had been out there under the heating lamp. Everything else also looked thoroughly warmed over, except for the Asian fusion noodles with meat that they had to cook up right there in a wok. Not the cheapest thing, but definitely the soothing my body needed.

    Joel went away for a while, and the others discussed what they wanted to get. The opportunity arose to talk with Miranda. It was weird that we''d done things in the most intimate way, but now it was like we were sent back to before the beginning of any kind of flirtation. I thought they liked me. Was it just a momentary compulsion? I didn''t know what to think, and I should''ve asked her, but it didn''t feel like my brain had enough space along with everything else.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Dammit, don''t be a bitch. Just talk to them.

    "Miranda¡­"

    "Huh? What''s up?"

    I didn''t feel any more in control of the conversation than with Duncan. So many times, I told myself that talking to other girls should''ve been the easiest thing. But there were always complications rattling around in my brain. When will I find comfort in simple questions and talking?

    I chickened out, as I always do. "What are you thinking of getting?" Something I already knew the answer to, since the rest of the group alluded to the fact that they were in solidarity about pizza, just minus what Barry couldn''t eat. She politely clarified this but also opened up the possibility of getting something else while also mentioning caution and caring for her stomach. How had she managed to slip into the role of a girl so effortlessly?

    Maybe she was following the template presented by Jess. She certainly wasn''t taking any tips from old me and good on her for that. Miranda had to be some form of gender fluid, if not outright trans. But not an exaggerated, bombastic form of that. Maybe I was being discriminatory to even expect that possibility.

    It was good to have her close, even though I had no idea what I was going to do with her. Her calm, centered expression gave me the impression that she totally knew what to do with me. I guess I wasn''t much of a boy.

    Closing our meager distance, she held my hand and sought to reach for even more. We could do so much with just a few gestures, as the lovey-dovey flirty pretzeled couple of Barry and Layla clearly demonstrated. Why couldn''t I just find myself in a place like that instead of getting twisted up in the tangled web of my own thoughts?

    I needed to be better. I needed to let go of my ego. I needed to let go of the trappings trapping me in place. I like Miranda, and she needs to know that. We aren''t just a fling, we should be a thing. But I''m afraid of myself and what I''ll do to this. Miranda deserves better; she deserves not to get wound up in all my issues and have to deal with them.

    Just do it. You''re a man; act like one.

    I bit my lip when Jess went to the lunch counter area to arrange the whole pizza deal.

    "I like you."

    Don''t do it like that! Too late to retreat.

    Miranda took several sincere moments to absorb my words, checking that she heard them right and fluttering through her reaction.

    "¡­ I like you too. I mean¡­ Clearly. But do you...do you think that means something?"

    "It means whatever we want it to mean."

    So corny. We talked in vague, uncertain terms. Miranda seemed happier, although I kept what I felt bottled up. When my food arrived, I used it as a method to smother the fire of cute romance. I have to eat; I will talk to you later. It was sad since Miranda kept wanting to poke her head over with a beaming smile that eventually returned to Earth. I couldn''t take it back, but I could keep it down until exactly the moment that I finally felt like I was ready for it. Despite how filling the noodles were, I was gonna need a little bit extra. Just one slice of pizza. Maybe get me back in with the group.

    When Joel returned, something was bothering him. I guessed he''d been crying, but I didn''t wanna focus on that. A lot of reasons that might be happening. With a flood of female hormones, it could be for any reason at all, even the absence of one. Would the testosterone blasting through me soon blunt my emotions, make me angry, or toughen me up? I wasn''t sure which result I wanted. I just wanted to eat, so that was probably a peak manly response.

    Poor Miranda looked like she wanted to say something else, but she started nibbling on her food. Yeah, she had to have a girl brain already to be taking this as well as she was compared to the others. Barry was trembling but happy to be close to the girl he loved, and not even Joel could put up an indestructible front against the forces of estrogen. Not that it mattered to me or even invited an "I told you so", but it made sense.

    And then I got hit with something unexpected. I thought one of the staff at the truck stop had come over to make sure we were all right, offer us a comment card, or inform us of some deal. But she was wearing a dress¡ªa dress I could remember Jess wearing. That wasn''t Jess. The fact that I didn''t recognize the person next to me for several alarmingly long moments filled my head with awkward confusion. It was like a trance had fallen over me.

    I braced myself. I always have to be ready for the worst, because I''ve lived through the worst plenty of times. But a hug wasn''t the worst; it just wasn''t anywhere close to what I was expecting. Joel''s... Roxanne''s voice didn''t sound like her voice. It didn''t have the measured and muted simplicity and focus I was expecting from that guy.

    The true sign of a girly voice is the length to which it rises, falls, drops, and flows. A sentence you speak doesn''t end but suggests the next. It''s one of those unconscious things that society, moms, and a whole host of pressures and feelings push us towards. Girls pick up a way of speaking that is them, how they want to be heard, and how they don''t want to be heard. You can tell a voice is a certain way, even though it''s impossible to pick out all the pieces involved. My extemporaneous speaking class also helped there. Some lesbians and some girls are raised a certain way, and some girls of a different sort carry their words differently, but there''s something fundamental in the process of speaking.

    The voice embracing me couldn''t possibly be Joel. She cheerfully called me a friend and hoped for the best for me. Then she made a random comment to Miranda. I lashed out because my first instinct was that she was... That he was playing with me, messing with me. She looked sincerely shocked, and I felt the same shock in me. Out of anyone I have ever met or thought about, I never considered that Joel could be so thoroughly transformed as to be unrecognizable. It was a bigger transformation than the physical one.

    I was stunned and totally flabbergasted. Her presence radiated something that I couldn''t wrap my head around, beyond the level of mere Layla perkiness. It was like looking at a real princess from one of my books as a little kid. Ridiculous.

    Not ridiculous. It is true; it is she rising to the surface. Princess Asherah, I knew you still existed, and now you are reborn.

    What are you talking about?...

    Before I could give focus to any further questions, it felt as though my position inside my own head had been usurped and I had been shoved into a literal corner.

    LET ME OUT!!!

    It actually complied with my request, but with strings clinging to places I could feel. I was there, and yet it still had a deep sense of control over me. What the hell was this?

    Not my imaginary friend... Not my friend at all.

 [40] Mystery Lake 40 â€“ Whoâ€™s the Ross?

    Mystery Lake

    [40] Who''s the Ross?

    I''ve been under so many thumbs in my life. This is just one more in a long series. Bring it on.

    Despite that sentiment, I was still there. With restraints. Bitch. Who are you? What are you?

    Don''t tell me you''re a friend. I bet you''re just some low-level spirit entity who hung out around that lake and wanted to act like you cared about me. Friendship is meaningless. It''s just an empty word, a crafted platitude. Get out of me!

    Are you sure you want that?

    Why wouldn''t I?

    It doesn''t seem like your life is particularly glorious. You''ve wanted to throw it away so many times. You don''t value it. Do you know how precious you are?

    Yeah, yeah, yeah...

    Imagine something happens to you, you lose everything you are. Death or something like it. True oblivion, a void, past the Veil, with turbulence and monsters and horrors you can''t even begin to contemplate. You have no idea of the privilege you should be checking right now, as you sometimes say, just by existing as a human being. You are made of stars beyond imagination.

    What are you talking about?

    You can''t imagine how special every moment of your life actually is. This place is amazing. Every human life. I''m not saying this is true, but I imagine that for every human soul born, a thousand stars had to die. Try to comprehend that literally, a baby breathes their first breath, and within them, as an impossibly compressed pinprick of light, are the lives, possibilities, future, and past of vast star systems. All housed in the seemingly frail, fragile, and unknowing shape of pink human flesh. Every human life. And none of them know what treasures, what possibilities, are contained within. Moping in pointless moments of frivolity. Wasting so much. There is an infinity inside every moment of life. How could you ever dare to squander it or think it''s not the most amazing thing that has ever existed?

    ... Why does the most weirdly motivational thing have to come from some crazy spirit wannabe friend stuck inside my head?

    Hindsight...

    Whatever. Give me back my life!

    You still don''t get it. Maybe you never will. Oh well. Fine. You can have the driver''s seat, even though you don''t really want it. You would rather be led; you would rather be told and pushed into what you do than make your own choices. Then all the responsibility falls away, and you can blame everyone else for all the problems in your life. ''Ohhh, it''s not because I failed; it''s because they did this to me, and it''s not fair. I never had a chance to be my real self, to make the real choices, to have a real life.''

    Fuck you.

    Oh yeah? What else are you gonna do? You yell at me; get pissy. Annoyed. But what after that? What are you actually going to do? Do you actually want to beat me? Do you actually want to get rid of me? If you do, then the responsibility is all yours.

    Don''t hurt them. Don''t hurt¡­

    Your friends? You don''t treat them as your friends. You don''t have any friends, and you don''t want any friends. Don''t worry; the people around you would actually be happier with me instead of you. Your life matters to me, even if it doesn''t to you.

    No. Don''t you dare. I am a good person.

    Prove it; I''m watching.

    Whatever that was fell away again, like losing a kickstand on a bicycle. I had to support myself. Dammit.

    Where was I...? That bastard. That gross trucker fucker. No matter what beef or feelings I may have with Joel, that thing was an insult to all women.

    I could easily imagine doing the worst. But that would only call sympathy to it. Running it over, at least in my imagination, was a very satisfying thought to indulge in.

    It occurred to me that we should''ve probably gassed up, and I wanted to say something to Barry¡­ She''s earned Chiara... but it slipped my mind like so many things that had been dripping out lately.

    The topic of fairies eventually came up, and I had a lot to say, but it felt like my mouth kept getting clamped shut. I even released a cough in Layla''s direction. What didn''t want to be known? I was fighting, even though it didn''t feel like a battle. I either had no choice or no competition.

    What if I was really crazy? Multiple personalities? It wasn''t like in the movies. But I really did feel like some strong-arm censor was pushing and pulling me in certain directions. And time slipped away from me.

    We were at the rest stop. So much between. I was there, but not. Me, but a marionette like Layla could lightly puppet. A lot appeared to be on¡­ Roxy''s mind. Roxy. I wanted to say the other name, but it really did feel like this Roxy was a different person than Joel had ever been. And unfortunately, I was learning a thing or two about different people within. Maybe we had the same problem. The way that Joel felt now definitely suggested the same sunny sentiment projected by a new host.

    Roxy disappeared and then returned, and that bastard came with her. I didn''t need to be commanded to do a smaller version of what I did to Joel with that piece of crap. It was still a command, though. What did that make me? A soldier, a puppet, or a servant to this supposed princess? Figures, all my life I wanted to be found and elevated as a discovered princess in the rough, but it''s actually the one furthest from those thoughts and that reality that winds up magically transfigured into the pretty pretty, perfect princess.

    When all that was over, I got my body back and all the questions that still remained inside. I should''ve told someone what I was feeling and what was happening. Something was clearly, actually, also occurring with Joel. And if that was true, then it was equally possible that the madness stirring inside me was being guided by a hand dipped in my soul. I should''ve said something. I had to say something. So clearly, I didn''t say something. That''s just the way I am.

    What if everyone had this? That would make me laugh. Six people transformed so utterly and totally that they didn''t even have the same minds afterward. Not likely, though. Jess and Jake had a strong and solid continuity between them. Of course, the girl I had a silly little crush on was the one who would weather all this chaos the best. Layla could be anyone, and it would never bother her. Miranda seemed like she had plenty of quaint and cozy secrets with respect to her interior thoughts. Barry probably didn''t have anyone commanding her in a certain direction, because that would''ve been the easiest conquest of all. No offense, but a girl''s voice inside of that shy guy would''ve been so easily acquiesced to in fear.

    Roxy¡­ She needed a blanket. Not a command from some spirit within. Not a recompense for being such a bitch over this entire trip. Not meant to be anything. Just what it is. It''s too late anyway. We have our established roles, with me playing some hardened, black-hearted cunt against a joyous, playful, resilient, happy, strong, thoughtful, and beautiful princess. I am the creature that gets stepped on; I am the wicked thing that confronts the hero. No escaping that. No alternatives. I''m just along for the ride now. But it was nice to make sure she had the blanket. Even if it didn''t really mean anything.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    Thank crap that we finally managed to get to something resembling a town rather than an endless array of trees. Not that I hated trees, but I definitely had my fill of them. Human spaces are both tainted and have a reenergizing strength to them. Nature is nice, but nature is also endless and imaginatively cruel. I made a note to check out the pet shop later, although it seemed like they were already closing up. I hoped I would see it later. We would have to get somewhere around here to stay, probably between a crappy motel and a crackhead hotel. Although the area didn''t seem that bad, I just didn''t trust small towns, even though I trusted big towns and cities even less.

    It still wasn''t clear to me why this location, half-mentioned by Miss Clifton, was so vital for Miranda to get information from, but considering all the other directions had led us into dark and twisted horrors, I both had hope and anticipated disappointment for this new one. The history and artifacts contained in the shop were deeply problematic¡­ In that I had a problem with them automatically. But I''d just have to deal.

    Otherwise, I was losing my patience, if I ever had it to begin with. But then, I met Miss Maggie Triton. She reminded me of a nice old lady who practically considered herself my aunt, even though she was just one of the actually decent friends my mom made. If only I actually had her as a relative, it would''ve been good to escape and survive in her presence instead of the world I had to deal with.

    This old lady was perceptive, so I had to nip her intuition in the bud before she said anything about me. A sentiment shared by me and my supposed friend. I didn''t need to hear that my dying name, Alyssa Eckhart, represented chaos, suffering, and darkness. What good could she possibly say about who I was and who I was supposed to be? Feisty, determined, and withdrawn. Wasn''t that the basic format she was divining? Little snippets of positive twists with advice on how to be better. If I wanted those platitudes, I already had a source for them.

    We learned a lot after that, possibly far too much. It was disgusting, it was horrifying, and it made absolute sense that such a ruined, watery grave of emotion and perversion would contain such a nasty spirit clinging to me.

    Why did I say we weren''t friends? Well, we weren''t. It would be nice to say that we were, but that denied basic reality. I couldn''t have friends, not really. I''ve done too many terrible things. Maybe if this spiritual sucker took over for me, but it wouldn''t really be my friends. Layla could be friends with anyone, but I bristled too much around her. I genuinely consider myself close to Jess, but that made it much more difficult to find a true sense of friendship. Barry deserved someone stronger than me to hang around. And Miranda deserved to like a better soul. Funny thing was, I could easily see myself becoming friends with Joel or Roxy before anyone else. What madness...

    Roxy needed a nap, and the old lady entertained us while I tried to wrestle up the courage to express myself to Miranda.

    I just wanted a quiet evening, but soon monsters were coming. I wanted to be brave, just like Roxy, but that wasn''t me. I was made for hiding, for pushing everything inside. It was too much to hold and too much to feel. When the monsters came, I didn''t want to hold back anymore. I may be the worst monster, the nastiest contagion of blackness and rot, but at least I can use that river, that wellspring of disgusting for something. I sprayed everything¡ªmy whole business¡ªall over that creature. I gave it everything I had, and it didn''t have the strength to endure the ruins of my life. At least all that was good for something.

    In the moments after, I wobbled like I was finally standing on my own two legs without my family pushing me in all directions. No other forces trying to pull, push, twist, or turn. It was gone. It was me. I felt clarity. I felt free.

    Just me and Miranda down in the basement, with so many things I desperately wanted to say. I could finally say them; I should finally say them; I had to finally say them. Nothing else to it. It hit me like I needed to throw up again, but I held it down.

    Miranda listened; she waited and hoped. Then a rush passed through me. My borrowed clothes dangled, practically falling off. The breasts were back, along with the rest. Not a power like Layla could wield to switch herself on and off. This was my punishment; this was my reminder that no matter how far I''d ventured, there was always going to be a rubber band to snap and trap me back in place. I couldn''t take it. It was too much.

    I dropped to my knees; the marionette clipped. No screams, not yet. But I was so tired, so exhausted by this. Why can''t I have a fresh start? Was I doomed?

    Looking over at Miranda, I expected a wide swath of all her thoughts, speculations, and curiosities about what happened to me. I went back to Alyssa; I reverted to my base state. I failed to change. Stay away from me; I am truly a pariah. I didn''t say all that, but I knew it in my heart.

    Miranda dropped with me, and she blasted the sweet, sonorous tone of a fervent hug. I didn''t deserve it, but I had to take it. She was a special sort of pillow that could absorb everything, and I was just some bulimic sorceress who could just erupt my worst self to curse others. Pushing her away would''ve been the best thing and the safest thing for her, but she was resilient, and I was exhausted.

    But did I have to be? The princess in the powdered dress. That''s who and what I wanted to be all those years ago. I failed at becoming that, I failed at being myself, and I further failed at trying to become Ross Hanover.

    I''m nothing and nowhere, but I am also the stuff of stars. I slew a monster in the only way that I could, by bitching at it with every dark thing I had inside. The others had their strengths, and this was what passed for mine. Echoes of aches stayed with me no matter what soft, warm cushion of Miranda pressed against me.

    What also stayed with me was the faintest glimmer of optimism. I should not have had any of that. I lost, I failed, I was absolutely pathetic, and yet some rising trace of happiness and pride wrapped its tendrils around me and wanted me to be happy.

    It wasn''t worth fighting against that feeling anymore. I could be happy, I should be happy, and I won''t let anything stand in the way of my happiness¡­ Or the happiness of others. My battle and our war. I had to find Roxy, I had to apologize, and I had to make this right, even though I felt sadly confident that I might screw it up again with impatience, sharpness, or the wrong word in the wrong place.

    Roxy deserved my best effort to tell her the true tunnel of my thoughts. I''d have to walk back through the gamut of all the others, all the questions, and all the disappointments weighing on me. Every step took away some of the armor I desperately wanted to hold close. But I needed to be strong. I needed to take responsibility. It needed to stop being just about me. Let the worst of my ego go and be better.

    So I took the first step and climbed with Miranda at my side and my old life at its heaviest.

 [41] Mystery Lake 41 â€“ Needs and Wants

    Mystery Lake

    [41] Needs and Wants

    "What do you want to know?"

    Roxy checked all around her for blind corners, dark patches, and other unpleasant voids. The trees stood like placed, stern soldiers blocking the view. The angles of the road were clamped off by signs, lamps, and Cerberus nearest to her.

    Rydia was close, but not so close that bolting would be a good alternative to standing her ground. Her arm span loomed enough that Roxy understood that if she made a dash to escape, the behemoth woman could simply pluck her off the ground like a small game piece on a board.

    The threshold of safety had been crossed and there was nothing she could do about it. Better to maintain her cool and hear them out. The pair hadn''t done anything to hurt them and had most recently saved them from being eaten. What happened in the diner was also the reason for the tension quivering in Roxy''s heart. Whatever dealt with the Hollows made her feel like even less than a wandering insect in comparison. The fact that each of them wore the apparent face of a relatively normal human didn''t help.

    Rummaging around in an impressively deep suit pocket, Rydia pulled out a small spiral-bound notepad and flipped through a few pages.

    "Have you noticed any peculiarities recently? This could include strange people speaking to you in unexpected ways. Appearances and disappearances of humans or non-humans. The presence of things that would be considered monstrous. Unpleasant, untraceable odors, or weird weather phenomena. Sudden internal factors such as hearing or seeing things that others don''t. Or an observed change in the personality of someone you know." The hulking lady continued to speak in her tiny, high-pitched tone, which flattened out for a moment before climbing back to a protective squeak.

    Cerberus stood there with his back against the brick, his legs outstretched, and his arms folded over his stomach. Despite how clearly masculine the guy was, Roxy found it to be an oddly effeminate pose for him. Not something she wanted to point out, but she filed it away.

    No one passed by, same as when those two smokey monsters had been after them. Clearing her throat, Roxy proposed, "I''m sorry, I just came out for a breath of air, but I really have to take the world''s biggest, most ungodly, screaming, messy shit. Could we just pop inside for a second? We can all make ourselves comfortable; I can take care of my bowels; you can enjoy some tea, and we can talk."

    She thought that was a pretty good proposal, along with being precisely embarrassing in all the right ways. If she asked if they could go upstairs to talk, then that could easily be turned around to perhaps going to their vehicle, where who knows what could happen there, or some other assurances could be made to keep her cornered like this. What could they possibly say to this?

    Rydia answered first with a cheerful smile and an exuberant nod. "Oh, yes, please. That would be lovely. I honestly have to pee like a wild horse, so that would be a relief. I had seven cups of green tea earlier and we''ve had to stop everywhere along the way. Sorry, boss."

    Cerberus put a pair of fingers to his forehead and bowed. Rydia dipped her head to him with an awkward smile before turning back to Roxy. "Lead the way, ma''am."

    Technically, that was what she wanted. Not to be isolated from the others by these two. Although it occurred to her that if Rydia and Cerberus were dangerous, then she was just inviting another set of monsters into their midst. Not much to do about that. Just hope that her universe-slicing power would help and that Ross still has more to Charlie. But mostly hope that these two didn''t mean any harm.

    "Sorry about the front entrance; the steps are a little bit tight because it''s an old building. Just take it slow. Everybody all right upstairs?" Quite obviously, Roxy used a louder voice than usual. They learned from the monster attack that the walls were unfortunately thick, but hopefully someone inside could hear what she was saying. Fortunately, the two in black didn''t seem to be too perturbed by her almost shouting.

    Rydia inspected the blocked-off, out-of-service elevator, although it seemed unlikely that she would be able to fit into it, even if she crouched down. As for the stairs, that was even more of a challenge, as the entire space required Rydia to contort herself in order to creep precisely upwards, all the while avoiding smashing her head on the low ceiling. She spun around several times before finally slipping through the entryway. Cerberus actually did a half-pirouette, but with obvious restraint.

    Roxy braced herself to enter such a supernatural and conspiracy-hungry place with what should have been the enemy. Stepping through the threshold brought a moment of quiet uncertainty. Eugene looked up first, and Miranda followed shortly after. Eugene''s mouth just hung open, and his eyes widened as he spotted Rydia. She was indeed quite a sight. The wooden floor beneath her creaked with concern. The massive lady gently folded her arms in front of her and dipped her head.

    Cerberus dug into a pocket and flashed a badge, announcing, "FBI, Special Investigations Unit. I''m Agent Cerberus, and this is Agent Rydia. We just wanted to ask your friend here a few questions about some recent events they''ve been involved in. Sorry to intrude on your business, but she asked to go somewhere more comfortable. I hope this isn''t too much of an imposition. We should be out of your hair shortly."

    Eugene seemed to be vaguely aware of what Cerberus was saying, as his attention was on Rydia all through that explanation. Even when Cerberus finished, it still appeared that the man still seemed hopelessly entranced. Roxy cleared her throat, and the man straightened up with several quick blinks.

    "Oh! Welcome. As long as she''s comfortable, there''s no problem. Sure. Agent Rydia, was it?"

    The hulking woman gave a simple, demure nod. Eugene rose from his seat and approached her.

    "It''s a pleasure to meet you. Anything you need, just ask me."

    "Restroom?" She squeaked the question urgently. Eugene promptly directed her to a small staff bathroom area that Roxy hadn''t noticed, tucked away at an angle along the back wall behind the counter. Rydia remained in place, checking on Roxy and asking if she needed to go first. Roxy patted her stomach and assured her that she could hang on for a few minutes. Wedging her way into the tight water closet required another deft display from Rydia.

    Once the door was closed and locked, Roxy''s tummy gave its own response with a gurgle that sounded more like a groan. A consequence for fibbing? Fair enough, at least she wasn''t alone with these two.

    Cerberus sighed and adjusted his oversized suit jacket. It still looked as rumpled as it did before. Eugene scrutinized the man from top to bottom with his left eye mostly closed. "Can I see that badge of yours again?"

    With narrowed eyes, he pulled out the ID again and held it out for a long time without letting Eugene get too close. Probably because it was fake, like the rest of the stuff the guy had. So if they weren''t with the FBI or the Department of the Interior, then what was their deal? Roxy doubted that either of them would give a sincere or coherent answer.

    Eugene pointed his finger at various aspects of the badge. Roxy could tell from this distance that the photo didn''t look at all like the man it was supposed to represent. Eugene probably came to the same conclusion, but his mind was on other things.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    "I was wondering... Your partner? Partner, right?"

    Cerberus sharpened his expression with a lowered brow. "Yeah. What about her?"

    "I hope this doesn''t sound too forward. I was just...it''s kind of awkward. But I was wondering if she was spoken for. Do you think she might be interested in something¡­ like a date?"

    Roxy hadn''t expected Eugene to go in that direction, considering he was dealing with a whole mess of thoughts about the water and how he wanted to deal with it. Not that she was going to take issue with his romantic inspiration. Everyone had their thing. It was more of a matter of concern that magic, or trickery was happening again.

    Cerberus craned his neck and looked as if he were scrutinizing the shop owner just as carefully as his credentials had been checked. "Spoken for? You mean with someone? Dating?" Of all the things Cerberus had said since they met, this felt the most natural.

    Eugene adjusted his thick, gray hair with a clear tension in his features. "My apologies. It''s quite presumptuous and unprofessional to put forth the matter, especially since we''ve only just met. I mean no disrespect to you, and especially no disrespect to Miss Rydia. I can easily drop the matter."

    Not giving an immediate answer, the agent plucked the shades from his face, folded them neatly into a breast pocket, and squinted at Eugene. "¡­ You want to ask her out on a date?" Immediately, Eugene fanned his hands, nervously mortified. He tried to obscure his comments in vagueness, but Cerberus relentlessly pressed the same points, as if he secretly represented Rydia''s parents, checking to make sure everything was all right. Eugene needed to be on his best behavior, and he rose to the task.

    The gray-haired hippie shopkeeper outlined his intentions, taking into consideration whatever the agent''s work schedule was, not wanting to overwhelm her, and genuinely planning a nice evening.

    "Don''t jerk her around. If this is what you want to do, make it clear to her. Do it right."

    Despite the speed at which all this was happening, Roxy didn''t see the slightest wavering from Eugene. He resolutely declared that he would do it right.

    Moments later, the figure in question emerged from the stiff, awkward confines of the small room after gently rinsing her hands in the sink in the corner. Before she could even properly disentangle herself, Eugene put forth his proposal.

    "Lady Rydia, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner at a local Italian restaurant? It''s just a block down the main thoroughfare."

    The massive lady paused in place and shifted gently as she absorbed and processed this information. Eugene clearly had some sort of Amazon warrior adoration thing going on. Despite his general reticence and hesitance in dealing with so many different matters, she had to give him credit for boldly seizing this without wading through every moment of reflection to get there. Hopefully, this meant that her relatively random advice on other matters had gone to a positive place.

    With a looming, almost seismic presence, Rydia still maneuvered cautiously around the back of the store, as if afraid that the slightest shift might topple everything. Roxy remembered a test of the old phrase about a bull in a china shop, which discovered that such animals were strikingly graceful. The immense woman took the utmost care to make sure her wide swath didn''t cause any collateral damage.

    Not exactly what Roxy had expected, considering the way they had first met the woman, growling with overwhelming weight about squirrel oddities and then providing a thunderous rumble to Cerberus'' strike on the Hollows. She couldn''t quite reconcile all that with what she was witnessing now, but perhaps it didn''t require a complicated answer.

    Finding a stretch of relatively open floor space to place herself and respond appropriately, Rydia replied, "Honor? Italian restaurant? Oh, that''s very sweet of you to offer. I do feel a might peckish, but I really shouldn''t eat Italians."

    Eugene responded with a spontaneous, sincere chuckle and Rydia soon echoed them, as if working through a quiet coughing fit. Cerberus squeezed his forehead again but didn''t call out any of her comments. They did exchange a look, but it was unclear what they meant to say to one another.

    Not human; it was laughably obvious, to the point that Roxy felt like it had to be some kind of put-on fake-out. No way that creatures wearing the faces of humans could possibly be so ridiculous and obvious with their secrets. Her guts complained a second, louder time, and she decided to take her leave. Miranda was still at the back of the room, playing the role of the careful observer without comment. She should be enough. The addition of Jake or the old lady would have been better, but she doubted the two agents would try anything.

    Once within the water closet, she noticed and grimaced that the warmth of Rydia''s body had left a trace on the seat. A human quality, at least as far as she knew. There were no other signs that someone else had used it.

    Soothing the pizza, the tea, and the rancid memory of what had gone before was no easy task compared to a simple bladder. Another less glamorous look behind the curtain of a female body. It still had to do shit. Not that living with Jess had left Joel with a monumental amount of mystique about girls. She wasn''t gross, far from it. It was just one of those things you learn together.

    She shivered all over, even though it didn''t feel that cold in this cramped space. Haunted toilet? Sure, whatever. The feeling settled after a while, as if she were burning a surprising fireball of heat off her body, and it was a huge difference compared to anything around her.

    Keep at it, and she may produce her own weather systems. ...Please don''t produce a weather system. They''d already done enough weird stuff as a group.

    With this exorcism from her body complete, Roxy stretched to her feet and felt sore, as if the whole thing had come with a tenderizing. This friggin day. It started so early, and it was still going.

    Thinking back on Rydia''s peculiar comment about the restaurant, she wondered if some form of consumption was the end result of the Hollows. Oh shit... she really had to go pee. Claims of drinking too much green tea. But they knew that some fairy species could be converted into watery substances. Roxy peered into the toilet and wondered if she''d just taken a shit on top of the remains of those bastards who tried to turn them into food. An appropriate end, but total speculation.

    Returning to the store area was a relief and a release of the mental equivalent of a breath she''d been holding. No one missing. Nothing perturbed or horribly transformed. Rydia lingered near Eugene, with Jake finally out on patrol.

    It occurred to her that they''d all somehow forgotten that the old lady was cooking dinner, which complicated this fancy Italian restaurant proposal. Not that the two of them couldn''t double dip. Rydia could probably take down an entire meal from the old lady and still have plenty of room for another. Maggie wasn''t around to offer her opinion on either dinner or the visitors.

    Cerberus lingered in the far section of the store, near some of the older-looking things. She approached him carefully and not too close.

    Time to deal with this and hopefully find questions and answers.

 [42] Mystery Lake 42 â€“ The Hold of Memory

    Mystery Lake

    [42] The Hold of Memory

    He was a curious figure. With all the presentation and posturing earlier at the ranger station and then outside the restaurant, she was expecting something else at this point. Maybe looming and leering like a mysterious figure or a wannabe vampire boy. But he just looked like a common man, even more so than in any of their previous encounters. His face bore some traces of a faint Asian inspiration, especially indicated by his sleek, shiny black hair. He glanced over at her, but without intent or concern. Instead, it was as if he had just happened to notice her there, as if he had been expecting her.

    The agent brought up similar concerns she had about conflicts in dinner plans from his perspective. Roxy found it immensely surreal to be talking about something so humanly mundane with what seemed to be a next-level entity. They let the romantic compromise play out as they drifted through some of the more intricate store displays, including ornate old clocks. A Mesoamerican display flanked the wall with very tiny, weathered off-white price tags.

    All of the prices seemed way out of Roxy''s range for even a frivolous purchase, but they didn''t seem totally unreasonable. She considered picking something up as at least a memento of their stay here, even if there were aspects she didn''t want to remember. Cerberus leaned to the side and then tilted back. They regarded each other before Cerberus spoke again.

    "When do you think the world will end?" He asked her frankly. Roxy shifted her eyebrows around a few times, taking in the question.

    "Is that one of the questions you and Rydia wanted to ask me?"

    Cerberus shook his head. "No. I''ll tell you when we get to one of those. This is just a question of personal curiosity. You don''t have to answer. But then you don''t have to answer anything."

    Roxy accepted this and weighed it inwardly before coming to the conclusion, "I don''t know. I just hope it''s a long time after my lifetime."

    The agent accepted this answer with a simple nod of the head, then gestured to an object under glass that looked like a stylized representation of the sun. "I assume you heard all about the end of the Mayan calendar back in 2012."

    "I was just a kid back then. I know there was a movie¡ªprobably a bunch of movies. Same thing as Y2K before I was born."

    Cerberus tipped his head back, as if he had just come to a realization. How old was this guy? Cerberus cleared his throat and continued, still gesturing at the sun token, "There have been studies done on various ancient calendars like that. The Mayans, in particular, held Venus in high esteem. Their calendar begins with its birth. It''s closely tied to solar phenomena. Some speculate that a massive coronal mass ejection lit up the atmosphere of Venus like a second sun. And the end of their calendar also seems to follow solar cycles. But nothing happened, right?"

    Roxy had a sneaking sensation that this was starting to sound like one of those early morning lectures Joel had to take and couldn''t quite stay awake for. She shrugged in response. Cerberus continued his presentation.

    "Anyway, solar cycles are about an eleven-year thing. It takes that long to flip polarity. 2012 plus eleven-ish years would put the end of something solar right around the end of 2023 or the beginning of 2024."

    "Are you saying the world is..."

    Cerberus preempted her. "Oh, no, no. I''m not saying anything of the sort. Not presuming, not professing. I''m just thinking. Besides, the world has ended before." The look Cerberus gave her was oddly maternal without being condescending. Roxy shifted in front of him, looking for something steady to hold on to, but found nothing.

    She swallowed and asked him, "What do you mean by that?"

    "Mythology and history are cyclical. Everything that''s happened has happened before. At least, that''s what''s suggested. Creation and destruction. Some believe that reality is reproduced over and over again by some guiding hand that creates the world and strives to perfect it. Others think that the cycle is more like taking an old magnetic tape and making a copy of it. It has to start over; there has to be an apocalyptic event that wipes out all the problems. But each iteration is less than the one before. The colors are less bright, the world is less vibrant, what once was has been dimmed, and it will only grow darker and weaker, but it is a necessary step to save all things from oblivion. Traditionally, it is believed that this has happened about five times before. And there is a finite limit."

    Roxy stood there, feeling like she was being blasted with a firehose of thoughts. All of this clearly meant something to Cerberus, and strangely enough, he was drenching her in knowledge as thoroughly as she''d been drenched in the dead fairy sex water. She wasn''t quite sure what to say to all this, but offered up, "OK. You must be great at parties."

    She worried about how flippant that sounded and whether it might irritate or even piss him off. But the agent took it with a crooked, amused grin. "I''m afraid I don''t go to parties anymore. I prefer to talk one-on-one. But I am far from the reason we need to talk at all. We just want to know if you''ve seen anything particularly out of the ordinary."

    "Like those Hollow assholes?"

    Cerberus softly scraped his foot against the wood before looking at a set of trinkets that looked recently cleaned and dusted, with no case to contain them. "Something like that. Anything you might consider unusual."

    Roxy took several long moments with that. She was not under the comfy illusion that she was perfectly safe. Rather, the feeling right then was somewhere between swimming beside a shark and holding raw steak fingers in front of a wolf. If she wasn''t particularly careful, it didn''t matter how many others were around to see her being scooped up and taken away by these creatures. Jake drifted between the aisles, trying to be the same sort of shark but a protector. Roxy did her futile best to hide him from Cerberus''s sight whenever he passed by. And she considered the right answer.

    "I got propositioned by some asshole at a truck stop, just because I was acting perky and happy. The bastard wouldn''t leave me alone. And I needed help to get him off me. He ran away. He sure seemed like something you should take care of."

    Cerberus listened and lightly folded his arms. "There are terrible things out there. I wish they weren''t after you and those you travel with, but these things happen. We have actually been keeping an eye on your group, which is probably not surprising considering our last meeting."

    Roxy clenched her jaw. "So you knew about what happened to me, and you just let it happen when you clearly could have done something?" She knew she should have softened that accusatory question, but she didn''t feel like it.

    Cerberus swiftly pointed out, "You had help, as you just said. Besides, my form of help tends to make more of a mess. I am truly sorry that you had to suffer. It''s not something that goes away, no matter how much time you give yourself. The only thing you can do is persevere through it. Is there anything else that happened that needs to be mentioned?"

    His answers felt belittling. He could have done something; he could have helped. She knew that it may have just been this small encounter where the asshole ripped her out of the regular world and tossed her into his private place to do whatever he wanted. It didn''t matter in any grand scheme, and nothing actually happened, but she still felt like a wildly disturbed pool of water fighting its way through eddies and chaotic currents. She could move on, but this crap was still right there, at the surface. Just saying he was sorry felt like more than she could ever imagine he might offer her, compared to gnawing off her face or limbs on a whim. She should just be happy about that...

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    "Fuck off... You don''t care about me. You don''t care about us. You''re sorry. Big whoop. I had to fight off a pair of whatevers hunting us in this building. A pair of black smoke spirit creatures that looked like contorted humans and walked like wolves. Somehow, we fended them off. Without any special help."

    Internally, Roxy regretted the way she had phrased her answer. She could have softened so many words or framed them differently. But it was the truth as she felt it right then, and not speaking truthfully would probably have been worse. She omitted the text message sent to them as a warning that she''d sliced through reality like a curtain, the voice in her head giving her pep talks, and the fact that Ross vomited on the creatures, and they had melted away. But otherwise, it was the truth.

    The agent''s face hardened at her words, but anger didn''t surface. "Don''t presume to know what I care about. I am truly sorry for what you have had to go through, but there are bigger considerations. Some days, all we can do is cry and get angry at things we can''t possibly control, and try not to lose ourselves in the trap of useless hope. Instead, keep fighting as hard as you can. Persist. That''s all you can do."

    Roxy wobbled in place, accepting that this was really the best compromise she was going to get. At least the wolf made of the places between stars wasn''t going to bite her head off. The tension between them released slowly, like a hidden but palpable pressure valve that let out hissing steam. They both looked around at all the objects collected and presented on this side of the store.

    Clearing his throat, Cerberus tapped on the glass and drew her attention to some classic rings on velvet cushions. "Quite a menagerie of memories contained in this place."

    She raised an eyebrow, inquiring as to his specific meaning of memories. These were just trinkets, old artifacts, and totems of the past. She had her own ideas about what memories meant with these artifacts, but she wanted to hear his side.

    "Every single object has a certain spirit that saves and stores what it knows. An impression or a record. All that it lived, all that it encountered. Wouldn''t it be fascinating to talk to any one of these old pieces and get a sense of what it went through?"

    Roxy nodded, even if she wasn''t particularly enthused by the notion. From behind them, Layla emerged, wandering the aisles with quiet curiosity, sifting through. Cerberus noticed and paid attention to her for just a few seconds before returning his gaze to Roxy, who was trying to come up with an answer to all that.

    "I suppose. Though, maybe it''s more frightening to actually know what some of these things have been through. More than a few have probably been shoved up someone''s ass for reasons I don''t wanna know. And that''s just the start. It might be better to just appreciate them on a surface level than to get all their deep, dark secrets."

    "Fair enough, if that''s how you feel," Cerberus replied, rubbing his hands together gently. "Have you felt any strangeness occupying you since we last spoke? Not an external force but an internal one. With all you''ve seen, I doubt it would be a large leap to surmise unseen entities in our world, wandering about, looking for the brightest light to parasite. One must be careful, especially in moments of overflowing happiness, not to open oneself up to dangerous things."

    Not exactly a subtle suggestion, but Roxy figured she could play dumb. She asked if Cerberus was talking about ghosts. Fortunately, they were among certain memorabilia with sinister histories, like a cursed football, creepy dolls with real human hair, and death-related items. Eugene really did have a strange range of eclectic interests. Considering how sparse the place was for customers, Roxy wondered if maybe they should just turn it into a Ripley''s-style museum instead of trying to sell any of the stuff around here. He probably had his ways of making a go of it at this point, but she was just curious. The background provided points of emphasis for her comment. Cerberus reflected silently before responding.

    "There are various names. But I assure you, anything that wants a piece of your spirit or body is not beneficial company." Cerberus'' eyes narrowed and his nostrils faintly flared, as if he were hunting the air for something only he could detect, like a drug-sniffing dog. Roxy responded with a raised eyebrow and waited.

    He scanned her eyes and looked all over her entire body. She had no idea what was going on but stayed still as if this were some medical scan or a metal detector procedure. Nothing much happened for a few seconds, except for the waft of giggling words from across the room. Slowly, Cerberus dipped and sniffed with a frown. She hoped it was a positive sign and nudged him with the simple question, "What?"

    "Nothing. Nothing at all. My only remaining question is, did you happen to notice anything out of sorts about your cohorts?"

    Roxy picked up on that. She was clear. Or at least Cerberus acted like she was. But he hadn''t scrutinized the others yet. And he was looking for something bad. Possession? Sure sounded like it. What would he do if he found out that one of them had something bad inside? Did she have suspicions about someone else in the group? She couldn''t let the notion hang for too long, or this guy would get suspicious for sure.

    "What would you do if you found something?"

    "That would depend on what I found. Do you know anyone I should talk to?" Cerberus shifted his head. Most of the man''s former congeniality had faded. He was being sharply serious.

    Obviously, the first name that occurred to her with suspicious things, beside herself, was Ross. But no matter what Ross or Alyssa had done to her or anyone else, they didn''t deserve this man pursuing them. Maybe it was just a bad spirit on him, and maybe this guy wasn''t going to do anything to harm any of them, even if he found what he was looking for. Maybe maybe maybe maybe... but that was a big risk to take. He had helped them once, but that didn''t guarantee that he was helping them now.

    "You can talk to whoever you want, but we''ve been through some shit. I trust everyone in this group with my life. There''s no one who I think is a danger to me, myself, or anyone else. We have arguments but that''s natural. That''s all. Nothing I would call out about anyone."

    Cerberus narrowed his eyes but gave a subdued nod. "All right. Fair enough. But if anything happens, remember that you had this opportunity to tell me. You may not be in danger right now, but danger has found you and your group a lot lately. But I have my business and you have your business, and I just thought I could help in some way. And that''s all."

 [43] Mystery Lake 43 â€“ The Wee Folk

    Mystery Lake

    [43] The Wee Folk

    Indeed, that was all, as they made their way back over to the main group. Something was stirring, but Roxy wasn''t quite sure what. Layla had gotten into the classic costumes and was going through the feather boas and other items, sniffing and sneezing gleefully on her knees. She diligently held and sorted out her findings. Eugene admitted that not even he was entirely certain what was stashed away in there. Rydia moved as daintily as possible, despite her wide swath.

    The proposal of a date got tangled up in the obligations of the two agents. They had other places to be and to observe. But Rydia didn''t want to just say no, especially since she had never had what she was gradually learning was Italian food. The best compromise sounded like dinner would remain here while this would become lunch tomorrow. Rydia seemed equally excited about the prospect of lunch. Tapping her foot summoned a monumental vibration that she seemed embarrassed by.

    Exchanging contact information wasn''t possible for reasons that neither agent could properly express. Eugene wanted to introduce Rydia to his mother, but he wavered. The circulation of others hadn''t passed many people or much information between the floors yet. It was almost as if two different worlds existed side by side. Cerberus seemed clearly displeased with something, although Roxy couldn''t figure out what. His attention was not on her, Layla, Jake, or even Eugene. There was just a general air about him.

    "Where''s Miranda...?" Cerberus'' question startled Roxy. She should have remembered that he''d collected all their names after finding them at the lake, but his awareness of who was who seemed to indicate far more interest in her group than he''d shown lately. Miranda was gone, and Roxy wasn''t quite sure when, where, or how she''d disappeared.

    Asking around, everyone in the space recalled seeing Miranda not too long ago, even Rydia and Eugene, who were quite separate and doing their own thing. Jake cautiously returned through the hidden door to visit the other realm of upstairs. He and Roxy both tensed up when unveiling the hidden steps, as if they were concerned that their guests might somehow use it against them. It didn''t take long for Jake to retrieve a reluctant Miranda, who had a peculiar story to tell about where she had been.

    "I''m sorry, I haven''t come up, down, or all the way back yet, I guess. I was talking to¡­ Ross the entire time. There was a lot to discuss, and they had a lot to share. Sort of private matters. Ross is hanging back."

    Roxy''s mind immediately went to the idea that they were fucking, although she found the prospect of them doing such things down in the basement hard to digest since it didn''t look the least bit romantic or comfortable. It wasn''t far-fetched for Roxy to assume that Miranda was hiding something about Ross. Her body language and hesitation were telling. Ideally, it wouldn''t be her business to pry, but strange things were happening.

    One thing was clear, though: Miranda was adamant about the fact that she hadn''t been back to the store floor since the vault, or as she described it to the strangers present, since they had been dealing with monsters. Roxy hoped that these oddities didn''t foreshadow another beast in their presence.

    Cerberus hunched down and spoke in a low, compressed voice, "Scan the room; look for anything that seems out of place. Something is wrong here."

    Damn, just as Roxy was beginning to relax, despite the many uncomfortable emotions and ideas in her head. Rydia walked over to the door without her boss having to tell her, utterly eclipsing the threshold. In any other situation, the way she crouched like a catcher at a plate would have been humorous.

    Cerberus made Miranda wait over by the hidden door while he recruited the four of them to scour all the aisles. Eugene up front, since he was the most familiar with the layout and inventory, although the monster incident had shifted several things out of their proper places.

    Roxy looked at an old-fashioned, painted horse with wheels instead of legs. Fancy leather straps around strange sticks invited certain kinds of questions, but she ignored that section because it didn''t seem quite strange enough. The angry monkey cookie jar glared at her, but the eyes stayed put. A vast array of silver and blue crystal necklaces made her slow, linger, and imagine them around her neck. It wasn''t long before Jake asked the question they should have asked at the beginning of their search.

    "What exactly are we looking for?"

    "Something that shouldn''t be here. Something out of place. Something that clearly disturbs you. You''ll know if and when you see it." Cerberus continued in his tightly clipped tone, not looking back as he spoke. Considering the nature of the being behind Cerberus'' skin, she had to wonder what could possibly bother a creature like that so much. She didn''t want to know.

    Old company logos and oil insignia led to metal sculptures Roxy had avoided until now. There was a man on a dark throne and a girl on her knees scrubbing the floor, along with children running off together. One resembled Poseidon beside a little mermaid melting into frozen foam. Lots of creepy cherubs rounded out the collection. Roxy didn''t have a problem with the fact that these were store fixtures, but she did have a problem with the fact that people thought it was a good idea to create them in the first place.

    It all appeared cursed, creepy, and clearly haunted from the moment they were made. Past the ivory elephants and a ton of windup toys, Roxy noticed a smiling pygmy doll with blindingly white teeth. It sat in a corner, just as messed up as everything else in this part of the store. But there was one key difference: she immediately felt that it must be looking back at her. That sensation plunged deep into her soul, like thin, jagged fingers stirring her essence around as if she were a pool of water for them to play in. She wasn''t the only one to notice.

    The others all paid special attention to the strange doll. Eugene shook his head, and Cerberus circled around behind. The doll''s eyes immediately darted to the left and then to the right. Roxy''s arm throbbed, as if something inside her wanted to tear a hole in all of reality and shove this thing into the deepest recesses. As they got closer to it, the creature finally gave up this game of hide-and-seek, and a dark blur shot across the floor and made a furious run for the door.

    Fortunately, Rydia didn''t miss a beat and slammed the speedster like a combination of a rhino and a brick wall, sending the tumbling creature sliding across the wood, where Cerberus picked it up and glared in its face. Gradually, the leather and wood illusion of a pygmy dissolved into a tiny, red-bearded man with a sour expression.

    "Traitor. Unhand me, ya filthy traitor, or I''ll nip you good." The voice with which the small man spoke sounded far deeper than expected from his diminutive form. He wore a green, tweed, three-piece green suit without a hat. A leprechaun? Someone had mentioned them in the same breath as fairies, but this felt past Roxy''s threshold. How the hell was she looking at a leprechaun? How was this real life?

    "What are you doing here?" Cerberus looked at the leprechaun much more fiercely than he had looked at her when she told him to F off.

    "I sent them a warning. A text message to the lot of them. I was just checking to see what result came of it." He fought with Cerberus''s grip, shifting back and forth, even though he couldn''t get much leverage.

    So this was the one who warned them ahead of time? Why? How? Honestly, Roxy suspected that one of the agents had been responsible for the warning, considering how soon they showed up after the fact. Cerberus looked at Roxy and the others for confirmation. Layla had her head down with something approaching a frown, which made Roxy wonder if this appearance of a well-known fantastical creature didn''t live up to whatever fantasies the poor girl might have had. Miranda had come closer when they caught the thing, but she was still far away from the group. Jake was tense, staying near Roxy.

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    After taking a breath, Roxy confirmed that they had each received a message warning them of something coming their way and what to do about it.

    "Aye! The Wraiths. Ya shouldn''t breathe or move. They steal your sight before they take your life. You can only hide and hope that they give up their hunt. At least you survived them... but this is the thanks I get for my warning? Maybe I won''t bother next time." He balled up his little fists angrily.

    Even though Jake didn''t want her to get that close, Roxy took a few steps and had to ask, "Why did you warn us at all? What are we to you?"

    "Some of ya are nothing or a less than nothing, I must say. But some of ya are something more. I may be getting old and worn and tired and not quite as quick in my head or limber with my tricks, but I still recognize my Princess Asherah no matter what form she may take." He nodded his head in Roxy''s direction and gave another firm tug against Cerberus''s grip, which did nothing to loosen it.

    Princess? Was he referring to the friend that Roxy felt inside? Oh no, had she swallowed the spirit goo of a princess? All right. Princess. If only being some kind of princess and all the other stuff that had come with it since she''d been splashed had been in her wheelhouse, Roxy would have been the happiest little grown-up girl in the world. But she was still a guy¡ªstill a man underneath it all. Or at least trying to be... maybe. She didn''t know anymore.

    The little man explained that, by his own definition, he was actually a "lubrican," pronounced in a way that put it very close to the name that they all knew. Roxy didn''t like it very much because it rattled around in her head like ''lubricant''.

    "So what were you doing around here?" Cerberus persisted.

    "I was just checking to make sure that my warning was received, and you all were fine. Out of the goodness of my heart, I speak true."

    With a raised black eyebrow that accentuated his dark eyes, Cerberus calmly turned the little man upside down, and a rain of golden and glittering trinkets spilled from him across the floor. It didn''t take Eugene long to recognize that there were several small but valuable items pilfered from the store.

    "Goodness of your heart, indeed," Cerberus shot back at him.

    "My kindness isn''t free, nor should it be. That wasn''t much. Fair compensation for giving y''all a heads up. If I hadn''t said anything, none of ya would be here. Don''t expect any kind of help next time. And there will be a next time. They know that their hunters aren''t coming back from whatever you did to them. It''ll get worse."

    Roxy had to ask, even though she had a sneaking suspicion that she didn''t want to know the answer. "Who are ''they''?"

    "The Fairy Court. The Unseelie Hoard is in agreement, though. And neither of them agrees on anything. It''s all about the lake. It''s been a sore spot for a long time. Few of ya had fun with it! That''s unconscionable!"

    Roxy''s mouth twisted up in a frown. Whatever she suspected of the little man was more along the lines of them desecrating it, stealing its water, or smearing themselves with fairy scent. What the hell did he mean by having fun with it? Cerberus didn''t seem surprised by this development. He obviously never bought their explanation that nothing happened at the lake.

    She pressed the leprechaun on his point: "We did something wrong with that lake?"

    "Of course! Anyone who winds up there must melt themselves and engage in the dance. There are so many horny, bodiless buggers down there, and they need their satisfaction. If they don''t get it, the other side of the Veil has a bad time. I honestly have no idea how you escaped in the first place, so I was curious. That''s why I followed the lot of you. You seem like decent folk, just caught up in the wrong thing. Well, some of ya anyway."

    He made it absolutely clear that he was referring to Cerberus before continuing, "I wouldn''t want the old crusty Court to punish you all cruelly, especially the Princess. I was one of the guards for the lake, and it was a quiet day, so I just got drunk off my ass for a while. I slept too long, almost like something was holding me back. And by the time I checked in, it was way too late."

    The lake actually had guards¡ªleprechaun guards. Roxy had no idea what to make of that. His whole explanation had left her lost and at a loss for what on earth to say. Layla had initially worn an expression of upset when the leprechaun was revealed, but that had cooled to a calmer, slightly disappointed sentiment.

    "What about the one before? Someone who made it to the lake before us."

    "Oh, that lake is hungry sometimes. There have been many before you. But I know what you mean¡ªthe one who is the pretty lass on the other side. The Clifton gal. She was resilient, and the Court had problems with her too. But she was just one little lady. And we all suspected that the stories she would tell would help feed the place. Not worth the trouble. But you lot were too many, all at once, too much disruption. They pushed you towards the Hollow Ones, and they tried to delay ya. But you, my dear, are the Princess. Once I knew that in my heart, I couldn''t let them smother ya. You were the kindest, wisest leader we Fae folk ever had, respected by both the dark and the light."

    Roxy scrunched her forehead. Clearly, this guy was sensing whatever was inside of her from her friend, from the fairy she swallowed. And it was uncomfortable because this princess thing meant a lot to him, or at least he was acting like it. But these fuckers trying to mess with them just because they unknowingly had contact with this stupid ass sex corpse lake pissed her off.

    "Cerberus¡­ please let him go." She knew she was pushing the guy, but if the leprechaun or whatever had this adoring impression of this royal figure and he thought it was her, then it was the only course of action that made sense. She had to play into that. Because clearly, the thing had a terrible impression of Cerberus. Traitor? Traitor of and from what? Since he didn''t refute it, she figured it was something important to remember. She was also curious about what the princess inside her summoned against the trucker fucker earlier.

    The man in black slowly turned his head towards her with a lighter version of his scowl. His grip didn''t let the creature go, but it clearly wasn''t as tight as it had been. Looking across the room, Cerberus gave a nod, and Rydia moved aside like a rock being rolled away from a cave entrance. Roxy hoped desperately that whatever she was doing wasn''t the wrong thing. With a motion like tossing aside garbage, Cerberus released the leprechaun to plop down on the wooden table in front of them. He didn''t immediately dash away.

    "I thank ya kindly, m''lady. You are truly the royalty we have been missing. There''s just one final matter, and then I can relieve myself of your¡­ company. These little pieces don''t amount to a whole lot, and I feel like I pilfered them fairly and squarely within the bylaws and treaties of my world versus this one. I''m not going to get huffy about it, but a wee bit of compensation seems only fair, don''t you think?"

 [44] Mystery Lake 44 â€“ Spread Apart

    Mystery Lake

    [44] Spread Apart

    Roxy looked over at Eugene, who had a vaguely stunned expression, as if it still wasn''t quite processing for him that he was looking at an honest-to-goodness leprechaun standing in his shop. It was really his call about whether these trinkets should go to the creature, and Roxy brought that up. Briefly scrutinizing the pieces, Eugene looked at the pieces, took a breath, and agreed to give up what was in the immediate vicinity of the creature, but had one small request: "Can I at least get a picture of you? Unfortunately, I don''t think it will be any kind of proof in this day and age, but at least I want evidence that I''m not going crazy right now."

    "Certainly! Do text it to my number. I always love a good snap. I''m actually on Instagram, that new blue-something replacement for Twitter, and LinkedIn. But my little baby here is how I contacted all of you." He flashed a cell phone that didn''t look too dissimilar to any recent model. "It''s a little magical because I didn''t need to know your numbers in advance; I just needed to know where ya were. I don''t know if anyone else in the area was scared off by my warning¡ªmaybe a few cheating hearts. It''s a bit of fun, but that''s why I always try to keep it simple and all caps. Easy to write off as a silly scam text."

    Roxy accepted all this without too much trouble. She was at her threshold. It was like a reservoir for collecting water, only representing events and information that she could absorb and respond to. The place within her was saturated and overtopping, so that each new addition glanced off without coming to rest in her consciousness. Yeah, the world might end soon; objects had some sort of memory; leprechauns are real; she might be a princess because of just a little bit of water she swallowed; these seemingly ancient fairy creatures had access to modern technology. All good.

    Not surprisingly, when Eugene took a picture with his regular cell phone, the results looked disgustingly awful, to the point where the little man was little more than a blurry blob mixed with a light-bloomed CGI projection. No matter what angle he took it from or how he tried to correct it on the phone, nothing came out clear. The leprechaun barely concealed a chuckle.

    "I told ya there was magic afoot. We''re very good at hiding ourselves. Will there be anything else?" The little face looked so smug that Roxy had a fleeting wish that she could punch it. Eugene leaned back and retrieved a classic flash camera with actual film stock inside. The leprechaun looked quite annoyed by this, flinching against the bright light, but had nothing to say. The film would have to be developed, although Roxy had a sneaking suspicion that the resulting image would not set the world on fire with supernatural discovery either. Eugene mumbled something about an EMF detector and other equipment he had stashed away. The picture was all he had been promised.

    The little man swiftly darted over to where his spilled treasures had fallen and retrieved some of them while leaving others behind. With a toothy grin, he remarked that the lion''s share of his reward was simply to see "the princess''s face."

    He finished by saying, "And now, I must be off to my flying saucer. Good even''. May you all be... May most of ya be safe and sound from danger." And, in an instant, he was gone, a sharp wind disturbing the nearest things before they finally settled down. The front door rattled slightly.

    Roxy really needed a place to sit and process everything. What settled first to the surface were the words, "The Fairy Court wants us dead."

    Cerberus kept his eyes on the area where the leprechaun had been, as if half expecting the bastard to have left a smelly poop somewhere nearby. He responded, "Often the case, no matter who you are. Beneficial and friendly Fae are few and far between; the vast majority are tricksters, or they''re horny. The dark ones ruthlessly crave death and destruction."

    Layla slowly lowered herself to the floor, sitting with her legs crossed and her body weakly wobbling as she tried to brace herself. Cerberus reached over with a surprising, steadying hand. Layla wobbled with uncertain gratitude. His hand lingered on her shoulder as he breathed lightly. His fingers relaxed, but he retained a tight curl. Layla looked up at him uncertainly. The man in black released his grip.

    Roxy felt a headache coming on or returning. She wasn''t quite sure which. She needed a comfortable dinner and as much sleep as possible. Or as much dinner as possible and a comfortable sleep. Eugene tucked the developed film away somewhere safe behind the counter and tried not to look suspiciously at any of his guests.

    Cerberus and Rydia were welcome to supper but politely declined, with Cerberus insisting that they had stayed too long and already gotten the answers they needed. Roxy felt like they hadn''t asked her much of anything. Nor had they spoken to the others nearby or even made much of an effort to track them down for questioning.

    She had emphasized that she didn''t want them going after the entire group, but why the hell would they bother to listen to her? It wasn''t like they''d be gone for long, though, as they reconfirmed the lunch date. Cerberus avoided saying that he would chaperone, but he did say that he would be present. Roxy was actually looking forward to it, although she wasn''t quite sure why.

    Without further preamble, the two of them gradually maneuvered their way down the tight, awkward stairs and out of the building. Though it would have been fascinating to see if they had a vehicle or some other means of transportation, Roxy didn''t pursue their business past the door. It was just the four of them, once again with the other four upstairs.

    Roxy wanted to sit next to Layla and have a thinking circle or something like that. They all had a lot to discuss with one another. And then they had to catch up with the others on a veritable mountain of new information. All they were likely thinking about was dinner prep. Or maybe they had their own separate adventures, battling with a different variety of fairy creatures, and they had just as much fresh knowledge to share as any of them. She found that to be a nice thought. The world didn''t have to revolve around her, please, and thank goodness.

    Miranda stretched her back, which was working overtime with all the weights her transformed form placed in the front and collected in the rear. Tiredness was an inescapable truth, and they needed all these fairy fuckers to back off for a while and let them recoup. Yeah, they did some shit in the fucking lake of sex and dead they all considered incorruptible. But at least let them have some rest.

    Didn''t that seem fair? Jake looked like he had all the new developments balanced on his head like uneven fruit and couldn''t move more than an inch without fear of disturbing it. She just wanted to hug him fervently as her cacophony of nervous stomach gurgles joined in the chorus. All those words she didn''t care about anymore, the lexicon of the ladies. Or some other bullshit like that.

    She made her seat on the surprisingly warm wooden floor. Eugene fiddled with his hands and announced that he was going to check on the others upstairs. Miranda straightened up as if she had something in mind to add but resisted speaking it out loud. Jake opted to take a bathroom break while Miranda examined the spot where the leprechaun who was mimicking her had last been.

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    The greedy bugger had left behind some of the valuable, scattered remaining trinkets. Roxy wondered if it was more the act than the possession of the artifacts that mattered to such a creature as that. An odd notion, but it made the most sense.

    Sitting next to Roxy, it almost seemed as if Layla was obligated to slip on the familiar trappings of her exuberance and smiles, even though it was clear her lighthearted excitement was a thin veneer. It broke Roxy''s heart to see such a shadow cast over that delightful girl. Asking what was troubling her felt like cruel, clawed probing into delicate matters. Layla fought back a shiver and bolstered her positive attitude with a light humming that barely trickled out of her lips.

    "The world and worlds are so much darker than they seemed. What was right and bright, and once light gleamed. And now, with chaos teem. Sorry. I had a semester of poetry writing, and with all my play work or play play, my happy place is sing song and poetics. It gives me strength. The world is such a scary place. I''ve always known that, but now it''s a scary place that''s harder than ever to understand. I thought the lake was curiously magical, but it''s just a strange sort of mass grave. I guess they thought that we were trying to steal what was left there. And then the beauty of breakfast turned into rotten mud. You felt so sad after that, but then you got happy. The other world preyed on you for that, followed by the rest of us being hunted. We have to confront the Fairy Court, wherever and whatever that is, or they won''t leave us alone..."

    Roxy leaned forward, wrapped her arm around Layla''s shoulder, and stroked her head through her slightly disheveled but still wonderfully curly golden honey blonde hair. Layla leaned into her and managed to breathe without crying. The old lady''s meal would make them feel better. Roxy was convinced of that. She had to believe it, for the sake of the others. Eugene backed her up, praising his mother''s cooking skills.

    Alyssa stepped through, pressing her stomach so tight that it practically seemed as if she wanted to pop her abdomen. Well, Roxy thought, at least Layla wasn''t alone in her quirky little shifting power. She never expected Alyssa to be the one who picked up such an ability too. Quite the peculiarity. Then others came down the stairs and through the door.

    Barry stood there in an unfamiliar jacket and long skirt, his blonde hair restored to its short, spiky length, his stubble reawakened, and an uncomfortable fear sprawled across his features. Now that was strange. But Barry only had the sight ability, so... standing behind them was an unfamiliar man with gray, almost white, hair.

    He was short and slender, evoking the prototype of a lady''s contours, but clearly in the mold of a man. He was wearing an awkward pink bathrobe that seemed both too tight for his form and desperately loose. Roxy had a few thoughts scratching through her head, and none of them were particularly pleasant. She avoided making assumptions, but Eugene quickly confirmed the boldest fear.

    "...Mom?!"

    The old man brushed his fluffy hair out of his eyes, looked kindly at Eugene in the same way as Maggie, and spoke with a voice almost unchanged from before: "Oh, honey. I never knew you would see this face of mine. I lost it a long time ago, when I wasn''t even a man and barely a boy. But here it is, and here lies my secret. They made me forget so many things."

    Eugene reeled, and it seemed like he would soon fall completely flat, joining them on the floor of contemplation and fear. Roxy just wanted to hug poor Barry, do whatever wouldn''t make Alyssa scratch and yowl at her like an angry cat, and soothe the dark, diminished gleam in the old lady''s eyes.

    If only one of them had come down like this, especially Alyssa, then she could have calmly blamed the monster-mashing regurgitation session on this result. But the fact that it was all of them up there made her legs freeze in place and not want to ascend. Funny, why wouldn''t she want to dive into the gleeful possibilities of returning to Joel form? She could blame her hosted friend, along with the sweet shower session, but it felt deeper and more complicated than that, something she''d probably have to work through eventually.

    Old man Maggie took a steadying breath and announced, "Dinner is ready. I hope you all can enjoy it, no matter what."

    That was an immense hope to hold onto, but Roxy knew that Maggie was an immense spirit. She just wanted to be as strong as her when she faced whatever it was that came for them next.

    Cautiously, the assemblage of broken people slowly rose up and shifted from their spots to face the maw of the secret door that was opened a slit. Miranda hung back, and Roxy didn''t blame her for her hesitation. If they all reverted to how they began this day, would that really be such a bad thing? The experience of being Roxy gave her a lot to chew on for the rest of her life, even if she would be a little bummed if she only got one turn at the unimaginable, mind-blasting ecstasy of crazy fairy stuff. She just wanted Jake to be all right.

    The plodding steps mounted steadily as they looped around the bedroom realm and entered the land of plenty, with sharp, enveloping meatloaf scents seemingly spiraling from all directions and corkscrewing into their nostrils. The old man settled into his familiar post as hostess, preparing all aspects of the table for their guests. Despite how rough and unfinished his form now felt, Roxy could still see the demeanor, body language, and exuberant energy that Maggie instilled in every moment, softly translated into joyful intention. It was beautiful, but also monumentally sad, like a priceless painting melted in the rain or slashed with a sinister knife.

    Alyssa beside her, tensed and relaxed like an engine struggling to start. She seemed more composed than she expected at a moment like this. She was trying to be her own inner glue. But it just seemed too painful for her. The faint, pale, doll-like girl struggled for the determination of words. Roxy wanted to hear them; she got no benefit from Alyssa at her weakest and worst, no comeuppance, or I told you so. It just hurt them all.

    "I''m sorry. I screwed up. I want things to be different. But I fell back into my old, broken self. Maybe I''m responsible for all of this; I don''t know. But I''m sorry for that too. I''ve said sorry so many times that it feels useless. I know that I shouldn''t just lean on apology. I need to do things differently to change what''s going on, to change how things are with all of us, and to move forward. I just don''t know how, I don''t know what to say, and I don''t know what''s necessary because me and my relationships just break before I can really repair them. I don''t want that to happen again. I want to be happy, and I want everyone else here to be happy too, in whatever way is best. That''s all there is. That''s all I have. I hope that makes sense." Alyssa leaned back in her chair with a deflating sigh, then corrected herself forward as her chair began to tip back.

 [45] Mystery Lake 45 â€“ Put Together

    Mystery Lake

    [45] Put Together

    That was a lot from Alyssa on top of everything else she was still working through in her mental backlog, but it was exactly what she was hoping to hear. Honestly, she would have been fine with just the first part, no need for the extended explanation, and even the bare-bones version would have been enough. It was progress; she didn''t want to diminish it in the least. Of course, her expectation for the next few minutes was to explode into a Joel mound of muscle, practically ripping this dress to pieces. Why not reconcile everything possible as if the world were about to explode? No need to hold onto grudges.

    Roxy replied, "It''s cool. I get you. I want to put as much of that behind us because there''s so much ahead of us that we need to talk about. Short version: Cerberus and his partner wanted to talk to me outside about some stuff, but I didn''t want to do it alone, so we went inside. Eugene and the big lady have an event tomorrow. I spoke to Cerberus, and my main takeaway is that he knows some scary shit and even scarier possibilities. I don''t know what his intentions are, but he didn''t hurt me. He caught a literal leprechaun who said he was the guardian of the lake, and now the big people in fairyland are after us, the good guys and the bad guys. What happened up here?"

    That was indeed the sharply truncated version of events, and Roxy knew she had to expound on all that, but all the Mayan crap the guy said, along with objects and memories, just weren''t there in her brain to properly untangle. Probably not her quiet companion''s fault, since this shit routinely happened minutes after the end of every college lecture.

    Alyssa let a fragile shadow of her stern frown waft in Roxy''s direction, but began the answer by explaining that this change, this setback, had occurred shortly after she had "spewed." Roxy considered smashing them together. But if this was Alyssa''s ability, it didn''t make sense to her that this reversion happened after using it just once. Surely she would be able to use it more than once.

    Maybe it wasn''t a fair comparison between slicing reality and melting a monster. One might require more energy than the other. Could Alyssa still summon the stuff? Not that she wanted a demonstration right now, but she was curious if the ability had gone away with the change.

    She put forth this possibility to the morose chick. Unwrapping her tummy from the tight bonds of her limbs, Alyssa at least understood, without being told, that trying it at the table was not a good idea. She had to turn around and reposition herself several times before she settled on the sink for this experiment. Old man Maggie gave her as much space as possible and cleared away the spices, utensils, and used bowls from dinner. This still didn''t seem like a good place to attempt this, considering they had just sat down to eat. Alyssa soon came to the same conclusion.

    Maggie offered up a large and luxurious towel for this experiment, along with a sheet to block out any unsettling imagery. The courtesy curtain turned out to be quite necessary, as an eruption of something between black hair and splattered midnight spaghetti sprayed into the sink but didn''t slow down like water, instead lingering more like a turbulent gas before dissipating away. It wasn''t as gross as Roxy feared, but it also wasn''t something she wanted to witness again either. Ever.

    At least this seemed to clearly prove that what happened to Alyssa/Ross was a repeatable phenomenon. She didn''t have this ability before what happened at the lake. Unfortunately, what amounted to Chiara/Barry''s ability required that leprechaun to see what could be his real face. If that was even how it worked. Roxy had a thought, though. She pressed her finger to her lips and asked Eugene to pull up their first effort at a photo.

    It still looked absolutely terrible and more like the worst, blurry, smudged Photoshop job from the bored recesses of the Internet than the real deal. As soon as Barry looked down at the image on the screen, his eyes widened. Without being told, he remarked on the color, structure, and minor details of the little man''s outfit with perfect accuracy to what they saw. The photo wasn''t the problem; he clearly had some kind of magic that obscured their perceptions. Although Roxy wondered if his annoyance with the physical photograph meant that his magic didn''t quite work as well on that form of media.

    Digging further, Eugene pulled out and dusted off what looked like a family photo album but actually contained the best examples of supposedly supernatural snapshots. Meanwhile, the old man made sure they were served dinner while it was still steaming hot. Roxy eagerly dug in, inhaling the meat as if it were the best, most dreamy opened-up sausage she had ever eaten, slathered in rich red ketchup.

    Barry''s magical eye managed to debunk several phonies, along with confirming questionable content as containing elements that no one else could see. These included surreal glows, features beyond suspicious shimmers, and details that sounded made-up, like ornate castles in the air. The strangest aspect was when Barry peered closely and caught peculiarities in otherwise normal images or those specifically marked for UFOs. The leprechaun''s flying saucer non-sequitur stuck with Roxy.

    Eugene wasn''t quite sure what to make of all this, but he added notes to follow up on the things that caught Barry''s eye. As a final confirmation, Layla summoned her concentration and fluidly demonstrated her girl and boy forms in measured succession so that she wouldn''t Charlie up her stomach just after starting dinner.

    What exactly all this proved wasn''t entirely clear to Roxy, but she felt like she could make the assumption that, despite some of them reverting back to their previous forms, the stranger effects they gained from the lake still remained. The old man settled into his chair and offered up the fact that he seemed to have retained his abilities as well. Specifically, the intuition, even though Roxy was still skeptical about its accuracy. Eugene took a careful breath. The poor guy wasn''t even close to being able to handle this. He said a private, quiet version of grace before digging into the meatloaf.

    Only after several minutes of quiet eating did the old man offer up what he had to say.

    "My memory was affected by whatever they did to me after the lake. I had inklings and rough spots that gave me a headache when I thought about them. But I can remember more now. My name used to be Quincy. I was quite young when it happened. Nothing special about it, just a walk in the woods that led me to the wrong place. Or they let me in. I don''t know for sure. My parents didn''t know any different, and they loved and lambasted me just the same. All of this doesn''t feel like me anymore, after decades of being my proper way. And it raises plenty of questions. How does this make any sense? I am a mother; I''ve always been a mother. I know who I am and who I am not. It''s a strange feeling, not of melancholy but of ridiculousness. Too late to change my wardrobe back".

    Everyone listened, but everyone also focused intently on their food as the old man''s words circulated in the air above them. Eugene squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that he must have seen stars. Layla bobbed with a level sense of calming optimism and quiet reserve. Barry looked like he was consuming those words as actively as his meal. Miranda wore what Roxy knew was her sternest expression as she cradled her massive softness with a protective arm that acted as a bulkhead. Jake alternated between holding Roxy''s left hand, eating, and adjusting his glasses, as if they were the real culprits of these melancholy events. With true clarity, all would be better again.

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    Alyssa paused between bites to check that she was still consuming real food and that she wasn''t being deceived once again. And Roxy found herself ''comforted'' by the inconstant companion, who wrapped her arms around her from behind, as if to pin her in place. They were so separate now, and Roxy didn''t know how to bring them back together or if they should be.

    The apology was helpful but full of meek hopes. Speaking to Layla was more of a mutual resignation than a strengthening of their resolve. Jake was there for her, and she was there for Jake, though she feared that they were each drifting apart on vast waters and neither could actually swim. No pulling one or the other to shore, just being cast into oblivion. Barry had returned to the saddest quo he expected. And Miranda was still practically trapped in the vault downstairs, as they all were, with no idea when the next monster would come or what it would bring.

    "Oh! Well, look at that..."

    Maggie''s voice. The old man sounded a lot like the woman she had been for most of her life, but this was not that voice; this was the voice they had been introduced to and were already so familiar with. Looking up confirmed this fact. Maggie was back, suddenly adjusting her clothes for comfort. Was it like Layla? Did she have the ability to go back and forth and bring herself back? If that was true, the old lady honestly had no idea. She was just thankful to be herself again.

    She remarked, "However, absence is a reminder I will try not to forget. Speaking of memory, mine feels sharper than ever; that blockage is now clearly removed. So I would like to think that this was a blessing rather than a curse. You have to see all aspects of yourself. The brightest light and the darkest shadow. Jung and all that, though it''s been a long time since I''ve read any of his work, I''m afraid. I wish I knew what exactly brought me back to myself so I could share it with all of you who are feeling so troubled, but I have no earthly idea."

    Roxy was also faced with the conundrum of what she was doing right to keep herself in this body when everyone else was bouncing all over the place. She accepted it and didn''t mind it, but if that was the controlling factor one way or the other, then it should have fled from her hours ago. Alyssa looked tortured, but then there didn''t seem to be many moments when she wasn''t. She worried about where the poor girl might go or what she might do next.

    But she just stayed there, sampling from her plate and searching within herself to tap into the same thing the old lady did. Whatever that was, if Roxy could be a positive example, then she offered herself up too, but she felt like she was somehow achieving success without doing anything. What could she do?...Her friend had to remind her.

    Joel¡­ didn''t let his complete transformation into a chick get him down. Joel, the courteous and cheerful cook, didn''t leave anyone out. Joel, the joker, who knew when a prank should begin and end appropriately. Joel, the maker of mistakes, who knew how to do his best and when to apologize. Joel the reader of deliriously silly romantic fiction that she could find captivating and ridiculous. Joel the protector who wouldn''t let anyone down. Joel the emotional shed tears whenever he or she needed to, because being a man wasn''t a matter of stone and fierceness; it was a man''s heart that cared about his feelings as much as he cared about himself and those around him.

    Her first move was to lean over and tease Jake about his rigid muscles and his tummy, which could''ve used a little plushing up. She didn''t quite lay out the matters of personal showers, but she sure hinted at her loved one''s skills. Jake wiggled a bit, but they soon got into animated discussions, with Roxy serving back the kind of complicated words that Jess so knowledgeably kept. Reminders of a recent test and the cheerful roasting of a tired professor finally brought a smile to the boy''s face.

    From there, she was off, and Layla got the most vigorous treatment to bring her smile back to acceptable heights. Puppets, lizards¡ªwhat did she think of that cat tail downstairs? She was supposed to swish it around and swing it like a prop, like the happiest appendage that could also swing forward. It didn''t take much, but the returns were so gleefully delightful.

    Even though she didn''t have a repertoire of experiences and points of interest to pull from, Eugene wasn''t left out of her efforts. She picked up the scrapbook and brought a kind of questionable humor to supernatural matters. It was also an easy target for her to weave in suggestions about how much bigger his lady girth would be than her pathetic pokies. He was slow to lift his spirits, but smiles soon peeked through his frowns.

    Barry responded to the old, familiar quips, especially the gross and goofy ones. Emphasizing that she was certain that careful cross-dressing could take her boy to the same beautiful precipice that this silly magic had ever reached was a difficult thread to weave in the face of the magically disappointed at the table, but she pushed forward without trying to overthink or even actually think about the points she was making. Barry was always a tough nut to crack, but reminding him of recent joys lifted his spirits.

    The old lady didn''t really need any help from her, but she was going to give it anyway, referring to the multitude of anecdotes that had been the antidotes for them.

    Miranda¡­ cinematic. She unfurled tropes like weapons against sadness. That leprechaun bastard tried to double up her. He thought he could sneak around in her skin. Obviously, this bugger found her to be a choice pick. And Miranda made an epic, romantic, and deep dive drop into the water. That doesn''t just stop. That wouldn''t make any sense. She had something big in store. She may be quiet, but watch out for the quiet ones, as she said without dropping the details of what Miranda did on the pier. And the playful calisthenics in the dorm; the time they burned a lot of turkey; the snake mistake steak. The things that she could always wield to lift her dormmate''s... her friend''s spirit.

    And so, she was left with the greatest challenge of all. The girl she had so much trouble with and who had troubled her so much. Go for the big guns. She thanked her for so many assists, for saving them when no one else could, for persevering, and for playing along with the craziest things she came up with. For so many things. And then she turned it up, looking for those lovely vampire sparkles, imagining a gruff growl and high-pitched squeal competition between her and Rydia, pumping iron lessons she would have to give no matter what body she brought to the gym, and princess dances. Roxy was a princess, so she would have to teach the big boy and the little queen princess dances.

    "...Stop...please..."

    Roxy leaned back. She messed it up. Darn. Take it easy; don''t push so...

    Then, she realized that Alyssa was actually stifling a giggle as she softly added, "I''ll pee myself if you don''t...hehehee..."

    With unbridled necessity, she giggled over and over, and Roxy joined in. Soon, however, strings of tears replaced the laughter, but they didn''t feel sad; they felt like relief. And as things started to cool, Roxy saw expressed by Alyssa the one thing she had never expected the girl would sincerely share with her¡ªa true, warm smile.

 [46] Mystery Lake 46 â€“ Breakthrough

    Mystery Lake

    [46] Breakthrough

    With everyone''s tension mercifully easing despite the setbacks and lingering anxieties, questions that had been glossed over were asked and answered.

    Eugene''s mom launched into full-blown, probing curiosity about this mysterious Rydia who had captured her son''s heart. He scribbled vague verbal details about her. She was tall, muscular, poised, protective, demure, intimidating, and sweet. Roxy didn''t agree with all those specifics, but love can see what it likes. The old lady lamented that she didn''t get to meet the girl and made her son promise to bring her over after lunch so that she could get to know her properly.

    The details of the ''lubrican'' needed discussion. Roxy entertained the possibility that the entity could have been responsible for the reversions. It would have had to be hanging around for a while for the timeline to line up. She hadn''t gotten any hints that such actions were possible for it. It sure seemed like the kind of creature that would brag about it. The way it idolized her might work to explain why she was excluded from any transformational consequences. As the supposed guardian of the mystical lake, it might have abilities they didn''t understand. Still wild speculation.

    The old lady made sure they had as many servings of the massive meatloaf as they could possibly want. There was plenty of it to go around. Mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables rounded out the rest of the dinner, along with rolls, pudding, and a tray of butter that was passed around.

    Joel had always been a big meat eater, and Jess could pack away plenty too. She would have thought that Alyssa wasn''t so much of one, but after the diner situation, she went straight for meat and noodles. And she was getting through the dinner eagerly.

    It wasn''t easy for Roxy to keep up the animated mood for everyone. Fortunately, smiles had momentum, and they fed off each other. Alyssa found herself sweating and made sure to get paper towels from the counter before the old lady got up. She did a few small exercises to stretch and relax. Maggie wasn''t at all skilled in mesmerism like her husband, but she could lead meditation in a calm voice for those who needed it after supper. Alyssa eagerly took her up on this offer.

    Barry was curious about the prospect but not very committed. Layla''s residual enthusiasm helped push them in the right direction. Despite trying on smiles and being warmed by Roxy''s mood in the familiar Joel way, she could tell that her roommate was still muted in his overall presence. The food was a pleasant distraction, and the cheerful conversation was another layer of that. Beneath it all, so many worries flooded his mind. Roxy could tell. Barry did not handle the unexpected well.

    Being Chiara had already settled into his routine, along with Layla leaning close to him. He had such tense problems when it came to girls, but being one himself bridged the gap and offered a translation. At least in Barry''s mind. Roxy honestly didn''t think it was such a big deal. Granted, she had traversed the greatest psychological distance, but that was in no small part due to accidentally inhaling some legendary fairy princess and playing host to her. Shower time had altered a lot of things for her, but it was hard to separate that from all the fairy confusion. Had she been shy and demure because of the endorphins flooding her body to make her compliant to fairy sex orgies, because it activated something in her, or for other reasons?

    She couldn''t be particularly reflective because she had to keep up the appearance of cheerfulness for the group. It felt like trying to drag an elephant across a field of gelatin. Exhaustion. She just couldn''t keep up with it anymore. The last gasp of being a clown for the sake of the others had been used up. It did the trick, but now she needed to eat, probably take another nice shower, and curl up in those blankets, and let some real sleep happen instead of just a snoozing appetizer.

    Layla tried on Brock mode around Barry, in the pleasant smiling form of hopeful encouragement. He really needed stretchier clothes, but he managed. Barry didn''t have a resounding sexuality. Roxy didn''t think he was asexual. Joel thought that Duncan more so hinted at that possibility, but Miranda demonstrated that it wasn''t a permanent state. So, her assumptions about others probably didn''t count for much.

    Jake found just the right spot to rub near her shoulder as she wobbled lightly in the chair. She wanted his hands to go lower. Maybe right before bed. At least the walls seemed to be decently reinforced. Eugene ate the slowest, even though it was clear he enjoyed his mother''s meal.

    He probed about the specifics of the change, not wanting to deflate the buoyed mood around the table but curious to understand it. Alyssa relayed that she was the first to change while still downstairs near the vault, with Miranda comforting, hugging, and encouraging her. This piece of information seemed to disprove that Alyssa, or her ability could have something to do with it. Melting monsters, but not their change. A residual effect from those creatures also seemed to be ruled out, as they would have been equally affected as well, and Roxy even more so due to her proximity to them before they retreated.

    Alyssa described a conspicuous lull after her reversion. She trudged up the stairs with renewed determination, no matter how she looked. The first encounter was with Maggie, who was preparing this supper, and Chiara in her familiar spot as cook''s assistant. No oddities popped up or remained in any of their thoughts about these particular moments. The others were alarmed to see Alyssa back and in need of a better-fitting change of clothes, but cautiously so for the moment. Chiara vacillated between throwing herself into food prep, washing her hands with both the coldest and hottest streams available from the sink, and rubbing her fingers like a desperate nervous tick until they started to hurt.

    Miranda seemed to show some nervousness in the midst of her support, but it translated into hugs and standing still. Roxy knew that Duncan liked to wander around his high school campus, starting in his junior year. Duncan would take lunch. And just make idle orbits. He said that he liked to watch people and take in the experience, like a neutral camera eye, observing so many things without judgment. Roxy knew that such a perspective was impossible and silly, but she just listened as Duncan recounted it. Separation, isolation, and dulling.

    How strange that Duncan and Miranda could present themselves as leaders and play that role when they would have been just fine as part of the unseen and anonymous background. The key difference between Barry and Duncan was that Duncan could look perfectly normal even when he was achingly alone, while Barry wore all those feelings clear and close to the surface. No wonder he fit so well with Layla. They were both simple hearts with clear truths.

    Alyssa and Duncan stuffed their truths inside, desperate to free themselves from so much pain. She and Jake were all about fixing things. Taking an active role, not holding back, though they differed greatly in shades of thoughtful and emotional. Crap¡­ The old lady''s intuition was probably on the money. She didn''t see how she was romantic, though. Romantic implies a certain idealism, right? Maybe she had that inside her, but it''s difficult to really pull it out in a way that makes sense.

    She stuffed herself quite happily. The meal had no fluff or breadcrumb bulking. It genuinely filled her up with well-cooked meat. She tended to her own dishes and the dishes of those immediately next to her, even though the old woman assured her that she didn''t have to worry about that. The others soon joined in to do their part, rinsing and making sure that no food got dried on. It was all so mundane.

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    It would have been easy at that moment to believe that they hadn''t recently been visited by creatures, both mythical and terrifying. That it was just a fanciful anecdote to be passed around and easily forgotten. But the melancholy remained, despite the helpful and friendly boosts. Magic filled the wide gaps. The world was normal, and yet it might never be so again.

    Much was shared, but catching up took even more. Details. The odd things that the little man said, implied, and left unspoken. Fairies would be after them for everything they had done and everything they might do. More and worse were coming, and they would have to do what they could. Everything that was supposed to work had basically already been done. They could just pile on more charms, horseshoes, and inversions of their clothes, but if it didn''t work already, there was really no guarantee that it would work in the long run.

    Miranda half-heartedly raised her hand to speak before bringing it down. She looked like she''d been chewing on a question, or something like it, for so long that it had lost all of its flavor.

    "I''m sure it''s in my notes since we talked about it in the car, but what''s the deal with names and fairies, and why haven''t the fairies we''ve known brought it up? Granted, that didn''t even really occur to me until after I took everyone''s notes about fairies, and I couldn''t think of a good time to bring it up. But isn''t that one of the big things that fairies are associated with? Changelings too. They want what humans have and will take their names if you happen to share them with the wrong group. Does that sound right?"

    Roxy assumed that Miranda had it right. None of the fairies had asked them for their names or even broached the subject. It was all about physically eating them, taking other things from them, or getting revenge for some perceived slight. Now that she thought about it, though, it occurred to her that Cerberus was actually the one who was most interested in their names. If only he were still around, she could ask if there was anything to it. They had only given him their chosen names, not their birth names. Did that matter either way? Did it work like an alias? If they gave out their real names, would that be a bad thing?

    Miranda''s proposed notion made them all think about the recent events, even though there didn''t seem to be much time for reflection lately.

    Released from dinner, they congregated in the main living room area as the old lady worked with each of them to set up small, comfortable meditation spots all over the floor. With a perfectly positioned pillow, Roxy''s mind wasn''t so much on creating Zen as drifting into the nearest nap. She wobbled in place and let her head sink before launching up to catch a vague state of wakefulness.

    Maggie urged her to use the long couch instead, and she eagerly crawled onto it in compact form, dragging her pillow and clinging to the nearest blanket. Jake positioned himself nearby so that he could easily reach over and squeeze her hand or even brush her hair if he turned around. Roxy was only vaguely aware of this as she sniffled lightly and sank into her post-meal nap.

    The old woman''s soothing instructions did reach her, but they were more of a distant, cheerful broadcast than a set of instructions that worked their way into her brain. Breathing, tensing, and relaxing, followed by gentle rotations and a subtle back and forth.

    Observe your body, relax your body, and know that your body is always changing. Roxy made sure her butt was facing the deepest part of the cushion and stealthily let out a long, relaxing, silent fart. Perfectly controlled, like a maneuvering jet in the void of space in a space movie. She didn''t even smell anything.

    Back in high school, Joel would often release gas quietly and then wait to see the results. The problem always was that he would wind up with a telling chuckle as soon as his nearest neighbor curled their face up in a sour look. This time, she could imagine Alyssa sitting down on the couch later and detecting the phantom leftovers. Poor Alyssa.

    A part of her delighted in all this. And her princess pal didn''t scoff at it. Of course, a lady like that couldn''t publicly proclaim her approval of tooting, but the amusement was still palpable. She drifted around these idle, bubbling waters as waves of restful drowsiness pulled her along.

    Barry whispered something like a weak plea that almost made Roxy sit up in concern. She knew moments like this. Barry was painfully sincere. He just wanted to be happy, not be alone. A lot to share with someone like Joel at the time. The big guy didn''t know what to do with it. He urged his roommate to work out, to stay active, and to think more about himself so that he could bolster his confidence. The guy remained more like a statue through all these prospects, as if he were being asked to take up Mount Everest. Agreement but uncertainty about how he was supposed to tackle it.

    Back in the moment, a quiet calm settled around Barry, even as his stomach worked to digest dinner. What could she possibly say to him that would lift him out of this familiar, mopey mood? You aren''t alone. As for happiness, there is just the pursuit, and you need to chase it down. Fun little quips, but lacking in practical prospects.

    Roxy knew that you could fake happiness until it takes proper root. Wear a smile until it settles into your skin and your soul. And then find renewed happiness in the people and places that helped the most. She couldn''t communicate this to Barry because just saying it never worked, especially at this moment when her body felt more like a listless, weighted blanket.

    "Whoa, what the..." That stumbling note of surprise almost jolted Roxy out of her restful position. It was enough to get her eyes opened and her arms braced against the cushions. Sitting comfortably on the floor next to Layla was Chiara, her clothes disheveled in a phantom-like fashion. It worked... Although Roxy felt that whatever had happened still didn''t make sense.

    And that left Alyssa sitting there with her jaw tight, clearly nervously anticipating whatever epiphany might bring Ross back as well. But that wasn''t all.

    It took the group several lingering moments to realize that Miranda wasn''t with them. Instead, a subdued and uncertain second Roxy sat in her place, scrutinizing her tanned hands as she looked around at the others. Judging by the fact that she was wearing the same clothes as Miranda, the doppelganger''s identity didn''t seem too challenging to guess.

    Still, the original Roxy and others wafted the name Miranda at her. Roxy''s twin straightened and drew in a nervous breath before subtly nodding.

    More powers, Roxy had to assume. Barry first with supernatural sight, then her with whatever was going on with this barely communicative companion, but more the ability to cut worlds open with a slice of her hand. Possibly Layla swiftly shifting back and forth. Alyssa''s expulsions. The old lady''s intuitions. And now Miranda looking like her and leaving whatever ''gift'' Jake was supposed to get unknown.

    No wonder two different fairy kingdoms had a beef with them. A little dip or splash in a lake, and not only had they changed so much, but they also had powers they could never have imagined before.

 [47] Mystery Lake 47 â€“ Just Rest

    Mystery Lake

    [47] Just Rest

    Miranda was already taking a personal reflection of recent minutes and what might have caused her transfiguration. Roxy found it surreal to hear the girl using a version of her voice with the presence and cadence of Duncan.

    She rambled through half-saved thoughts, like fragments of flipping through random channels in search of coherence. Flowers, sandstorms, underground tunnels, a long massage, needing to pee. Really needing to pee. Miranda held onto this last note as she nervously stood on Roxy''s legs and asked to use the bathroom.

    When she returned, still looking as if she hadn''t quite finished, Miranda rubbed her arms around every uncertain sliver of exposed flesh. She looked at Roxy nervously, as if she had somehow borrowed her body and wasn''t quite sure how to be the best caretaker. Not that she had much advice to offer; she only had a few hours head start.

    The good news was that Miranda as her still basically fit into the flexible outfit the girl squeezed into. It was much looser in comparison, but also tight in places. At least she hadn''t meditated into one of the boys. It didn''t take long for Miranda to come up with the same assumption as Roxy, speaking in a blended voice. She invoked Mystique of comic book lore from her perspective and movies from years ago for Roxy. At least she didn''t need to be a Smurf thing.

    Miranda laid back on her pillow in a relaxed position and shut her eyes. The old lady retraced the meditative steps, and Miranda swallowed and nodded. It made sense to Roxy that whatever had happened should be reversible. If it wasn''t, then Cerberus would have to do some extra work creating an identity for her sudden twin sister. Not an awful prospect. Their dorm had a rotating roster of other roommates, ranging from Russian exchange students to short-term basketball guys to future engineers who might say five words the entire time they were there.

    Fortunately, they weren''t forced to face that prospect, for in another blink of an eye, Miranda was back to her busty, big-breasted, pale-skinned self. She looked relieved for a few seconds before her mouth shot open in tense agony.

    "Ohhhh, ohhh, cripes. Not good. Not good at all. I feel like my entire body has a blinding muscle stitch. Every muscle." Miranda was on the verge of hyperventilating as her eyes watered. The old lady scooted closer and gently encouraged her to calm down with breathing and gentle rubbing. She explained that her intuition sometimes also triggered pain like that.

    Eugene, who had been watching the surprise transformation intently, fetched a spare blanket for Miranda to wrap around her body. Her continued grimace showed that she was struggling through it. It took several minutes for her breathing to return to normal and for her to settle back into a sitting position.

    "I''ve felt worse pain, but not to such an all-consuming degree. That was... unpleasant. Like getting needles all over every inch of my body, and they weren''t for acupuncture. I''m gonna need to lie down. At least I''m m... Miranda again. Cool ability. Lousy side effects. Maybe it just needs more of a lag time between uses. I''ll have to test it again and rule things in and out without tempting all of that a second time." She gently massaged her body and winced. Alyssa came over to sit with her.

    It shouldn''t have come as a surprise to Roxy that total physical transformations had consequences, as Layla felt nauseous. She sat up slightly, not much recovered, but figured real rest wouldn''t come for a while. Eugene didn''t reach for his phone to document this. The old lady sat with Miranda, checking to see if she needed anything, like a heating pad for the pain. She shifted her head a few times before finally nodding.

    Chiara''s change back had been largely ignored after the crazy situation with Miranda, which was probably what Barry preferred. The old lady got Chiara a comfortable jacket without skipping a beat while looking after Miranda and her other guests. The spring evening had shifted between mildly warm and sharply icy. That shouldn''t have bothered Roxy in the least. But despite the softer, plush quality of her body, it felt instead like the weather shot right through her flesh as if the fat was nothing at all. She needed as much blanket as possible. And sleep promptly.

    Most of the problems around the room had been solved. Barry was back to the girlish contours that felt most familiar now. Miranda had undergone a test without ever leaving the comfortable confines of girlish possibility. In fact, her pain seemed more like a pronounced lesson in the kind of monthly muscle cramps, bloating, and pelvic poop feeling Roxy had documented from Jess''s side, with no intention of ever sharing in the same. She wondered if this lull was actually a first wave of unfriendly symptoms. At least she had done her part before she conked and clocked out. Even Alyssa still seemed bolstered, despite being left behind in her lesser vampire kin shape.

    Explanations as to why Miranda had awakened to her current capabilities lay far from Roxy''s thoughts. She was so well wrapped up that even the closest contact still felt light years away. The old lady casually continued her meditation lesson with Alyssa as the primary student left behind. No miraculous, spontaneous poof epiphanies occurred, but the withdrawn girl still seemed better off for the moments of mental alignment.

    The evening settled in around them as the sounds of the modest town center whispered around the edges of the bricks like a far-off lullaby. So many places in this little thoroughfare caught their eye when they arrived. All of them were still so tempting and tantalizing, but all the weights were finally catching up. Even vibrant Layla drifted next to recharged Chiara, their wobbly weight barely balanced against each other. They were about to plop down together on the wooden floor. Jake boldly adjusted his shoulders and propped up his bulk with all his helpful intent focused on Roxy. It appeared that Miranda was coming out of the worst of the painful spell, but it had also drained her, and she now looked ready for a long soaking bath or steaming shower.

    The old lady could read the room and informed them that there were three showers available amidst the spare bedrooms. One for each couple to share and not have to worry about her and her son. Roxy had had her shower quota but still felt like she could eagerly partake. Alyssa let go of her meditation ambitions and threw a loaner towel over her shoulder. Pajamas hadn''t been a primary item to pack for the sake of camping, but the mass of reshuffled clothes offered a few possibilities. Alyssa lost most of her cares about her old wardrobe. It was communal now.

    Although the rest of the saved water was not far away, Eugene''s ambitions for it sharply receded. Perhaps, Roxy surmised, he had come to the obvious conclusion that for all the possibilities contained within the liquid, there was also the problem and complexity of dealing with those damn fairies and what they might do to his mind, at least. Instead, he focused on the paranormal shots that Barry had singled out for one reason or another.

    Layla and Chiara left together with a single towel, joining them as practically twins. Jake had the same smiling ambition, and Roxy couldn''t possibly deny him. They returned to the same bedroom that she had snuggled up in for her brief respite nap. Jake settled on the cushion to test its comfort and was soon ensnared by its softness.

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    His eyes drifted closed, but he still curled up against her. Kissing him lightly all over his face, Roxy rubbed the tender spots all over his broad and hardened form. She found a place on his shoulder that responded to slow circles applied by the side of her thumb. Her poor boy drooped as all that tension and ache drained out.

    When she was done, he wouldn''t let her go. It was her turn after all. Her body was crunchy in all the ways that responded to a massage after a long exercise session. The difference now was that instead of Jess''s enthusiastic but limited push and pull, Roxy felt like pounded pizza dough being twisted, pulled, and flipped in the metaphorical air. It was actually quite nice, and she went along with it.

    Soon, Jake''s hands found certain, familiar places to play and probe. Without the veil of flowing water, all of Roxy''s tender flesh felt like a screaming cauldron. Ravenously, she wanted to get the last tickling mystery over with, to merge and slide herself around the fresh puzzle piece of Jake. But it was simply too much for her body and soul.

    Once again, the intimate contact felt like blasting an electrical socket. With the addition of walls that were plenty thick, but probably nowhere near thick enough for this, she held back. Besides, if she got half paralyzed again, it would be an ordeal to wash up afterward. But Jake wasn''t going to let her go. He stayed close and tickled her all over, teasing her near the explosive, dangerous zone.

    They showered together, just like last time, but it was more of a careful dance than a deep exploration. Still, Roxy found that the gentle play still took her to ambitious heights and filled her with transcendent feelings. Most of this was probably due to the fact that they were fiddling with the placement of her key and lock. The least ambiguous probing.

    It didn''t matter to Roxy that Jake''s most masculine aspect was chasing her most feminine one. Yesterday, Joel would have had a lot to say. Tonight, Joel''s voice was transformed into mounting gasps and pleading whimpers, not quite indulged. They traced around the same warm threshold that Miranda had taken with Ross, and then some. So close¡ªjust a hair''s breadth away. The persistent teasing actually sapped her strength more than crossing that boundary likely would''ve done. She had a few ways to keep herself on her feet.

    They both found completion in their contact without pushing past the final barrier. They didn''t fuck all the way. Such a crude and succinct way to put it, Roxy preferred the flowery twists and turns winding their way through her thoughts. In a way, she felt like she was losing touch with herself, even though she was completely there. Her friend, the possible princess, if she believed that little guy, didn''t feel overbearing or controlling. She still seemed to be there, but perhaps just as exhausted as Roxy from all of this.

    Bright and cheerful sentiments wafted between them. Roxy clung to Jake out of weakened necessity but also because she wanted to be there. Whatever hangups or distances the lessons and programming of a properly masculine, lady-loving life told Joel what he should''ve felt, they were far abandoned and faint reminders. Spooning with Jake felt just as natural as any intimate time with Jess. The abundant strength but also gentleness that surrounded them was the main difference from those past times, but it remained part of a single continuity of love and protection. Classic Lenny Kravitz songs fluttered through her head as the energy of the day wound down.

    Jake was deeply asleep before her, and she stroked his soft hair. The others had all said their goodnights before slipping into their showers, but she still wondered how the deepening evening was treating them. Layla and Chiara were knit back together after the fraying of Barry. Would they find the same ambitious heights and depths to which Roxy had been taken, and would poor Chiara still be fumbling to find her feet even when morning rolled around? Miranda didn''t deserve the flare of mimicry transformation pain that came with useless legs.

    Allowing everything to relax against the yielding comfort of the pillows, Roxy found herself drifting off, though more like being carried to a destination. When she arrived, it was like walking into a theater where a banging, screaming movie was already well underway. She couldn''t put it all together, but it was clear that something was wrong. The hero ran through dark and glittering corridors, like rough mines with rounded edges.

    The walls didn''t feel like stone, though. They were something else, something worse. A pervasive sickness gripped her like a tight band, and she refused to let go. As the character on the screen dashed between dimly lit passageways, she felt herself becoming winded in unison. The tight and twisting turbulence in her stomach was barely contained.

    Marching echoed behind her. Her hands were bleeding. They trembled and clawed for any hold they could get. Throbbing pain surged everywhere as her legs finally gave out from under her. Down, she had to get down, into the shadows, into the dark; maybe she could hide. But there wasn''t enough¡ªnot nearly enough to obscure her form. And there were too many coming¡ªtoo many screaming voices. It didn''t even feel like her feet were beneath her anymore, but somehow she managed to run, pressing against the slippery, treacherous earth. The world hurt so much, and the worst pain throbbed in her heart without a name to give it. No time for tears to flow; that was just wasted energy.

    She had to keep going, but she couldn''t. Too tired, too exhausted, dwindling away. The shadows swarmed over her, and what held her form together melted like ice on the hottest summer day. She screamed, and they laughed, and she begged for a name that died on her tongue. They lifted her up and dropped her down. Sunlight, darkness, cold and hot, and twisting and screaming in all directions. She wasn''t alone, and yet every adjacent inch was filled with the hopes and fears of countless others. A prison, a torture chamber, a sex den, oblivion. No coming back.

    But then, hands lifted her out, a familiar presence beating with a brave heart. Who was it? She knew them. Who was Alyssa? That wasn''t her name. Freedom filled her, hope renewed, and home. She was so close to being back home. A caress, an embrace, and slipping inside.

 [48] Mystery Lake 48 â€“ Break Fast

    Mystery Lake

    [48] Break Fast

    Joel''s sleep schedule had already been wrecked by college. A smattering of late classes mixed with very early ones, along with trying to match up with Jess''s schedule as well. And plenty of late nights that were definitely on him because of a random YouTube find or some other relaxing distraction. Sleeping a full eight hours or more was not even a luxury of weekends or most breaks lately. Even those scant hours were destined to vanish as soon as he found work between classes. Jess advised him to avoid that extra load until next semester.

    Despite the yielding, body-consuming comfort of the pillow and the sheets, Roxy still found stiff crunchies in her neck when she fluttered open her eyes. These were followed by the sensations of absolute tenderizing all through her. Yesterday had beat the crap out of her, from the emotional to the physical. She was hesitant to lift herself out of the sheets and peel her way back into another day. The fairy bastards were just gonna throw more at them¡ªprobably worse, probably more than any of them could handle together. An inevitable dog pile of those assholes. Just try to get some more sleep, but she was awake, and the storm of thoughts building up around her head wouldn''t let her just sleep in ignorance.

    Joel found it sharply silly to listen to people his age and younger complaining as if they were already halfway into the living tomb of a nursing home. How were they ever going to survive the rest of their lives? This morning, Roxy felt at least some shade of that sentiment, even though she knew she would recover. Can''t complain about it, just have to press on.

    More of her body popped than she ever expected to feel shifting. It was cold away from the sheets and the cozy comfort of snoozing Jake. She didn''t wanna let go, but she really had to pee, practically as bad as Rydia claimed. Hopefully her kidneys and bladder and whatever else weren''t converting anything living, undead, or fantastical into her piss. She rotated her head around a few times and felt some of the feminine mystique slough off with the dried spit and weird boob ache that clung to her.

    A truly epic, multi-layered, multi-toned, prolonged belch announced the final ghosts of last night''s marvelous meatloaf. Still not enough to wake up Jake, fortunately. He deserved as much rest and separation from the torments of their trip as possible. At least his expression was calm and serene. Hopefully no secret signs of nightmares.

    Roxy tried to cling to and disentangle herself from the threads linking her to dreamtime thoughts. Running, caves, being attacked, and then a snippet of what happened at the lake. She could surmise that this was supposed to be something sent by her mysterious friend. Princess Asha something, according to the lubricated leprechaun.

    But she had no idea what this cryptic message was supposed to say or signify. Maybe it wasn''t even intended for her, but the princess lady also fell asleep and had her own nightmare, which carried through their combined unconscious. Nothing more than that. If that was anywhere close or far from the mark, her currently quiet companion didn''t elaborate.

    Roxy''s ankles gave regular pops, as if that were their primary purpose rather than holding her up. Proper amounts of stretching soon silenced their complaints. Despite all these battle scars, Roxy would say she felt good, especially if that reassured the others'' concerns about her.

    Going through the morning routine helped drag her back to normalcy. She sympathized with the Jess of the past who lamented Joel''s affections before she showered and took care of everything else. Looking at herself made everything feel gross and awful. This girl was a wreck. At least brush her hair out; at least let her shower a bit; at least let her pee; at least do some good tooth brushing with the cheapie toothbrush Joel brought with him in case it got lost.

    At least let the early hour slip away and let some dignity fill its space. The most horrifying part was discovering secret blemishes, irritations, and even pimples that marred her tinted skin. If she got splashed again with the remaining lake water, would that be like a reset button for all the alarming decay she accumulated in just a few hours of sleep? Probably not worth the consequences, but then she already double-dipped when she saved Jake from the water.

    Eventually, Jake went through the same early wake-up routine she had. She greeted his progress with mint-toothpaste kisses. Jake had the same concerns she did about how gross his mouth and body felt, though Roxy tried to play it off as sexy to a skeptical frown from Jake. Her boy managed a restrained but prolonged belch of his own, bringing a glow of embarrassment to his features. Roxy had to grade her on a masculine curve compared to her usual, slightly inflated numbers as a girl. Jake protested with a pout but promised to work on a better one soon.

    They orbited around in the bathroom and shared the shower, but without the intimate probing of last night. Jake opted for gray pants and a yellow top despite the clashing coordination, noting that it was the most comfortable of the options left by the communal clothes pile.

    Roxy considered wearing the dress a second day, especially since the old lady promised that they could wash anything they wanted in their utilities. But it carried more than just traces of dirt and grime from the day past. Something fresh was needed¡ªsomething that hinted at better times to come. She sifted through what was there for inspiration.

    Plenty of things offered possibilities in combination. The pinks and creams were a friendlier lot than she would''ve expected earlier. Instead of colors and styles, she focused on textures and feelings. And that led her to a very specific combination of a mossy green tank top style outfit but with extended sleeves. It probably had some fashiony assony name. This was good enough for her.

    A rather rugged and extended pair of shorts paired well with it, along with black leggings. The morning felt so chilly that Roxy wanted a little guarantee of warmth. Wearing girl''s clothes didn''t bother her in the least. Seeing the shape of her groin before sliding up the shorts didn''t stress her out. This was just as much Joel as Roxy happened to be.

    It was a weird hoop to slip her mind through, but the different contours of thought didn''t even occur to her until she really focused on it. The way she talked to herself and used words in her head was another obvious difference, but that didn''t bother her either.

    What did bother her? That these fairy fucks were going after people she cared about. That they might not stop for any reason except the end of them. That she couldn''t do much more than cut holes in reality and throw things in them. The princess summoned something after the trucker bastard, but she didn''t reveal what it was or how Roxy could beckon it as well. Lamp shading this with conspicuous thoughts did not open her up.

    With Roxy, though, she wondered what breakfast might be before the momentous lunch date. Her friend also played along with the prospect of a double date with Jake and maybe one of the other couples so that Rydia wouldn''t feel lonely. Although Roxy noted that perhaps privacy would be their preference.

    That didn''t mean that they couldn''t explore downtown; everyone seemed to have their favorite little businesses they wanted to check out during daytime hours, except for Roxy. Maybe she could find something suitable.

    Joel had never been too keen on shopping; it was an obligation and a necessity. Get groceries, make sure you have new clothes, pick up whatever else you need, and that was it. Joel understood from Jess that shopping could be social¡ªroaming around with someone else, talking about their interests, seeing what style appealed to them, filling some free time, and having some fun. He had a good time with her, but then he could have a good time anywhere when it came to Jess or Jake.

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    This morning found Eugene propped up at the kitchen table as if he had been left there the whole night long. He promised that he had actually gotten a couple hours of sleep. More than two at a stretch. Which was good because he did take naps, as they well knew. He had a lustrous brown suit hanging on the wall with a silver bowtie. His hair looked as if he had made an earnest effort to comb out the wild silver streams before binding them tightly behind him. He checked it every few seconds to make sure it was still neat, or at least still there on his head.

    He also unnecessarily checked his phone''s every messaging service possible, even though no new notifications showed up nor did any sounds or signals. It was quietly endearing to see him so flustered. Roxy generally hoped that the big lady treated him right. They knew so little about that mysterious duo. They had no guarantee that they would even show up again, let alone at the agreed-upon time and place. If that happened, Roxy made a private promise to herself that she would take the guy out on a date.

    Jake would understand. Also, it occurred to her that she was wearing a combination of clothes surrendered by Alyssa for the sake of the group. That was not her intention. The fit and overall size led her to that intuition, and the muted tones ruled out Layla as the provider. And a casual awareness of Jess''s wardrobe meant that it couldn''t be hers either. Hours ago, showcasing all that on her body would''ve been a dangerous choice; maybe it still was, but she hoped that the girl''s response would be closer to subdued feelings of flattery than anything else. Maybe a bit too optimistic, but she really didn''t want to plop back to square one.

    Alyssa, however, was still asleep. It was early, though not earlier than when Duncan had introduced them to his wild plans. Of course, Miranda was already up with a mug of foamy hot chocolate while the Tritons were sipping from steaming mugs of coffee. The busty brunette had on something that looked adventurous yet feisty and traditional. It was an easy guess for Roxy that it came from Maggie''s closet.

    Layla had a small, weathered puppet perched on her shoulder like a ceased-to-be parrot, flopping and shifting around with her every move. Despite the condition of her cohort, she carefully corrected it and kept it in place without falling off. Chiara had been put to work summoning ingredients from a large pantry and organizing them according to the old lady''s requests, even though it seemed that Chiara had been the one to request this duty. That gelled with how exuberant Barry was around the dorm to organize the spices and sift through the fridge at the end of each week.

    Roxy provided the entertainment for the setting, making much of her ensemble and appreciating what tights could do. She did her best to relieve the stress that poor Eugene was under. She could hear his stomach gurgles from halfway across the kitchen. She offered up her phone playlist for casual morning listening, and the old lady deftly synced it with a device in the living room area. The speakers weren''t evenly distributed, and some of them were downstairs, playing to an audience of none before opening time, but Roxy''s quickly curated, mellow set provided a pleasant background melody that everyone approved of. And now she had something to offer car playback later.

    In between the semi-coordination of breakfast, Miranda teased and tried to hint at her desire to see if her mimicry ability allowed her to consciously choose who to pattern herself after. It seemed quite obvious to Roxy that she was alluding to taking after Alyssa. Probably the best bet. However, Roxy could envision a multitude of ways that could backfire. This was supposed to be a new, nicer, and happier Alyssa, but none of that felt guaranteed. The girl would probably have been better off with Chiara''s subdued flavor instead. Roxy considered just telling her that, but the enthusiasm on the girl''s face for the challenge made her hold back.

    When the moment came, Alyssa crawled out of her bedroom area, lightly shared with Miranda, to witness so much attention focused on her. Her clothes were worn. Miranda murmured about her splendid qualities. Warm faces welcoming her, and more. It should have been nice; it should have all been a boost, but Roxy was beginning to understand the solitary cat-like qualities of the girl. She tried to smile in the same way she had done with Roxy''s jokes. But it faltered and fell into jagged unease. She didn''t get mad, she didn''t shout, and she didn''t tell them to get out. She just left, hurrying to the basement and the vault. Shit. Setbacks.

    Roxy knew she needed time, but Jake was already making plans to check in on her. It likely wouldn''t help, but she wasn''t going to shoot it down. Alyssa would probably come back up when she smelled breakfast. She couldn''t stress about that.

    But Alyssa stayed down there all alone for a while. Well, Miranda made a trek to the basement, but she returned shortly thereafter with not much to say. Not very encouraging.

    Breakfast was set out with Layla still balancing her little shoulder friend. Unfortunately, she misjudged her position when placing the ketchup, salt, syrup, and other condiments. The little thing somersaulted forward onto the table. Instead of flopping down in something messy, it landed right on its feet like a little acrobat.

    Roxy was amused by the coincidence, but then she frowned as the little puppet straightened up all by itself, stretched its arms and legs, and waved at the group. Her first instinct was to swat it off the table with her hand, worrying that it was another nasty sent by those who wanted to do them in. But Layla soon explained.

    "I found out that I have an ability. Different than the one everyone thought I did. I can go back and forth, but I can also control these little guys. My little friends. It''s gonna be hard to explain to the theater department, but I guess I could just say I have an elaborate system of wires. But this is like a dream come true. I want to use it to entertain as many people as possible. It doesn''t take much effort to keep it doing what I want it to do. It''s like I hold him and tell him what to do, and he''s a good little guy." Roxy found it a little bit creepy, but the puppet had practically the same attitude as Layla. It hopped and pranced as if she were somehow controlling it wirelessly.

    With a furrowed brow, she was able to command it to organize all the stuff on the table and check everyone''s plate before it slumped down for a nap. That just left Jake without any weird power from the lake. He was sure to get one, but she didn''t want him to worry if he didn''t. He was already her superhero as is.

    She needed to be like that herself; she needed to remember the kind of person she had been when it was necessary and even when it wasn''t¡ªthe kind of person who left no one behind, who persisted even when it was difficult, who said what she needed to say to get everyone through. At the same time, she needed to remind herself that she wasn''t the only back available for support. Jake, the superhero, made plans to head down to visit Alyssa and make sure she was okay. Roxy didn''t need to teach him that. She just wished that it didn''t need to be done alone.

    But she restrained herself; she avoided stepping into all that. And she hoped for the best. Minutes later, Alyssa hustled up the steps and into the kitchen area. She only paused for a moment to grab a nearby jacket that fit her loosely before pressing on to the steps and down into the store. Why? So frustrating. What an obstinate...

    An unexpected word caught in Roxy''s thoughts. She anticipated it naturally, but losing her train of thought disconnected her from what it might be. She had to go after Alyssa, though. She brought her a smile; she could bring her more; she could make them stick for more than a few hours. The feeling was weird, and she wasn''t sure what to do with it, but she knew she had to go after her.

 [49] Mystery Lake 49 â€“ Little Problems

    Mystery Lake

    [49] Little Problems

    Roxy grumbled and restrained little curses to herself that she had to relinquish the best part of her breakfast to chase after Alyssa. She sneezed with every step, little aches bouncing with her body.

    Naturally, the girl wasn''t to be found just sulking in some sullen corner of the store. That would be far too easy. The front door was only half shut, with a conspicuous crack of morning shimmer bleeding through. She could and she should have just texted her to check in, but she continued carefully down the stairs, to the ground floor, and to the side street. A lingering foggy haze filtered through trees both near and far.

    She huffed a billowing breath, pushing forward with a clear mental picture of Alyssa''s dark and shadowy colors, wavering like a bat laced sideways in ice. But there was no one around, and no indication of which direction she might have chosen. The path away from downtown was a little darker and clouded in an ominous forest. That way made sense if she didn''t want to be found. She wanted to see that critter corner, but it was likely too early to be open. Not that the girl would think of that oversight before she arrived. Roxy tried to relax her thoughts and focus on some sign or old lady-level intuition that would guide her in the right direction.

    That seemed absolutely silly. Not that she thought that supernatural abilities were ridiculous; the last day had clearly shown her otherwise. It was just when it came to her and whether she could wield anything like that properly. Still, a feeling pressed her towards town, despite the logical appeal of tracking into the nearest forest.

    The other side also had a dense, natural green belt. Focusing on it drew all of her attention, though she wasn''t quite sure why. Was the princess trying to help her out with some special ability? She didn''t have anything else to go on. The center of town gazed back at her with all its tightly contained but glittering shapes and hints.

    She went onward, soon realizing that she was also heading off without telling anyone where she was going. It shouldn''t be far, but that still seemed like a good precaution in case something happened. She texted Jake a succinct message saying that she was at the north end of the main road looking for Alyssa. She snapped a photo without sending it and continued to hurry.

    At least a path was cut through the forest, and it seemed to get a little thinner to the left. She had no idea if this was the right direction, though, until she caught a trace of that mottled blackness fluttering its way sideways through the darkened green. Now she could only hope that it wasn''t a trick or an illusion to lead her to her doom. The path was rudimentary, more like combed dirt, but with some gravel to keep it from being destroyed by regular rain and snow. More like something from an athletic field.

    Her back wasn''t ready to be up this early, but she ignored it and pressed on until she came to a small park area, apparently for dogs, with a meager rest stop less fancy than the one the trucker had trapped her in. Alyssa flopped down on a bench with her legs stretched out and her arms covering her face. Roxy knew it would be impossible for her to cloak her arrival; her shoes scuffed, scraped, and rattled on the little stones, even though she did her best not to drag her feet. A nervous little breath escaped as she stopped nearby. Alyssa sighed.

    "I''m sorry. I''m sorry; I can''t keep smiling when I want to. I''m sorry for making you chase after me. I kind of figured you would, even though I didn''t want you to. I just wanted to be alone, even when I didn''t really want to be. I''m such a mess, and I don''t know who or what I can really trust. Not with you, I mean. With inside myself. I have so much to say, and I don''t know how to say it, and you''re the one who should hear it most of all. Something happened to me at the lake that can''t be seen from the outside."

    Roxy crouched slightly and wanted to sit on the bench, but she was afraid that the girl would dash away as soon as she sat down. It would probably be better to stand.

    With a sigh, Alyssa added, "You look good in my clothes, better than I do. Mira would look better in my life than I do. Why am I even here? I have failed at so many things, and then I failed at this too. I deserve to be discarded; I deserve to be forgotten. I''m so tired. I am so broken. Maybe if I just offer myself up to the creatures that hate us, that sacrifice will appease them, and they''ll let you go. And I can be good for something. That''ll definitely piss off my...friend but forget them." Alyssa wobbled around like she was on a ferry ship at sea, and each of the waves translated through the hull into her body, and she could just barely keep up.

    Roxy''s ears perked up. Friend. Did she have a friend too? She had vaguely alluded to what seemed to be going on inside her when she had been rescued from the trucker, but she hadn''t really clarified what it meant. It would just worry everyone else that she was going crazy when what they really needed was her support. So many subtle suggestions and uncertain assumptions. She had to know if Alyssa was like her. She pressed her about who her friend was and what she was talking about.

    Alyssa appeared so defeated and listless. She shrugged and admitted, "Someone has been talking in my ear ever since the lake. I''ve been trying to ignore them, but they actually¡­ I don''t know. Forget about it. I don''t hear anything; it doesn''t matter."

    "I have it too," Roxy proclaimed boldly. Presumptuous, so presumptuous, but she was going to lose the poor girl if she didn''t say something to pull her out of this. Alyssa paused from her moping and raised her head to meet Roxy''s eyes. She wore sharp, scrutinizing eyebrows, and her eyes inspected the blue orbs across from her.

    "You''re just saying that. For me. You don''t¡­ But then. You were kind of weird, and I was kind of weird about that trucker guy. It was like I could hear you without talking. Do you really have a voice inside you that tells you stuff?"

    No time for softening; whatever this represented, she nodded firmly and assured the pale girl that her situation was pretty much the same. Not unvarnished truth, but she could iron that out soon enough. "It must be that princess who the leprechaun guy named. When you splashed me, I actually got some water in my mouth; maybe she or something tried to... went inside of me. She saved me, though."

    "I started hearing the voice, which I thought was an imaginary friend, before I went in the water. That''s what¡­ Well, it didn''t make me do it, but it suggested that I splash you. And I was so upset. I''m so sorry¡­ I shouldn''t have listened. I just... I shouldn''t exist."

    Without hesitation, Roxy wrapped her arms around Alyssa and hugged her tightly. "Don''t say that. It''s going to be okay. You didn''t do anything wrong. We just need to figure out how to change things for us so that I can go back and forth like pretty much everyone is learning to do now, and you can be stuck the way you really want to be. That sound good?"

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    Alyssa took a few breaths and fussed in her grasp. Roxy pulled back to give her a chance to collect herself. The poor girl looked even paler than usual, with a subtle hint of green. She wobbled again and frantically turned to heave over her shoulder the black, destructive mass of which she had already emptied much into the Triton kitchen sink. And it just kept coming. The swirling mass twisted like an unleashed miniature tornado. As more and more freed itself from Alyssa, it was almost as if she was wasting away, melting as much as those monsters did when splattered by her toxic blackness. She didn''t scream, though, and no pieces of her were damaged. It took Roxy a moment to realize what was happening. Alyssa was getting younger by the second.

    Her colorless clothes were draped over her, and her black flannel pants were in danger of shooting to the ground. The jacket was huge. Roxy tried to help, but gripping the awkward sack against gravity and trying to keep the girl on her feet shot an infusion of pain right into her back. It ached so bad that it practically took her breath away. The chaos swarmed, swallowed, and twirled around them, but at least Roxy could confidently say that being so close to the expulsions didn''t revert her to a Joel state.

    When things finally calmed down, it was like a forest fire that had been put out, without any scent lingering in the air. Little Alyssa retained most of her shirt and part of her pants on the bench, with Roxy clinging to her, sprawled out on her back. Alyssa''s hair somehow seemed even longer and darker than it had been. Her pallor brightened slightly, her lips conspicuously pink, and her face dazed with confusion. If Roxy had to guess, she looked more like seven years old than the twenty-one she should have been. Her limbs were so tiny and fragile. Roxy gently disentangled herself from the young girl and helped her to sit up.

    It didn''t take Alyssa long to realize that several somethings were wrong. She couldn''t quite reach the ground while sitting on the bench unless she stretched her legs uncomfortably. Her phone had been ejected from her pocket but was lying safely behind her. Her mouth dropped as she looked into the camera, cradling the case tightly in her little fingers.

    "I''m a kid. Oh crap, I''m a little kid¡ªa little girl again. Why am I being tortured? You...fuck you...fucking garbage, shitty imaginary friend!" She squeezed her little stomach as hard as she could and cried with bright, hot tears. It was much easier for Roxy to put her arms around a little girl. She could even lift her up. Roxy just held her as she sobbed wetly against her shoulder. She rubbed her back in a steady, reassuring motion. Except for little Alyssa''s crying, the area around them was starkly quiet¡ªtoo quiet. Roxy braced her arms around the little girl, even though it didn''t feel like enough protection.

    The tears soon subsided, and the girl turned slightly. A sudden gasp caught in her throat as she shouted, "DOWN, GET DOWN, MOM!"

    She didn''t have the time to process the fact that Alyssa had literally called her ''mom'' before she pushed her to sprawl on the ground again. Something swooped down from above, dragging a blast of air behind it. Roxy barely saw the impression of a wooden weapon that flashed like a plank with something glittering and nastily sharp at the end. It swept terrifyingly close, pulling and shearing off a lock of her black hair that trailed too far behind. Her head jerked slightly, and it hurt, but nothing else happened. Moments later, the top of the bench toppled over, separated from the base.

    Roxy scanned ahead of them and saw a large blur swooping back. When it settled, she could make out certain details. The most prominent was a red cap on its head, which looked like it was molded to its sloping, bulbous head.

    "Cut them, tear them up..." A harsh, growling voice spoke, its words not directed at them but rather as if they were burrowing through the earth to be spoken. Long, jagged yellow teeth jutted out in a menacing overbite with a sharp, awful nose. Long, pointed ears didn''t fit into the cap. Muscles bulged in loose cloth armor, with heavier bracers gripping a long pole with a sharp, pointed iron head at the top and a curved blade like a scythe bent across.

    The ugly, goblin-like creature thankfully wore a crude tunic to cover most of its body, with black, iron boots at its feet. It was taller than their visitor, but only by a head or two. Roxy pulled Alyssa back, trying to protect her with her body.

    "The hell are you, and what do you want?!" She tried to make those words sound stronger and more confident than they felt escaping her mouth.

    "Redcap. Redcap redcap. I love to slice, cut, and tear. So neither of you will be there." He stretched a disgusting, bloated tongue over his rotting teeth. She could sense his unholy breath from afar. Probably not the type to respond to coarse language, but she had to try.

    "How many diarrhea assholes did you eat along the way? And do you jerk off with that thing? Why does it have to be so big? Is it because you have got a microdick?"

    The creature just laughed as if she''d said the funniest thing. "I eat what I kill. You''ll be my best shit in days still. I''ll leave your titties to the last and then rub them all over my ass."

    Alyssa had a different, altogether surprising tact. "But the Lord is faithful, and He will strengthen you...and protect you from the evil one." The little girl did her best to put as much energy and enthusiasm into her words as possible, more than Roxy had ever heard Alyssa put into anything. She didn''t know that the girl was this much of a Christian. Or maybe just family. Whatever it was, she''d take it if it helped.

    The creature gurgled and held up a hand to protect its face. That was a good sign until it started chuckling darkly to itself.

    "Should''ve tried ''Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil¡¯s schemes.'' I like that one. Fun. Nice try, though, but it''s time to go. Is just a job. No, don''t sob. It must be done." He raised his weapon as Roxy tried to retreat further. She had one last idea.

    "HOLD FAST! I AM YOUR PRINCESS, ASHERAH!"

    "... Did you really say ''hold fast''? We not be a ship at sea. And I know, Princess Asherah. They killed you once. I am here to make it take."

    Within Roxy, that bothersome, inconsistent voice returned to ask, "May I have a moment?"

 [50] Mystery Lake 50 â€“ Rip and Tear

    Mystery Lake

    [50] Rip and Tear

    Roxy didn''t want to know what beastly monster the princess summoned a second time. It was enough to know that the last time they had to escape from the area and the trucker fled just as quickly.

    Their attacker braced himself and aimed his weapon at little girl Alyssa, who was looking around her side. She wanted to scream or yell or make some noticeable ruckus, though it was so early, and the washed-out weather seemed to capture noises and keep them from traveling far. She suspected that this nature to the weather was intentional and probably manipulated by the forces that wanted them dead. They also wanted the princess to stay dead for reasons that Roxy could only imagine but probably involved fairy politics and coups.

    The brief respite from the red-capped goblin creature''s assault ended when he turned his attention away from scanning the air and to bring his weapon around for another swing. Roxy regarded where the bathrooms were and tried to put one of the entrance walls between them, but the monster restrained its strike. Trembling and holding her breath, Alyssa focused and summoned a renewed blast of her black spew. The monster was far enough away to avoid it, and the expulsion landed on the sidewalk in front of them before sublimating to nothing. Alyssa wobbled afterward, but nothing further changed about her. Roxy didn''t want her to get even younger if her last round and the age reduction were at all related.

    They''d done their best to delay the assassin and buy time for whatever the princess had summoned to arrive. The last time came with a warning to stay out of its way. The princess didn''t make it clear if they were supposed to do that again. She didn''t shout anything in particular, but perhaps that was because of the current, dire situation. Sharing that thought internally didn''t trigger any elaboration, so she assumed she was on the right track.

    Dodging helped, but it also kept pushing her into a bad corner where protection wouldn''t last long. Roxy was still achy, and she didn''t trust that her slightly sexed-out legs wouldn''t tumble out from under her, leaving them both sprawled out and defenseless. It was surreal to have Alyssa clinging to her for nervous protection. She''d also called her "mom" when she''d given the warning. Roxy had to assume that she didn''t really mean it on any deep level. Considering the hints Alyssa had given about her poor family situation, there was a possibility that she was already a better mother than the one the girl had by birth. Not important for the moment, but she would keep an eye on whether Alyssa had been mentally manipulated.

    If only something more durable and protective than Alyssa''s meager jacket with her, then she could''ve used that to block the threatened strikes from the bastard''s pike. Nothing in the vicinity came close to being a defense-worthy armament. They just kept backing up with care and caution as the creature pursued them relentlessly. This was going to give out, whether by space or patience. One of them would make a mistake. Roxy staggered with her footing but stayed upright.

    Then it came¡ªan unexpected dip in the cement. She slid backward on her knees, with Alyssa squeezing close and struggling to remain on her feet. The creature swooped towards them, but a wash of wind blasted him right in the face. He raised a gnarled hand, and a jagged talon sliced across his knuckles. Another clawed at his eyes, and he screamed.

    A hand went up to his face to keep the strike from digging deeper. He stumbled blindly, with the pike sweeping through the air but hitting nothing. It bounced off a nearby trash can and tore through it like simple aluminum foil. He wiped madly at his face, trying to clear his vision. Roxy had barely seen what attacked him, as if the edge of a bird had broached the heavens for an instant before vanishing. So the summoned monster was some kind of bird. She knew fairies could fly, but no bird-like folklore creature occurred to her. Not that it mattered, as long as it was on their side and fighting off the bad guy. And that bad guy recovered, his wounds still there but not affecting his sight or his determination to strike against them.

    She struggled to get to her feet. Of course, her leg gave way, and she tumbled back onto the chilly pavement. Little girl Alyssa attempted to drag her by the shoulders, but she simply didn''t have the strength. Whimpering softly, she pressed her head against Roxy''s shoulder. A swing of the weapon''s large blade practically sounded like a whip. Roxy had no idea what to do. They couldn''t just give up. Just as it seemed the blade was about to slice through them like they were nothing more than bits of tissue paper, a creature landed on the monster''s raised arm and slammed it to the ground. Roxy was finally able to get a good look at it.

    Seeing it didn''t really help with figuring out what the hell it was. It looked like an umbrella turned upside down or a bulky stretched-out lamp. The creature possessed a single eye in the center of its grotesque, stubby, horned head. Its singular leg had multiple powerful claws that were digging deep into their assailant''s wrist, stripping away flesh with screaming red marks. A second set of sharp talons dragged and stretched, with one arm protruding out from the center of its chest. And there was something else.

    For a moment, she nearly corrected herself to parse that it had a second leg that was floppy, less developed, and narrower than the first, like a rudimentary kickstand on a bicycle, or rather a unicycle. But then she paid careful attention to the shape¡ªthe long, tubular aspects of what it had. Alyssa''s little gasp informed her that she had figured it out as well.

    There was a conspicuous slit on the tip of this ''kickstand''. A one-eyed monster. Frighteningly appropriate. And it made sense why the princess would summon it to go after the trucker fucker. She also had new worries about what would happen if they stayed around. It got even weirder after that, as a swarm of black tentacles erupted from the creature''s back and wriggled over the fallen, pike-wielding monster. Each tentacle landed in a different spot, ripping off circular pieces of flesh with razor-sharp barbs on the edges. Their attacker howled in agony and slashed at the monster violently.

    Alyssa looked like she was on the verge of throwing up in the usual way. Roxy held the little girl close and tried to retreat carefully without drawing the attention of either of the combatants. The squishing and tearing sounds, along with rancid smells, were getting to her as well. It was remarkable that no one ventured in their direction, or perhaps it was an intentional occurrence by the forces that wanted to snuff them out.

    They could run. Roxy didn''t know if she had the strength to haul the kid with her slipping, oversized clothes and not take a disastrous tumble. Moving around without trying to make it obvious seemed like the best strategy of the moment, sneaking away while they were preoccupied with battling each other.

    Their nervous escape attempt actually distracted the goblin with the pike, and he made a motion to swing around and catch them off guard, but that provided an opening for the winged creature to surround it with its suckers, bring its... very long part around, and begin slapping its opponent several times in the head.

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    The beating by gigantic dick should have had an air of the ridiculous and perverse. But it soon crushed the creature''s skull, leaving it in a heap on the ground, dribbling and gushing. After that, the pike rolled away, and the cap wasn''t the only part of it thoroughly saturated in red. The claws soon dug in and didn''t leave much of their victim. No matter what she thought about the trucker, she hoped that this wasn''t the same result as sending whatever this was after him.

    They put some distance between themselves and the battered remains before the beast looked up and blinked curiously at Roxy. She had no idea what to do, and the princess was being painfully silent on this point. Roxy tried to share a smile, and the fluttering beast blasted a wave of air and lightly hopped right in front of them. Up close, it looked more like a broken dinosaur than a birdlike creature.

    A weird cooing sound came from its faint flap of a mouth. The rough and lightly spiky head gently leaned towards her. Not knowing what else to do, she hesitantly reached out a hand and touched the top of it. Light, contented noises fluttered upwards as it leaned into her touch. Despite how rough and terrifying it looked, where she touched it actually had a surprisingly velvety texture.

    Its singular eye gradually closed as it tucked the long and drooping part behind it and wiggled playfully. Even though she had a huge amount of examples to draw from, she still knew that this probably had to be one of the strangest things she''d ever done, and she hoped it would remain the peak.

    Alyssa kept herself sheltered behind her, but the creature noticed and edged over like a strange, distorted eagle. Several of its tentacles shifted, and Roxy braced herself. But the creature didn''t use the dangerous tips, instead sliding up several edges against the little girl''s shoulder and caressing her face. It used one on Roxy, and her best analogy for the feeling was like a massage tool made of the softest velvet-cushioned plush.

    Uncertain, Alyssa shifted away from Roxy''s side and touched the weird, dark tentacles. They seemed to vibrate happily as Alyssa also gave the creature gentle pats on the head. It cozied up to them without a single hint of danger. Which was fine, but Roxy''s main concern was how to send the thing back to where it belonged. Luckily, the idea popped into her head just before her princess guest gave her a hint. Her arm. The creature nuzzled it and liked it, but it was also the only way it could go home. She just had to cut a path for it.

    The movement felt like too much. How was this creature supposed to know that the swipe of her hand wasn''t threatening and that she wouldn''t lose it the moment she dropped it? She would just have to trust that this was the way it would be. A little too much faith, but she had no choice.

    The entity kept its eyes locked on each of her fingers. She lifted them the same way as before and carefully sliced the space between spaces with intention and care to provide it with an opening. The way certain parts of it probed the flaps felt bizarrely naughty. At least it didn''t linger long before offering up sounds of cheerful goodbye and slipping through that strange veil and out of reality as they could see it.

    The butchered beast remained motionless and messy on the ground. They didn''t have to get rid of it, Roxy told herself. The fairy bastards sent it, so if they wanted to hide their business, they should''ve granted it some method of disposal after death. Fortunately, Alyssa figured out that she could help. After all, she had vomited over the last effort to kill them and left nothing behind. Roxy worried that she had gone through so many bouts of this recently that she may not have anything left in her. Alyssa assured her that she still had something left to give.

    Not a lot came out, barely bigger than a few cups worth, but the stirring, turbulent blackness was enough to take away everything left behind. Some stray splatters of blood remained despite her best efforts, but that could be blamed on a wild animal fight that occurred overnight. Roxy slumped down, the exhaustion of this incident slipping from her like a weight¡ªan immense weight that she didn''t realize she was holding onto. Alyssa squeezed her hand.

    She crouched beside the girl, not yet even processing that this was the classmate she had had so much trouble trying to get a smile from last night and ramming into complications, disappointment, sadness, and so many other emotions.

    "Thank you..." Alyssa looked like she was wandering and trapped through so many uncertain emotional states, but she kept it on the simplest and kindest level.

    "You''re welcome¡­" Roxy wanted to say a whole lot of other things: ask questions, present points, scream, burst into tears, and whatever else she could think of that might be necessary. But it felt impossible to present all that in a way that made sense. Soon and plenty of all that, thoughts upon the madness.

    For the moment, the most important thing was to move Alyssa''s clothes into a pillowy tent of fabric that would at least keep her decent until they could figure out what they were going to do. She was able to shift around the top and do something somewhat functional. The underwear wasn''t going to do much, so she retrieved that. But the pants were the real mystery, as one leg managed to be both too tight and too expansive to fit her. A rope, any type of rope, twine, or anything like that would''ve been just enough to shape her clothes into an absurd little kid clown outfit. Ultimately, Roxy decided to just lift Alyssa and carry her somewhat sideways with her clothes twisted as tight as possible, so she didn''t slip through them. It wasn''t a long-term solution, but it should be enough to get them back to the store.

    Alyssa suggested a kid''s clothing store about a block down the road. A good option, but likely not yet open at this hour. She promised Alyssa that she would take her there as soon as they managed to get her into something that wouldn''t fall off.

    The movement had to go slow with Roxy''s general weakness and the awkward weight at her side. Alyssa helped where she could. Eventually, they found a pace they could work with, even if it was one small step at a time, and they scuffed across the gravel path and toward the road.

    Roxy couldn''t resist asking, "So....mom?"

    And Alyssa gave her a firm but not painful jab in her side. "That didn''t mean anything; I just wanted to get your attention, so we didn''t die."

    "You sure?"

    "Shut up! You have me too tight. It hurts. You don''t know how to hold a kid. I''m not a sack of potatoes."

    Roxy paused to adjust her grip, loosening it in some places and settling the weight of the seat of the pants a little more comfortably across Alyssa''s body. She didn''t say anything about the adjustments, but she didn''t complain either. She sniffled softly to herself and leaned against Roxy as they slowly made their way back.