Tier 3+ Story 📜 "The Magician" (Act 9) (Patreon)

Content (for the whole story): original content, w/w, cryptid (?) pregnancy, nb(?)preg, sexual & kink awakening, stuffing, later: feeling sick, transphobia, dysphoria, depression & su*cidal thoughts

Quicklinks: Read all from the start | Act 1-3 | Act 4 | Act 5 | Act 6 | Act 7 | Act 8 | 

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T H E  ☆ M A G I C I A N

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Act 9

Rosemary

It had been over two months since Mary had left Las Vegas behind, and with it, almost all connections to Melodie. The memory of her felt surreal, almost dream-like, as it never actually happened. She barely had any physical evidence of their meeting. Nobody she knew had met Melodie, and she also hadn’t taken any selfies with her together. If it wouldn’t have been for the tiny card and the little bouquet, Mary would have doubted that she had ever met that strange person at all.

She somehow had managed to get the flowers through not only one but several flights, feeding it a fresh glass of water every new place she arrived. While the rose had withered rather quickly, the rosemary twigs bloomed as happily as the day she had received the bouquet. She had tested the plant several times, picking one of the small leaves and crushing it between her fingers, but it refuted her doubts again and again, revealing moisture and the smell of fresh rosemary between her fingers.

Maybe it meant nothing. Perhaps rosemary was a more robust plant than she had thought.

There was also this ongoing change within Mary. She had started to question the golden cage she was raised in. The reasons for why she always had to be a good girl. Why she had studied history instead of psychology or mortuary science. Why she never started picking up taxidermy as a hobby, as she always wanted. Why she thought so little of herself. Why safety had always been such a high priority in her life. Why she started to become interested in other people - or at least, one other person - only just now. And why, by god, she felt so attracted to Melodie in the first place.

By now, she didn’t have a single answer to those questions, but she felt that the mere act of asking them was shaking the foundations that her life had been built upon.

Lately, she just sat on her hotel bed and played with the card that revealed Melodie’s number. The card which, like the rosemary, was still strongly scented. Of course, she had saved the number in her phone already, but holding the card made things more tangible. It was a tiny anchor, holding the truth of her memories in place.

But she couldn’t bring herself to make the call.

She didn’t know how.

Not in a technical sense, of course, but in an emotional one. For one, even though she had proven to herself again and again how brave she could be, she still was shy. But that wasn’t the main issue; she had managed to overcome that part at least once for Melodie. Or... twice, when you count the kiss. Maybe thrice, if you counted the failed attempt.

A warm feeling ran through her veins as she thought aboutt those kisses again.

No, it was just that the more time passed, the more she understood things like a “summer crush” (or whatever the kids used to call it back in school) or sentences like “ finish on a high note”. Some things are kind of meant to be experienced only once. So that they stood pure and overwhelming, without the risk of being, in hindsight, darkened. When you find out that you actually have been “the side chick" for example. Or being toyed with.

Sometimes it was better to not indulge any further, and to take the blissful memories to your grave.

Or was this just a comfortable pattern that threatened to keep her a prisoner? The same old “play it safe” routine?

When this ongoing battle within her heart inevitably flared up, she escaped to the internet. More specifically, to Melody of the Stars fansites. She told herself that the reasoning behind it was so she might potentially find out new input regarding Melodie (whatever that could be), and in doing so, tried to ignore the fact that there was little chance to find out anything new while reading fan stories, sometimes of a romantic matter. She was also too embarrassed to admit that she even made some accounts on social media she hadn’t been on before just to keep track of the hashtags once in a while. She even had joined Telegram and Discord groups, and albeit just to lurk and not participatet was getting increasingly hard to designate everything as observation, not obsession.

She sighed deeply and stood up to take a look out the beautiful tall windows that displayed Champs Elysee, with its lush green trees and adorned white facades. Beautiful Paris in early summer.

She really, really couldn't complain. She lived a privileged, generous life because of her father’s continuous trips to the most wonderful and magical places around the world. No, she’d go so far to say that she wasn’t even allowed to complain. It would be incredibly disrespectful towards the less fortunate, towards those who fought hard to survive.

Yes, she didn’t have proper friends or a conventional home, besides only a couple times a year. But she also didn’t really need those things. She was … well, not happy, but content with how things were, and with having stunning views like this, changing every couple of weeks.

So why did she feel so … little, now? Paris had always been one of her favorite cities. If Paris couldn’t make her getover that magician, then surely nothing could.

Melodie had her number, too. If she hadwanted to call her, then certainly she would have done so by now.

Right?

A sudden beeping noise startled her out of her thoughts. The ringing of a phone.

Sadly not hers, but the hotel room one.

“Yes?” she answered after picking up the receiver.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Clarke,” a man addressed her.

“Bonjour," she answered politely.

“There is a gentleman waiting for you in the foyer, claiming to know you. He didn’t want to tell me his name. Should I send him away?" He asked in English, but with a considerable accent.

A… gentleman?

Could … could it be…?

No, it couldn’t possibly be. There was no way, right?

Mary’s finger began to tingle.

“No!” she exclaimed, a little too intensely, then quickly added, “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Understood. He said that if you’re coming, you should bring a jacket.”

“O-oh, alright. Thank you.”

Ensouled, she quickly grabbed her bag, shoved all the basic necessities like her phone, deodorant, parfum inside, grabbed her crocheted poncho, slipped in her shoes, threw one last glance in the mirror, then left the room.

And there, right in the middle of the foyer, holding a bouquet of cream colored roses in one hand, her cane in the other, looking dashing as always, she was: Melodie van de Sterren, wearing her brown top hat and suit as beautiful as her smile.

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▶️ NEXT CHAPTER  

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Story written by RoseVirage
Proof Readers: Doombeez, Dutch Consultant: EN_NSFW, Emotional Support Reader: Serialfiller1
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