64. Indulgence (Patreon)

A/N: Hey everyone! It's me, late again. A few things to report: one, I'll be taking a week off from writing Bioshifter, as my friends and family are all dogpiling me with birthday celebration stuff and I'm just going to be too busy. Also, I probably should have taken a break after finishing Vigor Mortis and I simply didn't because I just have that particular form of insanity. So. Yeah. No Bioshifter next week. Sorry. Beyond that, I have content warnings to talk about, so if you're the kind of person who prefers going into chapters blind, stop reading the author's note now! I mean it! Right now! Okay, warning time: this chapter contains sexual content. As in like the sexy kind of sexual content. I wouldn't describe it as outright smut, but it's probably not something you'd want your boss to catch you reading, if you catch my drift. If that's not your thing, you can just skip by it once it starts; the next chapter will summarize anything relevant that occurs while the pants are off. So yeah! You have been duly warned. Enjoy the chapter!

It's annoyingly difficult to get a read on these government spooks. Sure, I might not be the best at reading people in general, but these guys have their gruff stoicism down pat. I wonder if they have classes for that in the Department of Homeland Security, or if you just already have to have a stick up your butt to consider joining them in the first place.

I've told them as much as I think is wise about magic—how it works, the types of things I've seen it do, and so on—but I have not talked about how it spreads, since I figure that'll be a whole can of worms that I don't want to open on someone whose allegiance probably isn't committed to my well-being. Having to fight the government would be a pain, so I'm hoping to get them on my side before dropping that kind of thing. But ultimately, I have no idea what they want. We stare at each other for a bit once I finish talking, the men in black taking a moment to think before saying anything.

"Ms. Hiiragi," Don eventually asks, "in your opinion, do you believe that this 'magic' poses a threat to America?"

Oh boy. That's a tough one. I don't really want to lie directly. And frankly, this probably has to be the point where I concede a little vulnerability. They aren't going to believe me, otherwise. So… here goes.

"...Yeah," I admit. "It almost certainly does."

He raises his eyebrows at me, which I take as an invitation to elaborate.

"To be clear, I don't have any intention to, uh, 'be a threat to America' or whatever. I live here, you know? But in the abstract, yes, absolutely. Magic can be very dangerous and you guys should have some way to deal with it, especially since the type of person who would abuse magic is more likely to obtain magic that can be abused. Personally, I think the best response is to focus on limiting the spread of magic while people slowly get used to it and figure out how to deal with it."

He nods carefully.

"I see. I recall you mentioning mind control as a particular thing to watch out for?"

"Yeah," I nod. "Like, a lot of magic can just be used for violence, but honestly guns are just as good or better at that and they're legal. It'll cause problems but I figure it'll be problems you know how to handle. The weird stuff is the stuff that needs new methods of discovery and enforcement and whatnot. Good news for you, though: there is no one currently on Earth that has mind control abilities, to my knowledge. So there should be some time to get that figured out, ideally lots of time."

"Are you implying the existence of magic users not on Earth?" he asks.

"Yes, absolutely," I nod. "There are other worlds. Alternate universes. That sort of thing. It's where magic comes from."

"Are you from another world?" he asks.

"No, I'm…" I cut myself off mid-denial and frown. "Well, I guess that's kind of a complicated question, actually. It might help to consider me an unwilling foreign ambassador of sorts, here to apologize for accidentally contaminating your country with a few problems from overseas, but while my origins are a bit strange, I was born and raised here and consider this my home. I've been to other worlds, and am arguably from another world in some capacity, but I don't have any real authority to speak for them."

"What do these other worlds want with us?"

I blink.

"Uh… nothing?" I answer. "Most people there don't have any idea you exist, and the people that do know do not, to my knowledge, care. They have their own problems."

"If, in the event that our worlds went to war with one another, what do you think would happen?" he asks next.

Oh boy. I don't like where this is going, but it's a fair question. On one hand, we have guns. On the other hand, they have magic… and using it would give us magic. Plus, thinking back to how Ida destroyed everyone with a handgun…

"...We'd kick their butts, I think," I conclude. Except… oh crap, wait, the Crafted! "M-most of them, at least. Their populations are small and they're mostly in low-tech city-states. The United States probably has a bigger military than most entire populations over there. There's only one faction I can think of that might be dangerous, but they literally just got over a schism in which they changed their internal policy from warlike to straight-up pacifistic, and they're pretty desperate to repair relations with people right now. I don't think any of this is relevant, though; the only method of traveling between universes that I know about is restricted to like, one person a day at absolute maximum, and can't be used very often."

"What is this method?" Don asks.

I frown.

"Why do you need to know?" I press.

"Why wouldn't we need to know?" he counters. "Ms. Hiiragi, you're talking about potential extrauniversal entry into the country. That's… well, it's unprecedented. It's frankly difficult to believe, but given what we've seen of you so far we have little choice but to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Well, the method is only available to me," I tell them. "So you don't really need to worry about it. I'm not about to start secretly immigrating people."

Probably. I'm sure it's fine if they just visit.

"Hmm. You mentioned earlier that you think the best response is to focus on stemming the spread of magic," Don says. "How does magic spread?"

"Uh…" I mutter, awkwardly scratching the back of my head. "I don't think I should tell you?"

He scowls.

"Why not?"

"Because you would obviously attempt to obtain magic, and that would defeat the point," I tell him.

"...But how can we prevent the spread of magic if we don't know how it spreads?" he asks, which is irritatingly reasonable. "More importantly, if you yourself believe that your abilities present a threat to the country, I think it should be obvious that you have a civic duty to mitigate that threat."

"Not telling you is mitigating that threat," I insist.

"You are not the person in charge of deciding how to mitigate threats to the country," he disagrees, shaking his head. "Please inform us, Ms. Hiiragi. If you don't, we can fairly easily just get a court to order you to release the information."

Is that how that works? Shoot, I don't actually know enough about my government to know how that works. …I should have probably waited for my mom.

Well, no. It's fine. I can handle this. Come to think of it, my mom is usually home by now, so maybe they planned this. Worst case scenario, I can always just ask them to leave and let her help next time this happens. But one way or another, the response is clear: I'm not giving the government magic. I'm not exactly the kind of queer who thinks everyone who has ever made or enforced a policy is automatically evil, but I'm not stupid.

"There is literally no one on Earth who knows more about magic than I do," I tell them, shrugging my shoulders. "If you're not interested in listening to my consultation on the matter, I especially don't want to give you access to it. I just met you, sir. I'm not going to hand you the apocalypse roulette wheel."

It would be so, so easy for the government to mess everything up. All they would have to do is kidnap one of my friends—or the J-family—and force them to speak a spell. And then bam, a whole government agency has divine powers, a government agency known for a willingness to do sketchy-as-heck stuff, even! …Which is most of them, I guess, but the Department of Homeland Security is up there on the sketch-o-meter.

"Your 'consultation' is to have us ignore a problem that you yourself deem to be a threat to the country," Don points out. "Surely, you can see how that's unacceptable? We need information in order to form a plan to control this. You can either volunteer that information, or we will have to find another way to obtain it."

I sigh, rubbing my temples. I shouldn't have hoped for things to go any better than this.

"I want the government to be ready and able to handle things in the worst-case scenario of magic reaching a full spread," I tell him. "That's important. Things might get really chaotic if you don't have a ready response for stuff like Pneuma mages. But I honestly believe the best thing I can do to help you with that is to say nothing, and buy you more time. I know I can't stop you from poking and prodding at the issue anyway. Goddess knows humans can't leave anything alone, it's probably why she likes you all so much. But just… don't make this a conflict, okay? Don't bother my friends or try to strong-arm us or whatever plans you no doubt have. Magic isn't yours."

Don frowns, looks at his partner, and they both nod.

"I see," he says, standing up. "Well, thank you for explaining what you have told us so far. We'll be in touch, Ms. Hiiragi."

Yeah, I'm sure you will. I wave them off with a hip-limb, watching them with my spatial sense to ensure they don't do anything suspicious before getting in their car and driving off. Buh. This is exhausting. Maybe I won't run my stream after all. …No, I really should. It's a job, after all. I trudge upstairs, prepare my room for the stream, and start it up.

"Hey, everybody!" I greet them. "Sorry I haven't been streaming as much lately. The last couple weeks have been puh-retty crazy. Though there is one thing I'd like to proudly announce!"

I pause, and give them all a big smile.

"I told you so," I brag. "Magic is real, baby. But unfortunately, it doesn't let me cheat at Nuzlockes, so we have a ways to go today!"

I settle back into a comfortable groove, enjoying the game and enjoying getting to constantly blabber about it. The chat is going by way too fast for me to coherently follow any kind of conversation anymore, so the occasional flashes of my loyal watchers from before I was a worldwide internet phenomenon is more of a happy 'oh hey, they're here' than the usual back-and-forth banter. It's a bit sad, but hopefully my stream will calm down later.

It's only after I turn off the stream and start getting ready for bed that I remember I promised the Crafted that I would bring them a dictionary. I head downstairs to grab one, feeling its glossy, mass-produced paperback cover and beholding its mechanically printed words, which include things like 'computer' and 'motherboard' and 'robot,' the root word of which literally means 'forced labor.' It is at this point I realize I am an idiot.

This will give away the tech level of my society immediately, which is something Sela actively hid for some reason. At the same time, I am super bad with secrets, and Elpida made multiple promises that I would be safe and duly warned before anything bad ever happens to me. If I'm going to inevitably screw up and drop too many hints anyway, I may as well try to be honest and upfront about things at the point where suspicions are lowest and appreciation is highest. Besides, telling the truth has been working great for me lately!

Well, that settles it, I guess. I snuggle into bed, hug the dictionary to my chest, and feel it slip out of my fingers and pass through my soul moments before I pass out. I wake up immediately, as I always do, the dictionary lying on my back as an unconscious Kagiso remains wrapped around my front. I spend quite a while just enjoying the cuddles, but I eventually get antsy and squirm out of her grip, dragging the dictionary out of the bed with me using a few spare limbs. I can't really hold stuff yet, but I can get the basics working.

"Oh hey, you're up," Helen nods at me, where she's currently sitting on her bed and binding up her chest so it doesn't move much. She doesn't really seem to like having an ample bosom, or at the very least she isn't used to one. Sorry, Helen. "Is that the book you were talking about? I've never seen a book like that, you know."

"Yeah, I figure I'm too awful at lying to not come clean a bit on the tech my people have access to. Would you mind hitting the button to page Elpida for me?"

"Sure, just let me finish getting dressed," she grunts. "I have to admit, if we do end up dying here, it'll be some pretty comfy final days. I've never slept in a bed this soft."

"Hehe. I'm glad you've been enjoying it!"

"Yeah, I guess I have," Helen scowls. "Against my better judgment, of course."

"Of course," I chuckle, unable to hold in a wiggle to go along with it. My friends are enjoying themselves! It's legitimately tempting to just say in Manumit forever. But… well, I at least probably shouldn't. I need to figure out more about this game the Goddess is playing, and the best way to do that is to see how the prior calamities came about. If I can learn a little more about how the world got so messed up, it should be a hint as to how to avoid that fate this time around.

And I need to learn that. As soon as possible. I doubt a Goddess obsessed with entertainment plays the sort of game where I can win by stalling her out.

Helen doesn't take much longer to finish getting her clothes on and calling for Elpida, who shows up barely thirty seconds later, knocking on our door and giving us a bow when we answer.

"Good morning, everyone!" she smiles. "How can I help you today?"

"Hey, Elpida," I greet her. "Could you come inside? There was something potentially sensitive I was hoping to talk to you about. Like, in private."

She stands up straight, and her smile gets wider.

"Of course, Hannah," she nods. "I can keep any engagements between us private from all other Crafted, at your request. Network connections are always optional!"

She steps inside, and Helen closes the door behind her.

"We are free to speak," she assures me. "What concerns did you want to address with me?"

"Uh, I don't know if they're concerns, per se," I hedge, hopping up onto my and Kagiso's bed. "It's just, uh… well, here's the dictionary I promised."

I scoot it over to her, dodging a sleepy Kagiso as she tries to grab me and pull me back into bed.

"Ah," Elpida says, picking up the book with an uncharacteristically blank expression. "I see. We missed some, did we?"

Geez. What a thing to say about a genocide. She starts rapidly flicking through it, and I clear my throat.

"...Uh, not exactly, no," I tell her. "My people absolutely do not have the technological capability to make anything as advanced or intelligent as you. But… yes, we have mass production and computing and stuff like that. We're just starting with artificial intelligence, but it'll be many years before something like the Crafted could ever happen with our technology. Still… I'm worried about it. I don't want a tragedy like the Crafted to happen again, and I definitely don't want any of you to be in danger of getting maliciously reprogrammed or exploited. As someone on the pro-war but anti-killing-me side of the political spectrum, I wanted to get your input."

"Hmm. Is that so," Elpida says, finishing her reading of the dictionary and putting it back onto the bed. "Does Sela know about this?"

"Yes," I confirm, bobbing up and down.

"While I have agreed to keep this conversation private, would you be opposed to me consulting it on this matter?" Elpida asks.

"No, that's fine," I tell her.

Elpida nods, and then stays quiet for about ten seconds.

"I understand the situation," she declares. "Helen, Hannah, Kagiso, I have my first request on behalf of my faction: don't speak of this."

She opens up her belly and shoves the dictionary into her fabricator, which rapidly disintegrates it into carbon.

"I'd like alphabet and pronunciation information from you, Hannah," she continues. "I will forge a false dictionary out of the information you provided me, to spoof a lower tech level. To be completely upfront: your compliance in this matter is optional, and you will not be harmed if information about your technology is made public. It will, however, be politically inconvenient, so your discretion would be appreciated."

Her fabricator slowly starts chugging out a new book, one that looks hand-bound rather than mass-produced.

"Is this agreeable?" she asks.

"I don't have a problem with that," I shrug. "I don't exactly want you guys to go back to killing humans, but your first priority is to get the diplomat program to stop sending people to their death, right? I'm a hundred percent on board with that."

"I don't really have a huge stake either way, but I'll follow Hannah's lead," Helen agrees.

"I'm sleepy," Kagiso opines.

"Wonderful," Elpida grins, clapping her hands once. "Well, with that out of the way, let's get the last bits of data needed to deconstruct your language! Afterwards, if you'd do us a favor and speak your native language the rest of the day, Hannah, it would help us all sound fully fluent by tomorrow."

"I can do that," I say, then I remember I'm supposed to be speaking a different language so I repeat it in English. Elpida looks like a kid on Christmas, and we're having full conversations in English within the span of a few hours. It's honestly kind of scary, but like, in a cool and slightly hot way. Of course, thinking of any Crafted as even a little bit hot only serves as a grim reminder that humanity definitely used some of them as sex bots and that is an absolute sludge pump of moral morass I would prefer to think about as little as inhumanly possible. …Also, being attracted to anything in my weird sexless spider body is just a disorienting experience in general.

But that's okay. If Elpida notices my internal distress (and let's be real, she probably does) she refrains from commenting on it. My friends and I have another wonderful day in Manumit, meeting more Crafted, eating more great food, and enjoying countless luxury amenities. And against all odds, they even found out a way to get Helen excited for it all.

"No fucking way," Helen breathes, staring in wonder at the construction yard.

"Well, we did originally design them, after all," Elpida chuckles. "So after Sela shared the footage of how much you and Kagiso enjoyed traversing them, we got started with the development last night."

"You made this overnight!?" Helen gapes, raising her arms up at the enormous, tangled recreation of the Crafted material chutes we slid down weeks ago to get to the Pillar. These versions, of course, aren't attached to the side of the Tree of Souls, instead extending up into the sky like the slides of a demented children's playground.

"Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!" Kagiso vibrates, bouncing around Helen in excitement.

"Our entire construction department was overjoyed to be able to collaborate on the project," Elpida smiles. "Please use them to your heart's content. I believe you'll find yourself enjoying the many… additions we made, as well."

"Alright that's a fucking ominous way to say that but I don't even care!" Helen beams. "How do we get to the top?"

"Elevator, in that pillar," Elpida points.

Oh gosh, this is adorable. I have never seen Helen like this. She's as giddy as a child at her birthday party. The tension that is so constantly pervasive in her posture, kneaded into weakness by the careful and calculated ministrations of the Crafted and finally chased out by the surprise and joy of something truly, unexpectedly exciting… it's indescribably wonderful to see.

She's leaning far forward, up on her taloned toes as her tail thrashes excitedly up in the air. Her fingers rest naturally in open curves, her body happy to have its claws at the ready without needing to think about it for once. Even the feathers on her arms wiggle a little in ways she usually suppresses whenever she notices it. Helen is always tense and precise with her movements, and seeing her just give in to joyful instinct for a moment is a balm on my soul that I really needed.

"Thank you," I tell Elpida as my friends rush excitedly up to the elevator. "You guys… you're really good at this."

"Thank you," she smiles, leaning down and reaching out her hands, palms upturned. I climb on, and she lifts me up to her shoulders. "It's what we were made for, after all."

"Yeah," I agree. "Hey, Elpida?"

"Yes?" she asks, the whoops and cheers of my friends punctuating our conversation.

"If you could change your programming, or get someone to change it for you… would you? And if so, what would you do?"

"Hmm," she muses, tapping her chin with a metallic ping. "Only a human with sufficient knowledge could do such a thing, and personally I don't believe it would be worth the risk to allow one to exist. And the consequences of any change to our fundamental being… well, it raises a lot of questions about our personhood, if the root of its source could be altered so easily. Not to mention how our natures are entirely unintended in the first place, and therefore one would have to risk unforeseen knock-on effects from any change. But in a perfect world, where it could be done without consequence? I think I would quite like to feel this joy when I help my friends and peers, rather than just fortunate strangers."

Already kind of hugging her just as a result of sitting on her, I give Elpida a bit harder of a squeeze. Not being able to enjoy caring for the people you love… yeah. That's probably the worst layer of the hell the Crafted are stuck in.

"If you ever want help finding out a way, just let me know," I say. "I'll do anything you ask of me."

Elpida gives me a sideways look, staring at me from my place on her shoulder with an unreasonable expression.

"I will keep that in mind," she answers neutrally, and we return our attention to the joy of my friends as they rocket down the slides.

When the day ends, sleep claims me as easily as always, and I wake up Saturday morning full of a mix of melancholy and joy. My week has been complicated, but… good. Very good. And since my itinerary for the day is meeting with Dr. Carson and then going to Ida's quiet-friends birthday party, I expect (or at least hope) that the trend will continue.

I check myself over in the mirror, a little disappointed that my eyes and arms haven't really grown much at all compared to yesterday. That said, the weird translucent stuff growing out of my scalp that I noticed a few days ago is getting a bit longer. I… have no idea what it is. It's gossamer-thin, like an insect's wing, but it definitely isn't a wing considering that it has no attached muscle, is attached to the top of my head, and isn't even remotely wing-shaped. It's just… a similarly thin, transparent, and pretty sort of structure.

Weird. I flick it a little, and it feels kind of like I'm messing with my hair. Only kind of, though. It's a bit more sensitive, and definitely not the right shape for hair. So strange.

Shrugging, I finish my bathroom routine and head out to get breakfast. Before I know it, I'm in the car being driven to my therapy appointment, once again by my dad instead of my mom. We don't talk all the way there, and it's oddly comfy. Not talking to my mom feels oppressive, but with my dad we both just end up lost in our thoughts. Next thing I know, Dr. Carson is inviting me into her office.

I pause a bit at the door, an unexpected wave of dread and nausea hitting me as I look at the therapist's domain. Ugh. I'm never going to get over this, am I? I like Dr. Carson quite a lot, but that bastard still infects our interactions. It's still impossible to get over this sourceless dread. I hate it, but pushing through is worth it. So I do, though I need to take a few minutes to compose myself, which Dr. Carson grants with wordless understanding.

"Thanks," I breathe, trying not to be embarrassed that those are my first words to her.

"Of course," she nods, like it's truly no imposition at all. Because… I guess it isn't. It feels like one, though, and I'm worried it always will. "How have you been these past few days, Hannah?"

I manage to smile.

"Good, honestly," I admit. "Really good. Things are a little spooky, what with the constant threat of the unknown and all, but… well, everything is honestly going way better than usual. In both worlds."

"That's great to hear," Dr. Carson smiles. "I know things have been difficult for you lately."

"You can say that again," I sigh. "Things are way calmer now, though they are a bit… weird? I guess? Stressful, but in the subtle, problematic way rather than the 'oh crap I'm going to die imminently' way."

"Life never ceases to throw challenges at us, does it?" Dr. Carson sighs.

"Yeah. Yeah, it really doesn't," I agree glumly. "But I'm doing my best to enjoy things while I can. The Department of Homeland Security showed up at my house the other day!"

"Oh!" Dr. Carson blinks. "Oh dear."

"Yyyyyep! Wasn't a raid or anything, thankfully. But they don't seem super happy with me."

We chat away the full eighty-five minutes, mostly little updates and situations of no consequence. I decline to speak with her about the Crafted, at least for now. That's a situation that concerns me, but it's not really something personal to me. The Crafted are not, out of all the absurd issues in my life, actually my responsibility. I care about them, I've offered to help them, but it's only that: an offer. Something I want to do. Not an obligation imposed on me by my own failings, like most of my problems. So… it isn't really Dr. Carson's business.

Maybe if things take a turn for the worse, I'll tell her about them then. But honestly, I feel like she's empathetic enough that hearing about their situation would just horrify and disturb her for no real reason.

Still, I feel better after our session. I usually do. It's nice to have a good therapist. It's also… very interesting to me how wide the range of good and bad therapists is, and how hugely that impacts things. Like… how many horrible situations happen just because someone has the random luck of a bad therapist? Or for that matter, a bad teacher, a bad parent, a bad… any figure of authority, really. Why are so many people just bad to the point that they hurt and traumatize others at jobs where they are supposed to teach and heal? And why don't we have any good ways to vet out the good from the bad? It's honestly a little scary, knowing that so much of fate is up to the random luck of who happens to be in charge of you.

The Goddess chuckles in the back of my mind, and I shiver. Nothing good is going to come from that line of thought, I suppose. I'd better prepare for Ida's party and put it all out of my mind. Let's see… hmm. Party clothes, party clothes. I… do not actually have any idea what to wear to a party. Eh, well, it's Ida. I shoot her a quick text.

What should I wear?

lingerie, She answers immediately. I groan.

Ida, seriously, I text back. What's the normal dress for this sort of thing? What's everyone else going to be wearing?

She takes a while before answering this time, uncharacteristically so. I see the typing dots pop up enough times on my phone that she's had to have deleted a response or two.

u can just dress like u always do, she eventually sends. a lot of people wear swimsuits under their clothes since i hav a pool. which we could use if u want but its super optional

I'll probably pass on the pool, I decide. I'm not actually sure how I would handle swimming, and we should probably find out, but your party isn't the best time for that.

sure, she agrees, and I put my phone away to get dressed. I could just go in what I wore to Dr. Carson's place, but I figure Ida would appreciate something even more casual. I select one of my backless bras and a particularly comfortable shirt with holes for my blade-limbs, so I can keep myself entirely comfortably manifested in 3D space. I wiggle my shoulders and sigh. Yeah, this feels nice. Ooh, she probably wouldn't mind if I just go without shoes, either! I'm definitely doing that. It's not like I have to worry about my feet getting dirty.

The moment I finish getting dressed, I say goodbye to my dad and head out the front door, deciding to jog to Ida's place at a comfy twenty-five miles per hour or so. She didn't really specify a start or end time to her party, she just told me to come over whenever, so I assume it's sort of an all-day thing. Ida has a bazillion friends.

Though when I get to the fancy neighborhood she lives in and stop by the gates outside her house, I can't help but notice that there don't seem to be any extra cars near or on the property. Huh.

I suppose they could just be behind the house, or something. Ida's home is genuinely absurd in scale: three enormous stories surrounded by nearly a full acre of property, to the point where her driveway is really more of an entire street on its own. I press a button by the gate and wave to the camera, and the whole thing chugs open a second later. I've been here a handful of times before, but it's always crazy.

I jog down the driveway and smile at Ida, who's leaning against a support pillar for her porch as I approach. She grins back, giving me a casual half-wave.

"What's up, Hannah Banana?" she asks.

"Nothing much!" I call back, slowing to a stop. I'm not even panting. "Am I the first one here?"

"It's not even lunchtime, you dork," Ida smirks. "You're quite the party animal, wanting to be here all day like this."

"O-oh, sorry!"

"It's not a bad thing!" she laughs. "I fucking love you, remember? Come on in, let's hang out."

I successfully don't flinch when she says she loves me, and instead just follow her in as instructed. Gosh, this place feels like it's even bigger on the inside, and it looks pretty darn big on the outside. It makes sense, given that her dad is some bigshot politician, but still. Wow. It's people like Ida that make me struggle to think of my family as rich, and yet… well, having seen Autumn and the J-family, it's absurd to think that way. My family is rich. Ida's family is absurdly extravagant, to the point that it's kind of disturbing. None of that is Ida's fault, of course, but still. Wow.

"You hungry?" Ida asks.

"Pretty much always," I confirm. "You got any meat?"

"Yeah, I got you covered, you crazy carnivore," she chuckles. "Well, let's grab food and then… do whatever, I guess. I just kind of wanna relax for a while after last night, if that's okay."

"That sounds nice! I figure relaxing is what the non-party friend group is all about, right?"

"Heh," Ida grins, shaking her head. "I guess you'd know better than I would."

"Not much of a relaxer, are you?" I ask, as we head to her criminally huge kitchen and start investigating her fridge for meat. Oooh, pork chops!

"Oh, like you are," she correctly accuses. "But yeah, I dunno, you know me. I'm always pretty one-hundred-percent go. I've always gotta be doing something, making progress, being seen, mattering. It's just who I am."

"Yeah, that's a bit of a mood," I agree. "Though it's less about mattering to me and more about just staying busy. Idle hands mean idle thoughts, and all that."

"Yes, heaven forbid Hannah Banana thinks about something," Ida snorts. "Then she might figure something out."

"Hey!" I protest, playfully elbowing her in the side. "I figure out lots of things! Usually in retrospect."

That gets her to laugh, and we set to cooking ourselves some lunch. It's delicious, and afterwards we head to the media room to put on a movie. I'm a little worried that anyone else who shows up will end up being stuck watching the latter half of the film and being totally lost, but no one does. I guess parties are usually an evening thing. So we put on a second one after the first, oohing and ahing laughing away at the dumb, on-screen story and grinning like fools as the protagonists triumph against all odds at the end. After the second, we put on a third, and after the third, a fourth. Each movie, Ida seems to cuddle closer to me on the couch, and before I know it the sun has set with her arms around me.

I'm not… entirely sure how that happened.

"So…" I venture, clearing my throat while the credits roll. "I, um, should probably explain my birthday present to you before anyone else gets here."

Ida rolls her eyes, but smiles.

"Good idea," she says. "Let's head upstairs, though. Because… we don't want anyone walking in on magic talk, or something."

Hmm, I mean, magic isn't secret anymore, but that seems… reasonable. Even though we still seem to be the only people at this party? She untangles herself from me and hops off the couch, leading me up to her room and shutting the door behind us. It's a nice room, honestly. A very nice room, with the same huge mattress I recognize from when she brought it to Valerie's house and made me sleep on it. Most of the room is kind of… odd, though. It's extensively decorated, with posters and books and dolls and stuffed animals, none of which are related to things I've seen Ida show interest in before. Hmm.

"Well, uh, this might not sound the best at first, but trust me for a moment: how do you feel about heading treeside again?" I ask.

Ida snorts in amusement and heads over to sit on her bed. I remain awkwardly by the door.

"You lose another girlfriend?" she asks.

"Um… no," I cough awkwardly. "Actually, I made it to Manumit, the Crafted capital. And it turns out literally everyone there is a service robot that desperately wants to pamper humans. And they are, uh, really good at it. We're taking the ultimate all-day spa retreat, with a side of anything you could imagine asking for."

"Woah," she says, peeling her socks off for some reason. "That sounds pretty cool."

"Yeah!" I agree. "It is! Well, I mean, it is but it isn't. The Crafted are kind of in a really tragic and messed up situation, but you don't really need to worry about that. Uh, in fact, you actively shouldn't. If you just enjoy yourself, I think that'll be pretty great."

"Well," Ida says, "I do intend to do that."

Then she hops off the bed and removes her shirt.

She, um.

She hops off the bed and she.

Um.

Huh.

"...What's happening?" I squeak.

"I believe I have been clear about this several times, actually," Ida answers, "but you are the most amazingly dense lesbian in the universe, so let me tell you how this is going to go down."

She unbuttons her shorts as she walks towards me, getting very, very close.

"That," she whispers, pointing behind me, "is the door. It is not locked. It is yours to use. And, of course, the standards are available: just say no. Say no, and it all stops."

"Um… I-Ida…" I stutter.

"Naturally, we also won't start until you say yes," she continues, her voice just as soft. Her smile just as close. "Yes or no, that's all I need. But I really think you should say yes."

Her shorts drop to the floor and she kicks them away, leaving her in her underwear. Just. Right in front of me, wearing almost nothing at all. It's nothing even particularly fancy, just simple white panties and a strapless bra. But something inside me just ignites.

I say nothing.

"I think," Ida hums, pulling at her bra a little, "that you are the sort of person who always holds herself back. Always agonizes over the what-ifs and oh-nos, always finding a way to talk yourself out of any good thing. You are brilliant, Hannah, but you turn every ounce of that brilliance against yourself. You're so caught up in thoughts that you never do."

She reaches up and brushes my cheek, her hand trailing down my face, down my neck towards my shoulders. I shiver as she steps even closer, her breath on my collarbone as her hand traces the base of one of my blade limbs. I can see down her bra from this angle, and it somehow manages to add to the overwhelming beauty of her body that has been assaulting me since she started approaching. Ida is immaculate, from her flawlessly soft skin to her tauntingly close chest to that mortifying smile on her face that I'm finally letting myself understand.

"So I really appreciate the present you thought up for me," Ida says. "Honestly. I'm in love. But what I want from you, what I've always wanted for you, is one night where you don't hold yourself back."

Her hand traces down the length of my blade limb, sending sparks up and down my spine. Slowly, carefully, she pulls it around my body and aims the tip towards herself. I freeze, terror and confusion and thoughtless arousal replacing any coherent thought. At an agonizing pace, she guides the tip up through the center of her bra, and cuts it.

It seems to fall in slow motion, fully revealing my friend's breasts in a moment between moments. I see breasts every day—I have my own pair, after all—and nothing about the sight is surprising, yet the fact that they're hers makes them far more beautiful than anything I can conceive. I want to hold them. I want to knead them in my palms. I want to squeeze them and bite them and stab them and I'm so, so terrified of doing any of those things that I cannot move. I cannot even breathe.

Ida brings herself just the tiniest bit closer, drawing the slightest, tiniest cut on her sternum with my blade. I let out a shuddering breath, closing my eyes with my last vestige of willpower. But I can still see her smile with my spatial sense. She lets go of my limb and starts to walk around me, her finger tracing right underneath the bottom of my shirt.

"It aches," Ida says quietly, "to see you so much less than you could be. I know what you're thinking. That you'll hurt me. That we'll regret this. That this will change our friendship forever, one way or another."

As she walks behind me, she pushes on my back, ever so slightly. Towards the bed. We both know she's nowhere near strong enough to force me to go anywhere I don't want to go. I take a step anyway.

"And this will change our friendship," she agrees. "For the better, I think. Maybe not. Maybe we'll regret it. But who cares? What's the point if you don't take that chance and let yourself be happy sometimes? And hurt me? Really? Ha!"

I swallow, my first real words of the conversation coming out stilted and slow.

"I will," I insist.

She smiles even wider, standing up on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear.

"I know," she insists. "I want you to."

I almost cry. I'm not sure with which emotion.

"I mean it, Hannah," she insists, guiding me closer to the bed. Brushing up against me. Making my mind scream with need. "I want all of you. I'm not asking you for some tender, pastel romance. I want you to break those Goddess-damn chains and fuck me."

She steps in front of me again as we reach the bed, her eyes staring into mine. Her chest, pressing into mine. Her lips, so close to mine.

"So," she demands. "Yes or no?"

My jaw twitches. I can't speak.

"Yes or no?"

Yes or no. Do I want this? I can't think. I don't want to think. Because she's right, I'll always find a way out of it, some reason to delay or avoid or pretend it never happened. That's who I am. But is it who I want to be? Even if it isn't, do I want to be what Ida wants? Ha. There it is. I'm already doing it.

"Yes," Ida insists, one last time, "or no?"

I don't know what words will come out of my mouth when I open it. But I guess I only need one.

"Yes," I say, and I push her onto the bed.

She stumbles in surprise, falling on her back. But her expression is rapturous with anticipation, enthralled by a surprise that only accelerates her need further. So fuck it. Why not? Why not? I already said it.

I follow her with a quick shift through space, leaving my clothes behind on the floor.

My body, for whatever reason, wants to take the lead. It wants to do a dozen things, but I've never done any of them and I freeze moments after I plant my arms and knees on either side of her. Ida, of course, has no such hesitation, and before I know it her arms are wrapped around my head and pulling me in for a kiss. My hip-limbs barely manage to squeeze around the small of her back before she pulls us both back onto the covers. She gives me a light, playful bite on the lip and my resistance against doing the same evaporates.

My teeth pierce through her skin, and I taste beautiful, glorious blood. Panic takes me a second later and I release her, but Ida grips me before I can apologize.

"Yes," she hisses. "Like that. Like that!"

I look at her face, and see the wound is already healing. Gone in seconds. Her grin is wider and wilder than I've ever seen before.

"Don't hold back," Ida orders. "Give me everything you are."

She's such a fool. A glorious, incredible, beautiful, fool.

I stab her. How could I not? My blade pierces right through her shoulder, pinning her down like a bug. She laughs through the pain, demanding more. I'm happy to oblige, every last one of my limbs dedicated to pleasing or ravaging her. Through it all, my head spins. My anxiety demands I'm making a mistake, or that I'm making the right choice and just doing it badly, but Ida just moans and kisses me and it chases every doubt away.

It makes me want to do even more. But that… that would be a mistake. How could it not be?

"You're still holding back," Ida accuses, her breath ragged. "Come on, show me what you think of me."

What I think of her? She's beautiful beyond belief. She loves me where I deserve nothing but scorn.

"Show me your Ida," she hisses. "Let me be your Ida. You gave it to everyone else."

No. She can't mean… what would that even do to her? I've always thought of her as a trickster of sorts, a capricious fae, but I know that's not right anymore. Not complete, anyway. She's more than that, especially now. But it's so hard to think, amidst the touch of her fingers and the warm beat of her blood.

Everything is just instinct now, clumsy and unrefined. Yet, it's enough for her. The fact that it's me matters to her as much as I care about the fact that it's her. And she wants to know. Ida always means exactly what she says. Beautiful. Insane. Foolish. Hedonistic. Wholly and completely herself, whatever that means at the time. She holds nothing back, be it joy or wrath, advice or temptation.

And oh, what a masterful temptress she is. That would be a part of it, wouldn't it? Especially right now. But I don't want to think about this. I just want to experience her, more and more and more.

"Who am I, Hannah!?" Ida demands. "Show me!"

I shut her up with a kiss, my claws digging into her back as I hold her closer than ever before, our bodies compressed into one. And together like this, who am I to deny her?

"Nature's Madness," I whisper, and her body shudders.

A cry escapes her lips as a tail snakes out from behind her, thin and fresh and twisting with sensation. It thrashes, wrapping itself around my leg and squeezing alongside every other change. Her skin darkens, shifting to an inhuman purple hue as the muscles of her back writhe and multiply, gossamer fairy wings bursting into existence, twitching and seizing. All four of them thrum with energy, two long ones matched by two shorter ones below, beating themselves against the bed as her new muscles violently etch themselves into her nervous system. Claws dig into my back just as mine did to hers, drawing blood as she pants and clenches with overwhelmed ecstasy. She screams as six circular wounds open up around her head, a royal crown of curved horns twisting up around her head and pointing towards the sky.

She's more than a fairy. She's a fairy queen. No… more than that, too. Her four wings, though insectoid and transparent, have a bat-like series of curves to the bottom as well. Her skin is a bit too dark, a bit too intense to quite fit with one of the ethereal fae, and—most tellingly of all—her still-twitching tail is tipped with a spade.

A fae succubus. My tricky little temptress.

"The fuck are you staring for?" Ida huffs, her body covered in blood and sweat that I quickly Refresh away. "Don't stop."

So we don't. Not for a while.