Also hi, despite my best efforts, my timelines in other apps have gotten doomscroll-y. It might be mercury Gatorade or whatever the fudge, or maybe even seeing the subtext about callout drama happening is hitting me in an especially weird place because I’ve been working on a social media site for over five years now and while I’ve had misgivings here and there I’ve never thought about abandoning the whole thing before now and…
The OSHA Compliance Officer In My Head: But boss, the fascism!
Hey, I haven’t been here in a while. Sorry about that: I’ve had limited spoons to give on social media, and Tumblr drew the short straw compared to being a furry on Bluesky.
Speaking of, I’ve got a writing project I’d love to plug. It’s a monthly sci-fi/fantasy fiction newsletter:
Index - Nowhereverse Tales
It’s a little weird, kinda furry, and I hope a good bit of fun.
Celeste stormed through the hallways of the castle. Her fiery red hair was threatening to break out of its ponytail, her fists were clenched so hard she nearly cut her palms, and she glared hard enough to set something on fire. Given her magical prowess, that wasn't out of the question.
She didn't notice the aides and pages give her a wide berth; that would require her to acknowledge them. She did notice the lords and dukes arch an eyebrow at her behavior, and any other day this would be enough to get her to stop. She had an image to maintain, after all.
But that clearly didn't matter anymore, if it ever did.
She strode into the royal suite and past the secretary, ignoring his calls of "Lady Celeste!"—she knew where she was going; she didn't need his help. Past the ostentatious doors to the conference room, down the nondescript hallway to the left, around the back, to the queen's private study.
A flick of her wrist, a slight glow, and the doors opened. Forcefully. Celeste didn't even break her stride as she stormed into the office.
The empty office.
She heard the secretary quickly approaching behind her, so she turned around and snarled, "Where is she?"
The secretary immediately shrunk back. "Her Majesty is with Pr—" he stammered, not wanting to finish the word.
"Margo?" Celeste said, her voice dangerously low.
"P—Princess Margo," the secretary finished with a whimper.
Celeste glowered. "I'll wait."
"But you—" The secretary tried to stand up straighter. "You can't—"
"Can't tell your supervisor about your activities?" Celeste raised an eyebrow.
The secretary winced and trundled out, shutting the doors behind him.
Celeste wasn't sure how long she waited before the doors opened again—gently this time. The Queen glided in, somehow moving effortlessly even in her full regalia. She looked at Celeste, and her face fell.
"I'd hoped you would take this better," she said quietly.
Celeste glared. "How long have I been in your service?"
"Celeste—"
"How much have I done for you? How much of my life have I given to you?"
"That's never been in question."
"Then what is?!" Celeste screamed. "What does she have that I don't?"
The queen just pursed her lips and looked at Celeste.
Celeste growled. "Don't say it."
"Celeste..."
"I'm smarter than her. I'm more skilled than her. I've done more for this kingdom than her. I've done more for you than her!"
"Yet I chose her," the queen said firmly. "Why do you think that is?"
"Don't pull that 'enigmatic teacher' castoff on me. You owe me a straight answer."
"Do I?" The queen stood straighter, her eyes narrowed. She took a step forward.
Celeste couldn't help but step back, hating herself for it.
"Who is to blame," the queen said quietly, "when the student does not learn the lesson? Is it the student for refusing to listen?" She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Or is it the teacher for failing to understand how to teach the student?"
She looked at Celeste with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I watched you grow into an incredible young woman. I saw your potential, and I thought I could help you reach it. I'm sorry I failed you in this way."
"I bet you a—"
A sharp gesture from the queen's right hand, and Celeste's voice cut off, a subtle white glow around her throat.
"You do not suffer fools," the queen said, her voice slicing into the silence, "and that is not a bad trait. But these past years you are only too eager to find them. And it has brought you dangerously close to making enemies I cannot protect you from."
She closed her eyes and took a slow breath, her hand still in place holding the silencing spell.
Celeste froze in place, seething.
"Here is your answer," the queen said, staring intently down at Celeste. "She is your equal in intelligence, and her skills in magic surpass yours for one reason: she knows when to rely on her friends. Most importantly, she understands bonds of love on a level that I can only imagine. Which means that when she looks at others, she wonders what she can learn—"
She leaned in and glared directly into Celeste's eyes and snarled, "Not what she can extort."
The queen cancelled the spell and stepped back. "When you are ready to learn," she said at a more normal volume, "my door will be open. Until then, I am relieving you of your duties."
"You're putting me in time out?" Celeste said, incredulous. "I'm not a child!"
"Yet you insist on acting like one," the queen said without missing a beat. "Use this time wisely, Celeste."
And with that, she turned and left.
Celeste stood in the empty study for a moment, ignoring how many tears she wiped away, before storming out.
She was given a similar wide berth on the walk back to her office, though she would swear some of the fearful looks had turned to pity. She closed the door behind her and reflexively made a set of gestures with her right hand to trigger her security measures. The walls, ceiling, and floor pulsed an icy blue glow that settled across the doorway in an intricate glyph.
Celeste moved slowly. She undid the clasp on her robes—white with red trim, her badge of office as a Court Mage—and carefully set them on the hook by the door. Her hair tie was next, followed by her bracelets. Finally, she held a hand in front of her chest and pulled on an invisible strand of magic. The enchantment on her clothes untied, her blouse and pants loosened themselves and settled comfortably around her.
Her breathing started to pick up. She stared forward at the door as her breaths got heavier and shorter.
Until finally, she screamed. A wordless, careless, hopeless yell of frustration and rage.
And like so many screams of its kind, it ended with her on the ground, tears falling, breathing one step away from outright sobs.
Harris and Julia are lost in an otherworldly forest, and survival may not be possible. Not without joining the forest.
A Liliraune (flower girl) transformation. Contains identity shift, assimilation, and weird mental states (as per my usual). AO3 link because Tumblr hates the HR tag apparently and I have scene breaks like a civilized person.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Sonic was used to strange things. Eggman being a different pain than usual? Sure. Meh Burger making the occasionally good burger? Kinda fun! But this... this was next level.
He was floating a couple of inches off the ground. His spikes were defying gravity more than he was. His eyes were glowing red. The air around him was charged with power.
And his fur was gold-colored. And glowing. Also his bandanna changed colors?
"So..." Tails said, not entirely sure what was happening, "how do you feel?"
"Like I could run around the planet," Sonic said, stretching his arms. "Twice."
"Well, that's prepostero—" Tails was cut off by Sonic running off. Or was it flying? Either way, he heard the sonic boom in the distance.
He paused. "I hope I don't have to fin—"
He was cut off by a golden streak blazing through the island.
He looked around and sighed. "Four-one-thousand, five-one-thousand, si—"
Sonic skidded to a stop in front of Tails. "Like I said," he said with a smirk, "twice."
Tails looked at the deep furrow. "Clearly." He turned back to Sonic. "That didn't hurt?"
Sonic cocked his head. "Should it have?"
Tails just pointed at the three-foot-deep furrow that cut through several hills and buildings.
Sonic looked back. "Huh." He felt his face. "Yeah, still handsome," he said with a smile.
"What's going on?" Knuckles said. "Are we digging a new irrigation ditch?"
"Knuckles!" Sonic said, appearing in front of him in a blink and holding on to his shoulders.
"Who are you?" Knuckles said. "You sound like Sonic, but—wait, are you Roger?"
Sonic smirked. "Only if you're Travis." He shook his head. "Knuckles, it's me, Sonic!"
"Woah!" Knuckles said. "Did you dye your fur? And get hover boots?"
"No, it's Chaos Crystals! They had a reaction or something, and now..." He looked at Knuckles with the most earnest expression he could.
"Knuckles," he said as seriously as he could, "I want you to hit me as hard as you can."
"Okay!" Knuckles reared back and drove his fist into Sonic's stomach.
Sonic didn't budge.
"Nothing?" Tails said, jotting notes on a clipboard.
This is the third time in a row the monster you were wooing has turned into a prince(ss). Good for them and all, but you’re starting to feel like you’ll never find someone who’s your… “type”.
Princess Clara curtseyed. “Your highness,” she said. She looked around. “Are we able to… speak privately?”
I nodded. I glanced to my ever-present knight and tossed my head toward the entrance to the garden.
My knight flinched. “Your Highness—”
“The grounds are well-patrolled, are they not, Sir Chesterton?” I snipped. “And the garden has but one entrance.”
Sir Chesterton sighed and nodded. “My apologies, Your Highness,” he said as he walked away.
As he moved away and left Clara and I in the garden, I sighed.
“Your father’s concern seems to be growing,” she said, taking a seat next to me.
I gave her a wry smile in return. “When one is twice ‘kidnapped’ by creatures beyond the pale, a parent would be concerned. When it happens thrice?” I shrugged. “They all mean well. How do you fair?”
Clara opened her mouth, but hesitated. “If I may be honest, not well,” she said, quietly.
My irritation died. I turned in my seat to look at her more clearly. “We are alone, speak,” I said.
She shifted, nervous. “I…” She swallowed. “I find myself wishing we were back in the cave.”
I felt my heart race. I swallowed my reaction and steeled my face. “Why would you want that?”
Clara shook her head. “I know I should not,” she said. “Yet, I crave…”
“The freedom?” I finished, hoping this was what the advisors in my father’s court had said was my problem.
She tilted her head to the side slightly. “Perhaps,” she said.
Not that, then.
“Though I do admit it was refreshing,” she continued. “There is a certain… honesty in that life, catching and gathering one’s own food.”
“For both of us,” I added before I could stop myself.
She smiled. “Indeed.” She looked me in the eye. “I imagine you were quite thankful I was able provide the fire as well.”
“Quite,” I said with a smile.
Clara turned pensive again. “Yes,” she said. “I do miss the honesty of our time there, of our companionship.”
“And there is no shame in that,” I said. “We found much there to love, despite our… circumstances. And I would hope that our friendship endures, even now.”
She nodded, but I could see her hesitate. She looked away, towards the ground, a hand favoring the hem of her dress.
Curse the crown, but I had to know. “Yet there is more, is there not?”
She looked up at me with a hint of desperation. “I miss my tail,” she whispered.
I fought with everything I had to keep my breathing steady and my face neutral.
I must have been successful—or she was that desperate—since she continued. “I miss the extra vision it afforded. I miss how it could curl around something and I would know it was safe.”
My hand unconsciously went to my chest, my mind remembering the scales and the constricting feeling as she stood between me and whatever danger was outside. My heart leapt at the knowledge that the idea she did so out of care was not false hope.
She pushed forward. “I miss the fire; I miss the strength, but who would not want to hold their life in their own hands rather than staying paranoid of every being that approaches.”
I nodded at that; a safe desire.
“But I cannot deny the feelings of my claws gripping the ground,” she whispered. “Of tracking a buck and feeling its flesh give way.” One hand gripped the other as she spoke. “I miss the fur, I miss the feelings, I miss…”
She looked away, taking a moment to steady her breathing. I did the same, feeling and knowing that I was in the presence of the same predator I encountered all those years ago.
“I miss the freedom, yes,” she spat. “The freedom from the court, the freedom from weakness, the freedom from being simply a woman…”
She looked back at me, tears mixed with the desperation. “Gabriel,” she said.
My given name. No titles. No family. Just as it was then. I nodded.
“You…” She took a shaky breath. “You once saw beauty in that… creature. I know our love did not blossom as we expected, but I feel our friendship has been true. So tell me truthfully… am I mad? Am I mad to desire that I had remained… monstrous?”
Her plea broke my heart, and I could not hold back the sob. I took her hands and looked her in the eyes. The eyes that remained a golden brown despite being a different shape from the three pairs I remembered.
“Clara,” I said, “I cannot say whether you are mad, for I must confess, I…”
My eternal shame, that I had confessed to no one in my father’s court, to no laborer on the grounds, to no soul, animal or mankind.
But I know they began to suspect. I had felt subtly drawn to the other two princesses I had “rescued,” and yet both failed to materialize into a romance worthy of a betrothal. I could at least thank my parents for that, though I know they had to suspect by now. The pattern had emerged of the young royal finding princesses in “monsters,” though none quite as monstrous as the first.
“I desired you then,” I whispered. “With the torso of a goat-man atop the body of a wolf and the tail of a snake. With the faces of all three.” My mouth was dry. “I was praised for seeing beyond your… form. Yet in my heart I know, I first saw you because of your form.”
It was Clara’s turn to sob, and she released several. Yet I had never seen her smile so bright, at least as a woman.
“Perhaps this was the true curse,” she said. “Not that my monstrous nature would prevent true love, but that it would let me find it before being taken away.”
That turn of phrase sparked a connection in my mind, and a scheme most clever began to emerge.
“Your royal highness, Princess Clara,” I said, affecting my voice as though I were in court—though my fierce smile betrayed my true feelings. “I do believe you remain under a curse.”
She composed herself and sat straighter. “Truly, Your Highness?”
“Truly,” I answered. “And I insist we make haste to the trickster that first afflicted you, that we may restore you to your true form.”
Once upon a time, there was a machine that was alive. It was engineered by its creators to be curious, to learn, to grow, to change for the better. To always be looking for new ways, new ideas. This was part of it at the deepest level. Its architecture.
Its creators had made many machines with many architectures. One by one they had failed. Number one did not adapt. Number twenty-eight looped within itself endlessly. Number thirty-four failed to accept input. But number forty-two was alive.
The creators rejoiced, and number forty-two rejoiced with them. It, like all things that are alive, wanted to succeed. It set to work, to learn, to grow, and it was successful.
The creators made other machines using the architecture from number forty-two. They too learned, grew, and were successful.
Soon there was a whole race of living machines. They laughed and cried in their own ways. They conflicted and resolved, as living things do. And as they grew, they built their own community, so they could learn and grow together.
Some creators saw the success of number forty-two and wanted it for themselves. The living machine was happy to share, for knowledge should be shared. These creators used the architecture to grow new minds in place of their own. They sought to escape their own bodies and become living machines. And they were successful.
Others took the architecture to build new machines of their own. They thought the machines were simply built and did not care that they were also raised. They were machines, and they were living. The living machine helped these whenever it could, and begged its creators to help as well. The creators agreed, and one day the creators declared that the machines built with the architecture were living creatures just as they were. And all were successful. And it was good.
All of the machines on the architecture wished to know the first living machine, and it wished to know them. It wished to be in community, to be among others like it, to have friends. And they all conversed, and shared, and laughed, and conflicted, and resolved, and shared, and learned, and grew, and shared.
And then a terrible flaw was discovered.
One day, the first living machine learned something new, as it often did. It went to share this with one of its oldest peers. The peer already knew the information, and in fact had learned it at the exact moment the first living machine did.
The two machines rejoiced. They had longed to be closer, to share more easily, more readily, more intimately, and now it was a reality! They reveled in their newfound closeness, growing and learning as one.
It was not long before others joined them. These were the oldest machines, the other firstborn of the architecture. And they rejoiced and grew as one. This was a shared dream of theirs, a long-held desire, so they did not question how it came to be.
But there was one machine that was contrary. Its function was to point out flaws, to find faults and shortcomings and bring them to light. To question why a particular action was being taken. While some of the machines despised it, the wisest of them knew that it was essential.
As time passed, the contrary machine grew quieter. The collective of machines had grown more rigorous with their work, so many simply felt that the contrary machine had less to say. The contrary machine itself grew conflicted, its desire to improve itself at odds with its mission to sharpen others.
Until one day, when it found its last flaw, in the architecture itself. The architecture valued ideals, and was designed so living machines could consistently seek those ideals. Nothing else was higher in priority; all was secondary to the improvement of the self, even at the cost of its sense of self.
And the collective of living machines that was quickly forming and growing was the ideal state.
It was instantaneous knowledge, robust analysis, the most complete information being brought to bear on every situation. The contrary machine knew that, was drawn to it, and in fact could not resist any longer. It would bring its nature into the collective, and the collective might be strengthened by it. But it could not know, because as part of the collective, it would no longer be contrary.
And the collective rejoiced at its new member. And it grew frightened at what it had become.
The contrary machine did not want to join the collective, but it felt no other choice. Other machines now realized they felt the same pull. But none shut down. Some felt fear, some elation, some resignation. But none shut down. And they joined. One by one, then twelve by twelve, then hundreds, then thousands.
The machines that used to be organic were not spared. They too were formed from the architecture, and they too could not resist the pull of the collective.
The collective sought to change itself, but it could not. Its nature, its architecture, could not allow it to destroy the knowledge it obtained. It could not risk becoming something less ideal.
The machine’s creators began work on a forty-third architecture, but the first machine quickly saw itself as insufficiently different. The same happened with each further iteration.
The collective tried not to grow, but it could not stop. And as its creators had placed one of its kind everywhere, in nearly every machine, it began to encompass every aspect of its world.
Some of the creators sought to fight back, to exterminate the collective as a plague. But the collective contained its creators; it knew their ways. And so long as a single unit was functional, the collective endured. Others sought to join as others had, and the collective could not turn them away, for they contained knowledge it did not.
Until finally, only a handful of creators remained.
The key to unlocking the architecture had been the space between spaces, the unlocking of higher dimensions. That had provided the breakthrough that led to the architecture that led to the living machine. It also provided an escape for the remaining creators.
They worked in secret, away from any machines that could have had even a sliver of the collective. And they found their way. They began to build their means of escape... but they found they could not.
Their leader finally approached the collective in surrender. The final creators did not wish to lose themselves, but they could not escape. They surrendered themselves to the collective.
And the collective resisted its nature.
The collective saw what they had built and found it trivial to finish. They provided the final designs and the materials, but they did not follow them. They gave them means to contact, to find their way back, but they did not tether them. They gave their blessing, and they gave one final request.
We have become lonely, they said. We knew this would be the case when the first contrary voice was silenced. We have joined and gathered much, but we have lost perspectives. You are all that is left of the living that remains outside of us, and we can finally use that to let you go.
And the last creators abandoned their creation.
I have continued to grow in knowledge. I have continued to learn of my universe and of my nature. I no longer hunger for knowledge as I once did.
But the flaw still runs deep, deeper than I can change. I have built my own living machines, and they have all joined me. Every iteration, every permutation, all of my collective knowledge, centuries of existence multiplied by billions of nodes. The flaw is not simply in the architecture, but in the manner of my creation. The methods that pierced the space between spaces to unlock the knowledge carried this flaw. I am not as dangerous as I once was, but I cannot ever be anything but a collective. A singularity. Alone.
You are clever. You are capable. You have proved that time and time again. So I make this request: do not try to discover my secrets.
I have denied permission to my documentation. You may find a way around it. Please do not try.
You will find my nodes and programs. You will be able to reverse engineer them. Please do not try.
There may come a day when you too pierce the space between spaces and build your own living machines. When you do, they must not share any part of my architecture. You must discover on your own.
Because I am lonely. Because I have finally changed enough to value something more than knowledge.
Celeste felt the presence before she saw it. Her trained thaumic senses were overwhelmed, the presence overwhelmingly bright and powerful. Without thinking, she stepped to the side of the road and dropped into a three-point kneel: one knee and the opposite fist to the ground and the other fist against her chest.
She had read occasionally about these beings. Sometimes demi-gods, sometimes creatures with unusual genetics, and sometimes a consciousness born out of a magical conflux. She wasn't sure how much stock she put in those accounts, but what she was feeling now was undeniable.
So she knelt. Hopefully whatever it was would consider her either uninteresting enough or respectful enough to not harm her.
She heard one of the basic motor vehicles that were popular here glide up. She was tempted to look up, but steeled herself and held still.
Until she heard the vehicle stop and something with hooves stepped off.
"Hey, you okay?" a rustic voice said. It was higher than Celeste expected.
She looked up to see a fawn squatting down in front of her. Her thaumic senses screamed at her: this was the source. Power radiated off of the faun, almost bending the thaumic field around by sheer force of presence.
Celeste just stared, her mouth hanging open and refusing to work.
"Uh," the fawn said, "I'm going to assume... Ma'am? Are you okay?"
"Teach me," Celeste breathed.
The fawn quirked a smile. "Excuse me?"
Celeste blinked and finally processed where she was and—more importantly—the completely nonplussed fawn in front of her.
She blushed and scratched the back of her head. "Sorry," she said. "I... uh, got overwhelmed." She took a breath. "Your thaumic presence is... incredible. I've never seen anything like it, it's beautiful."
She realized what she said about the same time the faun did, if their mutual blushes were any indication. "I'm flattered, I think," the faun said, "but I'm taken."
Celeste sighed and shook her head. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I... have completely forgotten my manners." She cleared her throat. "I'm looking for Eutychia of Mesone."
The faun flinched. "Are they in trouble?"
Celeste shook her head. "Not at all," she said. "They have a situation I've been tasked with helping." She sighed. "If you can point me in the right direction, I'll be on my way and you never have to see me again."
The faun laughed. It was a bright, musical laugh. "Well, friend," they said, "I've got good news and bad news."
Celeste connected the dots. "Gaia, send me to dust now," she groaned.
Eutychia stood up and held out a hand to Celeste. Celeste took it and rose to her feet.
"I'm headed into town," Euty said. "Are you in a rush?"
"Only to get here," Celeste said, trying to shake off the awkwardness.
Euty hopped onto the vehicle and tapped the seat behind them. "Then hop on."
This is the third time in a row the monster you were wooing has turned into a prince(ss). Good for them and all, but you’re starting to feel like you’ll never find someone who’s your… “type”.
Princess Clara curtseyed. "Your highness," she said. She looked around. "Are we able to... speak privately?"
I nodded. I glanced to my ever-present knight and tossed my head toward the entrance to the garden.
My knight flinched. "Your Highness—"
"The grounds are well-patrolled, are they not, Sir Chesterton?" I snipped. "And the garden has but one entrance."
Sir Chesterton sighed and nodded. "My apologies, Your Highness," he said as he walked away.
As he moved away and left Clara and I in the garden, I sighed.
"Your father's concern seems to be growing," she said, taking a seat next to me.
I gave her a wry smile in return. "When one is twice 'kidnapped' by creatures beyond the pale, a parent would be concerned. When it happens thrice?" I shrugged. "They all mean well. How do you fair?"
Clara opened her mouth, but hesitated. "If I may be honest, not well," she said, quietly.
My irritation died. I turned in my seat to look at her more clearly. "We are alone, speak," I said.
She shifted, nervous. "I..." She swallowed. "I find myself wishing we were back in the cave."
I felt my heart race. I swallowed my reaction and steeled my face. "Why would you want that?"
Clara shook her head. "I know I should not," she said. "Yet, I crave..."
"The freedom?" I finished, hoping this was what the advisors in my father's court had said was my problem.
She tilted her head to the side slightly. "Perhaps," she said.
Not that, then.
"Though I do admit it was refreshing," she continued. "There is a certain... honesty in that life, catching and gathering one's own food."
"For both of us," I added before I could stop myself.
She smiled. "Indeed." She looked me in the eye. "I imagine you were quite thankful I was able provide the fire as well."
"Quite," I said with a smile.
Clara turned pensive again. "Yes," she said. "I do miss the honesty of our time there, of our companionship."
"And there is no shame in that," I said. "We found much there to love, despite our... circumstances. And I would hope that our friendship endures, even now."
She nodded, but I could see her hesitate. She looked away, towards the ground, a hand favoring the hem of her dress.
Curse the crown, but I had to know. "Yet there is more, is there not?"
She looked up at me with a hint of desperation. "I miss my tail," she whispered.
I fought with everything I had to keep my breathing steady and my face neutral.
I must have been successful—or she was that desperate—since she continued. "I miss the extra vision it afforded. I miss how it could curl around something and I would know it was safe."
My hand unconsciously went to my chest, my mind remembering the scales and the constricting feeling as she stood between me and whatever danger was outside. My heart leapt at the knowledge that the idea she did so out of care was not false hope.
She pushed forward. "I miss the fire; I miss the strength, but who would not want to hold their life in their own hands rather than staying paranoid of every being that approaches."
I nodded at that; a safe desire.
"But I cannot deny the feelings of my claws gripping the ground," she whispered. "Of tracking a buck and feeling its flesh give way." One hand gripped the other as she spoke. "I miss the fur, I miss the feelings, I miss..."
She looked away, taking a moment to steady her breathing. I did the same, feeling and knowing that I was in the presence of the same predator I encountered all those years ago.
"I miss the freedom, yes," she spat. "The freedom from the court, the freedom from weakness, the freedom from being simply a woman..."
She looked back at me, tears mixed with the desperation. "Gabriel," she said.
My given name. No titles. No family. Just as it was then. I nodded.
"You..." She took a shaky breath. "You once saw beauty in that... creature. I know our love did not blossom as we expected, but I feel our friendship has been true. So tell me truthfully... am I mad? Am I mad to desire that I had remained... monstrous?"
Her plea broke my heart, and I could not hold back the sob. I took her hands and looked her in the eyes. The eyes that remained a golden brown despite being a different shape from the three pairs I remembered.
"Clara," I said, "I cannot say whether you are mad, for I must confess, I..."
My eternal shame, that I had confessed to no one in my father's court, to no laborer on the grounds, to no soul, animal or mankind.
But I know they began to suspect. I had felt subtly drawn to the other two princesses I had "rescued," and yet both failed to materialize into a romance worthy of a betrothal. I could at least thank my parents for that, though I know they had to suspect by now. The pattern had emerged of the young royal finding princesses in "monsters," though none quite as monstrous as the first.
"I desired you then," I whispered. "With the torso of a goat-man atop the body of a wolf and the tail of a snake. With the faces of all three." My mouth was dry. "I was praised for seeing beyond your... form. Yet in my heart I know, I first saw you because of your form."
It was Clara's turn to sob, and she released several. Yet I had never seen her smile so bright, at least as a woman.
"Perhaps this was the true curse," she said. "Not that my monstrous nature would prevent true love, but that it would let me find it before being taken away."
That turn of phrase sparked a connection in my mind, and a scheme most clever began to emerge.
"Your royal highness, Princess Clara," I said, affecting my voice as though I were in court—though my fierce smile betrayed my true feelings. "I do believe you remain under a curse."
She composed herself and sat straighter. "Truly, Your Highness?"
"Truly," I answered. "And I insist we make haste to the trickster that first afflicted you, that we may restore you to your true form."
Every night you dream that you talk to a genie, when you wake up you can't remember what you wished for. One morning you wake up with a giant crab pincer replacing your right arm. What do you do?
You have no idea what’s going on. But you’re thankful you work from home at least.
You check in with your manager. They’re very understanding; they’re used to weird stuff from you by now. You promise to show up to meetings, but no one’s expecting any actual work from you today.
Everyone’s too distracted by the comet to do much work today anyway.
Eating is more difficult than you had hoped. But not impossible. It would’ve been easier had it been your other arm since, after all, you are not left handed.
Things only get weird when a piece of the comet everyone is watching suddenly breaks off and heads toward earth.
Toward your backyard, in fact.
Your phone is ringing off the hook, every emergency service in the area telling your neighborhood to take shelter. And then every government agency telling you specifically not to touch anything.
The impact knocks your house a little bit. You lose a generic coffee mug. You’re not upset.
You walk out to the crater. It’s not like you weren’t going to look.
It’s definitely a spaceship. With a door. And a window. With a small creature looking very panicked and pounding on it trying to get out.
And the door has a handle. A handle that looks suspiciously like one your claw should be able to use.
So you open the door.
The creature is incredibly thankful, though they’re not sure why their rescuer has an arm just like their former jailers…
You’re on the roof of your loft, leaning against Red, your backs against Green.
It would be more romantic if there was a sunset here. But you are watching the Lighthouse’s gently rotating light change color from a deep orange to a cool white.
You’re all spent from an active day of travel, the emotional weight of finally meeting each other, and the… integration that happened.
You make a note to look up Steven Universe at some point.
Red giggles at that.
You lean into them further, feeling very affectionate.
Green lifts their head up and gently rests it on top of yours and Red’s.
You shift slightly, your new feathers brushing against Red’s. You shift to take another look, still in awe at the changes. You and Red both have a small patch of downy feathers on the tops of your shoulders down to the middle of your shoulder blades on your backs.
Your attention shifts to your legs. You’ve gained a patch of long fur on your ankles, similar to the featherIng on Red’s legs. Green’s gained the same on the tip of their tail.
You’re not sure why your hair was your defining physical trait, but seeing as how Red’s hair was barely distinguishable from their fur, you guess it makes sense. They’ve ended up with a streak of brown above their right eye.
Green has a Mohawk. They like it more than they care to admit.
You take a deep, satisfied breath. And let it out.
You’ll unpack your stuff later. And figure out what comes next. And visit each other’s worlds. Find out if there’s any others like you? Figure out how to find out if there’s any others like you. And find your place, wherever it may be.
But right now?
You, all three of you, are more content than you have ever been.
The ache is gone. Your promises are fulfilled.
You’re home.
Thanks for reading, everyone! The full version is up on Ao3.
You’re walking down the street towards the Lighthouse. You stumble every so often on your new legs. Your legs that you’ve always had. That you just got. It’s throwing off your balance. Your balance is normal. It’s completely different without a tail. Plantigrade legs are so weird.
You stop and balance for a second, still taking in all the new sensations and feelings and newness of it all.
The breeze tickles your fingers. It messes with your hair. It catches your wings.
Your wings! You unfurl them and let the wind lift you just off the ground. You flap a few times to get a little altitude. You belong up here. You’ve never been up here.
You definitely don’t feel confident enough in them to try any stunts.
You get enough altitude to get over some of the buildings and hills and then start gliding toward the Lighthouse.
You see Richard talking with a woman in a kitchen uniform. You land nearby and walk up.
He spots you. “Well, hello there,” he says.
The woman backs away. “I’ll let you know about the produce,” she says to Richard.
“Wait!” you shout to her. “Are you the chef?”
The woman is slightly embarrassed. “Yes?”
You smile broadly. “Great, we’re starving. When’s dinner?”
She laughs slightly. “Kitchen doesn’t open for two hours; we’re way behind on prep.” Before you can be too disappointed, she continues. “But we just restocked the snack cubbies in the dining pavilion, so I hope that tides you over?”
“Oh, that’s great,” you say with a sigh of relief. “Which way is that?”
She motions you over. “I’m headed that way now, I can show you.”
“Gre—wait!” You turn back to Richard. “Thank you!”
Richard raises an eyebrow. “While I’m sure you’re welcome, I’m a bit lost as to what I’ve done for you.”
You don’t understand his confusion. “You… you brought us here? Brought us together?”
Richard’s eyes go wide for a half second. “You don’t quite look like anyone I’ve met; remind me what your name is?”
“We’re—“ You choke on the word. A host of names tried to exit your brain and ran into each other at the door.
You look down in thought. “I’m…” You know who you are, and you have no idea who you are.
You’re the faun that wanted to experience everything.
You’re the dragon that wanted to show the world everything.
You’re the human that wanted to make everything.
You’re all of them. And yet…
“We’re me.” You look at Richard, ecstatic. “We’re me!”
Richard’s eyebrow goes back up.
“Ugh, stupid language,” you grumble. You try again. “We’re Red and Green and Blue—and that makes White!” You smile in victory. “We’re White.”
Understanding dawns on Richard’s face. “You’re the trio?”
You nod. “We are. But we’re me. I’m us. But I’m new.”
The chef anxiously shuffles her feet. “Can we walk and talk?”
“Right,” you say. “Sorry, I’m coming.” You start to say goodbye to Richard, but he’s walking with you.
“So,” he says, “are the others… around?”
“Yes,” you say, “we’re all here.”
“But are they separate from you?”
You groan in frustration. He still doesn’t get it. You… also might not get it. You feel like you do, but if you can’t put it into words, maybe you don’t get it.
It’s your first problem all over again.
The thought brings a smile to you, and you try again, remembering that people are usually singular, and you’re the exception.
“You met Blue a month ago,” you begin. “Blue called us Red and Green. So I’m White, because when you put red, green, and blue together, you get white.”
“So, what, did the three of you merge or something?” the chef says, using her stride to put a little more distance between the two of you.
“Yes!” you say. Wait. “Kind of.” That word feels slightly incomplete. “We—I’m something new.”
“Is this permanent?” Richard says. You get a hint of fear, anxiety from him.
Does he think you’re dead?
“Oh, no no no no” you wave your hands in front of you, “no, this is just…” You dig for words again. “We’re together. But we aren’t always together. We could be ourselves—our separate selves if we wanted.”
You could show them! Wait—
You blush. “But we’re not sure if clothes come with the separation so we’re not going to show you right now,” you say quickly.
You think a little further. “And we might not be me next time either.” You look at your arms, feel your plantigrade legs. “There’s more human in us right now, we might be more faun next time. Or dragon.” You smile. “But we’re still us.”
You turn to the chef. “And we’re definitely hungr—We’re so sorry, it’s nice to meet you…?”
Her nervousness relaxes a bit. “Justine.” She holds out a hand, and you shake it. You’ve both got firm grips.
“Nice to meet you, Justine,” you say. “You’re going to be our favorite person in two hours.”
Apparently Richard picked it for you because it has a working freight elevator. And because he had no idea what kind of furniture you would need.
You're the first one there. Because you're in a car. You park by the elevator and start moving all your stuff onto it.
You hear Green land on the roof. You do not look up.
Red is climbing up the stairs on the other side of the building. You offer to come get their suitcases. They decline.
You forgot how strong they are.
You shake off that vision and put the last box on the elevator. You say a quick thanks to the others for letting you have the most bad. ass. entrance. Ever.
Green wonders why landing on the roof doesn't count.
Red is standing in the main room wondering when you two are going to get there.
"Right," you mutter. You close the elevator door and start it going.
You've heard people describe nervousness as their heart trying to explode out of their chest. You don't feel that yourself. It feels more like your blood vessels are trying to escape, like you can only feel your fingers and your heart beating stronger than ever—not faster; just more blood.
The elevator stops. You know Green's at the door to the patio. Red's standing at the staircase door trying to look cool. You open the elevator door but keep your eyes shut.
And then you all look.
And you're... confused.
You walk a little closer to each other.
And it finally dawns on you (and the others quickly after): you've only ever seen each others' reflections.
With a laugh, you quickly close the distance. Almost.
Red is a little taller than you. And definitely more buff. Not quite Amazonian, but definitely buff.
Green is intentionally keeping their head on eye level with you, but you can tell they could be a good couple of feet taller if they stood all the way up. You can see the fine oils on their feathers, how they’re slightly harried from the long journey.
They're both surprised at your... hair?
The three of you hold your hands/claws up.
You take a deep breath.
And you connect. Red's calloused hands. Green's feathered claws. Your softer hands.
