tiny puppy!!

Penny: how busy are you on a daily basis scale of 1-10

Liliana: the fuck kind of question is that?

Penny: the kind that comes with a job offer

that gives me pause for a long moment. i chew my nails while i think, and you bounce your knee on the other side of the screen impatiently. i type out my response in a rush and press send before i can think twice.

Liliana: 1. what's up?

Penny: Moss and i just landed a big job renovating a house and i need like five extra hands for the next few months. can you be two of them?

Liliana: fuck it, better than sitting on my ass. yeah, let's go.

>-<

i meet you at the work site at 7am, just like you told me. there's a dyke i don't recognize that, based on the hair color, is probably Moss. there's another bitch almost as big as me, maybe an inch or two shorter and a few pounds lighter with graying hair and visible wrinkles. rounding out our little group is a scrawny kid what feels like half my height and a quarter my weight. he looks like he can barely swing a hammer, but he's got a well-worn toolbelt and is paying keen attention to you as you break down what we're going to be doing for the next several months.

i tuck it all away as you talk, filing each room and what we're doing there away for later. i start to build a list in my head, one that you and Moss already have, of everything that's gonna be needed. working by myself for so long it's become habit, keeping these lists in my head as i go. there's not always time for me to stop and write down what i'll need, erasing and starting over and over and over. it's easier if i keep it in my head.

"Moss, take Leo in the truck and go pick up the lumber. i want him to see where we get it and watch you with the guy. you wanted to learn, kid, so we're gonna give you a crash course over the next few weeks. keep your eyes up and your ears out, don't be lookin' at your phone while Moss is showing you the ropes. they're not gonna slow down for you, okay? if you can keep up we'll keep you on until the end of the job."

the kid, Leo, nods intently. you hand out assignments like they're divine pronouncements, and you seem a little arrogant with it for a moment until i catch a glimpse of Moss mouthing along with you now and then, clearly going over the assignments even in the moments before you say the words. you're not taking charge, i realize. they feel like divine pronouncements because you didn't plan this out on your own.

you finish it all off with, "Lily, you're working with me today. we're gonna be gutting their living room. it's been cleaned out already, we just need to get to work."

i blink, sure that you were going to keep me at arms' length. it seems like the safe move, right? like what you should do. but you call me Lily and tell me what we're doing so casually like you paid it no further thought than any other work assignment, and without thinking i'm grabbing my bucket of tools and following you to the living room.

we get to work. it's mindless stuff, just ripping up flooring and taking down drywall. we're fucking gutting the place. mindless but satisfying work. we don't talk much while we go, masks and bandanas and goggles blocking most chance for it. after an hour or so of prying up floorboards you put down your prybar and pull your mask away. by the time i realize you've stopped working you've already grabbed two water bottles from the other room and brought them back. you hand one to me.

"thanks…" i say, somewhat incredulous but incredibly thankful. i take the bottle and twist it open, gratefully draining half of it in a couple of gulps. a satisfied noise escapes my lips, and you can't help but watch the little drop of water that trails down from the middle of my lip to my chin. you close your mouth and swallow thickly when i bring an arm up and wipe the water away.

"yeah, 'course."

i lean back against the windowsill and take a couple more sips of the water before asking "so am i allowed to talk to you or should i be awkwardly silent for the next few weeks?"

you scowl, i think good naturedly, and say "you're just as much of a dick as ever."

"okay so Sarah!" i start with a shit eating grin, your grumpiness all the permission i ever needed.

you actually laugh, a little bit startled that that's where i'm starting but not at all surprised. "Sarah… what about her?"

"was she bluffing or not?"

still laughing, you wonder "bluffing about what?"

"when i left," i say, brow furrowed a bit, "she threatened me with, like, legal action? she said she knew some very good lawyers. was she fucking bluffing??"

you pull your laugh back until it's just a chuckle, enough that you can say "i am so sorry to tell you this Lily, she really does know some very good lawyers. she's used them to help friends of ours all over town. she works at a marketing firm in downtown, they have their own legal team. and she went to school with like three or four lawyers that she's still friends with. it sounds like she's being edgy but i think most of her close friends are lawyers?"

i whistle low, appreciative. the spitfire wasn't just bluster. good.

"damn, okay. i mean, i knew she worked for that firm, but jesus she's really something. what are you two, exactly? her facebook page just had you in a bunch of pictures."

i'd done a little stalking on Sarah Fletcher's facebook page the day before i showed up, blazed out of my gourd on my bed just scrolling through all the pictures and ignoring the way my heart hurt a little bit every time i saw you in the pictures. before i even knew who you were and why it hurt.

you take a sip of water just to avoid talking for a few more seconds. then, deadly serious, "Lily, Mom and Dad can't know about Sarah."

i frown down at my water bottle. "i'm no snitch. besides, since when do i even talk to them? just- i won't say shit, okay?"

you sigh, a little abashed, then explain that "Sarah and i are partners. anything more than that is…" you pause. "probably not something sisters should talk about."

before i can think i blurt out "i don't give a fuck. talk to me." i stop myself from cringing, but barely.

that sounded kind of desperate, you think. you stop yourself from biting your lip, but barely.

stop, another part of you thinks, and it's such a stark contrast thought that it genuinely pulls you up short for a second. then another much more antagonistic thought, just tell her. don't make a big deal out of it.

“i'm her dog, she's my owner,” you blurt out before any part of you can second guess it.

what the fuck!

WHAT THE FUCK!?

i almost choke on my water. my recovery isn't very smooth, but you're too distracted blushing and looking away from me to notice. i don't really know what to say about it, so i don't say anything. i just finish off my water, crumple up the bottle, and get back to work. after another minute, so do you.

>-<

we have a bunch of moments like that, catching up little by little on the years we missed. i learn about your whole household, you learn about the last couple friends i have from school. i learn about your transition, you learn about boarding school.

you even tell me about Cleo, including what happened the night before i showed up. you avoid the dirty details about what you and Lena were doing, focusing on the terror of it. of the rattling doorknob and stomping feet. you're still avoiding talking about it, even though you know i know. the inference was easy enough, after the way Lena treated you, only given more credence every time i watched one of you talk about the other.

i grimace through the story and at the end of it say "jesus, girl. you did better than i would have. i mighta not stopped at pushing her. restraint is good."

"you say that almost like you're not restrained," you note doubtfully.

i hum for a moment. "maybe the last time you saw me… but… it's different now. i'm different, now. i…"

i trail off. you don't say anything, watching with distant fascination as my jaw works in thought, waiting for me to figure out how to say it.

"idunno, nowadays…" i scratch the side of my face and look away from you, uncharacteristically bashful, "i may have actually handled that better…? sometimes it doesn't feel like it. sometimes it feels like all that rage will come back at any moment. and it does. but i understand it better, so i can control it. i still would have rushed out there like an idiot to protect Lena, but… i don't know, i probably would have just shouted, nowadays."

"you really are different."

i look up, startled. "i- yeah. i am."

she is too… a familiar-unfamiliar voice whispers in my ear.

i shake my head, closing my eyes for a second. i'm not crazy. the devil isn't real.

i'm just as real as i always was… it whispers again. i clench my eyes shut a little harder. my chest gets tight. i thought i'd put this away for good. but a lot of things came free that night with Madeline. not everything fit back into the box.

"hey, you okay?" you ask, bringing me out of it a little bit.

"yeah, sorry," i gasp. when did i start holding my breath? i shake my head, "sorry. i'll be fine."

your head hurts and your voice changes pitch just a little bit when you say "let's get lunch."

"okay…" i say uncertainly. i hesitate for a moment, waiting to see if i hear it again.

it's quiet, for now. if the devil is still talking to me… i can't help but shake my head yet again, trying to dislodge those stupid old patterns instilled in me at St Michael's. the only thing i've never told any of my therapists since then is this:

i hear voices. one voice, in particular. the priest who pretended to be a psychologist told me it was the devil. when i was younger, when i was hiding this from Mom and Dad, it was the voice of my anger. every awful sick feeling, the black lake of tar constantly boiling over. at St Michael's, it protected me with careful practiced aggression. by the time i was out of school and on my own, the fire was smoldering but still burning. but now, ten years out from the worst night of my life, all the rage it embodied has burned out, leaving only ash.

leaving me… stop ignoring me… i can protect you.

shut up! you're not real! i demand, willing it to be true.

it goes quiet, at least for now. i don't hear anything more while we eat lunch, and you don't press.

>-<

for the first time in the two weeks that we've been working together, i watch as someone offers a break and you keep working. normally you are just as much of a tightass about breaks as Moss is, constantly insisting on them at frustratingly regular intervals. we almost fought during my first week because i was going to keep working through lunch and you insisted i put down the tools and eat with you.

and now today, Moss calls for lunch, i start to walk toward them, and you keep working. i don't even notice it for a couple minutes, already two bites into my sandwich i stop and look back down the hall where i can hear you still going.

"the hell?" i wonder faintly.

Moss supplies an explanation, "she gets like that now and then. especially around this point, when we start figuring out whether we're really ahead or behind on the job. it's looking like we're behind on this one and… she must be feeling it. she get all distant and quiet today, too?"

i take another bite of my sandwich, then nod.

"it'll come and go. she gets these moods, sometimes. Lace has some theories, but i don't like it when she psychoanalyzes our friends. Penny in particular."

"why's that?"

"why's what? i said a lot of stuff just now."

"why Penny in particular?"

"i… hm. maybe i shouldn't talk about that to her sister."

i scoff, "fucking whatever. i'm gonna go make her take a break."

"she won't like that~" Moss sing-songs behind me.

i take my sandwich with me, a couple more bites between the kitchen and the master bedroom you're currently at work in. i don't pay any attention to what you're doing past whether it's dangerous for me to interrupt. once i figure it's safe, no buzzing whirring power tools or swinging hammer, i call out, "hey Pen-Pen!"

you flinch. she shouldn't call us that.

my brow furrows at the reaction. "hey, you good?"

"don't call me that, please," you say, and your voice is strangely smaller, pitched slightly higher. you've shrunk into yourself just a bit, shoulders hunching up a little and face turned away from me, not blatantly, just… not aimed at me, aimed instead at the wall behind me to my right. i remember this.

"wh- okay. sorry, Penny."

"no! sorry. i- can you leave me alone? we need to get this room finished by the end of the week so that we can move on to the stairs so that we can take time off at the end of the month and that won't happen if i take my lunch break today, so i'm just going to keep working," you demand, uncommonly direct. you still don't match my gaze, faced firmly Not At Me, but i remember this. i remember when you used to be like this, at alternating times. usually when Mom was around. i thought it was some kind of mirroring. i'm not so sure now.

don't let her go. push.

so i push, because that's all i really know how to do, even if i hate listening to that voice, "no, come have lunch with me. we can work late today, Lee would kill me if she found out i let you skip lunch."

"i-"

"come on, Penny, i'll-"

"stop calling me that!"

"what?"

"sorry!" you flinch. "sorry, i just- sorry, i need to-" and you start to step past me but i hate the way you look scared of me and maybe it's a terrible idea but as you go i reach out and grab you, pulling you into the room. you're strong, but i'm what feels like twice your size and even though you protest with a shrieking laugh "Lily!!" i cackle too and pull you further into the room, doing my best to set you down gently despite your swinging legs.

"objective has changed: leave no survivors," i grin, grabbing at your sides. you shriek and try to pull away but i'm strong and big and maybe, even if i don't know it, you kind of want to be here, laughing in my arms.

you gasp and laugh hard, and you start to buckle in an attempt to get away but something overtakes me, some sort of impulse i can't explain away, so i switch from just tickling you to grabbing you around the middle and scooping you up almost like a cat, and you giggle a little harder and pull your knees up so you're dangling in the air and i breathe deeply, smelling faint traces of cucumber shampoo and itchy sawdust. for a moment i'm lost in the feeling of you pressed up against me as you are, we haven't hugged or been this close in so long, only the brief tear-filled contact upon our reunion, and we were never really very tactile before that, not the way either of us were with Lena, but now, with you in my arms, surprisingly small pressed up against my chest, i wonder why we weren't, and my head dips and i can't stop myself from practically nuzzling into your hair, but then you squirm again and i come back to myself. i can't help but start to let you go.

thankfully you notice and put your feet down, and i pull away. i don't fail to notice the way you trail after me for a split second before you seem to also come back to yourself. you clear your throat; then, voice changing once more, you say "sorry, yeah. let's. let's get lunch."

i tell myself i don't notice the way you adjust yourself when you think i'm not looking.

>-<

"we're gonna go to the zoo in a couple weekends. not this weekend, but the next. Lena's been begging to go and we got ahead of things on the job and i think we could all use a weekend off. you wanna come?" you ask me, near to the end of September.

yes. "no." fuck you! you want this!

i tried to put it away, back in the box, tried to silence the voice that tasted like ash every time it tried to speak for me. but it's only gotten louder. more insistent. she- fuck, it, it used to be so aggressive, the comparison to the devil was so clear, but now it's more insidious. a different kind of devil on my shoulder. now it's encouraging all those disgustingly indulgent impulses.

stop trying to shove me back in that fucking box, Liliana. i hate it in there.

i try to ignore your disappointed sigh and cringe internally, i can't do it. i can't spend a whole day with them.

you can. you want to. you're gonna say yes. i'll make you.

you can't, i think, my heart dropping into my stomach and the world beginning to tilt. the devil grins and my eyes start to buzz and my head hurts, and when i open my mouth i can taste the ash on my tongue, "sorry. yes. i'll go. text me the details."

and for a terrifying moment i'm not myself, until the devil lets go of me and i crash back into myself and the world rights itself just as you chirp "oh! awesome! Lena's gonna be pumped."

i breathe heavily. you don't notice. what the fuck was that? what just happened?? it felt like being possessed, like it wasn't me speaking, but it was still coming from my mouth, i opened my mouth and i spoke the words but i didn't say that! i wouldn't have said that, you and Lena are in too much danger around me-

do you know how stupid you sound?

i sit down heavily on the bench in the closet we were working on until a few minutes ago. you'd brought up the zoo trip on our lunch break the same way you brought me my lunch, so i have nothing to do but sit and reel.

what? i wonder numbly, trying not to think about the way it feels like casting thoughts into the void.

you sound like a fucking idiot, the devil sneers.

it's- it's not safe, i defend, somewhat weakly, not quite believing it myself. i feel small with the devil looming over me.

they're safer with us than with anyone else. we're the only person who can actually keep them safe, Liliana. you think i'd let you let Dad touch them like he did Mom?

i close my eyes against the memories. against what you never saw. what Lena never saw.

it's just me and the bedroom door and the way she screamed. it's just me and the bedroom door. it's just me. my breathing speeds up, but my hand finds the fidget in my pocket on instinct and pulls it out.

back and forth, my thumb rubs over it, focusing on the click and glide, back and forth, back and forth. me and the bedroom door. he can't hurt me. back and forth. he can't hurt me. me and the bedroom door. back and forth. me and the bedroom door. back and forth. he can't hurt me. back and forth. he won't hurt you. it's just me.

i close the bedroom door.

i open my eyes.

you look back at me with a worried furrow in your brow, and i flush bright red, not ashamed just… nobody's ever caught on to that before.

"Lily? you okay?"

"yeah," i say, honestly. "shit can't hurt me anymore. been through enough therapy to make sure of that."

"oh." you look away for a second.

my blush starts to settle. for lack of anything better to do, i take a sip of my water. talk to her about it. i bet she could use it, the devil whispers. i don't know why i listen. maybe i know she's right. maybe she's feeling less like the devil and more like…

"a few years ago i remembered some shit from home that i'd, like, locked away," i say plainly. it's just you and me in this room, we'd taken our lunch separately from the rest of the crew again. i continue, "i was already in therapy for some other shit, so i just… unloaded, one day."

i trail off for a moment, watching you watch me with careful eyes. it sounds unreal, what i'm saying, and you have a strange sense like it's a cosmic joke, like i'm about to say 'sike!'

but i don't. "went through some pretty fucking intense therapy about it. it's a good thing i had a friend who could keep an eye on me at the time, i kinda fell apart for a while. but i kept going to therapy, twice a week, for a full fucking year. and now… when i remember all that awful shit, it can't hurt me."

"how?" you ask, voice a little small. "how- do you r- it- it doesn't hurt forever?"

i look up at you in shock, finally taking you in. there's a glistening in your eyes and a flush on your cheeks and you're holding yourself around the middle in a way that i know means you're terrified. sitting up a bit straighter, paying more attention to you now, i tell you "no, it doesn't hurt forever. it doesn't have to."

"Lily," you gasp, moving from the doorway into the closet with me, "i- fuck, i- sorry, can i- tell you something?"

i greet you with open arms, pulling you to sit on the bench in the closet next to me. i wish there was a door i could close, but i'll have to trust that nobody will interrupt us.

"talk to me," i tell you.

and you do. i learn, through tears and hyperventilation, what happened to you. the details you hadn't admitted to anyone else. details neither of us could ever commit to page. i listen intently, pulling you until you're held safe in my arms enough that you can cry and i don't even think about the kind of position we're in, just filled with this desperate need to make sure you're safe.

"nobody will ever hurt you again," the Ash whispers.

The dingy cabin light of your daughter's best friend's shitty little sedan winks on and off past the flame of your lighter while you stare down the driveway, and once the paper catches, you suck in a deep, disposable breath of the second cigarette you've had since stepping outside to watch for her. Another breath while you wait, and the cabin light winks on again, Ruby's shaved head ducks down, and then it shoots back up and she smacks the light switch again.

Powderhead.

At least Salia didn't catch onto that, of all the things to pick up on. She stumbles a little bit as she rounds the hood of your truck, and her eyes flick up to you to check if you saw. You did.

She straightens her skirt as she slowly walks toward you, the plaid fabric white and pink and clutched unevenly with a phone and wallet in one hand, and a distinct lack of keys in the other. She was expecting you to let her in, it seems.

She tugs at her white shirt next, trying to smooth out a wet spot over her lack of bra that you can already smell as spilled vodka from ten feet away. You take a leisurely drag off the smoke again, and leave your face placid as she makes her final approach.

"Mom."

Cousin, technically, just ten years apart. But you were the one left when all the paperwork burned itself out, and then she was on your doorstep. And then you were mom.

Probably because of that.

"Mooooom." She croons at you, her free hand on the wrist of the other in front of her as she leans forward, an inch past a more socially discrete threshold for personal space.

"I told you to wear a bra when you leave the house."

Salia squeezes her tits together with her arms and pretends to shrink back with a false affectation of shyness. "But it's so hot, and Ruby's car doesn't have AC…"

"Bullshit."

"No, it really doesn't!" In your daughter's inebriation, she really thinks that finding a crumb of truth is a triumph in this conversation. You take another drag off your cigarette and just stare at her, your eye contact unflinching through the smoke you don't bother pointing away from her face. She takes a visible breath of the smell, then she takes yet another step closer to you. "You're mad at me."

She's close enough that you can smell the vodka on her breath, so vivid you might think she'd done a shot in the car before she got out. Knowing her, she might have. You flick your head slightly. "Why would I be mad?"

"No, you're mad." She leans as close as she can without touching you, face five inches below yours, red eyes focusing on your own as imperfectly as they can manage.

You flick the ash off your cigarette into her cleavage. "I can't have you drinking."

She stretches up on her tiptoes. "C'mon mom, it was just one shot, it's nothing!" There might be one shot drying on her shirt, but there was certainly more than that in her mouth earlier. Who knows what else.

"And I told you not to lie to me."

Salia's empty hand finds your hip, and the other braces on the wall behind you to let her lean as close to your chest as possible while she stares up at you with a clumsy attempt at puppy-dog eyes. "I was just exaggerating mom, I wasn't lyinggggg."

You adjust to spread your legs enough for her to press forward with your thigh between hers. You keep your voice flat as you reply "You know what'll happen if anyone finds out you're getting wasted."

"They can't take me away again, there's nobody else." She leans her face around to your neck and takes a deep sniff while she grinds forward against you. "Just me and my mommmm."

You reach up with your free hand and slide your fingers into her hair and rotate her face to look at you. "God you're such a drunk little slut."

"Uh-huhhhhhhh" she moans as she grinds on you again, and this time she doesn't stop, continuing to press hard against you as she rocks her hips and stares transfixed into your eyes. You take another drag and blow it in her face. "What did I ever do to get stuck with a slut daughter like this?"

Her voice is shaky from the pressure between her legs. "You-… were the only one-… that stayed."

And maybe you shouldn't have. This is so fucked. But fuck your life, so fuck it.

You drop your hand to her hip and pull her harder against your thigh. You haven't been exactly tepid in the clammy air so far, but her intoxicated moan pushes you into earnest heat. Her eyes roll up in her head and her motions become more emphatic while you half-assedly facilitate her grinding and finish your cigarette.

It finally burns out, and when you flick it onto the concrete past Salia her grip on your hip tightens and she leans her face on your chest while she rocks her hips and moans "Please, please, please, please-" under her breath. You glance around, and with no witnesses, you slide your hand up along her body and find her nipple, then pinch it - not too hard, not too light.

Just like she likes.

She squeaks at the pressure, then her motions cease to allow her to stretch on her tiptoes as close as she can get to your face. You know what she wants is a sloppy kiss, but you also know "You want your mom to fuck your face, don't you, daughter."

"Uh-huh!" She nods at you frantically, so you push her away. She knows it's not a rejection, so she grins and flips up her shirt to flash you.

and then tomorrow comes. mercifully, you're back to work, framing an addition for an old house across town in Brookline. morning traffic sucks, alleviated by Moss's presence in the passenger seat of your shared work truck. they make easy chatter that keeps a smile on your face for most of the drive. the work is hard, but not difficult, an easy process you've done dozens of times across the city, made faster by another set of hands. you wish you had enough money to get a third set of hands, but that's a bit unrealistic right now.

traffic is even worse on the way back, for some reason, and no matter how many shortcuts you try you can't help but watch as the clock ticks later and later, until it's already past the time you were supposed to be meeting Cleo. Moss mans your phone for you, texting Cleo and Sarah and Lena for you, and your frustration mounts as you keep driving, and it's a half hour past the time you were supposed to meet when you finally arrive home.

you rush inside and straight to the shower, shedding your work clothes into the hamper and stepping under the hot water. you scrub angrily and efficiently to clean off the grime of the day, soapy fingernails scraping away dried sweat and sawdust in equal measure. you're done in less than then minutes.

you can't help but linger in front of the mirror.

punch the mirror, you'll feel better…

you shake your head and move on.

you dry off with the towel as you head to your room to get dressed. cargo shorts, sports bra, tanktop. comfy and easy, perfect for a day in the park.

unfortunately, your frustration continues to build. apparently Moss had failed to alert you that there was a change of plans, and the chill evening is now a full-blown picnic. when Sarah tells you, you have to stop and close your eyes for a moment, irrational anger bubbling up, and you can't help the frustrated "why?"

"because none of us have had lunch-"

"i did!"

"- and Cleo thought it - i know, puppy, but you're probably hungry by now - she thought it would be nice to have something to eat while we're there. Lena volunteered to make the sandwiches, which is why she's on the couch resting now. can you help me pack the drinks and sandwiches up and get them to the car?"

"Sarah, i-" you start to protest, not even sure why you're resisting, just knowing that the change of plans is making your chest tight and you'd like it to stop.

and it stops, after a fashion, when Sarah's fingers thread through your hair and you go a little empty. for a moment your chest no longer feels like it's trying to choke your heart, and all that matters is Sarah. she lets you lean forward, brings her other hand up to loop around your back to bring you in to her chest, and holds you for a moment. "breathe, puppy. we have all the time in the world, okay?"

and of course, Sarah cuts to the root of it so quickly. you whimper a little, letting the shame go as best you can. it takes a minute for you to come back to reality, but when you do you feel a lot less angry. you don't feel like punching something, at the very least.

you stop at the couch to give Lena a kiss, then follow Sarah into the kitchen. you grab the red cooler off the porch without her asking, and together you fill it with ice and drinks, honestly far too many for just the three of you, but Sarah's always prepared. she puts the sandwiches in on top of the ice to keep them cool and fresh. they're not small things, Lena definitely went all out for the picnic. you can at least make out lettuce aplenty on one of them, though there seem to be a few different sandwiches.

your stomach growls. you did have lunch, you weren't lying, but Sarah was still right. you are hungry. that gives you a little more direction, makes this picnic idea a little more worth it. some food made by your sister, warm weather, maybe it'll be okay.

the cooler gets loaded into the trunk of Sarah's car, then Lena climbs into the passenger seat happily, and after a quick dip back into the house to grab your pen you're climbing into the back seat. it's a short five minute trip to Kite Hill Park from your house. the park is basically as it sounds. a little grassy hill in between two fairly unremarkable streets (except to those who live on them). there's a drab basketball court at the top of the hill, but Cleo's already claimed a spot with a fairly massive blanket and even some cushions and pillows. all blue, of course, because everything about Cleo is blue.

then you catch her eye, and the panic starts to seize you, and entirely on instinct you bring your hand up and put the vape in your mouth and take a deep, deep pull from it, and then you keep going, past the point you know is responsible, but it's all you know how to do, is escape and let it hurt, and you go until your lungs start to burn and the world tilts, and you see Cleo waving but it's a little distant as the oxygen deprivation catches up and you finally exhale, and Sarah pushes you forward, and you wait for the hit.

you make it halfway up the hill before it hits you. it's a slow, almost unnoticeable creep at first. you start to walk a little more confidently, a little less trepidatiously, and the ground may be a little uneven but you're undaunted, and as it keeps crashing over you you care less and less, until you reach the blanket and you look up at Cleo with a smile, "hi!"

"oh baby," she giggles, "that was a biiiig hit, put that cooler down and sit, sit! oh my god, hi! Lena, right?"

and you lose track a little bit as you remember that you are in fact carrying the cooler, and oh my god you have to put it down somewhere. it takes you what feels like several minutes to decide, but in reality based on the conversation going on behind you is more like fifteen or twenty seconds. you set the red cooler down as gently as you can while your head is spinning like this, and you sit down with a relieved whumph sound, and the world stops spinning so hard.

it lets up enough for you to hear more of the conversation, "-so so sorry about all of the… everything that happened the other night! seriously, i have no excuse, and i'll understand if you don't forgive me, but i want to at least try to-"

"Cleo, calm down," Lena says, giggling, "let's sit down and talk, get to know each other before we get to apologies. i don't even know you yet."

you busy yourself with the cooler (which you placed right next to your seat) as an assemblage of some of the most important people in the world sit down around you, and you're all fuzzy and warm and hungry, and by the time you manage to get the cooler open Sarah's already kneeling in front of it to grab everything out. you whine somewhat discontentedly, but Sarah leans in a little closer to you and whispers "just relax, puppy. let Cleo and Lena talk, okay? would you like me to sit next to you?"

you nod happily, a little puppy-brained, a little puppy-eyed, hazy at the edges and just happy to have an order to focus on. Sarah's right, like always. you sigh happily as she hands you a tuna sandwich, you're sure made the same way that your mom made them when you were kids. Lena had always been helping her in the kitchen. it makes sense she has some of the recipes. not that tuna sandwich can be too hard, but…

"how long have you been in Pittsburgh?" Lena asks, and Cleo smiles, both at the question and at Sarah handing her her sandwich and a can of cola.

"i've been living in the city basically my whole life, aside from a couple semesters abroad in college. grew up in Banksville, lived way out in Fairywood for a little while, spent a couple years in Squirrel Hill, now i'm here in East Liberty."

"you know the city pretty well, then?"

"ehhh, i know my favorite spots, but i don't go out much where my friends don't take me, y'know?"

"i think so, yeah. i guess i was the same, back home. our family had the few restaurants we went to all the time, but i never really went anywhere else."

"mm, nothing wrong with it, right? if you know what you like, what's the harm in sticking to it?"

"that's a good point. so what's your favorites?"

Cleo leans forward a bit conspiratorially, "it's extremely nerdy."

Lena leans forward, too, as if to share a secret, "have you met my sister?"

"god you're right, has she shown you Phantom of the Attic yet??"

giggling at the name, Lena says "no!"

she's yours. they need to stop talking.

you shake your head again. push the thought away. try to focus on something else. Sarah notices, and pokes your hand holding the sandwich. you still haven't even started it yet. sluggishly, you take a grateful bite. and then another, and another, as if the act of eating activated your hunger, and before you know it the whole sandwich is gone and you start to get sad that there's no more sandwich, but Sarah reaches across you into the cooler and pulls out another tuna sandwich, and you make heart eyes at Lena even though she's talking to Cleo and giggling between bites of her own sandwich, a BLT by the looks of it. the second tuna sandwich doesn't last much longer than the first.

Sarah's begun to lean into you, and distantly you recognize that she's got you leashed, effectively. one hand has wrapped around your back and pressed itself into your side in a vaguely ticklish way, and the other has taken your hand and started to play with it. you wouldn't dare deny her her fun, and so you stay there and let yourself be played with while your sister the saint talks with the scary fluffy bunny.

eventually they move on, and you're distantly aware of the thread of the conversation, talk about locations, references to Wednesday's adventure with me, inquiring about our family, and that's when Lena starts to get a little cagey, saying "our mom and dad are… fairly intolerant. they were always hard on us, in different ways, but it was… different when it was just the three of us, y'know? better. or…" Lena trails off, unsure of the word.

"peaceful?" Cleo supplies.

"peaceful, yeah. well, aside from Penny and Lily fighting, but i mostly usually had that under control."

you want to protest, but recent events have indicated you have no basis for that, so you stay quietly grumpy. Sarah notices and squeezes your side harder, causing you to jump and laugh, a quiet indignant "Sarah!" escaping you.

she giggles into you, "quiet, i'm trying to watch this telenovela," she teases.

you go dutifully quiet, turning to watch along, only to find Cleo and Lena have stopped for a second to look at you, then giggle together.

"okay, so she was just sorta always like that with you?"

Lena laughs, but she flushes bright red and covers her face a bit, "yeah, she was… i just- like- i didn't even have context yet, y'know?? not when we were really young and it was just me trying to calm her down and stuff when my mom couldn't anymore. and by the time i started realizing it was weird, we'd already started to… drift apart a little bit. then i moved back in, and…"

"you drifted back together?" Cleo asks, smiling brightly.

with another laugh and a nod, Lena moves on, "what about you? do you have any siblings?"

Cleo shakes her head, "nah, i'm pretty much on my own. no siblings, and i never really see my parents anymore. but i like it that way! i make my family elsewhere, y'know? i've got a group of friends here in the city that're more like my family than my parents ever were; i spend most of my holidays with them."

"ugh, i know our parents are gonna want us to come home for Thanksgiving and i am so not looking forward to it," Lena grumbles.

you don't say anything. Mom texted you a couple weeks ago, making sure of exactly that. after a lot of guilt tripping, you promised her that you'd spend the whole weekend with them. before, that wasn't too crazy of a thing to ask. you could hide away the parts of yourself they'd be ashamed of for that long, put them neatly away in a box. but now, with me back in the picture… can you and Lena both keep that in the box?

you tear your eyes away from Lena and Cleo, not able to look at your sister right now. Thanksgiving. it's so far away, but right now your anxiety puts a hand on the blade of the fan and pushes, making it all spin faster, until you're whirling about in your mind and you close your eyes and you want to say something to Sarah but you don't, thinking spare them the anxiety, it's better if you hurt instead.

and the thought feels strange and foreign, and you shake your head again until your eyes jostle open and you look around uncertainly. everything's the same, except you. you're the only thing that's changed. you feel… calmer? serene? it doesn't matter, as much, what happens right now. it hurts, god does it hurt, but that's how it should be. so you sit in peace and let it happen. and then Sarah's hand threads through your hair and you sigh deeply, looking over at her. wow, she's beautiful. it doesn't hurt as much, when she touches you. that's nice. you smile, "hi," and then giggle.

"baby?" Sarah asks, a smile on her face despite curious eyebrows.

"i feel funny," you whisper to her, hunching up your shoulders and putting a mischievous look on your face.

Sarah gets a little closer, turning away from her telenovela to pay attention to you. "good funny? bad funny? what's up?"

"i don't know, just weird funny… i was freaking out and now i'm not."

"well that sounds like it might be good funny," Sarah says, bringing you into her arms and kissing you on the head, "what else?"

you open your mouth, but stop, unsure how to quantify it. it's just. a feeling. you almost tell her this, but Lena interrupts before you can, "Pen-Pen? you okay?"

you look up, knowing she's talking to you but feeling at a distance from the nickname. "i think so!" you say brightly. "how are you?"

Lena, caught off guard, giggles, "i'm doing great, baby. you were kind of distracted, we were just talking about you!"

"all good things, don't worry, angel," Cleo says, and angel sounds right. you like angel. you smile at Cleo happily. she turns back to Lena, presumably continuing the conversation, saying "you can't exactly blame me for being obsessed with her, can you?"

with a happy hum, Lena says "no, i can't."

"she makes me stupid," Cleo says it with a grin, but then she gets serious, "it's not an excuse, but… it does mean i need to apologize, genuinely. i was acting really stupid, and just cause i didn't know how it was going to affect you doesn't mean i didn't fuck it up real hard. so i'd like to try to make it up to you and to Penny however you'll let me."

your sister is contemplative for a long moment, and you watch her face the whole time as she thinks and her brow twitches and her lips go thin for a moment before she pouts, and you can almost tell what she's going to say before she says it, "knowing that, i think i can forgive you."

Cleo almost looks confused, like she didn't expect to be forgiven. you knew better. our sister, the saint.

"with that out of the way," Lena announces with a very serious face that you recognize. she's being mischievous, trying to freak out Cleo. even Sarah gets a bit of a frightened look, but you can't help the giggle. luckily it doesn't tip Cleo off, and so she's appropriately wigged out when Lena asks "what are your intentions with my sister?"

Cleo laughs, once, a little startled at the question, and then quietly wonders "what?"

Lena cracks, finally, just a twitch at the corner of her mouth at first before she snorts and giggles and cackles out "i'm so sorry!"

you laugh, too, and Cleo looks aghast for a second before she does a double take between you and your sister and lets out a startled laugh, "you asshole! i thought you were genuinely about to give me the shovel talk!"

once Lena manages to bring her giggles under control she explains, "Penny and i are girlfriends now, since nobody really knows. i just want to know how serious you are about her."

Cleo skirts a look over at your for a moment, weighing her words, her options. you hold your breath, knowing but unsure of what she'll say, and you think it'd be easier if she said she wasn't, but then there's another thought that feels much more like Penny, i want it to be serious.

and Cleo says "as a heart attack."

i love you, you think, but manage to refrain from saying it out loud just yet.

"but that's a discussion for Penny and i to have later," she adds, and you nod happily, once again puppy-brained but no longer anxious, all the scary parts of the day done.

you stay in the park until the sun begins to set, late in the evening. you and Sarah join in the conversation, once Cleo and Lena are caught up and all's forgiven (or on its way there). you spend almost an hour fiercely debating which Star Wars movie is best. at least a half hour on the merits of Stargate, which Sarah hasn't seen. and a frankly egregious amount of time on which snacks are best for playing D&D.

you say goodbye to Cleo, almost wishing for a dramatic sunset to light the hill, but the way the warm evening light filters through the trees around the park is equally as romantic. Lena leads Sarah away from the two of you and back to the car. she sends you a wink, mouthing "go for it."

you flush, appreciative. your head is thankfully clear of the high, now, and you turn to face Cleo fully. "hey, bunny," you murmur with a smile.

she steps in closer, letting that magnetic attraction draw you into her, her hands on you, one on your hip and the other on your arm, and you bring your face up next to hers, softly nuzzling her, "hey, angel."

"so…" you whisper.

"so…" she whispers back. "Lena's your girlfriend now, huh?"

and you can't see her, because you've still got your face hovering next to hers, your eyes half-lidded, but you can hear the smile in ther voice.

"yeah… yeah, she is."

"so… what will i be?"

your voice quivers, "wh… what do you… want to be?"

"i- can we be…" she slows, stops for a moment. your heart goes into freefall in the silence. partners, you hope.

"we could be… partners?"

“Hello, little sister.”  Her voice comes from behind you, impossibly close. You turn, drawing your dagger and slashing at where her throat should be in one fluid motion, but there’s no-one there. 

She speaks again, this time from somewhere high above you, on the library’s half-collapsed second floor. “I’m hurt. We’ve been apart for a year, and you greet me with the edge of a knife?”

You hear her weight shifting on the floor above you and raise your weapon towards where you know she is, focusing your magic through the intricate sigilwork along the blade as you speak an incantation of pure destructive intent. It’s your father’s technique, rough and incomplete — he never taught you, but you’ve tried to reconstruct it from what you remember of how he fought. In the right hands, it could have leveled what remained of the manor. Yours have never been the right hands, though. Your spell will be smaller, less refined, but no less deadly for it.

The dagger gets hot in your hand as the inscriptions it bears ignite, compressing the air above you down to a single point of impossible density. Then, for a fraction of a second, a star blooms in the library. A wall of heat and force explodes outward as it collapses in a brilliant flash, reducing the second floor to splinters and dust, a cloud of debris swallowing the room whole.

There’s a breathless moment as the dust settles where you think your hunt might finally be over. You don’t let your guard down, though, buying you just enough time to react as she comes flying out of the rubble, hitting you like a freight train.

The melee is frantic, a flurry of claws as strong and sharp as steel clashing against your blade, the blade she was meant to bear. It would be only fitting to kill her with it, wouldn’t it? 

She’s fast, faster than you’ve ever seen her. But her wild swipes and slashes are unpracticed — for all her talent with magic, you’re better than her in close combat. You’ve always been better than her. You break through her defense and tear a gash down her forearm, the dagger’s enchantment burning flesh as it carves. She hisses, and you steel your nerves. You can do this.

But then, you see her. You really see her, for the first time since all of this started, and it’s… it’s her. 

It’s your sister. She’s thinner than you remember, all pale skin and bone that would make her seem almost frail if she hadn’t just nearly killed you. But she still holds herself the same way when she’s hurt, and it’s still her face, even if it’s being worn by the monster that killed her.

You hesitate, and it costs you. Her grimoire is in her hands before you even register that she moved, that ancient leather cover recognizable even in the near pitch-black library. You’ve seen her cast from it a thousand times; you know better than to let her finish.

You lunge, and she doesn’t even look up from the page. Her lips are moving, the intricate sigils inscribed in the book forming in the air around her. It’s like reading a language you almost speak — you can see the spell’s structure and pick out fragments of its horrifying logic, but the bigger picture eludes you. You’d cast a ward if there were time, but there’s no time.

The spell finishes and she sidesteps your lunge with a laugh, the last thing you hear before the world goes silent.

Not quiet, not muffled, silent. The total absence of sound, like one of your senses had been simply plucked from your skull. Sound was your lifeline here, fighting the dark, and now it’s gone. You do your best to follow her movement, desperately trying to keep track of her. It doesn’t work. 

She comes at you from a direction you weren’t expecting, and you narrowly deflect claws aimed straight for your throat, the force sending you stumbling backwards. You slash recklessly at where she was and meet nothing, only to be placed on the defensive again, losing ground as she takes you apart with one brutal strike after another.

You try to keep up, frantically retreating as each sparking clash of claws on steel wears you down. Your heel catches on something behind you and you glance down for an instant — it’s the windows, or what used to be the windows, the massive panes of glass now melted down into glistening slag on the floor. Her claws rake across your shoulder and you bite down on a scream you wouldn’t have heard yourself make anyway.

You’re running out of room. She pushes you until your back is against the wall, then shatters your guard and sends your blade clattering to the floor. You can feel warm blood coursing down your arm, dripping down onto the glass beneath your feet.

This is it. 

She grins, then rushes towards you, and in an instant her hand closes around your throat.

It’s cold. That’s what you notice amid all the panic, how cold her hand is. You’ve held this hand so many times before but it’s cold and dead now and it does not let go no matter how hard you claw at her wrist, her fingers, anything you can reach. Your vision is going dark at the edges, your struggles are getting weaker and weaker.

And then the silence breaks, sound crashing in like a wave. Your ragged breath, your pulse pounding in your ears. It’s deafening, but her voice cuts through it all.

“I missed you, little sister.”

The library goes dark.

Cold is the first thing to greet you as you wake — cold stone beneath your back, cold air stinging in your lungs. Then comes the pain, the wound you took to the shoulder searing itself back into your slowly growing awareness. You try to move your good arm but firm restraints stop you, and a jolt of fear shoots through you as you as you realize you’ve been stripped down to your smallclothes. You wince and open your eyes, trying to take stock of your situation as calmly as you can; panic won’t help you right now. 

There’s a vaulted stone ceiling high above you, one you swear you’ve seen before. You glance towards your injury, but are surprised to see bloody bandages wrapped tightly around it. Had you been saved somehow? No, that wouldn’t make sense. Why would you be restrained if you had been rescued?

Looking past your bandaged arm, though, you see more of the room around you. Torchlight dances on a stone statue that stands against the far wall, silently guarding rows of ornately carved tombs. Your heart drops, the panic you tried so hard to stave off beginning to set in as you realize exactly where you are.

You haven’t been saved, and nobody is coming to save you now. This is the crypt beneath the manor, and you’re tied to the ritual altar.

For a moment, you hear nothing but the sound of your own unsteady breathing.

Then, from behind you, footsteps as your sister moves into your view. “Good morning,” she says, smiling down at you. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“You bandaged my shoulder,” you blurt. It’s the first thing your mind lands on, a detail you can’t quite make sense of.

She sounds almost offended as she replies. “Of course I did. I’m not going to let you bleed to death, sweet sister.”

“Then let me go,” you command, in the closest thing to a confident tone you can manage right now. You know you’re in no position to make demands, but you have to say something.

“I will,” she says, pleasantly. “Eventually.” She pulls a chair from somewhere beyond your vision and sits beside the altar, staring at you like she’s waiting for something. 

You meet her gaze defiantly. Keeping you alive would be her fatal mistake, if you could just find a way out of these damned restraints. As if anything had changed, you test them again. They don’t move. 

She laughs at you, that same laugh you grew up adoring now a knife that twists in your gut. “I would have been disappointed if you didn’t try, but you’re not going anywhere. I need you to stay still for this.”

Anger compels you to speak again, to ask the question that has been burning in your mind since she left you.  “Y-you killed them. Why did you—”

She cuts you off. “It was for you, angel. You’ll understand that eventually.”

“Don’t.” You spit back at her, pouring venom into your tone. “Don’t tell me I’ll understand, or that it was for me. You murdered our parents and turned everything I knew into ash, and then you ran from me. You’re a coward.” 

“I freed us.” Her tone is gentle, like one used to correct a misunderstanding. “I freed myself, and I freed you, too. I know you can’t see it that way yet, but that’s alright.”

“How does—” you start, but she interrupts again.

“They were going to get us killed,” she says, as if it’s a fact. “Maybe not this year, maybe not the next, but eventually — in some dark place, for a family name already half-forgotten and for a world that would have used us up and left us in an unmarked grave.”

A flicker of sadness crosses her face. “We were never people to them, little sister. We were weapons. You know I’m right.”

A small, treacherous part of you doesn’t disagree. But you’ve seen the trail of bodies left in her wake, she’s a monster. There’s no justification for what she’s done. “That doesn’t give you the right to kill them.” 

“No,” she agrees. “It doesn’t.” The admission stuns you into silence.

She rises, placing her grimoire on the stone beside you. “But I don’t care. I’m not going to try to justify my actions to you.” 

“I kill who I want, because I like it.”  She reaches into her cloak and produces a small wooden box, setting it beside the spellbook. 

“I take what I want, because I like it.” She lifts the lid. Inside, a fine silver needle rests on a bed of dark silk, a small reservoir of violet ink sitting beside it.

“And what I want, more than anything, is you, sweet thing. I won’t let anything keep us apart any longer, least of all this idiotic crusade of yours.” A thin filament of light forms at her fingertips as she focuses, coiling around the needle and lifting it into the air. She touches it to the surface of the ink and the intricate carvings along its length drink deep, violet crawling up through the grooves. The ink beads at the tip, trembles, then drips once into the reservoir. “Your hunt ends tonight, little sister, though maybe not how you imagined.” 

You’ve hunted vampires before, seen the dark magic etched into the skin of the poor souls bound to their will. You had made peace with your own death long ago, but she’s not going to let you die; she's going to make you hers. “N-no, wait!” you plead. You can hear the change in your voice, your anger giving way to fear. “Please, just stop and we can talk about this.” 

“We are talking,” she says, gently, sitting down beside you as the needle hums. Panic drags you under completely as it draws closer to your arm, your heart pounding in your chest. You writhe against your restraints; not because you think you can escape, but out of instinct, like an animal caught in a trap. When they don't budge, something inside you breaks. You start to cry, ugly sobs wracking your body as tears fall down your cheeks.

Her free hand moves to stroke your face and you freeze up, still sobbing as the claws that tore your shoulder to shreds now wipe away your tears. “Shhh…” she soothes. “It’s okay, just hold still for me. This won’t hurt, I promise.”

Her words aren’t particularly comforting, but fear keeps you locked in place, a still canvas for her magic. As the needle first touches the inside of your wrist, you learn that her words weren’t particularly true, either. It stings as it pierces your skin again and again, tracing out delicate sigils. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, holding back whimpers. You won’t give her the pleasure of knowing she’s hurting you. 

The pain is bad, but you’ve trained your whole life to ignore it; the feeling that comes as the ink seeps into your body is far worse. Everywhere the needle has left its trail of violet begins to grow warm, getting more sensitive. At first, it only amplifies the torment, your skin tender and raw as your sister continues to inscribe delicate magic. But slowly, creeping in at the edges of your suffering, comes a new feeling — one that fills you with disgust.

It starts to feel good. 

The pain begins to fade as pleasure takes its place, the bite of the needle and your sister’s cold touch stirring a warmth inside you that dredges up feelings you’ve long-since buried. As shameful as it might be, there was a time when you would have done anything for your sister to make you feel this way. But those feelings were wrong, and that thing isn’t the sister you grew up loving. Whatever she’s doing to you is altering your perception, just like the spell she cast in the library. You need to fight this.

It takes all your energy, but you can still find the faint feeling of pain in what she’s doing to you. You focus in on the hurt, centering it in your mind as you try to exclude everything else she’s making you feel. You don’t think it’s working.

She stops for a moment to coat the needle in ink again and you breathe a sigh of relief, but as much as you hate yourself for it, you can’t shake a feeling of emptiness as her touch leaves you. When her work resumes and the sensations return, a moan nearly escapes your throat, barely held back by clenched teeth. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up, the pain you had been using to anchor yourself is all but gone now.

Time blurs as your body screams out for you to simply give in, to accept the gift of pleasure she’s giving you but you can’t, you can’t give in.

You can’t give in. You can’t give in. You can’t—

“It’s finished, sweetheart,” she says, gently. Your eyes, clamped shut, slowly drift open. Your sister is smiling at you, her fangs showing just past her lips as she dries the needle on a small cloth before setting it gently back in its box. 

She’s… done? That doesn’t make any sense. Your injured shoulder no longer hurts, the sting faded into the same pleasant warmth that suffuses the skin around your new tattoo. You hate the way the sensation makes your tummy flutter, but you’re still you, despite whatever she did to you. You’re not sure if that’s better or worse.

“W-what did you do?” you stammer. “I thought I would be—”

“A mindless thrall? If all I wanted was a hollowed out pet, I could have taken any girl I desired. I want you.” She reaches up to cup your cheek in her hand, a terrifying glint in her eyes. “I would enjoy making you into an empty plaything, but that would waste something beautiful. No, your mind — and your love — will be given to me willingly before this night ends.”

No matter what she does to you, there’s no way you’ll surrender to her. “And you think that making pain feel—” You nearly say good before you catch yourself. “... making pain feel weird, is gonna make me love you again? After everything you’ve done? You’re insane.” 

“No, sweet sister.” She traces the intricate violet linework of your new tattoo with her claws, the sensation dragging a shiver out of your traitorous body. “But this is only the first gift I have for you. What I’m going to do next will hurt much worse, and I wanted you to enjoy it. I certainly will.”

Her hand dips beneath her cloak again as she draws forth an ornate band of black leather — a collar inlaid with silver sigils, delicate as lace. “I had this made just for you. Don’t fight it too hard, okay?”

You give her a defiant glare, steeling yourself against whatever effect the collar will have. The moment the clasp closes around your neck, you feel it begin its dark work. It starts at the edges of your thoughts, a low fog and faint pressure in your head. A memory crystallizes, though not of your own accord.

You recognize where you are: a dark alleyway in Prague, standing over a girl’s body as her still-warm blood pours out onto the cobblestones. You’re sure you’ve never seen her before, but there’s a familiarity that nags at you. When you turn her over to examine her wounds, your stomach drops. She looks just like you — your red hair, your green eyes, your cheekbones. The resemblance is uncanny. 

The memory keeps shifting; new cities, new bodies, but never a new face. Always yours, staring back at you, empty-eyed. A message, you had decided, early in the hunt. A taunt, maybe. I could do this to you. Stay away, or don’t. See what happens.

In the waking world, your sister moves in the periphery of your awareness. A candle catches flame on the altar, and your temper ignites with it as you realize what she’s doing. She’s gloating. She’s out there, doing whatever she wants to your body while she makes you look at this, a year’s worth of her cruelty laid out in front of you. 

Then something speaks from the corners of your mind, and it speaks in her voice. The intrusion startles you, and adds more fuel to your anger. You think she killed them because she hates you. You couldn’t be further from the truth.

What else could it be? you snarl back.

Maybe she missed you, it says. She looks for your face everywhere she goes, finding only echoes of you. It’s not her fault none of them filled that void. This is just what love looks like when it has nowhere else to go.

Love. She wants to call it love when she abandons you, when she kills the innocent for pleasure, for the crime of reminding her of you. Your hands curl into fists; the cruelty of it, the sheer audacity of it, it’s enough to make you want to scream. You feel the force of your magic coiling behind your rage before you can stop it, and you scream into the fog clouding your mind. If she loved me so much, then WHY DID SHE RUN? A whole year and she never ONCE—

The fog slams down as your magic surges; a thick, suffocating weight bearing down on your thoughts. When it settles over you and all becomes numb, her voice speaks again, gently. You hunted her. You picked up the blade and carried on the legacy she tried so hard to free you from. What else could she do?

You open your mouth to answer and find the words harder to reach than they should be. You pull harder, and feel the fog thicken in response.

That’s not— you start. She’s the one who—

But in the real world, you hear her begin to chant, a dozen candles flickering around you as the air starts to move. The sound of her voice, knowing she’s casting something, sends a spike of panic that cuts through the fog. You don’t have time. Whatever she’s doing out there, you don’t have time.

You reach for the well of anger that drove you as you chased her across Europe, the only thing that kept your feet moving through every cold city and dead end. You reach for it and it comes up thin, diminished, the dying embers of the fire inside you.

In a panic, you grasp at the one memory that has never failed you, your unassailable answer to your every doubt. The library in flames. Your parents crumpled on the floor. The way your sister grinned with their blood still coating her lips. You wait for the anger that always comes. 

It doesn’t.

You can see every detail just as sharply as the day it happened, but the memory sits behind glass now, and the place where anger used to live is quiet.

And then the collar shows you something else.

Your father’s voice raised. Your sister stepping in front of you, blocking his way into the training room. She’s thirteen, she’s saying. She’s thirteen and you will not send her out there, not on her own, not tonight. She’s not ready. The way your father raised his hand to hit her, and the way she never flinched.

Another memory, years later. Slipping through the manor’s back door, bleeding after your first solo hunt goes wrong. You have to get to your room quietly; you can’t let father see the gash torn in the fine leather cuirass he commissioned for your birthday. You don’t make it, collapsing on the floor of the storeroom. You wake to your sister leaning over you, bandaging your wound and mending your armor with a spell.

She loves you. She has always loved you. She did what she had to in order to protect you, and she would do it again. You’re not sure if that was her voice, or your own.

There’s a void in your heart. A great, gaping wound torn open by the absence of the rage that drove you for so long. Without that, what do you have left?

You have her, comes the answer. The only person who ever loved you, who ever saw you as more than a blade.

You want to argue, to snap back, to scream that it’s not enough, but it’s right. She’s all you have.

Outside your memories, you see her standing at the foot of the altar, palms raised to the vaulted ceiling as she speaks the final words of the spell she’s been building since the collar pulled you under. The candles around you flicker, then snuff out as something dark gathers in her hands — a dense, writhing knot of black-violet curse that pulses in time with your heartbeat. 

Fear drags you up from the depths of memory as she moves towards you, the curse crackling in her hand.  “H-hey, no, what are you—” you start, your voice small and terrified.

“Don’t worry,” she says, climbing onto the altar and straddling your legs. “I know you’re scared and confused, but I’m gonna fix you, okay?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as she brings the curse towards the bare skin of your tummy and it begins to reach out, like it’s alive. The last thing out of your mouth before it touches you is a barely coherent “no, please no nonono—”

And then, between two beats of your panicked heart, time stops as the curse takes root.

At first, it feels like warmth pooling just beneath your skin, a heat that gathers low in your belly. Then, the corruption spreads, veins of violet and midnight threading throughout your body. The threads ignite and you scream into the cold air, but it doesn’t hurt, not after your sister's first “gift”. 

Your back arches, your whole body shaking as wave after wave of corruptive pleasure crashes over you and you hate it, you hate her, for making you enjoy it. You hold tightly to that hate, refusing to let go or give in as ecstasy burns you from the inside out. The curse devours thought and memory, grief and fear, everything that made you human, until only the hate remains. But the harder you cling to it, the harder the collar presses down on your thoughts.

You don’t have to keep fighting, little hunter, it tells you, and you don’t want to listen but— you’ve been hunting her for so long. You finally found her, and she loves you. Why push her away?

There was a time when you could have answered that without hesitation, but you don’t have an answer now. You’re terrified as you hold the last ember of your humanity in your hands, but you’re not strong enough to resist.

You let go, and the tide of ecstasy carries it away.

Your resistance shatters, a dark hunger growing to fill the hollow space inside you until it consumes you. You cry out, thrashing against the restraints as something pushes up towards the surface of your skin. You watch through tears as a pattern takes shape, growing in delicate curves — a twisted, heart-shaped mandala of petals and thorns that blossoms over your womb. 

It feels like an eternity before you can breathe again, and as you look up at your sister, she’s smiling. Not the predatory grin you’ve come to fear, but one full of warmth and adoration, the smile you fell in love with so long ago. Your chest tightens, and you smile back.

“Oh, there she is…” she breathes, leaning over you to undo your restraints. The thought of fighting her doesn’t even cross your mind. She pulls you up into a tight embrace; her body is corpse-cold but her touch spreads heat inside you everywhere it goes. “I missed you, baby sister.”

You start to say it back but she cuts you off with a kiss; hungry and desperate, a year’s worth of love coming out all at once. Her fangs graze the inside of your lip and you shudder, your head spinning.

The heat in your core is rising and you can feel your body still changing — bones shifting, muscles twisting, a growing pressure at your shoulderblades and tailbone, but you can’t care. All that matters is her, her lips on yours, her claws on your skin.

She breaks away, trailing kisses down your jaw, your throat, her fangs at your neck. She nips gently, like she’s asking permission; you know what she wants, and you’ll give it gladly. You nod, and her teeth sink into your flesh.

You cry out, your vision going white as ecstasy, bright and shattering, hits you full-force. The venom in her bite burns through your arteries as she drinks deep, and the more blood she takes from you, the warmer her body gets until she feels almost alive again. You squirm in her grasp and her claws dig into your skin, but you can’t stay still. The grinding and popping of bones is too much to ignore, the pressure building until—

You scream into her shoulder as your spine cracks and your shoulderblades split with a wet, agonizing stretch. Bat-like wings, delicate and violet-veined, push through your skin, unfurling in spasms. Blood runs down your back, down to where your tailbone is growing, twisting and elongating into a black spade-tipped tail that flicks against your thigh. 

Every part of this should hurt, but it doesn’t, not anymore. It feels right, like this was how you were meant to be — but more than anything, it feels good.

“Gods, look at you…” she purrs as she pulls away. “You’re perfect.”

She’s beautiful, crimson eyes and rosy cheeks, your blood dripping from her fangs. You don’t know what you’re doing as you lean in, but instincts guide your lips to hers again. She kisses back, and you taste salt and warm copper on her tongue. 

Her hand slips between your wings, her sharp claws giving gentle scratches that send shivers down your spine and through your tail. Her other hand glides down your stomach, then lower, and you moan into the kiss as it finally finds the aching need between your thighs. 

Your wings flutter and your tail coils tightly around her wrist as her touch drags needy whines from your throat. It’s overwhelming, you feel raw and sensitive after your transformation, but you can’t stop your hips from bucking against her hand, the hunger inside you taking control. 

Your first orgasm hits you without warning, your hips twitching uncontrollably as it crashes over you. She pulls away from the kiss but her touch barely slows, even as you fall apart in her hands.

“Good girl, that’s it,” she praises, your body still shaking and oversensitive as her fingers pull you closer and closer to the same edge you just fell headlong over. She leans in close to your neck, her breath hot and heavy, but she doesn’t wait for permission this time — her fangs pierce your skin again and when the venom hits, you cum a second time. 

She doesn’t give you a single moment to come down. You try to speak, to think, but the pleasure washes it all away as she brings you over the edge again, and again, and again. When she finally stops, you collapse, nestling up against her — small, and broken, and hers.

“Welcome home,” she whispers, stroking your wings gently as she begins to hum that old hunter’s tune.

“Missed you,” you mumble against her chest.