Emma Charus was having quite a day.

I'm unable to believe that annoying sow's followed me all this way. Does she truly seek to aggravate me until I die? I wish she'd simply perish already.

It had begun at the lower track that afternoon. What a dreadful place. The shouting, and the screaming, and the silly commentator attempting to urge the teeming peasants into making spectacles of themselves as they watched a dozen or so steamcars slowly drive around in a near-circle? Was this some manner of fucking joke? Who would possibly enjoy such a dull event? She judged it was fitting that the combat was lackluster given how well it matched the sluggishness of the steamcars.

It'd been her suggestion to visit the lower track again on that day despite her preferences. Her husband was a driver, and he always enjoyed visiting either of the tracks to bask in his own fame when his admirers recognized him. She played the doting wife, just as she was expected to, dressing provocatively and fawning over him like some simpering, lovestruck idiot. Not that it's entirely false, I suppose. I've grown quite fond of him in a certain sense.

She smiled enticingly.

"Yes, husband." Better by far than to sit in that stuffy castle awaiting Mother and Father to perish in however many decades. She stifled her grimace at the thought, instead digging her fingers into flesh. She'd once dreamed of being the Queen of Charus Kingdom, but then she'd done some simple calculations. It would take at least another four or five decades before she could potentially ascend the throne, assuming that the current rulers didn't both perish prematurely as tended to happen for a variety of reasons.

It also assumed that she remained first in line for succession.

She'd done her work in an attempt to ensure that she would so many years earlier. Sosanna and Jeanette were both too myopic and foolish to ever become true competition, and the way they craved even the slightest acknowledgment from her left no question as to who was the leader of their group. Her little brother, Charle, was a bit odd, and she'd never considered him a threat. That left only one person, naturally, who might challenge her.

"Yes," Emma groaned.

Yes, Isemeine had shown incredible potential at a young age, to the degree that she'd had a procession of tutors charging in and out of her chambers at nearly every hour of day as their father tried to nurture her fearsome intellect.

Only, it wasn't just Isemeine who possessed such capacity.

Emma was even more brilliant, she simply applied her intellect in different ways.

Subtler ways.

Many men in the court were intimidated when a woman showed her strengths too obviously. She'd seen it when she was young after she'd corrected one of her governance tutors with regards to the method by which a supposed uprising should be quelled. Naturally they couldn't be reasoned with in such a scenario. The Crown must be seen to respect their intent. The leaders and other notable persons must be executed swiftly and publicly, not negotiated with. It had been a silly question to pose to a girl of eight years. The only concept she'd learned had been that she must keep her more clever thoughts to herself, lest she provoke further jealousy in small-minded men.

Then Isemeine had come along, years later, and flaunted her so-called genius without the slightest regard for her own reputation. The same men who rebuked Emma for being ruthless or cold-hearted had praised her little sister for her broad-mindedness and compassion, ignoring the obvious and more crucial factors of efficacy and realism. Yes, Emma had been quite certain that the Empire could simply be reasoned with rather than defended against in their continual, bloody incursions. As though its capital wasn't nicknamed the City of fucking Wrath.

Emma had needed to give a slight nudge, and that was all. A few whispered words to a chatty maid regarding the fondness a certain one of her youngest sister's tutors possessed for devils, and she'd accomplished her goal, though she'd overachieved in that regard. She hadn't anticipated the man would actually be a fucking devil-sympathizer! She'd intended to cast a mere shadow on her sister, not topple her entirely. Well, there was no accounting for the success of a true genius.

She arched her back. "Ah, yes!"

A true genius wouldn't have failed that silly trial with the dog so many times. The intent of the thing was so obvious it was practically blinding in its idiocy. The fear to be overcome was the fear of seeking aid after being born into royalty. The dog was simply to motivate and inspire. Emma had made an inquiry to her mother for help in private once it was announced, and, despite some initial reluctance from the woman, she'd been supplied with an alchemical concoction to deaden the senses, enabling her to pass the trial on her first attempt.

Emma bucked her hips wildly, squeezing her eyes shut as though she were on the brink of ecstasy while she moaned.

But she wasn't, she'd never been, and she never would be.

That same concoction had incidentally robbed her of her ability to feel all those years ago. No matter pain or pleasure, coolness or warmth, she had only memories which faded more with each passing day, and there was, it seemed, no cure possible. Her affliction was known only to her and her parents, and all manner of solution had been tried without benefit.

It'd agreed with her more the older she grew. She had no fear of pain, thus her fencing improved by a considerable margin. Her ability to utilize magic seemed substantial as well, though she had no means of knowing whether the two were related. When she grew older still, she realized the potential to put her unfeeling body to use in other ways.

She resided within the City of Lust, after all, and her beauty began inflicting that feeling upon most of the city's citizens once her breasts had started to bloom.

"Oh, Marcus!" she moaned, wrapping her legs around him to inflame his passions further.

She'd had some difficulty initially, as she'd had no awareness of how she must act, but time spent peeking in various rooms of the castle with a mind set to learn had remedied that. She'd been incredibly selective with her dalliances in order to preserve her pristine reputation, but her choosiness yielded incredible results.

Such was her reputation as a virgin—the very idea of it bringing her to hysterical laughter in private considering once more the city's moniker—that she'd managed to ensnare her now-husband, Marcus Belenus, who was a distant relative to the Empress herself. He'd come with an entourage to discuss a supposed trade agreement on behalf of the Empire—purely in the capacity of ornamentation, given his limited mental acuity—and…

Well, he'd been captivated by Isemeine at the outset, but Emma had remedied that quickly enough. Where her little sister had shown a total disinterest, she'd rushed to Tomas Arderne in order to have her purity restored in secret by one of his family's long-ears. It had, as she'd expected, cost her considerable time as he'd then insisted on breaking her in, which had then necessitated a second such restoration, but it was hardly an expenditure at all when exchanged for his complete silence. She'd even given him a good show of it for his troubles.

She'd spent the next few days teasing Marcus along, feigning reluctance to drive him into a frenzy. Stadalites, and citizens of Onyxfell in particular, did not wed. It began with the Empress or Emperor, as there could only be a single ruler of the nation according to their tradition, and it was always the firstborn to the current ruler; the one to bear or conceive the child was selected specifically for that purpose, and they had no further role. The citizens mirrored this, and while they formed relationships and bore children, they still did not have marriage.

So it had been that she'd managed to wrangle Marcus Belenus, in his haze of lust, into marrying her on the spot to quench his desires, as she'd claimed she was saving her purity for her destined partner. The resulting fucking had made her glad she was unable to feel, as she imagined she'd have been quite sore from the contortions and postures which she held during the days-long consummation of their marriage. Her father had gifted him a pair of long-ears as well, so she'd at least had some manner of rest. Truly the gladiators of the Empire were bred from a different stock to possess such endurance.

She let out a wail and stiffened, her fingernails digging more solidly into her husband's well-muscled back.

Emma had seen her chance, and she'd leapt upon it without hesitation. What manner of idiocy could prompt her to remain a relative prisoner within that fucking castle for however long just for the chance of claiming the throne? Sure, it seemed there would be no alternative but her when the time came to pass the crown, but was she truly prepared to wait so many years for a mere likelihood? And who would wish to rule such a shitstain of a kingdom, the more she considered it? Was there some benefit to be had other than the mindless pursuit of power?

That wasn't what she wanted. No, she simply wanted to be adored and loved. Preferably by large numbers of people. Also preferably more in the manner of worship rather than mere adoration. In Charus City, she was but a single, extraordinarily pretty flower. She wasn't even the fairest flower of her family, she was forced to admit.

Though it galled the firstborn daughter to the throne of Charus Kingdom in the City of Lust, she'd conceded that Isemeine had surpassed her in one area that was necessary for the type of recognition she sought in the place she'd been born. Unlike their other sisters, they shared the same face, the same hair, the same flare of the hips that made them irresistible, and even, she acknowledged, some manner of wit and cunning, though her sister seemed frustratingly content to squander it in foolish pursuits that would have no benefits to her or anyone else.

Who could be fucking bothered to care whether a steamcar could be made to function without the fuel logs? The time and effort—ignoring the cost—required to outfit one as she'd been speaking about attempting to do before Emma had departed were prohibitive, and it would be ages before enough were made to be of any use. Why not begin at the proper end of the issue and increase the efficacy of the fuel logs such that they lasted longer or were simpler to produce? A single log which could be burned for a week or a month would surely be simpler to achieve, and it had the benefit of not requiring every fucking steamcar in the entire Kingdom to be replaced or retrofitted to gain the benefit. Honestly, the sheer logistics of the girl's stupid idea strained the mind to even consider.

Foolishness aside, the other attribute her sister surpassed her in was, unfortunately, the size of her breasts. It was a silly thing for an unfeeling girl to pride herself in, but she was the most beautiful human girl in the City of Lust. Or at least, she had been, she knew, until a certain time. She couldn't recall the precise hour at which it had begun, but at some point, the lust-filled gazes had shifted away from her and onto her three-years-younger sister. More specifically, they'd fixed upon her chest, which she obliviously revealed as she grew.

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Were the nobles and other persons of the court child-lovers?!

Well, she knew they were since some had already lain with her at the same age, but she was still present! She'd only grown more beautiful and radiant, and it was even said by the Archbishops that she'd received divine favor in order to achieve such a lovely figure which resembled that of a Goddess.

Emma quaked and trembled as she softly urged Marcus onward, though he'd been showing no signs of slowing. If he continued, she might need to call for one of their long-ears to take her place so she could think properly without all the bouncing, and shaking, and acting required to maintain her appearance.

That realization all those years ago had been what began to set her fully against her frustrating little sister. It was what changed the assorted pranks and jabs between sisters into more hostile strikes and barbs. It was the difference between an entirely unintentional mishap while fencing—which was always done in the presence of healers, naturally, as they were princesses—and hiring one of the Royal Guard to awaken the girl with the barking of a dog at dawn every day for a month. Being genuinely mistaken for her sister on one occasion, the misunderstanding clearing with a look at the cleavage exposed by her new favorite dress, had sent her into a rage, and she'd known she must rectify the problem.

It'd taken another year before Marcus had arrived to whisk her away from her plight. A year she'd spent feeling only that she was losing her grasp on sanity. Isemeine was her sister, naturally, so it wasn't as though she'd kill the girl or even harm her in any serious manner.

She had her principles.

Her first thought had been that she'd get the girl married off and out of the castle. She'd planted the idea in the mind of Tomas Arderne, with whom she'd trysted on the rare occasions she required a great deal of coin for some matter or another—though he'd always requested she permit him to bring his long-ear, whom Emma privately suspected to be the boy's mother based on their obvious resemblance. He'd taken some time to "have" the idea she'd sown the seeds for, and then he'd bungled the entire possibility by not simply fucking the girl and making a spectacle out of it.

When that failed, she'd thought to have Isemeine sent away for schooling as Charle had been. The question facing her had been where to send the girl.

Then humiliation had stabbed her, and she'd felt pain.

She'd been granting one of the nobles who was well-versed in various schools and colleges in other nations the privilege of sullying her perfect body with his cock and his seed, and he'd asked whether she'd ever considered a spell to enlarge her breasts.

To make them the same size as Isemeine's.

It wasn't as though they were considerably smaller, but there was still a noticeable difference, and that man…

She grit her teeth in remembrance, though she closed her eyes once more and tipped her head back while she began to writhe against the bed in order to disguise the act.

Her body was perfect!

It was Isemeine who was inhumanly cow-like!

She'd killed the man and burnt his body to ashes with her magic. He'd not been particularly valuable to the Kingdom, and it was unlikely anyone would connect her to the disappearance given her caution when it came to her fornicating.

She'd spent the remainder of that year doing her very best to convince Isemeine to leave the castle and, ideally, the Kingdom, of her own volition.

She stole and burned all her sister's clothes the day of a grand summer dance, forcing her to attend in a dress that she happened to have had tailored for the occasion. Purely by chance, it almost fully exposed those cow-like udders of hers to everyone who cared to look, despite how she blushed and tried to conceal them. The girl had been groped and fondled on the dance floor the entire night until she'd thrown a tantrum and fled.

It'd not been sufficient.

She took the books that were stashed in her sister's room and replaced them with detailed manuals for torture that she'd procured from Inquisitors. The girl's screams had been quite loud, and she'd not emerged from her chambers for days after, but that seemed to be the extent of it.

Emma had tried every notion of which she'd conceived. She replaced Isemeine's sleeping mattress with one taken from a brothel. She set loose small animals in her chambers at random times, having noted the girl's obvious dislike of furred creatures. She took the various notes and papers strewn about and left them scattered around the castle, allowing the natural passing and cleaning to dispose of the stupid ideas while the fourth princess scrambled to retrieve them in time. She replaced evening bathwater with animal blood from the kitchens and dimmed the magical lightstones, yielding shrieks and screams but not in the right way.

No, all that she seemed to accomplish was to cause her sister to fear her and not the castle. She continued to escalate, but her sister simply retreated further, at one point walling herself in the library and refusing to leave for an entire week.

"My love, you're too virile," she panted, adding a faint kiss for effect. "I must rest a while. Aemilia! Come, attend us!"

The orange-haired long-ear pulled open the door of the closet in which she'd been waiting and bounced over to the bed.

Marcus growled and grabbed at her, bending her into one of the unnatural poses he seemed to prefer when he copulated with the giggling, pliable long-ears.

Emma sighed. Her mind always seemed to return to Isemeine when she was with her husband. It was the reason her dislike of her sister had finally turned to hatred. Isemeine—everyone's favorite!—even intruded upon her here, while she remained unable to enjoy or appreciate a loving touch?

She did love her husband in a certain sense. He'd rescued her from a life of drudgery and frustration, and for that she would always be grateful. She'd even remained faithful to him, though it hadn't been any difficult task. He showered her with all manner of praise, and affection, and gifts, and she'd even met the Empress on one occasion, which was a privilege reserved only for a select few. She was known and loved—in a certain way—by many of the citizens of Onyxfell, and that was after only two years.

But now, after those years, Isemeine was here somehow. Is it not enough for her to occupy my thoughts when I should be most content? No, she felt the need to fucking follow me all the way to another fucking country to vex me even further! How can I not be rid of her already?!

She'd suggested they visit the lower track that afternoon, but she'd had a small scheme in mind when the idea had come to her. This "Lightning Scorpion" was rumored to have returned after six years of absence, and the name had prodded at a vague memory of some lesson she'd not deemed important enough to memorize. The city was overflowing with gossip about the person, to the point they seldom mentioned Emma anymore. She grew curious. The gladiator of legend, who once slew her husband's brother, hadn't been widely seen inside the city, yet provoked such a reaction?

Rumors had abounded to such an extent that it had been difficult to follow them. She'd managed to piece together some framework of an idea, but she was feeling less confident in her conjecture than was typical. This Scorpion person—who seemed to be neither man nor woman, and she'd been rebuked each time for daring to inquire—had most likely heard of the change to the racing tracks and the introduction of weapons and fighting some years ago. As the undefeated gladiator, naturally such a person must return to conquer this new form of fighting and prove their dominance. That it had happened now was purely coincidence.

It'd been her idea to be present when the legend entered in a race so she could see the event with her own eyes. The rules of the tracks were such that only those who challenged and defeated an upper track racer at the lower track were permitted to race in the upper track, which meant that the place to see the Scorpion would be…

But what she'd found instead had been Isemeine. It was plainly her, as she could see on any of the screens when they displayed a clear picture. She would recognize her own face anywhere. Marcus hadn't believed her, citing the distance she would be required to travel, but given the speed of her steamcar, those limitations seemed slight indeed.

There had been the spectacle, and that had been quite surprising, but Isemeine had never been one to think her ideas through fully. Upon seeing her loathesome sister in a weakened state, Emma had a stroke of genius, one which would lay to rest all of her frustrations and anger permanently.

She'd simply induce her sister to become her husband's concubine.

What more fitting end for the girl with the figure of a long-ear, the girl who'd fucking followed Emma across a journey that had taken an entire month, than to be put into her place? She could be fitted with a collar like the long-ears and made to walk on all fours. Surely none would mistake the two of them ever again once that was done!

That said, there could still be the question of their resemblance, which meant someone could eventually ask that question once more.

Emma had a solution for that as well, inspired by the old family heirloom she'd seen on any number of occasions. She'd begin by tattooing her stupid sister with words that befit her new station. Yes, words like "dog" and "toy" and "hole" would all fit perfectly for her new capacity. She'd have one of her long-ears cast a spell to change the girl's hair color, perhaps to something stupid like pink or blue—a color that could never be mistaken for her own golden locks. Following that, perhaps she'd have one of them cast another spell to further expand the girl's stupidly massive breasts. If Isemeine was so intent on flaunting them as she so often did, then she'd be a good older sister and provide suitable assistance.

The girl would probably love it anyway. She would be able to feel the tender caresses of a man. She could feel pleasure. Fornication was supposed to be pleasurable, was it not?

Emma would never know.

But her scheme to turn the crowd against the strange man carrying her sister from the wreckage of her foolishness had been thwarted. She ground her teeth as she recalled it. The unremarkable woman with the stupid cloth across her face had walked over and interrupted Emma's questioning and then done something to render her husband unconscious, the whole time creating some manner of force that pressed down upon her body like a weight from the sky. Then she'd led the man carrying her sister away.

Emma had urged any number of gladiators to give chase, but the instant they took a single step towards the strange woman, regardless of their position, they'd collapsed.

She'd seen a considerable amount of high-level gladiators fight. They moved swiftly—sometimes too swiftly to be seen by her untrained eyes—but there was always some feeling of impact, or the great crash of a collision.

There had been no impact nor sound on those occasions.

Marcus had roused himself soon after, and he'd contacted another gladiator with whom he was on friendly terms when she'd pleaded. Her sister must be rescued so she might assume the role Emma had conceived for her, naturally.

That same gladiator had come crashing through the ceiling of their villa shortly after their return, and he'd had no knowledge of who had tossed him across the city. The feat of the distance alone was nothing to be surprised by, as the gladiators flaunted such strength regularly in their battles upon the lake, but the precision with which he'd landed was astonishing. Furthermore, it implied that whomever had done the throwing was aware of his motivations.

Emma chewed her thumbnail gently. The long-ear shrieked and whined its way through yet another climax. What could such a feeling possibly be like? To know such pleasure… The curiosity burned at her mind as it had ever since she'd first seen a woman in the throes of pleasure years earlier.

She'd consider the matter of her sister further. She'd come up with a flawless solution to her own problem, she felt, and she imagined Isemeine would take to it well. The girl had been satisfying a Hero until now, according to the correspondence she'd received from her mother, which meant she'd likely gained considerable experience. Perhaps she thirsts for it after spending an entire year spreading her legs. So many in Charus City grew addicted to pleasure, and I can't imagine she's the mental fortitude to resist.

I'll need to move swiftly if I'm to procure her as a gift for Marcus's thirtieth birthyear celebration. There will be the need to locate a tradesman to craft the tattoos and markings as I conceive of them, and the long-ears will require several hours to affect the change to her hair's color. Perhaps I'll even inquire whether it's possible to grow and reshape her ears to match theirs. It'd not do for anyone to have even the slightest of notions that we share an appearance if I'm to finally be free of this aggravation, and he'll enjoy the naughtiness of it.

All that truly remains to be done is to retrieve her from that hovel in the opposite end of the city.

Emma smiled. It's good she came all this way. I'd never imagined having a use for her, but perhaps I've simply been overlooking her strengths. All things have their value, and hers is naturally not in using her mind if her failure today is representative of her capabilities. No, I imagine she'd be put to more efficient use on all fours with her hips in the air. If she wishes to follow after me so desperately in all things, I'll grant her wish.

She can follow after me for the rest of her life on a leash.