In the… something?

Jordan couldn’t remember how it went anymore. Like a fading dream, something pressing on his mind was slowly uncoiling. The weird phantom feelings ebbed and flowed as his mind began to properly ascertain the locations of his limbs again. It was like his soul was trying to settle back into his body after being jolted about. Had he been… drugged? A second time?

At least I’m getting better at handling it… he thought.

He still felt really damn hot though, and the feeling of someone rubbing him wasn’t helping his newest headache.

Wait. Rubbing?

His eyes were groggy and slow to respond, but as he groaned out involuntarily something warm and wet slid across an arm. His mind dutifully reported that he was currently sitting up, cradled in… someone’s arms? And they were doing something to one of his arms?

“…w-wha…?”

“Shhhh, dontcha worry now yung miss, I’ll be dune in a mument, right? Oh, how I do luv yor smooff skin, hehehe!”

A soft giggle was coming from someone, chiming like bells forming a concert around him. The mysterious stranger had something of a British accent, but different from the others before. Some variant working class English accent that was as far from pompous as working at TGI Fridays was glorious. And whoever it was, had a warm embrace that was nothing like the Brat’s mothers.

They rubbed something across Jordan’s flesh-prison, soothing aches and pains caused by the manic stressing of muscles Jordan hadn’t noticed his flailing caused. However, there was something disturbing about the touch. Something more… sensual…?

Eyes snapped open as the wash cloth moved down the Brat’s chest. The Brat’s head shot up from its lolling position so fast the maid squeaked as Jordan found himself held in her arms.

“W-what are you doing!?” The Brat’s body spasmed with Jordan’s panic as he lurched away from the green gemmed maid. “Get off me you freak!”

“Just wershin’ ya up, Yung Miss, nuffink ter it. I’m almost dune if ya wouldn’t mind cuddlin’ up again.” She gave him a lurid wink, but Jordan responded by instinctively covering the Brat’s chest with a nearby pillow.

He knew there wasn’t anything actually to cover up, but after a moment he realized his position put him danger-close to touching the Brat, so he shot the Brat’s arms out channeling as much gentlemanly chastity as he could muster before trying to dive under the covers to hide his the Brat’s shame.

“What the, erh, you can’t, I mean… S-stranger danger!” His mind worked poorly in its attempt to shrug off the smoke cloud of sleep weighing on him as he tugged on the blanket. His righteous retaliatory comment, however, had little sway on the demon.

“Um, stranger… danger? Miss Aureliana, wot a silly wee fin’ ter say! I fink I loike it though. Just lean forwards a bit, would ya deer? I ‘ave a few more… spots ter tidy!” Jordan squealed as the maid pounced again, tearing the covers away.

“Stop! I, ah, I command you to stop!”

A dangerous glint crossed the maid’s eyes when Jordan said that, but it did give her pause. After a moment, a smile oozed across her face, and she leaned her mouth down by Jordan’s ear.

“Why dontcha make me?” She whispered in his ear.

Jordan’s scream was loud and strong, but—unexpectedly—quickly interrupted when the door to the room flew open as another… maid came in? A whole host of the Horde came charging in, their rainbow gems shining out. A gold gemmed maid stood center stage and pointed accusatory towards the bed.

“She’s trying to violate the Young Miss! Get her now!”

The maid next to Jordan froze, but then scrambled off of the bed fleeing as the small tide of black and white surged into the room. They quickly overpowered the predator, despite her struggles, slamming her onto the ground amidst cries of protest.

“It’s not me fault! She smells loike a man, all roight!? I couldn’t ‘elp meself! Let me go! Just let me ‘ave a taste!” Her tongue shot out of her mouth, stretching nearly a foot as it whipped towards Jordan, making him recoil in disgust, but also reach towards her with… hope.

He was trembling with mixed emotions he could barely begin to place. She could tell he was a man? Someone could actually tell!? That was… that was great! It was fantastic! But why did it have to be her? There was no doubt given the look on her face that she wanted to do… questionable things. Would that be so bad? His mind contemplated it. ‘His’ body, however…

He turned away from her shrieking form on the floor, condemning her to the tide. Some prices were too high to pay, and he would never do something so explicit in the body of a child, let alone as a girl. He shivered in disgust at the thought.

“You’re daft sista, if you think the Master’s child smells loike a boy.”

“What should be done with this wench?”

“Can we, like, torture her? Hehehe!”

“Ooo! I vote for torture!”

“GET THE CHAINS!”

The gaggle of maids laughed and dragged the struggling demonic pedophile away, chanting “Horny Jail! Horny Jail!” as they did. Only one remained, polite and at attention with her dazzling golden gem. Shining with all the gentle righteousness of a nun.

“I’m very sorry, Young Miss, for our terrible behavior. I assure you, I will be dutifully punished and such an event shall not occur again.”

“Wait… what’s…” He was going to regret this, “W-what’s… horny jail?” It sounded like a damn internet joke!

The maid, who had nearly made it out of the room, turned back and met Jordan’s eyes. “Oh, that’s just the Iron Maiden upstairs. It’s our…” She licked her lips as her demonic eyes bore into Jordan, her tiny bat wings shivering in… anticipation?

“It’s my favorite.”

She faded away leaving a grin that haunted him till the end, her form sparkling into a trail of golden fireflies that whisked through the closing door. The vault door sealed behind her, the now-familiar sound of thick metal latching into place thudding deeply. Trapping him once more in the flesh-prison’s bedroom.

Jordan sat there stunned. After a few moments he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“W-what the fuck is wrong with you people!?”

No one answered.

----------------------------------------

After taking a few minutes to recover from his near-miss with mental scarring, Jordan looked about for where the clothing the Brat had worn during the night had gone. As much as he was loathed to wear the garment, he was far more uncomfortable sitting bare chested in the room.

Shifting through the endless covers, Jordan eventually found the long shirt—he decided to call it—left for him to wear. As he was examining it and working up the nerve to wear it, a knock on the door announced the return of the maid.

She came in bright and cheerful and said, “Please allow me to wish you a proper good morning, Young Miss! So sorry about before—really, I am. Are you ready to get dressed? We don’t have much time if you’re going to catch a proper breakfast before you have to leave for the trial.”

Jordan stared at her in brief horror. “What do you mean leave? It’s almost time already? I j-just got up!” He thought he’d have more time, damnit!

The maid nodded curtly in response before walking closer.

“Yes, Young Miss. It could be an all day event, so it’s beginning in the morning. I hope you rested well last night? We actually let you sleep in on account of how… your first meal went.”

Jordan stared daggers at the maid. She laughed nervously and said, “But not to worry! It was all due to a mixup that’s already been addressed. However, if we need to we can have you take another Sustenance Potion.”

Wonderful, Jordan griped. He was having mixed… feelings about eating again. And potions just sounded stupid.

He blinked awkwardly as he thought it over, looking around to see the faint streaks of morning in the room. The black out drapes had been pulled back revealing the white softer curtains behind them. It seemed unthinkable to Jordan that he’d really slept through all of it. From evening to morning in a flash, just as quick as the first night had been. I must have really been out cold, he thought. Sleeping in wasn’t unusual, but he could never sleep when it was bright out, and he usually woke up several times in the night.

But this… this is really happening, isn’t it? He thought. He was going to be whisked away to a trial, held accountable for the sins of the Brat. He thought he’d have more warning, or time to prepare. Time to convince people he was him and not her. Instead, he stretched out the Brat’s body to shake the last dregs of sleep from it, trying to stave off the mounting anxiety filling him with pressure. It made his guts feel twisted and bloated. Off to the gallows then? Unless…

“Um… I-I don’t think I want to go.” It was a shot in the dark, but maybe he could just… refuse? Play sick?

The maid leaned down towards him, her height feeling imposing as she cast a long shadow across the Brat’s diminutive form. “I’m sorry, Young Miss, really I am. But… the Duchess was quite clear. You aren’t going to make me carry you, are you? hehe!”

Her renewed giggles sent shivers up the Brat’s spine. He really wasn’t in a position to bargain, was he? He considered his chances in a fight with her, or just being a brat himself and forcing everyone to drag him kicking and screaming all the way, but… he sighed in defeat.

If he was going to be forced into a courtroom—forced to take responsibility for some idiotic child—then he couldn’t be acting like a child! He had to find a way out of his situation and a way home, if he still could, and that would require him to present himself to the best of his abilities. Adulting was difficult, but surely he could manage it for one day, right?

So with all the enthusiasm of a dead sloth, Jordan began to peel away his protective blanket. He turned his attention towards the… ‘shirt’ that was before him and nodded to the maid.

“F-fine, let’s get this over with then.”

The maid nodded happily, and tossed the shirt further away as he reached for it. With a start, he eyed her in confusion, and then yelped loudly when the maid reached down and wrenched the covers he’d finally begun to surrender away.

He screeched in protest, “W-what are you doing? Just… just give me the damn shirt and I’ll put it on, alright!?”

The maid paused, clearly having something else on her mind before saying, “Young Miss, we need to get you dressed. Is there a problem?”

Jordan pointed to the partially obscured nightgown shirt and said, “Just hand that to me and I’ll put it on, okay? You… you don’t have to see me change—do you?”

The maid tilted her head and looked back and forth briefly between the garment and Jordan. “Young Miss, you aren’t to be wearing your pajamas to a court hearing. We need to get you dressed properly.”

“W-what… what do you mean properly!?” His shrieks sounded out like an air raid siren.

If he had known what was coming, he would have taken the siren seriously.

----------------------------------------

In Jordan’s mind, it felt like mere hours had passed since he’d arrived in this world. In truth, it was the morning of his third day. Three days to prepare himself. Three days to adapt himself. Three days to… well.

Three days was not long enough. If he had three years he still wouldn’t have been prepared.

Jordan stared dead eyed into a series of endless, rotating full-length mirrors orbiting him. His head swam with vertigo and his guts twisted with pressure from his torment. While his headache was gone, the pain in the Brat’s lower half only grew by the minute. He didn’t know if it was due to some unknown aftershocks of the cat-buns, or just stress.

Of course, it could have also been due to the demon that just tried to murder him. The one who had unmade him as a man.

Even now, she laughed, screaming in her unsettling way. She pleaded sweetly with him, but forced him, when he refused, to look upon her works—the reflections of lies that had grown to encompass his existence in the hell he’d been reborn into. She held the Brat’s eyes open and he drank in the meaning of despair.

How had he agreed to this? Why had he allowed this to happen?

He hadn’t thought it through, he hadn’t realized what was about to happen. If he had he would’ve run. He would’ve fought. He would’ve screamed, he would’ve begged. He would’ve done anything to avoid this. There were so many things he would have done.

But he knew the truth. There was nothing he could’ve done. Nothing. He’d ignored the signs. Ignored the obvious. The natural conclusion he should have foreseen. What had doomed him from the start.

What made going back impossible.

He should’ve known they would dress him like a girl.

----------------------------------------

37 Minutes Earlier

“Are you sure you don’t want help, hrmmh, Young… Miss?”

“No! I’ve got this! Okay!? Stop laughing dammit!”

The Brat’s face was twisted in fury as Jordan worked its jaw loosely. He stared over the edge of the massive bed, irritated at the height of the mattress. The dangling Bratty legs couldn’t reach the wooden, rug covered floor, which only made his predicament worse. He was stuck in a standoff, trapped on the edge for reasons he’d never seen coming.

The Brat had only been bed-ridden for a week, or thereabouts, so Jordan had been confident that he could get the body to walk relatively easily. He just assumed he’d have to drag it along, that it would be full of lethargy and weakness. Unable to stand without help. He’d even resigned himself to having to lean on people—but only if he absolutely had to, of course.

Instead, the moment he’d gone to sweep the Brat’s legs over the edge one of the knees jumped up and smacked him straight in the kisser! The stupid little twigs wouldn’t stop bouncing about, bursting with energy like an overeager puppy awaiting a playdate.

“Fucking stop already!” Jordan screamed out, smacking one of the Brat’s legs. It trembled energetically in response, though Jordan winced at the sudden stinging.

The maid nearly doubled over laughing as she began to walk over to help him. “No! I can do this! Back the hell off!” Jordan’s command was obeyed, albeit slowly as she kept giggling madly.

His presence in this new world was not willing. He was under zero obligations to accept it! But since it was clear he’d be dragged along if he refused, Jordan had decided to jump on any self-agency he could. Better to take the initiative rather than let the world crush him, after all! It meant he might miss breakfast at this rate, but he’d manage.

He just wished he knew why this was so difficult! It was just… standing up! Standing! Even now, the Brat’s body continued to squirm. If it bounced any more it was likely to knock the pile of pillows behind him over and take him with it!

So he glowered as he sat, waiting patiently for the twiggy little legs of the Brat to settle down. Listen to his reasonable commands. The maid nearby was in danger of asphyxiation, bent over struggling not to laugh at his plight. As the minutes ticked by, Jordan began to create a list of people he hated in this world. The maid was getting the top ten spots.

A few laste tremors announced the Brat’s legs had calmed themselves enough for Jordan to begin the day’s first hurdle. With bated breath, he reached down with a toe, only to wince with a barely suppressed gasp. A shiver covered the Brat’s body as small goosebumps formed from the chill of the floor. Jordan glared down at the massive rug beneath the bed, flabbergasted that it could feel cold of all things. But I suppose that’s the life of an overheated demon brat.

Schooching closer to the edge, teetering before the abyss, Jordan glanced briefly back at the bed large enough for a football team to fit in, and then took in a final breath for courage. It’s now or never, he thought wiggling another Bratty toe down onto the ground. He took another half scoot forward and the Brat’s behind began to break free from the bed. Why is the bed so damn tall? Or am I just that short now? The Brat’s second foot made contact.

“Okay…. I’ve… got… this!” Jordan schooched a final time and was off the bed. The Brat’s feet planted firmly on the ground while he pushed off the mattress to steady himself on two feet.

He was standing. He’d done it! A part of him was a little embarrassed at how happy that made him, but he’d take what he could get.

With a smug smile he declared, “That’s one small step for—hrp!“

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Jordan’s plagiarism was cut short as the Brat’s knees gave in, and he released a startled squeak.

His flesh-prison collapsed, back smacking against a bed that then bounced him off. He shot forward, stumbled, wind milling, and then promptly went ass over teakettle as the Brat’s traitorous legs pushed off the ground in panic, hurtling him into the air with a standing long jump impressive enough to finally earn his high school track coach’s respect.

The maid scrambled to catch him as the room devolved into panicked screams.

The sounds briefly reminded him of the time he’d left a toy mouse in the bathroom, and his sisters and mother had scrambled about the house screaming bloody murder while he and his brother hid in the storage under the stairs trying not to be heard laughing.

Or maybe it was just his life flashing before his eyes.

----------------------------------------

This was how he was going to die. Blasted skyward, Ram-head to his right, ugly nightstand to his left, and the ground rushing away from him, only to begin its inevitable return in the next moment. In panic, Jordan had inhaled to scream a curse, but confusingly found the world had slowed down to a crawl.

Huh? Oh. OH! It’s my Bullet-Time! Yes! My cheat powers activated—Fuck yeah! Excitement rushed through him along with a giddy sense of energy. I’m going to be fine!

He happily hummed to himself as he slowly traveled through the air, staring through the window of his mind-place to the world outside.

…

After a few mental minutes, he realized with a sinking realization, that he was screwed.

The Brat’s body wasn’t responding to his commands. It didn’t move, or act in any way, instead it was still determined to finish off his last order: releasing the curse on its lips. Jordan couldn’t even move the body’s eyes, instead relying on its peripheral vision to sense the maid nearby. The Brat’s vision was filled with the last thing that had been in its direct sight—the nightstand. With a small sense of satisfaction, he gauged the direction of his leap and concluded confidently that he wasn’t going to smash his head onto it. That would have been an embarrassing way to die.

Instead it would be the ground that killed him. Death by Yeet. ‘Cause that’s SO much ‘better,’ he thought.

*Sigh* This is the worst cheat power in history! Is this even legal? Am I being pranked? What is this shit! Just move you damn Brat! He was stuck inside shouting in tiny fury. Like being trapped in a snow globe pounding on the glass, or stuck dreaming in bed with…!

Paralysis. Like sleep paralysis!

I know what’s happening! He thought triumphantly. Yes, now I…I—

…

Oh god fucking damnit! He… concluded reticently. I can’t do shit like this!

The sudden realization into the working of his unknown ability was as disappointing as the Brat’s body was distasteful. He was paralysed like he was sleeping—but knowing that didn’t change the fact that he was fucking paralysed! He couldn’t do anything while he was in his mind-place! What was he supposed to do with this? Why was his cheat power so damn stupid!?

He railed in his mind palace, hurling words into the horizon, screaming at the Brat’s body to move. To listen to his orders! But nothing happened. He knew if he left the comforts of his introspections, the effect would just end and he’d be back to square one, up in the air Yeeting to his death.

All he could do was sit in his mental timeout zone on a couch made of expletives, staring out into reality, like a waking dream slowly crawling by. With a bored sense of curiosity, he temporarily moved his view of the outside world, shifting it in time like he did with his text, and was legitimately shocked to see the tempo of the outside begin to quicken.

Well then, with that now—I can sit in here and watch the whole thing happen. Doing nothing about it. Yay. Woo, fucking, hoo. He clapped the words ‘Woo’ and ‘Hoo’ together to accent his displeasure.

Maybe I should just turn off the ability and deal with the consequences? He played with the word consequences, and decided it wasn’t to his liking. He’d only ended up in the air because of the damn Brat’s overeager legs, so let it deal with the problem! He kicked at the words in his mind and sent them sprawling like bowling pins. The discovery of his Bullet-Time’s ’shortcomings,’ had ruined any chance he’d had of putting himself in a positive mindset for the day.

Besides, he’d heard somewhere that people falling down should relax to minimize how much they hurt themselves. It worked for when he was drunk, so wasn’t it worth a shot here? Plus, if he got hurt… maybe he could get out of going to court?

…

Yeah… probably not. He mentally sighed and cranked up the time factor. Time to watch the shit show, I guess. He summoned the word ‘popcorn’ and chewed on it while he sat on his pile of ‘fucks.’

Time crawled forward as the Brat’s eyes unfocused. Jordan took this as a sign that it was pulling a rag-doll without him present, but then… the Brat’s body did something interesting. Jordan would’ve said it was more uncomfortable, or perhaps, what-the-fuck-is-this–and-why-is-this-happening-to-me- you-fucks. He was succinct like that, afterall.

The body’s head began to lull forward as the arms stopped flailing. It had been his accidental flail that prompted the original panicked motions, but it wasn’t him directing the response. The body was definitely shifting, muscles contracting or loosening, actions taking place—but no one told it to move as it did so. He was sure of that. It had been brief, but the Aberration-thing had worn him like a meat puppet, and he knew what someone else at the helm felt like.

And this? This was…

This was like a doctor smacking your knee to see it jerk while your father tried not to laugh at your startled cry.

It was like running from your mother when she brandished a sandal and screamed your full name because of a toy mouse she found.

It was like reaching for a falling Cheeto even though you were spilling the entire bag while your siblings laughed at your idiocy during game night.

Like shooting your arms out to catch yourself when you fell, he thought. This was… instinct.

The only problem was—it wasn’t his instinct. It was the Brat’s.

He still had the child’s instincts in her body. He was left stunned textless in his thought palace at the discovery. How did I not realize that sooner?

Arms fell forward and vague tremors reached him in his mind-place as the body reported contact. He briefly wondered if the Brat’s elbows were going to snap, and if he felt the impact, would he feel the pain? As he cringed waiting for the snap, he was surprised to see the body roll onto one of the arms awkwardly. He’d expected it to land palm first, but it had smacked onto wrists at an angle. Was this just the limitations of instincts? How complex could they even be without the mind that originally formed them present?

He contemplated this as he watched dumbfounded as the whole body just kept shifting in the air like he was falling sideways. It didn’t make sense until—

Oh for fuck’s sakes. Forward momentum! Duh. He face palmed with the word ‘duh.’ It was easy to forget he wasn’t falling down so much as falling forward from his view on the mental couch. It didn’t help that he had possibly overestimated the air time the Brat’s Yeeting body had achieved. Possibly.

An elbow banged slightly on the carpet, and his vision of the situation cut out as the body closed its eyes and tucked its head. He figured at any moment he was going to feel the Brat’s noggin split open on the floor, but instead he felt contact along the Brat’s… back?

Had the body rolled over? H-how!? What the hell is the Brat’s body doing right now!?

The eyes began to open slowly as Jordan traced the uneasy sensation of pressure travelling along the Brat’s spine, eventually ending with its derriere. As sight returned fully, he saw that the body had come to a rest. It was… sitting down?

No sooner had he thought that when he suddenly found the world shifting violently as the Brat’s body sprung upward. His stomach lurched and he was hit with a spike of pain in his guts from the motion. The discomfort snapped him out of Bullet-Time—Time-Out Zone really—as the world sped up. The sudden shifting in perspectives elicited a cry from Jordan before, miraculously, he found himself… standing?

The Brat’s body was standing straight up, and he was just staring through the body’s eyes at the world that was moving normally again. Looking back, he’d traveled a good distance from the bed, though it meant little in the cavern that was the Brat’s room. It seemed unbelievable, but the Brat’s body had tumbled at the fall and now he was unharmed and ready to go! The body’s legs trembled a bit, but the knees didn’t give out this time. It just felt like he had too much energy.

“Well,” the maid huffed, “if you feel recovered enough to scare me with acrobatic antics, Young Lady, then we can see about getting you properly dressed now, yes? It would appear you’ve had enough bed-rest.” She was clearly irritated at him, which only caused Jordan to flash her a wry smile.

To his chagrin, she smiled back staring at him, only she wasn’t meeting his eyes. He followed her gaze down to—Jordan shrieked, quickly moving to cover the Brat up as best as he could, but the mirth on the maid’s face took on a dark shade as her gem turned as red as the Brat’s face.

With that terrifying, unnatural grace, he’d seen from her in the beginning, she covered the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing Jordan under a shoulder. She lifted him up, not painfully but certainly not comfortably as she marched them towards the opposite side of the room. At first the Brat’s feet stumbled to keep up as she dragged him, but then the overeager twigs began to march in sync with the maid.

Is this instinct as well? He wanted to fight it, but in many ways, it felt like he was drunk. Not mentally, at least, but his feet just… moved on their own, practically floating across the ground. He could recall moments of inebriation, where his body just moved about feeling like it was on autopilot without a care in the world. If this is what it’s like to be sober while drunk—I don’t want it.

Jordan stared at the fast approaching wall of the far end of the room. She was leading him to a spot opposite, though offset slightly, from the unlit fireplace near the Brat’s bed. As the duo came close, Jordan couldn’t help suppress his welling confusion. Where… where the hell is she taking me?

The massive room he was in—like many rooms before it—had four walls. ‘Shocking’ as that revelation was, Jordan was familiar with the walls the Brat’s bed was next to—one having the vault-like door and the other having the fireplace and alchemy bench. The only other he’d paid any attention to was the outer facing wall. It was the only one with Windows, after all.

However, the wall that the maid dragged Jordan towards, had no features to catch his eye. Like most of the room, it was dark on the bottom half, lighter above, and covered in paintings and glowing sconces. While it too had tables, chairs, desks, bookshelves, and other needless furniture scattered about—including the small living room-esque location he’d noted ages ago—it didn’t have anything special about it.

Or at least, that’s what he thought up until the maid twisted at a perfectly obscured door knob on the wall. Jordan was startled to see a secret door, but after a moment of slight embarrassment, he realized its presence was… kind of obvious actually. The seams of the door were clearly visible, and there was no furniture blocking it, or pictures nailed on.

He was miffed he hadn’t seen it, but a regular sized door in a room this big was easy to glance over! The fact that it was decorated to blend in didn’t help either. It was, however, only a private door, not a hidden one. Seeing it jogged some memories in Jordan’s mind of a few pictures of the White House he’d seen with doors like this. ‘Walls’ in the Oval Office that just popped open. It was annoying to miss something so obvious, but he tried not to scowl.

And failed immediately.

The next room was disturbing on several fundamental levels, nearly as bad as the initial reaction to the cat-bun incident of Day Two. For starters… it was pink. Soft light from windows framed by spring colored curtains illuminated the long, open space. It was equal to the Brat’s bedroom in length, but width wise it was less than a quarter. There were a multitude of additional chairs, tables with scrolls and papers scattered about like magazines in waiting rooms, mannequins with clothes posing about, and crowning the middle of the room along a window was a massive desk fit for a president, though his White House memory paled in comparison to it.

At first Jordan glared at the room as the maid continued dragging him in, his feet stubbornly dragging along following his instincts, this time. He couldn’t place what made him feel so uncomfortable until the smell of the room hit him. It had a chemical undertone, but not unpleasant, merely potent in its fragrance and confusing with the multitude of different… perfumes.

He snapped the Brat’s head back to the dresser. It was adorned with a set of giant mirrors and covered with dozens of unidentifiable containers. Beautiful glass bottles filled with colorful liquids, richly toned wooden boxes with golden accents and decorative locks sat alongside, covered in unfamiliar regalia and logos. A few pieces of cloth sat delicately piled to the side, and something like a spice rack rested on the desk, only it contained long pieces of wood that looked almost like magical wands. Did this world have magic wands? Or was that actually something women had in their bathrooms? Jordan didn’t know, he only knew that it looked like the kind of dresser an actress used for makeup. The smell brought flashbacks of waiting outside girly stores in the mall that tormented his psyche, and he began to babble at the maid.

“Hey, maybe, let’s not? And we can just say we did! I don’t feel well, I think I’m sick. I broke my wrist, can you stop pulling me along? Set me FREE—woman!” Jordan’s tugs towards freedom only earned a sadistic chuckle from the maid.

Jordan kicked the Brat’s feet in protest, but stopped when he realized the maid wasn’t taking him towards the smelly dresser. He was so relieved, he didn’t notice the giant red curtains on the wall opposite the dresser, just to the right of the room’s entrance. Too late, he finally realized that the entire room was, in fact, the size of the Brat’s bedroom. It was only that the place the Brat’s clothes were politely hidden in rested beyond a partition with a curtained entrance.

Within the adjoining space was what some might have described as a walk-in closet. To Jordan, it was his fear and doom made manifest. That which would unmake him and mar his soul forevermore.

Clothes. In short, it was just that.

Clothes. Cloth. Coverings. That with which mankind covered itself in order to survive and to distinguish itself from animals. Progress and human innovation laid out before Jordan, but his mind merely short circuited at the display. He’d mostly avoided female-oriented clothing stores—even passing by the women’s section in Walmart made him uncomfortable. Just, who leaves underclothes hanging about for all to see? It’s disgusting!

But this? This was no mere walk-in closet. It was its own department store! Row upon row of dresses, shawls, shirt thing x, and shirt thing y. Short sleeve, long sleeve, open sleeve, closed sleeve, wrapped sleeve, laced sleeve, double sleeve, pleated sleeve—it was turning him into a sleeve-version of Bubba from Forrest Gump! Desperate for some respite in the hellscape before him, Jordan glared around the room and was outraged to note that there was not a single god-damn pair of pants or shrimp! None! Anywhere! How was this even possible? What was he supposed to wear? A large jacket to cover the Brat’s ass?

If that was the case, then which one would he choose? There were dozens he could go with! Likely more hidden nearby, but he’d pulled that number out of his ass based off of the mannequins modeling the clothes. Who modeled their own clothing? And why did each look so… oh dear god in heaven please save me.

Each mannequin looked like the Brat. Flawless. Replications. Of Brattiness.

Who the fuck would do that!? Even Jordan’s thoughts sounded shrill now.

Jordan looked for an escape, or a place to hide, as his animal brain wailed in his mind. He worried briefly if the Aberration had returned, but if it had it was welcome to the horrors before him. It could gobble him up if it got him out of this mess. Sadly it was only natural instinct gibbering in his mind.

Drawers large enough to function in a mortuary held unknown terrors, but ran along the bottoms of the walls across every major stretch of room offering potential hidey-holes. Set atop were glass displays sparkling with jewels that were easily recognizable as being worth thousands, if not tens of thousands of dollars. If he ran away, maybe he could pawn some? He’d have to risk plundering the room, which worried him. The wealth was just sitting there, though. It seemed… unreal to Jordan. Did people just leave precious items like that out? Shouldn’t they have been in a safe?

And it wasn’t as though he could count on them being locked in their glass containers to protect them. A few cabinets flanking displays were opened with gem-crusted vests or bracers within just exposed to the room. Hell half the glass cases were hanging open regardless! There were more clothes in this room than the Salvation Army could accept in a donation, and more precious stones than every Tiffany’s store in his home state of California put together.

He… wasn’t sure if those comparisons were exaggeration or underselling it, and that scared him.

His slack jawed terror hit new heights when he noticed that something else was exposed to the open air. He’d missed several of them in his first sweep of the room, confusing the lacey texture with sleeves or jackets, and since none of the mannequins showed these articles directly, it wasn’t until he began to look into the open shelves and cabinets that he saw all the… unmentionables in the room.

He began to run, pulled away from the maid, who surprised him by letting go. She blocked off the curtained entry, so Jordan ran straight away from her towards the center of the partitioned wall. There was a blessed break in the clothes, and he jumped past a small stool, only to catch a glimpse in his peripheral vision of… the Brat herself. Mirrors? He looked away, desperate not to meet her gaze and—

With a sudden stop that forced an indignant squeal from him, Jordan hung suspended in the air. He flailed his arms and went wild, but hit nothing. He just levitated, hanging over the stool, staring at the array of mirrors that looked like… a tailoring station?

He’d never used one, but he’d gone with his father enough times to recognize it. Central stool, flanking mirrors, small cases with cloth, tape, sharp implements, tools of the trade scattered about. Everything checked out but… why was he floating!?

Flailing and screaming in rage like a drenched cat hung out to dry, Jordan was scared brainless by a sudden snap and pop that filled the room. The smell of the room, which was—all things considered—the best smell he’d found yet in this world, had been that of freshly laundered clothes, accented by an underlying warmth, like everything was fresh straight out of the dryer. That pleasant smell, however, was disturbed by the cracking noise, now attacked by a sultry musky smell that felt choking in the air. Thick and overwhelming, like someone just didn’t know when to quit spraying their cologne, er, perfume.

Through the madly twitching eyes of the Brat’s spazzing body, Jordan saw sauntering towards him the walking definition of femininity. She was a Grecian goddess, soft and radiant, sporting a slim waist, wide hips, and sweeping gold hair that danced down her shoulders like a damn runway model strutting by with her own personal breeze!

Her pointed heels clacked against the polished wooden floor and Jordan saw she was also very well… endowed. He tried to look away, for politeness sakes if nothing else, but her clothes were so damn revealing! A tight, single layer garment that would have been at home at a jazz club, like some kind of cocktail dress. It was a dazzling gold, matching her hair, and the slit of the fabric went all the way to her—!

Looking up—damnit!—her eyes were the same coloration as the maids, but on her head there were several sets of curving horns spreading about forming a crown. Her hair still lazily swung about beneath, unimpeded, flowing around the obstruction in complete defiance of natural law. Jordan wondered if she was also a Succubus, but with dramatic timing, she sprouted a pair of massive, dark leathery wings from her shoulder blades. So unless they can have wings in other places other than their asses… that’s a no. What the hell is she!?

A few awkward moments passed by in silence. Jordan stared at the demon, and she just… stared back. Eventually, after Jordan started to wonder if he was supposed to say something, her eyes popped open in surprise. Jordan’s eyes mimicked her own, terrified she was about to pounce. Instead they continued to stare, only now it was a surprise stare off.

Then, betraying his expectations, the demon broke the silence and squealed in joy.

“Aureliana! It really is you, isn’t it? Oh by the Princes, thank the hells you’re okay! I was so sure my favorite doll would be gone for good and that the maid was just copying your form again.” She pouted dramatically, “But look at you! I can practically hear your heart beating. It’s so powerful, so wonderful! Yes! Yes! YES!!”

She threw her head back as she screamed rapturously with her last words, her hands clutching upwards towards the heavens, fingernails looking a little too much like claws for Jordan’s liking. The demon turned back and plucked him out of the air in a giant hug before twirling them both around as she tittered in laughter, with her deep, jazzy voice. A small curious part of his mind wondered if she sounded jazzy to him purely because of how he saw her dress.

The rest of Jordan was dying, however. Slowly being crushed by her bosom. It was an event that in his past life would have been a call for celebration—worries over gold-diggers be damned. Now, however, he wished only for death and destruction upon her and her tits. He didn’t know why he felt so personally offended by them—perhaps being called a doll of all things had triggered his scorn—but he resolved to give the demon three spots on his list of most hated entities. One for her, and two for the girls.

The demon woman eventually wrenched Jordan out from the trap he’d been suffocating in before lifting him to smash her face against his own like he was a cute pet she was cuddling. It was at the point Jordan realized just how absurdly tall the demon woman was. The Brat’s feet kicked out uselessly as he hung in the air, suspended for different reasons this time. The stupid demon was so tall it was unfair! Even if Jordan had had his real body he’d still have been dangling!

She twirled more, but finally set the Brat’s feet down firmly on the stool near the mirrors. Thankfully, he was faced away from the reflection so he didn’t have to see the Brat’s shameful body, which was still… Anyway, the demon women stepped back to eye him head to toe. He couldn’t stop the shiver that crossed the Brat’s body as the face lit up like the Chrysler Building during Christmas.

Despite his natural aversion to such potential perversion, he couldn’t help but bring up the Brat’s arms to cover up the… parts that were in the open. Flat or not, it wasn’t right for them out like this, damnit! He’d never felt so damn exposed in his life.

“S-stop looking at me! Just… just give me a shirt or something! Now!”

The demonic woman cocked her angelic face as she wore an innocent smile that promised anything but.

“My, oh my Aure, you’ve changed haven’t you? It’s not just that new heart of yours, which I must say,” she made distinctly girlish gestures, pawing at the air like she was sharing gossip, “I am so terribly excited at the thought of what we can dress you up in now that you aren’t so sensitive to Essence. Still, you really don’t remember me at all?”

Jordan shook his head and the giantess tsked sadly.

“But Aure, we were the best of friends…” The smile she gave was slow and terrible, and made Jordan certain to his core that her statement was a bold face lie.

“W-what—” before he could continue, the monster rushed towards him, mouth open as her tongue lashed about greedily, nearly as long as the maids had been. She shouted, screaming, with maniacal laughter.

“YES! Finally—I’ve waited so long! You are going to look just… GORGEOUS! YES!!”

As her hands reached out towards him, Jordan tried to leap off the stool and flee but found himself held fast once more. Turning to look at the Brat’s arms he saw the indentations of fingers holding him even though nothing was there. Motion caught in his vision and looking up he saw a reflection of the devil in the mirror.

She’d been in there the whole time. She was what had held him. He’d missed her because he hadn’t wanted to see the Brat’s body. Walked right into her trap.

The demon smiled at him from within the glass and with a quick, desperate sweep of the Brat’s head Jordan saw that each mirror in sight had begun to shimmer as reflective copies appeared.

And each one wanted a piece of him. To tear away all that was left of him as a man.

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