Desperate for victory

They drank deep of the nectar and engorged themselves

Still wishing to break the world to their will

Instead they were twisted

Broken upon their own ambitions

And the slavers' true form was revealed to the people

I translate aloud as I look back from my notes to the old book. The writings inside are interwoven with sketches and little paintings of ravenous nightmare beasts.

I pause as I comprehend my own words.

True form? What does that even mean? I flip back through pages of the old musty tome, careful to avoid tearing any of the delicate parchment, and double check the first descriptions and illustrations.

Yeah, it’s the same general take. I turn the pages forward to continue. The images and descriptions drawn out in the scraps of paper that survived all these years show the same, if not even more detailed paintings of the beasts from the cursed wood.

It’s not a place I’d ever want to go, the drawings are really disturbing. Creatures of nightmares illustrated out with that perfect balance of simplistic style and all the right details to pull my eye to the most disturbing parts. But I’ve come to enjoy translating and reading about the history of our island and this isn’t a topic most books contain.

Just a hobby that helps distract my mind from… other things.

I turn the page to reveal drawings of a multitude of shapes and symbols not of the previous languages. They encircle a dewdrop of violet. An extremely detailed coloring of a drop of purplish water or… sap?

It even has some kind of glossy finish painted over it. That’s so rare for tomes like this.

“Hey!” A shout comes from the hallway outside my chambers, making me jerk in surprise and breaking my focus. “I wanted to see if you’d like to have a late dinner with me?”

At least he knows enough to not just shove aside the heavy scaled curtain and barge in.

“Maybe down at the beach?” He adds after a moment.

“No,” I reply. “But… thank you.”

There is a long pause. Most would assume he’d left, but I know better.

“I…um, Are you doing alright?” He asks, his voice soft, barely audible. “I heard that something happened today. Got worried when you didn’t come find me. ”

A jolt of shame hits and everything begins to break free. I’m back in the bathing chambers, back with three excited strangers, unable to perform my duties for them.

The custom is always simple, I’ve done it thousands of times with countless strangers.

First we’re introduced, maybe even share a light meal. Many of the women have never had sex with a man and it helps to soothe any unease and explain any details, even though Sangoma always takes extra care to make sure they know how everything works.

After that there is the cleansing. It’s just a bath in specially treated and heated waters, but this is where things are supposed to get physical. While tradition says that we’re supposed to take the time to wash each other, it’s mostly just an excuse to start the sex early.

I’m a breeding male, one of the only fertile ones left on the island, maybe even beyond that. For the past DECADE I’d just admired the women’s bodies while they fondled at me and that was enough. Even after we moved to the bed chambers. It doesn’t require much, and I am practiced at it. I’m good at just letting them use me.

But today… for some stupid reason, reality decided to hit me harder than it ever has and ruin everything

I’m going to die in this disgusting fucking body.

And I just… broke down. All energy for the ritual gone as my emotional state crumpled. I wish I could say that I didn’t remember the womens’ reactions, or my Sangoma’s eventual arrival as things fell apart, but they are burned into my memories now.

I’ve never been her best at… well any of the sex things. But I’ve never been a problem! Most of the other men insist on spending themselves on private lovers while I don’t. Sangoma has always called me her least troublesome charge.

Gifts of books, art, and painting supplies have always kept me content. But it was all just… a cover. My wistfulness, my nature to daydream and find escapes from this world was due to a deep ache.

My first memory of thought was me knowing something was wrong, that this wasn’t the right body. That I should’ve been like most people in our world, a woman. I just assumed everyone felt the same way at first, just part of… like growing up or something.

Sangoma always talked about how my male body was such a blessing to all the people. When I hit puberty and started getting educated on the details of my role in the temple I just assumed my feelings were a part of the sex stuff.

But… no. This isn’t normal. All of the other breeding males here are happy to be as they were born. I’m the stupid one. I’m the one that hides in books to try and forget their body. The one breeding male that hates sex and would give anything to–

“It would just be you and me!” Jawdat interrupts my thoughts, “The Caravan’s festival is hosting a special day for the temple. Sangoma, our brothers, and almost all the alchemists will be there until very late.”

“I–”

It’s such a rare thing. If there was anything good about today it’s that the next two will be our resting days. Two entire days to collect myself and get my mind in order before having to perform. Doubly good if what Jawdat says is true.

No. He’ll want to talk about today and I’m not sure I can keep myself from telling him why it happened. Why I fucked up. Why it hurts so much.

“I’d rather be alone.” I reply with as much steadiness in my voice as I can.

“I doubt that!” He pushes, “The waters are perfect and the chiefs have prepared–”

“No!” There is a sharpness to my voice that I try to quell as I follow up, “A um… I’m sorry. A new shipment came in. Old tomes, paintings, and even notebooks that Vintela insists belonged to the Sun Spoken Helvania herself. I really just want to focus on these today.”

It’s not a lie. I assure myself after I speak the words. I just don’t believe Vintela’s wild claims when she is haggling with Sangoma.

“Ah,” Obvious disappointment, even a hint of anger, drips from his reply. “Okay. I’ll leave you to it then.”

I listen to his footfalls as he leaves, guilt digging into me. Stupid stupid stupid. Why am I so stupid? He probably had this all planned out. A meal cooked and prepared in advance. Mayhaps even convinced Levia to play and sing while we would eat, swim and…

I love Jawdat, but… mostly because he’s the only person who seems to listen when I want to go on tangents about the things I care about. Of the stories and art and all the things the other breeding males here think are boring and stupid.

But the final thought of us getting physical puts a brick in my stomach. Of the sex he tends to expect.

No, not today. I lean down, staring blankly at the old notebook.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

My mind races back to the ritual chambers, and a wave of nausea mixes with the memories. I stare down at the open book, at the shimmering violet droplet in the middle of the page. My breath goes shallow as I begin to hyperventilate.

But then I notice the wet splotches of tears staining the page and I’m jerked from the near panic attack.

“Fuck.” I sputter out as I reach down to try and wipe the page with the sleeve of my robe.

I only succeed in smearing the stain across more of the ink, and then a tear falls and strikes the sap in the middle of the page. Thunder rumbles as cerulean lightning brings my chambers into sudden light.

I jerk up to find myself caught in the gaze of a dark shape standing across the table from me. Her very form is dimming the candles, drinking in their light.

Four glowing purple eyes narrow as they meet mine…

And then she is gone. The warm golden glow of the alchemical everlight once again dominates the room. I blink, then look around. Nothing. I look back down at the notebook to find it much the same.

Then a light pop sounds, and a little root grows out of the purple droplet.

Fear strangles me to stillness. That’s not a painting.

More roots pop out from the droplet to burrow through the circles drawn around the sap.

On reflex I reach out and slam the book shut.

I should run. Find help. I–

The notebook shakes beneath my hand, and something stabs up through it into my palm.

I yelp as I try and yank away, but my hand isn’t just stuck to the book, the old tome itself is also rooted to the table.

“No. no. no. NO!” I whimper as I grab my wrist and try to pull away.

I feel something burrow deeper, and watch in horror as roots begin to crawl beneath the skin of my hand. The pain grows with every inch it moves.

Then She’s back.

I jerk up as She leans across the table, over the book, her hollow eye sockets glow with a purple flame that moves like smoke. I want to look back down to the roots but something is transfixing my gaze to hers.

“Please stop.” I squeak stupidly as the roots continue to worm under my skin and up my arm.

She has no lips to smile but I can feel the pleasure at my pain in those eyes!

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to.” I plead through the cutting pain as the roots reach my shoulder.

I try to cry out, but am cut off as they begin to curl upward and back, tearing around my shoulder blade toward my spine. “Fucking… please! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’M SOR–”

I feel the first root pierce my spine, and everything stops. My body goes numb, and even the pain slips away. I can’t move anything. Can’t even try to yell for help.

It’s then that I begin to feel the edges of Her mind burrow into my thoughts.

Surprise.

She looks around the room, then back to me.

Old, searing Malice rolls out of Her.

The other roots follow the first into my spine, and together they shoot upward and break something at the base of my neck and burrow into my brain. Then everything goes black.

A slew of old memories I barely recognize roll through my mind and I am drowned in them.

I swear I hear… No, not hear, I FEEL a huff of annoyance from her.

I can barely think. My thoughts are still groggy from the memories that now drain away. Then she adjusts something and more of my past rises up to engulf me.

She moves through these like a fish through the sea. Her initial focus is on my lessons and conversations about things outside the temple, but then Her focus is drawn more and more to my personal experiences.

Amusement. Thrums from her as she sees my life, at Memories of my body being celebrated for its ability to breed, and nothing more.

I’m not surprised by all the wretchedness and pain brought by the dissonance between my body and spirit. But that seems to catch her attention.

A Curiosity replaces all else pulsing from Her. Then Her focus intensifies on the memories of that first searing desire of mine to be a woman. At my hope that one day I will wake up and everything will be changed.

I don’t know how to struggle, but I try anyway during a pause. It does as much good as a bug caught in the grip of a giant.

Today’s memory hits and slows down at Sangoma forcing me to continue with my charges despite my obvious pain. I watch and feel with perfect clarity as a little searing spark of hope is snuffed and dies during that last session, replaced by a hopelessness deeper than I realized.

I stop struggling. Do I even want to survive this?

She gives my little thought the metaphorical equivalent of a sidelong glance, and I go still. Or at least as still as I can like this.

She closes my memories like one would close a book, letting them fall away into the recess of my mind, and bears down on my current thoughts.

What do you want from me? I try to think at her.

A long pause. Anger radiates, but then it melts into Annoyance.

I don’t understand. And then I do the mental equivalent of… a hiccup?

Regret? Sorrow? It’s hard to tell. More Curiosity. Then something in her thoughts seem to crystallize. Like a spark to dry parchment it burns through the other emotions and overtakes them.

Inspiration is what spreads from her.

Her reply is a storm of history and meaning, every emotion a song of sorrow. Before my thoughts can grasp even a hint of meaning I am swept into the next stanza and seared over and over again.

I can feel my body now, but something is writhing beneath my skin like the roots from before, tearing and burning and filling me with pain. Every inch of me is being passed through by Her words.

I try to think at Her as I feel my body seize and tumble to the floor, but it’s like trying to scream from the depths of an ocean.

She does not stop as satisfaction runs through that inspiration. So I can only curl my mind and body in on itself.

Then the muse of her reply changes its tune, and I am scorched in the beauty of her song and will. The ballad of her soul cracks my heart and the pain of my body is nothing to that symphony. I can feel myself weeping through this story, though none of it remains in my spirit long enough to etch itself into my memories.

The song stops, and I am left with only the sound of sobs echoing in my chambers.

A choking cough erupts from my chest, and I push myself to my knees. I gag and eventually a blob of bile splats onto the floor beneath me.

I wince at the sight of wooden roots amidst the bloody mess.

“Ew. Fuck that hurts.” I gag, but stop. Is that my voice? It’s different…

“What happened?” I croak softly. Terror at the idea of those root things attacking me again.

That’s not my normal voice.

I look over to see the half ruined tome on the floor a few feet from my left hand.

The hand I see has no root holes. It’s small, almost dainty, with skin much softer and a bit darker than I remember. I pull it up, trying to get some candlelight to fall across it.

I blink a few times, sure my eyes must be fucked up by whatever she just did to me.

They stay the same though. Then I am shooting to my feet, adrenaline pumping hard, and am pulling aside my sweat drenched robe.

I let out a half choking gasp as I look down at the smooth skin of my new chest. Two modest breasts peak back. I poke at one, and let out a squeak as I'm rewarded with a jolt of pain.

Surprised, I run my hand across the skin. It’s sensitive. Way more than even after shaved areas have been for me in the past. It's a deeper pain. I step over to my desk and the lights.

The better view frames my new body, and I can’t help but let out another sound of surprise.

I carefully slide my large robe off my shoulders. Without it my underwear is all that remains and I can’t help but stare slack jawed at my new body.

A laugh bubbles out, soft and real. The most real I’ve ever felt.

But… then turns into a cough, which leads into me vomiting out another heave of bile onto the floor.

“I better not fucking die. Not now.” I choke out as I hang my head, resting my elbows on my knees to calm the sudden dizziness. Which brings my head way too close to my crotch.

“So… what about?” I whisper. I gently reach a hand to press between my legs, and jerk back. Then, just to make sure, I slide my underwear down to verify what’s there.

Or better yet, the LACK of what’s there. I try to lean down farther to get a better look, and instead stumble forward as my underwear slips halfway down one leg.

I fail to catch it or myself. I fall and stumble into a roll, ending flat on my back.

I push myself up to my elbows after a second, and giggle as I stare down at myself. The body I always should have had.

Rolling over to look back toward my desk, my elation dies a little. The book still sits on the floor, and I’m reminded of the transition and the terrifying entity that caused it.

I move to a half squat/half crawl and carefully approach it. It’s torn and battered, the old parchment is cracking while the ink flakes away. The roots and violet sap drop are gone. A void in the middle of a storm that’s wrent the entire tome asunder.

I reach my hand out to touch it, hesitate, then carefully pick it up.

“Alright then!” A sudden shout echoes from outside my chambers, “I’m coming in!”

I jerk so hard I end up flailing back onto my ass, book clutched against my chest.

I turn just in time to see a large form push aside the heavy bronze curtain. At least two heads taller than me and just as much wider, Zigdara is MASSIVE. She wears an ashen shawl which stands out against her dark skin alongside baggy brown pants with tan leather wrappings around her ankles and wrists. A short blade hangs on her right hip.

The many colored beads and little bones she has adorned in her mane of curly hair rattle as she does a quick glance around the room before settling a cold glare down at me. “Where is he?”

I look down at myself. Still naked, my arms cradling the disintegrating tome. Oh… fuck.