Shaking my head to clear it (and immediately regretting the motion as the room tilts alarmingly), I struggle to my feet. The floor seems to have developed a mind of its own, bucking and swaying beneath me like a ship in a storm. "Alright, time to batten down the hatches," I declare to no one in particular, stumbling towards the door.

It takes me three attempts to get the key into the lock, my fingers seemingly having forgotten how to perform basic tasks. When I finally manage it, I let out a triumphant whoop. "Ha! Take that, you tricky bastard! Lile: 1, Door: 0!"

Feeling quite pleased with myself, I flop back down onto the floor, giggling uncontrollably at the ceiling. "Ah, what a good day this was," I sigh contentedly. "Let's hope it gets better. Although..." I shift uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of a certain... dampness. "God, I'm wet as hell down there. I can feel it. Fucking Dumitra and her sexy vampire ways."

The thought of Dumitra sends another wave of arousal through me, and I groan in frustration. "Focus, Lile," I scold myself. "You've got more important things to do. Like... drinking!"

With renewed purpose, I begin crawling towards the hearth where the keg of mead sits, taunting me with its amber goodness. As I near it, I spot my empty mug lying nearby. "Time to make a decision," I announce to the room at large. "Drink myself into a coma or take it slow? Hmm? Which one is it going to be?"

My eyes dart around the room, searching for something to help me decide. They land on a glint of metal near Erik's armchair. "Aha!" I exclaim, changing course to investigate.

As I reach the chair, I find a copper coin lying on the floor. I snatch it up triumphantly. "Who would've thought Erik would have such poorly valued coins in his cottage?" I muse, turning the coin over in my fingers. "Ah well, beggars can't be choosers. If it's heads, I drink another mug of Erik's tasty mead. If it's tails... well, I'll calm down and just sip slowly. Like a lady."

With great ceremony (and only a slight wobble), I flip the coin into the air. It spins, glinting in the firelight, before clattering to the floor. I lean in close, squinting to make out the result.

"Tails?!" I screech, my voice rising to a pitch that would make dogs wince. "God fucking damn it, why couldn't it be heads?! The universe is conspiring against me, I swear."

Grumbling under my breath about the unfairness of it all, I drag myself back to the keg. With exaggerated care, I pour myself half a mug of mead. "There," I declare, holding up the mug like it's the Holy Grail. "A perfectly reasonable amount for a growing girl. Cheers to me!"

I take a small sip, savoring the sweet taste. But as I lower the mug, a devious thought crosses my mind. "You know what?" I say to the mug, as if confiding a great secret. "Fuck the coin. I'm a grown-ass man in a little girl's body. If I want to get shitfaced, I'm gonna get shitfaced!"

With that declaration, I tip the mug back and chug the contents in one go. The mead burns a pleasant path down my throat, warming me from the inside out. "Now that's more like it!" I crow, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

I reach for the keg to refill my mug, but my coordination seems to have abandoned me entirely. Instead of grasping the spigot, I end up knocking the whole thing over. Mead gushes out across the floor, forming a golden puddle at my feet.

"Oops," I giggle, watching the liquid spread. "Looks like I've made a mead angel! Erik's gonna love that. Maybe I should add some snow and make it a proper winter wonderland."

As I contemplate the logistics of bringing snow indoors (surely it can't be that hard?), another wave of arousal washes over me. The combination of alcohol and lingering effects from Dumitra's bite has left me in a state of near-constant excitement.

"You know what?" I announce to the room, my voice thick with drunken determination. "I deserve some fun. It's not like anyone's gonna walk in on me, right?"

With clumsy fingers, I begin to hike up my skirts. It's a more complicated process than I remember, the fabric seeming to multiply and tangle around my legs. "Stupid medieval fashion," I grumble. "Give me a good pair of jeans any day."

Finally, I manage to bunch the skirts around my waist. The cool air on my exposed skin sends a shiver through me. "Alright, let's see what this body can do," I mutter, my hand sliding down between my legs.

image [https://pfst.cf2.poecdn.net/base/image/c2675d40c7f64c75b307a451546b7b30fabbee4d6a573767fad814037d222f82?w=1024&h=768&pmaid=129146901]

Just as I'm about to tip over the edge, a sharp knock at the door shatters the moment. I freeze, my hand still between my legs, Erik's voice calls out, "Lile? Open up."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I groan, flopping back onto the floor in frustration. "Can't a girl get a break?"

I lie there, skirts hiked up, hand sticky, and surrounded by a puddle of spilled mead. "Well," I mutter to myself, "at least things can't get any more awkward..."

With a groan, I roll onto my stomach and begin the arduous process of cleaning my hand on the rough fabric of my dress. The mead has left my fingers tacky and sweet-smelling, a cloying reminder of my drunken folly. Once I've managed to remove most of the stickiness, I set my sights on the door, which suddenly seems as distant and insurmountable as the peaks of a far-off mountain range.

"Right," I slur, my tongue feeling thick and uncooperative in my mouth. "Time to conquer this beastly portal."

I begin my crawl towards the door, my limbs moving with all the grace and coordination of a newborn foal. The floor seems to tilt and sway beneath me, as if the cottage has suddenly transformed into a ship caught in a tempest. As I near my destination, a thunderous knock reverberates through the wood, causing me to startle and lose what little balance I had.

"Lile!" Erik's voice booms from the other side. "Open this door at once!"

I reach up, fumbling for the latch with fingers that seem to have forgotten their purpose. The metal slips from my grasp once, twice, thrice, each failure punctuated by an increasingly frustrated knock from Erik.

"By Odin's beard, girl!" he bellows. "What in the nine realms are you doing in there?"

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

"I'm trying!" I wail, my voice cracking in a most undignified manner. "The door's being... uncooperative!"

After what feels like an eternity of failed attempts, my fingers finally manage to grasp the latch firmly. With a triumphant cry that sounds more like a strangled hiccup, I yank it open. Erik's massive frame fills the doorway, his emerald eyes narrowing as they take in the sight before him.

"What in the name of all that's holy happened to you?" he demands, his gaze sweeping over my disheveled form and the chaos of the room beyond.

I blink up at him, trying to focus on his face, which seems to be swimming in and out of clarity. "Dumitra," I manage to croak out. "She came earlier. And then... well, I might have gotten a wee bit into the mead. And then the mead got a wee bit onto the floor."

Erik's sigh is so deep and long-suffering that I half expect it to extinguish the fire in the hearth. "Stand up," he commands, his tone brooking no argument. "Make yourself presentable, for pity's sake."

I nod vigorously, immediately regretting the action as the room spins anew. With great determination, I attempt to haul myself to my feet, only to have my legs betray me. I stumble, arms windmilling comically as I try to maintain my balance.

Erik's laughter, rich and deep, fills the cottage as I abandon all pretense of dignity and begin crawling towards the armchair. "By the gods," he chuckles, "you're in quite a state, aren't you?"

I manage to heave myself into the chair, collapsing into its embrace with a grunt. "I've been worse," I mumble, though for the life of me, I can't recall when.

Erik's amusement fades as he moves closer to the hearth, his gaze falling on the overturned keg. He turns back to me, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "Clean this up," he orders. "I've business in the village that can't wait."

Despite the fog of alcohol clouding my mind, a spark of curiosity manages to ignite. "Did you find out anything about the well water?" I ask, leaning forward in the chair.

Erik nods, his expression growing grim. "Aye, that I did. I'm off to destroy the cursed thing now, along with some of the other villagers."

A knot of worry forms in my gut, sobering me slightly. "My family," I blurt out. "Are they alright?"

"They're fine," Erik assures me, his tone softening a fraction. "Maeve had a bout of sickness a few days past, but nothing more serious than that."

"And Oisin?" The name feels strange on my tongue, a reminder of the life I'm supposed to be living.

A wry smile tugs at Erik's lips. "That mead I gifted him likely saved his guts from any real trouble. Small mercies, I suppose."

I sigh, relief and frustration warring within me. Erik turns away, ascending to the attic with quick, purposeful strides. When he returns, his psychokinetic axe is clutched in his massive hand, its runes glowing faintly in the dim light of the cottage.

As he makes for the door, he pauses, fixing me with a penetrating stare. "I trust you haven't been... exploring yourself in my absence?"

Heat floods my cheeks, and I'm certain my face must be as red as a ripe apple. "N-no!" I stammer, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. "I've only been drinking, I swear it!"

Erik's eyes narrow, suspicion clear in their emerald depths. "Mind you keep it that way," he warns. "Or it'll be the chastity belt for you, mark my words."

I nod frantically, desperate to assuage his doubts. "I've been good," I insist, my voice high and childlike. "Truly, I have!"

After a long moment, Erik seems satisfied. He nods curtly, reaching for the door. "Lock this behind me," he instructs. "And for the love of all that's holy, try to stay out of trouble."

With that, he's gone, the door closing behind him with a finality that seems to echo in the suddenly quiet cottage. I slump back in the chair, my head spinning from more than just the mead.

"Fuck it," I mutter, my voice slurring slightly. "I'm not getting up to lock that damn door again. Three times today is more than enough exercise for this medieval meat puppet."

I giggle at my own wit, the sound high and childish even to my own ears. The irony isn't lost on me - here I am, a grown man trapped in a girl's body, about to diddle myself like some hormone-crazed teenager. But hey, when in Rome... or rather, when in a backwater Irish village in the ass-end of nowhere.

"Time to be a good little girl and finish what I started," I drawl, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Wouldn't want to disappoint dear old Erik, now would we? He might slap that chastity belt on me again."

I snort, rolling my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out of my head. "As if that medieval cock-block does any good. He straps me into that iron monstrosity every time I set foot in the village alone anyway. Can't have his precious child bride deflowered by some unwashed peasant, oh no. The horror!"

My laughter echoes through the empty cottage, tinged with a manic edge. "Who'd dare touch me anyway? I've got the Norse Hulk as a husband! Hulk-boy with a pretty beard... BY ODIN'S SAGGY BALLSACK!"

Still chuckling, I hoist my feet up onto the arms of the chair, spreading my legs wide. With clumsy fingers, I bunch my skirts up around my waist, exposing my lower half to the cool air of the room.

"Alright, little Lile," I mutter, my hand snaking down between my thighs. "Let's see if we can't coax some fun out of this alien plumbing, shall we?"

image [https://pfst.cf2.poecdn.net/base/image/c2675d40c7f64c75b307a451546b7b30fabbee4d6a573767fad814037d222f82?w=1024&h=768&pmaid=129146901]

And then... darkness.

I come to with a start, disoriented and groggy. The cottage is dim, the fading light of evening filtering through the windows. Panic sets in as I realize how much time has passed.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I hiss, struggling to sit up. My head throbs, a dull ache pounding behind my eyes. My mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton, my tongue thick and unwieldy.

I look around, taking in the scene of debauchery I've left. The overturned mead keg, the puddle on the floor, my skirts still bunched around my waist. I'm a mess, the cottage is a mess, and Erik could be back any minute.

"Fuck me running," I groan, my voice hoarse. "I'm so screwed. So very, very screwed."

I try to stand, but the room tilts alarmingly, forcing me back into the chair. My stomach churns, threatening to expel its meager contents. I've never been so thirsty in my life, my throat parched and raw.

"Water," I croak, eyeing the bucket across the room. It might as well be on the moon for all the good it does me. "Need... water..."

I sit there, head in my hands, trying to summon the strength to move, I can't help but laugh.

"Some genius you are," I mutter to myself. "Couldn't even remember to clean up after your little adventure in self-discovery. Erik's going to tan your hide six ways from Sunday."

The thought of Erik finding me like this sends a fresh wave of panic through me. I need to clean up, need to make myself presentable. But first...

"Water," I repeat, my gaze fixed on that tantalizingly distant bucket. "Just need to... get up... and... and... fuck my life."

With a herculean effort that feels like I'm trying to lift Thor's hammer, I manage to haul my sorry ass out of the chair. The world tilts and sways like I'm on the deck of a ship in a storm, and before I know it, I'm face-down in a puddle that definitely wasn't there before.

"What in the nine circles of hell?" I mutter, pushing myself up on shaky arms. My fingers brush against the damp floor, and a horrifying realization dawns on me. I bring my hand to my nose, inhaling deeply. The scent is... musky, earthy, and decidedly not mead.

My eyes widen in horror as I turn to look at the armchair, now sporting a suspicious dark patch. "Oh, sweet suffering Christ," I groan, my voice a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "I'm a fucking squirter. Because of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? It's not like this situation could get any more mortifying."

Panic sets in as I realize the full extent of the mess I've made. Not only do I have to clean up the spilled mead, but now I've got to deal with... this. "Fuck me sideways with a rusty spoon," I snarl, stumbling towards the washroom. "This is what I get for trying to diddle the skittle in a body that isn't even mine. Cosmic karma's a bitch."

I snatch a linen cloth from the washroom, nearly braining myself on the doorframe in the process. Dipping it into the water bucket, I return to the scene of the crime, muttering a steady stream of curses that would make a sailor blush.

"Alright, you traitorous piece of furniture," I growl at the armchair as I begin scrubbing furiously. "You and I are going to have a long talk about keeping secrets. What happens in the armchair stays in the armchair, got it?"

As I work, my mind races with increasingly unhinged thoughts. "Maybe I should just set the whole place on fire. Can't have evidence if there's nothing left but ashes, right? No, no, bad idea. Erik would probably just make me rebuild it with my bare hands or something."[...]