Learner’s notes.

Calvin has come to the lab every night for the past three nights. Between then and when I see him performing his duties during the day, He has approximately two hours per solar cycle that he could possibly be sleeping. Not including travel time.

I doubt he is, though. None of the evidence seems to point to it.

My brain tells me that this cannot be a good thing, as humans need the regular cycle of sleep to help ground them. This is good to know. However, we do not know for sure if that is the case for an Undead human.

She seems to think it’s an issue.

My brain proposed we do something about this, perhaps consulting with Kala and Ella. When I suggested simply consulting with Calvin himself on the matter, my brain refused vehemently, as it was both embarrassing to approach him, and she didn’t believe he would admit to having trouble sleeping.

That logic doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Humans are intensely social creatures. Why do humans insist at not addressing weaknesses of a mind, body or social nature in a social way? There must be a social reason why I cannot simply do so. Whenever I think about it though, I’m hit with an illogical wave of emotions similar in strength to the fear of death.

Strange.

I suppose consulting with Calvin’s floozies technically counts as social interaction. It just seems so roundabout. Perhaps there are reasons above and beyond the illogical ramblings of my brain about embarrassment.

What does my brain have to gain from taking the issue to them? Is it perhaps to aid in the effectiveness of her friends in their care for their mate?

No, the emotions I’m receiving from my brain don’t quite feel that way. Underneath the genuine well-wishing, there’s a small thread of satisfaction in demonstrating superior knowledge of Calvin to these women.

Interesting. Is it perhaps some kind of natural female social power move that my brain is unaware she is even performing?

….

I brought it up to her, and she seems to be ‘sulking’. Now that she’s aware, she’ll have better control over her emotions, hopefully. Kala says most humans don’t have full control over their emotions until they’re in their fifties. Some never do.

My brain is ideal however, and I estimate she will be a well-balanced, productive member of society in less than ten years.

I have high expectations for my ‘daughter’.

<<

Sub: ‘wives’

….She’s getting better at that.

***Nadia Ilestar***

Nadia was dancing in her room, unable to hold her joie de vivre inside as she alternated between graceful pirouettes and raunchy hip-thrusts.

I AM a real girl! Or at least real enough for the Throne. She’d had her doubts, but that was one more reminder that she was alive. Alive and ravenous for stimulation.

She needed to breathe! She got hungry, and tired!

The stakes were back. The possibility of dying for real.

And the way they looked at me, Nadia thought with a sigh, dragging her fingers over her lips.

She’d kept the lure membrane that allowed her to feel other people’s intentions for her, of course. There was no reason to part with such an amusing toy.

Fully half the people in that room were vividly imagining hurting her. The other half were ravishing her with their eyes.

The combination of the two felt amazing.

Ah, If I keep up like this, I’ll have to admit I wasn’t having fun before. Not this level of fun anyway.

Dying had a certain way of refocusing a person’s priorities.

The battle for the throne between her and her siblings had always been a game, but now it felt like one, too. She didn’t really care if she won or lost, anymore.

Now, she was just in it to have fun. That was the strength she’d brought back with her. More than the monster parts or the enhanced looks, it was the attitude. Something the Nadia of two years ago couldn’t have comprehended.

She was still dancing when someone rapped on the thick wood door.

“Come in,” she said, not bothering to stop.

Dorian stepped in, the teen blanching when he saw her sinuous body rolls. Adjusting to her brother, she settled for doing the twist and moonwalking.

“Ah Dorian, What can I do for my favorite puppet of a brother?”

“I’m not a puppet!” Dorian shouted, regressing into a petulant child as she dug at old wounds.

“How would you know?” Nadia asked with a wicked grin.

Dorian sighed and rolled his eyes. “Father has arranged a ball to commemorate your long-awaited return to Iletha. Your presence is requested at the royal hall in two days time, beginning at three P.M.”

“How public,” Nadia said with a feigned gasp. “It’s almost as if he wanted to assure me that it couldn’t possibly be a trap.”

“Why would it be a trap?”

“Never change, Dorian. I hope they never see a need to deploy you, but I suppose it’s bound to happen sooner or later.”

The black-haired puppet glared at her.

“Did anybody feed and water Roger the homicidal maniac while I was gone?” Nadia asked.

Dorian shook his head. “He got executed.”

“Shame.”

“…why are you dancing?” Dorian finally asked.

“Because I’m happy, obviously.” Nadia said.

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

Nadia broke into a laugh. Old Nadia had been a bit stuffier, it was true.

“So, poison or blade?” Nadia asked, moonwalking a circle around Dorian.

“Excuse me?”

“Normally with a ball, you’d expect poison…But I’ll bet the old man is gonna go for something more…violent.”

It didn’t take a genius to see her horns and wings and wonder if she’d perhaps become something…a little bit more than human.

That would be entirely correct. Many poisons didn’t quite have the same effect on her as before, and she was especially tolerant of ingested ones.

“I’m not going to entertain that line of questioning.”

“Not like you know the answer,” Nadia scoffed. “I’m betting a chandelier falls on me. Or perhaps I’ll trip and fall onto seventeen identical knives. Better not get blood on my dress…”

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Nadia gasped.

A dress! Her old clothes wouldn’t perfectly fit her new proportions! Her ass would be spilling out in the wrong way, and the torso would be loose and floppy around her stomach.

It could wrinkle!

“Dorian! This is an emergency! I need a seamstress, and I need her yesterday!”

Dorian looked a little taken aback as Nadia ran up to him and grabbed him by the hands.

“Is old Barb still working her magic with needle and thread? That woman makes me look tight.”

Dorian’s expression crumpled in disgust. “Ew, I didn’t need to hear that. And yes, I overheard a girl bragging about getting a new Novesempta dress made just the other day. So as long as she hasn’t kicked the bucket between now and then…”

Nadia began levitating half an inch off the ground, and sped out of the room.

Just to fuck with the palace’s inhabitants, she crossed her arms and straightened her spine into a rigid posture and proceeded to whoosh down the hallway, standing perfectly straight, her face frozen into a scowl of displeasure.

One maid saw her perfectly still figure rapidly approaching, gave a yelp and dove back into the room she’d just finished cleaning.

A few minor nobles stepped hastily out of her way, glancing at her and then each other as their princess floated past them at high speeds, like a wraith on bitterchew.

***Dorian Ilestar***

“Gods, she’s still a nightmare,” Dorian said, nervously combing his fingers through his hair.

First the marriage is annulled, then the war puts us on the back foot, and the ‘train’ holds our destiny by a thread. Now Nadia is back, but changed. Not exactly herself.

In many ways, the creature with his sister’s voice and mannerisms felt far more dangerous. Like she had no weaknesses and was simply viewing everything like an outside observer, amused at the antics of insects.

It wasn’t a good feeling.

Bringing his arm back down, he frowned at his sleeve.

“Hey, she stole my cufflinks!”

***Nadia***

Barbara Novesempta was a staple of Ilethan high fashion, had been for decades. How anyone got to be a Legend with only seamstress Skills was the subject of much speculation, but Nadia figured it probably boiled down to an iron will and lots of money.

They got along famously.

Once Nadia was outside the palace, she shot into the sky, tore through the air and landed in front of Barb’s door.

“Afternoon, ya old bitch!” Nadia said, kicking the door open.

Inside the dingy shop, the wrinkly matron of the establishment peered up at Nadia.

Barb was wrinkly, stick thin and skeletal with resting bitch face, and those were her charms. She was also abrasive and evil to the core.

Practically a surrogate mother.

The woman’s apprentices started, shying away from Nadia as she plowed through the door.

“Get back to work,” She snapped before glaring at Nadia, sizing her up. “I don’t know who you are, but you’ve ruined your chances of working with me, child.”

“That’s because you don’t know who I am,” Nadia said. “Barb, I’ve just recently come into a fantastic new body. I just found out there’s an upcoming ball and I need your help putting the goods on display, I want my lumps to be hypnotic.”

Nadia did a twirl for the old woman’s benefit.

“…Nadia?” Barb asked with a scowl.

“Indeed.”

“You look…different. Who – or what – did you steal that body from?”

“No stealing. I had a run-in with…let’s call him an engineer of flesh from an exotic time and place. He paid me with a commissioned body of my choice. I especially like the horns, aren’t they pretty?” She asked.

The horns had a couple tricks up their sleeves, indeed.

Barb stood, her gnarled hands grasping a measuring tape. The old woman strode up to Nadia without a hint of hesitation and wrapped the tape around her, grunting in thought.

“Your proportions are nearly inhuman.” She said, before poking Naida in the boob. “I’ve seen a few illusions this good, but this is real, isn’t it.

“Of course,” Nadia said, swatting the old woman’s jabbing fingers away.

Barb scowled. “Alright, follow me into the back and let’s get started.”

“I was thinking opposing elements to really drive them up the wall. Princess and Whore. You can look, but you can’t touch, unless…” Nadia said with a wicked smile. Making boys into idiots was about as fun as riding them.

“You dumb cunt, you’ll get the dress I design for you. The day a client knows what they need better than I do is the day I die,” Barb said, heading in to the back of the shop with Nadia in tow.

Nadia was particularly happy as she stepped into the familiar room, the nostalgic smells of fabric and leather washing over her.

“Alright, stand there, arms out.” Barb commanded, to which Nadia obeyed, unable to stop the anticipatory smile from spreading across her face.

Barb muttered to herself, picking out fabrics and draping them over Nadia’s arms, muttering to herself as she treated the princess like a coatrack.

Perhaps this is where I learned to enjoy this sort of thing.

At the end of the suffering through Barb’s ministrations, she’d always gotten a new dress as a reward for enduring.

The experience was a bit muted now, though. Slightly less nostalgic than before, but no less exciting. There was just one little thing different.

This Barb was a fake, and there were three invisible assassins hiding behind the racks of cloth, making this a rather exciting proposition after all.

Should I wait until after they make me a dress? Nadia pondered to herself. No, they likely wouldn’t put their heart and soul into it.

It must have been a rush job, because they’d been unable to thoroughly research the seamstress.

She had only come back this afternoon.

The Barb Nadia knew might carry around a measuring tape out of habit, but the old woman had long since gotten an Ability that prevented her from needing one. Not once had Nadia ever seen the old woman use it.

“So, Barb,” Nadia began.

“Hush, brat, I’m working.” Not-Barb said, putting another heavy bolt of cloth over her arms.

“Your eyesight must be going. I’ve never seen you use that tape.”

Not-Barb took in Nadia’s smirk, her eyes widening.

The assassins knew their game was up, and they launched their attacks.

Not Barb’s eyes gleamed with a sudden liveliness as she reached for a hidden dagger and plunged it into Nadia’s chest.

Nadia wrapped her arms around the imposter, knife and all, catching the old woman in a forced kiss. Not-Barb struggled, but Nadia was stronger, parting the old woman’s lips and putting her saliva into the woman’s mouth.

She could feel the tightening sensation of the glands around her lips pumping euphoria through their connection.

The assailant’s eyes went wide shortly before rolling into the back of their head and passing out. According to Elliot it would cause a chemical reaction in them that would feel as if they had achieved something akin to constant orgasm for the next six minutes, followed by a lack of sensation or pain for a few hours after that. Afterwards, all pain and discomfort would be greatly magnified until she gave them another dose.

Heroin, but better, were Elliot’s words.

The other assailants lunged out of their hiding places, and Nadia interposed a mesh of fine dimensional rifts between them, turning their attacks and parts of their hands into minced meat.

She caught the nearest one in an embrace and tore off his mask to give him the same treatment.

He looked kind of familiar.

She saw another one tense, his jaw working behind the mask.

She used the flying organs in her chest to literally shrink the distance between them, flipping off his mask with a single finger while shoving her hand into his mouth and tearing the suicide tooth free.

“Naughty boy,” She said, peering at it in the light of Barb’s lamp.

“Stop.”

The last assassin froze in mid-flee, unable to move.

“Don’t tell me you forgot I could do that?” she said, bending down to lift the man’s mask. He was a scarred veteran, missing an eye, and quivering with anger as he glared at her, unable to move until his Will could flush his System.

“Maybe you thought I wasn’t the real princess, so there would be no way I would be able to use Royal Order?”

“Well, sucks to be you, I –“ Nadia glanced down at the blood-splotched fabrics on the ground. “You’ve given me a wonderful idea, nameless assassin.”

To thank him, Nadia brought his scarred face up to hers and gave him a kiss.

***2 days later, Jonathan Ilestar***

It must have failed. Jonathon thought, too jaded to get his hopes up. No one had seen or heard anything from Nadia in the time between, probably because she had either left the city or was simply planning revenge.

The assassins had not returned.

They were disposable pieces, working for a pawn of a pawn. There was no direct connection to Jonathan, but it still mildly irritated him that they had failed.

Well, if we can’t take her with a blitz, we’ll have to play it slow, the king of Iletha thought, nodding at another noble couple from his seat as they entered the ball.

It’s almost seven. The creature is either gone, or planning to use her lateness to steal the show somehow.

“Announcing Princess Nadia Ilestar…and guests.”

Guests?

There was a wave of murmurs as Nadia approached the throne where Jonathan sat, hidden from view by the thick crowd.

The people finally parted, revealing Nadia in an absolutely garish ensemble.

It was quite possibly the worst dress in the show, and it was…covered in brown bloodstains. The sight of what followed along behind her, though, that gave him goosebumps.

Three grizzled men and a wrinkled old woman followed along behind her on their hands and knees, a thin leather strap around their neck attached to a slender chain around Nadia’s pinkie.

“Father,” she said, bowing to him. “Apologies for the display, but I had terrible news I simply had to share.”

“I went to the Novesempta boutique and was stunned to find Barbara gone, and in her place, these four ruffians, aiming for my life.”

“Me,” Nadia said, putting her hand on her chest in astonishment. “A delicate flower the subject of an assassination attempt while out shopping for a dress! How awful!”

“Well, I couldn’t let that stand.” She said, yanking on the leashes to force her ‘pets’ forward.

“You got the name of their patron?” Jonathan already knew who it would be traced back to: a minor noble that had fallen out of favor last year, John Green. At least one problem would be nipped by this exchange.

“Pfft,” Nadia waved a hand dismissively. “I could have, but I don’t care. I didn’t even get their names.”

“What?”

“I went there for a dress, obviously. Do you think a princess walks into a boutique and walks back out without a dress??” Nadia demanded.

She put a delicate finger on her chin. “Well, the old hag’s apprentices had run off, so there I was with nothing to hand but a handful of assassins.”

She twirled, showing the bloodstained, poorly sewn, poorly measured piece of garbage off.

“They’d never made a dress before, and it shows, but the feel of bringing those who tried to kill you to heel…” She ran a hand sensuously down her awful dress with an exaggerated groan of pleasure. “It feels like nothing any of you have ever worn before, I guarantee it.”

She knelt beside the nearest assassin.

“Who’s a good boy!?”

“…I am.”

“Paw.” The man gave her a bandaged hand.

“What’s your name?”

“Pokey.”

“Good boy!” Nadia said, shocking everyone present as she drew the man into a passionate kiss until he went limp, eyes empty.

Just as suddenly she dropped him back on the ground and stood with a gasp.

“Stephanie Portum, is that you!? I haven’t seen you in years! How’s your sister?”

Jonathan wiped a bead of sweat off his brow while everyone was distracted with Nadia’s antics.

Did I create this monster or did that Malkenrovian scum?