I suddenly giggled, surprising myself and felt a confused blush return to my cheeks, "Um, I don't think… I mean… Oh never mind. Go ahead. Cutting off the noise like this? I will forever address you Uncle in thanks. We don't need to touch, right?"

"No, we are spared that. If I can pick your mind out of a crowd, I can reach it. But whether I can penetrate it depends on you more than I." He stood up and dragged around his stool, then set it down for me, "Sit, mind alteration can be disorienting." He sat himself on the desk instead in front of me.

I took the seat and looked up at him, "What do I need to do?"

"Hmmm, good question. Build yourself a mantra, simple is best, something friendly and inviting. When I was training with my father I would repeat Welcome Home while visualizing his aura. He was only a one star Empath so I was like a sealed lock box to him except when I welcomed him home. He was a soldier, so he was gone a lot. That made it a meaningful sentiment for us both."

"Aura?" I asked.

"All empaths have an aura, it's an emotional spillage that carries a unique signature more distinct than one's name. Thoughts and emotions have a normal spillage that can be picked up, but it's less distinctive than aura. Isolate can prevent it from spilling of course, but there's nothing you can do to alter the nature of your aura. Once you are familiar with one, you can pick it out of a crowd of thousands. It's how I know you are indeed an empath to begin with."

With furrowed brows I considered that. I couldn't recall anyone's aura, how did you even see aura? If he insisted I had one, I must, but… "Alright, so, mantra." He tipped a finger at me to say I was on point. "You are invited," I said aloud, then repeated. It sounded cold and sterile to my ear but I couldn't think of anything better.

There was a tickle at the back of my mind, barely detectable if I hadn't been looking for it. I repeated the mantra over and over aloud, then silently in my mind. The tickle continued, faded, returned, faded. He sighed, "Maybe try something else. Only you know your own mind. Find something meaningful to you, comfortable and vulnerable. For me it was my father's return, for you it might be your mother's embrace or even…" he coughed and flushed with embarrassment, "Ah, even the feeling of your mother serving her clients. You fell asleep every night, safe and comfortable, welcoming her feelings into your mind every night."

I couldn't agree with suggested sentiment, though it did lead me another direction. I couldn't comfortably speak the words aloud though, instead, I whispered them at the forefront of my mind. "Take me, rape me, break me, breed me." The words tumbled across my thoughts over and over as my own flush left me heated and, while not exactly uncomfortable, quietly humiliated at my own brazenness. I began to think of Brother Mathias as I spoke those words. I fixated my will upon him. Take me, rape me, break me, breed me Uncle Mathias. My sex clenched and squelched audibly, had he heard? Humiliation deepened, but so did my desire.

The tickle returned, then it bloomed into something more. For the first time in conscious memory I felt the invasion of another mind. Not simply emotional spillover or vague and subtle influence, this was cool, deft, and cutting. It made me think of my mother with scalpel in hand. "Take me, rape me, break me, breed me." I repeated again and again in the depths of my thoughts, then I realized suddenly. He was within me, our minds were connected, could he hear my mantra? Oh Goddess, what if he could hear my mantra?! I started to panic. I knew I was a filthy deviant, but no one else truly did, even the men I fucked, when I was done they barely recalled anything but a haze of joy, pleasure, and eventual terror. They didn't even recognize me the next morning when I greeted them!

I forgot to repeat the mantra. I forgot why I was repeating it. Panic and shame warred between my ears. Suddenly the sharp cold touch vanished from my thoughts, and I heard him whimper. I opened my eyes and saw him clutching the side of his head with a haunted look. I'd accidentally kicked him out, I knew that. "I-I'm sorry Brother Mathias."

"D-don't be, Lady Ane. What I was doing was dangerous for me. You did well, very well. You managed to open yourself to me in only a minute or two of practice, you should be proud!" As he spoke, he kept his gaze turned away as he rubbed his temples.

"You heard, didn't you," it was a statement, not a question. "My mantra."

He flinched, then looked back at me with a haze of confusion, "Yes, I did."

I lowered my eyes after only a moment of meeting his gaze. "I know, I'm disgusting. I'm sorry Brother Mathias."

It was purely instinct, an impulse. I knew it, he knew it. He laid his hand on my shoulder, his voice toned to reassure me, "You are not disgusting Ane. You've lived through a trial no child should have gone through. You… you…" His voice failed him as he stared down at his own hand. I too stared at his hand. I could feel his desire, a daughter of his own, to pamper, bounce on his knee, pull his whiskers. It wasn't a sexual desire, and it had been an absent, idle thought until he touched me. He didn't let go and I didn't pull away. A minute passed, two. The desire doubled, redoubled, until all he could think of was his yearning for a precious little girl. "You can call me Uncle, Ane."

I fell into his need and lost myself. A moment later I fell into his arms, and buried my face in his food stained chest. Tears flowed freely, sobs wracked my breast, and his arms held me. Control failed completely. I was so used to the familiar sexual sensations and urges, and breaking free of them. Even my own mother had sexualized me on contact. This, this was new. I'd never developed a single defense against—this.

Brother Fostas found us an hour or so later. I laid on the floor with my head in Uncle Mathias' lap, listening to his stories. We had eventually calmed down and found some sort of equilibrium. Though the intense ravages of my unknown abilities tore at his psyche without relief, he simply surrendered to it and found peace. That peace reflected, inverted, and settled into me. Had he not bid me to call him uncle, I would have by this point convinced myself he had always been my father. Our minds were exposed to one another, open and vulnerable, but neither of us looked.

After watching us for a long minute without being greeted, Brother Fostas exclaimed, "What in the Third name of the Seventh Moon are you doing Brother Mathias?"

My nerves suddenly went haywire, a sensation that told me to run, hide, or piss myself in terror. I hadn't even noticed him enter. We both looked up, startled and confused. A mingling of embarrassment was radiated back and forth as I sat up then climbed to my feet. I trembled as I bowed, politely as I could, then greeted him, "B-brother Fostas? I… I remember your face, how do I remember your face?" I steadied myself, "Right, I am Ane of the Temple of the Hidden Moon, thirteen years ago you declared I was a fifth star Neuropath." Confidence returned, I knew he wasn't going to murder me, the terror was unfounded, yet continuous. I resisted the impulse with great will and explained, "I have come for my analysis."

He made a grumpy noise, somewhere between a huff and an acknowledgment. His face was so very familiar. I couldn't pull up the memory, but It was ingrained, an imprint on my very soul. "I'm not surprised you remember me. You barely survived when I analyzed you the first time. Even an infant can form lasting memories if stimulated enough."

"S-stimulated enough?" I asked, suddenly even more afraid.

"The more the stars the more the force required, the more the force required the more violent the analysis. An unforgettable trauma. I had to analyze you three times before it took."