My life changed forever on a Tuesday afternoon.

It started out as a rather nondescript Tuesday, one fitting nicely into my carefully established routine. I awoke in my laboratory, swaddled in a nest of blankets atop the small cot I’d placed in the corner, then ate a quick breakfast of plain toast. I proceeded to spend the morning poring over my collection of arcane tomes and making detailed notes as I went, especially regarding translation quirks between Low Demonic and Saimonican. Then, after a light lunch of toast but with butter on, I gathered my knapsack and set out on foot for the city’s market streets, heading for one shop in particular.

The fortress-town of Lyzikanth was located very near the Demon Realm, and so all manner of demonic contraband made it across the border. Trading these eldritch items was obviously forbidden by the Church, which issued many priggish warnings about how such things would irrevocably corrupt the human soul, but that just made me crave them all the more. I was not alone in this opinion, for enough people shared my sentiments that a healthy black market sprung up if you knew where to look; the public’s attitudes towards demons softened the further you got from the central districts and their wealthy, pious noble class.

Pulling my hood over my head to block out the garish daylight of the White Moon, I quickly and quietly made my way down the market street, weaving through the crowds and avoiding all eye contact. I finally reached a rather seedy-looking back alleyway, one awash in cobwebs that look like they were spun by gargantuan tarantulas or something equally teeth-chatteringly grotesque. I slipped through the cobwebs with practiced grace (or at the very least, a lack of clumsiness) and approached an unmarked door at the end of the alleyway. I grasped it by the knob and eased it open slowly, grimacing as it creaked loudly on its hinges.

The interior of the shop was lit by a single flickering lamp hanging from the ceiling, a guttering flame that served more as ominous mood lighting rather than anything remotely functional. Across a series of haphazard shelves sat a wide variety of demonic artifacts, everything from skull-shaped candelabras to wyvern talons to labyrinthine magitech cubes whose purpose I could only guess at. The whole haunted attic vibe washed over me, bringing a smile to my face and warmth to my bones. I adored creepy, cozy spaces such as this.

By the time the shopkeep, a wizened woman well into her ninth decade, padded out of the backroom and over to greet me, I was already shuffling through the shelves, searching for anything new that had been stocked since my visit last week. When she tapped me softly on the shoulder, I was so startled that I dropped the object I’d been examining, a skull-shaped teapot, and watched in dismay as it shattered on the floor.

“Gods, Maevyn, I’m so sorry!” I said, apologizing profusely. My usual anxiety didn’t manifest around people I knew very well, and as a regular customer of her shop I’d come to regard her as familiar, if not quite a friend. I bent over, meaning to pick up the shattered pieces of ceramic with my hands, but Maevyn shooed me back.

“None of that now, Sken,” she said firm, grandmotherly tone. “You’ll cut your hands on the shards. You sight tight and I’ll grab the broom, okay?”

As she tottered into the backroom, I had an idea. Squatting down, I incanted a short wind magic spell, making sure to modulate the runes in the spell circle to decrease its output and increase its finesse, then watched in satisfaction as a miniature tornado swept up the shattered pieces of porcelain and dumped them into the garbage bin.

“Oh my!” Maevyn said as she reappeared in the doorway, broom and dustpan in hand. “I’ve never seen anyone control wind magic quite that way!”

I grinned, a bit proud of my feat. “Yeah, I just dialed the power way back on a standard attack spell. If you swap out the runes, you can configure the effect any way you want so long as it doesn’t violate the original intent of the spell!”

She set the broom and dustpan down leaning against the wall. “You’re quite skilled, Sken. To think you’re wasting your prodigious talent in a small border town, keeping an old lady like myself company. A healthy young lad like you should be out there in the world, doing great things!”

I shook my head emphatically; others had told me the same thing, and I always found the idea anxiety-inducing. “Ugh, no thank you. I prefer the quiet and solitude of my laboratory, and the company of a good book. The larger world, with its crowds of people and bright daylight, can look after itself. I will be satisfied with tending to my own small, dimly-lit corner of it.”

Maevyn chuckled deeply. “As you say. Speaking of books, I just got something in that may interest you.”

She had my complete attention. “Oh?”

“Something old, and… well, I can’t quite tell what it is, but it’s powerful. Would you like to see?”

“Of course!” I said, eagerness filling me with energy.

That was that moment, that little confluence of time, space and destiny, that forever changed my life… although I didn’t realize it at the time, enamored as I was with the promise of a new demonic grimoire.

******

Back in the organized chaos of my laboratory, I made myself a dinner of toast with jam on and began excitedly pouring over my newly acquired grimoire. The book was bound in wyvern hide, a common demonic binding material because of its toughness, and the pages seemed to be made of papyrus treated with mild repulsive magic to keep water and dust away. The cover bore no title, simply an elaborate gold-inlaid illumination depicting a stylized figure of purple skin and red eyes, with feet that ended in hooves and pointed horns extending directly upwards from their forehead.

The book’s author identified themselves only with the initials S.K., and the text itself seemed to be an in-depth anatomical, historical and magical analysis of the demonic race known as imps: tiny, purple-skinned, winged and horned critters that averaged between two or three feet tall. Strangely, the book was written in High Demonic, a language usually reserved for inscribing runic spells, instead of the more common Low Demonic one might have expected in an encyclopedic volume of this nature. This indicated the book itself might have magical properties. I resolved to be careful in my analysis.

Just as I was finishing up the opening chapters on imp history, I heard a set of hard footsteps behind me and the soft swishing of long hair. Only one other person besides myself had the key to my lab, so I knew instantly who it was.

“Hello, Zuliva,” I said without looking up from the grimoire.

“And good evening to you too, Sken,” she responded, and suddenly a hand appeared in my field of vision, waving in front of my face. “Goezia to Sken, you in there Sken?”

Annoyed at the obstruction, I turned to Zuliva and gave my harshest pout. Grinning, she placed both her hands on her hips; her muscles bulged under her tanned skin, causing me a moment’s distraction. “Got too wrapped up in your books to make a proper meal again, eh?” she said teasingly.

I sighed and closed the grimoire, realizing I was now obligated to give my full attention to the troublesome Adventurer who’d come round for her usual evening visit. I never quite understood why Zuliva took a shine to me, aside from me occasionally providing her with magitechnological devices of dubious legality that aided her adventuring work, but I suppose I didn’t hate her nightly visits; she was quite a handsome woman, and friendly of demeanor despite her rambunctious personality.

“I ate dinner!” I protested, pointing at the plate which still hosted some toast crumbs and a smear of jam.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Toast with jam, by the looks of it. And for lunch?”

“…Toast. With butter,” I said, quickly realizing where this was going.

“Uh huh. And I’m going to guess breakfast was toast with…”

“Just plain toast,” I interjected, very much wanting to get this humiliation over with.

“Just plain toast. Gods forfend, Sken, no wonder you’re so skinny, eating like that. Now come, I’ve brought you a proper dinner.” She produced from hammerspace a large basket, hot and steaming from something within that smelled delicious, and herded me over to my small dining table without entertaining any further protest.

******

“So it’s a book about imps?” Zuliva asked in between bites of fried chicken. “I guess you’re glad it didn’t out to be something frivolous again, like that demonic self-improvement book you were tricked into buying.”

I puffed up my cheeks in my most dramatic pout. “That was ONE TIME, okay? I’m much better at reading Demonic languages now, so I don’t get conned!”

She chuckled dryly. “If you say so. So this book is useful for your research?”

I nodded. “It’s very thorough, like an encyclopedic volume. The only odd part is it’s written in High Demonic.”

“That is odd,” she said, finishing her drumstick and wiping her greasy hands on her pants. “You sure it isn’t cursed?”

I shrugged, taking a wing and nibbling at it. “Maybe, but I’ve handled cursed objects before. I’m not worried.”

“You’re not careful,” Zuliva tutted. “Remember that time you accidentally replaced your hair with octopus tentacles, and I had to go all the way to Arkaelia to get the ingredients needed to brew a curative potion?”

I shuddered at the memory. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m taking more protective measures these days, fear not. And besides, even if I do get disintegrated by some demonic trick, it’s not like it would matter. The world wouldn’t miss one scrawny, pathetic, asocial scholar.”

There was a clattering as Zuliva stood up so quickly her chair fell backwards to the floor. She strode around the table, her long black ponytail flaring out behind her, and placed her right forefinger under my chin, tilting it up so my eyes met hers.

“Uh…” I stammered as I stared into her green-brown irises.

“Don’t talk like that, Sken!” she said, desperation edging into her voice. “No matter how depressed you are, you can’t go saying reckless stuff!”

I blinked a few times, clearing the image of her eyes out of mine. “I’m not depressed!” I shot back defensively. “I’m just… I dunno. It’s not like anyone would miss me if I were gone.”

“Bullshit,” she replied, leaning forwards so her nose was an inch from mine. “I’d miss you.”

I opened and closed my mouth, not quite sure what to say. To me, the world existed in shades of grey and tones of dull, buzzing noise; it was only when in the company of Zuliva, or buried deep within my arcana, that I saw vivid colors or experienced brief spurts of happiness. I realized how insensitive my words must have sounded to her, my closest friend, and felt shame close in around me.

“I’m sorry, Zul, I didn’t…” I began.

She silenced me with a finger pressed to my lips. “Enough of that, Sken. You don’t have to explain anything. I just want you to know you’re important to me, okay?”

Why, though? my brain retorted, although my lips were still sealed by Zuliva’s finger. Why waste your time on someone as pathetic as me? You’re everything I’m not… confident, friendly, muscular, feminine, adventurous… I felt jealously mix with the shame, further driving me into depressive claustrophobia, and very quickly buried those thoughts before they spiraled out of control.

“Okay…” I said at last, pulling my face back from her finger.

She studied my face for a moment, probably trying to suss out my internal monologue, before stepping back and folding her arms. “Okay,” she said in a not-entirely-satisfied voice. “Well, shall we finish up the chicken before it gets cold? And tell me more about this imp grimoire, hmm?”

“Sure thing!” I said, feeling a smile creep back onto my face.

******

Zuliva left for the evening after extricating a promise from me that I’d head right to bed; I suppose I had a reputation for pulling all-nighters when I got immersed in my reading. Now, before you think me false, I assure you I had every intention of getting a good night’s sleep… after I finished one more chapter of the imp grimoire. Maybe two.

The chapter in question was a detailed description of impish anatomy and physiology, and predictably it engrossed me utterly.

Imps have a fundamentally elvenoid physiology, with the following variations: purple skin, larger than average ears of various shapes and sizes, horns extending from either the upper forehead or the sides of their cranium, a long forked tongue, small batlike wings extending from between their shoulder blades, a long prehensile forked tail that terminates in a broad spade, and digitigrade legs that terminate in goatlike hooves.

There were ample illustrations to accompany the text, and my eyes lingered on a particularly enticing depiction of a female imp with thick thighs, small but pronounced breasts and a haughty, confident grin. I admired the picture, thinking how nice it would be to have a body like that.

Imps range in height from two to three feet, with the average height being two foot four. Despite the small size of their wings, their inherent magic allows them to easily fly, and some more energetic imps spent their entire waking hours in constant flight, only alighting upon the ground when resting, sleeping or disguising themselves as flightless species with their powerful illusion magic.

Now that sounded positively delightful. I’d always been insecure about my height; at an awkward six-foot-four, I tended to loom over other folks. It would be nice to be small for a change. And the ability to fly with ease? I remembered the time I’d been on an Arkaelian airship flight when I was very young, and my sense of wonder at seeing the world from above. To be able to fly on demand sounded glorious.

Wait, what was I even thinking? How could I be jealous of these little demon gremlins? I slapped my cheeks and kept reading.

It’s not unusual to be jealous. If anything, I’d say it’s quite valid.

I blinked and stared at the page, mouth hanging open. Had the book just… responded to my thoughts? Eyes wide, I kept reading.

Don’t act so surprised, human. I am a magical book, after all.

I slammed the book shut and stood up in a panic, backing away by several feet. I half-expected the book to start levitating and laughing madly, yet it just sat there, motionless, the illumination of the imp on the cover glittering in the faint magelight.

Slowly, carefully, I tiptoed back over to the book and re-opened it. Surprisingly, it opened to the exact same page I had been on. My eyes ran over the text which had been, apparently, inscribed to respond to my every thought like some sort of predestination paradox.

Now that reaction was a bit extreme, wasn’t it? I mean you no harm, human.

“You’re a demonic grimoire,” I answered, feeling quite silly talking out loud to a book. “You seem to be cursed.”

One person’s curse is another’s blessing, it read. But I digress. You seemed quite jealous of my illustration featuring a female imp. So tell me, would you like to become her?

“B-Become her?” I stammered. “That’s not… that’s not possible…”

I should think myself a better judge of my capabilities than you, human.

“That’s not what I meant!” I protested. “I can’t just become a demon like that! I was born a human, a MALE human, so it’s only natural for me to remain one! Besides, I have responsibilities!”

And why can’t you? I can see your thoughts; I know how dissatisfied you are with your life. Partake of my power, and I will grant you the happiness you’ve always sought.

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” I said dryly. “This is the textbook definition of deal with a devil. And I mean that literally, because I am talking to a book right now.”

True enough. But you told Zuliva earlier that you had nothing to live for. Let me grant you that something. Surely that offer is preferable than simply vanishing from this world altogether.

“How… how did you know what Zuliva and I were discussing earlier?” I asked, surprised.

I was sitting in the same room, remember? More to the point, human, allow yourself to be selfish just this once. Allow me to grant you the body and the life you’ve always craved.

I stared at the text, feeling that nascent hope against hope well up in my heart. I recalled my jealousy of Zuliva, of her effortless feminine grace and toughness, which mixed with my affection towards her and formed a confusing brew. Was this book offering me the chance to claim what she was granted by birth? Surely this was too good to be true.

“Can I…” I said softly, looking around shiftily and whispering as if I might be overheard. “Can I really be… a girl imp?”

Of course. Demonic transformations are always affirmational, so you will take on the form you desire the most.

I recoiled from the book, waves of conflict beating at the shores of my mind. This book was telling me everything I wanted to hear. It was lying, trying to steal my soul. There’s no way something so perfect could have come along, at just the right moment, and offered me my heart’s desire. Why me? I was garbage. I was trash, a pile of feces dumped on someone’s front doorstep and lit on fire. Why would anyone ever want to help me? I didn’t deserve this.

Wrong.

“What do you mean, wrong? I’m not…”

You deserve this.

“I can’t… I don’t…” I said, tears welling up in my eyes.

You deserve this.

“That’s a lie… you’re… I can’t…” My denials grew desperate, and weaker.

You deserve this.

I stared at those three words and felt the world around me fall away. Those three little words, the ones I needed to hear for my entire life, were now inscribed in front of me, filling me with hope and terror.

Did I dare?

“I… deserve this…” I repeated back to the book.

Do you want this?

I nodded firmly. “Yes.”

See you in the morning.

Suddenly, I lost consciousness.

******

A beam of daylight lasered through a gap in my curtains and delivered a tactical strike directly to my eyes, causing me to wince as I rolled over in bed and tried to get away from the painful glare. Alas, by the time I erected blanket-fort wards around myself, I was already wide awake and decided I might as well get out of bed.

Reluctantly, and with many annoyed grunts, I emerged from under my blankets and stretched, letting out a loud gasp as I felt my joints pop. I felt good, better than I had in a long while. A solid night’s sleep does wonders for the body.

I extended my wings and leapt into the air, flitting over to my coffee pot. A bit of water magic followed by a bit of fire magic and I had a boiling pot of water, which I strained through the filter containing coffee grounds to make a cup of piping hot bean juice. I held up the cup as I hovered in midair, marveling at just how large it was. Why, it was practically half the size of my head!

Wait a minute.

Wait a gods-damned minute.

Everything was much larger than I was used to. And was I flying?! Soaring through the air as if it were second nature to me?

I looked down at my hands, and saw my skin was now a light shade of purple, and my fingers (now numbering three instead of four) ended in sharpened claws rather than fingernails. I gasped at the sight, and then gasped again at the sound of my voice. It was high-pitched, melodic…

Feminine.

The events of last night came rushing back to me: the grimoire’s promise, my tearful acceptance, my sudden loss of consciousness. Had the book been true to its word? Had I truly transformed into… into…

For the first time in my adult life, I wanted a mirror. Alas, I did not keep one in the laboratory. I settled for grabbing a basin and filling it with water, then letting the water still so I could see my own reflection.

Sure enough, there was an imp staring straight back at me, blinking when I blinked. She was cute, sporting a rounded face with a pointed chin and strong cheekbones. Her eyes were large and expressive, shining a brilliant sky-blue. Her hair, which fell to the small of her back, was a deep shade of dark purple and neatly styled in a princess cut. Her pointed elfin ears were long, easily longer than her hands from wrist to clawtip, and jutted out from her head and drooped downwards slightly. From the sides of her head sprouted two horns, the same purple shade as her skin, which swept backwards and upwards to pointed tips.

She was beautiful. She was cute and tiny and energetic and feminine and, most importantly of all, she was me!

I heard myself giggle, a delightfully high-pitched harmonic sound with an undercurrent of chaotic mischief, and my eyes dragged downwards to my chest.

I had breasts. I had breasts! They weren’t overly large, around a B-cup (or the imp equivalent) but they were there, and they were mine! And below that, past a narrow, pinched waist… a pair of the thickest, meatiest thighs I’d ever seen. They weren’t muscular like Zuliva’s, but instead soft and round and… well, when I pressed my hand into my left thigh, it sank in satisfyingly like I was pushing into a foam mattress. The sensation was delightful, and I giggled again.

And between those thighs… I pressed my hand there and gasped. My old genitals were gone, replaced by the unmistakable mound of a vagina. I ran my fingers across it and shuddered at the sensation. It was so sensitive, in ways my old equipment was not.

Well, you can probably guess what happened next. Suffice to say, by the time I finished my explorations, I needed a shower badly and my coffee had long since gotten cold. Humming happily to myself, I fluttered over to my small bathroom, intent on cleaning up, when suddenly the door to my lab burst wide open.

“Sken? Sken, where are you?” Zuliva shouted as I buzzed around the room frantically, trying to find somewhere to hide. “You better not have spent all night reading ag-“

Zuliva froze as she caught sight of me awkwardly trying to conceal myself under a pillowcase. She quickly drew a weapon from hammerspace, a nasty-looking crossbow, and pointed it directly at me. I heard her voice change to a low growl.

“Demon! Who are you, and what did you do to Sken?” she said with calm fury, flicking a switch on the crossbow that caused it to make a loud KA-CHUNK.

I threw up my hands in surrender and implored her, “ZULIVA! Please don’t shoot me! It’s me! I’m Sken!”

“Don’t lie to me, demon,” she said, grinding her teeth together.

“I’m telling the truth! I’ll prove it!” I said desperately, my voice squeaking in tenor tones I didn’t even realize it could reach. “Last night, you lectured me about eating nothing but toast all day! Then we talked about imps over a dinner of fried chicken!”

Her eyes narrowed. “So you were spying on us. Big whoop. I’m not fooled, demon.”

“Gah!” I ran my hands through my hair nervously, trying to think of something only I would know about Zuliva. “I got it! Your ‘Bag of Holding’ is actually a demonic artifact known as a Tesseract Rhythm, but you conceal its true nature from your other party members! Your boots have water-repulsive magic that I wove into them so your feet always stay dry! And you have a mole on your left…”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Zuliva shouted angrily. “Gods, Sken, don’t go saying that last one out loud!” Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “Wait… Sken? That’s really you?”

I nodded awkwardly and pumped my wings, rising into the air, and slowly flew towards her. She watched me, mouth agape.

“Okay,” she said after a minute, slapping her cheeks. “I have three questions. One, why are you an imp? Two, why are you naked? And three, why are you covered in… fluids?”

I felt my cheeks heat up. “Uh, it’s a long story?”

She folded her arms over her chest and her wonder dissolved into a glare. “Then you’d better start talking.”

******

Zuliva sat on the corner of my cot, head in her hands, and sighed wearily.

“There there, Zuliva, it’s fine!” I said cheerfully, hovering next to her and patting her shoulder.

She spread her fingers apart and glared at me through them. “How is it fine?! I told you a dozen times yesterday to be careful with that imp grimoire, and yet the moment it dangles bait, you chomp down like a gods-damned lavafish! And now… and now…”

“Now I’m an imp!” I responded, my peppy tone at complete odds with her dour one. “Seriously, Zuliva, I’m completely okay with this!”

She stared at me, eyes narrowed, and I resolved to keep talking.

“Like, I’m surprisingly happy with this body? I never liked my old one, you know that. But now I’m small and cute and feminine! It’s fantastic!”

She lowered her hands and rolled her eyes. “Small is an understatement, Sken. You’re like two feet tall.”

I shrugged. “I can fly though, so it’s not really a problem reaching stuff on high shelves or whatever. And it’s kind of nice to be tiny, yeah?”

“What about your life, though?” she protested. “Saimonica isn’t exactly known for being demon-friendly. You can’t just flitter around in broad daylight like this; an Adventurer or the town guard will skewer you before you have a chance to scream for help.”

“Wow, that’s a dark image,” I muttered. “But it’s not a problem! According to the book, imps have lots of handy inherent magic, such as…” I took a deep breath and pulled mana from the Violet Moon into myself, feeling it course through my body and shape into a spell with no need for runic circles or incantations. There was a brilliant flash of violet light, and when it faded I found myself back in a human body, complete with pink skin and a lack of horns. I looked at Zuliva and grinned.

“Ta-dah! Now nobody can tell the difference!” I said with a little twirl.

Zuliva rubbed her forehead and rose to her feet. I looked up into her eyes expectantly. Wait a moment… up? I used to be taller than her, but now I was a head shorter even in human form?

“Sken… you’re still in a girl’s body,” she said disbelievingly.

I looked down at the mounds of my breasts and snorted. “Oh yeah, huh? Illusion magic spells are based on mental self-image, so I guess it turned out like this because I’m thinking of myself as a girl now!”

“Can you…” Zuliva asked slowly, “…make yourself look like you used to? You know… male?”

For some reason, that thought drove me into a half-panic. I released the illusion and flapped my wings desperately, diving under the covers of my cot. “NO!” I screamed, far more loudly than I intended. “You can’t make me!”

I heard footsteps, followed by a soft rustling. I pulled the blankets tighter around myself, trying desperately to shut out the world, to shut out the thought of having to go back to being… him.

I felt a soft pressure against one of my hands; another hand, twice the size of mine, with soft skin broken up by rough callouses, took hold of my own. I clung to it tightly.

“Sken…” Zuliva said softly.

“I don’t like that name,” I blurted.

There was a minute or two of silence, and I nestled my cheek against that warm hand. Then, Zuliva spoke again.

“Skye.”

I poked my head out from under the covers, and looked deep into her hazel eyes. “Skye?”

She nodded. “Because of your eyes. They used to be grey, but now they’re bright sky blue. Hence, Skye seems like a nice name.”

I rolled it around on my tongue. “Skye. Skyyyyeeeeee. Skye.” It felt good to say, doubly so when applied to myself. That name felt right somehow, in a way my birth name never had. “I like that!”

“You’d like to be called Skye from now on?” she asked, searching my face.

“Yeah!” I said, breaking into a big smile.

She gently pulled on my hand, extracting me from the covers and nestling me against her chest, then wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. “Skye, I’m sorry if I went too far. You… you’re clearly happier like this; happier than I’ve ever seen you before. I shouldn’t have let my worrying detract from that.”

“It’s alright,” I said, burying my face in her chest. “I know it’s a big change, but it just feels so good. I can’t… I won’t go back.”

“Fair enough. If you’re happy, then I’m happy,” she responded, her fingers gently weaving through my hair. “You’re my best friend, Skye, maybe even more than that. We’ll figure everything out, don’t worry.”

Her words warmed me, but one particular phrase stuck out. “Maybe even more?” I asked, looking up at her.

A faint blush tinged her cheeks. “I mean… uh… look, Skye, you were always cute, and now you’re… more… cute…” She tripped over her tongue and averted her eyes from mine. My own smile grew wider.

“You think I’m cute?” I asked teasingly. I felt my wings twitch a bit, pressing against her arms, and my tail brushed against one of her legs.

“I mean, yeah?” she stammered, her face growing hotter. “Y-You are… your body is… your thighs are… why the heck are you nude, anyway?!”

“Because I don’t have any imp-sized clothes, obviously. Should I go cut holes in one of my pillowcases and make myself a little imp toga?”

She sputtered a laugh. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Still, if you go around nude ALL the time, it’s going to get distracting.”

I wiggled my hips back and forth for emphasis, shuddering a bit as my skin brushed against hers. “Distracting, huh? I can see why these thighs would be distracting. They’re so big and meaty, hmm~?”

Predictably, her eyes shot right to my thighs, lingering there for several moments. Her face was bright red by this point. “That’s… I… you…”

I pressed my face close to hers. “My dear Zuliva, are you horny right now? Horny for imps?”

“Shut up,” she retorted.

“How perverted! How scandalous!” I teased.

“Skye?” she said, breathing heavily.

“Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

******

Back when I was a human… you know… I’d had sex a grand total of two times, and neither one of them was a particularly pleasant experience for me. I’d always hated my body, and forcing it to go through the process of pleasure always felt more like a chore than anything I’d ever do willingly. When I heard other folks talk enthusiastically about sex, I never really understood what the big deal was.

My first time with Zuliva, in my new female imp body, was completely different. There were obvious logistical challenges regarding the size difference, with me being around a third of her height, but she was a very tender and attentive lover which more than compensated for my own clumsiness. And I soon enough discovered certain features of my new anatomy lent themselves very nicely to the process of girl-on-girl lovemaking. My tail, prehensile with a spaded fleshy tip, proved to be especially handy. And as for Zuliva… let’s just say she could work a special kind of magic with those dexterous fingers of hers. Am I being metaphorical? You decide.

By the time we’d coated each other inside and outside many, many times, it was already the wee hours of the morning and we passed out in each other’s arms. That sleep, whether from sheer exhaustion or satisfaction, was the best I’d had in years.

Alas, such perfect moments cannot last forever, and soon enough the White Moon’s daybeams were assailing my eyes once more. I begrudgingly cracked them open, swore several silent curses at the Nameless God, and then rolled over in bed to look fondly at my sleeping friend. Were we still just friends? Or perhaps girlfriends? Maybe even lovers? We’d figure all that out later, surely enough.

I watched her chest rise and fall for a few minutes, then gently reached out my fingers and played them through her soft, light-purple hair which seemed to glow brightly in the crepuscular light. I thought to myself just how beautiful she looked, even with a bit of drool leaking from one corner of her mouth, as my wayward hand gently ran up and down one of her horns.

Wait a minute.

Wait a gods-damned minute.

Purple hair? Horns?!

Uh-oh.

Zuliva let out a loud yawn and stretched her entire body, eyes opening slowly. She caught sight of me and smiled, which only made the chattering of my teeth all the more incongruent.

“Is everything okay, babe?” she asked, rolling over to face me.

It felt really, really good to hear her call me ‘babe,’ but I couldn’t dwell on that at the moment. “Uh, Zuliva…” I said, wringing my hands together, “look down.”

A confused expression crossed her face, and her eyes fell downwards to her purple skin. She let out a yelp of surprise and sprang to her feet… er, hooves.

“What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK?” she screeched, hands flying to her forehead and running along her horns.

“So, let’s not panic…” I began.

“Oh no, I’m panicking! I’m definitely panicking! What the hell is this?! Why… why did I turn into an imp too?!”

******

Zuliva had already been gorgeous as a human, at least in my opinion. Not everyone appreciated tough, muscular women, but that was their loss. Her impish glo-up had taken all of her best traits and magnified them; her arms and thighs were every bit as thick as mine, albeit composed entirely of rippling muscle instead of soft chub, and her flat stomach now bore a six-pack. She now had the physique of a professional bodybuilder, albeit one who was only two-and-a-half feet tall. Her hair, still in its signature ponytail, had brightened to a softly glowing silvery-purple, contrasting nicely against her dark purple skin. Her eyes were now brilliant green, her ears big and batlike, and a pair of magnificent horns sprouted straight up from her forehead.

“You look incredible,” I gushed. I’d been complimenting her all morning, not that it alleviated her frazzled nerves.

“Can we worry about more important things right now?” she groused as she ate the hearty breakfast of toast with egg on I’d prepared. “How… WHY did I turn into an imp too?”

I tapped my finger against my chin in thought. “Hmm. I recall reading about this a long time ago, actually. One moment!” With a quick flap of my wings, I lifted off the table we were both sitting on (as we were now too small to use the chairs) and flitted over to one of my stacks of books. After a few moments of searching, I found the volume on demonic metaphysical anatomy and, grabbing it with both hands, towed it back to the table. I pried it open and flipped through it, searching for a specific passage.

“Ah!” I exclaimed. “Here we go. Demonic soul energy corruptive influence. This paragraph right here!” I pointed triumphantly.

Zuliva rolled her eyes. “I can’t read Demonic, goofball.”

“Oh, right. Well, basically, it says that the energy of a demonic soul has a corruptive influence on human souls. Basically, when a demon soul intermingles with a human one, the human is transformed into a demon as a result.”

Zuliva frowned, her ears flicking back and forth. “I don’t remember our souls intermingling though.”

“We intermingled a whole lot more than just our souls last night,” I said with a smirk, waggling my eyebrows.

“Wait, you mean…”

I nodded. “Consensual sex causes souls to mix. I’m sorry, Zuliva, it completely slipped my mind in the heat of the moment.”

She belly flopped and planted her face down on the table. “Greeeaaaaaaat. So I have sex with an imp, and now I’m an imp too. Transitive property of imp fucking.”

“C’mon, babe, it’s not so bad,” I said, flitting over to her and patting her shoulder gently. “You look great. Gorgeous. Absolutely stunning! And next time, there will be fewer logistical problems, what with both of us being the same size!”

She rotated her head to face me, cheek still planted on the tabletop, and stuck out her forked tongue. “Yeah, yeah. Still, we need some answers about why all this happened. I think we should start with the origins of that imp grimoire.”

“I agree. Knowing where it came from would inform our actions going forwards. Guess I’ll pay a visit to Maevyn today and see what she knows.”

******

Zuliva couldn’t quite get the hang of the illusion magic as easily as I had, likely because I was much more practiced in spellcasting than her, so she remained in my lab in imp form while I glamoured up and walked over to Maevyn’s shop. I wore a hood and cloak to avoid drawing any attention and steered clear of crowds; my illusion was plenty powerful enough to fool most people, but an especially astute High Breeder or guardsman would have sniffed me out if I wasn’t careful.

For that reason the walk was rather fraying on my nerves, and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief when I slipped inside Maevyn’s shop to the familiar creak of her dilapidated front door. I found Maevyn behind the front desk, smiling at me brightly.

“Hello there, Skye. You seem different today, hmm? Happier, perhaps?” she said pleasantly, a playful twinkle in her eye.

I lowered my hood and gave her a small smile; she seemed completely unsurprised I was a girl now, and I rolled with it. “Yes, the grimoire I bought from you had some unusual properties,” I said carefully.

“I can see that,” she replied. “Demonic artifacts can be unpredictable, their effects chaotic. Still, I’m glad it worked out for you. So what can I do for you?”

“I actually wanted to ask about that very grimoire. Do you know where it came from? Or who brought it in? Any clues as to its origin would be helpful.”

Her eyes grew distant in thought. “Hmm, funny thing, that. I can’t quite remember. Why, it’s almost as if that strange book just appeared on my shelves one day. Isn’t that odd?”

I frowned in annoyance. “Really, Maevyn? I know you keep meticulous inventory. There’s no way a random object just materialized with no explanation.”

She shrugged. “Well, are its origins really so important? It showed up just in time for you to have it, almost as if you were meant to. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

“That’s not a very satisfying answer,” I grumbled.

“Deary, if there’s one thing I learned in my many years, it’s that there are few constant or certain things in the universe, outside the inexorable march of entropy. The book was a catalyst for change, positive change in your case, and will continue to fill that role. What does it matter from where it came?”

“As a scholar, I’m not particularly fond of that explanation, or of unsolved mysteries in general,” I complained. “But I can sense you’re not going to provide the answers I’m looking for, even if I pester you further.”

“Quite right, deary,” she responded smugly. “If you want more answers, I suggest you ask the book itself.”

I groaned. “I just might. Thanks anyway, Maevyn.”

She half-bowed to me. “Of course, deary.”

After a bit more small talk I took my leave for the day, brimming with resigned frustration. It was only about halfway home that the fog in my brain cleared and I had a startling realization.

Wait a moment. How did she know I changed my name to Skye?!

******

“Ask the book?!” Zuliva said incredulously, darting around the lab nervously. “That’s a stupid suggestion!”

“It’s not as stupid as it may sound,” I responded, pulling the imp grimoire out and setting it on the table. “The grimoire clearly has some form of intelligence, if my experience two nights ago is any indication. It just might have the answers we’re looking for.”

“Great,” she groaned, alighting on the tabletop next to me and squeezing my arm. “Okay, fine. Let’s talk to the book like crazy people, I guess.”

“Crazy imps,” I corrected her jokingly, earning an eye roll. I opened up the tome to a blank page, then addressed it out loud. “Imp grimoire, are you there?”

The book suffused with a maroon glow, and a series of swirling blue letters embossed in gold appeared on the blank pages. They were in Saimonican, not High or Low Demonic, seemingly so both Zuliva and I could read it without trouble.

Yes, it spelled out.

“We have a lot of questions, regarding your origins, your purpose, and what we’re supposed to do now that you’ve facilitated our transformation,” I continued. “Are you willing to answer them?”

Maybe, it responded. Ask and we’ll see.

I felt Zuliva’s fingers dig deep into the skin of my arm, and I glanced over to her with a reassuring smile. She was nervous about our immediate future, so I guess it was best to address her concerns right away. “I guess my first question is: you turned us into imps, right? We’ve become demons, and to my knowledge there’s no going back from that. Why did you do this, and what should we do next? Should we head to the Demon Realm and see if they’ll grant us sanctuary? Should we stay in Saimonica undercover and hope we’re not discovered? What’s our best course of action?

The letters flowed once more, dissolving and forming new words. Zuliva and I watched the eldritch tome with baited breath. This was it, the answer we’d been waiting for. This would be our new path in life.

Go forth and multiply.