No one ever spent time in the interior courtyard in Alice’s apartment complex. It wasn’t a bad place, really, but it wasn’t appealing, either.

So no one had complained when Alice decked the place out with Dragonquell decorations.

They were about as gaudy and obnoxious as she could make them, too. It was a wonder the building manager didn’t come knocking and yell at her about the colorful lanterns or the cute little paper dragons she pinned to the walls.

It was, overall, going to be a pretty good party. The fire pit was stacked with logs, the snack table was stashed with some real goodies, and the seats were laid out with cushions from Alice’s own furniture. All that was missing were the guests.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for them to show up. They arrived in the early afternoon, before Alice’s nightly bad mood could really set in.

The first to arrive was Bailey, with... a lot of people in tow. Or, well, three, but more than Alice was expecting. There was Henry, there was a woman she had never seen before, and… no. Was that Lillian Stone? No. Lillian Stone was still thirteen, right? Right?

“Hello hello!” Bailey said.

“Hi hi! Henry, good to see you.”

Henry smiled and waved.

“Wait. Lillian? Lillian Stone?”

“It has been a while, Alice. Hello.”

Alice’s gaze flicked between Lillian (who was in fact Bailey’s age, and not thirteen. Time really flew) and Bailey. They were wearing outfits that matched, Bailey a long black dress with a shining necklace, Lillian a black suit with a shiny necktie.

“I didn’t know you knew my sister.”

“I would say I’m past simply knowing her…”

Bailey elbowed Lillian for that quip, which told Alice everything she needed to know and more. It didn’t help that the two of them were smirking at each other in the aftermath, too.

“And I’m Hannah. Just Hannah!”

“These three,” Bailey said, gesturing to all her plus-ones, “these are my partners.”

Huh! Good for her!

“Woah. Congrats! Any friends or lovers of Bailey’s are more than welcome! There’s a snack table back there, if you’re hungry, any of you. I’ll get the fire pit lit in a while.”

Alice pointed to the back of the courtyard, where the words ‘Joyous Dragonquell’ hung in the form of a glittering banner.

“Latrine is at the far end of the courtyard… and yeah. Feel free to sit or whatever.”

“Thank you,” Lillian said.

“Yeah, this is cool. Thanks!” Hannah said.

The group dispersed; or rather, Bailey split off from them. She and Alice went to take seats around the unlit fire pit, as they had a lot to catch up on, apparently. They didn’t talk for a second, though, because the buzzing energy of the party was like static electricity, and they didn’t want to get shocked.

“So… you and Henry and Lillian, and Hannah,” she said with a smirk.

Bailey nodded.

“For how long?”

“Two days, give or take.”

“Damn Bailey, how come you get three partners?”

It was mostly a joke. Mostly.

Alice would have called her own love life ‘grim’ on a good day and ‘dead’ on a bad one. She had, over the years living in Watermilfoil, dated just about every girl who regularly attended Roxy’s tavern, and most of the guys. 

Okay, that was an exaggeration, but it sure felt true. Eight and a half years of living in the same place meant accumulating a lot of dead-end connections in a small vicinity.

“Because apparently I’m hot or something. It’s weird, but I guess it’s true,” Bailey said, like she didn’t really believe it.

“Come on, own it! Confidence is good for you.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying. It’s just…”

Bailey sighed; she watched Lillian and Hannah talk with a wistful haze in her eyes.

“I feel like I don’t deserve this?”

“Mmm,” Alice said.

“It’s… I’ve been crushing on Henry for years now. It was always like, you know, this person at work is cute and we get drinks together… but that felt like a fantasy. And then bang! This Inquisitor shows up, and she’s hot and masculine and… and then Hannah. I don’t know her well, really. And now I’m dating her. And Lillian. And Henry… and--”

“Look.” Alice set her drink down.

She breathed in, and when she exhaled the frost on her breath was visible. Maybe she ought to have started the fire soon.

“First of all, you do deserve this. You deserve as many partners as you want, alright?”

“If you say so.”

Alice frowned.

“I do. Not only that but… you can, you know, get to know Hannah, by dating her. People go on dates with acquaintances all the time! Sometimes things even work out that way!”

“That’s true, I guess.”

“It is! Try not to be so down on yourself. It’s my job to give you crap, not yours.”

“You are good at that,” Bailey said.

In response, Alice chuckled. Both sisters settled into an amicable silence for a bit, as the party began to bloom around them. People were mingling, food was consumed, and Hannah was opening the bottle of wine.

“Fuck. Three partners in one fell swoop, though. That’s impressive. I guess you’re the one who inherited Mom and Dad’s suaveness and charm. I was wondering where that got to…”

“What do you mean?”

“Mom and Dad had a girlfriend, back when. Before everything went to shit.”

Bailey’s mouth hung open, and Alice felt the urge to say something annoying like, close your mouth before you start catching flies, or something. As usual, her instincts were to be disregarded and forgotten.

“Mom and Dad were poly?”

There was… not quite shock, but a layer of surprise and joy, in Bailey’s voice. If Alice had to hazard a guess, the joy was from knowing there would be no judgment from their parents for Bailey being not-monogamous.

“Yeah. Did I not mention that?”

“No! What the fuck, Alice!”

“Well, they were.”

Bailey frowned.

“What happened to the girlfriend?”

“To Dorothy? Hell, I don’t know. She was at the funeral, though. That’s the only time I’ve seen her since I was like, seven.”

She remembered Dorothy, placing her hand on the sealed casket. It was a wrinkled hand if there ever was one; lined and scarred by age and the intricate work of magic. One day, Alice’s hands would look the same. She and Dorothy said nothing to each other that day, but they did both stare at the casket and swallow molten lead grief as it surged out of them.

Alice really should have kept in touch. Or said anything. Or…

Whatever. What was done was done.

“Dorothy?”

“Yeah, Dorothy. She was some kind of witch… her name had something to do with the wind. Dorothy Gust? No. I don’t know. She’d be in her late fifties right now, though. I hope she’s doing alright.”

Bailey clicked her tongue.

“She was at the funeral. And you didn’t introduce me?”

Oh. Yet another thing Alice neglected to do. Wonderful!

“I was kind of busy running the whole thing, to be honest. Plus you were in no state to be meeting people.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Bailey said.

“That’s a lot of hate to be carrying around, then.”

Bailey made a rude gesture with both her hands and directed it towards Alice. This only made Alice chuckle.

“Well, point is. Yeah. Mom and Dad and Dorothy were a thing. Dorothy, from what little I remember, was kind of a wanderer; she didn’t like to stay in one place long. I think Mom and Dad lost contact with her after the whole, uh, house burning down and,” Alice scanned around, and found Emma to be within earshot, “you-know-what happening.”

For a moment, Bailey’s face was shadowed by emotional thunderclouds. Alice knew that look well; it was one of sharp half-remembrance.

Then Bailey’s mouth twisted upwards and she spoke up.

“Damn. Then how come you can’t keep a date to save your life, if they were that good at it?”

Oh, it was on. Alice pointed a painted nail at her sister and carried irritation in her voice like it was a bucket of well water.

“Like I said, you little brat, you took all of it for yourself! My inability to get a second date is all your fault.”

“Your poor partners.”

From across the courtyard, Hannah came over, a drink in each hand. She had a smirk on her face the size of the castle, and she turned it towards Alice and Bailey.

“Is Bailey being egotistical over here?”

“Yes,” said Alice, and Bailey said, “No.”

“Good. Keep up the good work, Bails. Do you want a drink? I’m going around asking everyone.”

Bailey looked at the offered cup with skepticism written all over her face.

“What is it?”

“Wine,” Alice put in. “I splurged on a good bottle, but it’s only the one.”

“I will take that, for later. Thanks.”

Hannah nodded, and placed the cup in Bailey’s open hands.

“Carry on bickering! I just thought I’d make myself useful.”

“Yeah! Thanks, Han.”

At that, Hannah raised an eyebrow.

“Han… that’s cute. Call me that more.”

“As you wish, milady,” Bailey said, with a grin.

And with that, Hannah went back to the snack table. Alice let out a laugh-like exhale.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re gaaaaaaaaay,” Alice said.

“Yes,” said her sister, “yes I am. She’s very attractive. So what?”

Alice shook her head and settled into her chair.

“There’s no ‘so what’. Just laughing at my little sister. Is that such a crime?”

Her sister took on a deadly serious expression; the kind of expression that someone would make at their own execution.

“Yes, yes it is.”

“Well then, I’m a criminal, so be it. Because my sister is a fucking dork and it is my sworn duty to poke fun at her.”

At that, Bailey stood up, and made a mean face.

“Your sister,” Bailey said, adding a sharp flourish to ‘sister’, “is going to mingle, now.”

“Have fun!”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Both sisters barely held back smiles. This was the kind of love they had; this was the family the two of them had built. Two adult women feigning frustration and aggression to mask pain and the real frustration they felt regarding each other.

“Fine, die then, I guess,” Alice said, with a laugh.

“You know what, Alice? I think I will! Then you’ll be sorry.”

Alice, who was purportedly ‘never sorry in her life’, simply laughed.

 

***

 

The snack table was a good place to camp out by, and Henry did so gleefully. He could watch the party from this key vantage point.

This vantage point was how he spotted Yulia and Belladonna before anyone else. They were ‘in disguise’, to the extent that they were in festive masks and dresses. Or, well, Belladonna was in a dress. Yulia had one clutched in her arms, but she was in a form-hiding coat and a pair of trousers.

“Hey! Over here!”

They approached Henry. Belladonna made an effort to smile and greet the other guests; Yulia kept her eyes fixed to the floor. It was a look Henry recognized from himself, before his transition, before re-uncovering that he was a man. It was the look of a dancer forced to dance on a knife’s point.

“Hi! Sorry we’re, you know, late,” Belladonna said; “had to sneak out, you know.”

“I’m not the host, so it’s no worry,” Henry said.

Yulia said nothing. She was mostly sweeping her foot across the crude brickwork on the ground, staring at it like her shoe was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Are you okay?” Henry asked.

“It’s really happening. Alice is going to give me… well, the thing she gave you and Bailey there.”

“Yeah. How’s that feel?”

Both Belladonna and Henry looked to Yulia with great intent. It really was the question of the hour, wasn’t it?

“I don’t deserve this, but if it’s happening, I’ll take it.”

Deserve. Henry rolled the concept around his mind a few times.

Could one ‘deserve’ to present or embody themselves in one way or another? Or, more presciently -- could someone not deserve it? That seemed dubious to him. There were things one could not deserve, power over others, or control of their children’s lives, things of that nature. But to ‘deserve’ or ‘not deserve’ having a body one liked…

No. He drew the line there. Dysphoria and the embodied self-hatred of being molded against one’s will were not fit punishments for anyone, no matter how heinous.

“You do want this to happen, though, right?” Henry asked.

Yulia said nothing again.

“Because--”

“Yes! Okay? But… ugh. Whatever. Yes, I do. But… not like you think.”

“And what do I think, exactly?” Henry asked.

“I don’t know! But whatever it is you are thinking, it’s not that. And Bill, don’t go thinking anything either. Stop thinking.”

Henry obliged by picking up a piece of fruit from the bowl and ate it. He focused on the taste and texture of it, the deep sweet taste of juniper berries, in lieu of thinking about anything in particular.

“I wasn’t thinking anything, just, you know, for the record,” Belladonna said, “also. I’m not Bill. I’m Belladonna. So...”

“What, you just decided?”

Belladonna was tense; extremely tense. She held her shoulders in a tight lock, and exhaled and inhaled with shallow breaths. The edges of her dress shifted in the slight draught of the winter winds, and she bit her lip.

“Uh… sort of. I’ve thought about it off and on. I like this name better. And if we’re really doing the breakaway from the Order… I’m going with a new gender, too. Girl time for me will be all the time.”

“That’s wonderful!” Henry said, through a mouthful of berries.

“You can just do that?” Yulia asked.

Yulia was, all told, astounded. Her face assumed the shape of a person being told about this newfangled ‘fire’ thing, and just wait until she found out about this ‘wheel’ doohickey.

“Well, respectfully, does it really matter if I can’t? Are you going to stop me? Or, will, uh, Henry? I don’t think so.”

It was a damn good point.

“I wouldn’t do that, for the record,” Henry said.

“I know.”

Yulia made a noise, a sort of guttural sound of confusion, as she looked at Belladonna, and then Henry, and then Belladonna again.

“Okay -- so, hang on. How? How do you do that?”

“Face the choice before you,” Belladonna said.

“What choice? Be a girl or not?”

Belladonna shook her head.

“Accept what your mind and body are telling you, or ignore it and press on as you were.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

It was at that point that Alice came over. As she approached, she fished a necklace from one dress pocket, and a bracelet from the other.

“Hey hey! Yulia, Belladonna, I’ve got your jewelry right here!”

Yulia took the necklace; it was a single dragon scale, trapped in a bit of golden amber. Each chain of the necklace made a slight clink as she slipped it between her thumb and forefinger.

This left the bracelet, a band of black metal with woven silver threads forming intricate geometric shapes. Belladonna took it and clasped it around her arm instantly.

“Wow. Most people--”

“I’ve made up my mind. I’m good,” Belladonna said.

“You know what? Fair enough! I like the confidence,” Alice said.

“Confidence and Bi--”

Yulia caught herself.

“Belladonna? Never thought I’d see the day,” Yulia put in.

“Bite me, perhaps.”

Alice turned towards Yulia.

“Now. Yulia. You can go change in my apartment if you want,” Alice said, with a strangely soft touch to her voice. It was most comparable to how she spoke to Bailey, when she was actually being nice to her.

“Thanks. I’ll…. I’ll go do that.”

 

***

 

Lillian, noted hater of parties, found herself sitting in one of the far chairs, separate from the fire pit and its orbiting furniture. She did not do much else, other than fidget with her jacket. And, for funsies, extend and retract her claws. The simple sensation and motion of it made her feel good, like chewing on her shirt collar, or perhaps dancing in place a little while waiting for something to happen.

“Hey,” Alice said, taking a seat opposite hers.

“Hello hello.” Lillian stopped the motion and froze the offending muscles, the ones that loved to move and make motions that marked her as weird and distinctly not-whatever the standard human was supposed to be.

“No need to stop on my account, there,” Alice said, “I, of all people, have no place to judge if you want to… oh, what’s the word.”

“The word for what?”

“Uh… the happy motions. I do ‘em too, sometimes. When I’m alone. The thing where you… fuck. It’s hard to explain.”

“I think I know what you mean. But I do not think there’s a word for it.”

“I’m ninety-eight percent sure there is. It starts with an ‘s’.”

Neither could place the word; Lillian was still certain there was no such word for her odd behaviors. The drive to just move burned at her. The only thing she could do in response was to force herself to freeze in place and wait until the drive gave up.

“Anyways,” Lillian said, “hello, Alice. How have you been?”

“Bad!”

“What do you know? Me too. Until recently.” Lillian’s gaze wandered over to Bailey at ‘recently’.

Bailey was just so beautiful. There she was, leaning against a wall, in conversation with Hannah. Her dark red curls rested wonderfully against her black dress, and…

Lillian averted her eyes, because otherwise they were going to wander towards Bailey’s chest. Or her hips.. or…

Thankfully, Alice spoke up. It was the perfect distraction.

“Yeah, you and three partners. Damn.”

“Jealous, are we?” Lillian couldn’t help but smirk.

“Extremely. It’s an ugly trait of mine,” Alice said, “I can’t even hold down one girlfriend, let alone two girlfriends and a boyfriend. I’m forever going to be a little pissed at Bailey for stealing all the family charm.”

“Well, I am sorry for your loss,” Lillian said, with the faintest hint of fangs to her grin.

Alice snorted at that.

“Ouch,” she said.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Lillian took to watching her partners move from conversation to conversation. There was a simple amazement to their limitless social energy, how Hannah and Henry could probably keep talking all night without ever suddenly losing the ability to speak.

She got a warm feeling from watching them, a heat in her cheeks and her chest. Feathers puffed up underneath her coat and button-up shirt.

Lillian turned to look at Alice, and spoke up.

“I ended up…”

“Hm?” Alice said.

“I ended up doing it. Becoming a dragon, that is. Or… I began the process. I’ve yet to fully change.”

An unrecognizable emotion crossed Alice’s face. Lillian puzzled over it… after some study and analysis, she would figure it out and incorporate that knowledge into her internal field guide to other people’s communications and emotions.

“Yeah? Congrats! What’s it like?”

Alice sounded genuine enough. That was good, right? Lillian wanted to get a good grade in Having A Conversation, after all.

“That. Is a very good question. It feels…”

How did it feel?

Like a dam about to burst. Like the looming threat of a winter’s first frost. Like shame and judgment from one’s father. Like wearing the right size of clothing after a lifetime of constriction. Like a cool glass of water on a summer’s day. Like ointment on a burn.

Like remembering a lost past.

“My mind has always been strange, I suppose, and I’ve been at odds with… who I was expected to be, more or less. The girl inquisitor, though I don’t know which of those I took more umbrage with. Being a dragon… it feels, to me, like a negation of that.

“If that makes sense. Does it? I feel it might be incoherent squawking.”

Alice shrugged.

“I think I get the idea. Body crap, identity shit, it’s weird,” she said.  “Let me tell you, I was a miserable little creature as a kid. Still am, I guess?”

For a moment, Alice stared at nothing, and her face creased and folded itself into a heavy, pained shape. It only lasted for a second or two, though.

“Anyhow, good on you for going through with it.”

“I haven’t gone fully dragon yet,” Lillian lamented.

Alice scoffed.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re already on the dragon continuum. Whether you’ve gone full Big Dragon mode or not… I dunno. I think dragonhood is a perpetual transformation, you feel me?”

At that, Lillian shook her head. The words sounded nice enough, but she needed more information before she could say, yes, I get it, it makes perfect sense.

“No.”

“Like, okay, here’s the deal: the first dragons first transformed, what, three hundred years ago? Ish? A little more than that?” Alice said.

“Three-hundred fifty-six years, if Inquisition records are accurate.”

Alice raised her eyebrows; was that too specific of Lillian? Uh oh.

“Well, rumor is,” Alice wiggled her shoulders a little, to accentuate ‘rumor is’, “some of those original dragons are still kicking. Not the dragon, she’s dead as shit, but--”

“As far as we know. She could still live.”

“Okay, sure, she could be alive, if she had somehow survived the death of the whole revolution and her three partners, then sure. Or maybe she died and came back somehow. Guess that could’ve happened?”

A word slipped out of Lillian’s mouth; a word that felt odd on her tongue, like for a moment her mouth belonged to someone else (and not in a sexy way).

“Reincarnated, perhaps? Would that count?”

Alice, for a brief moment, had the expression of a person struck by lightning. She scanned around the courtyard, seeing in turn Lillian, and then… Henry, by the snacks… Hannah, chatting with that person, Belladonna… and then Bailey, talking to Emma by the firepit, voices audible but the words not quite intelligible.

“Alice? Are you quite alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Just. Did you ever get a really silly idea that nonetheless grips at you for a second, and then you’re like, okay, yeah, no, that’s a bad one, put that one down? And you can’t put it down, still?”

She said it with a look on her face, like the silly idea and her were in a fight, and the silly idea was winning.

“I… suppose? What are you saying? What was your thought? We were talking about--”

“I’m going to get some wine. Do you want some?”

“No.”

“Your loss,” said a very haunted-looking Alice. “Byeeee!”

And then, Lillian was  alone again at the far chairs.

 

***

 

Emma did what she did best at social functions; skulk in the corner and slowly but surely drink herself into a tizzy. At the moment, she was sober, but she would fix that soon enough.

At least Alice knew how to pick a bottle of wine. She reached for the bottle to pour and--

And Alice was there, behind her, also eyeing the wine.

“Sorry,” Alice said.

Emma could scarcely believe it. Alice Thistle, saying sorry? What alternate world had she woken up in that morning? She did the one thing that would make the world make sense again, which was to snatch the whole bottle for herself.

“Hey! That’s expensive, and it’s for everyone.”

“This is not enough for eight guests, though. Hell, I could go through this all by myself,” Emma said.

“Well, put it down, alright? I don’t have enough for any more bottles of it right now.”

“How? This isn’t even that pricey.” Emma examined the bottle, in case she was wrong; she wasn’t. This was, at best, a middle-grade wine. In terms of pricing, anyways. She didn’t know anything about the actual quality of it other than ‘tasty’.

Alice inhaled, deeply, and forced down a terse expression.

“It is for me. Now. Set it down on the table, please.”

“Alright, alright. I can buy like, eight of these with what I’ve got with me right now.”

It was meant to be an offer. If this party was going to last, they would need more booze, after all. Evidently, that wasn’t how it sounded to anyone else.

“Well hooray for you, Emma. Now, if you could get out of the way so I can decant myself some of that sweet grape cider…”

Emma stepped out of the way.

“Thank you.”

“You’re extremely welcome.”

Alice poured herself a glass and began the complex process of fucking off. But before she could truly dive back into the party again, Emma spoke up.

“So a little bird tells me you have something of mine,”she said, “or, what, unicorn? Whatever. Bailey told me you have it.”

“This is about your griffin, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Give it.”

Could Emma have asked in a polite way? Sure. Did she? Of course not. This was Alice she was dealing with; politeness towards her was like turning one’s back on a dragon. It simply wasn’t safe.

“Alright,” Alice said, “come on. I have it in a box.”

She led Emma over to her apartment door, and knocked. No one said anything.

“Yulia? Are you there?”

For a moment, both twins stood outside the door like a pair of real tools.

“What are we waiting for?”

“Yulia’s changing in there, is all,” Alice said.

“Who’s Yulia?”

“One of the guests at the party.”

And then Alice said no more on the subject. She knocked again, though, and once more there was no answer.

“Must be in the washroom or something. Come on in.”

The door swung open, and Emma was confronted with the apartment. It was more of a box, really, or a corridor with furniture in it. A couch dominated most of the floor space, and the kitchen could have fit neatly inside the oven back at Emma’s tower.

“How do you live this way?”

Alice shrugged.

“I’m messblind most of the time. These piles are how I organize.”

“No, not the mess, that I get. This is tiny. This is-”

“Well,” Alice cut in, before Emma could finish her thought, “when you live in the Watermilfoil Municipal Seventh Ward, this is what a commission-and-odd-jobs based salary gets you.”

Alice went up to a pile of boxes, and set about moving them. Emma nearly offered to help, as they looked quite heavy, but she decided against it. Offering help was a form of contrition, and Emma did not want to risk making herself weak.

“Commissions? Doing what?” Emma asked.

Alice grunted, and set a box down by the sofa.

“Witch shit. I make chest vapor rubs for people with colds, I enchant jewelry with helpful spells, I tell people that no, that quartz rock isn’t going to cure your pneumonia. That sort of thing.”

And then, Alice went for the next box. But, instead of lifting it, she opened it and began to rummage around inside it.

“And people pay for that?”

“Church healthcare is pricey, Emma. And private docs aren’t in abundance here. I can’t cure cancer or fix broken bones, but I can at least ease a bit of pain. Ah… here we are. Your queen of the skies.”

There she was. Emma’s stuffed griffin. Beakly.

Why were Emma’s eyes stinging hot and pained? She bit down on her tongue and bade the tears to stop. They didn’t, but at least she wasn’t sobbing or anything like that.

“You remember that dumb little nickname?”

“I have a long memory,” Alice said, regret dripping off her like rain into a sewer.

“Well. Thanks.”

Why was it so quiet in Alice’s apartment? Why wasn’t there anything to look at besides piles of detritus and banged-up kitchenware? Where were the paintings, the décor, where was the style? Without any of that, Emma was forced to look at the floor.

“Yeah,” Alice said.

Emma cleared her throat and did her best to meet Alice’s gaze. It was painful, but the pain was necessary.

“I really could get some more wine for the party, you know.”

“Why would you?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was to do something nice?”

Alice said, “No.”

Emma exhaled. How could she explain?

“Look… okay. I’m only really here because Bailey wanted me to come. If I’m going to be here, we may at least have something to drink.”

And for the stuffed griffin. And…

Why did Emma show up? She was outside the walls of the castle, away from home, away from the comfort that came from sleeping behind locked doors and steel portcullises.

“You care about Bailey? Since when?”

“Since the little twerp won’t stop trying to be my sister.”

Alice narrowed her eyes, and her expression turned for the sour and bitter.

“She is your sister.”

Well… no. Not really. Not in a way that mattered. Emma wanted that, yes, but twenty-three years apart from Bailey meant that the opportunity had passed. The bones were already set, the die was already cast, and Emma had no real family other than her father.

That was all she needed. She knew this, she repeated it to herself. It was a litany against that tiny little voice, that voice that said that something was wrong, that she had been hurt, and that she deserved better.

It was also that same voice that told her to say no to Dorian’s deal. If all the other stuff it said was bullshit, then maybe she ought to go ahead and say yes to him.

“I’m getting more wine whether you like it or not, Alice. I intend to drink myself silly.”

“Fine. Can’t exactly stop you…”

Emma waited for Alice, her twin, her mirror, to say something more, anything. She would have taken more arguing, or dragon talk, or even criticism of her father. But Alice said nothing.

“Alright, then. I’ll do that.”

“Yes. Do that.”

“That’s okay? That I’m-”

“You already said you’re doing it. Why bother with my approval?” Alice asked.

It was a good question. Even when Emma left the apartment building to seek out more alcohol, it echoed in her mind. What good was Alice, the omega-bitch, and what good was her approval? What good was Bailey’s, for that matter?

She didn’t need them. She didn’t need sisters, or anyone else. It was better to be a spider than a fly. Surely, it would be better to cut one’s strings and avoid getting tangled up in a web of other people and their problems.

Emma Raymond could go it alone.

After the party was done. 

 

***

 

It was as if gravity itself had shifted around. Belladonna had to watch her step… because her body was changing, very quickly.

Or, it was an illusion, but not really? If the senses were so thoroughly fooled, that it all felt real…

She had the habit (oh wow, she was a she. Fuck that felt nice) of overthinking and adding more words when she got nervous. Belladonna’s mind and mouth both would wander and inject more and more random noise when things got difficult.

But here, the difficulty wasn’t being yelled at or chided for failing some knightley (or manly) duty. The trouble was the waiting and the feeling of being caught in between.

Her body was changing, all to her specifications; longer hair, check. Bright, clear eyes that looked nothing like her brother’s, check. Fat redistributes into the hips, stomach, waist and posterior, on its way. B….

She couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the word. It was an easy enough word, ‘breasts’, but connecting the thought of ‘her’ and ‘breasts’ into a single idea was hard. She was going to have… them. A pair of them.

She was going for a snack when she lost her balance and landed right on her ass. It hurt significantly less than she was expecting… Was the redistribution already happening?

“Oh,” said the Inquisitor, who was there at the party for some reason, “are you quite alright?”

“Ouch.”

For a moment, Belladonna just sat there on the cold stone. The ground absorbed her body heat, but thanks to her thick wool dress, it did so slowly.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t get up. It was that the strangeness of it was catching up with her. There she was, her whole body in a state of flux. When she stood up, she was certain that her center of gravity would be different, and that her old body, for whatever charms it had, would be history.

“Do you need any help?” the Inquisitor asked.

Odd how much less scary she seemed, that Inquisitor, when she was out of her Inquisition white. Hell, her choice of suit jacket was very tasteful… black with some purple undertones, with a shining necktie the color of a dark oil slick.

This was a woman that wore masculinity better than Belladonna could have ever hoped to. Thank goodness someone knew how to wear it well; in her darkest moments, Belladonna found herself thinking that masculinity was simply a conspiracy to keep all in its clutches miserable and deprived. Thank goodness that wasn’t the ase.

“Uhhh… help. Yes. I-”

She felt a flustered stammer coming on.

“Give me a second.”

Belladonna breathed in, and out, and in, and out.

Alright.

“Yes. My center of gravity is changing,” she said, “what with the… uh, the new padding. And…: uh. Okay. Yes. Help me up, that would be nice.”

“Alright, here.” The Inquisitor offered a hand, and Belladonna greedily took it. Inquisitor Stone had an ironclad grip, apparently.

When Belladonna was back on her feet, in her cute little flats and her wool leggings, she found herself disappointed when the Inquisitor let go of her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course. How are you feeling?”

“I’m…”

Warmth in the pit of her stomach. A sense of… excitement. For so long, life was an ever-deadening nerve, scar tissue that lost more and more sensation and drove her deeper into herself. Life was skin building calluses and sores, and there was nothing she could do about it.

But, then? The scar tissue felt a little less dead. Maybe the wounds left wouldn’t heal, but they wouldn’t keep advancing. She could feel her body without wanting to throw up!

“Good. Good will do the trick. It’s a lot to take in, but it’s all good.”

“Wonderful!”

Belladonna shifted a little in her flats. They made a slight click against the stone floor when she scraped them across the ground.

“How are… ugh. Sorry. False start.”

She breathed in, and spoke up again. Being herself was still a pain in the ass, in some ways. Plus her ass still stung a little from the fall, which made that both literal and metaphorical pain in the ass real.

“How are you?”

“Me? I’m quite good. My partners are all here… I’m wearing my new suit jacket. I managed to tie this tie by myself,” the Inquisitor said, beaming with pride at talk of her suit and tie.

“It, uh, suits you. Is that a silly thing to say? Your suit suits you?”

The Inquisitor shrugged.

“Nothing wrong with being silly.”

That approval washed over Belladonna like… like she imagined swimming in a cool lake on a hot day. She’d never been outside the city, and barely ever left the castle walls, so she had nothing but stolen romance novels to base that image on.

Oh, she’d have to go back for her book collection, wouldn’t she? Damn it all to hell. She should have brought them to the party.

“Um… Inquisitor…”

“Lillian, if you please.”

“Lillian.”

Belladonna sighed. Why were words so hard?

“How did you… how did you manage getting three partners? Especially Henry? I wouldn’t think he’d have anyone but Bailey.”

“I knew two of them already, and was hopelessly falling for the other one.”

Huh. Which two?

“Oh, I see. Do you have any advice, for someone who’d be interested in… poly-whatsit?”

The Inquisitor-Lillian- smiled, and Belladonna felt a little more unmade than she had the minute before.

“Unfortunately, no. Both times in my life, it’s been a… coalescence. I’m attracted to this person, and that person… and then it turns out we’re all a web of attraction and heady lust for one another already. Perhaps not lust the first time, but this time, that is a major factor.”

“Huh. That’s lucky.”

“Yes. Very. Though I can’t help but wonder…”

Lillian plucked a piece of fruit from the bowl and bit into it.

“Bailey and I are fairly new to one another. But when I kiss her…”

“Yes?” Belladonna asked, perhaps more interested than she ought to have been.

For a second, Lillian just chewed and made faces.

“It feels familiar. Like I’ve done it a thousand times before.”

“Weird,” Belladonna said, “maybe you have?”

“Explain how.”

Belladonna bit the inside of her cheek. It was a fair question, and she wasn’t sure she had a good answer.

“I don’t know. But, if your body is telling you something, it’s worth listening to, right?”

“That is a very good point… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Or are you still going by how I was introduced to you?”

At that, Belladonna smiled.

“Belladonna. Belladonna Billina… surname tbd. If you have any suggestions, I’d prefer a ‘B’ name.”

“Billina?”

“My old name, it’s not a bad one. It just didn’t fit as it was. This is like, you know, altering an old tunic to fit better.”

Lillian nodded.

“That makes sense. If ever I were to…”

She fiddled with her tie. It shined like a shard of iridescent volcano glass, dark and colorful, changing as the light hit it differently. There was a look in her eyes, one that was full of… something familiar. It wasn’t desire as want for sex, but it was a kind of desire, a hunger that Bella knew well.

“Who can say,” Lillian said, finally, “but I would keep my name as Lillian. I have struggled too much to define myself as I am right now to give it up.”

“I get that, you know? It took a long time to figure out what to change and what to keep. I mean… It's all new. This has all been hypothetical till now. But here we are, you know? I have-”

Belladonna looked down, and she had breasts. Those weren’t there before!

“I have these, now. For the longest time that was an impossible dream. Now it’s a dream that’s, uh, real.”

Lillian nodded, “they are quite nice.”

“I- yeah. They are, aren’t they?”

 

***

 

Ulysses marinated in the filthy apartment as a subpar piece of beef might in cheap wine.

He knew the changes were happening. He felt the tingling, and the itching, and all the other weird sensations that said ‘body at work- please wait’.

But waiting sucked. He was in no state to go out there and be seen, half-formed, his flesh still clay on the potter’s wheel. If someone looked at him as he was then, he was liable to melt back into the scummy river he was drawn from.

His father would be so disappointed. Ulysses had done everything he could to play the part of ‘good son’, and now that role was on its closing night. There was only so much Ulysses could take, after all.

He had done everything right, too, so no one could blame him for not trying. He’d been nasty, he’d been violent in that way that boys could be boys, he’d been just a little shit. The performative cruelty was a Gaius trait, after all.

But it felt bad. And Ulysses, in the depths of his pond-scum heart, knew that if he didn’t change, he would become just another copy of the same man that his father was. Since the first Dragonquell, the Gaiuses had been known as cruel, as men of action, and caring only for the path forward, forget about whoever was trod upon to get there.

Well, Ulysses was turning his body to a girl’s body. How was that for action? How was that for a path forward?

He stretched out his legs… were they shorter, now? Being short sounded nice. Being small appealed greatly to him; he had taken up so much space in the past. To take up less, to need less, sounded perfect.

But someone was knocking on the door of the apartment, now.

“Hey,” said Bailey’s voice, “are you holding up in there alright?”

“Fine. Go have fun at the party.”

“Alright. If you say so.”

Wait, wait. Bailey might… be helpful. To talk to. If she could stand to breathe the same air as him.

“Hang on! Actually… would you come in?”

Bailey obliged. She opened the door and stepped in, with a ginger motion. Which was funny, because her hair was more of a dark red, and Henry was the ginger.

“Wow. The magic’s done a lot of work already. That was quick!”

“What? No, I’m barely starting. I look the same.”

Even though Bailey said nothing, Ulysses could tell that she disagreed with that. It was something in the eyebrows… and the hand on the hip. And the frown, too. Yeah.

“Okay, how do I look different, exactly?”

“Your face is rounder, for one. For two, you’re shorter. For three, your hair’s a new color.”

Was it? It was still short, and out of Ulysses’ vision, thanks to regulation haircuts. He tugged at some of the longer strands and found that it was indeed no longer blonde, but closer to a soft brown.

Oh. So this was really happening after all.

“Huh,” Ulysses said.

Some part of him believed this was all an elaborate trick, that this chance to become something more than the latest killer in an unbroken chain of killers was a ruse. But apparently, it wasn’t. He was changing.

Terror filled him. This was real. He wasn’t actually prepared for that.

“If I take the necklace off now, will I go back?”

“Do you want to go back?”

There was nothing as surprising to Ulysses Gaius as being asked what he wanted, apparently. His mouth hung open, and whatever thoughts he was having vacated the premises of his skull.

“Do I want? What’s that got to do with it?”

“It’s your body. What you want ought to be the first consideration.”

Ulysses folded himself in half over his knees, “I don’t deserve that.”

Bailey inhaled.

“Bodily autonomy isn’t a deserve thing. It’s the baseline. If you don’t decide for your body, who will?”

“Don’t be stupid, Bailey. That’s a question we both know the answer to.”

“Enlighten me. Pretend I don’t know the answer.”

This girl had to make everything difficult, didn’t she? Ulysses picked at the skin between his fingers as he found the words to speak; it hurt just right.

“The church, broadly. My father, personally. I’m his progeny, after all. It’s my job to pick up where he eventually leaves off. Inherit the lance, you know, get his office, kill some dragons.”

“Okay,” Bailey said, “you can also not do that.”

Ulysses made a noise, one of sheer disbelief.

“He’s my father. This… I have to.”

“No one’s saying it’s easy. But does this have to come from someone you trust? Someone who you believe? Why are they saying you have to?”

“Isn’t it a child’s job to keep their parent’s line going? To keep their traditions going?” Ulysses asked, because maybe Bailey had forgotten.

Bailey scoffed.

“I mean. If they’re good traditions, sure.”

“So you don’t honor your parents, then,” Ulysses said.

What a thought. Disobedience to one’s family sounded like a one-way ticket to the downfall of civilization.

“I honor them plenty. I do what I think is right, I carry their memories in my heart, and I repeat the jokes I used to groan at. But just because my dad was a surgeon doesn’t mean I have to cut people open. Just because my mom spent most of her life helping deliver other people’s babies or making homebrew cold medicines means I have to handle foxglove and hemlock all day.

“Also,” she said, after a moment, “listen. I liked my parents. They were kind, if very busy and stressed, people. Your dad seems like a piece of garbage. It’s your call, but I and many other people here are willing to help you get out from under him. That’s why we stole those documents, yeah?”

Ulysses exhaled.

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. Fuck.”

He (was he he?) drew in and let loose a few more breaths, like arrows of warm air against the frigid November chill. What was that thing Belladonna said? That the choice was to listen to the mind and body, or ignore it?

“I hope, one day,” he swallowed a lump in his throat, “I can deserve being a woman.”

“Again with this deserve thing.”

“How else am I-”

“It’s your gender, not your moral character. A woman can be despicable and still be one hundred percent woman. It’s not a reward or a punishment; it’s just something about you.”

But…

“But being a man feels like a punishment,” Ulysses said.

“And what do you make of that?”

There was nothing to make of it. That was just the way things were. No one wanted- okay, Henry wanted manhood. Bad phrasing. No one…

Fuck.

“That…”

The thoughts came too fast and too slow all at once.

“I’m…”

“Yeah?”

“Not a… man? That,” Ulysses frowned, “I’m… already…”

Two words. Two words were the final barrier between him and something alien, something new, something terrifying. This was the wages of life outside the castle walls. Terror struck him. If he said those last two words aloud, nothing would ever be the same. Even if he managed to stuff it back inside, it would be too late.

But when was it ever not already too late? He’d already admitted his greatest crime, his singular failure all others cascaded from. He was not just a bad man; he was no man at all.

“A…”

One word left. This was his last chance to turn around and let the underworld he had been born from claim him again. All it would take is to turn around, and let the river bear him back to the muddy and barren banks his boyhood had been. Back to beatings, both given and taken. Back to bantering and insults exchanged in lieu of sincere expression, back to basing his self-image on stained glass bastards killing dragons.

“A girl,” she said.

“Well then, girl. Are you hungry?” Bailey asked.

Yulia’s stomach growled.

“Yes.”

“Let’s get some food in you, then. Come on.”

 

***

 

The darkness of the coming night grew over the sky, as lichen over a rock in a river. All eight party guests gathered around the firepit, and Alice set about lighting it. The flame sprouted without much trouble; between magic and a lighter, it crackled away in no time at all.

Bailey sat in Henry’s lap, shameless as she laid her head against his shoulder. Every so often Henry would shift around in his seat, and Bailey would settle in deeper into the recesses of his body. Lillian was right next to them, one hand resting inside Bailey’s. Next to Lillian was Belladonna, and next to Belladonna, Hannah. Alice, Emma, and Yulia all spread out around the other end of the fire, with Emma opposite Bailey directly.

People talked, but mostly about nothing. Short anecdotes passed; Henry told more dad jokes, which made his partners all laugh, and everyone else frown.

But it was during a lull of silence that Yulia spoke up, finally.

“Alright. So. I brought the things you wanted, Inquisitor.”

“Lillian,” said the Inquisitor.

“After this is done, we can be on a first name basis. But not now.”

The Inquisitor nodded.

“What’s this about?” Emma asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yulia said.

Inquisitor stone unlinked her hand from Bailey's, and stood up. Her dark suit made her look even more pale than usual across the flickering flame.

“Yes. Here.”

And out of her jacket, she removed two folded-up pieces of paper. It was yellowed, rotten, and old, the kind reserved for life-and-death agreements. She passed both papers around so they ended up in Belladonna and Yulia’s hands, respectively.

“What’s going on here?” Emma asked, with a furrowed brow.

“Fixing a mistake that never should have happened,” Belladonna said.

That seemed to shut Emma up, for the time being. Yulia and Belladonna both unfurled their papers, so they might read them one last time.

The words didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that these were the things that bound them to the Order for life. The verbiage was irrelevant, but for its message: you’re ours, for life.

Belladonna tossed hers in first. It went up in less than a second, like years of masculinity blowing away, like rocks scattered into grains of sand.

Yulia put hers in, too, but it took a bit longer. The ink declaring her to be a ‘son of a great man, great-grandson of an even greater one’ persisted for a bit, as the flame licked at it. The words blurred and melted. They twisted as their dread bond on Yulia began to crumble, as the pledge to be the man the Order needed finally disintegrated into ash and gray smoke.

“Wow,” Yulia said, with an exhale.

“What a relief.”

No one spoke for a second. The fire danced in their eyes, reflected in the mirror of their irises. The warmth and light drew this odd grouping of journeying people into one spot. The odds of any one of them existing were infinitesimally small; that they all lived and were in the same place, looking at the same fire, breathing the same air, drinking the same wine, was a fucking miracle.

“What was that about, exactly?”

“We’re… I guess former now, members of the Order of the Platinum,” Belladonna said.

“There is no ‘former’. No one leaves,” Emma replied.

Yulia frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“Well, that makes us the first two to do it! Isn’t that something.” Belladonna smiled, in a ‘this conversation is now over’ kind of way.

But, as Bailey could tell them, there was no ‘over’ with an issue Emma took.

“Hold on. Those… those were…”

“Our contracts, yes,” Yulia said, “can we go back to Henry’s jokes, now?”

“Okay, a joke? I can do one. Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

Emma made an expression that would make milk fresh from the cow curdle into cream, and then pointed it directly at Henry. This took the wind out of his sails, but he still said the punchline to the joke anyways.

“...Because he was outstanding in his field.”

(“There, there,” Bailey said, patting his cheek, “I thought it was funny.”)

“Listen here. You… you can’t,” Emma said.

“What do you care? We hardly know each other. I’ll leave the order all I damn well please,” Yulia replied.

Looks passed across the fire. Someone had to put a stop to this before it became another blood grudge, as they tended to do with Emma.

“You can’t. You made a pledge. Like my dad did.”

“Well, uh, fuck your dad, then,” Belladonna said.

This was a rookie mistake. Anyone who had ever interacted with Emma before the party all braced for the worst, as Emma’s expression shifted into something sharp and poisonous.

But before Emma could say anything, Bailey cut in.

“Hey. Hey. Cool it.”

“No,” Emma said.

“Cool. It.”

Emma’s teeth swung shut like a bear trap on a leg.

“Can we not just be nice? Can we not,” Bailey shot Emma a look, “accept that other people have different relationships to certain institutions than us? This is Dragonquell. This is a party. Let chaos and fuckery reign, right?”

That did not have the calming effect that Bailey had hoped for, sadly.

“Some parties are worth ruining. The Order, and the church in general, takes precedence.”

“And why, pray tell, is that, Emma?” Alice said.

(“I’m going to get a drink. Does anyone want to come?” Henry said. “Yes, Yes, I’ll go with you,” Hannah replied.)

“Because we live in a world that’s more than just us,” Emma said, “The church is the one thing that keeps us from murdering each other in the streets.”

The smoke was noxious, and Bailey felt her heart race. Memories of flames echoed in her body, and she felt every muscle she had (and maybe ones she didn’t have) tense up. Why did there have to be a fire, again?

“Not this shit again,” Alice said. She was standing up now, and the flames warped Bailey’s view of her. She looked… angry. Ready to tear someone apart.

“Yes, this shit again. Just because you believe in your little utopian nonsense doesn’t mean it’s real! We have rules, even unfair ones, to keep us safe.”

“Safe? Safe? Whorling vines are eating up an entire neighborhood in the city, and your church doesn’t care,” Alice said.

“They have other priorities!”

Both twins were pointing deadly expressions at each other.

“Oh, yeah, like enforcing heterosexuality on everyone who wants to transition. Awesome. I love that.”

“You’re bisexual, right? What’s wrong with finding a husband?” Emma asked.

“Nothing! But I want to choose a person, not a gender! And I don’t want some stuffy old priest to go, oh, yeah, this is a man I picked out of a hat, go marry him. Fuck that.”

This was tiresome. No wonder the two avoided each other.

But to Bailey, it was more than simply tiresome. It hurt. There was scarcely a person she cared for more in the world than Alice, and there was hardly a person she missed more than Emma. For years, they had left a placement for Emma at dinner, just in case she wandered her way home. Bailey had long dreamt of that day, but of course it never came.

She found herself standing.

“Enough!” she screamed.

Both twins looked at her.

“Aren’t you sick of this?”

No one spoke.

“Emma, Alice. Please. I’m tired of the fighting. I’m tired of the secrets. I’ve spent so much energy trying to understand why, why, why this has to be this way… but it doesn’t! There is a world where we can get along, where we can live and heal and be sisters. We can even fight sometimes! But this hatred… please.”

She found herself crying. Her tears evaporated in the heat of the fire, though, so her pain may as well have not existed.

“Bailey… no. It’s too late for us. Sisterhood, genuine familial love, it’s only possible for new people. We’re damaged goods,” Emma said.

“I-”

“No, Bailey. I’m sorry I entertained your delusions, but it’s done. It’s time you be a grown woman about this and accept that the game’s over. We’re too different. You were raised by…”

Emma looked at the flame.

“Weirdos. Outcasts. Weeds that would sprout and then wither, until they reached the next town. I was raised by a man of honor, a hero. There’s a canyon dividing you and me,” she said, “and there is no bridging that gap. I’m sorry.”

Bailey was full-on sobbing, but it wasn’t sad, defeated sobbing. It was pissed-off sobbing. Her face bore an expression of ancient anger, sharp teeth and sharp eyebrow angles. Her voice came out as a howl of agony and pure rage.

“You aren’t sorry. You keep me around and treat me like a servant, except when you decide no, I’m your sister, no, I’m your servant. I have toiled under you, hoping that somehow I would be good enough to be your sister! That there was a way to mend this hurt, to at least build something new!” 

“You’re right,” Emma said, “I’m a hypocrite. Let me fix that.”

She took the stuffed griffin in her hands, the one that Ozma and Patrick Thistle had crafted, and threw it into the fire.

It didn’t burn, not really. It just sat in the fire, twisting and warping. The colorful cloth, long faded, began to turn crispy black, and the wood button eyes cooked.

“You’re fired, Bailey. And evicted. Come get your shit tomorrow morning.”

“But-”

Beakly’s wings were totally singed. The tail, too. The beak was on its way out.

“And your little polycule. They’ve got to go, too. That means you, Lillian.”

“You bitch,” Lillian said. Her eyes were a deep purple, and her teeth and claws were fully sharp. Her voice came out as growl, as a furious call of a predator whose mate was wounded.

“You can keep the bottles of wine, though. Parting gift. Have a nice life, losers.”

And with that, Emma walked away, straight into the worst idea she’d ever had. She had one word for Dorian, and that word was, “Yes!”

Yes to fixing the machine. Yes to starting the relationship again. Yes to whatever schemes he wanted to do. She was a spider, and all the idiots she’d just left behind were nothing but flies, buzzing their little complaints and disturbing her orderly life.