Epilogue — Three months later

The hotel's sheet are crisp and white. They've left the curtains open to let in the morning sun. It's Molly and Rachel's second day in Paris.

They'd been exhausted after their all-night flight got in yesterday, but it hadn't stopped them from wandering the streets and hitting the shops and cafes.

This morning, they allowed themselves to sleep in and now lounge in the sun's warmth wrapped in each other's arms.

Molly can hardly believe she has fallen into this life so easily. She hardly ever thinks about her old reality. After all, what is there to think about.

A strained relationship with her family. A shitty retail job. Marshal!

She's better off forgetting about all of it.

Everything is better here.

She has a job she loves. Her boss and coworkers respect her and what she does seems vital and valuable. It even pays well. Although, she barely needs the money. Rachel is a top game designer at a major studio. They poached her from a rival and now pay her a ridiculous amount of money. 

It seems that they both have pushed each other to their professional best. This is just one of the ripple effects of them being partners and not just friends.

If someone showed her the map of both lives side by side and how they diverged when she met Rachel, Molly doesn't know how she'd ever pick the one were they weren't lovers. So many good things have come from it.

Another happy change in this universe is her relationship with her dad. Weirdly her coming out had brought them closer together. Without the memories it was all a bit vague, but it seems it got them talking, and when he declared his support for her, they became sort of friends. He was no longer the distant father. She was no longer the surly teen. And they no longer grew silently apart.

Somethings didn't change, however. Molly still didn't talk to her mom. The way they fought like cats and dogs since Molly hit puberty was the same in every universe, apparently.

But of all the differences the most important one is that she has Rachel in this reality. It is unbelievable how each day Rachel does something or says something to make Molly happy. Make her feel loved and desired. And the sex...!

The sex was out of this world! Why had no one told Molly that lesbian sex usually meant four or five climaxes a session? (Or was it just them?) This was a far cry from the one lame fuck before turning over and going to sleep. The sex she has now employs mouths, fingers, pussies, and a wild assortment of toys. The variety seemed endless. Cunnilingus followed by scissoring, then a bit of mutual vibrator work. Or making-out while finger-banging, followed by a double-ended dildo, then sixty-nining, then—

Well, she could go on for hours thinking of the different combinations of acts they'd performed.

Molly still doesn't consider herself gay. She doesn't ogle other women. And she certainly isn't as into girl-on-girl porn as Rachel (although she is beginning to warm up to it by imagining the two of them in the roles). But she is devoted to Rachel. And surprisingly finds herself fantasizing about her body throughout the day.

After a long slow kiss, Rachel asks, "So, should we get up grab some croissants and head over to the Louvre? I know you're dying to see it."

"Actually," Molly says, "I'm more anxious to see another piece of art right now."

"Oh, and what's that?"

She allows a second to go by for Rachel to recognize her mischievous grin before she rips the sheets off of them and climbs on top of Rachel. She holds herself up with a hand by either of Rachel's shoulders and looks her wife up and down. "You!" she says lecherously.

"And there's something I'm more hungry for than pastry." She plants a quick kiss on Rachels lips then lowers herself to the pussy her mouth has learned to salivate over. She opens her lips and takes an eager taste.

Rachel giggles, and says, "Your crazy."

As she buries her face into the delta and languishes in the feeling, Molly wonders if she might have gone crazy. After all, this life seems too good to be true. And the whole jumping realities still niggles at her as being impossible.

Still, if the Miraculous What If Machine should show up on her doorstep again, it's going straight in the trash. She wasn't going to risk this life for anything.

DemonRose

Well, dear reader, this ends Molly's tale. She was a woman who desired happiness most of all, and she found it in the least expected of places: the arms of her bestfriend. Lucky her!

Such is the strange ways of the Miraculous What If Machine. It seeks to do no harm, but will never give you what you expect. Now, dear reader, what would you ask if you were presented with the prompt what if...?