Striking a deal
828 3 23
X
Reading Options
Font Size
A- 15px A+
Width
Reset
X
Table of Contents
Loading... please wait.

    We run (or rather he runs, carrying me in his arms) to his bedroom, looking for a full length mirror. When we can’t find one, I shift his closet so its door includes one on the front. It turns from pine to ebony, its serviceable appearance replaced with something more stylish.

    Gods, has he changed.

    His figure and face definitely tend towards the feminine now. It is all still something you could technically see a man have, but it’s… Tomgirlish is the word. His hair has further lengthened to his shoulders, and the purple lipstick is back and accompanied by a pale foundation.

    His apple green robe has turned black, the bottom of it having shortened to let his ankles breathe. From what little I can see, he is now wearing knee-length platform boots that would seem better fit for trudging through the swamp than the indoors turnshoes he had before.

 

    The warlock is flabbergasted. So am I, honestly, though that’s harder to pick up on due to my permanently frozen expression. Catching a glance at myself in the mirror, I notice that the warlock’s stitching from yesterday was definitely crude and apparent against my white fur… I shake that thought off, there are more pressing matters.

    “Gods…” he approaches the mirror, a strand of hair falling in front of his right eye, which he tugs back behind his ear. “What is this, Cherry? this appearance you’re giving me?”

    I think deeply, plunge through two decades’s worth of memories looking for an answer... And I choke when I find it. “My big sis’ witchsona.”

    I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more disconcerted look in my life than the face the warlock gives me. “...Your sister’s what now?”

    I take a mental deep breath. “Look, she kind of had a dream of using magic when she was twelve, she constantly doodled that character that was like, supposed to be her mentor or something, and- i-it’s a whole thing, okay, let’s not get into it right now.” I end up trailing away out of self-consciousness.

    He turns his head to me, raising an eyebrow. “You’re turning me into your sister’s childhood imaginary friend?”

    “I SAID LET’S NOT GET INTO IT!” Oh gods. I so regret digging up those memories. I really hope he doesn’t ask me to explain how that character got buried so deep in my mind that that’s what my subconscious is going with for changing him. It definitely sheds a light on the ivory button and grey bed sheets at least, this is definitely the decor she fits in.

    After a last glance at me, his gaze settles back on the mirror, which he approaches to observe himself more precisely. “...My mind, my appearance, my voice, my mannerisms, gods-” He swings his fist in frustration. “By the higher beings, even my speaking patterns… What am I not gonna have to revert after all this? Are you really sure you’re doing none of this intentionally?”

    “I swear on the gods’ wills! I just have no idea how to control my magic, I didn’t even know I had magic two days ago!” I blurt out in a mild panic.

    “Right. Right, you’ve said as such before. Sorry. This is just, so… Uncomfortable. I’m a man seeing my body become more effeminate with every moment I spend with you, you know? It’s frightening.” He tentatively lifts his robe to take a better look at his boots.

    “That sounds horrible, yeah…” I imagine how it would feel for me to turn into a man and the mental image horrifies me. I can only think that if anyone gleefully wished this to happen to them, they likely have some feelings they should try to explore regarding their identity. “It’s definitely time we stay separate as much as possible, then.”

    He shakes his head and tightens his grip on me. “I can’t do that.”

    I find myself shocked by his answer. “What? Why?”

    “You can’t move around and you have nothing useful to do by staying here, right?” He turns around and goes for the stairs as he continues his explanation. “I’m your legs, and you’re my moral compass. And if we need to hunt down the transformed soldiers, I can definitely use a second pair of eyes and ears.”’

    “M-moral compass? That’s a high responsibility… And…” I sigh. We can’t keep dodging the elephant in the room every time one of us brings it up. “You only want me to be that because I’ve changed your mind, don’t you?”

    We go down a few floors in silence before I hear him swallow his saliva and reply. “True, but that’s for the better. I have killed for my personal quest for immortality. By your own words, I am a monster. Even after we manage to disconnect and I get to turn myself back into who I am… Some things are better left changed. That much I know.” He trots down the last stairs, aiming for the front door. “I am not yet in a position to learn to be a good person on my own. So let me repeat my offer: will you be my moral compass for the time being?”

    He reaches the door, but pauses as he grips the handle, waiting for my reply. My thoughts collide against one another as I try to untangle the guilt from changing him with his correct affirmation that I’ve made him a better person. “...Sure?” I tentatively eke out. 

    He turns me around to show me his smile. “Thank you, Cherry.” He swings open the door, walking outside and triumphantly announcing “Now time to hunt some humans!”

    “...It’s very creepy when you say it like that.”

    His pose seems to deflate a bit with self-consciousness. “My apologies.”

23