“Okay… I… I just thought that was a guy thing?” Seeing her mother’s confusion she clarified. “Like… I only ever hear girls complaining about… uh… having… large chests.” Even if they were apparently having the conversation she still felt awkward and hoped a more clinical sounding phrase would somewhat mitigate that. It didn’t.

 

Her mother stifled a giggle, clearly understanding this was serious but finding something unbearably funny. “Oh sweetie. Of course you have. The good parts about having a ‘large chest’ as you put it aren’t really things you talk about in public. Plenty of girls find having a large chest to be a point of pride, or they just like how they look. Others might appreciate knowing people find them attractive, and others still might just like how they feel. There’s plenty of reasons to like having a large chest, or want a bigger one. Goodness, breast augmentation surgery is probably the most common cosmetic surgery in the country! But if you start talking about those things in public certain types of people take it as an invitation to cause trouble.”

 

Her mother gave her upper shoulders a soft squeeze, eyes scouring Brooke’s face for something. “Sweetie. Princess. Dearest darling of mine. Never be ashamed of how you look. You are gorgeous, inside and out. If you like how you look, that's what’s important. You do like how you look right?”

 

Brooke gave a quick nod. She did. She really, really did. Obviously she loved her smooth, polished stone skin, and her extra arms, and her claws and horns and teeth and all the things that marked her as a demon… But she also loved her figure. She regretted how her human form diminished it. She loved how she looked and her mother was right, it made her feel confident! 

 

Her mother smiled at her, clearly noticing her changing mood. “Good. Then show it. Hold your head high and be proud of it. Anyone who tries to make you feel bad about it is up to something and you don’t need to play their games.” Her mother stifled another giggle. “You know, it’s nice not having to carefully balance this with comments about being careful not to get into trouble. Knowing your daughter can take a bullet, shrug off drugs, and punch out a weightlifter really does make the stranger danger talk a lot easier.”

 

Brooke held up a single finger. “Hang on… I’m bulletproof? I’m immune to drugs?!” Her eyes were wide, as if seeing her mother in greater detail would somehow get her the information faster.

 

Her mother for her part felt no rush in elaborating, indulging in a nice, long laugh. Brooke was starting to assume her mother had just been exaggerating. Then she explained. “Oh yes, Amy went into great detail explaining all the standard demon perks. You also can’t get sick, heal from injuries much more quickly, and can do all kinds of cool magic if you find something you want but don’t do naturally! Did you know Amy can teleport? And speak french? She took me to France for lunch! Goodness.”

 

Now it was Brooke’s turn to giggle. Her mother was positively giddy. She was also beginning to see how Ms. Zwavel had gotten her out of her shell so quickly if she was taking her mother on lunch dates to Paris. Then her mind ground to a halt on the idea of it being a date date, and then she started noticing how her mother was blushing and- She turned back to the mirror, refusing to contemplate the possibility of her mother’s love life possibly including Ms. Zwavel.

 

With a fake cough to clear her throat Brooke continued her inspection in the mirror. Everything else looked the same… except… She pulled her top off, letting it and her bra fall to the floor as she took in the two very notable changes it had been covering. The gasp from her mother either indicated she was similarly impressed, or that she was startled at Brooke suddenly being topless. She was mildly embarrassed about that second option.

 

“Oh. My. Goodness!” Her mother placed a hand on her back startling her briefly. Confusion gave way to understanding however as she felt her mother tracing something on her back, a slight difference in the sensation at various points which she assumed was caused by the amethyst spots that had begun appearing on her skin.

 

“I thought they were just random spots, like freckles! Gosh! Wait, have you seen your back?” When Brooke shook her head her mother quickly pulled out her phone, snapped a picture, and presented it.

 

The amethyst scales of her shoulders spread along the curve of her upper shoulder blades, fanning down into crack-like lines that gave the impression of wings made of lightning. From her lower shoulders the amethyst followed the curve of their shoulder blades until they met in the middle, moving downwards and growing thinner until a series of crack-like lines traced their way down her spine, merging into the amethyst that had spread up off her tail. It wasn’t especially complex, and yet the slightly transparent crystal accentuated the solid white of her marble skin in a way that made her back into a work of art. The way her muscles were emphasized by the wings, and the absence of amethyst on her lower back filled her with yet more affection for her new body.

 

Taking one last moment to look at the work of art that had formed on her back she handed the phone back to her mother with a smile and a quiet “thanks”. She was a little embarrassed by just how much she loved her new body. Was she becoming a narcissist? She shook off the thought as she forced herself to focus on the rest of her changes.

 

Unfortunately, that seemed to be about it. She seemed a bit more muscular, looking like some perverse mix of a porn star and a professional athlete, a description which left her blushing. Her mother, hopefully unaware of exactly what had caused it, snickered at the blush, causing her daughter to blush harder. 

 

Mercifully, she did still have one avenue of escape. “Okay thanks for the help I’ve gotta go shower bye!” The words flowed out of her mouth in a rush as she spun around, nearly hitting her mother with her tail, and rushing to the bathroom. The fact she forgot to grab her clothes for the day, or the fact she’d just bounced her way down the hall practically naked could be dealt with later. Really, what were the odds of someone being out in the hall at that exact moment?

 

Based on the whistle from the direction of Sarah’s room as Brooke slammed the bathroom door shut, one hundred percent. She’d deal with it later! She flounced her way towards the shower, pulling off what little she’d still had on as she went. It was as she was bouncing up and down trying to kick her panties off her foot that she caught sight of herself in the mirror and all hope of truly ignoring everything went right out the window…

 

Her shower took considerably longer that morning, and she exited the bathroom wearing a pair of towels, a deep blush, and a paranoid look.

 

Arriving downstairs after getting dressed, she was surprised to find her mother reading the newspaper at the kitchen table with both of the Zwavels notably absent. Before she could try and connect this fact with the whistle she had heard and her nearly forgotten embarrassment her mother spoke up “Ready to make some breakfast?”

 

Brooke blushed for an all new reason. Right. Her mother had mentioned that hadn’t she. “Y-yeah! Though, uh… w-where are the Zwavels?” Why was she stuttering?! Okay, admittedly the morning had been full of embarrassments, but she was the big strong confident Brooke now! Brooke shouldn’t stutter!

 

Her mother folded up the paper and set it on the table as she stood, a big smile on her face. “They decided to go out for breakfast so we could have some mother daughter time.” All at once Brooke felt the tension leave her. Right. This was her mom. The mom she’d almost forgotten had ever existed. The mom with a smile that told her everything was going to be okay.

 

If she was being honest with herself, and she had a bit of time to do that as they began preparations in the kitchen, that had been the very reason she’d been nervous. What if this wasn’t her mom? Or, well, not the mom she remembered? 

 

She looked over at her mom as she lifted the extra large bag of flour out from under the counter. The moment their eyes met her mother smiled, giving her a wink before nearly dropping a carton of two dozen eggs and barely managing to salvage the situation by sliding them and her upper torso onto the counter. Yup. Same mom.

 

Pancakes aren't the most complicated breakfast, and an omelette is much closer to the simplest if you don't count the challenge of not turning it into scrambled eggs. Bacon and sausages were barely even cooking, and buttered toast arguably isn't even that. It really wasn't a complicated breakfast, and considerably less impressive than anything Ms. Zwavel had put in front of her...

 

But it was a breakfast she was making with her mom. The idle quips and frantic scramble to avoid messing up filled the time and space with so much love it was practically palpable. The occasional hug as they passed one another didn't hurt either.

 

Between the extra large kitchen and the frantic, giggling scramble breakfast was done in no time at all, and soon after they were sitting down across from one another looking over their minor feast. Her mother had insisted on making twice what she thought she needed, quoting Ms. Zwavel anytime she tried to protest. She really didn't think they needed two dozen pancakes, but she'd lost that fight the moment her mother got her hands on the mixing bowl.

 

Of course the smirk on her mother's face when she'd chewed her way through two thirds of the feast was completely insufferable, and she feared a fate worse than an "I told you so" awaited her long into the day. No, such statements weren't fit for the meal they were having. Their conversation was one of reminiscence and hope, her mother reminding her of the meals they'd prepared and the trouble they'd caused in times submerged deep in the fog of Brooke's oldest memories. The promise of more to come went unspoken only in words.

 

Once breakfast was done they were forced to finally confront the mess they'd made, and resigned themselves to the tragedy of making food also involving cleaning up. It was a sombre affair, in the way that children would pout about a punishment while knowing full well that they'd do it again in a heartbeat. Fortunately a robust dishwasher and a large sink made quick work of the dirty dishes, and the enchanted cooking space barely took wiping down.

 

The entire experience was supremely mundane despite the minor magic, and yet it wasn't the ease of the cleanup that made it so wonderful. It was being there with her mother, doing what she hoped would one day become a Saturday morning tradition. Something the two of them could do just to spend time in one another's company.

 

They were just packing up the leftovers when her mother broke the silence with a slightly unsteady smile. "So! I know Amy has plenty of magic clothes for you to wear, and is happy to order more... but I was wondering if you'd like to go clothing shopping with me?"

Brooke froze at the question. On the one hand: Yes. Obviously yes yes yes she wanted to go clothes shopping with her mom! She wanted to try on all kinds of cute outfits and hate half of them just for the sake of complaining about her mom's fashion sense! She wanted to look at all the stuff on display and know she could pull off anything she saw if she tried hard enough! She wanted to go and look at dresses and underwear and leggings and not feel like a creep!

 

On the other hand... "Nothing we buy would really fit me though..."

 

"Amy offered to enchant anything we buy!"

 

The counterpoint came so quick Brooke nearly matched her mental stumble to a physical one. She'd discussed this with Ms. Zwavel? "Okay, but can we really afford it? Wouldn't using dad's card cause trouble?"

 

Her mother spoke with conviction now, eyes twinkling. "That's why we won't. Amy's covering the cost and got me a card to use."

 

Now she was concerned for all different reasons! "Wait wait wait, when did you get close enough for her to be letting you borrow her credit card?!"

 

The smirk on her mother's face told her she wasn't going to like the answer. "It isn't her card, I'm not borrowing it, and nearly five years ago." She practically sang.

 

"What do you mean five years ago?! What- Why- H-how...?" She lost steam as her thoughts failed to find purchase. Too many questions, not enough brain.

 

"So? Shopping? Clothes? Spending time with your mother? Mall date?!" Her mother waggled her eyebrows as she spoke with ever increasing enthusiasm.

 

Finally, with a resigned sigh she relented, giving in to what she'd wanted all along. "Fine fine, it's a date..."