My magical studies did not begin rooted in vanity; like many afflicted with my condition, the promise of gaining power to overcome the physiological permanence of a body not in alignment with my soul was too alluring to ignore. Transfiguration was like a shining key to escape the flesh prison I was born into. The key, as it would turn out, was more akin to a rasp; little by little I gained the knowledge and tools to file away at my imperfect form. To my delight, beneath the sorrowful shell I had been imprisoned in for so long, there lay a body I could truly love! Buoyed by the euphoria of a form gradually shifting to align with my mind, my ambition grew: why would I stop at the boundaries of the human norm? 

I resolved that I would become the embodiment of litheness - no one would ever look at me and see the foundations of the ogrish form I left behind. Though the process was fraught with hiccups, and in a couple instances, nearly lethal errors, I began to leave any semblance of normality behind. Cute and emotive cat ears, a long swishing tail, claws and fangs, and finally (and certainly with the most difficulty) functional digitigrade legs. None of this happened overnight, and the cost of research and experimentation was staggering; to that end I began offering my skills to any who would pay in knowledge or coin. As it would turn out, transfiguration is a lucrative business - as if there is one commonality between the majority of mages in this world, it is vanity. A scar removal here, a limb regrown there, occasionally I would assist a fellow sister in their own journey to their truest self. I found my coffers full, and my reputation was that of an unremarkable transfigurationist with acceptable prices and appropriate discretion.

I had never thought I’d be noteworthy enough to truly be in danger; my studies had led me to be, in essence, a magical plastic surgeon. I was so self-assured that no high society mage would waste their attentions on a harmless small-timer like me that in my naivety I had neglected to build any real repertoire of defensive spells or wards. My profession lay firmly in the well trodden paths of transfiguration – and had I remained within its confines I would have maintained my camouflage in a sea of thaumaturgical mediocrity. Unfortunately the allure of further perfecting myself outstripped my caution over time. 

Having given myself a body that my younger self could only dream of possessing, I began to look inward. My mind still bore flaws that impacted my wellbeing - anxiety and stress disorders, irrational phobias, and internalized biases that had no place in the perfect self I had spent so much time and effort in creating. I knew that there existed magical disciplines that could bend thoughts to their will, mesmers being the foremost example. But even to my naive past self, subordinating myself to any such mages’ ministrations would be tantamount to ego-death; there would be no prevention or safeguard that could stop them from turning me into their loyal vassal should they decide it was more beneficial to them. But I reasoned to myself that, if the mind is simply a mass of neurons and axons, surely I could alter my mind as I had my body?

The research took years to complete, and I was in my thirty first year before I even dared to attempt alteration on a human mind. I chose to conduct my first human experimentation on myself, not wanting the blood of another mage on my hands should I have failed (nor the vendetta their bloodline would have sworn against me). I started simple, as I had adopted a feline-like form, why not impart some of their temperament? To my great relief, my research and caution had paid off: I was more cat-like than ever before (the humor of a trans woman ensorcelling herself to become a catgirl was not lost on me). Emboldened by my successes, I managed to eliminate the ills that plagued my mind;  in hindsight, these rapid and reckless alterations were likely the first domino in a chain of events that would lead to my doom. 

Piece by piece, I was systematically disassembling my capacity to understand the peril I was placing myself into. My ability to feel anxiety was the first to go, and with it any trepidation about further altering my mind. Doubts were eliminated with the flick of a finger, fears excised as they arose. Gradually I had removed any means of internally warning myself as to the dangers of being so openly brazen about my skills; I had even begun selling some of the basic mental alterations at my clinic!  

I was proud of my successes, by what I saw as the perfection of my body inside and out; I was ignorant of the hubris that told me my imperfect hands could have wrought a perfect self. My growing ego, unencumbered by the doubts I had eliminated could not perceive the target my new capabilities had painted on my back. I was so bold as to publish a paper on my research: positing that, given the right funding, I could accelerate my research and provide instruction to other mages in my chosen discipline. The letter only served as a beacon to the power-hungry; I soon found myself on the run - my lab having been ransacked, my clinic destroyed, and my home in ruins. I had caught the eye of the mighty, and they had taken umbrage that a humble lowly-blooded mage like myself would have the nerve to try and climb the social hierarchy. 

I had wrongly believed that if I moved countries and laid low I could wait for the fervor surrounding my research to die down, and maybe I could resume my practice surreptitiously. Gradually I became bolder, and even started a small practice in the magical backwaters of Canada. A year went by, and then two more and my caution faltered, that’s when she found me. 

I had been taken completely unawares, as I stepped back into my apartment from collecting groceries; the rudimentary wards I had placed around my abode had been circumvented with ease, I had mere fractions of a second to realize I wasn’t alone when she made her presence known. She struck without pretense, seemingly electing action to communicate the threat she posed to me over words. I had barely closed the door when a wall of force slammed into me and I impacted the door with a resounding crash. To my credit, even winded and with undoubtedly multiple fractures across my delicate frame I did attempt to defend myself. She deflected my simple incantations with a contemptuous flick of a finger, and paid my defiance back with unimaginable agony. Without a word, and with the simplest of gestures she sent an bolt of energy coruscating through my nervous system; I don’t know how much time had passed, as she watched me thrash in desperate pain, but when she finally released me it was with the satisfaction that she had made her point clear: I was at her mercy. 

NOW

I feel the inescapable agony abate, and immediately roll over to void the contents of my stomach. Coughing up the last of my breakfast, I manage to gasp out “W-what do you want from me?”. The response comes in the form of a sharp kick to my ribs and a curt reply: “Speak only when spoken to”. Gasping for air, I remain curled up on the floor, waiting for her to speak again; I don’t even dare look up at her for fear of reprisal. My assailant doesn’t keep me waiting long though, as she turns my head to meet her gaze with the tip of her boot. I lock eyes with her and finally my captor is revealed: she stares at me disdainfully with one cold blue eye, the other obscured behind an eyepatch with a silver rose stylistically coiled around it, her jet black hair frames her face in a short Bob; I don't get a chance to further observe her before her excoriation resumes. “You got careless, little kitten. Did you really think after just three years you could just step out of the shadows and things would all go back to normal?”. I open my mouth to reply, but a second kick knocks the wind from me again. “Rhetorical question. You tried climbing above your station, kitten, and you’ve caught my eye.” with a small gesture, I am pulled roughly to a sitting position, as if by an invisible hand. “Heal yourself before you pass out. I have work for you”. Taking a minute to gather myself, I knit my wounds nearly instantly - an incredibly uncomfortable experience without anesthetic - but I keep my complaints to myself. “Your research is very promising, little kitten. But you didn’t take it nearly far enough. Why waste your talents correcting minor illnesses when you can do so much more?” 

By this point I had learned my lesson and kept my mouth shut, sitting miserably with my knees tucked against my chest, the prospect of another kick (or worse) was not a pleasant thought. “You’re going to work for me, you’ll continue your research, just..in a more ambitious manner. In fact, you’re going to start today!” I blink in confusion. She smiles and continues: “I’ve always had to resort to such..ugly tactics to ensure the loyalty of my subordinates.” She kneels down, and grabs me roughly by the chin “With your help, though, I can build loyalty from the inside-out. Starting with you”. Averting my gaze from her predatory glare, I manage to stammer out “What’s to stop me from faking it? There’s no way for you to know!”. I feet a surge of heat from her hand upon saying this, and I brace myself, expecting another round of agonizing correction. [Don’t worry, little kitten. You haven’t earned that - yet]. I start in surprise. She hadn’t..said that aloud, it was - [In your head, yes. I’ll know if you’ve followed my instructions. Try anything but following my commands and you’ll find death a reward, not a punishment.] I was well and truly doomed; no exit route existed, and even if there was, she was reading my every thought! And beyond that lay another terrifying prospect: “I haven’t made a modification like that before. What if I-” [It’s try or die, kitten. You decide]. 

Trembling, I gather my thoughts - I am about to alter my mind in a way I had never considered; it would require far more precision than my current mind state would allow. “Okay step one, calm myself..” I focus, and let my power wash through my mind: Brain matter reknits itself, neural pathways reforge anew and the world begins to spin. Moments later I regain my senses, and I am calm. A part of me knows this is the end - by removing my natural danger sense I have shown my resignation to my impending fate; I feel nothing about this. I am thankful my captor is not rushing me through this, I’m likely going to irrevocably damage myself even if I take this slowly. “Step two….” I decide to alter my relationship with my captor a little at a time, in the hope that if I damage something, it might be reversible. Maybe. I focus my thoughts on my relationship with my mistress-to-be and I begin. 

I come to my senses on the floor, with my mentor looking down at me. “You lived.” she notes, a strange lack of compassion in her voice - had I angered her? I struggle back to a seated position, what was I..? Oh. Right. My mentor requires complete loyalty, and I have a job to finish. I feel an odd sensation, an internal instinct screaming that something was wrong, that I shouldn’t trust my mentor or what she’s making- asking me to do; I excise this next, leaving only loyalty where trepidation once stood.  I don’t know why my mentor let me go this long unmodified, my purpose is so clear now - if anything I know I have not gone far enough in my alterations; I will banish every fragment of disloyalty until only She remains. The fear, the little voice screaming at the wrongness of this situation, the terror of surrender - all of this is gone now as I prepare for one final modification. I feel a little pride that I’ve mastered a new technique after so few attempts, and it is with this pride swelling inside me that I unleash my talents to finally perfect myself for Her. I retain consciousness this time, and I feel the rippling change wash across my mind, leaving the calm waters of complete supplication behind them. I turn to my Goddess, and I look to see if She is pleased with me. I do not even know Her name, but I know that my existence is in service to Her. To be next to her is akin to standing next to the radiance of a supernova, and I bask in her attention; I await her command. 

I am Hers forever more.