Reimagine Safety

At Eternity, we are committed to a healthy, happy, and comfortable populace. Since 1978, Eternity has been leading the field in alternative energy solutions. We understand that life has changed forever since Eternity’s experimentation with planar exploration preemptively introduced our world to Synergy before we were ready to fully contain it. However, through the power of our Muse MagiTech, we are committed more than ever to a safe and happy tomorrow.

Have you wanted to make a difference in the world? Are you tired of seeing the ravages brought by the Synergy Beasts? Ever watched a Muse swoop in at the right time and felt your heart beat extra fast in your chest? Your hands tighten into a fist? Perhaps you too can make a contract and assume the mantle of Muse, savior of humanity. Help your fellow sisters harvest hope from the masses and keep our populace Syn Free!

Become an Eternal Muse Today, and Help Us Help You. Forever!

Eternity is a Subsidiary of Hexxon, your local energy company.

Then

It seems too simple, doesn’t it? It shouldn’t work. A major corporation doesn’t just hand the keys to vast magical powers to the average human population. But he’s seen them on social media with their ridiculously gorgeous outfits and their over-the-top powers and their smiles. Their smiles are so bright it makes his heart hurt and he files it away for something to think about another day.

Only women can be Eternal Muses, at least that’s what everyone says. Genre conventions, sure. Not many people want to read about Magical Boys. Well, unless they are Boys who become Magical Girls; there are enough people like him out there that enjoy that kind of twist on the formula. But he’s checked. There isn’t anything out there that specifically has that in writing. He’s scoured the Discords and subreddits, tried to untangle the different threads to piece together much tangible information. 

All of the AMA’s that the most popular Muses have done have been ridiculously empty of solid information. Well, the one tangible truth that has come clear is that they all sign an incredibly thorough NDA as part of the sign-up process. Eternity’s got a pretty sweet monopoly on MagiTech, and antitrust laws really aren’t what they used to be. 

There wasn’t anything really that drew him to signing up for the Muse Beta. If he was in the mood to lie to himself, he’d say it was the money. He couldn’t just work a call center forever. It was still a slow and selective rollout, and he might have fudged some personal information to get on the list. But ultimately, he was curious.

There was something about the Muses that he just couldn’t get high enough to shake. And so, he checked. Every day. He had made a fake email for the woman who he pretended to be. Her name was Gera, and he spent a good amount of time crafting a social media presence for her. She liked skateboarding and punk rock; Gera had a bit of an edge to her. Something that he always wanted to reach out and grab for himself, but never felt right in doing so. Gera drank tallboys of White Claw and didn’t stay up late at night listing the ways in which death might claim her. Gera told politicians to go fuck themselves on social media when they made laws that hurt her fellow women. She was cool. She had a voice. Gera had a future. 

And Gera was going to be an Eternal Muse. She had to be. He didn’t realize it, but as the months rolled by and as the SynBeast attacks increased, he eventually stopped using his old social accounts. He had made friends, or at least Gera did. He had mutuals and even joined a few Discord servers for people who were waiting for their Muse Invite Code. There were a few people like him, or at least like the secret him that nobody really knew. Men who wanted to give being a Muse a shot. Men who were curious about if the magic really did completely reshape your body. Men who admitted they had women’s names already picked out and potentially weren’t really Men at all. She joined in with the rest of the girls cheering them on when they changed names and pronouns. It was the nice thing to do, even if it made his chest hurt.

Now

The Muse of Fluff comes in first, dressed in a slinky black dress that shows off way too much leg for her taste, but the woman at the store promised would knock anyone dead. She paired it with a leather jacket because she felt that that was what Gera would do, and she remembered the feeling she got in the mirror when she saw the result. Feminine and dangerous, like a steel bat wrapped in roses. 

This was the first time she had purchased nicer women’s clothes for herself outside of necessities, and she wanted to dive directly into the deep end first. Otherwise, she’d never wear a dress that wasn’t magic’d into existence. Sometimes you just had to act before your brain has a chance to catch up. That’s what she did with joining the Muses, and she hadn’t regretted that yet. 

Besides, it was important. It had taken ages to get HP to agree to have a drink with her, and she wanted to make a good first impression. And maybe to kiss her. The Muse of Fluff wasn’t sure yet, but she knew that with enough alcohol anything is possible.

It wasn’t that HP didn’t want to go drinking with her. In fact, after some especially tough battles, she had invited Gera back to her place for a drink. Gera had always instead tried to turn that into going out for drinks somewhere. Anywhere really. And eventually, HP agreed!

Gera was early, but then again when was she not? A lifetime of men shouting at her that five minutes early was too late had drilled a dedication to timeliness into her brain. HP was going to be late, she knew it before she even got the text confirmation. The woman had a permanent love of the snooze button, but that didn’t bother Fluff. Besides, she was early enough for the two of them. Gera’s timeliness helped them maintain their five-star ratings when it came to crushing SynBeasts, even if it did mean she had to tangle with them before HP made her grand entrance. That was fine. It just made her arrivals even more special.

The bar was hardly anything special. A shitty little dive nestled deep in a labyrinth of backstreets and rainbow flags. It was the kind of place that Gera would have gone out of her way to avoid before her contract. Not that she thought that the person that she used to be was better than a gay bar, far from it. She just didn’t want to take up space that was meant for someone else. 

She had gone to Strut once, a whole lifetime ago. Immediately on entering she realized the place was mainly geared towards young men in their early 20s and those that wanted to fuck them. The place was underground and smelled like cleaning supplies. The music was too loud and she spent the entire time staring at her drink while gay men danced, fucked, did cocaine, and fucked while doing cocaine in the bathroom. The entire time she didn’t feel entirely there, alone among the friends who dragged her out in the first place. Her body was anchored to the Earth, masculine and heavy, staring into space while all of the functioning members of society had a good time. She’d left early and spent the rest of the night reading more about Eternal Muses online. 

But that was then, and she was a different person now. Literally. And someone like Gera belonged at Golden Lights. She belonged anywhere she wanted to go. She just had to fake it enough and eventually that would feel true. She belonged on a ripped stool at the bar, contemplating being cheap and just getting a tallboy of PBR or splurging for something mixed and fruity, dangerously covering the amount of liquor inside. Eventually she settled on the PBR and the catgirl behind the bar cracked it open with her claw and a smile. 

“You closing or do you want to open a tab?” The Tabby’s husky voice brought Gera out of her contemplative haze. The catgirl had the tired melody of the service industry, someone who had calculated exactly what she needed to say to non-regulars to save her energy for later in the night. It was still relatively early, and the bar was relatively empty besides an odd smattering of people. 

“Uh, keep it open please.” No matter how much she talked, Gera was still obsessed with her new voice. It had already been a few months, but it still made her smile. Gentle with enough steel in it for when she needed it. “I have a friend coming, so if you see a woman, um.. wearing flannel probably. Shit-eating grin on her face. Firey red hair. Well, she’s on my tab. If that’s okay.”

The tabby nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll check with you before just sticking some random woman’s drinks on here. Just to be safe.” And with that, the catgirl went back to tending bar.

Gera tried to pass the time until HP showed up by just drinking and taking in the space. Eventually she found her mind wandering to the bartender. She knew, at least vaguely, about the tainted vials of estrogen that had caused feline mutations. It was global news, obviously. Every Conservative Shitheel couldn’t wait to open their mouths and ooze transphobic dribble on whatever 3-hour long podcast brought to you by male supplements would be craven enough to book them. She’d heard what her family had to say about them, too, and again was glad they cut off contact with her after she made her Muse Reveal. That kind of toxicity wasn’t needed in her life. Besides, she was a Magical Girl! A source of hope in a world under assault by the forces of Syn.

She was a light in a dark world! Just because that light happened to be a girl, well, at this point Gera considered it an added benefit.

Then

It was here.

It was here.

It was here.

It was freaking here. 

He couldn’t help but repeat himself. He almost dropped his phone, which thank God he didn’t. There was no way in hell he could afford a new one, and he needed the Muse App to be able to create his contract and officially begin his life as a magical girl. Money had been getting tight recently, what with the supply chain being disrupted by SynBeast attacks. It didn’t matter that the Muses at this point had mostly gotten the SynBeasts under control, but the economy didn’t seem to care. Inflation, it seemed, was its own form of magic. It was okay, though, because being an Eternal Muse paid well. Part of it was hazard pay, and part of it was to keep the selective mystique up. He didn’t care. It was a paycheck. And magic. What could be more important than that?  

It had been a whole year and he had almost given up hope. And yet, in the inbox he’d made for Gera, there it was. He checked it against screenshots from the Magical Girls in Waiting Discord, and the address was legit. The code was there. 

With twitching fingers, he typed the code in, checking multiple times to make sure he didn’t put something in incorrectly. He then double and triple checked, just in case. For a moment, his finger hovered over the confirmation button; once he did this there was no going back. He would be Gera 24/7 after the magic was through with him. 

Some of the other members of the Discord had gotten a head start at being women. They posted pictures of trying on new clothes and traded voice training tips regularly. There was a kinship to be had with them, but he always kept his distance. That might help for them, while they waited, of course, but it was too much. Too scary. There seemed to be a million and one things someone needed to do to be a girl right. And he was fine waiting. Sure, his sleep got worse, and he was on thin ice with his shitty call center job. Not enough sales. But he couldn’t help it. He just couldn’t stop thinking about becoming a Muse.

And now that it was right in front of him, he wasn’t sure if he could take the leap. He was scared, he realized. It turns out when you create a hypothetical future where you will engage in arcane secrets in order to become a girl, there is a chance that it will become the present. No longer an abstract idea but something real and tempting, and hard to ignore.

So the man who would become Gera did what he always did when faced with a difficult choice. Actions first, thinking second. He slammed the confirm button, skimmed the hell out of the EULA, and gasped as a beam of white light shot out of his phone and slammed into his torso.

Now

The Muse of High-Power Rifles was more than just a little bit late. The Muse of Fluff had almost entirely drained her beer by the time that she slinked through the door, but that’s fine. Despite how short she was now, her tolerance was higher than it has ever been. A blessing bestowed by the magic that remade her into a tool of protection, or a curse on her wallet. She’d gotten hungrier too, but probably because casting spells took a lot out of her. She was still learning, after all. 

As she’d predicted, HP was wearing one of her millions of flannel t-shirts tucked into way too short shorts that make her dress length seem practically cottagecore. Gera rolled her eyes when she realized HP had gone for the mismatching crocs again, pink on her left foot and black on her right. She had those little tacky plastic things stuck into the crocs spelling out “LOVE” and “HATE.” And she was beautiful. Gera could never forget that. She’s got the kind of striking beauty that activated a prey instinct buried deep within Gera’s spine. When the woman’s cold and piercing eyes fell on Gera, she was torn between the urge to go and give her a hug or to beat cheeks to the toilet. 

The urge to hug wins. Of course. HP grumbled for a moment, but quickly accepted the hug. She smelled like oil and matchsticks. Machinery that’s been primed and ready at a moment’s notice. Staying up late taking second watch while a lone fire burns in the distance. It was a unique heady smell that Gera cherished more than she would admit. An acquired taste. 

“So, you started without me? I’m shocked, hurt even.” HP looked down at her and teased. Gera had known her long enough to know that she wasn’t really hurt. It was just a game. She had to remind her of that anyway, because this woman - her partner, she reminded herself -her coworker, really - had a way of teasing her. Toying with her. Sending her on a quick roller-coaster of emotions. But very quickly she found that the easiest way to deal with HP was to tease right back. Plus, it was fun as hell.

“Well, you happen to be over twenty minutes late, what was I supposed to do? Hope for a SynBeast to show up so you would actually hustle for once?”

“Ugh.” HP shook her head, sending her little knife earrings jangling side to side. “Please, I’ve been looking forward to this all week. Don’t speak of those horrible little things anyway. I swear to God, they go out of their way to ruin someone’s good time.”

“Alright, alright. No shop talk. Can I get you a drink, instead?” Gera knew for a fact that HP could afford her own drinks, but she wanted to offer. That’s what you did for friends, right?

“Well, since you are so politely offering, there really is no way I can refuse, is there? How about I start with a dark and stormy, cutie?” HP shot a wink that destabilized Gera for a moment before she was able to steady herself again. Fortunately, she had a job to do, so Gera had a bit of an excuse to get a little space before she got pulled too far into the taller woman’s orbit. 

After getting their libations, the two muses made their way to an empty table in the corner of the bar. It wasn’t like it was that crowded, but it was just nice having a space to call their own. Besides, technically they weren’t supposed to spend much time together outside of their missions. It was against Eternity Policy. Fighting SynBeasts could be a very dangerous job, and there were times when Muses might have to decide between killing a Beast or saving the life of their partner. Gera already knew which she would pick in a heartbeat, even if it would lower her overall rating. 

“So...” Gera took a sip and enjoyed the bite of ginger that helped the rum go down easy. There was a bit of fire at the end of the sip; they must use ginger beer instead of ale. “What do you want to toast to? It’s taken so long for you to join me for a drink, I figure it is fair if you give us a little toast.”

HP smiled at that, sharp teeth bright in the dim lights of the bar. “Hmmm… Well, fair is fair I suppose. How about this, a toast to the Eternity Energy Corporation, a subsidiary of Hexxon. If you’d never fucked around with God knows what, I would never have had the opportunity to meet this beautiful woman who I am happy to call my partner.”

The Muse of Fluff blushed and tried to look as serious as possible as she clinked glasses. “To the Eternity Energy Corporation, then! For letting just anybody tap into a source of magic that I don’t think even they fully understand yet!” 

“Thank God for that.”

Then

**Bzzt** 

“Muse Inspiration Denied. Inspiration already in use.”

He let out a growl as yet again another potential powerset was denied from him. Not that he really wanted to be the Muse of Chains, but it at least sounded cool. Something powerful and dangerous, enough to strike fear deep in the heart of the SynBeasts, if they even had a heart. It was fine. He’d made a list for this reason. 

“Alright, how about the Muse of Flames?” Floating in the void of the Muse-Space, his voice felt off, the words appearing in front of him as he hoped that this would be accepted by the extraordinarily picky software. 

**Bzzt** 

“Muse Inspiration Denied. Resonance Error. Inspiration already in use.”

“What does that even mean, you hunk of junk.” He would have balled his fists in rage if he had fists, or even individual fingers. Again he looked around for a UI, trying to see if there were any instructions besides the pulsating ball of multicolored light that kept shooting down his ideas.

He was in a void, which to be fair was a little cliché in and of itself. But nobody generally praised the Eternity Energy Corporation for their originality. Why did it always have to be a void for transformations like this? Probably because it was easier for the magic to spirit him away and change him without having to account for physics or the real world and all that. Perhaps Eternity was working on a crunched deadline and had to just get something out there. Either way, the end result was the same. He was floating and the computer was no help whatsoever. 

For a moment he continued floating, soaking in the absence of his body. He’d never realized how much it held him back until he was disconnected from it. It was nice not having to worry about if his body secretly stank, or be concerned with the amount that he sweat. There was nothing to do but float. Well, float and rack his brain about what his Muse Inspiration could be. 

“How about… The Muse of Mechanics? You know, like robotics?” He figured it was worth a shot, at least; he had always wanted to create. When he was younger, his parents signed him up for plenty of extracurriculars, and the one that they were particularly proud of him for was when he excelled at Robotics camp.

**Bzzt** 

“Muse Inspiration Denied. Resonance Error. Resonance at 50%” 

Well, that was better at least. 

Before he had the chance to suggest something else, a chipper high-pitched voice whirred from all around him. “Hi there! It looks like you could use some help?” It was the kind of voice that would have set his teeth on edge, if he even had them. Bright and polite and a little too eager. Looking around for the source of the voice, the man was surprised to see a floating navy blue three-ring binder with big googly eyes staring up at him. 

“I’m Bindr, a Help Support Device programmed by Ctrl-Alt, a Subsidiary of Hexxon. I’m reading elevated stress and multiple Muse Resonance Errors. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Uh, you know what. Sure. Sure. Hi, um. Bindr.” The man tried to be as nice as possible to the help AI. Even if it was a program, it had a face and was looking at him with big shiny eyes. “I’m just trying to figure out my Inspiration so I can become a Muse. I hope that is possible. There weren’t really any instructions.” He tried not to let the nervousness seep into his voice. He knew, technically, that only women were supposed to be Muses. There was a chance that the Resonance or whatever it was wouldn’t actually let him connect to a power. That the whole system would see him as the fraud that he really was.

If Bindr had picked up on any of his stress, it didn’t show it. It just floated a little closer, rustling its pages in glee at the ability to be useful. “Well, of course! If you made it this far through the selection process, it means you have been chosen! We just need to find the proper powerset that resonates truly with your core. May I have permission to conduct a user scan to find a proper Inspiration? Note, accepting a user scan will lock you into a powerset that is deemed best suited for your personality.”

The Muse-to-be thought it over for a moment, chewing the idea around in his mind. He hated having the choice taken away from him, and yet he was no closer to figuring out his Inspiration than he was when he first started. And if it was something that resonated with him, it wouldn’t really be cringe. Well, no more cringe than he was used to. There was always a lingering discomfort anyway when he tried to think about who he was. That was why coming up with a list of potential powers was so difficult in the first place. Might as well just turn it over to technology.

 

“Alright, lil guy. I accept an Inspiration Scan.” At least during the scanning process, it would give him some more time to get used to the idea. Maybe even figure out some fun use of the powers before he was brought back to--

**Bzzt** 

“Muse Inspiration Found!” 

Oh, shit that was fast. Too fast. Was he an open book? How easy was it for the program to read him like this? Did it always know and was waiting for him to accept its help? 

“Preparing the Divine Inspiration Process. Welcome to the Eternal Muses, Muse of Fluff.”

“Wait, wha--?” Before he could even fully respond, 

Inspiration Struck.

Now

Over the course of their first round, the pair of Magical Girls didn’t spend much time talking. What discussion there was was the light, yet stilted conversation of two coworkers still trying to figure out what exactly they had in common. Gera was trying her damndest to keep it together around HP; the taller woman seemed to have this unflappable aura that made her feel inadequate in comparison.

She readily agreed, though, when HP suggested getting another round. Watching as the woman swayed her way over to the bar, Gera had to tear her eyes away back to her phone, despite wanting to drink in her partner’s movements. They worked together. There weren't supposed to be interpersonal relationships between co-workers. It was in their Terms of Service. But how could Gera not be enthralled? In their, admittedly, short time together she had watched this woman take shots that most snipers only dreamed of. The confidence that came with those shots, the cocky swagger and controlled smile. Those made Gera flush with excitement after their missions together. She dreamily jumped from rooftop to rooftop, clutching Commander Bun to her chest, thinking about their small moments together. Once the rush of battle left her system and she found herself swept into feeling quite a different rush.

“Here we go, another Dark and Stormy for the lil lady.” HP set the drink down and settled in herself at the table.

“Thanks!” Gera squeaked, trying not to think about what it would have been like to grab the drink out of her partner’s hands. To feel the momentary casual skin contact between the two. Goddamn, she had it bad. But that was the point of this entire night, right? To create a deeper connection between partners. Maybe even something more. As much as it scared her to do so, Gera needed to take the first step. And for that, she needed a name. “So, since we agreed on no shop talk, do you mind telling me your name? Calling you HP or The Muse of High-Power Rifles sounds a little, I don’t know, impersonal.” 

“I don’t know,” HP said, shooting Gera a sly smile. “Have you been a good enough girl to get my real name? I don’t give that out to everyone, you know.”

Gera sputtered into her drink, desperate to regain composure. She was a Muse! A warrior of hope. She couldn’t be overwhelmed by every pretty woman that called her a good girl. Even if they were gorgeous and cool and deadly. “Y-Yeah I mean, I think I’ve been a very good girl.” Her cheeks were heating up, a common danger from talking to HP for too long. She didn’t have to tease her like this, it's just a name.

“Well, because I like you. And because you invited me out for drinks. My name is Marz, short for Marzipan. My parents had a strange sense of humor and a love of sweet confections. The whole thing is a little cutesy for me.” Marz looked away momentarily; wait, was she embarrassed about her name? Why would she be? Gera decided it was a lovely unique name attached to a lovely unique woman. It was then and there that she decided that she was going to help find something Marz liked about her name.

“Marz. I like it! Nice to meet you officially, Marz. You know, Mars was the Roman God of war, which kind of matches with your whole... Um. . . Well.” Gera trailed off trying to find the right words to express Marz’s unique style. 

“Dykey Covert Ops aesthetic? Yeah, I guess so. I think you can see why I keep it to myself unless I really trust someone with it. So don’t make me regret it, kay?” The words coming out of Marz’s mouth were harsh, but Gera could see a bit of red brush her partner’s cheeks. She was embarrassed. This was something that she didn’t share with anyone. Gera was special. She was trusted. She had to show that she was worthy of that trust.

“Well, if you really don’t like your name, you can always change it. Eternity Corp was really helpful when I changed my name to Gera! They handled almost all the paperwork and everything.” Sure, Gera left out the fact that changing her name was mandatory. Eternity Corp didn’t want any masculine names on the records for the Eternal Muses. Something about the press having a field day if they found out that there were trans muses. But still, she didn’t mind. It just made the bureaucracy move faster.

Gera realized the mistake that she made as soon as Marz’s face turned from a look of embarrassment to one of pure curiosity. “You changed your name through Eternity Corp? Why?” 

“Uh, well.” Gera flailed for a second, letting her mind come up with some answer that would satisfy the woman’s curiosity without sharing too much. She had never told Marz that she was trans. She wanted to, of course she did. There were moments, even, when she thought that Marz might be trans as well. Marz had told Gera once that she got into sharpshooting to prove that she could be tough like her father. And sometimes it seemed like Gera knew way more than Marz did about current fashion trends or how to properly dress like a woman. 

But maybe she was reading into it too much. And of course, Marz still expected a response. She was still flailing. Gera eventually found the words after way too long of a gap. “My old name didn’t fit that well. And my parents didn’t like me being a Muse. Thought it wasn’t appropriate. So I decided to make a clear break from the past. Really embrace the new me.” 

That seemed to have worked; Marz stopped scrutinizing her like a puzzle to be solved and returned to swirling the whiskey in her stubby glass. For a moment they let the chatter of the bar wash over the two of them, nothing from the two of them but the sound of spherical ice on glass. “Well, Gera, if I may. It is a pretty name and suits you quite well. It’s… sweet. Just like you.”

Gera tried to hide her gay panic behind another sip of her drink, but realized her glass was quite empty.

Then

The Muse of Fluff made her debut into reality heralded by the sound of scissors slicing through fabric. The subspace between the Muses’ void and her apartment opened, a spiraling cotton ball portal that pulsed and weaved itself into existence. Gera floated lazily through the portal, gently setting a ballet flat-covered foot at a time on the ground. There was a scorch mark on the floor from when she’d initiated the Muse transformation, the markings all that really remained of the man that she used to be.

For over a year Gera wondered how it would feel to actually be a Muse. To inhabit a woman’s body absolutely brimming with magical potential. She had several plans based on how cute she was and how soon she would need to leap into action. But now, in the aftermath of the magic, she felt mostly shell shocked. The true reality of the situation settled in, and although she would never regret her decision, it was at that moment that Gera realized that she had no idea what she had signed up for. That the magic could give her what she really wanted all along, hiding underneath her hunger for magic.

Gera. She was Gera. The name was no longer an aspiration, something to live up to. And if she was being honest, it had stopped being that months ago. Gera was not a hypothetical woman, but a living breathing person. Gera was her. She could just be Gera, and nobody could stop her. Not the Eternity Corporation. Not her parents. Not her boss at her shitty job. She could quit and be herself. Focus full time on hunting SynBeasts and harvesting Hope. Gera had a future that had now become her present. But was she even up to the task?

Despite the joy of her new body, something she filed away to think about more later, there was one lingering doubt. What the hell kind of power was Fluff, anyway? What was that supposed to represent? Saccharine literature online about girls hugging and yearning to hold hands and commit other unspeakable acts? Would it even have use in the field? What happened to Muses that couldn’t prove their worth- did they get the magic removed from them? Would they get their body taken away from them? 

Before she could spiral any further, Gera felt a tug at her skirt. Her skirt? She was wearing a skirt? There was time to question that later; right now she had to deal with the immediate concern. Looking down, she stared right into the button eyes of an animated stuffed rabbit. Before she had a chance to freak out, she felt a thrum of realization from deep within her core. This bunny, name to be determined later, was a part of her powers. A manifestation of her Inspiration. The little critter tugged at her skirt again, tilting its head to the side in an inquisitive manner. 

Acting mainly on instinct, the newly forged girl reached down and scooped the rabbit up in her arms. It squirmed for just a moment before going limp, allowing her to give it little scritches around its ears. This felt. . . Good. It felt right. 

She was reminded of another camp that her parents sent her to. Some art camp where Gera had failed miserably at painting and drawing, her hands shaking a little too much for the delicate strokes needed. One thing that she had loved was sewing. 

She remembers the pride in making her own stuffed rabbit. There were a few patterns to choose from, but the rabbit seemed the most unique. She had to make the long ears and figure out how to make them floppy, but not too floppy. It took longer than it probably should have. She had less art to show off at the end of the week than the other students. But she couldn’t help but beam with pride at the details that she was able to work into her rabbit. 

Her parents weren’t particularly pleased when they showed up and she showed off her craft. They wanted to know why she had spent all her time doing simple craftwork when they had paid for camp at an Art Museum. They wanted to see strides in her perspective work, or maybe 3D design. The director of the camp, an older woman with gray-speckled hair and tired eyes, tried to explain to Gera’s parents that this was high quality work. They listened and pretended to have a greater understanding, but Gera was good enough at reading her parents by then to realize she had disappointed them. On the ride home from camp, she clutched the bunny in her arms while they argued in hush tones about what to do with their effeminate son. 

How could she have forgotten this? Even with the rough parent reaction, creating her bunny was one of her prize accomplishments in middle school. G Bundam had held a place of honor in her room, sitting on her bedside table when he wasn’t in her bed. Keeping watch over her to keep the nightmares away. When puberty changed her in ways she wasn’t comfortable with, she found solace in clutching G Bundam and hoping that everything would be okay. That she wouldn’t have to learn how to shave her face. That she wouldn’t be separated to sit with the other boys during their private health classes. That she could be more like her friends.

The summer before high school she had come home from an overnight Sports Adventure camp to find her room cleaned and reorganized. Her mother said it was to “get her bright young man organized for high school,” but Gera quickly realized that G Bundam, some friendship bracelets, and other “childish things” were gone. Her parents were done indulging her. It was time to grow up.

And yet here she was. An adult woman crying her eyes out and clutching a soft bunny to her chest. The sensation was familiar, and yet completely unique to her. She could feel the curve of her chest pressed against the gentle fuzz of the bunny. In that moment she remembered the joy that she used to have in life. The wide-eyed enthusiasm that filled her that one summer to create something beautiful. To sew and stuff and imbue raw materials with a completely unique and special personality. 

The bunny was new. But that was okay. She was too. Something the two of them had in common, cut from the same cloth. 

There would be time later to become reacquainted with her body. To face the world with a smile on her face and bring hope to a frightened crowd. But for now, she was a girl giving a stuffed animal a hug. She needed this, and she was done trying to pretend she didn’t.