Grace

Monday morning arrived with a deceptive sort of peace.

Sunlight filtered through gauzy pink curtains, washing the bedroom in warm gold. Craig lay on his back beneath impossibly soft sheets, staring at the canopy above his four-poster bed while the events of the previous night drifted lazily through his mind.

The shrine.

The candle.

Eros.

The memory of the god's smile alone was enough to make Craig's panties feel too tight.

"No," he muttered to the empty room. "Not thinking about that."

He pushed himself upright. Immediately, another thought brought a small measure of relief. Good. The outfit Eros had dressed him in during their strange encounter was gone. Instead, he found himself wearing exactly what he'd chosen before lighting the candle. A peach-coloured sheer babydoll clung lightly to his body, the delicate fabric falling to the tops of his thighs. Beneath it sat the matching G-string he'd selected himself. At least that much remained under his control.

"I'll take the victories where I can get them."

The words sounded hollow, but they still helped. His feet slipped automatically into the high-heeled shoes waiting beside the bed. Their steep incline immediately eased the stiffness in his calves, another absurdity that had somehow become normal. Craig still hated that, despite the clear fact that his his body didn't.

Standing, he stretched, listening to a few joints protest before glancing toward the clock. It was still early. Plenty of time before work. That meant plenty of time to wonder what fresh insanity awaited him.

Every workday lately felt like spinning a roulette wheel. One day he'd be doing laundry. Another he'd been baking cookies. It has gone as far as the humiliating afternoon spent dressing and undressing his boss.

But every afternoon ended the same way: Pole dancing. His promotion into management had somehow transformed into... whatever this bizarre career path had become.

Craig rubbed both hands over his face.

"What am I even employed to do anymore?"

The answer certainly wasn't management.

Ironically, his second career made far more financial sense. Streaming. Even thinking the word still felt strange. Apparently thousands of people adored him. Apparently sponsors wanted him. Apparently companies were paying staggering amounts of money for videos Craig didn't remember making.

Yesterday's awkward unboxing had proven one thing. While the audience already existed, and the money certainly existed, any idea that he would be able to preserve his dignity while performing was out of the question. Sure, it would be profitable, much more profitable than he'd ever imagined becoming in his life, but the payoff would be humiliation, even if the rest of the world didn't see it that way.

How far could he take it? How much could he endure for the cash? Of course, he didn't want to actually become whatever version of himself that existed online. It was bad enough having to go to the office in a skirt and heels (no matter how cute those heels were), but to show himself off, act like he had the previous evening, all the time? For thousands, perhaps millions of viewers?

No. He wasn't sure he could go through with it. While at the same time, he wasn't sure he'd be able to turn it down either. The income was beyond incredible. Maybe he had a price. Maybe he had just found it.

A glance at his phone showed he'd beaten the alarm by nearly forty minutes. Craig silenced it before it could ring and headed for the washroom.

Some routines, at least, remained predictable. The morning bathroom visit no longer required experimentation. He simply accepted reality, sat down, and relieved himself without argument. It was still ridiculous. Still humiliating. Still easier than fighting a body that apparently had entirely different ideas now.

Finished, he washed his hands beneath a polished marble sink, proving that the opulence of his living condition was increasing by the day. The bathroom itself had transformed again, now mostly pink, but with a large soaking tub, archways, and tall windows added. Fresh flowers adorned the room, and it smelled clean and crisp, as if a service had just been through tidying up for him. It looked more like the washroom the Presidential Suite of a hotel than an apartment bathroom.

Only when he straightened did he notice his reflection. Craig froze.

"...No."

Large, elegant, gold hoops. Dangling from both ears. His hands immediately reached upward. They swung gently beneath his fingertips. His ears were pierced. Not freshly pierced, either. No tenderness. No soreness. Nothing. The jewellery felt completely natural, as though he'd been wearing earrings every day for years.

"Oh, come on."

He turned his head. The earrings caught the morning light.

"They're real?"

Apparently they were.

"Dammit."

The word echoed around the large tiled bathroom.

With an irritated sigh, Craig peeled off the babydoll and matching underwear before stepping beneath the warm spray of the large walk-in shower that took up a quarter of the room. The floral shampoo smelled expensive. The body wash somehow made his skin softer every time he used it. The shower itself had a rain function that he enjoyed, standing on his toes, allowing the ceiling's fixture to drench him with warm water.

Then, water off, Craig tiptoed out and picked up a container of moisturiser. Starting with his smooth legs, up his thighs, over his groin, his torso, his arms, neck, sealing in the moisture, making sure his skin would remain smooth and delicate. He ran his smooth hands over his skin, luxuriating in the sensation. Then he paused.

"...Seriously?"

Since when did he use moisturizer? Even his skincare routine had become automatic.

He dried himself, slipped back into his heels and wandered naked into the bedroom. Living alone did have advantages. It was nice to be able to just walk out of the washroom without having to cover up. There was no worry of awkward encounters with Frank. No scrambling for towels. No worrying about someone walking in unexpectedly.

Sure, Craig missed having his best friend in the apartment. Still...

Privacy had its perks.

Opening the wardrobe produced yet another reminder that Eros had been busy. It seemed larger. Again. New blouses. New skirts. Rows of dresses. Shoes that hadn't existed yesterday. Jewellery. Scarves. Handbags. The wardrobe expanded almost daily now. Trying to catalogue it had become impossible.

"I'll just pretend this isn't happening."

He selected the first outfit that seemed remotely suitable for work. Remembering what Daniel, his immediate supervisor would say if he didn't wear one, he started with a baby-blue bra. Then the matching panties, pantyhose, a charcoal-grey skirt with a tasteful slit, and a dark blue blouse with softly puffed sleeves. After stepping into the glossy heels he'd selected with the outfit (relief!), he assessed the clothes he'd selected.

Professional enough. At least by whatever standards reality currently operated under.

Fully dressed, Craig approached the mirror. He paused. Then sighed. The familiar pull had already begun.

Lipstick? Just a little.

Eyeliner? Simple cat-eye.

Perfume? One spray. Then another.

"There."

He frowned at himself. Every morning he wanted to resist, but his hands had other plans. At least, by how good he looked in his makeup, he'd become very good at it.

Purse collected, compact makeup tucked inside almost automatically, Craig headed toward the kitchen in search of breakfast. Halfway through the doorway, he stopped so abruptly his heel squeaked against the floor.

Three women sat comfortably around his kitchen table drinking coffee. Conversation ceased. All three looked up together.

The first was a tall redhead in a flowing floral dress whose posture somehow managed to be both regal and relaxed. Beside her sat a brunette with bright eyes and an infectious smile that suggested she found joy in almost everything. The third...

Craig's heart skipped.

She was breathtaking. Not merely attractive. Not merely beautiful. Looking directly at her felt like staring into sunlight reflecting off fresh snow. His eyes actually watered. The sensation wasn't desire. Not exactly. It was something stranger. The overwhelming awareness that beauty could exist in a form almost too perfect to process.

"What..."

The single word barely escaped. The smiling brunette immediately rose to her feet.

"Oh!" she said brightly. "Wonderful. Our host's awake."

Craig blinked.

"I'm sorry..."

The woman offered an elegant little curtsy.

"Where are my manners? Allow us to introduce ourselves," she gestured to herself. "I'm Euphrosyne." Then toward the redhead. "My sister, Thalia." Finally, she rested a gentle hand on the blonde's shoulder. "And Aglaea." The blonde smiled.

Even that nearly made Craig forget how language worked. Together, the three women regarded him with warm curiosity, as though they'd known him for years. Craig looked from one stranger to the next. Then back toward his apartment door. Then back again.

"I think..." he said slowly, "...I'm still not fully awake."

Thalia laughed first. A rich, warm sound that filled the kitchen.

"We considered waiting until after breakfast," Euphrosyne admitted, "but Eros insisted we'd find you before then."

Craig's stomach sank.

"Eros."

"Yes."

"I... don't suppose you're here to tell me this has all been a misunderstanding."

Three sympathetic expressions answered him.

"No," Aglaea said softly.

Her voice carried the same impossible quality as her appearance. Gentle. Musical. Almost painful in its perfection.

"We're here as a gift."

Craig stared. The brunette smiled again.

"He said," Euphrosyne continued, "'Craig could use a little grace.'"

She spread her arms toward herself and her sisters.

"So..."

Another bright smile.

"...here we are."