Mercury

Some hours later, as the five college age women lay down and try to sleep, one of them is beset by strange and all consuming dreams. She twists and turns in her bed, sweat bearing down her forehead and rapidly coating her body. Head shaking, and her face a wash in a mix of apprehension and growing pleasure. Within her dreams, her lithe figure is clad once more in her sailor guardian uniform, is racing through the streets.

She’s not sure why she’s running, she doesn’t know where she’s running. But she knows that it’s important that she does. Her skirt flutters with every step, an unfamiliar breeze rushing below the pleated fabric. This breeze is warm, and practically tickling her thighs and crotch. She would stop running to blush at this sensation, if she didn’t know that she desperately has to keep running.

As she runs farther and farther, the city’s skyline falls lower and lower, its long and sharp shadows no longer obscuring her path. She soon feels something new, a growing warmth deep within her, a faint burning, a hunger she has never before felt. She instinctively licks her lips, her mouth watering at the growing gnawing hunger. Souring her on even faster and harder, her formerly stark white suit turning black and glistening.

Her gloves flowing back along her arms, becoming pointed and growing sharp talons. Her boots similarly flow up her legs becoming pointed thigh highs. Her skirt remains short, though it’s material becomes semi translucent, nearly crystalline in appearance. The collar of her suit dissolves in the wind and the neckline drops toward her naval. The gemstone upon her chest shifting into a brilliant crystalline snowflake.

She finally comes to a stop, standing on the corner of a rooftop, she glares out over the almost empty streets below. Her eyes grow sharp, the whites turning black, the irises now glowing a pale frost blue. As they narrow upon a feminine forms below, her simple tiara morphs into an elegant crystalline crown with seven sharp points ascending from her hairline. Her focus narrows beyond the young woman, and in to her chest at a warm and glowing golden energy.

Leaping from the roof and falling to the street below, gone is the guardian of love and peace. Gone is the heroine who defends the innocent. In her place is a cold and calculating mistress of ice and snow, a queen of the cold. To reflect this her skin becomes like living ice, light blow and glistening with stark white veins on the sides of her face. Her feet strike the concrete, flash freezing the surface.

With each step, the concrete is iced over, and her very presence begins turning ambient water vapor to ice crystals in the air. She swiftly grasps the young woman, and with a single motion she twirls her victim to face her. She then leans in and presses her frozen lips to the young woman’s own, drawing all warmth and life **** from within her chest.

With a scream of ecstasy she releases the frozen dedicated victim, her own body now overflowing with power and arousal. Gone is the shy bookworm, the doctor in training, the young woman who would break out in a rash in the presence of a love letter. Sailor Mercury is no more, in her place is Youma Queen. What is a queen without loyal subjects?