No she can't

Dheris’s stomach growled loud enough that Chell’s ears flicked in surprise. The warrior hadn’t eaten properly since before the gates. She stared at the plate in front of her for half a second, then reached out with both hands, tore off a chunk of meat, and shoved it into her mouth. Grease smeared her fingers. She chewed fast, swallowed, went for the bread next, ripping it apart like it owed her money.

The old maid’s voice cut through the air.

“Hands are not for eating at this table.”

Dheris froze mid-bite, bread halfway to her mouth. Every porcelain maid at the table had paused, forks suspended, eyes fixed on her. The older one got up and stepped closer, posture rigid.

“Use the utensils provided. Properly.”

Dheris wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, another small sin that made the old maid’s lips thin further and set the bread down. She picked up the knife and fork with deliberate slowness. The fork felt tiny in her scarred fingers. She stabbed at a piece of meat, missed the first time, scraped the crystal plate with a screech that made Elizabeth wince. When she finally got a bite speared, she sawed at it with the knife, too hard, too fast. The meat tore instead of slicing clean. Sauce splattered onto the pristine white napkin in her lap. She tried again. The fork slipped. A vegetable rolled off the plate and onto the floor.

She growled low in her throat.

The old maid watched without blinking.

Dheris tried one more time, lifted the fork to her mouth like she’d seen Genevive do a hundred times at camp. The meat fell off halfway. It landed on her thigh with a wet slap.

That was it.

Dheris slammed both hands down on the crystal table. The impact cracked the surface in a spiderweb of fractures that raced outward. Goblets tipped. Wine spilled in dark rivers. Plates slid and shattered on the floor.

“Enough of this bullshit!” she roared. She shoved her chair back so hard it toppled, then swept her arm across the table, sending her own plate flying. It hit the far wall and exploded into shards.

She rounded on the old maid, greatsword already in her grip from where she’d left it leaning against the wall. “I’ll deal with this my way, using strength!”

She swung in a wide arc, blade whistling through the air straight for the maid’s neck.

The old maid stepped sideways, effortless, almost bored. The sword passed through empty space. Dheris stumbled forward from the momentum.

A soft, disappointed tsk came from the maid’s lips.

“If you insist on acting like a beast,” she said, “you might as well be one.”

She raised one gloved hand. A flash of pale gold light erupted from her palm and swallowed Dheris whole.

When the light cleared, Dheris was naked.

Her armor, her clothes, her sword was gone. She stood on all fours, palms flat against the floor, knees spread, back arched. Her red hair hung in her face. A thick leather collar circled her neck, chain dangling loose. Her scarred body glistened with sudden sweat. She panted hard, tongue lolling out, eyes wide and glassy. Then she barked, sharp, loud, ridiculous. Another bark followed. She shook her head like she was trying to clear it, but only managed to make her heavy tits swing.

The seated maids resumed eating as if nothing had happened.

A silver door manifested in the mirrored wall opposite the entrance, number 3 etched across it in gold. It swung open silently, revealing another shimmering portal.

The old maid gestured toward it with the same calm flick of her hand.

“Move on,” she said. “The master awaits.”

No one else was strong enough to carry Genevive’s golden statue. Dheris had been the only one who could heft it like luggage. The old maid looked down at the panting warrior-turned-dog.

“Pick her up,” she instructed. “In your mouth. Like a good pet drags her toy.”

Dheris whined once, low, confused then crawled forward. She lowered her head, teeth closing carefully around the statue’s golden ankle. Genevive’s frozen ahegao face stared blankly ahead as Dheris dragged her backward across the polished floor, chain clinking, heavy metal scraping faint lines in the wood. The warrior’s bare ass swayed with each pull, tailbone high, panting between tugs as they passed through the door.

Roisin pushed off the wall she’d been leaning against. She sauntered past the old maid on her way to the door, reached out and delivered a sharp, playful spank to the maid’s ass through the starched grey fabric. The impact made a crisp sound. The maid didn’t flinch, didn’t react, keeping her stern expression in place. Roisin laughed low, red eyes flashing and stepped through the portal.

Chell and Elizabeth stayed rooted for a second longer.

“Wait–please,” Chell started, voice small. “There has to be a way to fix this. We can–”

Elizabeth jumped in, hands raised. “Yeah, come on, let’s talk about this. We’ll do the manners thing right, or whatever you want…”

The old maid flicked one finger.

The door with the number 3 slid forward across the floor like it weighed nothing, growing larger as it approached. It swallowed Chell and Elizabeth in a blink of silver light. Both yelped, Chell’s ears flattening, Elizabeth’s arms windmilling before they vanished through the threshold.

The portal sealed behind them.

The dining room fell silent again. The old maid watched the door shimmer out of existence, expression unchanged, then turned back to her table as if the interruption had never happened.