No

He swallowed hard. The sketchbook was one thing. This was— "No." The word cracked out before he could second-guess it. "This isn’t..." His gaze flicked to Jane’s old seat, where a ghost of memory lingered: Jane hunched over her notebook, biting her lip in concentration, her hair tucked behind ears she’d always thought were too big. "You changed yourself, fine. But her?" He stepped back. "I liked *you* before. The real you."

Jane blinked. For a heartbeat, her smirk faltered. Then—laughter, bright and startled, bubbled out of her. "Oh my god," she gasped, clutching her stomach. "You *liked* me? When I looked like a—a *goblin*?" But her eyes were shining, and she didn’t snap her fingers again. Emily stayed frozen mid-transformation, furred ears twitching in confusion.

Jane lunged forward, catching John’s face in both hands. Her kiss was messy, impulsive, and tasted like cherry lip gloss. She pulled back, grinning. "Congratulations," she breathed. "You pass."

A rush of warmth flooded John’s chest—until the classroom dissolved around them. The desks warped, the walls stretched, and suddenly they stood in a void of swirling colors, Emily’s whimpers fading into static. Jane winked. "Wanna see what *real* power looks like?" She twirled, and the world reassembled: golden sunlight, the scent of old books, and Jane—*his* Jane, glasses askew, her too-big sweater swallowing her frame.

"You..." John stammered.

Jane adjusted her glasses sheepishly. "Turns out," she muttered, "being God’s lonely if everyone just... obeys." She kicked at the floor. "So. Want to grab lunch? Like, *normal* lunch?"

John burst out laughing. Jane—small, sweet, *his* Jane—grinned back. Maybe reality *was* hers to bend. But this? This was better.

Emily—now decidedly feline—cleared her throat. "Uh, guys?" Her tail flicked anxiously. "Can we *not* undo this part?" She patted her own ears, then gave an experimental stretch that showcased the new, impossible flexibility of her spine. "I mean... I *did* binge anime all summer." Her cheeks flushed beneath soft, downy fur. "And let’s be real—" She gestured at herself. "*Upgrade*."

Jane’s mouth dropped open. "Wait. You *like* being my weird magical experiment?"

Emily rolled her shoulders, her back arching in a way that would’ve shattered a human spine. "Duh. Also—" She hesitated, then licked the back of her hand with a rough, pink tongue. "*Huh*. That’s... kinda nice?" Her pupils dilated—slit-wide and intrigued.

John rubbed his temples. "Okay. So. We’ve got..." He counted off on his fingers. "A god, a catgirl, and whatever *I* am now."

Jane elbowed him. "The *mortal*." She said it like it was a job title. Then, softer: "And my dumbass crush."

The words hung there—raw and real. John’s breath caught. Before he could respond, Emily *pounced*, knocking them both onto a suddenly-appearing beanbag. "Group hug!" she yowled, purring like an engine.

Jane squirmed, laughing. "Ew! Your fur’s *tickling* me—"

John, crushed beneath them, couldn’t stop grinning. "So," he wheezed. "Lunch?"

Jane snapped her fingers—and the room *rippled*. The ceiling peeled back like cellophane, revealing not sky, but a diner booth suspended in starlight. Burgers materialized, steaming. Emily’s tail thumped against the vinyl. "Okay," she said, grabbing a fry. "*Now* you’re just showing off."

Jane smirked. "Damn right." Then, quieter, to John: "Next stop—dessert." Her fingers brushed his under the table. "If you want."

He did.

John barely tasted the burger—his pulse hammered too loud, drowning out everything but the press of Jane’s thigh against his under the table. Emily, meanwhile, demolished her meal with feline abandon, ketchup smeared across her whiskers. "So," she mumbled around a mouthful of fries, "what’s the *limit* of your powers?" Her tail curled around Jane’s wrist possessively. "Like, can you turn *me* into a dragon next?"

Jane rolled her eyes but flicked her fingers anyway. Emily’s ears elongated into delicate, iridescent scales, her irises burning gold. "Holy *shit*," Emily breathed, flexing claws that gleamed like obsidian. Then—*pop*—she was human again, blinking at her normal hands. Jane shrugged. "Dragon-size orgasms *wreck* reality. Learned that the hard way."

John choked on his soda.

Jane grinned, unrepentant, and snapped again. The diner melted like wet paint—reforming as John’s bedroom, Emily sprawled across his rug kneading the fabric with her (once again feline) claws. Jane flopped onto his bed, her sweater riding up to expose a sliver of soft stomach. "Okay, serious talk," she said, suddenly earnest. "I *could* rewrite the universe so we’re all, like, cosmic deities or whatever." Her fingers plucked at his bedsheet. "But..."

John caught her hand. "But?"

Jane’s cheeks pinked. "I kinda wanna be *stupid* first."

Emily snorted. "Define ‘stupid.’"

"*This.*" Jane gestured at them all—herself in glasses, John’s half-eaten burger abandoned on his nightstand, Emily gnawing on a shoelace. "Normal-dumb. Before I..." She hesitated. "*Forget* how to want it."

John’s chest ached. He squeezed her fingers. "So no more magic?"

Jane bit her lip—then grinned. "*Temporary* no more magic." She snapped—a weak, sparkless flick—and nothing happened. "Ta-da! Mundane mode activated."

Emily gasped in mock horror. "*Sacrilege*."

John laughed, tugging Jane closer. Her breath hitched when his thumb brushed the freckle beneath her ear—the one she’d hated before. "Perfect," he murmured.

Then Emily pounced, knocking them sideways. "Cuddle pile!" she yowled, all limbs and purring.

Jane yelped, but she was laughing—*really* laughing—as they tumbled together, tangled and warm and *ordinary*.

For now.