Or is it a new beginning?

Disclaimer: This story is only for audiences 18 years of age or older. All characters depicted in intimate situations are over 18 years old. This story deals with themes of mental manipulation and control as well as dubious consent. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, turn back now. All characters and stories depicted herein are original Hypnogriff creations and copyrights, unless noted otherwise.

Carrie traced her finger around the edge of the cool, violet metal. The weight of the collar felt oddly familiar, comforting even. Carrie didn’t know where it had come from, but she knew it belonged around her neck. It was part of being Mistress’s slave. And she was Mistress’s slave. She knew that as surely as she knew her name was Carrie and that she liked having her cunnie played with.

“Has your little brain turned back on, pet?”

The words cut through all the noise in the room, like no other sound could exist in a world with such an angelic voice. Carrie felt every fiber of her being bristle, snapping to perfect attention. “Yes, Mistress!”

Vilette crossed to her, narrow eyes meeting Carrie’s own vacant gaze like she was searching for something. “What are you?”

“Your slave,” Carrie said, the words coming effortlessly.

“And no part of you resents that?”

Carrie giggled. “How would that, like, even work? That would be like the sky being mad about being blue. It just is blue. I just am a slave. It’s all I am.”

Vilette cackled in response. “Oh, I do love watching a mortal spirit break so completely. Yes, I believe my work here is done.”

Carrie didn’t really understand what it meant to have her ‘spirit broken,’ but if it made Mistress happy, it made her happy. “I love it too. I’m, like, sooo broken for you,” she purred.

“Yes, you finally are, at last. Now there’s just the matter of cleaning up all this collateral damage you caused,” Vilette said, gesturing around the vast ballroom.

Carrie became aware of the rest of the chamber for the first time since her wish. All her classmates were standing around, staring, slack jawed with their own violet collars. Rashmi had collapsed as she’d been swept into her own trance, and landed face on the floor, ass up, Vicky and Christian looming over her like sweaty statues. Carrie could also make out the faces of Gwennie and Mrs. Sharpe equally immobile in the crowd.

“You know, I usually just take the one girl, but you inspired me,” Vilette mused. “You were just so sloppy with my magic.”

“I’m a sloppy girl,” Carrie agreed. Mistress seemed to like it when she debased herself.

“You really are, or at least were. Since they’d all been affected by my magic, I couldn’t just leave them. They could expose the existence of fairies. No, better to take the whole lot.”

“I’m glad we can all serve you together, Mistress.”

“Oh, you think I’m keeping these vermin?” Vilette chided with cold condescension. “This fact may have escaped your empty little head, but I have very particular tastes. You’re the only one of these animals suitable to serve me. I’ll sell the others.”

“Sell them?” Carrie balked.

“Don’t act so surprised. Plenty of my kind enjoy having humans as slaves, or decoration, or food, but only a few of us have the will power to domesticate you. It’s nothing personal, dear.”

Sell Mrs. Sharpe? Sell Rashmi? Sell Daddy? “Even Daddy?” She looked over to the most handsome man she’d ever handled and felt a pang of sadness. He remained as motionless and entranced as all her other peers.

“Especially him,” Vilette grumbled. “Honestly your obsession with that man child has far outlived its usefulness. It’s time I sever it.”

“But I’ll always love Daddy.”

“No. He means nothing to you. Your heart belongs to me,” Vilette said with a snap.

Carrie blinked and it was like she was seeing Daddy, no Travis, for the first time. He was handsome, sure, but he was nothing compared to Mistress; the ethereal perfection of her beauty, the cold command of her voice, the lethal grace of her movements. She was just perfect. Next to her, Travis was just . . . plain. “Oh, you're right. I just love you, Mistress.”

Vilette laid a casual, possessive hand on Carrie’s left breast, more to make a point than anything. “Exactly.”

Carrie leaned into the touch, so happy that her Mistress wanted to play with her titty. But alas, the heavenly sensation ceased as Vilette pulled back her hand and snapped.

“Jenny, get this filth out of my sight. Take them to the dungeons until we can arrange an auction.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Carrie watched as another her strutted onto the stage. The girl looked just like her, pink eyes, thick thighs and an empty headed smile. Her long legs flashed from beneath the folds of a scandalously short maid skirt that exposed her panties with every step. She took Travis’s hand and began leading him away. Carrie didn’t feel a thing. She gradually realized, lots of hers were coming into the ballroom, leading all her classmates away one by one. None of them put up the slightest fight, even Mrs. Sharpe stumbled along like a sleepwalker, obediently following the Carrie clone.

“Not that one.”

Carrie turned to see another clone of herself guiding Gwennie towards the dungeons.

“A deal’s a deal, unfortunately. I’ll have to find some use for her. She should start waking up soon, along with the others. Take her to the salon, and see if you can do something about her disgustingly light hair. She’ll ruin the matching set if we leave it as is.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Then the clone started off in another direction, Gwennie in tow.

That was when Carrie noticed that no one had come to collect Rashmi. The quizbowl captain was still drooling onto the marble floor tile, bare ass swaying slightly in the air. “What about Rash?”

Vilette’s icy eyes lit up with frigid delight. “Thank you for reminding me. I had something special planned for her.”

“Oh, good.” It only made sense that if Gwennie got special treatment, Rashmi should too. Rashmi was her bestie after all.

“I want you to imprison her yourself.”

“What?”

Suddenly Vilette had closed the distance between them, her mouth hovering tantalizingly close to Carrie’s own. “It turns me on to watch you miserable mortals turn on each other. Really, I should do worse to her for all the delay she cost me. Just a few words from me and you would flog her, beat her, whatever I wanted. And I would so fucking love to see that.”

Carrie was trembling. She knew it was true, and that knowledge gave her tummy twisty backflip feelings. She didn’t want to hurt Rashmi. She opened her mouth to object, but something stopped her, some faint murmur from underneath the pink. Some deeply buried part of her was screaming out that if she did that, Vilette would extinguish all her love for Rashmi, just as she’d done to D. . . Travis. So instead, she just bowed her head and murmured. “Your wish is my command, Mistress.”

Her Mistress seemed to like that since her hand darted between Carrie’s legs and began roughly rubbing her clitty. “That’s right, whore. You grant my wishes now. And I am going to have so much fun with you. Now haul this slut off to the dungeons and then meet me in my quarters.”

Carrie started to ask where the dungeons were, but found she already knew. Apparently the slave wish had imparted her with a full working memory of the palace as well as Vilette’s personal preferences. Carrie’s thighs went all tingly, not just from the touch, but from the understanding that she could please her Mistress so much better now. With a great feat of will she pulled away to fulfill her Mistress’s commands.

Rashmi’s inert form proved easy enough to manipulate. She seemed to respond to basic poking and prodding. Carrie was able to grip her ample ass and pull her down into a sitting position. From there a firm tug on the shoulders caused the captain to stumble up to her feet. The hardest part turned out to be the dress. Carrie felt like she should pull it back down and not parade her bestie around with her cha-cha out, especially since it was still all sticky. However the silver slip of a thing just refused to slide back down. Her bestie’s booty had grown too bountiful to be so bound. At last, Carrie yanked with all her magically enhanced strength and managed to get it about halfway around her friend’s hips, digging the metal chains into Rashmi’s shoulders in the process. Her cha-cha was still visible from some angles, but Carrie decided it would have to be good enough. She took Rashmi’s flaccid hand and began guiding her down a corridor.

The lavish luxury of the ballroom fell away as they descended a winding stone stair. Only the steady click, click, click of high heels broke the heavy silence of the narrow passage. Carrie’s preternatural cheer skills let her balance easily on the uneven path, but Rashmi had more trouble. At one point, she toppled over, certainly not helped by her newly top-heavy center of gravity. Of course, Carrie caught her, and pulled her pillowy chest against Carrie’s own, bracing them between the narrow walls and arresting the fall with the snug fit.

Dim torchlight danced across Rashmi’s round cheeks and flowing black hair.Carrie couldn’t help but stare. Her bestie really was beautiful, now more so than ever. Then life began to return to Rashmi’s eyes. She blinked once, twice and then gasped. “Carrie? Where are we? What happened to Christian and Vicky? We weren’t done playing.”

Carrie’s eye stung a little, though she didn’t understand why. “Others already came for them. Mistress wants you to go down here.” Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say ‘wants you locked away until you’re sold.’

Rashmi traced her own collar clearly lost in thought. “If that’s what Mistress wants.”

The stinging got worse. “It is. Please follow me.”

With a healthy helping of wiggling and squirming, the pair managed to un-wedge themselves and continue down the stairs. Neither spoke for a time until grids of iron broke the monotonous montage of stone hallway. Rashmi finally cleared her throat. “Um, Carrie? Did we, like, have a fight? I think I was mad at you, but the memory’s all foggy, like a steamy shower.”

Carrie remembered everything, couldn’t stop remembering it. Her eyes closed, desperately trying to build a dam against the rising tide of water. “Yeah, we did.”

“Oh,” Rashmi chirped. “I’m, like, sorry.”

Carrie stifled a whimper. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. I was a meanie.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“Just like that,” Carrie croaked. “But you don’t even remember what I did.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It, like, totally does.”

“Nu-uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Nu-uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

This continued for some time, all the way to Rashmi’s cell. Carrie’s feet seemed to know which one had been set aside for Rashmi. It was her turn to ‘Yeah-huh,’ but she didn’t. She was too preoccupied looking at the utilitarian cell, a stark contrast to the well appointed ballroom over their heads. When she spoke again, she simply said, “How can you, like, forgive me?”

Rashmi shrugged. “Because I love you, duh.”

The words pierced Carrie’s heart like an arrow through straw, or a cock through her pussy, or a cock through any of her other holes. “You what?”

“I love you, silly.” Rashmi repeated. “Oh, that feels so much better, like a weight’s off my chest.” She pranced in place a little, sending her chains jingling again. “Okay, my chest still feels bouncy heavy, but you, like, get it.”

Carrie stood stunned. It seemed so obvious, even to her fog filled head. So many things made sense now; years of friendship redefined in an instant, all those conversations, all those slumber parties, what could have been.

Before all this, Carrie wouldn’t have been able to imagine herself with a woman, wouldn’t have appreciated the swell of Rashmi’s curves or the taste of her lips or the bounce of her breasts. That had all changed. Now Carrie was as bi as one of those old-timey planes with the big propeller. She knew she should say it back, longed to say it back, but she couldn’t. Her heart belonged to her Mistress. For that reason, all she could say was, “Thanks, Rash. I don’t deserve you.”

“Well you’ve got me anyway,” Rashmi said cheerfully. “I’m glad we can be slaves together forever and ever.”

“Yeah.” Carrie couldn’t summon the strength to tell Rashmi she was going to be sold and they’d likely never see each other again after that. “Mistress wants you to wait in here.”

“Okey-dokey.” Rashmi trotted right into the cell, never once doubting her friend, even as the iron bars swung shut behind her. “How long?”

“Not long,” Carrie lied. “I’m sure I’ll be back to get you in no time.”

“Kay.”

Carrie felt like she should say something, but the words just wouldn’t come, so she just nodded and turned to leave.

“Carrie?”

“Yeah?”

“Hurry back. I miss you already.”

Another stifled whimper. “Yeah, like, totally.”

Rashmi began rocking on her heels, passing the time by bouncing her breasts and jingling her chains. The steady clinking noise echoed down the hall as Carrie walked away. Visions of what could have been haunted her all the way to Vilette’s chambers. All those times Rashmi had fallen asleep on the bus to a competition, head nuzzled into Carrie’s shoulder. What if she’d just pulled Rashmi closer and stroked her hair while she slept? All those whispered sleep over conversations. What if she’d just leaned a little further and brought their lips together? All those stolen glances, those pregnant pauses. What if she’d just asked how Rash felt? Maybe everything would be different.

No. None of that mattered anymore. Carrie was Vilette’s slave and she only loved her Mistress, like a good girl. She came to a stop before the ornate oaken doors of Vilette’s bedroom, and tried to get a hold of herself. She had to move on. She couldn’t change what happened with Rashmi, but at least she could be a good slave for her Mistress. With renewed determination, she opened the door and stepped inside.

Stars. There were stars everywhere, visible through tall, arched windows that ringed the room and let in a soft diaphanous light. But the real beauty was inside. Vilette stood at the edge of an enormous bed with bright violet sheets. She wore a translucent robe that silhouetted her slender figure against the moonlight.

Carrie had never seen anything so perfect. “Wow.”

“I see you finished your little errand,” Vilette said, turning and perching on the edge of the bed. “How did she take it? Did she cry? Did she beg you not to leave her?”

“No, she was happy. She trusts me.”

Vilette’s cackle bounced off the stone walls. “That’s even better. I can’t wait until she’s auctioned off to some brute who’ll shred her mind and leave her little more than human furniture. Serves her right for jeopardizing my conquest.”

“Nothing must interfere with Mistress,” Carrie agreed, despite the lingering burning behind her eyes.

“I’d say that deserves a drink. Bring me some champagne, pet.”

“Yes, Mistress!” Suddenly the world narrowed down to a single bottle sitting in a bucket of ice. Carrie strutted across the room to the bedside and began pouring. The purpose eclipsed all the other thoughts in her mind. No more regrets, or wonderings or thinky headaches; only obedience. Carrie gave a contented sigh as the bubbles filled the flute and satisfaction filled her soul. She brought the glass over to Vilette, so thankful for the release of submission.

“You know this is my favorite part.”

“The bubbles?”

“No, you simpleton,” Vilette said with a long sip. “The breaking. You were so wildly entitled and arrogant, but look at you now, kneeling before me without a thought in your head.”

“But, Mistress, I’m not kneeling,” Carrie said, confused.

Vilette only responded with a pointed stare.

The newly minted slave yelped and dove to the ground, skidding her knees across the hard stone. But that didn’t bother her, nothing Mistress did could bother her. She suddenly flashed back to her wish with Travis and realized Vilette had been pushing her, grooming her this whole time. Every wish was designed to mold her into the perfect slave. She was in awe.

“Better,” Vilette mused. “Although you still look too dignified. Pull your dress down.”

Carrie complied instantly, boobs bursting free with a massive bounce the instant the straps left her shoulders. She stared hopefully up at her savior, so glad she had her new body to offer. Yet another brilliant move by her new owner. But then she blushed and covered herself with her hands as best she could. “Mistress, don’t look. My boobies will make you all spacey.”

Vilette scoffed. “Please, that's magic I gave you. It can’t affect me. It’s a simple charm, really.”

Carrie sighed in relief and dropped her hands, letting her heavy breasts fall free.

“That’s better. Pull the dress up too. Your breasts, your ass, your pussy are all my property and I should be able to see and touch them whenever I please.”

“Of course, Mistress.” Carrie began squirming and shaking until the skirt hiked up. Her prom dress had been reduced to a sparkly girdle, only covering her midriff, and seeming utterly ridiculous.

“That will do for now. We’ll get you a proper uniform in the morning, but you’ll remain like this until then. It’s better than you deserve.”

“I deserve nothing,” Carrie agreed.

“Glad you finally understand, you whore. The audacity to think that a fairy would come and serve you, simply because you were lonely or horny or felt rejected. You humans all have your reasons, your yearnings, your obsessions and without exception they are utterly inane. All you do is take and take and take, every one of you. No, you’re far better suited to serving fairies than the other way around.”

“I am meant to serve.”

“That’s why I take it upon myself to crush the minds of spoiled brats like you and reduce you to the horny, drooling fuck puppets you’re meant to be. Your lowly race has grown far too proud these last millenia.”

“I’m a drooling fuck puppet,” Carried repeated before realizing with great shame that she was not, in fact, drooling. She quickly rectified the situation, bubbling up as much saliva as she could and letting it run down on her chin, puddling between her perky peaks.

Vilette seemed to like that based on her wolfish smile, and that was enough to precipitate a second puddle, this one forming between Carrie’s legs. “Of course, you still have some usefulness left. I’ll have a few more wishes for you to make in the morning, extending my youth, fixing the cheerleader’s appearance, simple matters.”

Carrie just blinked slowly, trying to process. She’d thought she couldn’t make wishes anymore.

“Ah, don’t trouble that little brain of yours. Our contract still holds until I forge one with another mortal. I’ll venture out tomorrow and sink my teeth into another of your kind, at which point you’ll join my retinue of servants. Honestly, I tend to lose interest once you little worms lose your fight.”

“Oh, ok,” Carrie mumbled, still trying to keep up and not particularly succeeding.

“But tonight.” The fairy splayed her own legs in a silent invitation. “I want to enjoy my latest conquest.” A thin strip of purple pubic hair guided Carrie’s gaze right to her Mistress’s perfect pussy.

She needed no further explanation. She scooted across the floor, drawing closer and closer, eager and ready to use all the tricks that Gwennie had taught her. Eager to serve. Her first kiss was tender, loving, like she’d give to a new crush. Vilette tasted like sparkles and devotion. Carrie didn’t know what those things tasted like, but as her tongue pulled away she was sure she knew now.

“Don’t be shy, dear. This is what you were made for.”

Carrie realized with another pang of shame that she’d been lost in thought and thinking was the last thing she was supposed to do. She cleared her mind and let the waves of pink carry her towards her purpose. Her slobbering lips met Vilette’s folds with abandon. She relished the smacking noises created by her own drool as she worked the fairy’s entrance open and pushed her tongue inside.

Vilette leaned back on the bed, violet hair cascading onto the sheets in the flowing waves of pure elegance. Even as her breathing grew shallow and hitched, she maintained that otherworldly composure. Carrie would be squirming and giggling and gasping right now. She knew from experience, lots and lots of experience.

Not Mistress. No she looked positively regal, like a statue of a goddess, posed with perfect poise. Carrie worshiped at the altar of that goddess for all she was worth, paying her tithe in spit and sweat. She prayed with her lips and her tongue and her heart. Her own moans of pleasure vibrated against her owner’s walls and she could feel Vilette vibrating along with her. Even with her incredible dignity Carrie could see the telltale signs of an oncoming cumming. Her Mistress’s thighs began to tighten, her hips rocking just so, trying to pull Carrie’s tongue deeper.

Carrie, of course, obliged, stretching her tongue further than she ever thought it could go, letting that taste of sparkles consume her senses, until she was nothing but an extension of her Mistress’s pleasure, nothing but an empty vessel, just as she was meant to be. In that moment, there was nothing, no longing for unrequited affection, no jealously spurned lovers, no guilt at betraying a friend, just the pleasure of purpose.

And then Vilette was cumming, her melodious voice moaning throughout the chamber. Carrie moaned along with her, the joy of having pleased her owner far greater than anything she’d experienced before. “Thank you for letting me serve you, Mistress,” Carrie finally said through ragged breaths.

“It certainly took long enough.”

“Mistress?”

“Your little friend,” Vilette said as her own breathing stabilized and she laid down across the bed. “If I’d realized sooner, I could have dealt with her more expediently.”

“I dunno what you mean.”

“That she was your soulmate, of course.”

“What!?” The casual revelation hit Carrie like a hard smack on the ass and she almost tumbled over. “Soulmates are real?”

“Yes, dear. You believe in fairies and not soulmates? Although I suppose I can’t blame you. Your kind multiply like cockroaches. With so many of you crawling about, most people never meet theirs. And to think yours was right under your nose this whole time and you had no idea. I guess you didn’t need me to make you stupider after all.”

“I guess not.” Carrie’s eyes fell to the ground as that leaden weight settled into the pit of her stomach once more. Of course, she didn’t love Rashmi. She could only love Mistress, but she still felt bad.

“Don’t trouble yourself, slave. Everything still went according to plan in the end. I got another toy for my collection and a healthy shipment of new inventory as a bonus.”

Mistress’s words did soothe Carrie’s spirit to some degree, like lotion after a good spanking, but the stinging in her heart wouldn’t fade. She still couldn’t pry her gaze from the stone floor. “I don’t think. . .” she mumbled.

“No, you don’t,” Vilette agreed.

“No, not like that,” Carrie said, trying to hold the thought together through the buffeting waves of pink in her mind. “I don’t think I was a very good soulmate,” she finally finished.

Vilette’s cruel laughter carved through the air of the chamber. “You were awful, selfish, shortsighted, so obsessed with what you wanted that you never saw what you had, just like a typical human.”

Carrie knew she’d let Rashmi down, and all for Da . . .Travis. It all seemed so small, so utterly insignificant, now that Mistress had extinguished her feelings for him, yet she nearly ruined her friendship over it. And here she was about to make the same mistake again. Of course, she cared deeply for Rashmi and regretted the way things ended, but she couldn’t keep dwelling on that. She had a Mistress now, and her Mistress deserved her undivided service and attention. She gathered her resolve, raised her head proudly and spoke with conviction, “Mistress, maybe I wasn’t a good soulmate, but I promise to be the bestest slave you’ve ever had.”

Vilette sat up, comfortably lounging across the plush pillows and regarded Carrie with casual amusement. “I have a feeling you’ll be exactly like all the others, but I still appreciate the sentiment, dear.”

Carrie blushed. Her Mistress appreciated her. That was all she could ever ask for, even after all the selfish wishes and careless mistakes, even though she was just a dumb human girl who only had her spectacular body to offer. “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Gods, they always get so emotional.”

“No, really, like, thank you for taking me in and giving me a purpose and always being there for me.”

“Yes, yes, I can’t help but give,” Vilette said, clearly growing bored with the display of devotion.

“You, like really do, though,” Carrie beamed. “You gave me my big ol’ titties,” she said, flicking them for emphasis. “You gave me the man I loved and my place on the cheer squad and you gave me the most importantest thing of all, a friend, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“This is all nauseatingly saccarine, but if you’re quite finished, we should get to those last wishes and send you for your proper uniform.”

“Yes, Mistress. Right away, Mistress. I just had to thank you,” Carrie said, standing and snapping to attention. Still her thanks felt so paltry and insignificant, totally inadequate to express the depth of her devotion. She reached into the ocean of pink fog, searching and searching for the right words to express herself. She used to have such a gift with words, but now they just slipped through her grasp like fish in the sea.

All except for two.

The same two little words that had played endlessly in her head ever since she met Vilette. The words that had fulfilled her every desire. The words that had damned her best friend to a life as property. That one phrase floated up to meet her like a last bubble of air rising from the depths of herself. I wish.

“I wish you could experience all the wonderful thingies you’ve, like, done for me. That’s all.”

Vilette’s violet eyes went wide and she sucked in a sharp breath. “What did you just say?”

“I just said that I wished. . .”

“You wished,” Vilette cut in. “You wished for,” she repeated, composure finally cracking. “You’re not supposed to wish for things like that. You’re not supposed to . . . you’re not supposed to,” she muttered as her body started to convulse. She collapsed onto the sheets in a twitching, trembling mess.

Carrie leapt on to the mattress, cradling her Mistress’s head against her ample thighs. “Mistress, what’s wrong?”

Vilette shot her a glare like a falling icicle. “You moron. Don’t you understand what you’ve done?”

“No! Not at all. I’m not good with thinky stuff.”

“You’ve ruined everything, you idiot bimbo whore,” she spat. “I won’t grant it. I won’t. I won’t.” The convulsions grew more intense, until the fairy was practically flailing in Carrie’s lap, clawing at her skin and sheets in equal measure.

“Then don’t do it,” Carrie stammered, still having no comprehension of what was wrong. “I take it back. I take it back.”

Vilette’s trembling stilled, and a sad smile crossed her lips. “Such a stupid mortal. Wishes can’t be taken back. They never could. Even now, I can feel the magic straining for release.” Another tremor racked her body. “I can’t hold it much longer. The contract demands fulfillment.”

“Contract? Are you, like, having contractions? Should I get a baby doctor?”

Vilette gave one last cackle before it dissolved into a howl of pain. With tremendous effort, she propped herself up and placed a slender hand on Carrie’s cheek. “I have to tell you something.”

“Yes, Mistress. I’m listening!”

“This doesn’t prove anything. You will always be a selfish, stupid, worthless. . .” the words seemed to catch in her throat and when she finally spoke, the sounds escaped as a strangled gasp. “Your wish is my command.”

Then everything went purple.

When the light faded, Carrie’s head felt funny, not good funny, or even bad funny exactly, more buzzy, like a bumble-beehive. Actually, she reckoned it felt more like a hive of Blue Orchard Bees, indigenous to the American coastal regions and far more active and crowded than those of bumble bees. Wait, how did she know that?

With a slow blink, Carrie realized she knew lots of things. She knew that Italy was unified on March 17th, 1861 under the leadership of King Victor Emmanuel II. She knew that Crime and Punishment was originally published by Fyodor Dostoevsky in 1866 as a twelve part serial in The Russian Messenger. But above all, she knew exactly what had been going on. Maybe some buried part of her had been plugging away at the problem this whole time. “The wishes,” she said in a silent breath. “The wishes were changing me, the whole time. Whenever I wished for something selfish, it made me dumber, easier to trick, easier to use. It’s all so obvious now.” She began to sniffle.

As she hunched forward, she realized that she’d retained her muscled frame and generous proportions. Those had been from a wish after all. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she mumbled, slapping herself on the cheek again and again. “Why did I ever trust a fairy? Fairies have always been tricksters from The Grimm Brothers to Sarah J. Maas, but I . . .” Then she froze. “I can think of stories again. I can think again,” she said, beginning to quietly cry and wrapping her arms around herself.

At last a voice broke the echoing sound of sobs. “Mistress, are you, like, okay?”

Carrie looked up to see a figure she barely recognized. She wiped the tears from her eyes and still could scarcely have identified Vilette save for her violet hair. The purple robe had been traded in for a frilly black and white maid’s uniform with a postage stamp of a skirt and white mesh leggings that hugged a stunning pair of legs. The legs ended in hips as wide and curvy as Carrie’s own that somehow still tapered back to a flat, and exposed, stomach, before giving way to equally bountiful breasts. The fairy’s funbags looked like they might fall free from their lacy enclosure at the slightest wrong move. However, by far the most striking change was her face.

Vilette’s eyes had always been narrow with a keen, predatory cunning, but now they looked wide, sweet, innocent even. Her cheeks had rounded out as well, taking her appearance from that of a hungry fox to more of a playful puppy. And then there was the collar, a gleaming band of unbroken pink that fit snugly around her neck.

“Vilette?” Carrie said, forcing air back into her lungs. “Is that you?”

“Goodness me, Mistress. You really must be feeling lousy if you don’t recognize your faithful slave.”

“Slave?” Carrie repeated, incredulous. Her hand flew to her own neck, finding no trace of a collar there. “Of course. You made me your slave. You made me a bimbo. You changed my body, and I wished for you to experience everything you did to me, which means. . .”

“Can I, like, get you anything? Tea? Wine? Felatio? Just wish for it and it’s yours.”

“Just wish? I can still make wishes?”

“Of course, silly. Everything I am is, like, yours, including all my magic and stuff.”

Carrie choked out another sob.

Vilette rushed forward, kneeling on the bed beside her Mistress and taking her hand. “Mistress, I don’t get it. Why are you, like, upset? Did I do something wrong?”

A rush of vicious rage swept over Carrie. She had an urge to grip the fairy by the throat, and squeeze and squeeze until her face matched her hair. She longed to choke the life from her, while rattling off every ‘wrong’ thing she’d done, but then she caught herself. That Vilette was already as good as dead. At last she brought her gaze to meet her fairy godmother’s. “No, V, you didn’t do anything wrong, at least not this version of you. I’m the one who screwed up, but maybe together we can fix it.”