The Marriage of True Minds

There's a moment of horror as Asteria Hornbeam's secret flashes from your aura to manifest in your body.

Fay get AWAY! is your **** thought telegraphed to your dearest love.

But your vagina is clamped down hard around Fay's wrist and she sends a wistful last thought, freighted with all her feelings. Can't. WON'T.

And the world disappears in a whirl of soul-shattering fearjoyhorrorpleasureexultation.

You stand patiently on a small podium, a pedestal perhaps, posing for the Beginning Transformation students. You can sense the queasiness of the young scholars as Fiona Hawk wallows in the particulars of your magical formation.

One wall is mirrored. You survey your long, beautiful form, from a silky tail of Fay's platinum blonde between milky white, broad hindquarters, through spiral brindling with bay, to your dark-pelted forefeet with one white sock. Above is your human torso, mostly Morgan's light olive skin, with her small breasts. One arm is Fay's pale, blue-veined skin and small hand, one eye is her ice blue, and one streak of smooth pale blonde runs through Morgan's unruly black tresses.

"An object lesson in, let us say, natural consequences for a set of astounding transgressions," Minerval's Tutor carries on. "If you would raise Sight, please?"

Eight young scholars raise wands and make the little gesture to look into the magical realm and see your union of flesh, mind, and aura.

A scholar in brown robes turns pale and staggers. A scholar in green and gold faints dead away. A scholar in red tries hard to keep a brave face, but it crumples into a grimace, before turning round and retching.

You stand impassively on your four hooves for inspection. Hawk is laying it on thick, you agree with yourselves. Fay, Morgan; Morgan, Fay, whoever. But you will never feel lonely again, here with yourselves. You can always make yourself laugh. You can always comfort yourself. You had a front hoof decorated with an apple wreathed in woodbine, the two of you united in yourself, the design you had had on your fingernails, reconfirmed.

Hornbeam says she has a plan to get you liberated. But until then you are content to serve as Fiona Hawk's bad example. Fay and Morgan loved each other truly and you are the child of their love, the home of their souls. Of your soul. It's confusing. But never bad. Always good. You believe in yourself, in yourselves, like Fay and Morgan did in each other, while each doubted herself. When you wake from dreams, you remember yourselves in conversation, in lovemaking, or just holding hands.

"I always knew I was a horse's arse," dream Fay tells dream Morgan.

Morgan laughs. "You're my horse's arse, like you always were."

"And that's a good thing," they say together.

What could be better?

"Marriage of true minds", see Wm. Shak. Sonnet 116.