Threads of Becoming, Part 2

A hush fell over the gazebo as Arabella lifted her gaze, the dying sun casting her features into the color of blood oranges and old secrets. “Norah,” she called, her voice a slow drumroll, “you are next.”

Norah flinched, as if the sound of her own name had struck her on the side of the head. She straightened her blouse, wiped sweat from her brow, and stood. Every movement was a declaration of war against the universe that dared to put her in this position.

“Why am I not surprised?” Norah muttered, voice thick with venom.

Arabella tilted her head, the corners of her lips curling in a show of almost genuine regret. “The judges were unanimous, Norah. But I must say, your transformation is a rare delight: a blend of the physical and the existential.” She smiled softly. “Your fate is ‘Eye of the Beholder.’ From this moment on, your form will reflect the Master’s most cherished fantasy of you—irrespective of your own preference.”

A collective shudder ran through the circle, but Norah’s face twisted with disbelief and something that looked, for a moment, like fear.

“You can’t be serious,” Norah spat. “You’re going to turn me into… what? Some kind of cartoon fuckdoll? You think this is funny?”

Arabella shrugged, not unkindly. “We all become, eventually, what is expected of us. Why not embrace the inevitable?”

Andy stood, voice raw. “Arabella, you can’t do this. It’s— It’s sick. Norah doesn’t even like me. She’s never— Why punish her for something she didn’t choose?”

Arabella regarded him with a softness that almost hurt. “Andy, it is not a punishment. It is an invitation to new perspectives. And perhaps, with time, the two of you will come to understand each other better.”

A sharp laugh. “Or she’ll end up hating me more than she already does,” Andy said, glancing at Norah. He expected a snarl, but for one fleeting instant, she looked at him with a kind of **** gratitude—a crack in the ice, quickly sealed.

Erin, arms folded, fixed Andy with a stare that was equal parts suspicion and… something else. “Never thought you’d stick up for someone who hates your guts,” she murmured, voice just loud enough for him to catch.

Sam muttered, “Typical Andy. Always with the rescue mission.”

Liesa muttered, “Helemaal juist,”* under her breath.

Arabella gestured. “Norah, if you please.”

Norah drew a trembling breath and stepped forward, chin up, eyes fixed on some distant point over Andy’s left shoulder. “Fuck it. Just get it over with. You know, if this was a corporate retreat, HR would be on the phone already.” she snapped.

Arabella nodded, a solemn little bow. She approached Norah, standing just close enough that Norah had to tip her head back to meet her gaze. There was no raised hand this time; the Host simply reached forward, as if to tuck a stray hair behind Norah’s ear. Norah didn’t flinch.

• Eye of the Beholder: Norah's pride in her skills has led her astray in the past. Perhaps she needs to refocus that pride. Her body will take on the version of itself from the Master's fantasies, even if the Master himself isn't aware of those fantasies. (Pride)

Then, suddenly, Norah’s body convulsed, shoulders hunched as if struck by a spasm. She grunted, doubled over, and the process began. Andy could not look away: Norah’s elegant frame seemed to shrink in on itself, compressing, her spine shrinking downward as if a great weight pressed her toward the sand. Her hands went to her chest—her blouse straining, buttons threatening to burst, as her breasts swelled and rounded, filling the fabric until it creaked. The top button shot off, striking the deck with a dry click.

Her hips widened, skirt seams stretching. Her waist pinched in slightly, an hourglass forming from the straight line she’d always prided herself on. Her face, already beautiful, didn’t change, only became almost painfully gorgeous to look at—eyes widening just so, glistening like riverstones; lips plumping; nose refining slightly, just enough to make it perfect for her face. Her hair spilled down her back in a wild, glossy mane, black as a raven’s wing, growing until it tickled the top of her ass.

Norah gasped, voice an octave higher, stumbled as she tried to deal with her new center of gravity, and clutched her arms around her new, significantly larger, bulging breasts as if trying to prevent further inflation. She was shorter, now, too… perhaps 5’ even. Her cheeks flushed with humiliation, but her eyes—now deep and dark as gemstones—flashed with a cold, impossible rage.

“Holy shit,” whispered Dawn, half in awe, half in horror.

Erin’s jaw was tight. “Didn’t think it would go that far.”

Norah staggered, then straightened. She turned, face to the group, and the change was even more dramatic in full view: the proud, analytical warrior now a bombshell wrapped in tight, businesslike clothing that threatened to give up the ghost at any moment. Her blouse gaped, skirt rode up indecently. Andy **** himself to look her in the eye, but the new shape of her was impossible to ignore. He felt sick, like he’d eaten spoiled meat.

Norah’s voice, when it came, was thick with tears she refused to shed. “I hope you’re happy, Cooper. I hope every time you see me, you remember that you did this.” She spun, grabbing at the tail of her skirt, and nearly fell when her now-massive breasts threw off her balance.

“Norah—” Andy tried, reaching out.

She slapped his hand away, eyes narrow. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever—” She bit off the sentence, too furious or ashamed to finish.

Arabella was silent, watching the struggle. “You will acclimate, Norah. The mind is remarkably plastic.”

Norah glared at the Host. “Fuck you. Maybe next time, change the mind, too,” she hissed.

Sam broke the silence with a low whistle. “If this is your fantasy of Norah, Andy, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

He shot her a look, **** to communicate the horror he felt. “It’s not— It was never—”

Norah laughed, brittle and mean. “Save it. Might as well get used to it.” She yanked her ruined blouse over her new chest, struggled with the buttons, and gave up, folding her arms tightly.

Erin’s voice was unexpectedly gentle. “Are you… okay?”

Norah barked a laugh, but the edge was gone. “I’m better than okay. I’m going to win this stupid game, get my wish, and then I’ll come back and haunt you all.” The words had no venom, just exhausted resolve.

Arabella clapped her hands once. “Thank you, Norah, for your courage.” She looked to the group, eyes glimmering. “Let us continue.”

Norah slunk to her seat, every step a struggle against the new weight of her body. The women watched her—some with pity, some with calculation. Andy sat back, numb, unsure if he was more ashamed for what he’d done or what had been done in his name.

* "Absolutely right."