Gargoyle

In the chaos, the Golems had paused. They were quite beautiful constructs, statuary in the form of two naked women with wings and a hint of gargoyle about them. A raw sensuality that bordered on the grotesque, a fiendish beauty, a warped reflection of their creators leering lust and cruel wit, programmed to attack when the wizard was threatened. Now they stood stock still, awaiting what to do their masters next bidding. Bargle stepped off the balcony and descended the stairs to the lower chamber, his robes fluttering about his spurred boots like black crawling tentacles. He was a proud and cruel man.

Lorn’s spirit watched from the confines of the magic jar, his rage growing with every step the wizard took. He had to find a way out of this prison. His thoughts raced, searching through the dusty archives of his mind for a spell, a cantrip, anything that could help. He need to find a body to possess!

As Bargle approached the smoldering pile that was once his party, Lorn noticed something peculiar. One of the golems, a beguilingly quixotic lush soft stoned construct, had a glint of curiosity in its otherwise lifeless eyes. It was... watching.

A flicker of hope sparked in Lorn’s disembodied consciousness. If he could somehow take control of one of these constructs, he might have a chance at vengeance.

The golem was a magical construct. A mindless automoton, or so he’d always been lead to believe. Could he possess that? He wondered?

He reached out to find out. And then he realised his misstep. He wasn’t supplanting the gargoyles mind. He was merging with it. He shivered in his new body. It was a female golem. A thing but not a thing. And he realised that the magics of this thing were incredible. He could hear his heart beating. Felt warmth. This wasn’t a stone golem. It was a living and breathing thing. But a construct nonetheless.

Lorn's new body was a shock. His male mind, now encased in a voluptuous female form, grappled with the unfamiliar sensations of softness and vulnerability. She flexed her new limbs, feeling the odd power surge, an exquisite tingling through finely sculpted muscles. The surprising sensual weight of the large, round breasts that bobbed with her movements. Arms and wings, legs. This form was quite different to the one she knew.

There were complex magics animating this soma. But there was also the need to obey her master, imperatives that were immutable and intrinsic to her new being. Although perhaps that was not true.

She felt artificial and alien to her former self, but also a continuation of herself. Confusingly confounding and stuff.