FSE

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"You're mine, you know."

"I know."

"You belong to me, forever."

"I know."

It's been a difficult night. You've tried to reconcile everything you've done--everything you've become, so far. Maybe noticing your reluctance, or your vain grasps at chivalry and nobility, Shanon takes you to an old, run-down house, on the outskirts of town--just outside the gates to the marketplace.

"People avoid this place." she told you. "It has a history, because I spread rumors that it does."

"You spread... rumors?" you asked her.

She smiled at you again, just an opening of her mouth to a show of teeth. That canine grin of black-spotted gums, and a tongue longer than any human's.

And her voice came again, that familiar warm echo. It made a pressure in your head, as it forced its words in, from a mouth that could produce no words.

"I took human guise several times. I have long since spread the rumor that people who come here become cursed into foxes."

...

"Not entirely a lie, I suppose."

She laughs for a bit. A pretty lady's laugh, from a geckering vixen's mouth.

Now you lie there with her in the garden, sprawled in an awkward, beastman's body. Half-admiring, half-loathing your clawed hands, and fluffy grey-white wrist fur. Trying not to look at her.

"What I said to Abel, before."

"About..." you trail off, trying to hide your resentment.

"About how my curse is spread."

"What of it?" you say, trying to seem disinterested. You run your nails through the soil of an old tomato garden, trying to get used to how canine claws, instead of fingernails, actually feel. Dirty, yes. But the sensation of running them through the resistant earth is kind of satisfying.

"It goes the same for you too, you know." she continues. "Your change... was seeded inside of you, by your own strong emotion. I'm just curious... What was that emotion?"

You wince. You rack your brains for something to tell her. "Hatred, I suppose," you lazily conclude. Truthfully, you can't tell her what it is you felt. She doesn't seem convinced, either.

She gets up on her little, human butt, covered in vulpine tails--those long, tube-like boas, that end so disturbingly in sleek curves of human hair. You can't help but picture her as some kind of horrific monster, that holds onto just a sliver of humanity, to mock people and exploit their sexual urges.

It's hard to admit it, but there's something beautiful about her, that stares out over that black, wet pad, and long whiskers. Emerald jewels, that are so human, suddenly--not an angle to be found in their aperture.

"Was it really, hatred? Why then, would you bare the seed inside of you, until it sprouted, if you hated our kind so much?"

You roll over, looking away from her. You fold your arms over your chest, and bend your sniped muzzle in against them.

"I... I'm not ready to tell you that."

She crawls over on knees that you could swear seem human. They'll melt into haunches, and suck up her rear end, in a second, if she wants them to, though. You've seen her change this way many times already, like there's space inside of her for her shrinking rear, and growing croup--plenty of free space for her bones to re-assemble, without pain. Dark space, granted to her by a strange, magical infestation.

"You know, I don't hate you, right?"

"What does it matter?" you say through your head, letting out an uncontrolled growl from your throat. "You've changed me for life. You said it yourself. So how does anything you mean matter?"

She raises a hand to slap you. And she does. Strangely, it feels like something you deserve.

"Because you're not a mindless slave anymore!"

...

The wind blows through your strange, hybrid hair. It's mostly animal fur, from the nape of your neck, to the crown of your forehead, where a soft tuft of brown, unchanged human hair blows. Her hair too is stirred by the gust--blowing majestic, long, black tresses that have streaks of white-grey at the ends, as if from silver-morph red fox's fur.

"I'm sorry." she says "I shouldn't have..."

... Were you though? A mindless slave?

Touch the prisoner, Inquisitor. Brand her with the light!

You remember the hot torch that you seared the Changed skin away, with. You remember the father handing it to you.

Now look to the others, who have gone beyond the tenable stages of the transformation...

So many faces like her own, and heads of hair much the same as yours. You remember some that hissed and raised hackles. Not all of them--in fact, only a few--were foxes. There were several rodents, tree rats, really, that had grown prominent, buck teeth, and patches of brown fur on their faces. Some beautiful things too--you could not tell their sex, for they huddled in to hide their changes--that wore the skin of deer. Those two had just begun growing horns from their heads. A pair of catfolk, too; already fanged and covered in spots. You admit to yourself, they were strange, alien, and intimidating. But they were still people.

They were all covered in pitch, too.

Burn them all.

"NO!" you shout, bolting upright.

* * *

"Hunter?" she asks, flinching hesitantly.

"No..." you say again, aghast.

"I'm s..sorry, Hunter. It was not my place."

"No, no, you're right." you whisper, sitting up.

"Please forgive me." she asks, putting a padded hand on your bushy black shoulder.

"I deserved this change."

She gives you a moment to collect yourself. There is a fishy scent wafting from the soil you sat in. You both move aside, but the scent carries from your dilated rear end. You rustle your tails, trying to waft the fumes away. The smell makes you feel... different. Feral.

You just sit there, reeking. She doesn't look at you, you don't look at her.

You want to say something... and finally, you devise your true answer.

...

"Penance." you say, breaking the long silence. "I wanted to make penance. So I let a wound from a fox's head fester."

"Just a head?" she asks, slightly sickened.

"I closed it around my own forearm, one night. It was not... attached to the body, that tried to carry the act through."

"But why... Why then, and not any other time, before?"

"Leave it be." you mutter.

Her shoulders sink, and her ears fold in, and mat against her head of hair. Something about that is sexy, you think, despite the situation. She's sad for you, in a very implicit, animal way. Maybe a way only she can express.

"May I?" she asks, leaning over, and placing her claws in the dirt next to you.

"Go ahead." you whisper. "If it's any consolation, I did come to you."

It's not a romantic night, full of wild canid exertions. One of your tails thumps against one of hers, though, and you find each other holding hands, and staring at the moon.

It just might do.