Wren Douglas

I have just finished adding a boiled egg and a generous splash of sesame oil to my instant ramen when my phone buzzes. I glance down, expecting the usual spam text, and nearly choke on my first mouthful of dinner. A familiar username shines up at me: after three weeks of silence, Cori has updated her blog.

@cutiecori_: Hello, sweet things! I’m sooo sorry for the radio silence. Life sure loves to happen all at once sometimes! I have a few pictures to share once I’m done with my attempt at editing them myself (yes, my photographer is MIA, that’s part of the mess) but in the meantime… IT’S GIVEAWAY TIME!!! That’s right, lovelies: I’m getting rid of my old ear-tail sets, and I would love it if they could find new homes. They’re all in pristine conditions, of course! I’m just decluttering a bit now I’ve committed to being everyone’s favorite fox girl. DM if interested, first come first serve!! XOXO, Cori ♥

My hands have gone clammy, curled tight around the screen. I re-read those last few lines, mouthing the words under my breath. The post is less than a minute old.

I wipe my fingertips on my ratty band t-shirt, then click on the DM icon. In all my years following Cori, I have never managed the courage to interact with her directly; liking all her posts, sure. A raving comment here and again. But never messaging.

“Those sets never go for less than a hundred dollars,” I whisper, biting the pad of my thumb. I’ve always wanted something of the sort for myself, but the prices keep driving me back to the cheap cat ears I hot-glued on a pair of barrettes. Pitiful stuff.

The steam from the ramen is fogging my glasses. I swallow, try to evoke the imagined caress of faux fur on my skin, and string together a half-coherent message. I hit send with my eyes screwed shut.

A few seconds later, I leap from my chair at the trill of another notification.

#

[19: 34] @justsienna: Hi, I love your work! If they’re still available, I would love to offer a new home to one of your old sets.

[19:34] @cutiecori_: hi hiii! you bet theyre still available (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) pick-up this sat at my place? [maps_link]

[19: 36] @justsienna: Um,

[19: 36] @justsienna: I hope that’s not your real address??

[19:37] @cutiecori_: aww, no need to worry dear. im veeery good at running background checks! and you seem like the sorta sweetheart i can let into my den no problem ( • ᴗ – ) ✧

[19:40] @cutiecori_: so this sat?

[19:42] @justsienna: Sorry, I’ll be there. Thank you so much.

#

Saturday morning comes at me like a hammer to the face. The moment my alarm rings, my stomach churns with nausea. I drop my phone in an attempt at snoozing it, still half asleep, and the high-pitched sound drills into my head, shrill to the point of painful. My hair, so carefully washed and dried into curls the night before, has gone frizzy. And my nail polish is chipped on my left index finger.

“As if she’d ever look at my fingers,” I mutter. It does not help things, but Cori’s place is across town and poorly connected by bus. The spiraling will have to be postponed until I have secured my prize on time.

I chose my outfit last night, so I set to rolling my sheer stockings on without tearing them. My chipped nail stays well away from the fabric. 

Once that’s taken care of, I shrug into the rest of the clothes fast enough I won’t fall into an endless pit of second-guessing my past self. A cotton skirt with an outer layer of embroidered tulle, a plain white shirt, and a green vest to contrast the pink of the skirt. I top it all off with a loose crocheted belt in the same ivy shape as the tulle embroidery and a healthy dose of shrieking into my cupped hands.

“Does this scream cis girl?” I ask the stuffed salamander on my bed. Its plastic eyes stare up at me unblinkingly.

“Right. Right, of course. I shouldn’t care,” I say as I affix my they/them pin to the vest. “Cori wouldn’t make assumptions about me based on how I dress. She hates that kind of stuff.”

“Does this scream cis girl?” I ask the stuffed salamander on my bed. Its plastic eyes stare up at me unblinkingly.

This line of reasoning emboldens me enough to dash a pinch of blush across my cheeks and mascara on my eyelashes. Then I grab my bag, packed with stomach meds and water, and make a run for the bus station.

The first bus is on time. The second one crawls into view over half an hour later than it should, but I accounted for it. I’m calm and collected and I have only checked my DMs a couple dozen times so far. My vest hides the pool of sweat that soaked through my shirt.

Fiddling with my phone helps me forget about the presence of other people around me. Nervy as I am right now, every passing glance prickles like bad wool. It’s as if everyone knows where I’m going, and why. The young guy with the baseball cap is secretly calling me dumb for trusting an online stranger; the old lady sitting at the very end of the bus wonders why I want to look like an animal, and whether all folks my age are weird like that.

Most folks my age are neurotypical bores, I think in her direction. Then I turn to the guy with the baseball cap. And you know nothing of Cori, so worry about whoever’s catfishing you on that dating app you re-downloaded for the tenth time.

That’s satisfying. I hop off the second bus buoyed by the feeling, and cling to it with serrated teeth as my destination comes into view. It’s a standard-looking condo, not too ugly yet not very pretty; boxy, claustrophobic balconies adorn one of every three windows. The condo sits in a row of several clones of itself, all lining a street filled with birch trees.

Cori might be looking down from one of the windows, waiting for me.

My heart kicks into overdrive at the thought, so I stop to take deep breaths. I wait until I go light-headed, like I heard in a reel. After that, the way to Cori’s apartment is a blur of color, sound, and mild nausea, right until I ring the bell.

“Sienna!”

A soft, honeyed voice greets me. My eyes can see the shape of a person standing in the doorway, but the world is still sitting askance. The first detail I manage to grab hold of is the slippers Cori’s wearing. Fuzzy and purple and googly-eyed, with fake tongues lolling off twin mouths made of thread. They look silly—like something a real person would wear. The fabric of the tongues is pilled and one eye has clearly been sewn back on after falling off.

Nothing about what Cori posts online has ever felt this normal.

“That’s me,” I say, and the rest of her comes into focus.

Cori’s face is just as apple-round as it is in the pictures. Her lips look plump even without any gloss and her green eyes could light me on fire. She’s wearing casual clothes and no make-up, which makes me want to clip through the floor straight into Hell.

She’s wearing casual clothes and no make-up, which makes me want to clip through the floor straight into Hell.

“You’re so cute,” Cori says, and the urge to disappear lessens. “But don’t just stand around! Come on in.”

My feet carry me inside as if I’m floating. This close, I can see Cori’s smattering of freckles; when she flashes me a grin, I spy a hint of her fangs, too. Those are new, of course. Probably custom veneers, though it’s hard to tell without sticking my hands into her mouth. The freckles, on the other hand, have the fanbase divided. Some think she paints them over, since there are no signs of them in her old content. Others, myself included, believe she simply used to airbrush them. It’s heartening she seems to have embraced this part of her now.

“Ugh, don’t mind my getup,” Cori says, smoothing a hand over the sleeve of her giant hoodie. “It’s laundry day. Also, if you need the toilet, please use the half bath down that hallway. The main bathroom is… messy.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I say, but she just shakes her head. She must be the fastidiously tidy type. It’s hard to glean details like these from her blog, so I cradle the information close to my chest, allowing myself one instant of heart-clenching euphoria.

The next moment, I’m thrust in a world of color.

“Welcome to my room!” Cori trills, gesturing for me to come forward. Everything is tinged in shades of pastel. The bed is covered in an assembly of plushies, arranged in pleasing waves from biggest to smallest. Some are timeless classics, like teddy bears and characters from various kids’ franchises; others speak of a more discerning eye. A giant harpy eagle, limited-edition Japanese mascots, and even a rubber-faced monstrosity that must be older than I am, judging by its rosy cheeks and the signature bug eyes of a ‘60s cartoon.

“That’s Foxie,” Cori says, pointing to the rubber face. “His model goes for a couple hundred bucks online, but I thrifted him for pennies. Neat, huh?”

I swallow. “Good catch.”

Cori beams at me, and her eyes crinkle like she means it. I could stare at her face all day. I wish to stare at her face all day, but she redirects my attention to the shelves lining the wall left to her bed. There sits a collection of ball-jointed dolls.

My mouth falls comically open. Most of the dolls are small, industrial-made, with the sort of cheap-yet-cute look you get from blind box items. I have a few of those at home myself, just not this many. More importantly, I don’t have any custom pieces.

Cori has two: they stand proud on the top shelf, side by side. Both have sculpted faces that resemble a fox snout, and cute tails and ears to match. Their size doubles that of the other dolls, though that’s far from the only indication they’re a cut above the rest. They have smooth, synthetic hair, carefully styled. Their faces hold so much detail it makes my hands ache in sympathy for whoever painted them like that. And their cheeks show a smatter of—

“You’ve got good eyes, Sienna,” Cori says, conspiratory.

“Ah, um.” I flounder, and the mortifying rush of blood crawls up my neck. I was expecting her to keep more of a professional, friendly-yet-detached façade in front of a fan. “I like dolls.”

If Cori’s inclined to laugh at me over such a pathetic statement, she shows no sign of it. She just smiles at me and nods, as if she’d like to hear more nonsense from my grackle voice.

“The Super-Pink Sugar Foam series,” I say, pointing to the bottom shelf. My throat is so closed up with anxiety and heartburn, the words come out muted. “I have the blue one. Not my favorite, but the details on her dress are lovely. You’re only missing the hidden variant.”

The wonderful angel in front of me regales me with yet another smile and a little jump of excitement. “I’ll get her one day! Sugar Foam is one of my favorite serieses, y’know? All the predatory gacha odds in the world can’t keep me apart from my candy mermaids.”

“Right.” I rack my brain for something else to say, but Cori has already moved on. She drags a chair in front of her wardrobe and hops onto it, slippers discarded on the floor. Her socks have little ribbons affixed to the ankles.

“I should give you your set, instead of holding you hostage with my babbling,” she says as she rummages through a box on top of the wardrobe. “You poor thing.”

“I mean,” I say, “I wouldn’t follow your blog if I didn’t like your babbling.”

Cori’s rummaging stills. Then, before I can attempt to suffocate myself with one of her plushies, she hops off the chair in one alarmingly carefree motion.

“I knew you were sweet!” She laughs, thrusting an envelope into my arms. “Pretty sure most people follow me just ‘cause my pics are great alone-time material.”

“I knew you were sweet!” She laughs, thrusting an envelope into my arms. “Pretty sure most people follow me just ‘cause my pics are great alone-time material.”

If I was blushing before, now I must be glowing purple; my skin burns, my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and a drop of guilt trickles down my back together with sweat. So, instead of addressing any of that, I drag my full attention to the envelope. It’s papery and soft, wide enough it barely fits in my tote bag.

“Thank you,” I say as I look down at it. “Really.”

Cori puts a hand on her hip. “If you want to thank me, show me how it looks on you once you get home. I want to make sure I picked the right one.”

The idea of taking a picture of myself for her is abhorrent, but I let her escort me back to the front door without mustering a peep of protest. A beauty filter can probably fix the worst of my selfie face.

“Have a safe trip,” Cori says with a wave. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, her green gaze shifting like light dancing on water. “And, Sienna. Would it be okay to keep messaging you? None of my other friends care about dollies.”

I don’t think I would survive that, I think, while my body says, “Of course you can message me.”

Cori grins so wide her fangs shimmer in the aseptic light of the landing.

#

The envelope sits on my kitchen table, untouched. I placed it there thirty or so minutes ago, and I still haven’t had the guts to pick it up again. In the meantime, I’ve busied myself with brewing a cup of my favorite jasmine tea, inhaling the flowery scent so fast the steam stung my nostrils.

I thought I would have been allowed to pick a set for myself. Instead, Cori chose it, as if she could tell what I would like best. It makes her gaze feel uncomfortably close; a midday sun, glaring down at me in all of its warmth.

“It’s her stuff,” I say out loud. “That she gave to me for free. Maybe this was the last one, and it wasn’t even a choice anymore.”

The warmth on the back of my neck doesn’t wane. What if she picked the perfect set for me? What would that say about the two of us?

“Oh my God, nothing.” I grit my teeth and shake off those thoughts, snatching back the envelope. “It would say nothing. And now, if we’re done spiraling, I would like to open my hard-earned freebie.”

I pick at the duct tape, trying not to tear the gauzy paper; it’s a pretty antique rose shade I’d like to keep.

Inside, I see brown fur the color of my hair: two long, floppy ears affixed to a metal headband and a stubby tail with its belt. Both the ears and the tail have pink accents that fade into white.

Cori gave me a lop rabbit set.

Inside, I see brown fur the color of my hair: two long, floppy ears affixed to a metal headband and a stubby tail with its belt. Both the ears and the tail have pink accents that fade into white.

I pick it up gingerly, holding it to my face for a moment, and make my bumbling way to my bedroom, bursting at the seams with a thrill that’s half nausea and half giddiness. I can manage one picture without sinking into self-hatred. I’ve done it before. And if I’ve done it before, there’s no reason I can’t push through right now, when Cori herself asked for it.

It does mean we should toggle on that beauty filter, though.

Before the picture comes an excruciating series of trials and errors. First I have to style the ears, which have posable wire lining their insides but, for some reason, refuse to cooperate. Then it’s time to figure out the belt, and the best way to hide it under my clothes. The worst part comes last: choosing a pose that won’t make me look like a fool.

I entertain the idea of mimicking one of Cori’s go-to poses, but quickly discard it with a shudder. The vibe she cultivates on her blog is too bold and suggestive. Instead, I place my phone on a stack of books, prop it up with my speakers, and grab my salamander plushie for emotional support.

“I’m sorry I never thought of naming you,” I tell it as I hug it to my chest, chasing away memories of the vintage horrors Cori seems to prefer. Then I bend one leg back, arch my spine and smile for the camera.

#

[15: 47] @justsienna: [picture: a tall individual with rabbit ears and a tail, clutching a plushie as they give the viewer a nervous grimace.]

[15:47] @cutiecori_: kdhfkgjdfh ohmygosh!!!!

[15:47] @cutiecori_: youre adorbs sienna!!!!! i knew that was made for you!!!!!

[15:47] @cutiecori_: how do you feel? (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

[15: 49] @justsienna: … Mixed. But also good, I think? Like I’ve gotten another bit closer to how I wish I looked like.

[15:49] @cutiecori_: a cute little bunny with impeccable taste?

[15: 50] @justsienna: You’re teasing me.

[15:50] @cutiecori_: nooo im not! i really want to know ♥

[15: 53] @justsienna: It might not make much sense to you.

[15:53] @cutiecori_: try me!

[15: 53] @justsienna: All right. But I warned you.

[15: 53] @justsienna: I never really knew “what” I was. I was born female, and I like to be girly, but I don’t feel any attachment to it as my identity. Nor do I like being human at all, to be honest. 

[15:53] @cutiecori_: oh darling, i understand that better than you think

[15: 53] @justsienna: You do?

[15:53] @cutiecori_: yeah! well, the human bit. i do see myself as a girl (˶˃ᆺ˂˶)

[15: 54] @justsienna: I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you felt the same.

[15:54] @cutiecori_: this humble fox forgives you ♥

[15:54] @cutiecori_: i bet you also didnt know i descend from a line of occult practitioners!

[15: 54] @justsienna: See, now you’re definitely teasing me.

[15:54] @cutiecori_: pinky swear im not!! its just a side of me i dont talk about on my blog, since it clashes with the general vibe. im telling you in confidence

[15: 54] @justsienna: Oh. Really?

[15:54] @cutiecori_: yep yep (≖ᴗ≖ ✿) my nonna taught me how to channel the energy of errant spirits when i was but a wee child

[15: 54] @justsienna: That sounds really cool, if a bit unbelievable. My grandma taught me how to brew tea and play cards like my life depends on it.

[15:54] @cutiecori_: LMAO those are good skills!

[15: 55] @justsienna: Not as good as channeling spirits.

[15:55] @cutiecori_: maybe one day ill teach you then (∗´ര ᎑ ര`∗)

[15:55] @cutiecori_: wait tho!! going back to what we were talking about!!!

[15:55] @cutiecori_: is the rabbitness closer to your ideal body?

[15: 56] @justsienna: It’s more like it helps with it? Because rabbits are cute, and cuteness is a girl thing. The more of it I project outside, the less is going to be left inside of me. Can’t be a girl and can’t be human if I carve it all out.

[15:56] @cutiecori_: oh, i think i get it! like taking out the old stuffing from a plushie!!!

[15: 56] @justsienna: … You know.

[15: 56] @justsienna: I suppose that about sums it up. 🙂

#

[05:11] @cutiecori_: [picture: a dim, grainy close-up of someone making a silly expression. the only light source is a faint green glow dappling the face with water-like shadows.]

[05:11] @cutiecori_: insomnia selfie attack!

[05: 14] @justsienna: W’h 9t

[05: 14] @justsienna: Sorry.

[05: 14] @justsienna: Consider me felled in battle.

[05:14] @cutiecori_: lololol cute

[05:14] @cutiecori_: you also cant sleep? (ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

[05: 15] @justsienna: I was, but I woke up. Happens a lot when you hydrate.

[05:15] @cutiecori_: cant relateeeee

[05:15] @cutiecori_: in this house we chug carbonated drinks only

[05: 15] @justsienna: That’s bad for you…

[05: 16] @justsienna: Found a pretty cameo pin today at the open market. [picture: a conch shell cameo with a flower etched into it. the metal casing is slightly tarnished.]

[05:16] @cutiecori_: whaaaa i love it!! is that an engraved lily? ( ⓛ ω ⓛ )

[05: 16] @justsienna: Yup.

[05:16] @cutiecori_: cant wait to see how it looks on you! 

[05:16] @cutiecori_: and now im going to let you go back to sleep… but FIRST! im having my first photoshoot with the new photographer (after the old one ghosted me!!!) this thurs and im a bit nervous ( ;´ – `;)

[05:16] @cutiecori_: can i ask my sweet, sweet sienna to be there?

[05: 19] @justsienna: You can ask me anything.

[05: 19] @justsienna: If you think I could help, I’ll be there. By all odds.

[05:19] @cutiecori_: heheee i knew i could count on you

[05:19] @cutiecori_: good night now my darling ♥

[05: 20] @justsienna: Good night, Cori.

#

The second time I make my way to Cori’s place, I take my stomach meds before leaving. It only helps marginally, and it doesn’t stop the erratic thump-thumping of my heart, but I tell myself it’ll be enough. After she asked me to come over, I spent around half an hour staring at the toilet, trying to figure out if I felt sick enough to puke. The memory of her gaze itched like a sunburn on the nape of my neck.

I can’t believe I’m being given the privilege of attending one of her photoshoots. I wish I knew why she thinks I’m worthy—or if she meant it when she called me sweet.

“Sienna, hi!” Cori greets me, even more dazzling than the last time. She’s already changed into her persona: long lilac wig, fox ears and tails of the same color, and a skimpy white dress so adorned with lace it looks more like lingerie.

It takes me a moment to stop staring.

“Like what you see?” Cori’s grin radiates slyness.

“I am your fan,” I croak out, marching past her before she can notice my blush. My fingers trace nervous lines over the cameo pin; I put it on the front of my pinafore dress and paired it with a cream-colored sweater that’s just a tad felted. I’m presentable.

Cori’s giggles trail behind the two of us as she guides me to the room she uses as her studio. Inside is a man dressed in black jeans and a black hoodie. He’s fiddling with what looks like an umbrella, and he gives me a distracted nod of acknowledgement. I offer my own stilted greeting.

“Sit wherever you like,” Cori says, waving a hand at the side of the room outside of the photographer’s range.

I curl up on the floor with my back to the wall. In a few minutes my legs will start to ache, but I would endure worse to watch Cori in her element.

I curl up on the floor with my back to the wall. In a few minutes my legs will start to ache, but I would endure worse to watch Cori in her element.

The photoshoot starts tame enough. There are a few props scattered around, and it’s amusing to follow the back and forth between two professionals about the best way to pose with an antique teacup. Even rubber-faced Foxie makes his appearance.

Then, the photographer sets the stage lights on a lower intensity. More intimate.

The expression on Cori’s face shifts with it, like she’s also toggling something within her. Cheerfulness dims into sleepy flirtation. Her poses grow languid. And the photographer steps closer, snapping pictures from angles that make my hands itch with the need to smack him.

Through it all, Cori’s green, green eyes keep finding mine.

See, I think as I burn from the inside out. She can set me on fire.

#

“Whew,” Cori says the moment she ushers the photographer out of the apartment. “That was nerve-wracking. Thank God I could focus on you.”

It takes me a moment to recall how to move the flap of pink, dried-out gauze that’s supposed to be my tongue. “I’m glad I could help.”

Truth be told, I assumed she asked me only because none of her friends could show up. It’s what I told myself the other night, when everything felt too close; even now, with my hands sore from digging my nails in my palms under the weight of Cori’s attention, I don’t kid myself into thinking there’s anything more to it. 

But a win is a win, and I intend to treasure this lightheadedness until it wears out. I witnessed something secret today.

“Ah!” Cori exclaims, snapping me out of my reverie. “That’s the pin from the other day!”

Her manicured fingertips curl around the cameo as if cradling a real lily in bloom, rather than a simple engraving. This close, I catch a waft of polyester from her wig. It’s mixed with the tang of sweat, and a chemical resin-like note that must have remained after her perfume wore off.

“Thank you,” she says, “for staying up to keep me company that time. It means a lot.”

I lick my lips; my body has gone leaden and still, warmed by the pressure of Cori’s palms on my chest.

“I did it ‘cause I wanted to.”

Bright green eyes look up at me through fake lashes and lilac hair. With a swift tug on the straps of my dress, Cori brings me down enough to put her mouth to the shell of my ear. “How are you so cute?”

Then she leads me to her bedroom.

#

When I wake up tangled in Cori’s sheets at some vague hour of the night, it takes me a few blinks to realize the thing looming over me is the harpy eagle plushie. My eyes go over the unfamiliar space around me, slowly getting used to the dark. I spot the pale shapes of the dolls on their shelves, and the beeping blue light of a computer on stand-by. The outline of Cori’s body next to me punches the breath out of my chest.

I could burrow deeper into the sheets and press my nose against her back. Or trace the dip of her side with the lightest touch, until I commit it to memory. Mostly, I could just stare at her for the rest of the night.

But nature calls, so I push down a groan and paw at the floor for my glasses and sweater. The hallway is pitch black when I amble into it. I know Cori told me to use the spare bath, but the idea of walking all the way into the darkness makes my skin crawl. She won’t mind me using the main bathroom if she never knows I did it.

Slowly, I creak open the door closest to the bedroom; I remember seeing a painted tag on it with a drawing of a sudsy soap bar, so I hope to get it right on my first try.

Cold tiles greet the soles of my feet. The bathroom looks perfectly tidy, which confirms my theory about Cori being the fastidious type. As I look around, though, I notice the tub is filled with water.

There’s a glow to it, faint and greenish. When I bend down to take a better look, it’s not just the reflection of my face that greets me, but a scene from an aquarium. Reeds that sway in a gentle dance despite the absence of a current. A school of fish, elegant and bright as gold, playing hide and seek among the vegetation. The reeds are so thick I can’t see the bottom of the tub.

Cold tiles greet the soles of my feet. The bathroom looks perfectly tidy, which confirms my theory about Cori being the fastidious type. As I look around, though, I notice the tub is filled with water. There’s a glow to it, faint and greenish.

“How is she even managing this?” I whisper. 

The next moment, a cacophony of voices explodes in my head.

GREETINGS, NEW HUMAN.

I yank myself back and slip on the rug, falling hard on my ass. The voices swirl as if laughing.

NO NEED FOR ALL THAT. WELL, AS LONG AS SHE IS NOT HERE.

My legs shake, and my right elbow twangs from how I banged it against the floor. Every inch of me is alight with the stinging fire of adrenaline. I must turn around, grab the first clothes I can find, and run. Tell Cori she’s got disembodied voices in her bathroom, though maybe she already knows and there’s something horribly wrong with her, to share a roof with them so casually.

Maybe I should block her.

That thought chills me with a disoriented loneliness. She’s the one good thing in my life right now; the one person who understands me. There has to be an explanation for this that doesn’t end in me having to cut ties.

I crawl up to the tub again: the fish are swimming close to the surface. Their small beady eyes face me in unison.

ARE YOU HER NEXT EXPERIMENT, OR ARE YOU LESS BORING?

“What,” I manage to croak. My ears fill with a sound that’s half rushing water, half sigh.

THE FOX HUMAN. SHE CALLED FOR US, AND WE THOUGHT WE COULD HELP HER. BUT SHE IS COWARDLY. COWARDLY!

The cacophony rises to a deafening volume as the tub churns with flashes of golden scales. Pressing my hands to my ears does nothing to stop it.

SHE WANTS A NEW BODY, SHE SAYS! IT MUST BE PERFECT, SHE SAYS! TRIAL AND ERROR!

“Please.” A whimper escapes me as my head splits in two from the pain. “Please, not so loud.”

The churning abates. My ears pop, and I fill my lungs with big gulps of air, trying to make sense of what I just heard.

“You… What are you?”

WE ARE THE ONE WHO GIVES NEW SHAPE. THE DEVOURER OF UNWANTED FLESH. OURS IS A GREAT WORK, AND WE ARE STUCK IN THE BATHTUB OF OUR CAPTOR.

I massage my temples, watching the fish dart everywhere. “Cori captured you?”

SHE INVOKED OUR HELP, BUT SHE WAS NOT READY. SO SHE YOKED US. AND SHE FEEDS US OTHERS. TRIAL AND ERROR!

“Trial and error,” I repeat faintly. The cold from the tiles is creeping up my legs like an ache. In spite of everything that’s happening, the discomfort in my bladder is only growing.

YES. TWO SO FAR, TO SEE HOW IT WOULD TURN OUT. AND THE MAN, THOUGH SHE ONLY ASKED US TO MAKE HIM FUZZY. RUBBER-FACED. SHE TOYS WITH OUR WORK.

Nausea rears its ugly head in me. Forget running, this has got to be a dream. I must be half-asleep, still in that warm bed, and this noxious scenario is my body’s attempt at waking me up.

Wake up, I think, screwing my eyes shut. Wake up already.

When I open my eyes again, I’m still in the bathroom. And I can see a flash of white behind me, reflected in the water.

I roll out of the way just in time for a wooden bat to crash on the edge of the tub. The crack of the wood as it splinters sends chills down my spine.

“Sienna,” Cori says, almost sweet. She’s still wearing the dress from the photoshoot, but her hair is mussed. “I told you not to go in here.”

FOX! COWARDLY FOX! WE GAVE YOU YOUR FRECKLES AND FANGS. COME DIP MORE THAN YOUR FACE IF YOU DARE.

Maybe I’m losing my grip on reality, because my heart sinks at that. “So the freckles were fake?”

“They’re real,” Cori hisses. “I did not let those freaks eat the skin off of me just for you to say that.”

Maybe I’m losing my grip on reality, because my heart sinks at that. “So the freckles were fake?”

“They’re real,” Cori hisses. “I did not let those freaks eat the skin off of me just for you to say that.”

The bat is still in her grip. She raises it again, fangs flashing in the glow, and I wrench the rug from underneath her. When she falls, she’s not as lucky as I was. Her head bangs against the toilet with a sickening crunch. I lunge for her, and she kicks me in the navel. It’s strong enough to make me wheeze, but not enough to stop my momentum: I’m bigger than her and I have the higher ground. I wrench her knee aside. 

It’s such an easy thing to do, even though she should’ve been untouchable. A harsh, radiant light, raining down scraps of herself for us to treasure. She’s got everything—and she can’t even make it count.

My fingers dig into her thigh. Just earlier, I was trailing kisses up the same spot, convinced we were two souls desperate to shed the wrongness of our bodies. She told me, after all, that she understood. She picked the lop rabbit set for me.

Something, somewhere below my sternum, breaks under the weight of it. Then I smash her head into the wall. One, two, three times, until her hand goes limp and the bat rolls on the tiles.

“Cori,” I whisper, kicking the bat away. The adrenaline fire has grown into an inferno; it whispers to me in crackles, overlapped with the darting fish. Fit to burst with potential. “My most beloved Cori. You can’t let all this go to waste.”

I can hear the water churn again as I hoist the both of us back up. Cori moans, trying to push herself off me, but she’s too dazed. I smooth out the mussed parts of her hair.

“You have the chance to become what you’ve always wanted. The most perfect version of yourself.” I pick her up like a princess, careful not to jostle her too much. “As your loyal follower, it’s my duty to make sure you get there.”

YES, LET US WORK. LET US FEAST AND RENEW.

Climbing into the tub is tricky with another person in my arms. My feet find the bottom, but the material yields under my weight as if the ceramic has gone soft. If I move half a step to the left, it’s like there’s nothing there at all.

“You can feast on me, too,” I say. Cori makes a sluggish attempt at my face, so I drop her in the water and push down on her shoulders. “Make us both new. A fox and a rabbit, forever tied to one another.”

Fish swarm us, nipping at our flesh. They tear chunks of skin off with graceful twists of their jaws, and their needle-like teeth rend shocks of pain through my body. Every inch of me screams in agony. Still, through the blood and the reeds and the scales, Cori’s green eyes find mine. I cup her apple-round, freckled cheeks.

“Don’t be afraid,” I say as we sink deeper. “It’s just like taking out the old stuffing.”