Chapter 33: ed in SilkThe m it was dy who stepped from the building into the chill January brightness outside. She paused at the door and took a deep, invigorating breath. Her eyes closed with the pleasure of the warm sun on her skin and the fresh st of trees and wild herbs riding the air. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled a happy, simple smile and trotted a few steps down the cobblestoh.

  Sitting atop a small hill, the Cos residence offered an excellent view across the expansive range of the Asklepios ibsp; At night the whole area y shrouded in darkness broken only itently by rare and distant lights. However, by day the ic revealed its dappled beauty to the young girl.

  The twe buildings at opposing ends of the property, sharp-edged jumbles of gss and crete, reached aggressively for the sky and glittered coldly in drifting shafts of gentle sunlight. Behind her loomed the Hygieia tre, sitting taller and more eborate than any nearby buildings. Smaller structures y scattered across the range of her sight, mostly clustered near main buildings but also reag hesitatingly into the encroag forest. More homes, she decided, or maybe shops. dy frowned slightly at the thought: she had very little money; but the day was far too beautiful for such s and, tossing her hair bad slinging her purse over one shoulder, she began her exploration of her new home. The glint of colour peeking from her open-toed wedge heels, the dance of the sundress against her legs, the light bump of a purse against her hip with every step: dy felt gloriously alive and fortable in her femininity as she enjoyed an early m stroll beh blue skies and dawdling clouds.

  She found genuine te in the freedom to explore at her leisure. For an hour she drifted aimlessly along the twisting and voluted walking paths. This early in the m--a g the thin, silver timepiece at her wrist firmed it wasn’t even --there were few other people about. She saw a couple of joggers pass by, red-faced and ear; they gave her a double look and a quick automatic wave before tinuing on their way. Many of the paths coiled around small, well-tended gardens and parks sp detailed fountains, artificial ponds and benches for rexing. dy made a mental note of some geous trees perfectly suited for a te-afternoon piic spent rexing in verdant shade.

  dy thought to herself that she would have to e out earlier tomorrow. She wouldn’t even have to talk to anyone. To not take advantage of the natural beauty of this pce was unthinkable. In the early m, just as the sun touched the forested hilltops red, there might still be fog roiliween the buildings bing everything in its muting mist. She felt an almost unscious ache to lose herself, alone, iural beauty of her new surroundings.

  As the young woman came to the end of her m stroll, she noticed an increasing number of people ohs, some flittiween buildings on those small, electric carts. She passed a few people and they all seemed tent to remain private; they offered polite nods and non-ittal smiles but little else.

  dy became a little anxious. The thought of spendiay at the ic alone was genuinely distressing to a girl like her. Spending a day being pampered at home was ohing, but what was the point of getting all dressed up and pretty if there was no oo appreciate it? Despite the squeamish flutter iomach she determio approach the passer-by to cross her path.

  He was a youngish-looking man, maybe in his early-twenties but with a rounded softo his face that bordered on childish. His clothes were casual but stylish and very expensive and looked a little cool for the slight chill that rode the mid-spring mountain air. With distracted, almost nervous eyes he sed the far horizons of the ic as he jogged, and looked set to pass straight by without notig dy.

  “Good m!” she decred happily, stepping in front of the man.

  Eyes still focused on the distant bulk of the Meditrine ic, he ran straight into the smaller girl. With a startled gasp she tumbled to the ground, the man falling heavily on top of her.

  Believe me: I came damn close to killing that stupid kid, right then and there. I really did. It wasn’t the fact that the weirdo smmed into me and knocked me to the ground. Hell, I could even five him for falling on top of me. After all, this cutesy girl-disguise is just that: a disguise, ah the d satin and pink trim I’m still a guy, tough as nails, still a man, not easily shaken. Other than the savage but brief burst of pain in my side, the hardest part of hitting the stohway was remembering to fall like dy--with a squeal and a useless filing of limbs. The heels helped keep things authentic.

  No, issed me off was that once we hit the pavement this idiot kid made no effort to get off of me. Seriously. He just stayed over me, his weight pressing down, and for the first time I felt the bizarre sensation of my breasts being crushed against my chest by another body. The boy lifted himself just enough to hold his head over mine. He stared directly into my eyes. His eyes were dull grey and rimmed in red. An unusually sharp st g to him, spicy but not unpleasant.

  For a horrible, fleeting moment I thought this asshole was going to try and kiss me. My makeup was still fresh; wet, glistening lips parted in a slight gasp; and then I realized the boy wasn’t even looking at me. His eyes were unfocused and distant. Slowly they returo the here and now and gradually became aware of the startled, wide-eyed girl fronting him.

  “Hello,” he said. “My name is Larry.”

  He didn’t seem all that ed or even aware that he was lying on top of a smaller girl, crushio the ground as he introduced himself. I looked to either side but from my limited perspective didn’t see help approag. I experienced another first-time fion: that of long hair, my own, pinned beh me. Each turn tugged painfully at my scalp.

  “I am twenty years old and a student,” he tinued versationally, though his voice was strangely monotone, clipped and both slightly too fast and too loud. “What is your name?”

  “Um . . . dy?” I answered. Thanks to the spray my voice was back to those ulingly breathy and femiones.

  “Very o meet you, dy,” he said. “I have never seen you before. Are you o the ic?”

  With my hair caught I couldn’t even nod. I really had to fight back the temptation to toss this idiot off of me. The boy wasn’t small and his weight was starting to hurt my side despite Scooter’s painkillers. I could’ve thrown him easy, but I figured there was no was dy would have the strength or skill.

  “Yes?” I answered, f a note of pleading into my voice.

  “You should not be here,” he said, in the same toneless voibsp; “This is a bad pce for you.”

  No shit, it was a bad pbsp; Last pce I wao be inned beh some guy, yeah? Especially since, a moment ter, I felt it: an insistent push against my thigh, like an er pup poking its muzzle into a pocket. Perverted little fucker! I’d never felt anything like it but reized the sensation immediately. The bastard’s growing hard-on was jabbing into my leg! The thought that only the ridiculous flimsy thinness of the dress I wore and this idiot’s shorts separated his cock from my skin almost made me sick.

  Screw the helpless dy act, yeah? Frightened surprised twisted into an angry scowl. “You have to get off of me,” I growled, and the spray did nothing to mask my barely repressed rage. “Now.”

  Larry didn’t seem to notibsp; “Of course,” he answered, sounding calmly uned. He took his time doing so but finally cmbered to his feet. Galleman that he was, he didn’t even offer me his hand. Instead, his eyes quickly found the squatting silhouette of the Meditrine id without another word nce back he took off at a brisk jog in its general dire.

  Fortunately, not everyone I met that day tried to sm me to the ground and hump my leg. (Not that I could bme them, really, sidering what a sexy little number dy is.) I entered a few more idle wanderers like myself and exged passing pleasantries. No real versations, but it did a lot to boost my fidenbsp; If anyone found something odd about my appearahey kept it to themselves. I certainly kept my own opinions quiet. It finally began to dawn ohat I was in a hospital--albeit a very beautiful, very rge and expensive one--and many of the people I met seemed a bit . . . off.

  That day ent at a nice, leisurely pace, methodical but rexed, as I spiralled out from the Cos Residend explored the surroundings. I stumbled across a few more residehough none of them were quite as rge as my new home. Where Cos struck me as a bit like upper-end student housing, some of the other pces sprawled out like small vils.

  Everywhere I went the grass was green and the shrubs well-kept. The air was almost cloying at times, den with the st of winter flowers and fragrant trees. So clear and blue that it nearly seemed to glow, the unbroken sky stretched across the far limits of the id set the brilliant green of the earth in sharp trast. To be ho, I’m not sure I’d ever been anywhere quite as idyllid beautiful.

  A--yeah, there’s a ‘but’. In my life it seems like there’s always a ‘but’. Despite the beauty, the soothing breeze and sts and calming silence . . . yeah, it was the silehat did it, I think. It wasn’t the fact that I was decked out like a co-ed tart that had me on edge. It was the unnatural silence of the pce.

  See, the thing is I’m not much of a city boy. I’m really not, even though I’ve spent my entire adult life in the bustle and cmour of big cities. There’s a lot of shit about urban living that’s good: the chicks, the work, the bars and gigs--the cultural stuff, you know? The energy and that edgy vibe you only find in cities. But for all that, I’m a try boy at heart. Born and raised. It wasn’t until Sakura took me on board that I really got to know the big city. Sometimes I ’t help but wonder how different my life would’ve been if I’d just stayed in the tryside.

  And so, I’ve got these surprisingly strong childhood memories of times spent outdoors. Speh a glittering opy of stars, or lost in fasated observation of some tiny, wondrous facet of life ah in nature: a butterfly emerging from its co, or ants swarming a much rger caterpilr in pitched battle.

  Like this oime I remember. I must’ve been something like six years old. Really made an impression on me. You ever see a spider capture a fly? You’d be surprised how difficult and rare it is to actually see it happen--nature is quick, ‘red in tooth and cw’, as Akiko used to say.

  The way the buzzing abruptly cuts off, the brief struggle against the web giving way to exhaustion; then the savage dash across the lines, eight legs ing around the prey, fangs sinking down, a few spasmodic jerks, another . . . and then the final bondage, ed in silk that would glitter almost beautifully in m dew, hiding the hollowed husk within.

  I remember because that fly had been harassing me for half-an-hour, buzzing about and mog my filing attempts to drive it away as I hiked through the woods out behind my house. And then--silence, followed by capture. As much as the stupid bug had been annoying me . . . yeah, I kinda felt sorry for it. It’s a horrible way to go: trapped, ed in silk, drained of life, ed a empty.

  It’s amazing the ses nature reveals to those--usually the young--who take the time to watbsp; So I knew a thing or two about being outdoors, and this is the thing: it’s very rarely quiet. The ibsp; For all its cultivated outdoor beauty it was strangely, unnaturally silent. Even if the other ts and patients weren’t the loud and boisterous type, the trees and gardens should have called out with their owile voices. Yet as I walked about that first m I heard very few birds singing; saw only one or two squirrels dash up the side of a tree; and for all the refined greenery I’m not sure I noticed a single gardener or maintenance worker. Even ating for automation, it just felt unnatural.

  Maybe it was all those underground tunnels. Maybe it was something else.

  By the time noon approached my good mood of the m was goh a growing apprehension. My feet were killing me as well--for all my practice, I still had a ways to go before mastering heels and this was by far the most ‘real’ walking I’d done in women’s shoes. What kind of iive sadist put down cobblestohways in a pen would be walking? Far more importantly, my stomach started to grumble. A half-hour walk from ‘home’ and with ag feet and growing hunger, I finally decided to step indoors.

  The pce at hand looked like a coffee shop. It had a rge front that revealed a couple of small wooden tables that looked like they’d escaped from an Ikea catalogue. Ihe light was fortably muted after the cold brilliaside. Chilled music pyed quietly from unobtrusive speakers mounted in the ers and the warm st of roasted java filled the air. My steps knocked a solid note from the tiled floor as I crossed to the ter.

  The young man w behind the till somehow reminded me of Chris, that guy from the receptiore. Sure, this guy was a little taller, his a little weaker, but he possessed the same bnd good looks and professional demeanour of the uy. I was so struomentarily put off, I should say--by the resembhat I stood there at a loss after I caught his attention.

  “Wele to The Bean Being,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “How may I help you?”

  Author's Notes:

  If you're impatient to read on, you find ter chapters at FM S. You also find everything avaible on Patreon: patreon./fakeminsk, as well as fanart and a few side projects.

  And of course, ents and feedback are always appreciated!